An Encounter on a Train - Part 3

 An Encounter on a Train - 3

    "Mmmm. G'morning." said Felicia sleepily. She stretched, rolled over  
and put her arm round my neck. She kissed me, then laid her head on  
my chest.  

    "Morning." I replied, stroking her hair. I puffed at an errant  
strand which was tickling my nose. She reached up a hand and tossed  
a hank of it back from her face. "I think I love you." she said,  
snuggling against me.

    "Good." I replied, speaking to the crown of her head. I felt  
her abbreviated hip press against the top of my thigh. "I think  
you're pretty adorable yourself." I added after a moment.

    We lay together in silence for a while then Felicia stirred,  
reached for my right arm and pushed it downwards. This time I knew  
what she wanted, but still taking my time I stroked and caressed her  
flank, touching the nipple of her breast, enjoying the curve of her  
waist and hip before moving down to cup her stump. She sighed as my  
fingers spread around it and I felt it give a couple of tiny  
twitches.

    "What does it feel like, when I touch you there?" I wondered.

    "Odd." she replied a moment or two later, her voice muffled  
against my chest, "but quite nice, too." she added, after a pause. I  
waited to see if she'd expand. A frown crinkled her brow, "I don't  
really know if I can describe it, really."

    "Try." I encouraged her.

    "Hmmm." she answered, unhelpfully. "Well, it's like I can feel  
your fingers, but they add up to more than you ought to have!"

    "Hunh?" I expostulated.

    "I mean, I can feel them on the front of my thigh and the back,  
as well. The one I don't have, that is. It feels like your hand is  
much bigger than it ought to be. I guess it's because the nerves are  
all jumbled up inside."

    "I was wondering about that too." I persisted. "What does that  
feel like? When I'm not touching you, I mean."

    "What does it feel like to have one leg?" she asked. I nodded.  
"Depends on what I'm doing."

    "Well, when you're walking along on your crutches, then?"

    "Tiring, if I do it for too long. Either my wrists ache, or my  
ribs, or my leg."

    "You never look tired." I commented.

    "I try not to get tired," she replied, "but mostly it's just a  
case of pacing myself, and taking a little break now and then.  
Sitting down for five minutes."

    "That what you were doing in the coffee shop, yesterday?"

    "Partly." she smiled, and kissed my chest, "but I'm glad we did  
stop there. I might not have seen you otherwise."

    A rush of affection for Felicia swept over me, and bending my  
head down, I pressed my lips against hers. The kiss went on for some  
time.

    Felicia wriggled to adjust her position, moving her head to the  
pillow beside mine. She looked into my eyes for what seemed like  
ages, then reached up a finger and traced it down my nose. "Does it  
excite you to hear me talk about being one-legged?"

    "Yes, it does." I replied, "why do you ask?"

    "It's something Nicola said, yesterday. We were swapping  
secrets, you know, girl-talking, and she said that one of the things  
which turned James on the most was hearing her talking about her  
leg, and stuff. Deliberately saying 'leg' and 'foot' and 'shoe',  
instead of 'legs', 'feet' and 'shoes', for example. She says he  
likes her to talk about her crutches, too. I just wondered if you  
were the same."

    "Well, I guess I must be. But how do you feel about it?"

    "It doesn't bother me." she said without hesitation, "It tends  
to arise in conversation anyway, so I'm kinda used to it. If it  
turns you on, then I'm okay with that!" she laughed. I knew exactly  
what she meant. I didn't have any problems with that, either.

    "You still haven't told me what it feels like to have one leg,  
though."

    "Oh." she answered, unenthusiastically, "I was hoping you  
wouldn't ask."

    "Oh, I'm not prying!"

    "No, I don't mean that way!" she retorted, "I don't mind. I  
just don't know what to say, that's all." she stopped to think. "I  
mean, could you describe what it's like to have two legs?"

    "I see what you mean." I acknowledged, "But then I've always  
had two legs, so I can't contrast it with anything else. I mean, you  
used to have two legs, and now you have one. Doesn't it feel  
different?"

