The Studley cum Hardly Village Fete had been open for a couple of hours and he was enjoying his stroll around the village green.
All about, stalls were doing a roaring trade selling cakes, jams, bric-a-brac, not to mention a cluttered white elephant stall, (which he made a mental note to visit when things had died down a little). A quiet collector of Victorian curiosa, he had found the odd little gem at these occasions in the past. He never put any of it on display; well, it wouldn’t do, would it?
He had clapped enthusiastically at the Morris dancing display and the Tug of War, had a token go at the Bat-a-Rat and the coconut shy. During his walk about, he had shaken hands and exchanged pleasantries with many of the local folk. He was due to award prizes at the pet show later.
The village was blessed with a particularly active preservation society which took great care (very long winded care, mind) to ensure that the ancient traditions were preserved as well as the fabric of the village.
He saw Neville waving to him from across the crowd. Oh, dear, he thought, they don’t come more boring than Neville Northcote-Saville. The man was stinking rich,
lived in the huge, old manor house that overlooked the green, and still owned a great deal of local farmland (said to attract a large slug of CAP funding each year). He was on the board of a number of successful companies and lorded it over the Preservation Society, just as he tried to do with everyone else in the village.
He was due in the marquee later for a cream tea hosted by Cynthia, Neville’s dragon of a wife. Pausing to look around, he saw Vanessa, Cynthia’s eldest daughter, gliding across the green. God, he thought, what an entirely different class of female! He had met her in the past but she seemed to have become even more divine and desirable. She probably wouldn’t recognise him, it was years ago.
He followed her across the green, keeping a discrete distance, to study her as she walked. There was something, lithe, feline and sensual about the way she walked. He watched her hips sway, her cheeks like two apples jostling in a paper bag and legs that seemed to go on forever. She simply oozed sensuality.
It was when she went up the steps into the manor house, that he saw a small sign indicating that tours of the house were available during the hours of the fete. “Well,” he thought, “why miss a good opportunity to see the sights!” and he hasten up the steps to join a small group of others entering the manor house.
He grimaced when he realised that he would be charged an admission fee (‘as a modest contribution to the upkeep of this historical treasure’). “Bloody typical,” he thought “all that money and Neville’s tighter than the backside on one of those ducks on his pond outside!”
He cheered up when he saw that Vanessa was giving him a smile of recognition and was marshalling the small group to start the tour. Wonderful.
They started with the kitchens hidden away in the basement (“Seen one pot or pan and you’ve seen ‘em all!”). Still, he had an uninterrupted view of the ‘apples’ as they made their way up the stairs to the banqueting hall. Things were looking up. After more revelations concerning lavish past banquets and great speeches, they then moved up to the first floor to inspect the bedrooms.
He listened to Vanessa’s lispy, sexy voice running through a list of minor royals and dignitaries who had stayed in this room or that, three and four centuries ago. Most of the words never registered as he watched her rich, pillow-like lips, his mind in overdrive, as he let his gaze fall to her fulsome attributes than nestled below.
When she leaned over to smooth a wrinkle on the heavily brocaded, silk bedspread, he thought he would die of desire. He shivered, the thought of possessing her, the vision of their two bodies falling onto the bed, had gone through him like a flame.
It was then he realised he could feel a definite stirring ‘down below’. He saw a few people staring at him, evidently having noticed the cause of his embarrassment. He quickly decided that he had better leave the room; it was nearly time for the cream tea in the big marquee.
Murmuring apologies, he quickly made his way from the room, down the wide stairs and out into sunshine once more. He felt calmer once again and started out across the now trampled grass towards the marquee. A nice cup of strong tea and he’d soon feel his normal self again.
Just then, he saw a small group of children leading a perky looking terrier, bearing down upon him. Must be entered in the pet show, he thought. The lad leading the dog marched up to him.
“Excuse me, father, would you mind blessing our dog?”