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The Landlord’s Protégé Pt. 02 free porn video
Chapter Seven
Victor Freeman returned from an absence of six weeks, longer than he had thought, but then again he had thought that his younger sister’s heart operation would have been successful. They had waited at his country home for two weeks for the operation, and then she had died on the operating table. As her only relative he had to bury her and sort out her estate.
Then he was on a mission for two weeks a long way from Britain and when he returned he was exhausted and depressed. He did not feel like meeting anyone and kept himself to himself for another two weeks at the house.
Then with a guilty start one morning he realised he had not contacted Susan and wondered if she had needed his help. He returned to the flats and immediately went into the concierge’s office and checked the equipment. There was no tape for the top floor and the unit for that floor was off. He realised that she was saving money — after all, the units on the lower floors would have picked up any intruder.
He remembered that he had said in his note that he would contact her when he returned, so he locked the office and rang the doorbell of her flat. There was a long pause and he thought she must be out on her rounds. Then the door opened.
A man stood in the doorway. He had clearly just awoken and he did not look happy. His blond hair was mussed up and his blue eyes were bloodshot. He was a good deal younger and somewhat taller than Victor, and while a good looking man, was out of condition. Too much booze and late nights, thought Victor.
‘What do you want?’ growled the man.
‘I’m Victor Freeman from the top floor. Is Susan in?’
‘No.’
‘Would you give her a message, please?’
‘I don’t know. What is it?’
‘Just tell her that I’m back if she needs me for anything, and that she can resume cleaning the flat whenever she’s ready.’
Victor could tell the man was unhappy and that he did not like Victor. Victor had long experience of reading people’s faces and body language in the army, and he also know how to conceal his own feelings behind a bland face and smile. There had been times when his life depended on both abilities. Finally he instinctively knew an enemy when he saw one, and this man was an enemy. He gave no sign that he knew.
‘Well, mate,’ the man said truculently, ‘I’m with her now and she don’t need your ‘help’ any more. She told me all about you and I don’t like other men trying to get into my girlfriend’s pants. So I’d be dreadfully grateful if you’d keep away from her. Otherwise you’ll find life gets uncomfortable. Get me?’
Victor looked at the man. He seethed inside with anger at the man’s attitude and assessment of his motives in helping Susan, but his face betrayed none of it. The man did not know how uncomfortable this man would be if he tangled with Victor.
‘You’ll be Seth?’
‘Yep! And you can get yourself another cleaner as well. She doesn’t need to demean herself doing your cleaning, just so you can perv her body. Now get lost.’
Victor remained calm. The man would suffer for this, but in Victor’s own time. Victor turned on his heel and the door slammed behind him. He returned to the office and took the tape that had recorded the conversation, replacing it with a blank. He did not go to the flat but left the building.
He was very angry. He called at his favourite coffee shop and ordered a coffee, then sat to think things out. He’d longed to talk with Susan and share his distress and bereavement. She was one of the few people he could have been really open with, at least the only one close enough to talk with face to face. Then to be insulted by this arrogant young man, to be told that his only motive was sexual and predatory, this was insufferable.
Susan had told him all about this man and his callous disregard for Susan and his own children — his abandonment of her, and the possible consequences of his actions for her and their children.
Indeed it had been Victor who had averted those consequences. Now she had taken the wastrel back and here he was being the macho man protecting ‘his’ woman! Well, she was welcome to him. However he would make sure there would be consequences. He rang George Corrigan from his mobile.
‘George,’ he said after the pleasantries were over and George’s commiserations over Victor’s sister’s death were completed. ‘There is a visitor’s clause in Susan’s flat contract?’
George consulted his files. ‘Yes. Maximum visit two weeks. Wouldn’t be a problem if she were paying, but it’s a condition of being rent free.’
‘OK,’ said Victor. ‘You should know two things. One. She’s got a visitor. From the looks of things he’s been there for longer than that. I want you to call her in and tell her he has to go, or she has to leave the flat herself.’
‘He?’ George had picked up the gender of the visitor. ‘You’re jealous Victor! Well, I can’t blame you.’
‘Yes, it’s a ‘he’, and the ‘he’ he is, is Seth Grimshaw. Ring any bells?’
