by the end, though she’d enjoyed the cinematography, she was struggling to stay awake.
Clicking off the TV, Freda got up to pour herself a whisky from the decanters arranged in front of the shuttered windows.
‘Would you like one?’ she offered.
Stifling a yawn Joely shook her head. She’d never liked whisky and besides she really wasn’t up for some sort of head-spinning discussion about the film’s morals and purpose, which was what she feared Freda might be about to embark on.
‘Good night then,’ Freda said abruptly, and turning her back she downed the single measure in one and poured another.
Almost laughing at the summary dismissal, Joely picked up her phone and shoes and started for the door.
‘How far have you got with it?’ Freda suddenly asked.
Knowing she meant the memoir, Joely tensed slightly as she said, ‘To the picnic in his uncle’s garden.’ She’s now going to ask how much detail I’ve gone into and I will have to tell her that I’m finding it difficult to write about the private parts and orgasmic achievements of my employer even if it did happen over fifty years ago. They’re still her private parts and her molto orgasmic stringendos.
Freda’s pale eyes drifted to the dying fire as she presumably recalled, maybe even relived the occasion that she’d described so vividly during their talk. In the end she said, ‘You’re going to think this slightly mad, but while you’ve been writing about him I’ve been feeling jealous that you’re in his company.’
She was right, Joely did think that was mad, but also sad that Freda was so deeply affected by revisiting her past. She apparently did still love him, and missed him, or that was Joely’s reading of it so far, but she wasn’t going to ask who he really was.
‘Do you like him?’ Freda asked.
Joely admitted that she did, ‘But I think,’ she continued, ‘it’s what you want, and I can’t help wondering if you’re setting me – or the reader – up for a twist in the tale that might change …’
Freda’s smile was thin. ‘This isn’t a novel,’ she interrupted sharply, ‘and you’re aware of how I feel about jumping to conclusions,’ and with a dismissive wave of her hand she helped herself to a third small measure of Scotch.
‘God, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.’
It was the following day and Joely was at the Rising Sun greeting Andee after receiving a text during a short burst of connection first thing to let her know that her old friend was free today if that was of any interest. ‘I feel I’m going off my head for so many reasons that I don’t even know where to start.’
Laughing, Andee asked the waiter for a glass of whatever Joely already had – a chilled Chenin Blanc – and shrugging off her coat she sat down at the window table. ‘If I’d known you were so desperate to see someone,’ she remarked drolly, ‘I’d have made sure to come sooner. So what’s been happening?’
‘No, no, tell me about you first …’
‘Really not interesting, so?’
Joely threw out her hands. ‘I’ve signed an NDA so I can’t tell you anything, but I swear it’s not that big a deal. So many years later? I mean, really? Unless “Sir” turns out to be someone famous.’
‘The music teacher? You don’t know his name yet?’
‘David Michaels, but she doesn’t use it much and I’m pretty sure it’s made up anyway, which could support the possibility of him being recognizable.’ She twinkled mischievously and drew in a little closer. ‘So, here I go breaking my agreement,’ she whispered, ‘but I know I can trust you.’
Andee glanced up as her wine arrived, thanked the waiter and turned back to hear more.
‘Last night,’ Joely continued, ‘she got me to sit through the movie And God Created Woman. Have you seen it?’
‘With Brigitte Bardot? No. Is it any good?’
‘Not unless you’re a Bardot fan, or into gorgeous shots of the French Riviera. The point is, I think she wants me to portray the young her in the same way as Vadim portrayed Juliette, the film’s main character. High-octane sex appeal, no inhibitions, too beautiful for her own good, basically someone who doesn’t have much of a relationship with everyday morals.’
Andee looked impressed and intrigued. ‘Is that how she talks about herself during your discussions?’ she asked.
‘Kind of, but not always. To be honest, I never really know what she’s thinking, apart from the fact that these many years on