"Would you like a drink? "
"Intravenously!"
But after the drink it was always work. Something had to be done. And he did it.
"I'm a herbicidal maniac, didn't you know?"
Because the job was done and now the garden was healthy. He cleaned his hands under the garden tap and afterwards he rested on the deck chair while with a handkerchief from his pocket he took away the sweat from his forehead. He looked at her hopefully but under the corner of the handkerchief his smile was mischievous.
"You diabolical mastermind, you!"
But she said it with sparkling eyes and so it was. They shared dinner. He deserved it, didn't he?
TV in F. Land was a bit unpredictable. That evening they watched the adventures of an inefficient chief inspector ("Just painstakin" Rupert protested) and his greedy young seargent as they tried to find out the link between the sexy and punctual Ophelia in the woods and the dominatrix in the stable.
"I like this Ophelia" Lucy said "she's glamourosly lying in bed and all around her are trees and leaves and flowers, but she's on silk sheets. I do I like her style."
She watched the series thoughtfully, admiring the antique bed on screen.
" I've always rather fancied myself in one of these."
"So have I... I mean, I have too."
"Oh Rupert, I like this game!"
"Let's play another round, my dear."
"Is that a proposition? "
"More of a sly suggestion. "
.
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