by Limey Lady
‘I was thinking nearer to home.’ Vic took the plunge. ‘I hoped you might be interested.’
Chapter Three
The prospective, specially targeted partner had been tickling Vic’s ribs. She stopped abruptly.
‘You’re joking. I don’t know the first thing about being a PA.’
‘You don’t have to. Your people skills are exceptional. You’ve a relevant first-class degree. And having The Manor on your CV doesn’t hurt. At least two execs have sent their daughters there.’
Hev scowled, which was a first. Her eyes flashed menacingly. Vic was suddenly afraid she was going to blow a gasket.
‘Is that what the torture was about other night, Victoria? Some new-fangled interview technique?’
Heather was referring to Friday’s one-sided foreplay, both verbal and physical. Vic wasn’t about to admit that, as well as great fun, it had been a test of sorts.
‘No, it was not,’ she fibbed. ‘The idea only occurred to me this morning, when I had to accept that no-one else was good enough. That was when I dug out your HR file and started plotting; it was then and not a moment sooner. Are you interested?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ Heather snapped. ‘I said I’d risk the grapevine for you, but that was purely for sex. Promotion never came into it.’
‘It still doesn’t.’
‘Huh!’
‘Honest Injun Hev, I was only after sex too, originally. But having sex has helped me get to know you. Now I do know you, I’m convinced you’re the one I need.’
‘Maybe,’ Heather said after a short, prickly silence. ‘But I’d still look like someone who opened her legs to get promoted.’
‘I’ve been the one opening her legs most of the time, so it doesn’t count.’
‘Excuse me, but I don’t think anyone else will know that. And I’m certain nobody will believe it.’
‘And I don’t think anyone will waste time speculating,’ Vic said valiantly. ‘They will be too busy gossiping about me and Chris. How poetic will that be?’
Heather was still not amused. ‘You’d have to shag him to make the grapevine. Or is there some obscure reason why that won’t that count either?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not up on all the grapevine conventions. But nobody said anything when I shagged him last time. Not even Joanna.’
That created a diversion, temporarily at least. ‘Have you really?’ said Heather.
‘Not for ages, but yes . . . and not just once.’
‘Was it for . . .’
‘Personal gain? No, Hev. Not for either of us. It was without doubt recreational.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘He’s quite good,’ Vic went on, ‘not in Jack the Hat’s class for staying power, but twice as skilful. That’s not why I want him on the team, though.’
She put a tentative hand on Heather’s shoulder. Meeting no objection, she continued, ‘I’d never let sex interfere with work. Not for Chris. Not even for you.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Having sex with you is brilliant,’ Vic said truthfully. ‘I don’t want it to stop. If you tell me to stick my job, I’ll still want to stay over. And I’ll be back on Thursday night as well, if you’ll have me.’
‘You said you wanted fun and flings.’
‘I do. And I still want you to provide most of the fun.’
‘But not permanently.’
‘I want it to be semi-permanent, for now.’
‘What if I had a fling over the weekend?’
Vic paused a moment, thinking about the weekend she’d had herself, the one that she had made sure she hadn’t discussed; not in any depth at all.
‘I’d say nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Apart from I hope she was good.’
‘She wasn’t a she.’
‘Not Joanna then.’
‘No,’ said Heather. ‘Joanna doesn’t . . . unfortunately.’
‘How do you know she doesn’t?’
‘How do you think?’
‘I’m glad you found someone,’ Vic said after further consideration. ‘And I hope he was good.’
‘You’re not going to storm out on me?’
‘No. I really am cool with flings. You can have another go at him while I’m away tomorrow, if you want. I won’t ever be jealous, as long as you’re not.’
‘Hmmm.’ Heather stopped scowling and smiled. It was reluctant and not nearly as cheery as her usual smile, but a smile for all that.
‘Did you have sex this weekend?’ she asked. ‘During your prior engagement, I mean.’
‘Yes,’ Vic admitted.
‘Was it on the dinner party table?’
‘No. it was on the spur of the moment, after the party was over.’
‘Was it with the lesbian at number eleven?’
‘No, it was the one at number fifteen, actually. We do all right for lesbians in my part of Leeds.’
Heather snorted. ‘Good old Headingley; I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here in Bingley.’