    "Yes, of course, but it feels like having one leg!" she  
replied, and added, "That doesn't feel like anything I could  
possibly put into words. None that would make sense, anyway." I kept  
silent, and waited for her to continue. "I suppose it just feels  
like being me."

    "Yes, but not at first, surely. Can't you remember how you  
felt?"

    Her face wrinkled at the memory, "Pain. It hurts, having a leg  
cut off, you know, even if it was because my leg was such a mess.  
Though it was a kind of cleaner pain than before, and I somehow knew  
it wouldn't last too long."

    "And did it?"

    "The worst of it went after a couple of weeks. Of course, my  
stump was tender for ages, and I had to be careful of it, but I was  
quite comfortable after a month, and getting reasonably competent  
with my crutches, though I still wasn't used to everything."

    "How d'you mean?" I asked.

    "I mean it felt strange to put on only one shoe in the morning,  
for example. I kept feeling that I'd forgotten something. Or when I  
sat down, I kept thinking that I ought to be able to unfold my leg  
from under me - the one I didn't have, I mean. My clothes felt  
different, because they move differently if you use crutches, and I  
had to remember those all the time, too. And whenever I caught sight  
of myself in a reflection, I found it hard to appreciate that that  
girl on crutches and one leg was me."

    "Well, I don't find it hard to appreciate this girl."

    "Despite the one leg and the crutches?" she asked quizzically.

    Before I could answer, James' voice came through the door, "If  
you like your bacon burned, you've got five minutes. If not, three.  
Oh, and it's a come-as-you are affair," he laughed, "so shake a leg!"

    Felicia giggled and rolled away from me. She stretched again  
and sat up, pulling her knee towards her and folding her arms over  
it. She looked across at me. "Pass me my crutches, would you, O best  
beloved?" she smiled, reaching out a hand in their direction. "They  
seem to have wound up on the wrong side of the bed. D'you think that  
counts?"

    I swung my feet over the side of the bed and sat up. "You seem  
perfectly good humored to me." I smiled back, picking up the  
crutches and passing them to her.

    "I think I could say I feel in excellent humor!" she laughed,  
taking them from me and standing. She moved over to the window and  
stood there naked, looking out over the Yorkshire Dales which rolled  
into the distance. I looked at her silently, seeing her entire body  
for the first time, transfixed by the smooth curves of her back and  
the lissome slenderness of her leg, contrasting so strongly with the  
vast gaping emptiness beside it.

    She turned and became aware of my regard. She smiled, "Like  
what you see?" she asked, her head dipping coquettishly to one side.  
She knew I did.

    I walked over to her and put my arms around her, enjoying the  
feel of her skin against mine, "To me you're the most desirable  
woman alive." I promised her. She smiled happily and reached a hand  
up to my neck, pulling my head down. I kissed her.

    Breathless, I broke away a moment later. "We'd better get  
downstairs." I said, stepping back and reaching for my robe. I  
picked hers up from where it had fallen and tossed it to her. She  
caught it, slipped her hands from the crutches, leaned them against  
the bed and pulled on the robe, standing on her single leg with  
perfect balance. Reaching down, she took hold of the crutches again,  
adjusted her grip on them and started to move towards the door,  
which I held open for her. I followed her along the landing and  
waited as she negotiated the stairs, then came down them myself.

    Nicola was sitting at the kitchen table wearing the bathrobe I  
had seen her in the previous evening, the same battered old crutches  
leaning against the back of her chair. James was building little  
piles of sausages, fried eggs, bacon and pieces of toast on a big  
pewter platter beside the cooker. She looked up from the glasses of  
orange-juice she was pouring, "Welcome to the planet Earth, beings."  
she said, handing one to each of us as though it were an offering of  
some kind.

    I took mine and downed it in two swift gulps, handing it back.  
"FratERnal greeetings and ExprEssions of wERking-clAss solidArity  
from the Owter planIts." I responded, in my best Yorkshire miner's  
accent. It's one I'm quite proud of.

