In the morning, he has only just started breakfast when the girls appear. Today they are dressed in jeans which hug their legs like second skins and loose t-shirts under which, to judge by the jiggling, they are not wearing bras. It is raining so he is unable to escape outside. Aranya rather sheepishly says that, despite the lovely meal last night, they are hungry but they don't know how to cook. Could he possibly help them. He laughs then immediately apologises.
"I'm sorry. There's no reason why you should know how to cook." He thinks for a moment. "Would you like me to make breakfast or teach you how to make it yourselves?"
"We really want you to cook but I suppose we ought to learn for ourselves," Sunita says somewhat reluctantly.
He instructs them how to make bacon and scrambled eggs. He is astonished to find they don't even know how to make toast. He sits and watches as they flap about, panicking over everything.
"Don't worry," he tells them with a smile. "Everybody is like this when they first start to cook. You're doing great and it'll all turn out fine. You'll find that it will taste even better because you've done it all yourselves."
However, he finds that, once again, being confined in a small space with these two lovelies is exceedingly distracting. He is acutely aware of the play of taut muscles under the tight jeans, of the jiggling breasts beneath the t-shirts. At last they finish and sit down beside him at the table with broad beams on their faces. They are flushed and their hair is awry but they look absolutely adorable. They tuck in with the gusto of the young.
Aranya looks up and grins. "You were right, you know. This is the best breakfast I've ever had."
He laughs for the bacon is overcooked to the point of crispness and the eggs have burnt on the bottom of the pan. "Food always tastes best when you've expended some effort on it and it's not a chore."
"What are we doing today?" Sunita asks.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"That's right. We're here to hide and that's exactly what we'll do."
"But we went out yesterday."
"That was an unfortunate necessity. From now on, we'll not be going anywhere except in an emergency."
The girls are most put out. "So what are we supposed to do?" they pout.
He shrugs. "You'll have to amuse yourselves in the house or garden."
They flounce off upstairs, hips swinging, heads held high.
Mac decides that he's getting out of condition. It's nearly a week since he has taken any serious exercise. The house isn't equipped with a gym but, over the years, he has picked up various techniques for keeping fit without the need for expensive equipment. The sun comes out so he decides to use the garden and is soon involved in his exercise routine. The familiarity of his routine, the sun gently warming his back, the pleasing sense of muscles working smoothly together, combine to give him a feeling of well-being. He is so absorbed in his exercises that he is not aware that girls are watching him closely from house.
In afternoon the girls sunbathe again - this time in bikinis. Mac is not entirely sure if it's warm enough for this but he decides it's their problem. The trouble is that bikinis, by their very nature, reveal a lot of skin. And the girls seem to have a large amount of very smooth, very soft skin of a glorious golden beige colour. He is finding it most distracting. With a sigh he forces his mind back to work. He sits in the chair he has dragged out from the kitchen, ostensibly reading book but alternating his attention between watching the girls and planning. In his mind he goes over every way he can think of that house could be approached by anything between 1 and 10 people and what his response would be to each situation. In some cases he would fight and in others flee. Above all, his responsibility is to keep girls safe.
From time to time vehicles pass on the road - mostly tractors and lorries which he ignores. At sound of cars and vans he is instantly alert and follows their progress with straining ears. But he does so surreptitiously, remaining still so as not to disturb the girls. In fact he is less concerned about the daytime as he is convinced that, if they are attacked, it will be at night.
The evening sees TV and more Monopoly. However the girls are obviously restless. They are not used to enforced idleness and the Monopoly game peters out into petty squabbling. There is nothing much he can do about it except try to ignore the bickering. The house is well stocked and well appointed. They have no need to go out to obtain essentials. Other than basic cleaning and tidying there are no chores to fill the empty hours.
The next day also starts fine. The girls are beginning to relax and, as a result are, becoming careless with their dressing. They come down to breakfast in their nightwear - baby-doll nightie and sheer pyjamas - their hair still tousled with sleep. They look very desirable, good enough to take right back up to bed. He finds it most distracting. They ask him to teach them more cooking. The idea makes him inwardly blanch. There is no way he could cope with them fluttering round kitchen dressed like that. He doubts he could restrain himself from doing or saying something he would almost certainly regret.
