Sophie allowed herself to sag against Karl. He was warm and safe and scented with familiarity.
“Me too,” she admitted softly.
“Really!” Karl teased her as he brushed a lock of blonde hair from her eyes. “You too are waiting for Ms Right? Interesting. I’m definitely watching that one.”
Sophie punched his stomach gently.
“Aagh!”
“You know what I meant.”
Karl wrapped his arms tightly around her. One around her waist and the other wrapped around her shoulders. He held her tightly, enjoying the closeness, and Sophie gave in to it, melting with the security of his fixed but tender grip.
“Hey, I’ll tell you something that will cheer you up, Soph.”
Sophie lifted her head. Her eyes were glazed as she looked up at him.
“What?”
“I think I broke Nathan’s nose!”
“What? How? When?” She broke into her hallmark grin.
“I paid him a little visit yesterday and put him straight on a few things, let’s just say. Oh and I left him with a wee reminder of what I will do to him if he ever steps out of line again!”
Her eyes were wide with disbelief. Karl, the gentle, considerate employee she had kept by her side for years. The Karl whom she thought she could read like a book was not a man who was capable of breaking someone’s nose.
“I am starting to cheer up already. That definitely deserves a high-five, Karl.”
They slapped hands high in the air.
“Wait until I tell Helena! It’s been a long time coming.”
Helena sat in the staff vending area on the stained red-canvas-backed chairs. They were low to the ground and she felt like lining them up and laying her head down to catch forty winks. She had barely slept since Sophie told her the news. News which had herself, Karl and Jude elbow-deep in solvent solution which had taken the top layer of skin from her pen-pushing hands as she scrubbed for hours until she had cleansed herself as well as the sterile shutter. Still, the planned invective had fast become a piece of history saved by the quick reactions of those first at the scene and protected from further outflow by a small circle of friends.
She watched the LED board add a minute to its red luminous clock before prising herself from the chair reluctantly.
“Helena.”
Helena turned in the direction of the voice she both recognised and liked.
“Oh, hi, Maggie. How are you?”
The suit-clad figure of authority beckoned to her. “Have you got a minute?”
Helena glanced at the wall-mounted clock. “I’m due back from my break, like, now.”
“Just tell them I kept you late,” Maggie instructed.
She held open the staff-room door which led to a long corridor on the first floor of the building which they shared with a second-floor stockbroker and a third-floor high-net-worth insurance broker.
The toilets, kitchen and managers’ private offices led off the hardwearing tiled carpet and tubes of flourescent strip-lighting pointed to the stairs which led to the ground-floor banking hall. The area was dark and drab and in need of a lift into the twenty-first century. It was stuck firmly in post-war era with its large trellis which peeled as it gripped the walls, its cracked exterior struggling under the weight of the ceiling.
Helena jumped up and followed Maggie, keeping pace with her long legs as she strode purposefully towards her office.
“Take a seat, Helena,” Maggie offered as she smiled at the young woman who she had become so fond of over the years.
“Thank you.”
Maggie sat on the worn tan-leather chair, grimacing as she tried to stop it from swivelling.
“You know this chair makes me feel sea-sick every time I sit on it but whenever I ask Head Office for a replacement they tell me we have to stop spending until the recession is over.”
Helena laughed as Maggie gripped the desk, steadying herself.
“And the joke is that it’s the bloody board of executives – you know, those who set the targets, budgets etc, who are responsible for the recession in the first place but their pompous arrogance prevents them from seeing it.” She spoke directly to Helena, never losing eye contact and Helena could see that, if pushed, she would be a force to be reckoned with. “Still, I’d like to keep my job so I’ll say nothing. I’ll just take a travel-sickness pill before I come to work every morning!”
“I suppose we’re lucky to have jobs with the state of the economy,” Helena offered jovially although she was a little nervous about why Maggie had beckoned her.
“Indeed. Now where were we?”
Helena shrugged her narrow shoulders.
“Yes, of course. I spoke to Head Office and they have a whole load of university graduates starting on the Graduate Management Programme. Basically clever kids on cheap labour which is perfect for us given the current climate.”
“Am I getting on the programme?” Helena leaned forward with excitement. “A few years too late but better late than never!”
“No, no. Far better than that, Helena. You are going to write the programme for new starts. Put together an induction programme starting with the basics of banking, including covering all the necessary regulations. I want you to compile a brief synopsis of all the internal roles right from the bottom up to board level so they have an understanding of their potential career opps . . . plus if you could create a timetable for them which has a balance of both classroom training combined with the shadowing of carefully selected people in all of the roles I brief you in . . . that too would be super. I only want them to learn from the best.”
Helena was speechless. She could say nothing.
“It won’t be possible for them to shadow anyone at board level of course but we may be able to arrange for some of the more promising ones to pair up with heads of departments.” Maggie spoke without emotion like she was delivering the lunch-time news.
Helena was ready to burst.
“The real challenge for you though, Helena, is the psychological observations you will need to undertake. Head Office wants a full report on each of the students giving their learning style percentages, you know, Acti –”
“Activist, reflector, pragmatist and theorist,” Helena burst out with excitement. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”
Maggie broke into a smile at her sheer enthusiasm. There was no-one more equipped to do the job as far as she was concerned, but Helena would be missed in the banking hall.
