"And why is that?" I look at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm sick." She says "I can't go to school." "Like hell you are. Always excuses with you." "It's not an excuse, I really feel bad." She dramatically puts her hand on her forehead. I brush it aside and put my own hand there, touching her for the first time. I can feel her flinch a little bit, but relax equally quickly. "You're not running a fever. You're not coughing. No nothing." "I am!" she's actually managing to sound defiant, it seemed like she was really getting into the groove of things. "Tell you what" I tell her, "if you really are, I'm sorry and you can stay in bed, if you're not, there'll be hell to pay little lady." I throw the sheets off of her and sit down on the edge of the bed. "Well?" I tell her, "Come on. I haven't got all morning." I point at my lap. It dawns what I'm expecting of her and she deliberately slowly gets on all fours and crawls across my lap, hesitating a moment before she lays down and buries her. I suppressed the natural feeling of humiliation and steeling myself, returned to the kitchen. I was furious with myself for being manipulated into this ‘impossible’ situation. How could Jennifer be so off-hand, after almost begging for my help? I sat there fuming and sulking, when the hand-bell rang again.“Peter, there are some cream-cakes in the refrigerator. Could you fetch them?”“Yes, of course, Miss,” I replied. (Well, at least she used my name this time!) I returned with the cakes, displayed on a large serving dish and bent down to place it on the table. As I did so, my eyes were irresistibly drawn again to Mrs. Crawford’s legs. Oh hell, I could see clearly; she was wearing stockings and suspenders. Then, I got the shock of my life!“My god, Jennifer – he’s actually looking up my skirt!!!”Jennifer calmly turned to me, “Well, Peter, were you looking up my mother’s skirt?”I blushed crimson, clearly conveying my obvious guilt. “I’m ever so sorry, Miss and, err, Madam, I wasn’t.
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