In Love with a Superstar Ch. 02

"Bloody hell..." was the best he could manage.

He paused long enough for her to reach out and switch off the few downstairs lights, as he effortlessly carried her upstairs, not noticing the jeans, blouse and bra neatly folded on the second to bottom step.

The next morning she woke first and tiptoed to the bathroom. It had been another wonderful night, the best ever and not just with Bruce either. They had made love almost as soon as he'd carried her into the room and afterwards he'd gone downstairs and retrieved the pot of coffee he'd made.

Then, as they recovered they played, horsing around like teenagers and she wrestled him, and he tickled her and they kissed and cuddled. He told her stories of Hollywood and Pinewood and names she knew only from the papers and they drank his excellent coffee, before they made love again.

Now, as she slipped on a silk gown against the coolness of the morning air, he lay across her pillow, dark curls against the pale yellow of the cover with a bronzed muscular arm over the duvet. Her body tingled as she looked at him, and she suffered a slight shiver as she remembered last night.

In the kitchen she switched on the kettle that was already full and lifted the lid on the teapot that already had the bags in. The tray even had two mugs on it.

She chuckled slightly to herself, not only was this man built like a Greek God, incredible in bed, rich and generous, kind and sensitive, he also washed up, put away, cooked brilliantly and was a general whiz in the housework department. The tray was loaded with tea, toast and marmalade, and fruit.

The rattle of the crockery as she put the tray down was enough to wake him,

"Darling," he grinned seeing the tray, "marry me."

"I'll say yes one day Mr Young and that'll bloody scare you won't it."

"Darling," he said, with a smile.

She lay on top of the duvet munching on toast, as he devoured his almost a slice at a time. He sang,

"What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again..."

"Singing in the rain?" said Sarah.

"Ah," he smiled, "My all time dream role, I've not done any serious song and dance, but that one..."

"So what is the next big role for Bruce Young?" she asked.

"I have the promise of some Shakespeare on Broadway, my choice, me and... err... oh... wassername from that American Channel Four thing."

"Any particular Channel Four thing?"

"Yeah, you know, the... the Channel Four thing!" he blustered slightly irritated at his memory.

"The American one?" she said unhelpfully.

"Hmm," he sighed.

"Oh I know," she said rolling over on top of him, "The Channel Four thing, with Wassername in it, the American. The girl that's going to do Shakespeare on Broadway."

"The very same," he said, giggling at her stifled laughter.

"Loved everything she's done, including the BBC thing and the Netflix thing and the Channel Five thing and, oh yes, the thing she did in the Film she was in."

"You are still taking the piss," he giggled grasping her bottom through the thin silk of her kimono.

"Oh Darling," she teased, "Do that again and you'll have to marry me."

They made love again, and it was still fantastic.

She lay panting half across his chest,

"Hmm," she said, "Could get used to that. I know I shouldn't say this but I'm pleased Caroline went."

"Me too," he said stroking a hand through her hair.

"You are so good at that," she breathed, relaxing into the bed hugging herself and feeling the glow from her uterus.

"I try," he said, lowering the hand until it stroked across her naked shoulders and along her spine.

Thinking about her discussion with her sister in the pub toilets she decided to fish a little - metaphorically at least,

"Whenever you need help staying in practice, just let me know."

"Thanks, a professional always appreciates a willing volunteer."

"Are you sure you never took lessons?"

"Married to a Doctor don't forget."

They were both quiet for a moment and Bruce sat up, conscious that he had killed the moment.

"Right," he said drinking the last of the tea cooling in his mug, "How many can we fit in that shower?"

They both dressed in the motorcycle gear, with jeans and T-shirts underneath, and he stowed their trainers in one of the panniers on the bike.

She tied her hair back in a ponytail and pulled on the helmet the way he'd shown her and fastened the chinstrap.

The restrictive clothing was starting to make her feel rather warm until Bruce stepped across the machine and rocked the bike forward off of the stand. She caught her reflection in the passenger window of her car; she looked very hot in more ways then one and this was worth every bead of sweat and red cheek.

"Jump on!" shouted a voice in her head. Somehow he'd fitted an intercom into the helmet and she could hear him talking. He pointed down to a small footrest he'd folded out and she stepped on it and swung her leg over. She got comfortable behind him and heard his voice again. "When I lean - you lean, reach behind you slightly and you'll feel some handles to hold on by, that or put your arms around me, whichever you prefer."

