This is the forty-fourth episode of my unreliable memoirs recounting sexual encounters in the nineteen eighties. Each episode is self-contained, so you can read them without having read the previous ones.
For a change, the next few chapters are written from Lesley's perspective and this is the third in the series. It's quite a long episode as I couldn't find a convenient place to break the story.
I hope you enjoy it.
M4bloke
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Chapter 1 - Puddleduck
Puddleduck Interiors was situated just off the King's Road in a fashionable side street. The exterior was understated, as if there wasn't really a need to lure customers in with something as vulgar as a window display.
It was Monday morning. Steven had caught an early flight to Munich and he wouldn't be back until Thursday. After the high of the party at the weekend I was feeling a bit low now, a bit lacking in purpose. I'd agreed to meet Kate for lunch and then we were going to the salon together to get our hair done. But I couldn't get out of my mind what Buster had told me about Jemima Putiford. So I'd arrived two hours early for lunch and was now standing directly in front of her shop. Nowadays they'd call that stalking!
When I pushed the door open, it triggered a bell announcing my presence. A smartly dressed lady sat at a very ornate desk while she talked to someone on the telephone. She looked up and smiled at me apologetically. She was too old to have been at university with Steven. I looked around the shop while she finished her conversation. It was an eclectic mix of furnishings, samples really. Nothing had a price tag on it.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," the woman said as she put the phone down. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking to redecorate my bedroom and was hoping to talk to Jemima Putiford about it."
"I'll get her for you," the woman replied and walked into a back room.
Jemima Putiford didn't so much walk into the room as waft into it, as if carried along by a breeze. Her long flowing summer dress added to the illusion of weightlessness, that and her figure. I could see what Buster had meant now when he'd described her as wispy. She was thin, model thin, with chestnut brown hair and the most angelic face I think I'd ever seen on an adult.
"Hi," she said with an understated air of confidence. "I'm Jemima."
"Hi," I replied. "I'm Lesley Carter."
"You're not Michael and Claire's daughter are you?"
"Sort of," I said, a little taken aback.
"Oh my gosh. I'm so pleased to finally meet you."
Jemima gave me a friendly hug that was so light, so delicate, that it was like being hugged by an angel, or a ghost. I wasn't sure which.
"I'm pleased to meet you," I told Jemima, hugging her back.
"You look a bit confused," Jemima said with that angelic smile on her face. "Let's get a coffee and I'll tell all."
Jemima explained to the lady at the ornate desk that we were just popping out then she took me by the hand and led me to a coffee shop just a couple of doors down the street. She must have been a regular because the owner greeted her fondly and guided us to a table by the window.
"I feel like I already know you," Jemima said enthusiastically. "Papa's told me so much about you."
"I guess I'm a bit confused," I confessed.
"Papa and Uncle Michael are old friends. They were at Charterhouse then Eaton together."
"Your father's nickname isn't 'Stinky' is it?"
"That's right. Stinky Putiford," Jemima laughed. "Although there's not many that get to call him that."
"I've heard Pops mention about meeting 'Stinky' for lunch or 'Stinky' for drinks on numerous occasions but I never knew who he was."
"Uncle Michael is ever so proud of you, you know."
"I'm not their real daughter," I admitted. "Although I wish I was."
"I know," Jemima said in an understanding tone. "What happened to Ophelia was terrible. But you've given Uncle Michael a reason to keep going. You've made him a proud father again. He's told Papa all about your wedding, and how you went to Le Mans in that vintage Bentley of his. And I know all about how it got stolen and how your husband managed to find it too."
"I think you know Steven from university, don't you?"
Jemima hesitated for a moment.
"That's right, we were in the same year but we did different courses."
"It's alright," I told her. "I know that you've slept with him."
"Did Steven tell you that?"
"No, Buster did."
Jemima chuckled to herself.
"What else did Buster say?"
"He said that it was just a casual thing and that both of you knew it wasn't going anywhere. He said that Steven didn't have any money so you'd discretely buy him his drinks on a Saturday night then take him out for Sunday lunch and buy him some groceries for the week on the way back."
"He was so poor," Jemima laughed. "But I thought I was doing it unnoticed."
"It was nice of you to help him. Until Buster told me, I hadn't realised how difficult those first couple of years at university had been for him."
"Your husband's a good man. I think his life changed for the better after he met you, though."
"Both of our lives did."
"You know I didn't sleep with him after that. Steven said it wouldn't be fair on you."
"In some ways I wish you had," I told her. "I was somebody else's mistress at the time. It's not something I'm proud of."
"We all make mistakes," Jemima offered. "I slept with Buster once. Couldn't walk for a week!"
"He is a big boy. I know how you feel," I laughed.
The penny dropped with Jemima.
"You know I think I like you, Mrs Carter."
"Are you married now?" I asked.
"Didn't Buster tell you?"
"He said you were dating a Banker at university but that you had an open relationship."
"Miles is currently head of trading for Bertel's bank in Hong Kong. His family have owned it for generations. He has a couple of years to go then he comes back to London to take up a position on the board. After that we'll get married."
"That must be difficult for you both."
"I've known him since I was six and he was eleven. He's like my big brother. I guess I've always known I would marry him. And before you ask. Yes I do love him."
"How often do you see each other?"