It was a day cooler than previously when Stevie arrived on the third morning, pushing her bike down the drive towards me with Bailey trotting in tow. The house and its surrounding land was in the shadow of a dark cloud, though the valley was illumined by three shining rays that slowly glided across the lake like torches. Stevie was dressed a little more casually that day in just a simple, strappy, loose, green dress and white tennis shoes. Sparser make-up made her look younger. Her hair was in bunches, gathered together just behind each ear and the effect was most Lolita-esque.

 

Charming as ever, she called to me, "I love what you're wearing!" referring to my also quite strappy, flower print top and billowy culottes.

 

"Thank you," I said and offered her tea or coffee. She opted for the latter and we sat together in the kitchen while Bailey drank from his water bowl. Stevie pressed one of the dog biscuits into my hand and I tossed it to him. He caught it easily. It had been a difficult evening and morning with Christine but, in this relaxed company, my tension soon faded.

 

Without even discussing it we both left the house and headed for the lake again with as much painting and drawing gear as both of us could carry. At the bottom of the hill we turned left instead of right as we had previously. The sun started to show itself a little bit more. This path would occasionally stray away from the water into some thick woods. She leaped over the tree roots and logs as agilely as ever, despite being laid down with the easel and canvas. Today she wore no hat and her golden head flashed each time a ray of sun caught it, her two yellow tails swishing against each ear. As I walked behind I admired her tight cheeks and the almost straight lines of her hips and calves.

 

"How do you keep so trim?" I asked her when we had arrived at a little clearing beside the water, away from the footpath. It was an isolated spot, unfamiliar to me, in almost complete silence. The reflected light from the water shone into the clearing and, beneath the thick canopy of arching branches, the glittering splashes of light gave the clearing a magical atmosphere.

 

She carefully deposited the items she had been carrying on the dry ground, then promptly began to climb up to the first branch of the nearest willow. Like a child she seemed to have no fear and gripped the trunk easily before hooking a leg over the branch and pulling herself up until she was straddling it as if on a horse.

 

"I climb trees!" she said and laughed.

 

"So I see," I said, smiling, and set myself up beneath the tree. "You don't keep to a diet?"

 

She shook her head, setting the hair bunches waving crazily, and said, "I'm still a growing girl."

 

She shifted on the branch, looking a little uncomfortable at first, then arranged herself more easily with one foot dangling and the other on the branch before her, her body standing out darkly against the myriad spots of light that shone through the leaves. I began a portrait of her and the tree. However, it wasn't long before the beautiful light faded and it grew even cooler. A gentle wind wafted in from the water making us and the curtain of hanging branches around us shiver.

 

"Uh, oh," she said, rubbing her arms.

 

As my canvas developed more and more brushstrokes I noticed a drop of clear water smudge a line I had made at her hip and, looking at the lake, I saw that it was no longer smooth but was now roughened as a million rain drops pelted it. Surrounded as we were by so many trees we were sheltered from it a little, but when it really began to pour down I had to pack my painting away to prevent further mess. She hopped down and helped me, but then stopped as the rain intensified even more. I looked up at her and watched as she pulled off her top to reveal her slim torso and her pastel blue bra. The skirt and shoes also came off swiftly, then she grinned at me, laughed and spread her arms out wide, the cross pendant swinging out before her. She ran around me, catching the water in her upturned open mouth, letting the water stream down over her face and make a mess of her hair which stuck to her neck. She shook it loose and I saw the bunches, as if in slow motion, fly upwards and send sparkling, splashing droplets left and right.

 

"Come on, Linda!" she cried. "Haven't you ever done this? It feels lovely!" and again she ran around in circles, tickling my waist with gentle fingertips. She skipped and spun happily like a little girl until she was completely wet and her bra and knickers clung to her so tightly they looked like bruised patches on naked skin. Bailey ran after her, yapping and wagging his tail.

 

I looked around, could not see anyone, not even on the other side of the lake, and pulled my top over my head. The culottes, which were already so wet they were clinging to my legs, quickly followed and I abandoned my clothes beside hers. The cool water felt so good on me and I raised my face and closed my eyes.

 

"Yeah!" laughed Stevie and grinned some more. I spun around in the clearing beneath the hanging willows with a growing feeling of freedom. It was new, refreshing and a little scary for me but, trusting her as much as I did, I soon felt completely safe and strangely protected. I loved her confidence in her body and her apparent lack of nerves or hang-ups about anything. I saw how, despite her slimness, her figure was entirely soft, with no visible ribs nor blatantly protruding bones. There was a complete lack of cleavage and her bra seemed almost redundant. Her waist was androgynously straight, almost boyish, but she was not skinny, just beautifully formed and everything about her was soft, diminutive and dainty.