"It depends how fast you are going," she said, forgetting that he could hear her through the intercom.

"Now THAT sounds like a challenge." With his thumb he pressed a starter button and the bike rumbled into life with a bad-tempered, throaty growl, almost as if the thing didn't like being woken up this early on a Sunday. "Hold on!" he said, and she flung both arms around him and squeezed.

In the end he slipped the clutch and the machine very gently pulled forward up the small lane, climbing the slight hill with ease. At the crest of the hill, she saw Mr Bridges, the farmer who owned the land that abutted the cottage, and he leaned against the wing of his Land Rover as two Welsh Border Collies jumped out of the open back.

She waved and he looked at the pair on the machine suspiciously. Sarah patted Bruce on the shoulder and pointed at the Farmer. Bruce pulled the machine to a halt, and Sarah popped up the front section of the helmet,

"Hi Mr Bridges," she said brightly.

"Why Hello Sarah!" he smiled, "I didn't recognise you under all that leather, heard your car come in Friday, was that your sister and her chap that turned up crack'o'sparrows yesterday morn'?"

"Just Caroline," said Sarah, "She went home again last night."

"Thought I'd check," he grinned and rubbed an unshaven chin. "D'ya know, your Aunt hasn't lived in that place for four years but I still find myself driving up here, just in case like."

"I'm much obliged to you Mr Bridges, more so at the moment because I've been getting crank letters at home."

"Really?" He leant forward slightly, "Anything I can do love, you let me know, ANYTHING! Won't have no bastard upsetting my girls."

"Thanks Mr Bridges, can I introduce my..." she paused for a second, "my Boyfriend Bruce?"

The Farmer held out a hand and Bruce popped up the plastic visor on his helmet keeping the rest of his face hidden.

"A pleasure Mr Bridges."

"Nice to meet you lad, about bloody time she started courtin'." The farmer smiled and settled back against his Land Rover with a proprietary grin, "You look after her Mate," he said, "one in a million this 'un."

"I fully intend to Mr Bridges."

The Farmer, obviously satisfied, chuckled, "See you do lad, see you do. She'll be worth the effort. Oh and mind for them mad bastard commuters out in the lanes. Some of them treat it like a race track over the weekend, present company accepted o'course." He tipped his hat to Sarah, "Best be off, pigeons won't shoot themselves after all." He leaned in the front of the truck and pulled a shotgun out of a slipcase, and hefted a small cartridge bag, "Bye now!" He swung open the steel gate and walked into the field, full of almost ripe pea pods.

Sarah pulled the helmet face section down and it locked in place again.

"Oh bless him," she said.

"Old friend of yours?"

"Known him all my life. Mr Bridges' wife was my late Aunt's best friend. They were almost inseparable." She looked on at the older man as he stepped behind a small screen of camouflage netting and broke the shotgun and put two cartridges in.

"He taught me to drive a tractor as soon as I could reach the pedals, I milked cows, help deliver lambs." She thought wistfully of golden summer holidays, the kind of holidays Enid Blyton characters had, all finished now though.

"What did your aunt do out here in the middle of the wilds of the Wrekin?"

"She used to teach at the local school, ended up as the head. She had the same time off that we did, of course we spent as much of our holidays here as we could. She loved having us here and we loved coming."

"So you are a real country girl then."

"Oh yes, I can spot birds, climb trees, even used to swim in the stream 'til the fish all died in it one year." She giggled. "Lovely man Mr Bridges, no children of his own though. Always called us 'his girls', which included my Aunt as well by the way. He was the one that found her after she died, she passed away in her sleep, in the spring," she paused for a moment for reflection, "Just the way she would have wanted. He drove all of the way to our house to tell us? Five hour round trip, wouldn't have the police do it, Oh no, not for my Aunt. He went around the entire district and told people. So much so there was six hundred people at the funeral, and as many cards. So many that the Vicar took us all out into the Churchyard and held the service out there. She was lovely my Aunt Kate."

"Was she that much older than your Mum?"