‘Oh, yes. He owes us some money.’
‘I doubt we’ll get that back, though it’s worth trying, but he was insulting when I called and made insinuations I can’t tolerate. I’ve got the conversation on tape, and I’ll drop it in at your office. I don’t want it cluttering up my baggage. You may need it when you talk to Susan.’
‘You realise that it puts Susan in a delicate position,’ George commented, ‘As an employee, she should have reported his presence.’
‘Go easy on her George. She has a right to get back with the toerag, the kids are his after all, but I want him out. It’s personal between him and me — nothing to do with her. If she wants to go as well, fine, but try to keep her working for us — she’s invaluable. We’d need a concierge, but she can find one. She has a talent for spotting quality.’
‘Enough said.’ George disconnected. Victor smiled. It was not a pleasant or a happy smile.
He realised very quickly that his purpose in returning — to talk with Susan — was not now going to happen, and on the spur of the moment he decided he needed a holiday. The Highlands of Scotland would clear his head and heal his heart.
He emptied the child seats out of the car, leaving them outside Susan’s door, and left the building without returning to his own flat. He dropped off the tape, then drove back to the house, booked his favourite hotel and packed his hiking gear within the hour.
He felt better once the car was on the motorway heading north. He was in no hurry and kept to the speed limit, though the M6 was as usual very busy until he reached Lancaster, when the traffic thinned.
It was mid afternoon when he reached the other side of Glasgow and he found a Travelodge to break for the night. There was a restaurant nearby where he ate a simple meal of steak and salad before returning to his room to watch TV. He remembered to call George, using his mobile.
‘George, I forgot to tell you where I’ll be for the next fortnight or perhaps three weeks. I’ve decided to take a holiday. It’s the usual Highland Hotel. You know the drill.’
‘No call unless it’s a real emergency, and no one is to know where you are.’
‘Well done George! I knew I could count on you.’
‘That include Susan?’
‘Definitely. That includes Susan.’
‘OK,’ George disconnected abruptly as he always did, sometimes before Victor had finished his business. He rang him again.
‘George, I wish you wouldn’t do that! You can ring me to tell me what happens with Susan and the Seth bloke. OK?’
‘OK, Victor, anything else?’
Victor could hear the smile in his voice.
‘No.’
There was an immediate click, and Victor laughed out loud. Then he found a news programme and watched it until he turned in for sleep.
—-
Chapter Eight
He was up before the September dawn and on his way once more. It would be a long journey. He drove slowly t
hough the increasingly mountainous scenery, stopping for breakfast at a ‘Little Chef’ and then for lunch at a hotel, where he took an hour’s break before continuing. North of Inverness the roads were empty and the scenery wild and craggy. There were no longer any fences by the road, which itself narrowed as if to discourage casual visitors.
It was late afternoon when he reached the little village he had grown to love over the years. Passing slowly through it to enjoy its simplicity and starkness, he drove on the extra two miles to the hotel, which nestled in a fold of the mountains, facing onto a small loch.
The hotel was small by city standards, having but ten bedrooms, he had used it over the years to escape the pressures of his life when he was making his money and when he was being used more by the MoD. Mobile phones did not work there in the fold of the hills, nor in the village, though it was rumoured that a mast would be erected in the near future. No one knew where he was but George, and that suited him fine.
As he drew up before the front door, Mr and Mrs McLeod came out onto the steps and greeted him, James McLeod with a handshake and broad smile and Bridget with a kiss on both cheeks. James McLeod was a tall gaunt looking man, almost a caricature of a highland Scotsman. Bridget was quite short and pleasantly rounded. Over the years Victor had become close friends with them, a friendship formed especially when he came in winter and was the only guest, when they had invited him to eat and sit with them in their own quarters.
Bridget took a long look at him. ‘Och, Victor, you look so tired and sad. You’ll want some time to yourself to rest.’
‘Yes, Bridget,’ he agreed. He felt less oppressed already, and smiled warmly at her. ‘My sister died recently. It’s a sobering thing when your younger sister dies before you and so young.’
Bridget hugged him and they entered the hotel, James McLeod carrying his bags and Bridget with her arm round his waist.