    James laughed. "How many kilos of bacon will it take to rebuild  
his strength, d'you think, Felicia?" he asked, looking at me  
shrewdly.

    "Start with one, and add as necessary." I suggested, taking a  
seat. Felicia sat down beside me, laying her crutches under her  
chair as usual.

    "Marmalade, honey, or peanut butter?" asked Nicola, sliding  
each across to Felicia.

    "Peanut butter for breakfast?" asked Felicia, incredulously.  
She turned and shot an accusing glance at James.

    "Yes - it's James." Nicola confirmed, affecting an eternally  
resigned expression.

    "I might have guessed." Felicia responded, turning back, "Is  
there no end to that man's novel ideas of things to eat?

    "Probably not." his wife confirmed, "At least, he still manages  
to surprise even me, occasionally. His last thing was mixing tomato  
and oxtail soups together. He said he liked them both, but could  
never decide which, and that the combination had a unique flavor  
all its' own. I offered him beef and tomato soup, but he insisted  
that it wasn't the same. And I suspect that even if it was, he'd say  
it wasn't!" Nicola laughed.

    "I wouldn't, 'cos it isn't!" James interjected, and poked his  
tongue out at her. He put the now-burdened platter in front of her  
and sat down. "Just get stuck into that lot and stop casting  
nasturtiums on me!"

    "Would you mind if I used those crutches of yours again today,  
Nicola?" asked Felicia some time later.

    "Mmph." replied Nicola from behind a piece of toast, "no, of  
course not. I have plenty of others."

    "How many pairs do you have?" I asked, looking at her.

    She looked at the ceiling a moment, considering her reply,  
"About forty, I think."

    "Forty?" I echoed, surprised.

    "It may sound a lot, but it isn't really. Just think of them as  
like shoes. Lots of women have forty of fifty pairs of shoes. I have  
pairs of crutches instead."

    "You mean, they're all different, like shoes?"

    "Of course. Different styles, and different colors, to go with  
different outfits."

    "You should see them!" exclaimed Felicia, "Red ones, black  
ones, green, blue, white, wood, metal, and even a pair of bamboo  
ones!"

    "Those were for a fancy-dress party I went to once." explained  
Nicola, "As the Dragon-queen from the strip-comic."

    "She created a sensation!" James amplified. "She wore a long,  
straight black wig and Cleopatra-style makeup. She got a prize for  
having the most unusual costume, even."

    "I don't think it was entirely the costume that did it," she  
said demurring, but nonetheless pleased at the compliments. I knew  
darned well it wasn't just the costume.

    "If you like those crutches so much, I ought to take you down  
to see old Albert Thorogood, and get him to make you some of your  
own. That's where we got most of Nicola's." James remarked after a  
moment.

    "Yes, why don't you." agreed Nicola, "And you could see if he's  
finished repairing my peg, at the same time."

    "Your peg?" inquired Felicia, sounding interested.

    "Yes. I have a real, old-fashioned wooden peg-leg." Nicola  
answered, "Just like in a pirate movie!" she laughed.

    "It was my idea, in fact," James explained, "I thought she  
might find it useful."

    "And is it?" Felicia said, looking back to Nicola.

    "Yes, very. I don't use it a lot, just when I really need both  
hands, but I still have to get around. When I'm cooking, for example.
"

    "I seem to manage OK by sort of heel-and-toeing around,"  
commented Felicia, "but I have to be pretty careful, sometimes."

    "That's what I do, too, or most of the time," Nicola agreed,  
"and I know just what you mean. It's when I don't have that kind of  
time that the peg comes in handy."

    "How much does this Albert charge?" I asked James.

    "For a pair of crutches?" he asked, replying to my nod, "Not  
that much. A damned sight less than those surgical supply houses, at  
any rate."

    "Why don't I buy you some as an unbirthday present?" I asked,  
reaching over and putting my hand on Felicia's thigh. Her own came  
down and laid itself softly over mine.

    "Really?" she twinkled, pleased at the suggestion, "That would  
be a lovely idea!"

    "Okay, then," I announced, "James, takes us there, please."