He chases them upstairs to get dressed and says he will cook. He is just dishing up when they return dressed in their tight shorts and halter tops. To Mac, these are not much better than the nightwear but at least, sitting at the table, he is not constantly reminded of their nubile charms.
As he is clearing the dishes, Aranya asks, "Are you going to work out again?"
Mac flushes slightly. "You were watching."
"Well, you were hardly making a secret of it."
"I suppose not."
"Will you show us how to do your exercises. They looked like fun and we're just sitting around here all day getting fat."
'Hardly that,' Mac thinks.
"We'd really appreciate it. You know, you're really fit." She bats her eyelids at him.
Mac swithers - on one hand it will give them something to do but on the other he'll be in close proximity of two beautiful girls who are turning him on more and more every day despite their youth. Unfortunately, he can't think of a good reason to refuse them without appearing to be churlish.
"Well, I suppose so," he says reluctantly. "But you'll have to so something about…" He waves a vague hand in their direction.
"About what?"
"About your tops." For some reason he is feeling embarrassed and cross with himself for feeling so.
"What's wrong with them?" Aranya pulls her top away from her body and peers down her cleavage.
He can feel his face redden. "You're going to be quite active. You might want to wear something, er, more supportive."
The girls burst into peals of laughter which makes Mac even more embarrassed. "You mean we should put on bras? No problem."
They disappear up the stairs giggling together.
Teaching them his exercise routines turns out to be even more stressful than he has feared. He starts off simply but the girls are not only very fit but quick on the uptake and he soon moves them on to harder exercises. Some they get hang of right away but some they seem to miss completely and he finds he's having to constantly correct them. At first he tries to tell them what they are doing wrong and how to correct it but this just leads to even more confusion. In the end he realises he is going to have to physically touch them to get their arms and legs into the right positions. This is important to avoid stress and injury - and he knows he can't afford them to have a twisted ankle or pulled muscle.
The touch of their skin is electric. If it looks like satin it certainly doesn't feel like it. It is warm and soft and supple and elastic; and below it he can feel the play of firm, young muscles. It is a most disturbing sensation. Like a small boy at the cookie jar; who, as soon as he's finished one wants another, he finds he wants to touch them again and again. Like a magnet, his hands are drawn to their exquisite skin. He has to consciously restrain himself and fights to remain the impartial teacher. He half suspects they are doing it deliberately and are secretly enjoying his discomfiture.
In the end he becomes so hot and bothered and cross - mostly with himself - that he snaps at the them. They apologise profusely saying how sorry they are that they aren't any good. Mac, being as honest with as he is with himself, says that it's his fault. They are actually very good and apologises for snapping at them. He does not see the look they exchange.
In afternoon the girls disappear upstairs and he has an hour or so of peace. He reflects that he would rather enjoy this assignment if it wasn't for them. Being used to his own company, a week's solitude in a nice house like this would be nearly idyllic. Actually all would be fine if only they would be quiet and amuse themselves quietly. But they seem so intrusive - not always unpleasantly so - but somehow they always made their presence felt. Wherever he turns they always seem to be there; talking, bickering between themselves, asking questions, wanting something. Mac, having no experience of teenage girls, does not realise that this is normal behaviour and that, in fact, the girls are behaving exceedingly well.
He is honest enough to admit that it isn't simply their presence that disturbs him. The initial impression of them in the station hasn't dimmed with time or proximity. In fact the reverse is the case. The more he is around them the more beautiful and desirable and sexy they seem. 'Let's face it, old son,' he tells himself ruefully, 'it's a while since you had any relief and your getting horny.' But knowing it is one thing, controlling it is another.
