He reached out to grab her wrist before she could put the dress over her head. ‘Come here.’
She went dutifully. He never did see her in the new dress.
The market scheme was causing a great deal of controversy in the town; the letters page in the Melsham Gazette was full of it. ‘It is a gross misuse of public money,’ one wrote. ‘Why do we need a fountain at all? The pool is nothing but a receptacle for refuse.’
‘It’s no use taking notice of adverse publicity,’ George pointed out at the next council meeting. ‘Only those against the scheme bother to write to the papers, those who like the idea do nothing. It is precisely because the existing fountain is in disrepair that something new is needed. We must make Melsham not only a good place to live, but an interesting place to visit. Tourists bring money with them. And Miss Younger’s design is far and away the best.’
‘It’s disgusting,’ Mrs Greaves said. ‘Nudity has no place in Melsham’s public places. There’ll be a public outcry if we use that design.’
‘Then I suggest we ask her to modify it and resubmit it,’ he said.
Maggie Doughty, in one of the seats reserved for the press, leant forward to study George Kennett’s face. What had he got up his sleeve? Why was he so keen on giving work to Zita Younger? Who was she? She abandoned the meeting and went down to the foyer, where the designs were on display. Beside each was a short biography of the designer. So, Zita Younger was a local woman, educated at the local school and had a qualification in horticulture which she had obtained while working for Melsham Nurseries. Supposing she had some connection with George Kennett…oh, wouldn’t that put the fat in the fire? She abandoned the council meeting in favour of digging around in the back numbers of the Gazette.
‘Modify it!’ Zita cried, eyes blazing. ‘No, I can’t. It would spoil it completely.’
George had come straight from the council meeting and was sitting at her dining table. In front of him was a plate on which were the remains of a pork chop. There was a bowl containing what was left of a lettuce, condiments, an empty wine bottle, two glasses half full of red wine and, spread over the remainder of the space, her fountain design. He had been pointing out the source of the council’s unease. ‘Oh, come on, Zita. They’re too big, dominant almost.’
‘That’s the whole idea, the male ego centred in his sexual organs.’
‘Oh, is that what it means?’ He was faintly amused: she took full advantage of his sexuality and he wondered if that was how she saw him. He wasn’t sure whether he was flattered or not. ‘You’ll win the competition hands down, if you get rid of them.’
She laughed. ‘An emasculated man, wouldn’t that cause more comment?’
‘OK, make them small and less significant. I went out on a limb for you, you know.’
‘So? I’m worth it, aren’t I?’ She was wearing a long, flowing, cotton robe in a swirling design of orange, brown, red and black, which was almost transparent. She wore no underwear except flimsy knickers.
He smiled. ‘Of course you are. Don’t you want to go down in history as the designer of Melsham’s famous fountain? It would be a great boost to your career. There’d be plenty of publicity…’
He hadn’t lost his knack of manipulating people; she was almost won over. ‘I know, but it seems like prostituting my art…’
He laughed. ‘Is that worse than prostituting your body?’
‘I don’t do that!’ she flared. ‘And if you can’t think of anything better to do than hurl insults…’
‘Oh, but I can, something infinitely better.’ He stood up and reached for her hand. ‘Come on.’
She allowed him to lead her to the bed.
‘Mmm,’ she said later, nuzzling up to his bare chest. ‘You know how to get me going, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He grinned to himself over her head. ‘It’s a pity I have to go home.’
‘Are you like this with your wife? Do you…you know…’
He chuckled. ‘You can set your mind at rest. We don’t do that anymore. The spark has gone.’
‘Your spark hasn’t gone. In fact, it’s well alight.’ She lifted her head to look at his face. He had small lines around the nose and mouth and a slight thickening of the jowls which betrayed his age, but the rest of him was strong and muscular; he didn’t sag anywhere. She stroked her hand across