Bedding The Boss

by Limey Lady

  ‘I know. I’m on my way to the same meeting. I just stopped off to apologize.’

  ‘Apologize?’

  ‘Yes; to apologize in person.’

  ‘What are you apologizing for?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. I didn’t know you’d been to an exclusive school. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.’

  Heather didn’t scoff. Instead she told herself he was doing this off his own bat and didn’t really have to grovel.

  And he was a handsome so-and-so.

  If I ever . . .

  ‘Apology accepted,’ she said, smiling even wider, hoping she looked as good for it as Joanna did. ‘I can’t think why I got flustered anyway. I’m proud I went to The Manor.’

  ‘Well it’s certainly turned you into a fine, athletic young woman.’ Chris grinned as he applied flannel with a trowel. ‘Or were you finished off at uni?’

  ‘Bit of both,’ she said modestly, ‘aided and abetted by intensive karate. Hajime is my middle name. Unless I’m playing hockey, of course; then it’s Bully Off.’

  ‘Karate probably came in handy for hockey.’ Chris grinned at her. ‘It’s a dangerous game, hockey, especially when girls are involved. I stick to golf myself.’

  ‘I know you do, Tiger. You play off four, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m due to be pulled to three,’ he said, ‘possibly two after last weekend. But how did you know I’m off four? Have you been checking me out?’

  ‘About as much as you’ve been checking me out.’

  This time they both laughed, holding each other’s gaze, comfortable, almost. Heather could see how easily a girl might slip into a relationship with Chris, even knowing he’d ultimately be bad news.

  If not diverting along the way.

  ‘Do you play?’

  ‘Golf,’ Heather shook her head. ‘Sorry, not anymore. I knew a guy who had a plus handicap. He put me off good and proper.’

  ‘That’s a shame; I was going to ask you if you’d like to play around.’

  ‘Do you mean play-a-round? Or play around?’

  ‘Both. But if you’re not a golfer, maybe . . .’

  ‘Cards on the table,’ she said, pointing to his wedding ring. ‘If it wasn’t for that, I’d play a seventy-two holes tournament. But I don’t do married.’

  ‘What if I said it’s an old one I forgot to take off?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’d have to class it with: The cheque’s in the post. And that other one; the one I’m too polite to mention.’

  ‘How about: I’m looking after it for a friend?’

  ‘No good. How about: You’re flogging a dead horse? Or: Aren’t you late for that meeting?’

  ‘Stone me; you are Snow White, aren’t you?’

  ‘Pure as the freshly driven stuff,’ said Heather, laughing again.

  ‘I meant the Fairest of Them All, actually.’ Chris started towards the meeting room. He gave her a final grin. ‘By the way, I like a challenge. It’s going to be fun working with you.’

  At least he didn’t try to bribe me with promotion. Heather admired the view as he went. As long as it stays that way, it really could be fun. And I’ve never played hard-to-get before; that could be fun too.

  If I ever get back round to blokes, that is.

  *****

  Heather went back to her PC, finding two new messages. Leaving Steve’s part-read, she hurried into her in-box to discover one of the new ones was from Victoria. The other was yet another from Steve. No contest. Victoria’s got opened first.

  “Hiya Heather

  At WYB I am always Victoria, and I’m afraid I’m so sad I’m nearly always at WYB! Only my very close friends outside work ever call me Vic. If I’m really your white knight, you’d better call me Vic right from the beginning.

  Beginning . . . sounds like an adventure, doesn’t it?

  Anyway (and by the way) I hate being called Vick, Vicky or Vikki, so if you ever want to wind me up, now you know!

  My, my, Heather! If you enjoyed giving in to the same temptations as I did we really are going to be friends! Lights-out always was my favourite time of day!

  I’m ready for that drink whenever you are. Just say the word.

  L

  Vic”

  Wow! Heather immediately replied to sender with:

  “Hiya Vic. Tonight?

  L

  Hev”

  She then went back and read Steve’s middle email.

  “Hi Snow White

  Are you all right? You’re not your usual self and I don’t get the bit about Little Orphan Annie. If there’s anything I can do please let me know.

  And I hope I’m not Dopey, because you’ll always be my Fairest of Them All.

  Cheers

  Stevo”

  Her mind whirled. Fairest of Them All, could Chris have possibly read that with me smack in the way of the screen? Surely he couldn’t. And so what if he did? All it tells him is I have another admirer. . . . No, make that yet another married admirer.