“We’ll talk more over the coming days but how does 1st July suit you for a start date with an annual salary of twenty-four thousand?”
Helena gasped. That was almost an eight-thousand-pound jump from what she earned now. The possibilities were endless. She could save fast for a deposit and buy her own place. Casa Helena. She would host the Curry Club, welcoming her friends into her own abode with pride instead of shame. She need never borrow anybody’s home ever again.
Helena was on the road to recovery. She had a new wardrobe of clothes, a promising career, a boss she adored and a best friend who had forgiven her lapsed stupidity on the strength of a single word. Oh, and an ex-boyfriend with a broken nose as per Sophie’s latest text. But more importantly, she would be out of that banking hall, away from it for good where she could make a fresh start as the professional that she was.
“Where do I sign!”
Kath kicked off her rubber-soled pumps, using her feet instead of her hands which were tied up, wrapped around her mobile phone.
“James says I can do the Curry Club on the day of the funeral, Jude – he says it would be a good distraction and it is my turn to host but I’m not too sure. What do you think?”
Jude held the receiver, putting down the salon equipment brochures which she had pored over for hours, tapping away on her calculator, multiplying every item by eight and coming up with a figure which exceeded her seventy-five-thousand-pound budget every time.
Sophie had insisted on eight work stations
after deciding that she would opt for the rent a chair strategy for Alderley Avenue. She had elected to charge each of the top stylists she was all set to interview two hundred pounds per week inclusive of all overheads and products – including colours – which was where they could easily net two hundred pounds per day for themselves. It was the colours that brought in most of the income, she had told Jude. That way she could gross sixteen-hundred pounds per week and could have the bank loan cleared in no time at all, saving thousands of pounds’ worth of interest.
“I don’t think James would have suggested it if he hadn’t meant it, Kath. Do you?”
Kath sat in her white cotton Sloggi underwear with matching sports bra. She had finished teaching her daily Yoga class and was heading for a dip in the pool followed by a long spell in the steam room where she hoped the intense wet heat would draw out her impurities. She needed to feel cleansed and revived. That was the Catholic in her.
“No, no, you’re right, he wouldn’t. I was thinking of inviting partners this time actually, Jude. It will be a bit squashed and all that – oh and you might have to eat off your knee . . . but would that be okay?”
Kath waved to one of The Hamptons’ members as they too headed for the exclusive solarium. She didn’t care what state of dress they saw her in. To Kath, a body was a body. You came in naked and you went out naked.
“Can’t we eat off plates?”
“Huh?”
“You said we have to eat off our knees but I’d much prefer a plate please.” Jude giggled at the stupidity of her sense of humour. She would never be a comedienne and she preferred laughing at other people’s jokes, but lately she was at her happiest because she was working, her life held a clear purpose for her and despite the fracas she’d had with Clive, she would continue to work until the project was complete and then she would set the record straight with him. Perhaps she simply needed to get it out of her system.
“Jude Westbury. Are you starting to get a bit funny in your old age?” Kath teased, taking a cleansing wipe, removing her light make-up. She didn’t want it clogging her pores. The dirt needed to come out of them not be sucked into them as her pores opened with the steam she was soon to be a part of.
“Hey, less of the old. I’m still the right side of forty. . . unlike some.”
Kath paused. “Hang on a minute . . . only just, young lady . . . I’m saying that while I can,” she quipped affably. “Anyway, let’s see if you look as good as me when you’re my age.” Kath snorted whole-heartedly. She knew she looked good with her flawless pale skin complementing her fiery red hair. Her cheeks were consistently dusted with a natural red tint making her look crisp and fresh as a summer’s day. But she held not an ounce of vanity. Everything Kath said was in jest or tongue in cheek. To her, beauty was on the inside and she had no need for the sparkling bling which Roni wore like a suit of armour.
“You do look amazing, Kath. James is a lucky man. What’s your secret?” Jude paused for a second. “Alcohol preservation?”
Kath held the phone, gobsmacked. Her friend had transformed herself since she had begun to work for Sophie. She was usually so quiet, saying very little, but now she was a spirited lively woman with a dry sense of humour that had been hidden away.
“Actually,” Kath cleared her throat, “yes!”
She tittered away with childish glee. Laughter was the best medicine for Kath and anything which made her heart happy made her happy.
“You wait until Wednesday, Jude. I’m going to get my revenge.”
“Don’t worry, Kath. Your cooking will be the perfect revenge.”
Roni scribbled on the dry-wipe board which was hung in the laundry-cum-utility-room. She had to write everything down, else she would forget it. ‘Keep Wed free. Curry Club couples night. Kath’s.’
Roni was pleased that it was couples night. Peter had heard so much about her nights out with the girls, yet he had not had the pleasure of experiencing one of them with her. The annual yachting event, yes, but he hadn’t experienced being a part of the closed circle and perhaps he would now understand what it was which attracted her so to the Curry Club and its strange proceedings. She would be proud to see him witnessing her fit in with the group as they played their favourite game.
