Chapter 8
Early morning and Sophie was having second thoughts. Reading the list of side effects of Viagra had made her feel queasy.
What if I kill him? He could have a heart attack! No, surely not.
Strong as an ox, he said he was. Only been to hospital to visit friends and relatives.
But all the other possibilities? Blindness, nausea, headache, backache…
It was Claudia’s fault. She had fired her imagination and now she would be up all night, grappling with her conscience.
She called Damien first. After the art show she’d phoned him and they’d spent some time together. They enjoyed each other’s company, going to lunch, going to the theatre, having coffee.
She really liked him.
He had a generous spirit. He’d become a good friend on whom she could depend to give her wise advice when she needed it, from a man’s point of view.
‘For goodness’ sake, Sophie, what’s the matter?’ he said. ‘It’s 7 a.m.’
‘Have you ever taken Viagra?’
‘Why?’
‘Not why. Just tell me.’
‘Calm down. Once in LA. Four women in one day. Needed the staying power.’
‘And you were okay?’
‘Fine. But why do you—’
‘No side effects? Nausea, headaches, upset stomach?’
‘No. No, no. Can I go now?’
‘Yes. And thank you.’
Next, Sophie called Claudia.
‘I know you’re still in bed, but I need your moral support.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m scared… the side effects.’
‘Of what?’
‘Tonight. The Viagra minestrone.’
‘Every medication can have side effects,’ Claudia said. ‘Did you check to see whether Nicholas had any underlying conditions, like I told you?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And?’
‘Only one – not having the courage to leave his boring wife.’
‘Well then, I don’t think Viagra will change that. But if you’re prepared to settle for an affair, seeing as you say he doesn’t have any serious medical history, it could be worth the risk. But it’s your call. I don’t want to be responsible if things go wrong.’
How could anything go wrong?
Nicholas needed help. She would free him of his guilt. Emancipate his soul.
Go, Sophie, go. A quick cup of coffee first, a shower and then to work.
No, not the black ceramic cooking pot; too much like a cauldron. Yes, the large two-handled stockpot. Everyday and reassuring.
She sliced and diced the vegetables. A dash of olive oil in the saucepan. Sautéed the onions until soft and pale yellow. Then, one by one, she dropped in the carrots, celery, potatoes, green beans, courgette, cabbage. Next, a tin of Italian tomatoes and then, after pouring in rich beef stock, she added the rind of a piece of Parmesan, saving the cannellini beans for later.
Bring to the boil and let it simmer.
And how should she play her role tonight?
The siren dressed to kill, ready to devour her man?
The pussycat ready to serve her man? Something softer, less obvious… more romantic.
Yes, that’s it. A softer approach.
Nicholas needed to be gently coaxed. Teased out of his comfort zone.
***
It was late afternoon. Sophie smiled at her reflection in the mirror and raised her glass of champagne.
‘And here is Sophie, freshly bathed…’ she mouthed the words like a commentator on a TV cookery show, ‘… swathed in an oyster silk slip dress and, underneath, just a pair of gossamer lace panties. For the perfume? She is wearing Miss Dior – subtle, chic, not too overpowering. A perfect dish, moist and tender, ready to be served on a bed of crisp white linen. And the winner is…’ Sophie giggled. ‘Oh, Nicholas, if you only knew.’
Nicholas arrived with a bunch of yellow roses from Waitrose, a bottle of Rioja and some superglue from Tyler’s DIY to mend the handle of a treasured bright red ceramic jug that the cleaner had broken.
The jug was a memento from her favourite hotel, La Colombe d’Or in St Paul de Vence, a reminder of happy summers spent with her beloved husband, Daniel, at the charming auberge. Picasso nestled in one corner, Matisse in the other. Miró, Chagall, Bonnard, Kandinsky casually hung in the bedrooms, hallways, the rustic dining room.
How she missed her Daniel. The romance of it all. Even when little Mikey came along it didn’t spoil the fun. His father taught him to swim in the pool and sometimes in the afternoon they would all go to the Café de la Place and play boules.
Her family. Lost.
And here she was, about to seduce a married man by spiking his soup.
‘Sophie?’ asked Nicholas. ‘You okay? When do you want me to mend the jug? I can do it now if you like.’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ said Sophie hastily, back to real time. ‘Don’t worry about the jug. You can do it tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? That might not be possible.’
‘But you said…’
No, Sophie, no. Don’t go there. Let the evening unfold naturally. Don’t make him feel uncomfortable. Relax him. Wait and see what happens after the Viagra.
‘Anyway, darling,’ Sophie wrapped her arms around his waist, ‘can you open the champagne?’
‘Of course, darling.’ He kissed her neck, ever so softly. ‘You smell wonderful,’ he let his nose linger on her fragrant skin.
And then he thought of Kate.
It’s okay, Nicholas, don’t worry. Just have a good wash before you go home. And surely Sophie’s got some antiseptic in her bathroom cabinet. Dab it on. That’ll mask the scent.
The guilt had made Nicholas sweat.
Timing, Sophie. Too soon.
He’s not ready yet.
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ She gently pushed him away. ‘Need to check the dinner.’
Drop the cannellini beans into the soup and cook for fifteen minutes. That leaves just enough time for a cuddle on the sofa. Get him in the mood.
‘Chin-chin.’ Look deep into his eyes. Hold his gaze and just a little smile. Now talk to him, flatter him, tell him how much you missed him.
Play with his finger, stroke his hair. That’s it. Tease him… then give him a gentle kiss. That’s enough. Keep him wanting more.
‘Sophie…’ he called from the living room.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Can I use your loo?’
Sophie gave a dry laugh. ‘Why do you have to ask? Really, Nicholas, every time you visit me it’s the same question. As if I were a stranger. It’s almost an insult.’
