First EXCERPT:
‘Don’t you have a heater?’ Lily was lying naked on a worn chaise longue with a gossamer thin veil artistically draped over her. 

‘Heat burns out creativity.’ Rainer was sitting on a stool with a large pad on his lap, drawing Lily with a stub of pencil.

‘Am I to freeze my nether regions just for a sketch? I thought I deserved oils.’ 

‘First, liebling, I make sure I have all the correct proportions in pencil before I commence with charcoal, unless you want to have große Brüste und fette Oberschenkel.’

‘I think I’ve been inoculated against that!’

‘You are very funny.’

‘My mother told me I have a queer sense of humour.’

Rainer got up from the stool and placed the pad and pencil on the seat. He looked at Lily and she felt a surge. Since that amazing night, she had acted upon many urges alone in her room, then had knelt by her bed to pray for forgiveness. In her former school, Miss Rooney had made it clear that self-gratification was against the teachings of Christ. 

‘As for adultery and fornication,’ Miss Rooney had said, ‘they are an abomination and will send you straight to hell.’ She had slammed the palm of her hand down on her thigh as she paced about and eyed the young girls seated before her. Young girls who had yet to experience their first period and were still reading books by Enid Blyton. 

Well, Lily thought, hell it shall be because she was hooked on the greatest drug of all and despite her belief in God, she would rather face His wrath than become a dried-up old prune like Miss Rooney. 

Rainer knelt in front of her, and she felt his warm tobacco breath… so intoxicating. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said.

‘Make love to me,’ she whispered.

‘An artist sleeping with his model is a cliché, is it not?’

‘Call it the Spark effect.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Muriel Spark… she wrote The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. It’s a novella set in a girls’ school. If they ever make it into a film, I want to play Sandy.’

‘Sandy?’

‘She’s the smartest girl in the Brodie set and has an affair with the art master.’

‘Who is very handsome, no doubt.’

‘Of course. Unfortunately, Sandy ends their affair and becomes a Roman Catholic nun.’

He chuckled. ‘Is that your destiny?’

She shrugged. ‘Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.’ She let the veil slip, exposing a youthful breast. ‘My fate is in your hands.’ 

He repositioned the veil and stepped back. 

She forced a smile. ‘So, it’s a nunnery for me then?’

He looked at her. ‘I cannot imagine loving anyone more than I do you.’

‘What about Sylvia?’

‘She saved my life and has given me a future out of reach of the Russian bear.’

Lily wrapped the gauze tightly around her and stood. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Please stay. I owe Sylvia, but I want you.’ He pushed her gently down onto the chaise longue and knelt before her.

 

Second EXCERPT:
‘Do you have plans for when you’ve completed your A-levels?’ he asked, as she picked up her glass of Coca-Cola and put it to her lips; lips that he longed to kiss. She put her drink down and fixed him with her wonderful eyes. ‘What would you suggest?’

Her question surprised him. ‘I think the world is your oyster,’ he said. ‘Does university appeal?’

‘I want to formulate my own views. I have had enough of old people spouting old thoughts. Times they are a-changing.’ She smiled and he marvelled at her brilliance. He was enchanted but knew he needed to focus. ‘Do you like Bob Dylan?’ she asked, slightly tilting her head.

He nodded. Popular music was good turf to venture upon. ‘Yes. He’s very cool.’ 

‘What is your taste in music?’

‘I would say, it is a little eclectic. I like The Beatles, but I also like ballads. Have you heard of The Righteous Brothers?’

‘Yes. They can sing, but they don’t really speak to me.’ She took a sip of her Coke. 

‘Speak to you?’ he questioned. 

‘They don’t have any of the bad boy about them.’

Malcolm laughed. ‘I see.’ In his heart he saw a wild and beautiful young woman sitting across from a buttoned-up, straitlaced man. ‘Do you think they are a bit too square with their short hair and smart suits?’

‘I like square,’ she said. 

Now Malcolm was confused and did not have a ready response.

‘There are two types of boys,’ she said. ‘The ones parents like and the ones that smoke pot, protest against the bomb, and play guitar.’

Malcolm was now out of his depth and decided to change gender. ‘What about women? Do you like Petula Clark?’

‘My father does.’

That hurt! He soldiered on. ‘Joan Baez? She’s like Bob Dylan.’

‘There but for fortune…,’ she said. ‘I love the guitar intro, and the lyrics really strike home. Her voice is so perfect, so rich, it makes me shiver.’

He nodded. ‘I agree. To be frank, I also like Nancy Sinatra, pun not intended.’

‘Pun?’

‘Frank, her father?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘Frank who?’

‘Sinatra.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know him.’

Malcolm chuckled. ‘Why should you?’ There was a pause. Not quite awkward, but he felt he had to fill it with something clever. ‘Peter Noone. Name the group.’ 

‘I do not have the least idea, but I know he’s not in the Rolling Stones.’

‘Herman’s Hermits.’

‘I’ve heard them on Radio Luxemburg. I’m into something good, I think.’

He hoped she truly felt that. Somehow, he had to keep their relationship ticking over until she left school, and he could really stake his claim.

She smiled. ‘I like you, Malcolm. You’re very funny.’

‘I try.’ He laughed and looked deeply into her eyes and knew he had fallen for her hook, line, and sinker. 

Lunch concluded too quickly. Outside the pub, by his car, he wanted to take her in his arms but didn’t want to scare her by coming on too strong. Later, when she insisted he drop her at the end of the drive leading up to her school, he was desperate they part with a romantic kiss. But where was his courage? 

He leaned across in the gloom of his car and found her cheek. ‘May I see you again?’ he whispered.

She squeezed his hand. ‘Write to me.’ Her voice was angelic, almost seductive.

‘I will.’

He leapt out to open her door, but she was too quick. 

‘Goodbye Malcolm.’ He watched her hurry away until the darkness took her.