Widows

She thought back to two nights before the raid. Harry had come into the bedroom and she knew intuitively that something was very wrong. She could always tell when he had done a bad business deal, or worse, when he was intending to take a big risk. He prowled round the house, in and out of rooms, sitting, getting up again, making coffee and checking his watch. Dolly was wise enough to keep quiet and not ask questions; he would tell her what was on his mind if and when he was ready.

Harry had not made love to her for months, but on that last night when he slipped into bed beside her, he’d been lustfully insistent and passionately rough with her — she hadn’t minded; she adored the touch of him, the smell of him, the power of him.

Afterward, she had held him in her arms like a baby. Then he got up and went into the spare room and she had lain there awake for hours, smiling. Even after twenty years he could make her whole body shudder inside. She was as proud of his tight muscular frame as he was. There was not an inch of fat on him. She’d take furtive looks at him when he showered or shaved, watching his muscles tense and relax.

As Dolly daydreamed, she was grateful for that last night they shared together. It was all that mattered amid the frenetic nature of her life since his death. They’d loved each other so much and, as she recalled all those times he had glanced at his beloved wristwatch, the pain flooded over her again. Harry had woken early the next morning, brought her a cup of tea and gently woken her with a kiss to her sleeping lips.

‘Goodbye, sweetheart,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

But there had been no ‘later.’ Harry never came home and the filth still refused to give her his beloved watch back.

Linda stood at the open doors of the mechanic’s garage in the mews. She’d seen enough Italian men to know that the young kid in filthy grease and oil-covered overalls was not Carlos, Gino’s mate from the pub. The kid puffed out his chest to try and impress her; her dismissive look quickly told him that she was way out of his league. ‘Carlos! There’s some bird here to see ya!’ he shouted and then he went back to polishing a nice-looking Jaguar.

Carlos was in the small Portakabin office on the phone to Arnie Fisher, arranging the pickup of his Jag. He looked out the window but didn’t recognize Linda and, placing his hand over the mouthpiece, shouted that he would be out in a minute.

Watching Carlos out of the corner of her eye, Linda liked what she saw as he ran his hand through his thick black curly hair and ruffled it up. He wore an old brown boiler suit open almost to his waist and as he turned, still talking on the phone, Linda got a full look at him. She took in every detail. He was a dish with big dark eyes, a great body and a stubbly, unshaven face. There was something very rugged and very sexy about him. Before he had even spoken to her, Linda had decided she’d have him.

When Carlos eventually came out, Linda introduced herself as Miss Linda Pirelli and, flirting outrageously, she asked him if he’d take a look at her new Capri.

‘Sorry, love.’ Carlos was dismissive. ‘We only do company cars or regular standing customer’s motors.’ Brushing her aside, he got onto an inspection trolley and, lying on his back, wheeled himself under the ramped-up Jag to give it a last once-over.

Linda moved closer and squatted down, making sure her skirt was now up over her knees; she knew Carlos could see between her legs, which she parted slowly. ‘Look Carlos,’ she said, ‘truth is, I want to learn more about motors and how to service them so I can do me own. I’ll pay you to teach me...’

Carlos could see her red panties as he wheeled himself out from under the car. He lay on the trolley and looked up at her. She was a bit tarty, pushy even, but there was something about her he quite liked. Before he knew what he was doing he heard himself telling her to get in the Jag while he took it for a test run. He lowered the ramp and as Linda got in the passenger seat, she grinned. He couldn’t help smiling back — she was a right cheeky little cow!

Linda sat with her safety belt on, but Carlos didn’t bother with his as he flung the car round the M4 at high speed. She knew he was trying to scare her, but it took more than a 120 miles an hour to do that, and he was clearly a good driver.

Carlos kept brushing her thigh when he changed gear, and she made no effort to move her leg. He wasn’t all that tall compared to Joe, who was six foot three. Carlos, she reckoned, was about five nine, but he was a looker and seemed really nice. She also liked the faint smell of whatever cologne he had on, and as he leaned toward her on a sharp bend she could smell it even more... yes, she would definitely try it on with this one!