Catching Waves

Part Eight

Tuesday morning saw Caitlin perched on the edge of a sofa, staring into the distance and plotting the day ahead as her yoga DVD played on in the corner of the living room. "Lift" the instructor exhorted earnestly, "lift your arms, reach for the orb, the golden orb that showers us with its warmth". Caitlin involuntarily glanced out of the window; drizzle trickled down a window pane that was giving the occasional rattle as it was buffeted by the same wind that was whipping white horses across the waves. She rested her spoon in the side of her cereal bowl and fumbled for the buttons. This bit did nothing for her unless it was actually sunny, even the plinky plinky music irritated her. She zapped the disc forward until she reached the marginally more active middle section. That was better, the soothing sight of half a dozen people all bending and stretching in time to less plinky and decidedly more plonky music felt more in sync with her Tuesday morning feelings and she relaxed back into the sofa, all the better to occasionally lift and wiggle her legs about in time to the melody. A voice at the living room door made her yelp and - dropping the bowl, she spun round, ready to tackle the intruder with a firmly gripped spoon. Preston and Reg stood in the doorway, one looking amused, the other looking baffled. Speech marks opened, ready for Caitlin to fill them, but she had nothing to say - how had he got in? Why hadn't Reg warned her? And who did he think he was, breaking into her flat and then standing there looking stupidly good looking in his stupid suit? 

"The door was ajar - I let myself in when you didn't answer my knock. Er, coffee? Croissant?" And he held up a cardboard cup and a paper bag, decorated with translucent grease spots. Caitlin looked pointedly at the mess on her wooden floorboards, expecting the spilt milk and soggy cornflakes to be an effective visual metaphor for the disappointment, the disgruntlement, the "You don't get to just walk into someone's house" feeling that she felt sure was emanating from her in waves. But instead, all she saw was a couple of cleanly licked floorboards and a smug looking Reg, who she usually kept off dairy on account of how it aggravated his wind. Without waiting for an invitation, Preston smoothly came in and sat close to her, waving his goodies temptingly (yeah, not a euphemism) in her face. The smell of dark roasted beans and warm pastry wafted around the room and after a beat, she took both off him, laying the bag to one side (she'd never get the grease spots off the upholstery) and pulling the lid off the coffee. "So" she began. "Pleasant evening?" Looking him squarely in the eyes, she saw something shift, something evasive and cagey. But it vanished as soon as she'd labelled it, to be replaced by a smile of regret. "Cate. I'm so sorry, I was ... ungallant last night." She sipped her coffee and waited. Ungallant? Now there's a word you don't hear often. "The man in the Spa - you must have recognised him - it was Edward very bald." 

Caitlin frowned. "I suppose he was thinning a bit but I wouldn't have said very bald ..." 

"No, no - Veraisbold, you must have met him before - the Chair of the Governors?" 

"Oh! Mr. Veraisbold. He was on my interview panel." 

"Yes. Yes, Edward has always liked to get involved with every aspect of the school. Anyway, he suggested we discuss Doug's new role over an early supper and I'm afraid I was powerless to put him off. He just wouldn't take no for an answer. I hope - that you didn't put your own plans on hold for me?" 

"No, of course not Preston - I ended up having a rather raucous night at The Bottle with Heidi. Did you and Mr. Veraisbold manage to ..." her words tailed off as she watched Preston's hand slide on to her leg and head slowly north. She met his eyes in surprise, and saw a seductive expression that was becoming somewhat familiar. His other hand divested her of her coffee cup and he bent his head to her ear. "Shhh, let's screw Very Bald. I just wanted to pop by, it seemed important to let you know, I've been aching for you Ms. Marinero (he'd gone to the trouble of rooting out her maiden name, she begrudgingly gave him a handful of points) - positively aching ..." and at that point his hand reached her inner thigh and he began to draw tiny circles on that soft skin whilst giving her ear lobe the sharpest of nibbles, causing her to catch her breath. That damn tickle returned in full force and she turned to kiss him full on the lips. In the minutes it took for Preston to find his way into her dressing gown, Caitlin decided that this is the woman she wanted to be, the sort of woman who returned kisses with interest and didn't wait to be asked to help a man out of his jacket. She fancied Preston, fancied him suited and booted but was fairly sure she would fancy him more naked on her sofa and if that moment was about to happen at six thirty on a Tuesday morning then she would be the type of woman for whom that would be absolutely fine for.