Christopher Lee - For The Love Of Sara

“Shush, not in front of the children,” giggled Jill.

“You stay here with your brothers and sister,” said Grant to Emma. “I’ll take mum back.”

He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a 50 euro note and gave it to his daughter. “That’s for drinks, I will not be long.”

“Grant, make love to me,” said Jill in a voice loud enough for people at the neighbouring tables to hear.

“Sure babe, let’s just get you home first, eh?”

A nearby table of young lads gave a loud cheer as Grant struggled past supporting his amorous wife.

“Lucky bugger,” he heard one say

Twice on the way back to the apartment Jill nearly had both of them in the large swimming pool when she staggered heavily sideways. He somehow managed to get her up the stairs and into the apartment and propped her up against the wall while he fumbled for the key. He took it out and fitted it into the latch just as Jill emptied the contents of her stomach over his back. He felt a warm stickiness penetrate the silk of his shirt and smelled the undeniable odour of fish as she wretched again.

“Ah shit,” he gasped. “What a bloody mess.”

It was too, down the wall and running into a pancake on the tiled floor.

He turned the key and opened the door and carried her across to the bathroom. He pulled the light switch and the extractor fan roared into life. For the first time he was grateful for it to dissipate the smell.

He unzipped the dress which earlier had looked so elegant and now looked so …stained. He pulled it from her shoulders like undressing a rag doll. The dress dropped to the floor. He reached into the shower and turned on the taps. It sprayed him with cold water. He waited while it ran warm. He removed her white lace bra, knelt down and removed her panties, momentarily glancing at the thick patch of curly pubic hair.

“Come on girl, get under the shower and let’s clean you up,” said Grant. “You’ll feel better after a shower.”

He left her while he cleaned up the sick. Grant returned to the shower, turned it off and wrapped a large towel around his wife.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“Just a new head,” she replied.

He took her into one of the bedrooms and helped her into Emma’s bed and put the covers over her.

“I’m sorry Grant,” she said wearily, “never again.” Her words trailed off as she slipped into a deep sleep.

Grant went back to the bathroom, stripped and showered. He dried himself and put on a generous amount of Jean Paul to mask any lingering smells of vomit. He put on a pair of light green trousers and a yellow shirt. A quick inspection in the mirror and he headed back to the hotel.

The disco was in full swing. Most of the tables were empty because everyone was on the dance floor. He made his way to the bar and ordered a San Miguel. As he waited for the drink to be poured he flinched as a hand snaked around his waist. It was Sara.

“I’ll pay for that,” she said now moving to his side. “It’s the least a girl can do for her knight in shining armour.”

Grant looked at her and smiled. “I’m afraid my armour’s a bit rusty. And I will be expelled from the Round Table if I let a fair maiden buy me a drink.”

“I had you down for the Rotary rather than the Round Table,” joked Sara.

In fact he was a member of both.

“So what would this fair maiden like to drink?” said Grant carrying on the joke, “and don’t ask for anything stronger than a shandy.”

“A coke will be fine,” she replied.

“Anything in it, ice or lemon?” asked Grant.

“Tia Maria would be nice,” she laughed.

Grant was taking a sip of beer and gulped. Some of the beer went down the wrong way and he coughed and spluttered. Sara hit him hard on the back.

“Do you need the kiss of life?” she teased, her face full of mischief.

Grant caught his breath and composed himself. “Aren’t you a bit young for Tia Maria and coke?” he asked.

“I won’t be getting drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Sara, then added; “How is Jill? Sleeping it off?”

“She’s a bit under the weather,” said Grant defensively.

“Rat-arsed more like,” said Sara.

“And does your mother know you drink Tia Maria and Coke?” asked Grant.

“Course she does,” lied Sara, “as long as I stick to just the one.”

“And how many have you had tonight?” Grant asked.

“None yet,” she lied again. In fact she had drunk three.

“And a Tia Maria for the coke,” Grant said to the barman.

“Where shall we sit,” asked Sara, “on the patio?”

Grant followed her out. They sat down at a table. Grant forced himself to look into the young girl’s face and not at the vast expanse of thigh showing below her tight black mini-dress. She crossed her legs and the dress rode higher.

“So have you enjoyed your holiday Sara?” asked Grant, sipping his beer.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked.

The directness of her question stunned Grant into silence. At business meetings when he was pitching for a new account he was never caught off guard.

“Well?” she said leaning forward. “You have been avoiding me, haven’t you?”

He looked up at her, magnetised by those soft green eyes.

“Look, this is ridiculous,” he said almost in a whisper. “To start with…”

“You’re old enough to be my father,” Sara again finished his sentence for him.

“But you are not my father and I am not your daughter and if I’m not mistaken, what you feel for me is nothing fatherly.”

He went to speak, but she put a finger to his lips.

“Let me finish, then you can say whatever you want. Tell me to get lost if that’s what you want. I fell in love with you the first night I saw you. I know you are married and I know there is a big age difference between us and I know you don’t think I know my own mind, but you are wrong. It’s not a schoolgirl crush. I love you and I want to be with you. I think about you all the time when I’m not with you. I cry myself to sleep thinking about you making love to your wife.”

Grant continued to stare down at the floor.

“After my father died I thought my world had come to an end. I was so wretched I didn’t want to go on living because I could see no future. Meeting you has changed all that. When I am with you I feel so alive again.”

She paused and took his hands in hers. He looked up into her face, into her moist eyes. He swallowed hard trying to remove the lump that had been swelling in his throat.

“Sara,” he began to say.

“Hi, dad!” said Emma “hi, Sara.” Sara was still conscious of the fact her hands were still clasped over Grants and quickly moved them away.

”It’s no good trying to drag him up on the dance floor,” Emma giggled. “He’s far too old to boogie.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Sara taking his hands once more. “I think there’s a bit more life left in the old dog yet. What do you say? Will you dance with me?”

She pulled him to his feet and led him onto the dance floor.

“What time do we have to be back at the apartment?” asked Emma.

“Midnight,” said Grant, as she became lost in the crowd.

The music changed tempo and Tina Turner gave way to Chris de Burgh. Sara wrapped her arms around Grant and pulled him close to her. His hands rested lightly on her back. She swayed like a piece of seaweed being washed by the surf. Grant could feel the heat from her groin pressed against him.

“I’m very flattered,” said Grant trying to hold his body away from her, “but you will go home tomorrow and forget about me. I bet there are dozens of boys your own age back home waiting for you.”