"Oh yeah, by about fifteen years." She virtually brought up my Mum and my Uncle after my Grandparents were killed in an accident. They all moved out here to stay with relatives temporarily and Aunt Kate stayed; never got married, never had children. 'I've had plenty of kids Sarah' she used to say, 'starting with your Mum and Uncle John and finishing with you, with five or six thousand in between'."

Bruce could obviously hear the emotion in her voice and tried to lighten the mood.

"That why you both went into teaching?"

"Yeah I think so," she paused, "Wanted to be a Vet once, but I didn't fancy all of the muck and blood."

"No, I suppose there is a lot to be said for a nice dry classroom." The first of two loud reports shattered the silence as a couple of pigeons, pea pods not even opened, dropped to the ground.

"Oh yeah, he makes a mean pigeon pie as well! You didn't mind me calling you my boyfriend back there did you?"

"Not at all, in fact I'm honoured." She put her arms back around his waist and hugged him again, feeling a slight tug as he slipped the clutch and the bike turned left out on to the road, "Anyway, reckon I've kind of earned the title by now."

"Oh and then some," she purred into the intercom and closing her eyes, "But not at school though eh?"

He was silent for a moment,

"Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten about that, still," he said opening the throttle with a jerk, "That's for tomorrow."

The bike leapt forward and Sarah felt as if she were flying as they almost jumped the brow then shot forward down a long hill.

"Yeeeeehhaaaaaaa!" he called a long rebel yell, and she responded by throwing an arm in the air and calling likewise. She decided that she liked motorbikes.

They rode around the countryside for a couple of hours, stopping once for a sandwich and a drink and again for Ice cream.

Back at the Cottage she cooked an evening meal, much against his insistence that they go out again. It was four lamb chops that had been part of the Fortnum's breakfast package and some potatoes and vegetables, a thoughtful present from Mr Bridges left by the front door.

"I've had a fantastic weekend Bruce," she said as she looked across the kitchen table at him. In his hamper was still an excellent bottle of wine but they both had to drive home, so Bruce was back drinking tea - again!

"Yeah, can we do it again, next weekend?"

"No, Caroline will be here next weekend!"

"Can't you put her off?"

"No! This is her house too, as well you know."

"Yeah, suppose. Anyway, come to my place next weekend."

"Isn't that a bit close to home?"

"Oh not there, my place in London."

"You have a place in London?"

"Oh yeah, and one in Cambridgeshire, it's an old Parsonage."

She steepled her fingers and thought for a moment.

"Not an Old Vicarage in... Granchester by any chance?" She raised her eyebrows waiting for the compliment from her poetic boyfriend.

He smiled and nodded acknowledgement to her.

"If you mean Gran't'chester, sadly no, but the lilacs aren't in bloom anyway."

"Yes," she said leaning toward him, "But does the clock still stand at ten to three and is there honey, still, for tea?"

Bruce smiled and sipped tea from the mug he held with both hands,

"Not bad," he said smiling across the lip of the mug at her, "At least not bad for a drama teacher."

"Oi!" she sideswiped him with a napkin, and he laughed, "I thought I did rather well quoting my... err..."

"Brooke," put in Bruce sipping his tea again.

"Yeah, him. Brooke."

"1887 to 1915."

"OK clever dick."

"As I was saying, not Grantchester, but not too far away."

"How many houses do you have exactly?" She sipped her tea as he thought and counted in his head.

"Oh about four, not counting my current abode, I'm just leasing that one during my current... err... difficulties. Decided not to get a hotel room, you know how it is."

"Absolutely. Four houses?"

"Weeeelll," he sighed, "Properties, I prefer, the London place is a really a flat, and the one in Los Angeles is in a Condo so..."

"Los Angeles!" she said in surprised pleasure.

"Yeah, don't be Impressed, everyone has one; well almost everyone."

"I haven't," she said. He grinned.

"You can borrow mine."

"Thanks, don't get an offer like that every day."

"Yeah well, now you are mixing with the right sort of people, you'll really have to think about getting yourself one."

"OK, I'll start looking, and the fourth?"

He looked sheepish, "Boat actually," she shrugged her shoulders at him, "But you can live on it, it has bedrooms and a kitchen and everything."

"And there was I thinking I was going out with a man of property."

"Sorry," he looked at his watch. "So, do we stay another night?"

She grimaced, "Oh Bruce, I would so love to but I've tried before and it doesn't work."

"Damn, my place?"

