The Pleasure Quartet Read Online Free PDF Page B

that I had a note of glamour to add and Thomas’s unexpected presence had cast a shadow
of dullness around my night’s adventures.
    I tried not to show it, but could feel my lips pinching together into a frown.
    Iris threw her arm around my shoulders and pulled me against her side. She pressed her glass to my mouth and I took a sip, coughing as the bubbles tickled my throat.
    ‘Thomas is having a dinner party,’ she said, ‘and we’ve been invited.’
    ‘Yes, you must come,’ he said. ‘Both of you.’ He looked at me as he said it. His eyes were blue and his hair dark only just brown, as though he’d been blond as a
child but grown out of it. Long locks hung over his forehead and he occasionally scooped them back. He was slim, in an elegant, nonchalant sort of a way. His smile was wide and his lips so full and
red they almost looked unnatural. He had an easy-going air of sensuality, and was utterly aware of it.
    I wasn’t sure whether I liked him or not.
    Thomas left shortly after issuing the invitation, offering a need to study for his upcoming university exams as an excuse, but in truth, he looked faintly embarrassed at having been
interrupted.
    At the door, he handed me Iris’s glove, as though he’d picked it up without thinking.
    ‘I could easily fall in love with your friend, you know,’ he said jokingly.
    ‘I am already, Tom,’ I replied.
    ‘Never Tom,’ he said, ‘or Tommy. Just Thomas. Please . . .’
    He put on his hat, tucked his jacket under his arm, turned and walked into the night.

2
The Watcher and the Watched
    I heard the downstairs front door slam shut, and turned towards Iris.
    ‘What was that all about?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘This guy, Thomas . . .’
    Iris’s cheeks were as pink as the feather that remained in her hair, now at a lopsided rather than jaunty angle that lent a touch of madness to her expression. She was uneasy on her feet.
Her smile was forced.
    ‘He’s the son of one of the partners. Came to the office, we chatted and he invited me out for a drink. I thought he was amusing . . .’
    I interrupted her.
    ‘But you thought enough of him to pop home first and put on my favourite dress.’
    ‘I didn’t think you would mind. We always borrow each other’s clothes. And I slipped into this afterwards, anyway, just for fun. I’ve barely had it on for two hours . .
.’
    I swallowed. I couldn’t help thinking of Iris shedding her plain office attire in front of him and walking around the flat in the chemise she always wore under her blouse as she searched
for a party frock to put on. Jealous as I was, I knew she wouldn’t have been that bold. She’d have taken the outfit into our box of a bathroom, and left Thomas to lie on the bed and
listen to the rustle of her skirt’s modesty lining sliding over her skin, the almost inaudible pop of buttons as she removed her shirt. Sounds that I knew from experience might go unnoticed
by any ordinary casual observer, but to the desirous were like a choir of temptation.
    The zip on that yellow dress was impossible to pull right to the top unaided. She would have asked for his help to cover the last few inches and close the hook and eye at the neckline. His
fingertips trailing over the gossamer velvet of her shoulder blades, hesitating at the nape of her neck. Drawing the clasp closed, standing with his chest nearer to her back than was necessary. The
gentle wind of his breath caressing her earlobe. The awkward pause when he’d finished and one of them broke away. Iris of course, she’d have thanked him and laughed gaily, stepped to
the side and spun around like a wind-up toy on a child’s music box.
    Was it possible, I wondered, to hate someone and love them at the same time?
    ‘And those?’ I pointed to her gloved hand and the matching glove Thomas had handed over to me as he left. I knew the pair had not travelled with her all the way from New Zealand. I
knew every single item of clothing that belonged