‘There are five guests wi’ us the noo,’ Bridget told him. ‘A young couple on honeymoon — your room is at the other end of the hotel!’ She winked at him and laughed at her own implication. ‘There’s an older couple who go driving every day — they’re a wee bit solemn, and keep themselves to themselves, and there’s a single lassie. She looks a little sad, as you do. She’s in her early to mid-thirties, I’d say. You’ll be wanting to go walking while you’re here?’
The lilt in her voice instantly made him feel relaxed and at home. He realised that nowadays this couple was the nearest thing to a family he’d got. He nodded, and was admonished that he must order a packed lunch each day he was going out. He knew from past experience what was in store for him: her packed lunches were varied, generous and always delicious.
He was given his usual room, and after gazing at the craggy mountain from his window, spent an hour unpacking and showering. Then he descended to the bar for a pre-prandial drink, choosing a gin and tonic. He was alone in the bar and sat on a window seat looking out over the valley lit by the setting sun.
The other guests arrived in succession, the honeymooners first who seemed to have silly grins on their faces most of the time as they gazed into each other’s eyes, and nodded to him. Then the older couple, who looked faintly dissatisfied with life, and, Victor thought, with each other. They took up the remaining table in the small bar and they ignored him. Victor hoped that if he ever settled down with anyone again, they would not end up like that. He thought it a waste in such an idyllic spot to have a negative attitude.
Finally in came the lone woman, and, as Bridget had said, she looked a little sad. She was quite tall, though Victor reckoned a little shorter than him. She was slim but shapely, with, he noticed, wonderfully shaped legs showing below her green knee-length skirt. Over the skirt she had on a cream arran sweater which hugged her long neck and her body with its gentle curves.
Everything about her was muted and demure. She ordered her drink and looked round for somewhere to sit. Victor smiled at her and she took that as an invitation and sat at right angles to him at his table.
‘Thank you,’ she said, as if he’d invited her. ‘I don’t want to disturb the lovers (though they disturb me at night — I’m next door, but I don’t want to dampen their ardour).’
She spoke quietly so as not to be overheard, smiling at her own comment, her pretty face becoming really beautiful, ‘and the other couple,’ she leant forward and whispered to him, ‘don’t seem to welcome a third person.’
Victor smiled at her assessment. ‘They don’t seem to like each other very much either!’ he said by way of agreement. ‘I’m Victor Freeman, call me Victor.’ She blushed, and that surprised him.
‘Angela Campbell and please call me Angela, or Angie, or anything really,’ she replied, that smile crossing her face again as she held out her small cool hand, which he took and held briefly before relinquishing it. He loved her accent, a lowland one he thought, quite different from the highland lilt.
There followed the usual conversation between newly met travellers, sharing their journeys, the weather, how wonderful the hotel was and how welcoming the hosts.
With some folk, it doesn’t matter how pleasant they are, one feels a certain reserve, and a feeling of not knowing what to say. That was not the case with Angela and Victor. They chatted amiably and felt relaxed with each other from the start.
Victor noticed her wide set eyes and button nose over full lips, and idly wondered as she talked, what she’d be like to kiss. He mentally chastised himself and devoted his attention to what she was saying.
‘…walks are easy ones, but I believe some are quite demanding?’ She finished and looked inquiringly at him.
Suddenly he realised she was talking about walking.
‘Oh, yes,’ he hastened to cover himself. ‘I’m a bit of a regular here, so I’ve been on most of them. That’s why I come, to get away from the phones and to do some serious walking. Do you have proper hiking stuff?’
She had.
Bridget cut short any further discussion by calling Victor in to dinner. Victor rose and, on an impulse, asked if she would care to join him at his table, gaining a smirk from Bridget as he did so. Angela smiled again and accepting his invitation, thanked him.
‘The food here is wonderful, but it’s much nicer to be able to share the experience,’ she said.
Over the meal they talked some more and now the topics were more personal.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but you have a look of sadness about you.’ He ventured tentatively.
‘You’re here on holiday, you don’t want my tale of woe,’ she replied, but her eyes begged him to ask further.
‘Please?’ was all he needed to say.
