Unspoken: A story of secrets, love and revenge by T. Belshaw (i want to read a book .TXT) 📕

holiday. Are you doing anything special this weekend?’

‘I’m going down to Dover on Sunday. We have a businessman client who, unlike you, has got himself into a spot of bother over his government taxes.’ He raised his briefcase and tapped the side of it. ‘His case goes to court on Tuesday, and I need to be there to advise him throughout. It might be a couple of weeks before I get back, hence the urgency to get your Estate Duty taxes done and dusted before I leave.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ I said, as though I saw him every day.

‘And I’ll miss you, Alice. You really are a breath of fresh air. My job can be quite dull at times, but you brighten my day whenever I see you.’ He turned away, placed his briefcase on the table, opened the clasp and pulled out my tax forms. ‘Sign where I’ve put the dots, please, Alice.’

He passed me his beautiful, gold-patterned, fountain pen, and I signed the bottom of all four pages of the document.

He wafted the papers in the air to dry the ink, then he slipped them back into the briefcase and pulled out another form.

‘This is to say that the money has been paid in full. I filled it in as soon as you said you’d had the bank make the cheque payable to us. It’s a bit naughty of me really, but I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

I went to the safe, pulled the key from the pocket of my dress, took out the banker’s cheque and handed it to him. He scanned it quickly, dropped it into his case and snapped the clasp.

‘Well, that’s about it, Alice, our business is concluded. I do hope we will meet again soon.’

‘Wait, please, don’t go yet,’ I almost begged.

He shrugged. ‘I’m not in a rush. What did you want to discuss?’

‘Dance with me,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Dance with me, before you go. We’ve had lunch, tea, Martini’s, but we’ve never danced.’

He looked around. ‘Do you have a radio or something?’

‘Much better than that,’ I said. ‘Wait here, please don’t leave, I’ll be back in two shakes.’

I rushed from the room and grabbed my beautiful, blue gramophone from its place next to the tallboy, then I picked up my record case, and returned to the front room, closing the door behind me with my heel. To my intense relief, he was still there.

I set up the machine and selected Fred Astaire, singing Night and Day. I lowered the arm onto the record, then turned around with my arms open wide.

Godfrey smiled at me. ‘I love this song.’

We danced slowly, and properly to begin with, one of his hands in mine, one on the back of my shoulder, but as the dance progressed, I moved his hand down to my waist and put both of mine on his back. My breasts brushed against his chest and a tingle, like a tiny, electric shock, ran down my spine. My eyes sought his and I pressed even closer. He attempted to lose eye contact but mine must have contained powerful, eyeball-magnets, because his gaze only left mine for a millisecond.

‘Alice. This can’t happen,’ he said, huskily.

I snuggled into his chest and laid my head against his shoulder. ‘I know,’ I replied softly.

‘It’s wrong. I’m old enough to be your father,’ he said, brushing his lips against my neck.

‘I know,’ I repeated.

His hot breath breezed past my ear, then he kissed my neck gently, from the ear to clavicle.

I thought my knees were going to give way. I pulled my head back and looked him in the eye again.

‘Alice… I’ll hate myself…’

‘I won’t,’ I said, truthfully. I moved my head forward hesitantly, then his lips found mine and my heart melted.

‘Alice…’

He ran his tongue down my neck again, the song had finished, but we held onto each other like it was our last few moments on earth. He kissed me again, harder this time and his tongue found the inside of my mouth. What sorcery was this? I had never imagined people did this. His breath became hot, he pulled his face away from mine, and the next thing I knew we were on the carpet tearing each other’s clothes off.

The sex was sublime. Sometimes gentle, probing, other times urgent, demanding. It was nothing like my only other experience with Frank. That had been brutal, incredibly short, and had it not been for the circumstance, utterly forgettable. With Godfrey, I understood where the term, making love, came from, because that’s what we were doing. Afterwards, we lay on our backs, half-naked, cooling, still slightly breathless. He took my hand and held it to his lips.

‘Alice,’ he said, softly.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘I’d just like to say… you… it… that was wonderful.’

I turned my face towards him. ‘I’ll never forget this day, Godfrey. I feel like a woman, a proper one, not just a flighty girl.’

‘I’ve never considered you flighty,’ he said, smiling back at me.

I rolled onto my side, put my hand on his chest and kissed him on the lips. When I pulled my face away, he lifted his head from the floor and looked over my naked breasts, towards the window.

‘Alice?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, dreamily.

‘Frank’s at the window.’

I turned over, trying desperately to cover some of my nakedness with my hands.

Frank hadn’t moved. He stood in the garden, about a foot away from the window, his face a mask of hatred.

I glared back at him and yelled with as much venom as I could muster.

‘Get lost, Frank!’

Frank remained where he was. His eyes fixed on me.

I got up, my dress fell to the floor, I stepped out of it and wearing only my white heels, stomped across to the window, held out both my arms and pulled the curtains shut.

Godfrey pulled up his pants and trousers and got to his feet. I apologised to him as he fastened his shirt.

‘That’s typical Frank, trying to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

We finished dressing in silence,