    "Alright," he answered amicably, "we'll go after lunch. I have  
some work I have to do this morning, but I'll be free afterwards.  
That do you?"

    "Perfectly." answered Felicia. She turned to me, "What are you  
going to do today? Nicola and I were planning a very girly shopping  
expedition this morning, and you can't come with us, because that  
would spoil the surprise. Sorry." she patted my hand.

    "Oh, I dare say I'll survive." I responded, cheerfully.

    "Why don't you borrow the Land-Rover and go up to that  
hill-fort you were asking me about?" suggested James, "It's not  
impossible, in four-wheel drive - I've done it a couple of times  
myself."

    "I'd like to," I said, "I promise I won't break it, and I'll be  
back for lunch."

    "You'd have a pretty hard time breaking it," James smiled back,  
"The track has six foot dry stone walls on either side. It's more  
like a trench than a track. That's why it's not easy when it's very  
wet, because it's like a four-mile mud slide in a deep groove!  
Stopping on the way down is the only problem. It'll be alright today  
though." he added, looking out of the window. "It's been dry for a  
couple of weeks now."

    The two girls picked up their crutches, stood, and headed off  
to get dressed. James pushed the coffee-pot towards me.

    "Nicola lost her leg about four years ago, didn't she?" I  
asked, "What happened?"

    "Mmm." he answered, taking a gulp at his mug, then putting it  
down, "Yes. The big C, I'm afraid. She doesn't much like to talk  
about that time. I mean, when she was talking yesterday, she made it  
all sound a lot easier for her than it really was."

    "Cancer?" I echoed, "I'm not surprised. I guess it can be  
pretty scary to think about. But did they catch it in time?"

    "We think so. The pathologist said that it couldn't have been  
more than a few weeks old, thank God. A month or two later, and her  
chances would have been much less."

    "How did they spot it so early?"

    "Co-incidence, really," he replied, "She used to be a model."  
he added. I nodded for him to continue. "She was doing a fairly  
extended shoot, mostly studio-work for some campaign, and the  
photographer noticed a shadow on her shin. I suppose it must have  
been the lighting. Anyway, he kept noticing it, and he thought it  
might be getting bigger, so one day he pointed it out to her."

    "Well, she mentioned it to a friend, who happened to be a  
junior surgeon, and he made her go in for some tests, just to see  
what it might be. It turned out to be an early stage of osteogenic  
sarcoma."

    "That's a bad one, isn't it?" I said.

    "Very. Extremely quick to spread, and it can kill in weeks.  
They told her that immediate amputation was virtually essential, and  
even then her chances would be about fifty-fifty." He looked down at  
his coffee for a space, then went on, "I'm no expert, but I suspect  
they were being rather conservative, judging by what I've heard  
since. I think it was more like six-to-four against."

    "That bad?" I queried.

    "Apparently." he affirmed, "That kind is really deadly,  
apparently. I mean, on top of the amputation, she had to go through  
months of chemo-therapy. Lost all her hair. I think that was her  
lowest time, in spirits. I'm surprised she put up with me. I know  
she hated being seen without some kind of scarf, or something. To  
hide her hair." he explained.

    I finished the last of my coffee and stood up. "Better go and  
grab the bathroom." I said, "If the girls have finished, that is."

    Upstairs, I found Felicia sitting at the dresser, doing her  
makeup. She looked up as I walked over to her and put my hands on  
her shoulders. "You going up to that old ruin?" she asked.

    "Yah." I answered vacantly, looking up at the faint outline of  
it on the crest of the hill, far above us. I broke out of my  
reverie, adding, "And anyway, I doubt if you could even call it a  
ruin. There's probably no more than a couple of shallow ditches, and  
maybe a standing-stone, if I'm lucky."

    "Sounds dull." she shrugged, turning back to the mirror. "I  
don't know what you hope to see in it."

    "I don't, especially." I smiled, picking up my towel and  
opening the door, "It's just someplace to go while you don't want me  
around." I added, sounding heartbroken.

