Indian Aunty Outdoor Bathing
”Vi sat on the edge of the mattress, curling her long legs to one side, and placed the tray carefully on the duvet. “I’m not nearly as good a cook as you. But I did what I could.”“You did wonderfully.” I slid my hand along her neck, under her sheath of dark hair. She leaned forward and we kissed slowly.“Mmmm.” Vi’s eyes glowed we parted.How long had it been since I’d been served breakfast in bed outside of a hotel? A girlfriend once, maybe, many years ago. I realized with a sudden ache how empty I’d made my life.“I don’t usually ... react that way,” I said. “Fall asleep, I mean. Afterwards.”She grinned. “You’ve been exhausted for weeks. It’s okay.” She pointed at the white plate on the tray. “Waffles, whipped cream, blueberries. And orange juice.”“Thank you.” I paused. “We do still have to talk about this, you know.”“Fine.” She divided a waffle up with the knife and fork, swiped one quarter through the berries and cream, and held it up to my mouth. “While you eat.” I parted my lips. She was younger than her husband, but not by so much to cause notice or tongues to wag. A devout Christian, she was also a native of the Oxford area, and knowledgeable about the various odd rumors and traditions endemic to the area. Some of these stories pertained to a small unremarkable circle of standing stones not far from the outskirts of Oxford.Her relationship with Amélie and Sandrine had grown slowly. It does her no unkindness, nor is it an unkindness to Sandrine, to acknowledge the diffidence that characterized her relationship with the black woman in the early weeks. After all, even if she was not the only dusky female in Oxford she was enough of a rarity to be the object of curiosity, not all of it benign. She as yet had no clear idea of the interest in her the small man had begun to display.“The stones have certain qualities, it is said,” Mistress Heathcoate began. “I’m not talking about the famous ones, the ones everyone knows about up near Chipping Norton. Those stones.
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