With an unspoken consensus, Catherine and Jules swam back to the edge, trying and failing to contain their laughter as Parker splashed by, mustering an “Entschuldigung,” as she passed.
They scooped up their things and ran, giggling into the woods, Jules’s hair hanging in red ribbons, water coiling down her back as she charged ahead.
“Ouch, shit!” Jules hopped on one foot after treading on something.
“Wait,” Catherine puffed through her laughter. “Let’s get some shoes on at least.”
Jules leaned against a tree, catching her breath as Catherine pulled out her Dryrobe and chucked it on a tree stump, where she sat to dry her feet and pull on her boots. She looked up at Jules, who was staring at her with an odd smile.
“Here, sit on this while you get yours on.”
Jules pushed off from the tree. Her mouth twisted into a grin when Catherine stood. “That’s a good look on you.”
Catherine glanced down at herself. She looked like she’d stumbled out of a wrestling ring. But rather than shying away from it, she put her hands on her waist and owned it. “If you’re lucky, I’ll wear my robe like a cape.Now get your shoes on; we’ve got a new picnic spot to find.”
They hiked through the woods, putting plenty of distance between them and the Warwickshire Wild Women or whatever they were called, Catherine with the Dryrobe draped around her shoulders, and Jules who’d just pulled her white T-shirt over her wet swimming costume. Catherine tried not to notice the two round puddles soaking through. She also tried not to think about how see-through the T-shirt would be when Jules took her swimming costume off, or how cool the skin of her breasts would feel on Catherine’s lips.Stop it, she scolded her dirty mind.
“What about here?” Jules stepped off the worn path and into a small sun-drenched clearing. She stretched out her arms and turned a full circle. “We can dry off in the sun.”
“Yeah, looks perfect.”
Between them, they draped the picnic blanket over the ground. Jules flung a towel over her shoulder and gathered up her strewn clothes. “Just nipping off for a wild wee.”
While she was gone, Catherine set out the picnic. The ice-packs had done a good job of keeping everything cool. She cracked a can of pink G&T and gulped down a mouthful, trying to work out whether pink was meant to be a flavour or a colour.
Jules returned, dressed, her wet hair still hanging loose but tousled and slightly drier. Those round wet patches were pulling far too much of Catherine’s attention thanwas decent. Jules’s lips twitched as if she’d noticed, but she said nothing.
“Here, have a gin.” Catherine passed Jules a can, and for some reason announced, “It’s pink.”
“Thanks,” Jules cracked the can and took a sip. “And thanks for all this. What a lovely way to spend the day.”
Catherine reached to open the olives.
“Although if I’d known you were going to try initiating me into a naturist colony, I never would’ve agreed.”
Catherine laughed. “I had no idea we’d be swarmed by bloody naturists. I didn’t know where to look. Outside of an art gallery, I’ve never seen so many boobs at once.”
“Ha! The look on your face was hilarious.”
“I’m pleased my discomfort amused you so.” Catherine tried to suppress her smile by popping an olive in her mouth. “So, are you fluent in German, or just subterfuge?”
“I know my way around a few languages. It was handy for work. And that little trick got me out of a few situations over the years. It’s only backfired the once so far.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“A couple of years ago I pretended to be French to avoid the advances of a sleazebag at a bar, except he overheard me later on ordering drinks in English. The cheeky bastard called me a lying bitch and threw my drink over me.”
“Oh God, that’s awful.”
Jules shrugged. “Nah, it was fine. He got chucked out, and the owner felt so bad about it he let me off my bar bill at the end of the night.”
“Still, what an awful wayto behave.”
“I’ve had worse at work. From the rude and entitled, right through to drunks who can’t keep their hands to themselves… and that’s not just the passengers!”
“Blimey! I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Occupational hazard. See, I told you it wasn’t at all glamorous. But don’t worry, I usually got my own back.” Jules scooped up some dip with a tortilla chip.