    She turned to look at me and laughed, "So you're going off to  
some bleak old hilltop to eat worms, are you?"

    "That's right." I responded dully, shuffling dispiritedly out  
of the room.

    Done with shaving and showering, I went back to our room,  
toweling my hair dry. Felicia was standing by the closet, looking  
down at a row of shoes, some of the ones Nicola had given her.

    I walked over and stood beside her. "Looks odd, doesn't it?" I  
commented, "All right shoes like that."

    She glanced at me. "Mmmm." she agreed, "Yes. It even looks a  
bit strange to me."

    "How come?" I asked, sitting on the end of the bed. "I thought  
you'd be used to it."

    "I still have pairs to all my shoes." she explained, "I've  
never known what to do with all the extras." She paused and looked  
at them again. "Trouble is," she added after a delay, "there's so  
many I'm spoiled for choice. Which one d'you think I should wear?"

    "Let's have a look at you." I commanded. She took a step back  
and turned to let me see. She'd chosen a Laura Ashley type of dress,  
patterned cotton in dark brown and sort of pink and yellow flowers  
and stuff, mid-calf length with long sleeves and a collar trimmed  
with lace.

    I looked over at the shoes again. "That one." I suggested,  
pointing, then reaching down and passing her a crimson suede  
Edwardian lace-up ankle-boot with a small block-heel.

    She looked at it judiciously, then sat down on the  
dresser-stool, glancing behind her to check its' position. She  
stacked the crutches beside her and took the boot from me. "Why  
not?" she said, "That'll go quite well with this dress. You have  
quite good taste, don't you?" she complimented me, slipping her foot  
into the boot and looking up at me as she bent to tie the laces.

    "Thank you." I smiled, pleased. She finished tying the laces,  
and sat up. "Now all I need is some suitable crutches." she said,  
handing the ones she had been using to me.  

    "I'll fetch them." I replied, taking them from her and going  
over to the corner where several other pairs were stacked. "Which  
ones?"

    "One of the tall pairs. I think I'll use the same ones as  
yesterday."

    I exchanged the pair I was holding for the ones she indicated  
and took them back to her. She'd turned back to the mirror to give  
her hair a final check, so I leaned them against the dresser. She  
picked up the crutches, stood, slipped them under her arms and moved  
out into the center of the room. "Do I look okay?" she asked,  
turning to face me and looking expectant.

    "You look gorgeous!" I promised her. I tucked my shirt into my  
waistband and went over to her, putting my hands on her shoulders  
and looking her up and down. I dropped my hands to her waist and  
slipped them around her, pulling her towards me. She smiled, took a  
couple of tiny steps and leaned against me, resting her chin on my  
shoulder, retaining her grip on the crutches and just letting me  
hold her. My right hand drifted down to her buttock and lower,  
feeling the folds of the empty side of her skirt draping over my  
wrist.

    "Oi, stop that." she said into my ear, "There'll be plenty of  
time for playing with my missing bit later!" she added, though I  
noticed that she didn't pull away.
 

    James and I stood on the doorstep, watching the girls get into  
the car, put their seat belts on and drive away. "Don't take this  
amiss," he said slowly, as the noise of the engine died away, "but  
when you go up the hill, take the time to have a good think about  
where you go from here."

    I looked blank, and he explained, "With Felicia, I mean. It's  
pretty obvious that you like her a lot, and she patently adores you.  
What you have to realize is, that being with a woman like Nicola, or  
Felicia in your case, isn't all sweetness and light."

    "Go on." I prompted him.

    "It isn't easy for them, you know, no matter how much they make  
light of it. Mostly it's uncomfortable, difficult and irritating at  
best, and frequently just plain bloody frustrating."

    "You have the experience." I acknowledged, "I'll believe you."

    "The only thing we men can do to make it more bearable is to  
give them confidence. To love them, if you like. Not as what they  
might have been, but as they really are. To let them be themselves,  
not the 'poor cripples' that most people see."

    "I understand."

