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Massage

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“Oh, Edith, no, I couldn't possibly - ”

“Nonsense, my dear, do sit down and let me give you a massage. My late husband was quite fond of them, you know, before he ended up in prison. I don't think they do massages in prison, do you? Not that it matters now, anyhow.”

Mrs. Hudson kept chattering on as she gently pressed Mrs. Turner down in one of her kitchen chairs and divested her of her coat.

“Now, lean back and let me see – oh yes, stiff as a board you are, my word. It's a wonder you can still turn your head. You know, love, this would work better if you could take off your blouse. The ruffles do get in the way, you see.”

Mrs. Turner was blushing now in a most endearing fashion.

“Edith, I really don't think – what would people say!”

“Oh, rubbish! Nobody here but us girls, is there? Now, do be a love and take this off.”

“Well, if you insist....”

“There we go, that is much better. Now, simply close your eyes and relax. That's right. There we go.”

“I say, Edith, I believe your hands may have wandered a little.”

“Oh no, they are precisely where I want them to be my dear Mary. Do you object?”

“Not in the least. Oh, yes, do that again – oh – oh my -”

It was the most relaxing massage she had ever had.