Peel felt the sweat on his palms seep through his jogging bottoms onto his thighs. Through the loose strands of his long, unkempt hair- a remnant of his fast receding and more alternative youth, he could see the postcard image of London skyline imprinted on the evening air.
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From the heights of Alexandra Palace, the city’s beauty never failed to take him slightly off guard. Hazy in the dusk, the tall modern buildings of the Barbican and Canary Wharf stuck out above the gently sloping rows of Victorian houses, each rooftop as neatly manicured as a fingernail. Like a king surveying his kingdom, he was at once proud to be in possession of such a landscape and simultaneously overawed by the great burden of responsibility it placed on his shoulders.
He stood up as he felt his breathing becoming more regular. It was at this moment he realised that, despite the fast descending darkness, he was not alone in the park. On the path directly below, he could just make out the (shapely) figure of one, lone, female jogger. The vague promise of a prolonged view of the ladies’ curves as they slipped seamlessly through the gloom was all the motivation he needed to spur him back into action.
He set off gently, expecting the slope of the hill to carry him towards her. But when he reached the little path along which the lady jogger had been making her way, she was already some way off in the distance- leaving him with only the faintest impression of well-formed buttock swaying rhythmically from side to side.
With his 5-morning-a-week, gym trained stock of leg muscle, he was confident he could gain on her quickly. Nevertheless, 5 minutes passed, 10 minutes…15… and, only slightly out of breath, he didn’t seem to have made any progress at all. Infuriated, he pulled upon his last reserves of strength and increased his pace. Still, the lady remained tantalisingly out of his reach. Eventually, his lungs failed him. He was forced to stop and, with a strange, sinking feeling in his heart, watch her slender form slip away from him and into the darkness.
Luckily, Peel was not the kind of man who was used to defeat. He believed firmly that if a person fell short of obtaining a goal, they just needed to work at it a bit harder. He hadn’t obtained his prominent position in government by failing. He’d worked damn hard at Eton and Oxford.
Thus, the next day, around the same time, he returned to the heights of Alexandra Palace. He took up the same vantage point and set about preparing his body with a series of gentle stretches. He had decided that the previous days pursuit would have been successful had he not already been near the end of his circuit of the park, and subsequently somewhat spent, by the time he’d had the good fortune to lay eyes upon her. This time, he would not fail.
He did not have to wait long. Again, she approached with the dusk, her bosom bobbing gently above her well-toned waist and hips. He descended towards her, fancying that he saw her glance at him from the corner of his eye. He was careful to appear nonchalant.
Alas, yet again, by the time he reached the path below, she somehow seemed to have passed him by. Peel could have been annoyed, but let’s face it, challenge excited him. More than anything, he was now determined to keep his lycra-bound beauty in view.
He trailed her round the park once…twice…the distance between them was always the same, though she neither changed her speed nor faltered in her step. A lady of Amazon strength, he thought admirably. By the third lap, again, he had to admit she had got the better of him. He doubled over, panting in agony, as, one more time, her seemly contours slipped into the darkness.
He hung his head all the way home. This had never happened to him before. He was Archie Peel; he could do anything if he put his mind to it. He was successful… rich… good looking…. Women usually fell at his feet. Yet he just didn’t seem to be able to get close enough to this Grecian beauty to work his magic.
The next day, revived by a macrobiotic breakfast and a homemade fruit smoothie, Archie’s spirits had bounced back. Damn it. Why wait at the top of the hill? Why not on the lower path? If he started off there, she would have to pass him. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before.
At 5.30 on the dot, he was out of the city and racing home to shower, preen and select his best quality sportswear. He arrived at the palace, and took up his new position on the lower road. Again, he waited and again, it was not long before his beauty came into view. Archie bent down and pretended to be busy tying his shoelace. Her feet came beating on the tarmac towards him. At the last possible moment, he looked up to fix her face with his smouldering brown eyes and expensive white smile. She had already past him.
Archie’s perfect grin fell into an expression somewhat less becoming. He couldn’t believe it. He swore she couldn’t possibly have passed him that quickly. Couldn’t he hear the direction from which her feet were falling? He had the uncomfortable feeling that there was something oddly supernatural about the whole affair.
Indignantly, he picked up his feet and sprinted off after her. Anger and frustration spurred him on for the first few moments, but he knew, before he had started, he had no chance at catching her. She ran at the same pace, neither changing speed, nor faltering in her step. Surely, no normal women could keep up these ceaseless strides for ever? Archie stopped, suddenly overcome with cramp. In one last, desperate attempt, he shed all his pride and called out…
“Hey!”
To his surprise, the girl glanced over her shoulder.
“Please…stop…,” he managed to force out.
To his utter amazement, the girl acquiesced. She ceased running and her long, shapely legs began to move towards him at a more leisurely pace. As she drew closer, Archie could see skin as clear and smooth as the white, marble kitchen surfaces he had just had installed and eyes as sparkly green as Dom Perrigon wine bottles. She stopped, towering above his crumpled, cramp ridden form and in one gesture, released her hair from its neat ponytail. In slow motion it fell about her face and glinted red in what was now the moonlight.
“If you had only asked me to stop two nights ago, it would have been far better for your legs.”
Archie stared at the girl incredulously. She was not of this world.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and what are you doing here?”
“My name is Rhiannon,” she replied, “but why I am here…well, that is my own business.”
She twirled her hair coyly. Was she playing with him?
“Well,” he answered somewhat spitefully, “I hope you got what you came for.”
He started to turn, but she stretched out her hand and caught him firmly on his shoulder. The unexpected force of her touch sent a shiver of excitement through him. He froze.
“I didn’t…” she stepped so close to him, he could feel her breath, “…not yet.”
Archie was aware of every part of her, barely millimetres away. Her cascading locks framing her delicate features; her dainty nose and full, dark lips; the tops of her breasts, offered up to him in the chalice of her training vest. She drew him slowly towards her and kissed him.
From that moment he was lost, completely at her mercy. He abandoned himself to her soft touch, her gentle caress, her faint yet arousing smell of fresh sweat. He allowed her to gently peel off his layers of lavish lycra and lay him down on the slopping ground. When they had finished, he lay still for a while, just looking at her naked body; skin as pale as moonlight, eyes as green as the grass she lay on.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered, twining her hair around his fingers like ivy.
“I’m engaged to be married,” she said.
Archie felt as if he’d been hit by another wave of cramp. His breath was ripped from him, and it was a few moments before he could speak. When he opened his mouth, he couldn’t quite believe what came out.
“I think…I think I’m in love with you.”