‘I’m sure you’ll always get by,’ Vic replied, a little tartly
They stared at each a moment other in silence.
‘I felt guilty as hell,’ Vic said finally. ‘But she made the opening move and I couldn’t help myself. I think you’ve woken a sleeping giant inside me.’
‘Oh I see,’ Heather laughed again. ‘It was my fault.’
‘Yes it was. That’s my excuse. What’s yours?’
‘It’s similar, but the other way round. It was you who said I should bag a rugby player. I was only obeying orders.’
Vic swiftly re-assessed her jealousy levels. Finding that she wasn’t envious (well, not intolerably so) she resumed: ‘Fun and flings still sounds like a sensible arrangement to me. And what we get up to outside of WYB doesn’t have to intrude on our working day, does it? I can hack flings.’
‘So can I,’ said Heather. ‘And I do want you to come back on Thursday.’
‘Thank God for that! Now, can I tell you about the PA position?’
‘Yes, if you really must.’
‘It isn’t a bimbo role. I’m not looking for someone to flash her tits and monitor the paperclips. It will be long hours and hard graft. That’s why I’m setting the starting grade close to that of a departmental head. As time goes by it’s going to gradually rise very close to mine. In three or four years you’ll be a director with your own PA. And you’ll get the mega bonuses as well.’
Vic registered how mention of money didn’t impress Heather. She had only ever got a bit of the girl’s life story when they’d first fucked. Even so, she’d pieced quite a lot together this last week or so. Heather was only insatiable when it came to orgasms; banknotes didn’t matter to her at all, not in the scheme of things. Vic thought that was strange. Money had never been in short supply in the Hanson household but she had always had a healthy appetite for more. Maybe it was a matter of scale? Her lovely young friend might not be hungry for money, but success . . .
Meaning success measured in terms of big rewards. Not doing it so much for the loot, but for what the loot signified.
‘Hev,’ she said beguilingly. ‘Do you know how much bankers are paying themselves in bonuses these days?
‘I’m not sure,’ Heather shrugged, ‘a couple of hundred thousand?’
‘It’s more; much more. If we have five years reaping the rewards, even here in our relatively small bank, we should see two or three million each; maybe as much as twice that. And even five million will not put us anywhere near Fred the Shred. Our heads will still be under the parapet. Just think about it. Simply by putting ourselves in the right place and working like Trojans: five million. The possibilities are endless. You could even buy Hunters Farm back for your dad.’
‘No I couldn’t. The builders have put a hundred and sixty houses on it. And my dad wouldn’t want it back anyway, he just pretends he does. Still, ten years and five million . . .’ Heather whistled softly. ‘What happens then?’
‘Then I’m approaching
forty, you’re not even thirty-five. And we’ve five million each. I think then it’ll be time to go shopping.’
They laughed a little then kissed a lot.
‘Okay’ Heather said eventually. ‘Tell me exactly what I have to do.’
Chapter Four
(Wednesday 27th October 2004)
Heather glanced at her in-box and, not for the first time, wished that Steve hadn’t changed seats. Until recently he had been occupying the desk immediately to her right, although he did flit about now and then, covering for absences. These last few days he had been doing a special job on the other side of the office. The emails had been flowing ever since.
Her smile was wry. It was nice to be missed, but this was getting silly.
She checked for snoops before opening the latest message, quickly clicking it shut again. It was not in the least work-related . . . and it most definitely was not in line with the Bank’s Internet Policy.
Luckily, no-one had noticed. She had another stealthy check over her shoulder before reopening, catching a chuckle with her hand.
The latest exchange had started with a cartoon from Steve: one of Snow White, quite scantily clad but not totally indecent. She was looking at the dwarves with doe-like eyes and a pensive finger to her lovely bright red lips. Steve’s caption read:
WHOSE TURN IS IT TO BE “HAPPY” TONIGHT?
Heather had spent her lunchtime surfing for a response, finding plenty of possibilities. After a lot of careful consideration she had settled on one showing Snowy taking a fully grown lover; in fact the guy was so fully grown that he was bashing twenty inches into her. In this very vibrant image, everyone’s favourite princess was naked apart from her frilly panties, which were hooked around a waving ankle.