She was becoming one of them more easily as the days passed.
The doorbell chimed through the house as loud as a church bell and Roni froze. It rang again. This time she forced the top back on the wipe-board pen, dropping it onto the narrow tray which sat at the bottom of the board before racing through the kitchen and into the ballroom-sized hall.
Roni could see Darren’s outline through the glass panes which sucked panels of light into the house. She had cancelled last week but she knew better than to do it again. She was on a mission to learn to swim. A choiceless mission.
“Coming!” she yelled, rushing to the mirror to fix her hair before she would open the door to the man whose lips had embraced hers. “Shit.” Roni grabbed the towel from the mirror, throwing it on the side dresser, quickly licking her fingers and thrusting them through her sleek hair which she was still getting used to.
Darren was unusually early and she wasn’t ready yet.
Roni opened the front door with a pounding heart. “Hi there.”
Darren beamed down at her. “Good morning. Is the lady of the house in?”
Roni threw back her head with laughter. She liked his boyish charm, his occasional cheekiness. But more than anything, she adored his insightfulness even though at times it unnerved her.
“I am the lady of the house,” she snapped, trying to suppress the humour behind her tone.
Darren released his grip on his holdall, letting it drop to the floor.
“You certainly are, madam.”
He edged closer to her, staring down the gap of her soft pink jersey shaping its expensive fabric around her vital statistics, peering at her ample breasts which were large and sagging.
Roni saw the look on his face and her head felt light. Her stomach danced with regret as she pulled him in, slamming the front door behind them.
Darren pushed her backwards until she was pressed against the heavy silk wallpaper, yanking at the bottom of her sweater, pulling it over her head and dropping it at his feet, stopping to take in her breasts which spilled out of her matching pink bra. A roll of fat sat beneath the bones of the bra, with another more bulky roll pushed over the waistband of her beige tailored trousers. But Darren didn’t care. He had slept with too many women, girls to be precise, with pert ‘C’ cups and ironing-board stomachs and thighs he could wrap his hands around. But in front of him was a woman who had experienced life and her body reflected this. He wanted nothing more than to make Veronica Smyth see that she was as perfect as they were – more so in fact – and for her to embrace the beautiful woman she was.
Roni’s chest rose and fell as her breathing became louder and more erratic when Darren’s soft hands slid up her arms, stopping at her shoulders. He gently pushed down her bra-straps, pulling back the protective lace of her ample cups and watching with lust as her pale breasts and saucer-like pink nipples fell into a natural southerly position. He had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
Darren knelt down to kiss the stretch marks beneath her breasts before taking in one of her large nipples which filled his mouth.
His trousers were bursting with the intense load he had carried for this strange woman since the day he’d met her and Darren knew that if he could make her see that she was inviting and sexy without the ostentatious jewellery she so relied on, her bling of armour, he would be a happy man. He would exit her life as quickly as he had come into it.
She was almost there.
Roni arched her back. Her lustful groan filled the hall with a pornographic symphony as she felt her trousers and then knickers pulled roughly past her knees. She was glad she had waxed and that her body was in better shape. Her redness had fully healed and she had shaved her legs too in advance of today’s less
on. Roni was swimming alright – in a sea of lustful waves.
“Lie down,” Darren whispered as he freed the trousers from her one foot at a time.
As Roni lay down obediently, Darren unbuckled his washed-out ripped jeans, stepping out of them. His impressive erection waited impatiently.
Roni gasped when she saw the size of it.
“I’ll be gentle, Veronica,” he assured her as he dropped to the floor, resting on his biceps which took the weight of his six-foot-four frame. “Guide me in.”
Roni took hold of his thick penis, rubbing it against her clitoris in small circular moves before guiding it to its rightful place where it disappeared, lost amongst the crude cries of eroticism. As they thrust against each other, the longing each of them had held for very different reasons peaked to a climax and Roni’s body shuddered as waved contractions washed her away to a place she had never been before – taking the guilt momentarily with it.
Jude picked up the sample pots of paint, a mixture of purples, carrying them to the checkout. Sophie had asked for nothing but for her to remain within budget. She had made no demands on colours, furnishings or even the layout of the place and Jude, surprisingly, found her the easiest person to work for.
She smiled as she admired the shades of colour stuck firmly to the front of the miniature tins. She had opted for a combination of deep purple combined with a complementary mauve which would brighten the effects of such a bold statement. Jude planned to have the thick skirting boards sprayed in silver and covered in a coat of clear, hardwearing varnish which would stop them from scuffing easily and more importantly create a chrome effect to match the overall aesthetic look she was so determined to capture. Deep, earthy colours offset with a contemporary steel finish. She couldn’t wait.
As she handed over the cash, she glanced down at her driving licence which she kept in the plastic-coated section of her purse in case she needed it at short notice, although it would hardly be because she was stopped by the police for speeding. Random checks perhaps. It was more for large credit-card transactions like when she purchased her BMW X5 which Clive had suggested she buy on her platinum card so they benefit from the extra Air Miles. Clive Westbury saw the value in every penny he spent and it came back to him two-fold.
Some Like it Hot Page 27