  She sent her reply.

  “Hi Stevo

  I was a little bit Grumpy but I’m Happy again now. You’ve never been Dopey so don’t be Bashful, be Happy like me.

  Cheers

  Snow W”

  Victoria’s latest reply landed before Heather could open Steve’s third email.

  “Hiya Heather

  I’m up for tonight but am stuck here until 6:30. Is that wildly inconvenient? If it is okay we could meet outside the main entrance and walk across to The Ferrands.

  L

  Vic”

  Heather’s response went back seconds later.

  “Hiya Vic

  6:30 is fine. I’ll be there, wearing a white carnation.

  L

  Hev”

  She saw the clock as she returned to Steve’s last message and grimaced; it was close to two already. The day was as good as gone and nothing productive had been done. Forget home for a short, sharp shower, she’d work until twenty past six and then stroll down to the cash point.

  “Heather

  What’s Woodhead up to? If he has been upsetting you I’ll brain him with his 5 iron before I bury him in the bunker on the Thirteenth.

  Steve”

  Married men! She sighed inwardly. They’re worse than teenage boys.

  “Hi Stevo

  NOTHING! Chris Woodhead couldn’t bother me if I wanted him to. And I DO NOT WANT HIM TO.

  The idea of seeing him with just his head sticking out of the sand is quite appealing but seriously, he hasn’t done anything to offend me, never mind anything to deserve that.

  Just so you know: YOU are top of my married men list. If I ever slide in that direction, YOU will find out long before Chris Woodhead.

  Be Happy

  Snow W”

  She sat back and waited until she was sure the flurry of mail had stopped.

  Okay, she finally concluded, that’s the personal stuff sorted out, let’s see how much real work I can clear before carnation time.

  Chapter Four

  Heather waited for a valued WYB account-holder to finish at the cash point before she moved in to check her balance. Quite healthy she noted, without any sense of relief. She was long accustomed to seeing healthy balances and had never used the overdraft that had moved with her from NatWest.

  After preparing a request for a hundred pounds she hesitated, then altered it to two hundred. It came out as nine twenties and two tens. She folded one of the twenties and tucked it in her breast pocket, put the rest of the cash and her card safely into her designer wallet and, her heart suddenly pounding, turned back to the main entrance.

  Good grief, I’m excited. Must be Joanna’s dire warnings! I do hope she doesn’t find out!

  Then, forgetting all about Joanna, she grinned: Oops, I just failed another knickers inspection!

  It was six twenty-seven on a cool autumn evening. There were not many people or vehicles around. The floods of homebound bank workers had ebbe
d an hour ago and, thanks to the Relief Road, rush hour traffic was by now virtually done. A way beyond the entrance, up the hill, a handful of miserable-looking people stood waiting for the next Keighley bus. Across Main Street the lights in Wetherspoons were warm and inviting.

  Six thirty. The automatic doors slid open and Victoria came out, followed by a man in an expensive overcoat. Victoria was dressed as before, with the addition of the top half of her mannish black suit. She was carrying a small travel bag in her left hand and had already turned her wonderful, blinding smile in Heather’s direction.

  ‘Hi,’ she cried. ‘Where’s the carnation?’

  ‘I’ve only just left the office. And all the flower shops are shut. You’ll have to use your imagination.’

  The man in the overcoat had stopped behind Victoria, watching their exchange. He looked vaguely familiar. Heather realized why when Victoria, following her gaze, turned and addressed him.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Carmichael. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘Good evening, Victoria. I just wanted to congratulate you on your presentation. It went down very well.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, I’m thanking you. You covered points we hadn’t considered, as is usually the case with your presentations. Ah, are you two together?’

  Caught, Heather thought.

  By a director!

  Without even a kiss!!

  How unfair is that!!!

  ‘Yes,’ Victoria said calmly. ‘We’re on our way to evening service. In fact we’d better hurry or we’ll be late.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Mr Carmichael said. ‘I was going to ask you to step across for a drink in The Myrtle Grove.’

  ‘I’m sorry. We would love to, but we really must fly.’

  ‘Can’t keep God waiting,’ said the director. ‘Off you fly, and goodnight to you both.’

  He set off down the steps, leaving Heather to say in mock horror, ‘Victoria! You just turned down a board member . . . and you fibbed to him!’

  ‘The Bank’s already had eleven hours of my heart and soul today,’ Victoria countered. ‘And I did not fib.’

  ‘What about evening service?’