The days pass and the girls, and Mac, get more and more restless. All of them are beginning to feel claustrophobic being cooped up in house together. The house begins to seem smaller. There is nowhere that either he or the girls can go to be apart. Mac finds himself trying to avoid them. He is starting to get erections whenever they brush past him in kitchen or appear in the most bizarre and revealing outfits. In his more paranoid moments, he is almost convinced they are deliberately taunting him: testing him, trying to see how far they can go before he reacts.
One afternoon, he comes into the sitting room. The girls are sprawled on armchairs eating ice-cream. Sunita has one foot tucked under her and the other resting on the floor. Her short skirt has ridden up her thighs and she is showing a large amount of slender leg. Aranya is sprawled across her chair, one leg over the arm the other stretched out in front of her. Her jeans are skin-tight and mould them selves around her rather prominent mons veneris. They glance up as he enters but carry on eating. Sunita, who has almost finished hers, runs her finger round the bowl to scoop up the residue. She pops the finger in her mouth and slowly sucks it clean.
"Mmm, good," she says, glancing up at Mac from lowered eyes. "Would you like some?"
Mac suddenly feels the room very warm. "Er, no thank you," he says, his throat dry.
And so it goes on, like a game he cannot win. The more he tries to remain aloof, the more the girls seem to taunt him. In his more lucid moments, he wonders whether it's really all his imagination. Perhaps he is becoming so obsessed with them that he is seeing innuendo where none exists. And indeed, obsessed he is becoming. It is taking all his considerable willpower to keep his distance; to retain his detachment and do his job.
On top of all this, he is beginning to get worried about what is happening in the outside world.
A week goes by and there is still no word from Klugman. Mac is becoming seriously concerned. He feels instinctively that something has gone wrong and decides that they need an escape plan. He spends some time pacing up and down the far end of the garden doing some serious thinking. He returns indoors and calls the girls into the living room. One look at his face and they sit demurely on the settee.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't know quite how to say this so I'm just going to give it to you straight. We've been here a week and I had expected to have had call by now saying everything's okay." He holds up a hand. "Now it's probably fine. There's most likely been a wee delay and we'll get the call tomorrow. But you know I'm a cautious man so, just in case, and I mean just in case, something's gone wrong I want an escape plan. You can laugh at me later when I'm proved to be an old fussy hen."
The girls respect him enough now to simply nod. They know him well enough by now to trust his judgement.
He takes them outside and shows them the fields and the route to the lane. He tells them to memorise it in case it is dark. They make a game of counting the paces and walking, hand in hand, with their eyes shut. It proves impossible over the rough ground and they all fall down, laughing. He says he will park car in the lane overnight from now on.
"And it'll serve me right if it rains," he laughs, "because then I'll get soaked in the morning fetching it back."
Back at house he gets them to make up an escape pack with essential clothes, etc and to include anything that can identify them - passport, driving licence, bank cards, address book, letters, anything at all - even things with names, addresses and phone numbers of friends.
"Now I want you to keep this pack right next to your bed. And you need to have some solid clothes too; jeans, trainers, a jumper and jacket. You might have to get dressed in the dark. In fact I think you should practice getting dressed in the dark, it's not as easy as you'd think. Tell you what. if you can get dressed in the pitch dark in under two minutes, I'll do all chores for a whole day."
The girls agree to challenge but Aranya hints, or so he perceives, that she'd rather have a more personal reward. He pretends not to see what she means. While they are practicing he makes up two packs - one with his personal things and one with supplies, including torches, matches, tins, etc. which he stows in the car. It is possible that they will have to escape on foot but, provided he gets enough notice, he's fairly certain this shouldn't happen.
Mac's mood communicates itself to the girls who are, for them, subdued. They watch TV for most of the day while he frets. In the evening he moves the car into the lane.
The night is peaceful and, just as Mac has predicted, it is raining in the morning. With a muttered, "I knew it," he splashes off to retrieve the car. As nothing happened overnight, the girls' mood is lighter and they resume their low-level bickering. Mac is too on edge to notice. It rains all day. As much to distract himself as the girls, he teaches them card games. Late in the day the rain clears and he moves the car back into the lane. They retire to bed, the girls convinced, at least, that nothing will happen.