A Chance Encounter Pt. 02

She stopped me with her finger on my mouth. "No, wait. David I must tell you. It'll explain how . . . how I feel now." She took a deep breath. "I did it you know." I raised my eyebrows. "I knew it was a knife. I looked and saw then picked it up and stuck it in him." She couldn't look at me then. I reached and held her to me. Surprised? No, I wasn't surprised. I'd seen enough evidence given to have the tiniest of doubts.

"Does Jane know?"

She nodded through the tears that had begun to fall. That was enough for me. If Jane had pulled her through this knowing the truth she must have felt that Barbara didn't deserve to go down, even for manslaughter.

"She told me what to say, how to behave. Oh David it's not that -- oh heck it is. I must explain. When I did it I thought that it would be better to go to prison for doing it than to stay." She looked away, "I was in a kind of prison anyway. I knew he would hit me again, probably badly this time." She looked at me, tears stopping now. "I wanted to be free of him just then and this was the only way. He wouldn't divorce me. Said I was 'convenient'." I held her close again.

"It doesn't matter Barbara, doesn't matter at all."

"But it does, it does. Afterwards, after that girl had gone, I made up my mind. A man, any man, and sex. It didn't matter what or how or who. Then I found you!" Her look now was strange. Desperation, possessiveness, hope, desire, shame, embarrassment, all wrapped up in that same look.

"Before. Before we . . . oh you know . . . all that we did together," she smiled shyly, "I was happy, oh not happy, but resigned I suppose, to go to prison. Then you touched me." I raised my eyebrows and smiled.

"I think I did more than that!"

She laughed shyly, "I know," then continued seriously, "I don't mean that. Well I do but . . . oh this is difficult to explain. Sometimes when you touched me it was tender, gentle and your kisses." A fire lit up her green eyes, "Your kisses seemed to . . ." She was silent for a moment.

"When I saw you reading the paper I knew I had to go. I felt guilty. All the trouble I knew I'd caused you but . . ." Now her eyes fixed mine and held me, "I didn't want to go. Prison -- the thought was horrid . . . after . . . you!"

I was tense now. Tense wondering did she feel the same about me as I felt about her. "Barb . . ." She interrupted again.

"No, no David," she seemed to enjoy saying my name, savouring the sound, "let me finish . . . please." I nodded with a smile. I was beginning to feel . . . Heck I don't know how I was beginning to feel. Elated, joyous, scared. She seemed to get lovelier every second.

"I had to go. I didn't want to but . . ." She seemed ready to cry again.

"I know," I said softly, "but the note made up for anything!" She smiled.

"When I got to the police station it was horrible. Questions, questions. Different people. I was confused. Before . . . before you I didn't care. Now I did. I didn't know what to do. Then Gordon. He told me what to say. Made them stop browbeating me. Told me about Jane. I couldn't understand what had happened. Who sent him? Why? I was so confused."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't tell him not to tell you it was me. I suppose he just didn't think."

"I hoped . . . that night I thought of you. Wondered if you'd forgive me for acting the way I did." I raised my eyebrows. "She gave and embarrassed smile, "Oh you know . . . like that. I knew I wanted to see you again but I knew I wouldn't. I didn't even know your name. Then you were there," she couldn't stop tears now, "and I . . . felt so, so . . . glad, happy, oh I don't know and I realised it must be you. You who sent Gordon. And the way you looked at me. Not sexy, not like before but . . . as if you cared."

Time now! "I did care," I said emotionally, "I cared then and I care now. Barbara," she made to interrupt. I smiled and stilled her mouth with my finger, "My turn now." She smiled demurely. God she was lovely!

"Barbara, I never thought to feel anything like this again. I want you near. I want to hold you, protect you, look after you, and," I took a deep breath, "I want to make love to you." She looked startled, surprised, I suppose, at my boldness. "I mean 'make love' not just have sex. Barbara, love, I'm not sure what love is but it must be pretty close to what I feel now." She went to speak again. "Barbara, I don't care about the past. It's gone, done with. My marriage is down the pan. If you'll have me I'd like to stick around."

Now she cried but she held me close then started to kiss me. Finally, "Have you, have you! I've dreamed of 'having' you almost every night. Everything we did that weekend running through my mind but, more than anything, I dreamed of you looking at me the way you did now and then. Of course I'll 'have' you, silly man."

How does it feel when the woman you love (I knew that now) says she loves you. I'm not sure that words can express the feeling. Well not mine anyway. Perhaps if I was a Shakespeare, Donne, or Browning I might be able to but I'm not. Elation is the only word that comes anywhere near to my feeling just then. I held her and she held me then she whispered, "Are you staying tonight?"

"Mmm," I said, "I have a room here."

She pulled away and smiled cheekily, "Is Carla broadminded?"

I laughed releasing the tension, "Yes, yes she is. Why?"

"Take me to bed," she whispered, "make love to me like you said."

My answer was to stand and lead her upstairs to my bedroom. "It's next to mine," she said surprised.

"I told you she was broadminded." I said with a smile as I led her inside. We kissed and slowly undressed. There was none of the anxious sexuality of before and I realised that, although we'd had some pretty hot sex then, I hadn't really 'looked' at her as the woman I loved. Although she'd lost weight in remand she was still well built but perfectly proportioned. She wasn't shy at all as she stood there naked before me.

She sat on the bed and patted it. "Love me," she said and laid back. I lay beside her and kissed her mouth and face.

She kissed back then whispered, "I had something else to tell you." Slowly I turned my head. "I've missed my last two periods. I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant!"

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Mike Porter

Perhaps here I should explain some of the terms used and the way that lawyers work in Britain. Plod is, of course, the police. It's a sort of upper class insult! Law firms, or ////// are made up of Solicitors and Barristers. Solicitors investigate and prepare cases for court, Barristers present the case to the court. A QC is a Queen's Counsel, a top layer barrister. Magistrate's Couret's hear mostly misdemenours. Their other task is to 'commit' felonies to the higher courts. It's usually a formality. 'Beak' is slang for a Magistrate.

Hope this helps!

Vitorio