Even though it was pure porn Heather reckoned the drawing had its merit. Snow White’s face was all appreciative Os (a cooing mouth, wide-open eyes and circles of hot colour on her cheeks). And her gallant lover was all vigour and strength. If asked to sum it up in art class, she’d have used the single word enthusiastic. To her mind the cartoonist had perfectly captured the joyous energy of two humans shagging. Not to mention the dynamics: those panties really did seem to be twirling in the air.
She shouldn’t have responded so provocatively, no question about that, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. Just as she hadn’t been able to keep from adding a caption of her own.
SOME DAY MY PRINCE WILL COME . . . BUT NOT UNTIL I SAY NOW!!!
Provocative? Well, at least she’d swapped cum for come.
Steve’s reply had taken more than an hour. Maybe he’d been speechless. Or maybe he’d actually been doing some work for once. Anyhow, it was here at last, and all he’d managed was the single line under her caption:
NEVER MIND SOME DAY, WHY DON’T YOU SAY NOW TODAY?
Heather responded with:
YOU KNOW WHY.
Within two seconds he bounced back with a sad blue smiley and:
TEASE!!
Before replying to sender she added dozens of sad blue smileys and:
I DON’T WANT TO BE, BUT NEEDS MUST.
Then, more than slightly pensive herself, she went for a break.
Mary Rose would have done that, she thought, taking her cup from the drinks machine. Picked the most outrageous image and added an incendiary comment . . . except Mare wouldn’t have chickened when her target immediately took the bait.
Cluck, cluck indeed!
The vending machine was in the corridor, outside the main office. Still having ten minutes to drink her coffee, Heather strolled across to the nearest window sill and got out her mobile.
‘To be or not to be,’ she murmured, before smiling again. However she dressed this up, she was going to come across like a bitch in heat, and not least because she was a bitch in heat. All that rot about being off men and what was she about to do?
‘Shouldn’t,’ she said, and dialled anyway, getting the unavailable tone. Supposing she’d made a mistake, she redialled: same tone.
Oh bugger. Saturday’s rugby club pick-up wasn’t contactable. How inconveniently male of him!
Okay then, she thought, what about Steve? I owe him something for flirting so wantonly, and it’s that leaving do tonight. A one-off, never-to-be-repeated below job would prove beyond doubt that I’m not a tease, wouldn’t it?
Maybe two or three, never-to-be repeated below jobs . . .
And below jobs don’t strictly count as “sex”, do they?
Well, do they?
Mavis was Steve’s friend from his old days in Premises. No one else from Joanna’s team would be there to bid her farewell. Steve had invited Heather along to keep him company, saying Premises had been a long time ago; he’d hardly know anyone and was only attending to be polite.
I could always change my mind and go with him after all. Then we could make our excuses after a couple of drinks . . .
Take him back to the penthouse . . .
Lay down ground rules then below him to Heaven . . .
Perhaps indulge in a little sixty-nine . . .
Resisting the temptation to go further, of course, because I’m so not a horny witch . . .
Unconvinced, Heather re-entered her first number with the same lack of success.
‘Bother,’ she growled.
‘Having problems?’ said Joanna, appearing out of nowhere.
*****
Heather did her best to look virtuous. ‘Problems,’ she echoed, ‘no, not really.’
‘Are you sure?’ Joanna wasn’t her usual self. She seemed distracted, but not enough to be fooled by so blatant an attempt at innocence. ‘You look uptight.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, Heather . . . you.’
‘Oh all right then, I confess. I was ringing WYB’s Number 3 on impulse.’
‘That’s very naughty.’
Heather wasn’t going to admit it, but secretly she had to agree. Yes, she was very naughty. She’d had sex for eight days on the trot and, snookered by Vic’s latest trip to London Bridge, here she was, caught red-handed arranging cover for day nine.
Or rather, here she was, caught red-handed trying to arrange cover.
Bloody useless men!!
‘Naughty or not, it makes no difference,’ she said. ‘His phone’s kaput.’
‘Perhaps he’s avoiding you?’
‘Perhaps he is, but not by ignoring calls. That signal was terminal. He’s dropped his mobile in the bath or something.’
She held her phone out, letting her supervisor hear the shrill tone.
‘He didn’t give you a duff number, did he? A bloke once gave me the speaking clock. A proper swine, he was.’