Gallery Whispers

42

She found the apartment without difficulty: a short taxi trip across the Bridges from her own small flat offNicolson Street, down Broughton Street, through the traffic lights at Rodney Street and there it was, facing her as Wayne had described it.

He was ready to leave when he opened the door, tall and handsome in jeans and a red LaCoste waterproof. His beard looked as if it had been newly trimmed.

'Am I late?' she asked, untypically concerned that he might think she was evening the score for Giuliano's.

'Not at all,' he drawled. 'I saw your taxi arrive, that's all. Say, before we leave, come on in and say hello to Dennis. He's ready for bed but he's decent.'

Karen was not entirely certain that she wanted to meet Wayne's friend again, remembering his sourness when she had checked him in at the conference centre, but she followed him inside. The paraplegic was in his wheelchair, dressed in pyjamas and a silk dressing gown.

His hair was damp at the edges, and his skin slightly pink, as if he had just come from a bath. He seemed to be concentrating hard on the Scotsman crossword.

'Say hello to Karen, mate,' the tall Australian commanded.

Dennis Crombie looked up, peered at her through his spectacles, and barked a quick, 'Hello.'

She grinned back at him, and pointed towards the newspaper on his lap. 'Friday's usually the hardest,' she said. 'That's what I find, anyway.'

'Eh?'

'The crossword.'

'Oh. Yes, it's tougher than yesterday's.' The faintest smile seemed to cross the economist's face, and a gold filling in one of his upper canines caught the light for an instant. 'Too many Scottish words, that's the problem for me.'

'Don't worry, if you're staying on for a few weeks you'll learn the language.'

The smile vanished. 'As long as I can stay warm, I don't give a stuff about the language. I never thought Scotland would be so cold.'

'Hey, it's not that bad,' she protested.

'It is when you can't move about.'

She felt a mixture of guilt and sympathy. 'I'm sorry, Dennis, I didn't think.'

'No,' said Crombie. 'People don't. They can't imagine what it's like to look at the world from this angle.' He smiled again, but it looked forced. 'Hey, don't mind me. I'm just an embittered old cripple.

You two get going. Wheel me though to bed first though, mate.'

Wayne nodded and took the guide handles of the chair. As Karen stepped back into the entrance hall she heard Dennis call out. 'Have a nice night now. Don't do anything I can't.'

Her escort joined her in a couple of minutes, breathing a heavy sigh as he closed the door behind him. 'You sound tired,' she said.

'Relieved, more like it. It was bath night for Dennis. That's always a performance.'

'Never mind,' Karen chuckled, 'the best is yet to come. Where are we going?'

'Well,' he answered slowly. 'I thought we might have a couple of pints in the pub on the next corner, the Northern Bar, and then go for a Chinese in the place a few doors down, the Loon Fung.'

'Absolutely,' she agreed. 'You couldn't have chosen better. That place does lemon chicken to die for.'

Three hours later, he had to agree with her. 'That was just magic,' he murmured, as the last forkful disappeared. An extra couple of pints and half a bottle of red wine had taken the rough edge from his accent in the course of the evening, most of which Wayne had spent talking about Australia, aboriginal rights, and life on board an oil rig. 'Do you know any more places like this?' he asked.

She nodded. 'A few. Maybe we'll get round to them, all in good time.'

'Maybe.'

'You're all right you know, Wayne,' she whispered, feeling as relaxed as she had in years. She smiled, broadly. 'For a poofter, that is.

'It's a pity,' she went on, 'that male-female relationships are usually so hopeless. Most of them just start and finish with that sticky business, all that pushing and shoving and sweating and shouting. It's nice to be able to enjoy an evening with a man, just as two sensible people.'

'Couldn't agree more.'

'What sort of a bloke are you, back home?' she asked. 'I mean are you an action man? D'you play rugby? Are you a Wallaby, or is it a Kiwi?'

He frowned. 'I ain't a Kiwi, that's for sure. I hate nicking Kiwis.'