"Do you think that's wise?"

"Ooh yeah," he breathed lasciviously.

"Bruce! I mean with this letter thing going on."

"I suppose so," he said. "The old routine then I suppose, celibacy and store cupboards."

"Yes, the rest will do you good," she said touching his cheek with her fingers.

"Damn, back to the cold showers and bromide then."

"Why Bruce Young, you must have had enough to keep you going for months!" she said with an affected shock in her voice.

He took her hand, and kissed it,

"Oh come on Sarah, how on earth could any man in his right mind ever have enough of you."

They tidied up and stayed in control, both fighting the urge to fall on the other and make love again.

He dressed in his leathers and packed hers in the boot of her car. Then he stripped the intercom from her helmet and fitted it via an earpiece clip so they could talk if his bike stayed close enough to her car.

He stood by her as she locked the house, double-checking and triple checking the door and windows.

With a final and very passionate kiss, she dragged herself from his embrace and climbed into her car. The intercom worked well and they chatted on it for an hour and half until he she slowed to drive down a side street to her flat. He followed her,

"I'll see you tomorrow Sarah," he said flashing the strong single beamed headlight into her rear view mirror.

"Night Bruce," she replied.

"Sleep well Honey, I love you..." The intercom crackled as he pulled away from her house and turned right to bring him back to the main road again.

"What?" she called after him into the intercom, but he was gone. She lifted her weekend bag from the boot of her car, and carried it to the front door.

She was back home again and real life struck as she looked down at Saturdays' post. There was another brown A5 envelope and she picked it up with care feeling it gently.

The address was typed and it carried a printed franking and a London postmark. It turned out to be from the Union and was a reminder about training courses so she dropped it on the kitchen table.

She put the weekend's clothes into the washing machine, got out a clean skirt and blouse for the next day and slipped into a bed that now felt huge. As she lay there, the weekend replayed itself in her head, particularly their lovemaking going from sweet, passionate and tender lovemaking to the downright sexy and lustful shagging and she couldn't decide which she liked best.

And then there were those words; 'this is my Boyfriend,' then as sleep took her 'I love you' rolled around her sub-conscious. It hadn't even been a week.

Back at work, she started to see the rightness of their not being around each other during the day. When she saw him her heart ached, and the thought of having to spend all that time not being able to act on her most basic impulses was almost more than she could stand.

The Review was starting to come together; she had selected the theme, West End Shows, and was starting to collect the appropriate music that the few musicians in the school would be able to manage. Normally it was her on the piano, Mr Darnell the Technical Studies Teacher who was a demon on his bass guitar, one of the kids with some sense of rhythm would be sat before the school drum kit and the guitar player from year eleven would be dragged in to help even though most of the stuff she had selected would be considered 'lame'. She dreaded to think what would happen at next year's concert if the boy didn't stay on for the sixth form.

Mrs Barraclough would dig out the best six brass players and they'd practice three nights a week until it sounded less bad than it did normally, and occasionally the music teacher would railroad a few kids from nearby schools and if necessary would join in himself. The audience never minded though, it was always parents and grandparents, and they were always remarkably forgiving.

As for Bruce, he was taking her classes fantastically, so much so that kids were talking about starting a drama club if Mr Young would be in charge of it. Drama was rapidly replacing PE as the most talked about lesson, Jason was asking about when they could put on Henry Vee as a play 'cos he was really into it and Bruce was even setting him and his occasionally troublesome classmates English homework, that nearly all of them completed so as 'not to let Mr Young down'.

By the end of the week Mr Young had become the new Drama teacher, and his various awards, indiscretions and performances were forgotten, from the first moment he yelled 'settle down' as he led a class in for his first Monday assembly.

By Friday she was buzzing with her thoughts on the coming weekend. He had promised London and it had been ages since she stayed in the capital. As they got their breath back from a storeroom kiss and cuddle he assured her that there was no marking or lesson planning to do - in fact if she took a look at her files she would find a whole selection of his lesson plans therein.

He'd arranged to pick her up from the bus stop in the main road at the end of her street in his car. It was a people carrier, huge and dark with tinted windows and air conditioning.

The tiny blonde girl was there in the back with the same scruffy teddy bear she'd had at their last meeting.

"Hello Sarah," said Cathy, her eyes lighting up with recognition.