Afternoon

Before you return to work, you change into an old t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. Lucy takes one look at your new attire and smirks.

“Planning on helping Morgane wash the car?”

“Something like that.” Helping is not quite the term you’d use.

Time moves swiftly while you work, fleshing out the points you want to make. At 3 a pop-up disturbs you. You finish your point and log off.

Lucy watches you as you leave. “Have fun. I’d tell you don’t disturb the neighbours, but it’s Morgane we’re talking about, so you won’t.”

There’s a parking space behind the garage, overlooking the back garden. It’s accessed by either a set of steps up from the back garden, or by a spur of the drive running between the garage and the house. You use the latter to reach it. It’s the perfect place for washing cars. There’s a tap for water, and it’s secluded, hidden from the drive and the road by the garage, from the neighbours by the boundary hedge, only overlooked by the west wing.

Here Morgane has parked the Bentley and has started washing it. She’s smothered the roof in soap suds that she’s applied with a sponge.

“Are you here to help?” she asks on seeing you. You nod. “Then you’ll need a sponge. Have this one.”

She dips the sponge in the bucket by her legs. Then she’s tossing the sponge over to you. You catch it. Water and suds fly everywhere when you do, splashing you, rivulets soaking into your simple clothes.

“There’s another bucket filled with soap suds over there.” She points to the other bucket on your side of the car. “Oh, that has a sponge. Now I don’t have one.” She’s acting as if she has only just realised this, but you’re certain it’s all a game.

“You want this sponge back?” you ask.

“I just need a sponge.”

You don’t toss back the sponge you’re holding. After all most of the water it held has gone over you. Instead, you head to the other bucket, pull out its sponge, let the water drain for a few seconds then toss it over. Morgane catches it, in doing so spraying water and suds everywhere.