She reached forward and tapped the back of his right hand lightly with one of her long finger-nails. 'So don't fuck any,' she said straightfaced.

The Chinese waiters looked across at them as they collapsed in laughter, heads touching across their table. Then they looked away: they were used to Friday night customers fresh from the local bars.

'Coffee?' she asked, eventually.

'Not here. My place. I've got some really fine Colombian grounds, and some decent Spanish brandy.'

'Sounds good.'

Karen insisted on taking her turn to pay for the meal. 'You come again,' the head waiter called as she stepped out into the night, which had gone from chilly to frosty.

'Christ,' she said. 'Dennis will be freezing his balls off.'

'Nah. That apartment's like an oven, plus, he's got an electric blanket.' He paused and she could see his smile under the street lights.

'They've been numb for years, anyway.'

They stumbled through the door of the flat, almost comic in their efforts to be quiet. She followed him into the dining kitchen and watched him as he made the coffee, admiring the care with which he measured the grounds into the filter and tamped them down. 'The brandy's in the cupboard behind you,' he told her, without turning from his task as he poured water into the cone-shaped filter.

In that moment, Karen realised that more alcohol was the last thing she wanted. Yet what she did have in mind was not, it seemed, on offer. 'I won't thanks, Wayne. I've had well enough.'

'I won't either then. I don't really need a bad head in the morning.'

He waited until he judged the coffee to be perfect, then poured two medium sized mugs.

'Let's sit through there,' he said, nodding toward the living room.

He placed the mugs on a glass-topped table and sat beside her on the comfortable sofa. 'How big is this place?' she asked, quietly.

'You've seen most of it. There's this, the kitchen diner, bathroom, toilet and one bedroom. Why d'you ask?'

'I just wondered,' she said. 'Like whether you have a room of your own.'

'This sofa is a convertible. I sleep on it.'

'Mmmm.'

She looked at him suddenly, catching him off-guard, catching him in a glance which told her all she needed to know. He told her, anyway. 'I'm not really gay, you know. I only said that to make you feel more comfortable.'

'I know,' she murmured. 'Neither am I. I only said it because I wanted to keep you at a distance for a while, until I could work out if I really fancied you as much as I thought at first.'

'And do you?'

'Oh yes.'

He leaned across kissed her, hearing her soft moan as she responded, feeling her tongue searching for his. His touch was light; even his beard felt smooth against her cheek.

As they embraced, his hand slipped under her sweater, fingers gently, sensually, counting off her vertebrae one by one until they reached the clasp other bra.

It came unfastened with a single flick, and as it did he broke off the kiss, to draw the loose-fitting jumper up and over her head. 'Jesus,' he said softly, as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Her breasts never failed to impress at first sight; they were huge and firm, nipples hard, thrusting at him.

He stood, drawing her to her feet with him as she unbuckled his belt, reaching behind her once more for the zipper of her skirt.

Greedily, lustfully, they tore off the remainder of each other's clothing. Karen gasped with surprise, in her turn, as she saw the size of him. 'Gimme,' she said huskily, sinking back down on to the sofabed, throwing her legs wide apart, hands on his buttocks, nails digging in as she drew him, pulsing, deep into her moistness.

She gave a quiet little scream, but remembered even then the man next door, and muffled it almost at once by biting Wayne's shoulder.

She drew up her thighs, and wrapped her legs around him, driving with her hips, her thrusts in time with his, feeling his velvet hardness, clasping it within her, all of it: and then, the sudden, delicious, pulsing heat as he climaxed, unstoppably. 'Oh damn, Karen,' he moaned in her ear. 'Too soon, too soon. I'm sorry; I'm sorry.'

'What for?' she laughed, in a throaty growl. 'There's more where that came from, surely. And we won't be interrupted.' She chuckled again, wickedly. 'The wheelchair's in here, remember.' Holding him inside her as she felt him subside, she began to move again.