 

"You've such a wonderful bust," she said with such honesty and lack of guile that I merely smiled. "I'm so jealous." And she slapped me playfully on the hip. I yelped and jumped back, giggling, then stepped back again when she took another gentle swing. I ran away from her, hopped over the roots of a tree, jumped behind its trunk and poked a head out behind it to see her approach. I dodged, stuck my tongue out and ran to another tree with a thicker trunk that stood low on the bank, almost in the water. When I reached it I hesitated, heard a splash and was quickly grabbed from behind around my waist. She pulled me into the lake. I screamed joyfully, lost my footing for a moment and realised, in my dazed and happy state, that I was not just wet from the water. She steadied me and held me for a moment longer than I expected. I looked at her over my shoulder, but she was staring into the distance. "Oh, my God," she said and pointed. I followed her finger and saw, in the far distance, two male faces poking over a bush on the other side of the lake. The well-built blonde one was hard to miss and his friend with the beard looked like a satyr.

 

"What a pair of peeping Toms!" Stevie exclaimed, though with more amusement than indignation.

 

If I had not been with her I would have felt threatened, but rather I merely felt derision for the men. She waded past me and waved at them.

 

"Oo-oo!" she called and they instantly vanished. "Oh!" she cried with mock deflation.

 

Then she turned with her hand outstretched and I waded over to her, to where the rain fell on us, unimpeded by the trees. By now I was completely drenched and my underwear stuck to me tightly. Holding my hand she led me further out and the ground beneath us sloped until we were up to our hips. Then, disengaging from me, she stooped and pushed off into the water in an easy breaststroke. I watched her petite figure slide under the pelted water, her bottom and legs looking fuzzy. Then she stopped, turned and trod water, wiping the hanks of hair from her face.

 

"Come on, Linda!" she shouted over the noise of the hissing rain.

 

"I can't swim!"

 

She grinned, swam over to where she had left me and stood with her hands held out, her fingers beckoning. She said to hold her arms and I reached out to grip them while she held mine. Then she tilted back into the water, drew me forwards until my toes were dragging in mud. I yelped in fright, sank beneath the surface, quickly found my feet again, then rose, choking, shaking the water from my nose and eyes. I hated the feeling of being smothered and remembered how I had sat the side of the pool so many times during school swimming lessons. I planted my feet firmly back on the mud and stood for a minute to regain my breath. She patiently waited and eventually we tried again. Again I sank and felt a sickening fear but, as long as I looked into her sincere eyes, this time I was able to hold on. My feet left the mud and Stevie, kicking her feet wildly, began to pull me out into the middle of the lake. We completed a little circle with me tilting my head as far back as possible to avoid any water entering my nose, which I hated. Then the rain stopped.

 

When we arrived back at the bank we stood and she gave me a little round of applause. I felt a little amazed that I had basically travelled, albeit such a short distance, supported by nothing except Stevie's smaller body. The sun poked itself out from behind a dark cloud. I picked up my clothes and squeezed the worst of the wetness from them while she rewarded Bailey with a biscuit for waiting by the water so patiently. The rain had made him look unusually unkempt and I thought he looked a little fed up. I was about to put my clothes back on, despite their being soaked through, when I suddenly felt rough arms around my waist and was pulled backwards.

 

"I'll get the other one," said a male voice and I looked up to see the bearded one make for Stevie. He was so much bigger than her. As I was pulled to the ground I saw her dodge him and run into the trees to the right. Bailey was barking and growling angrily. I screamed out, knocked my elbow back and felt it thump into a hard chest.

 

I heard an, "Ow!" picked myself up and ran through the trees in the direction I thought Stevie had gone until I had left the little wood of willows and was in a field of tall, overgrown grass. I looked around and just caught a glimpse of a scowling, broad face before I was again knocked to the ground. His hands were around my bottom, forcing me onto my front, pulling at my knickers. I screamed again and tried to punch him, but I hit nothing but air. Then, as he was fumbling with my underwear, I heard the sounds of another struggle a short distance away and more running. My assailant's hands paused and I looked up to see Stevie coolly approaching, batting long eyelashes flirtatiously, swinging her slender hips seductively.