‘A year ago next week, I married the love of my life, Neil. Six months ago he was killed in a motor accident. We were being driven by a mad friend of his who was showing off to his girlfriend. Neil and I were in the back seat. Anyway, he turned the car over and it rolled a number of times and then hit a tree exactly where Neil was sitting. He was crushed and died in my arms. I escaped unhurt — well, a few bruises.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but on your anniversary, shouldn’t you be with friends and family? Why here all by yourself?’
Angela grimaced. ‘After Neil died, lots of his and my friends rallied round to keep me company. Then his male friends started coming on to me. Some of them were quite subtle, and some of them were crude in the extreme, but they all had the same theory. I had enjoyed a husband who was giving it to me. Now I had no one. Therefore I must be frustrated and need a good seeing to. Honestly, men! They all think with their pricks!’
Victor stared fixedly at her, and suddenly she clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. ‘Oh Victor, I’m sorry! I didn’t t
hink!’
Victor tried to hold his face straight but failed. He grinned. ‘Oh, I think you’re right, Angela. However there are some who control those thoughts — and our pricks — most of the time!’
There was a pause as the dessert was served. Then Angela asked, ‘Well, Victor, that’s why I’ve been here a few days and hope to stay until the end of next week. How about you? If you don’t mind me being inquisitive.’
They adjourned to the bar, and Victor told her of his sister’s death, of Susan and her story, and finally of his brush with Susan’s boyfriend. Naturally he omitted talk of his mission abroad. ‘So you see, I need a break, and this is where I come to get away from everything, and be on my own.’
‘Oh.’ Angela sounded disappointed. ‘Then you won’t want me bothering you. I was rather hoping… But it doesn’t matter. Perhaps you can tell me some good walks. You obviously know your way around.’
Victor realised what he had said, and hastened to correct it. ‘Look, Angela, you came here to get away from your life and I did the same. Would you like to come walking with me? We can both be alone — together.’ They both laughed at the idea.
‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘As I said, I’ve got all the stuff for walking, even in wet weather — boots, over-trousers, cagoule, the lot.’
‘You’ll need them believe me. Have you been round this part of Scotland before?’
On being told she hadn’t, Victor suggested that in addition to local walking they venture further afield by car. Angela was delighted with the idea and they parted, somewhat formally, for the night. They faced each other on the landing outside Victor’s door.
‘Well, thanks for a lovely evening, Angela.’
‘I should be thanking you, you’ve really cheered me up.’
‘Well, good night.’
‘Good night.’
They smiled at each other and parted, each wishing that the other had dared a kiss.
—-
Chapter Nine
For Victor and Angela the week passed in a blur. They walked locally, drove to Skye, saw great waterfalls, impressive mountains, and walked round some and up some others — the mountains not the waterfalls. They drove through the wild wilderness that is the west coast. Above all they walked in all weathers, enjoying the sun and the driving rain equally.
Much of the time they walked in silence: such walks are strenuous. They chatted over those wonderful packed lunches, and on the car journeys. Neither could remember when they began to hold hands. It must have begun as they helped one another over streams and through bogs, but it carried on when they walked to and from the car or from the car into the hotel.
Victor remembered when Angela tucked her arm in his and pressed herself against him for the first time. He did not resist or pull away, indeed he took her hand and pulled her arm further through his, so they were closer still. So they became the third couple at the hotel, at least until the miserable couple left. The smile on Bridget McLeod’s face broadened as she watched them.
They talked. Or rather Angela talked and Victor listened and occasionally responded. She talked about Neil and how much she loved him, how she ached for him, how angry she was at his so-called friend who effectively killed him and then put it down to an accident, rather than his own foolishness.
She talked about being unable to forgive the man, even though he had been badly injured, being on the same side of the car as Neil. She talked about the men who wanted her, and thanks to his gentle questioning gradually began to accept that some at least wanted to help her, and were not using the situation to further their own lust.
She talked about how hard it was to get up each morning and go to work, about how angry it made her that everyone’s life had carried on as if Neill had never lived. She talked of her guilt that she’d not sat on the right of the car instead of the left, and he suggested that this was guilt that she had survived the accident and he had not.
She asked if he’d seen that sort of guilt in the army.
He nodded. ‘Often,’ was all he said, but she could see there were deep feelings there.
Myra
- 08.12.2022
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