    "So what I'm saying is, if you don't think you could stay the  
course with Felicia, don't try. Better to face up to it now, rather  
than break her heart later. And don't," he said warningly, "break  
her heart." He smiled as he said it, but I knew damned well that he  
meant it, too. It wasn't a threat, it was a promise. I didn't  
object, however, because I know I would have said the same, in his  
place.

    "I hear you." I answered calmly, "Thanks for the advice. And I  
will think about it."

    So I was sitting on the tailgate of the Land-Rover, thinking,  
and staring out over the valley below, stretching into the distance  
and with the merest twinkling in the haze suggesting the sea, some  
twenty-five miles away.

    Was she what I wanted? I thought so. I'd dreamed about meeting  
someone like Felicia for years, I knew, but I didn't think I had  
lost sight of reality in the process.

    I knew that it wouldn't be easy, living with a one-legged girl.  
I knew that I'd have to take a considerable amount of the strain,  
physically, at any rate, and I knew she faced mental strain every  
day of her life.

    I didn't imagine she'd always be even-tempered and cheerful,  
either. She would be subject to the same shifts of mood as anyone,  
and moreover, she was an artist, for Heaven's sake! A mercurial  
temperament went with the territory.

    Could I hack it? I thought so. I felt that I'd have loved her  
anyway. The fact that her one-leggedness made her the woman of my  
dreams didn't mean I couldn't see her as adorable for herself. She  
just felt right, so to speak. I decided that whatever life threw at  
us, I wanted to share it with her.

    Yes, I loved Felicia, I concluded. I loved her for what she  
was; not for what she might have been, as James had said. A sudden  
desire to see her again sent me quickly back to the cab, and wasting  
no time I turned the vehicle around and headed back down the hill  
again.

    I found her sitting on the bed in our room, surrounded by boxes  
and bags. She was peeking into one of them, and quickly pushed the  
lid on as I came in. "No, you can't look!" she smiled, looking up.

    "And did you have a nice girly shopping-trip?" I asked. I  
grinned back at her, like an idiot - I couldn't keep my joy at  
seeing her again concealed.

    "Mmm." she nodded, "We bought everything."

    "Like what?" I asked, sitting on the dressing-table stool.

    "Like dresses, and frillies, and makeup, and shoes, and just  
everything!" she laughed, lifting her hands. "You'll see them all at  
the proper time, though, so no peeking!"

    "I'm only interested when you're inside them, anyway." I  
replied, amused at her excitement.

    She smiled, picked up her crutches, and came over to me. She  
stopped in front of me, her knee almost touching mine and looked  
down. "I missed you." she said, softly.

    "I missed you, too." I said as quietly, reaching up to take her  
hand. She took a step forward so that her crutches were either side  
of me, slipped them from under her arms and sat in my lap, with her  
leg on my left hand side and her stump nestled between my thighs.

    I took the crutches from her and laid them on the floor; she  
put her arms around me, pulling herself closer to me, arching her  
back slightly to push her breasts against my chest. I could feel her  
body pressed on mine from neck to a lot lower. We held each other  
for some minutes, then she relaxed a little.

    "Mmmm-muh!" she hummed, planting a quick kiss on my lips, "It's  
so good to hold you!"

    "And you," I assured her, adding, "but I've never been held  
quite like this before, though."

    She pulled back a little and looked down at herself, "I guess  
not." she mused, then glanced up and smiled, "It is kinda different,  
isn't it?" she added jokingly, "It can be almost an advantage having  
a missing bit, at times!"

    "Is that what you like to call it, your missing bit?" I asked,  
noting the repetition of a phrase she'd used before.

    "Well, it sounds a but less clinical than 'amputation site',"  
she answered, seriously, "and 'stump' sounds so, I don't know, kind  
of Anglo-Saxon."

    "But I've heard you talking about your stump." I objected.

    "Yes, of course you have." she answered, "That's what it's  
called. But like I say, it always sounds a bit Anglo-Saxon to my  
ears." She smiled again, "I don't mean rude, it's just like James  
was saying yesterday, about Yorkshire people not just calling a  
spade a spade, but calling it a 'bloody shovel'. The word 'stump'  
just seems a bit, oh I dunno - flump, like that - if you know what I  
mean."