 

"Tell you what," said the bearded one to his friend, "you can have the blonde one instead. I'll take the Nigerian." He was standing close to where I lay in the grass, but as Stevie walked towards them, stepping over me, keeping eye contact with them all the time, they edged backwards as if scared by her display of predatory femininity. Bailey walked at her side making intimidating noises. The men were actually retreating!

 

Over the tall grass I saw the two men staring at her and, between them, her back from the waist up. She placed her hands on her hips and made a shrugging movement. There was a pause and absolute silence settled over the scene, disturbed only by the almost ultrasonic sound of a lark high above. The men were looking down, a look of confoundedness and almost horror on their faces. They turned and fled, leaving her giggling to herself. She squatted in the grass so that she vanished from my view for a second, then she was sitting beside me, asking me if I was alright, a look of profound concern on her beautiful face. Apart from a racing heart I felt fine.

 

"I'm OK," I assured her. I wanted to ask what she had done to scare them, but she was talking constantly, offering gentle words of encouragement as she helped me to stand. I was a little shaky. Checking behind us to ensure we were not followed, we returned to the shade of the trees and quickly dressed. My arms and legs still quaked while she was evidently much calmer. I took out my phone which I had been keeping on my paintbox and said, "I'm calling the police."

 

"Why?"

 

I looked at her for a long moment, then back to the spaces between the trees, to the field of long grass. I sighed and put the phone in the back pocket of my culottes.

 

"It's funny, I feel so safe with you, Stevie," I said softly, and she gave me a fond smile. "I feel like nothing could harm me while I'm with you." When we were ready we appraised each other for a moment.

As we began walking, scanning the landscape all the while, she said, "Two women living out here are very vulnerable, Linda. You could do with something, like a big dog at least."

 

"Oh, wasn't Bailey brave?" I gushed, grinning, and Bailey barked happily, apparently understanding me.

 

"I've a point though, haven't I?" Stevie asked, remaining serious.

 

"We have a house alarm," I said, lamely.

 

"Hm," she said, sounding unimpressed. "Well, at least I don't think those two will be bothering us again anyway."

 

I looked at her uncomprehending, but she kept her gaze on the ground as she walked.

 

It was already the early afternoon, so when we returned to the house I made lunch. As she had breakfasted a little lightly that day I made omelettes. My omelette recipe was something I had always been proud of and I was happy when she showed appreciation with some cute, yummy noises. She was now in a bath robe of Christine's, her build being similar, though slimmer, while her clothes hung on the veranda to dry. I had changed into jeans and a red blouse.

 

Just as we finished eating the rain began again, though the humidity had increased, so I took her into the studio and resumed painting there, with a fan on to keep us cool. She removed the robe and showed off more of her dance skills. She spread her legs wide, dressed in nothing but her knickers and bra, and slowly eased herself down until she was in a centre split position, facing away from me.

 

She looked over her shoulder and said, "How's this?"

 

"Wonderful!" I replied and began sketching.

 

She leaned forward a little and I drew, paying the most attention to the raised, rounded cheeks of the small buttocks through the tight knickers. With no dress to obscure the delicate figure I felt that I was finally able to get to grips with translating it into lines on the page. She made a good job of keeping still, though I still caught glimpses of her sometimes grooving to herself, rocking a little from side to side or even squeezing her cheeks in time to the beat of the music playing on the radio.

 

There came the clattery sound of a ring tone and, apologising, she jumped up and went to her purse which she had left on the chaise. She threw her hair back from her shoulder and answered.

 

"Hello," she said flatly, apparently knowing the caller. She sat down, crossed her legs and ran a hand through her thick mane. "No, not now." She glanced at me, so I returned to my picture, to give the impression I wasn't listening. "No, not yet. No, I've not had a chance to. I don't want to rush things. If I rush it," she paused for a moment, "it might not work." She sighed. "I don't even know if I can go through with this at all." She sounded very uncomfortable and listened to the caller for a while. "Yes, I do, very much," she said, "and, to be honest, I think that's going to make it even more difficult." Eventually, after she had listened quietly to some more, she said, "OK, but I don't know how long it's going to be." After a minute she finished with, "OK, bye," and hung up. She regarded the display for a moment, shaking her head. Then, putting it away, she turned a winning smile on me and returned to the position as before, easing herself down carefully again until her legs were splayed and her toes pointed in opposite directions.

 

I felt a little jealous that she had been called by a friend, despite her obvious annoyance with this person, whoever it was. Christine, who until only last week had made a habit of phoning me during the day, had neglected to do this again for the third day running.

