She couldn't take the cold like the tough Clementine who had no choice in the winter but to live and work outdoors. She couldn't fight like quick, hard-hitting agile, brave Clementine and she couldn't take a whipping like the stoic Clementine, who never uttered a murmur as her back was shredded time and time again. If she had been sent to that prison of horrors she knew she would never have lasted a week and Clementine appeared to be thriving there! She hated her rival more than ever in that moment and vowed to think of new ways to torment her when she returned to Abhlovia.Later that week she developed another bad cold and flew off the Bahamas, where James was to join her for a ten day break. She thought of England and Viola, but knew she couldn't go there, not if she knew what was good for her.As the pair sat by the pool on the day before their return to Europe watching the sun set in a glory of red, Rashumba mentioned Clementine, at that moment recovering from a more than usually. As an individual who enjoyed sheets made from the finest cotton with a high thread count (Frette was his personal favorite) John truly appreciated Angie’s expertise between them. As John stood on his balcony sipping his robust Shiraz overlooking the Balinese Sea, black as obsidian at night, he fell into reflection. John almost wished Angie were with him, her warm body comforting him. John knew if Angie were here he would not be standing alone overlooking black waves that could swallow a soul as easily as a grain of sand with his mind a-swirl with maddening thoughts of loneliness. John’s cock had hardened in the shower with thoughts of Issy, but he had ignored it knowing there was no prospect of coupling with the fetching Ms. Bloom and he had let his mind drift in a moody direction. After months, really years, of being alone, John’s body craved another, craved closeness, craved connection; there is nothing like frantic sex to banish our feeling of essential isolation. John knew that.
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