  ‘Look around. It’s obviously evening. We’re off for the service bit in The Ferrands . . . unless you fancy trying somewhere else.’

  ‘No,’ Heather chuckled. ‘You lead the way.’

  Keeping her bag in her left hand, Victoria linked her free arm with Heather’s and they descended the steps, reaching street level in time to see Mr Carmichael complete his trip across the pelican crossing and into Wetherspoons.

  ‘So, you worked through,’ Victoria said as the enticing smell of Shama curry wafted around them. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I was late eating my lunch. A packet of crisps will do for me. What about you?’

  ‘I’m okay. I had something during the presentations.’

  ‘Yes, after being the star turn, by the sound of things.’

  Victoria pulled a face. ‘Let’s make a deal. No mention of work while we’re in the pub. And no mobiles, come to that.’

  ‘Has Bingley got something against mobiles? There’s another pub down the street with a very big sign banning them.’

  ‘That’s The Kings Head,’ said Victoria. ‘The NO MOBILES sign’s been there since Jack the Hat took over.’

  ‘Jack the Hat? I thought he got murdered.’

  ‘The one from London did. I’m talking about the local version. I’d better not name him for professional reasons. Meaning I signed off his mortgage.’

  Heather laughed. ‘Rascals, scoundrels and gangsters: what sort of a town is this?’

  ‘You should know, coming from Micklethwaite.’

  ‘We left Micklethwaite when I was thirteen. Since then I’ve mostly been away getting educated and travelling the world. I can give you all sorts of gossip about Cheshire and Australia, but not so much about Bingley.’

  ‘They only have retired gangsters in Cheshire,’ Victoria said understandingly, ‘and not many of those rascals and scoundrels. What’s that all about, anyway?’

  ‘Just something Hot Lips was saying.’

  They arrived in front of The Ferrands and paused by the few worn steps to the door.

  ‘I didn’t mean to say “Hot Lips”,’ Heather confessed. ‘I meant . . .’

  ‘Joanna Jones,’ Victoria said. ‘Now promise me: nothing more about work.’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘And are you going to turn your mobile off? Just so you know, that’s not the pub’s request, it’s mine. I don’t want to be interrupted every five minutes.’

  ‘That’s all right by me. Nobody ever rings anyway.’

  ‘Poor Heather,’ Victoria smiled, looking sexier than ever. ‘Surely there are significant others who call you?’

  ‘I haven’t been doing significant others for quite a while.’

  The smile intensified as Miss Efficiency raised a perfect eyebrow. Heather expected another, more-leading question but it didn’t happen.

  ‘Come on then,’ Victoria said. ‘Let’s exchange numbers. I can set mine to send messages at random intervals.’

  ‘As long as the messages are nice and rude,’ Heather replied, fishing her phone out of her bag.

  They swapped numbers then switched telephones off together, as if synchronizing watches, before going inside.

  *****

  The Ferrands was half-empty, as far as customers were concerned, but the air was still absolutely full of cigarette smoke. Heather was fighting back a cough when Victoria tapped her shoulder and pointed to a slightly elevated seating area to their left.

  ‘It’s more private over there,’ she said. ‘Not to mention less smoggy.’

  ‘Okay. Do you want me to get a menu?’

  ‘No, just get an extra packet of crisps. Any flavour, we can always share.’

  ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘What do you normally have?’

  ‘In a place like this, it has to be beer.’

  ‘In that case I’ll have the same as you.’

  Heather edged past two guys feeding the bandit and found most of the drinkers standing or sitting on stools in the (supposedly!!!) smoking-excluded safety of the bar. The only decent gap was away to the right, where half a dozen lads in their early twenties were laughing and joking together. Glad that she didn’t recognize any of them from WYB, she took it and was surprised when the barman materialized in front of her almost immediately.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said in a Kiwi accent. ‘Had a nice day?’

  ‘It’s been wonderful,’ she replied. ‘How’s yours been?’

  ‘It’s not been wonderful, but I’m all the better for seeing you. What are you having?’

  ‘I’ll have two pints of Landlord, please.’

  While the barman pulled the drinks Heather realized her heart was thudding and pounding again. Not that she was complaining. A thudding and pounding heart was one of the ways her body expressed a measure of excitement. In fact it was exciting in itself. She hardly ever experienced real excitement in the lead up to sleeping with a regular lover. Come to that, although most of her regular lovers made the grade, they rarely qualified as “exciting”. Going first time with a newbie, however . . .