Sophie, keep your temper.
‘Force of habit. Sorry, darling,’ he said.
‘That’s okay. Just want you to feel at home.’
‘I do, I do. Especially when you cook… Smells delicious. Let me guess – minestrone, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said. ‘I remember you saying your mother used to make it.’
‘My very favourite. Can’t wait,’ he said. ‘I’ll just be a tick.’
Sophie shut the kitchen door.
She took the porcelain teddy bear mug out of the cupboard and shook it. Yes, the pill was there.
She removed the rind from the soup and stirred in the grated parmesan. Soup in the bowl, bread in a basket, salmon in the fridge, just in case the pill took longer than expected to work its magic.
The good girl said, Oh, Sophie, how could you! An innocent soul like Nicholas. Who knows what could happen? He could have a meltdown. Totally immoral. And absolutely illegal. You’re worse than any man.
And the bad girl said, Come on, Sophie. Don’t take any notice. He’ll love it, once he does it. All that foreplay and nowhere to go… frustrating for both of you.
‘Yes, it is. But…’
No buts, Sophie. Just get on with it.
If he finds out, he’ll never trust you again , said the good girl.
How would he know, unless you tell him? He’ll just be so proud he can go all night , said the bad girl.
‘Okay. You win,’ Sophie muttered.
‘Gosh, that looks fantastic.’ Nicholas had crept up behind her and peered over her shoulder.
Sophie swung round with the ladle in her hand. ‘You gave me a shock!’
‘I’m sorry. What’s the matter? You’re not usually so jumpy.’
Sophie, you’re going to blow it. Calm down. Be nice.
‘Nothing.’ She brushed his cheek with a kiss. ‘You just surprised me, that’s all. Now go and sit down.’
Breathe, Sophie, breathe.
She handed him the basket of French bread. ‘Here, take this in.’
‘I’ll open the Rioja. Where’s the corkscrew?’
‘In the top drawer. Please, I need some space. You know what I’m like when I’m cooking.’
‘Just like looking at you, so sure of yourself,’ he said. ‘Kate’s such a ditherer. She’s probably out of practice. Mind you, she used to cook when I first married her.’
‘Oh, look at that cute little mug,’ Nicholas picked it up. ‘You’re such a complicated woman. One minute a sophisticated diva with your silk and pearls and the next you collect things like this.’ He waved it in the air. ‘Oh, there’s something inside.’
‘Just give it back, please,’ she said calmly. ‘It’s very delicate, just like me.’ She grasped the mug and cradled it in both hands. ‘Now then.’ She sighed gently.
For heaven’s sake, get him out of here! the bad girl said.
‘Come on, Nicholas. Just leave me to it and open the wine.’
‘Job done,’ Nicholas said. The steamy kitchen had made his cheeks red. He gave her a shy smile. ‘I’m so happy to be with you tonight.’
Alone at last, Sophie set about her task.
She ladled the soup into Nicholas’s bowl and tipped in the little blue pill. She waited for it to dissolve and tasted the soup. Slightly bitter.
A little honey? She took a taste – better – and added more Parmesan. Don’t want to stir it too much, just in case he leaves some at the bottom.
Such a cosy dining room with its floor-to-ceiling shuttered windows. The pale oak table was elegantly dressed with Georgian silver, fine linen napkins, and the roses that Nicholas had brought her arranged in an exquisite lead-crystal vase.
He took his first spoonful.
Sophie waited. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight. Her mouth quivered. Underneath the table she crossed her fingers.
‘You like?’ she said.
‘Lovely,’ he said, ‘but a little sweet. Just needs a pinch of salt and maybe another sprinkle of cheese and then it’ll be perfect.’
Nicholas, always polite, known for his manners, tweaked the minestrone and Sophie followed suit.
Sit on his lap… and nibble his ear; he loves that.
‘Ah.’ He sighed. ‘Oh my Lord, what have you done to me?’
‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘No, but…’
‘But what?’
He paused. A quick check-in with his moral barometer.
Here I am, Nicholas Morley from Bournemouth, a wife and two kids, with a steaming diva who wants me, adores me, cooks for me. Begs me to make love to her. Oh, what the hell, I’m hard as a rock! Let’s go for it!
The Tarzan fantasy was one of his favourites. He lifted her up and slung her over his shoulder. His Jane.
For what we are about to receive… Sophie, his gift, was compliant, yielding. He wanted to please her – make her sizzle…
He played with her. He stalled.
‘You tease,’ she said.
He started again.
‘You’re such a good lover,’ she whispered.
Come on, Nicholas, now or never. Find yourself… lose yourself in the moment. No wife, no kids, no guilt. Take the plunge, dive in, shame the Devil.
‘Ahhh,’ he moaned.
‘At last,’ she cried. ‘Don’t stop, just carry on forever!’
It was glorious. He was cruising on the highway, keeping an even pace. His battered conscience had made it through. And the reward for his bravery? The drive of the century.
The difference between a Ford Fiesta and a Ferrari. Entwined like vines, her legs coiled round his waist.
Nicholas surprised himself. He was going strong. Full throttle, piston pumping. Longer than he could ever have imagined.
And Sophie? The foreplay was fun, but now she was aching. ‘Please, slow down… I never want it to end,’ she lied.
‘No problemo. Couldn’t stop if I tried.’
Don’t worry, Sophie, good that you kick-started the engine. You can fine-tune the performance later.
A couple more circuits, and then just flag him over the finish line…
‘NOW!’ she cried. Sophie bit his neck and scratched his back. Her nails left a fiery track down to his buttocks.
‘Ahh,’ he moaned.
Poor Nicholas was out of his depth.
Teach him to swim , the good girl said. Save him from his boring life. He’s yours now.
Yes. He’s yours now , the bad girl said.