 

Presently Stevie said, "I can't come tomorrow."

 

My heart dropped and thudded on the boards and I said, "Oh," trying to sound like I didn't suddenly feel too heavy to move.

 

After a minute she said, "I have to play at a funeral, then I have students in the afternoon."

 

I thought about this for a while and the, to me, incongruous image of Stevie playing hymns on a church organ, then patiently sitting beside some poor kid who had been made to learn piano by his parents and faltering through scales.

 

"Stevie," I said, "you," and I stopped, feeling embarrassed. Then I decided I had to be honest. "You are beautiful." The moment I had said it I wished I could have unsaid it, but I ploughed on. "You could be a model."

 

"I am, aren't I?" she said with a wink.

 

"Come on, Stevie. I mean a professional one."

 

"I don't know if I'm tall enough." She continued to look at me over her shoulder for a while, then turned away. I took up my pencil again, wondering if I'd said too much. When it was time for her to leave it was still raining.

 

"If you wait a bit for Christine," I suggested hopefully, desperate for just a few more minutes of Stevie's company, "she can drive you home. It's not far, is it?"

 

"No, it isn't far," she said, pulling her now dry dress back on, "but I have a raincoat. I'll be fine."

 

"No, Stevie, you'll still get soaked."

 

"Really!" she said, smiling, "I can manage. I'll need my bicycle tomorrow anyway."

 

"Yes, but," I began, and pulled my lip thoughtfully as she laced up her shoes, then brushed back her hair. I continued to make mild protestations as she drew out a see-through raincoat from her purse, drew it on and buttoned it up. She pulled the hood up, placed Bailey in the basket with the lid resting lightly on his head so that only his little black eyes were visible through a crack at the front, and set off, waving, apparently unphased by the pouring rain. "Be careful!" I shouted.

 

"You too!"

 

And almost immediately the BMW rounded the corner, its lights turning to dazzle me. I went back inside and began hunting for something to cook. In came Christine, hair and blouse already wet just from the little run from the car to the door, and shook herself.

 

"I just saw your friend cycling off," she said, drawing her hand through her dark bob. I said nothing and let her go to dry off.

 

Later, over our meal, I wondered if I should unburden myself about the troubling events of the day, about the narrow escape at the lake, but something stopped me, perhaps the fear that Christine would ask what I had been doing there to invite such an attack, and I asked merely, "You working again this weekend?"

 

She nodded and said, "'Fraid so, honey. It's just too busy right now."

 

A wave of desolation swept over me and I dropped my fork into my moussaka.

 

She stopped in mid-chew, then said around her mouthful, "Oh, honey, it won't be all day. I'll probably be home by lunchtime." She placed her hand on mine.

 

To my alarm I realised my eyes were brimming with tears and I blinked quickly, hoping they'd go. I made fresh coffee to cheer myself up, but just gazed into the swirling cream feeling more and more sad. When I looked up I saw her with her cup raised to just below her mouth, regarding me sadly.

 

"You've been thinking about it again, haven't you?"

 

I nodded and felt the inevitable tears begin their journeys down my cheeks. I began to sob and she leaned over to hold me.

 

"I don't know what to do," I said, afraid that this encroaching melancholia was not going to let me go. "I've thought of everything, everything we could possibly do and," I drew a deep and ragged breath, "none of it's right." I began to cry in earnest, shaking against her as she stroked my hair gently.

 

I thought of the children I had seen the day before at the lake, shouting their joy and love of life to the summer air, entirely free, so full of promise and the natural love of just being alive. Then I saw my blonde muse, capering through fields of long grass, showered by hissing rain, picking flowers on the way, her hair blowing behind her.

 

The washing up was left and we went to sit together on the couch with the TV on quietly. I saw the shows parade in front of us, but took in none of it, while Christine, to my dismay, made her way through a bottle of red with only a little help from me.

 

"Can't we have just one sober evening?" I whispered pleadingly. "I wanted so much to talk to you."

 

"Excuse me, honey," she said, indignant, "you don't have to deal with the kind of pressure I do."

 

I got up, stood over her and shouted, "You don't understand! And the worst thing is that you don't want to!" I stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door, disgusted by the sight of her reddened, bleary eyes.

 

"Nobody understands me," I moaned quietly to myself and laid down, listening to the continuing hiss of the rain outside, the drops falling from the eaves and hammering on the boards of the veranda. When she finally came in she could barely find her own side of the bed.

 

"Goodnight," I said, turning over to kiss her, but she was already asleep.

 

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2015