    I looked down at her again, intrigued at the way she was able  
to use her lack of one leg as an advantage. No two-legged girl could  
possibly have assumed the position Felicia could, and I began to  
realize that as well as all her other qualities, life with her would  
be full of novel, different and unusual possibilities.

    "Do you like feeling my leg?" she asked after a while, as my  
hand drifted up and down, stroking her calf, knee and thigh,  
relishing the firm, lissome line of it. A throaty tone in her voice  
told me that her avoidance of the expected plural was intentional.

    "Your leg is beautiful." I replied, excitement building in me.

    "I'm glad you like my one leg." she whispered, even more  
huskily, bending to place a kiss on my neck. "Do you want to come  
and play with your one-legged girlfriend?" she teased, "Shall we go  
and lie down, so - I can - wrap - my - single - leg - around you?"  
she finished, her tongue tickling my ear at each small hesitation. I  
answered by picking her up and carrying her to the bed.
 

    After lunch, James took Felicia and I down to see the famous  
Albert Thorogood, at his workshop. That turned out to be an  
ancient-looking brick structure, apparently left over from some coal  
mine that had closed decades before. James parked in the yard in  
front. Felicia and I climbed out and followed James inside.

    Albert Thorogood was a nut-brown taciturn man in his sixties or  
maybe even his seventies, built on the lines of something very  
substantial, like a pit-prop or a gun-emplacement. He was bending  
over a piece of furniture, which he seemed to be repairing.

    "Mr. Thorogood, I'd like you to meet a friend of my wife's,  
Miss Felicia Stone," James said, "and Mr. Philip Barker." he added,  
gesturing at me.

    "'Ow do." answered Albert, looking up. He caught sight of  
Felicia and grunted. "Huh. Another one."

    "Yes," said James, "Miss Stone was rather hoping you could make  
her some crutches, too."

    "Ah could." Albert allowed, grudgingly.

    Felicia smiled sweetly at him, "I'm using a pair of them now,  
as you can see." she said, "And they're so comfortable and smart  
that I'd really like some of my own. Would you make me some? Please?"

    I thought she was laying it on a bit thick, but it seemed to  
have the right effect on Albert, because he brightened considerably.

    "Aye. Them's some o' mine." he said, and paused, "Like 'em, do  
yer? Well, Ah suppose us can mek 'ee some. Not soon, mind. Be long  
side on' a fortnight. 'Appen longer if tha'll be wanting all fancy  
cullers, like?"

    "If it's not too much trouble." Felicia answered, adding a few  
more tons of saccharine to her voice.

    "'sno trooble. Teks a bit to dry, that's all." he explained,  
becoming almost verbose.

    He came round from behind his workbench, wiping his hands on  
his apron, and had Felicia go over to a kind of frame he had made,  
which allowed him to take rapid and accurate measurements. He then  
asked her to select from a number of different colors and finishes,  
as well as specifying what styles of crutches she wanted.

    She consulted James and I, and eventually she settled on a  
dozen pairs in all, about half axilla-crutches, and the remainder  
Canadian-style.

    "Wasn't that a clever device he had?" commented Felicia when we  
were driving home in the car. "That thing for taking measurements, I  
mean."

    "Yes, isn't it?" James replied. "He made it when he started to  
make crutches for a couple of other girls, apart from Nicola."

    "Does he have many clients?" I asked, interested.

    "About half-a-dozen, I think."

    "All from around here?" I wondered.

    "Not all. One lives in Paris, I know. And counting Felicia,  
three in or near London. The rest live up here in the north, I  
believe."

    On the way back again, I had suggested that we go out to  
dinner, since it was our last night. My treat. James accepted  
eagerly.

