She squeezed him gently. "Good. Now go—and behave yourself."
"I will," he promised. "Mistress," he remembered. She released him.
Oliver dressed and drove home. He was oddly elated. Save yourself for me. An order. An implied promise. Another thrill ran through him.
4.
Oliver worked on the mailing list all week. He tried not to think about
Jacky, although she came into his mind regularly, especially at night.
Her big eyes held him before he fell asleep; her body was just out of
reach.
When he wasn't sitting in front of the computer, he worked on the walnut box. He finished the dovetails. Fitting the bottom of the box was a puzzle. He had cut it to rest inside; it had to be supported just above the low bottom arches. He didn't want to put screws through the sides of the box, and if he put supporting ledger strips on the inside, the bottom would be raised too high. He fastened a small block to the lower inside of each corner. The blocks strengthened the feet of the box and supported the bottom just above the arches. He was satisfied with that solution, but when he pushed the bottom down on the blocks it did not fit perfectly flush against all four sides. The cracks bothered him.
By Friday, after much experimenting, he had made tiny moldings to cover the cracks. "Thank God for routers," he said to Jennifer Lindenthwaite. "Took me about five tries, but I did it."
"I wish Rupert had your talent," she sighed.
"It's not talent; it's pig-headedness."
"Pigs are sweet, really," Jennifer said. "They get a bad rap." She stood. "Let's see the program."