The Headmaster's Flame

Chapter 39: Clit Bait

She woke confused by a lemony-fresh-smelling figure, silhouetted against the first morning light through suede curtains in a place too charming to be her Gipton terraced house.

'Wake up, Natalia. Time to wake up...'

His hand gripped her cheeks, shaking her softly as she moaned through squashed lips.

'Ah, we have life!'

She propped up like a cadaver, trying - and failing - not to smile too much. 'Where am I,' she slurred. 'What were we talking about last night again? GCSEs, novels, how to improve the school...'

'Yes, all those things. Up, up,' he yanked her upper arms. 'Shower.'

'I already had a bath last night.'

'Doesn't count. What's this--'

They turned to look down on a 50p-sized circle of blood on his sofa pillow.

'Oh, my god,' she stammered. 'I'm so, so sorry...' What might have mortified her all morning was nuked with a wave of his hand.

'Don't worry silly. I'll run it under the cold tap then blast it off hot. Here-' He reached for a basket. 'Did you ever think your own Headmaster would launder your uniform?'

'If you're referring to Mr Neary, would he hecker's like.'

'Never in a gazillion funkin' years! I'll get breakfast and tea on. Don't be too long.'

The shower was a glorious hot rainfall from a fixed, wide-pan vertical head. An aroma of bacon came stronger as she drew back the curtain from the circular rail around the tub. She looked out of the window to take in the sun rising over the horizon in an admirable effort for the first day of February. This was better than Haworth and London combined! Neill or no Neill, here was rural heaven.

Back downstairs, Neill was at the table piling eggs onto toast.

'We have twelve minutes! Your Cheerios await. Tea for you there. A couple of bits of bacon in the grill if you'd like some.'

'Wow, thank you for all this.'

As they ate, he watched her brown eyes mid-sip over the cup rim.

'You started wearing mascara since London.'

'Hm-mm...'

'But otherwise you look so natural. Funny. I'm used to women being smothered in make-up.' He glanced away in reminiscence. 'Red lips. I've always been a sucker for a woman with red lipstick and red nails. Why's that?'

She shrugged. 'Colour of hot passion? Some kind of harlot thing. What does Freud say?'

'Fuck knows. Harlot, hmm. Well, you are no harlot.'

'I had red nails last night, so I'm halfway there.'

'And this morning too, you rascal.'

Natalia smirked as she closed up the cereal box. 'I guess I can't take these home, so you have a supply of Cheerios on hand.'

'Not really my thing. Just stick them in that lower cupboard there.'

Outside, the front garden tiles shone with last night's downpour and laced his Merc with glistening beads.

'I'll give the aircon a few minutes. Heated seat will crank up quicker. So you liked my cottage?'

'It's not bad.'

'Not bad? Now for your cryptic criteria I'm not sure that's a commendation.'

'Ok then, it's... wicked. Bad, baddest, badderest - and only - fairy cottage I've seen.'