    Felicia came down wearing a lush creamy-brown knee-length satin  
dress which hung in graceful folds over her body, the left-hand side  
of the skirt swaying emptily as she moved between her crutches on  
her lovely single leg, clad in a sheer black seamed stocking and a  
high-heeled cream shoe with an ankle-strap. She'd dressed her hair  
in a kind of Grecian style, wearing it on the back of her head,  
emphasizing the column of her neck. I thought she'd seldom looked  
more beautiful, said so, and was rewarded with a flashing smile.

    However, Nicola's outfit nearly made me fall over in surprise;  
a man's suit! In dark blue pinstriped worsted, the double-breasted  
jacket beautifully cut and tailored to her figure, and with the  
unneeded leg of the trousers replaced by a sharply-creased pocket.  
The outfit was completed by a pink shirt, red tie and brown  
snap-brim felt fedora. She wore a smart black high-heeled court-shoe  
and used her ebony axilla crutches.

    "Yum yum!" said James, catching sight of his wife. I felt much  
the same about Felicia, who came to stand beside me. She passed me  
the rosewood Canadian crutches she had borrowed from Nicola and  
gracefully lowered herself to the seat, her skirt spreading around  
her and draping her leg. She reached up and gave my hand a friendly  
squeeze.

    At Nicola's request we had booked a table at Duke Richard's  
Tavern, in Chantry Street. Apparently she had been before, and liked  
the place. One of its' main attractions was the quality of the  
service, an example of which occurred as we were being seated at the  
table.

    As we seated ourselves a waiter unobtrusively took the girls'  
crutches, and leaned down to enquire discreetly whether he should  
take care of them until later, or would they would prefer to keep  
them nearby.

    Both said that they had no need of them, so he took them over  
to the maitre d'hotel's desk, placing them out of sight.

    "I thought you didn't like people taking your crutches away?" I  
said to Nicola, curiously.

    "Normally I don't," she agreed, but explained, "but they are so  
polite and punctilious here that it's somehow different. Maybe it's  
because they made sure I could see where they put them, instead of  
whipping them into some back room. You see, I don't mind not having  
my crutches right beside me, so long as I know where they are...it's  
when I don't that I get worried."

    "In case you need them in a hurry, for example?" I suggested.

    "Well, say there was a fire, and everybody had to leave. Even  
if somebody carried me out, I'd still be stuck, wouldn't I?"

    When we had walked in, none of the staff seemed to think it at  
all strange to see a party of two men and two one-legged women; they  
had seated us and taken care of the girls' crutches as though it  
were the most ordinary thing in the world. However, I did notice one  
or two curious glances directed our way from the other tables.

    The meal was excellent and it was with a considerable sense of  
euphoria that we drove home again. We gathered around the fire for a  
nightcap, but it was evident that we each wanted only the company of  
our respective lovers, and soon we headed for bed.

    "Mmm, that was a fabulous meal!" said Felicia, letting herself  
flop onto the bed and adding, "And all that wine has loosened my  
inhibitions." She raised herself on her elbows, smiled, and tossed  
her hair.

    "You haven't got any!" I retorted, kicking off my shoes and  
hanging up my jacket, "I saw the way you were teasing that guy at  
the other table."

    She giggled, "I know. I'm awful, aren't I? But I couldn't  
resist it - he kept leaning back to look at my leg under the table,  
so I thought I'd let him have a better view."

    "You certainly gave him that." I answered, thinking of the way  
she had pushed her chair back from the table, while we had our  
liqueurs at the end of the meal, so that everyone in the room could  
see that she was one-legged.

    "Do you mind me doing things like that?" she asked, curiously.

    "Not at all. I enjoy the show myself." I said, "Why, did you  
think I might?"

    "No, not really." she responded.

    I went on, "You know I enjoy watching you. Why shouldn't  
others? As long as it doesn't bother you."

    "Oh, good." she smiled again, "'cos I love it!" she growled as  
I went over and sat beside her. She reached up and grabbed me,  
pulling me down beside her, rolling towards me and thrusting her  
stump against my groin. She kissed me passionately and whispered  
into my ear, "I hope looking at my leg has made you feel incredibly  
horny." she said, turning in my arms and pulling herself closer to  
me.