Kate brushed her sunkissed blonde hair until it shone, twisted it up into an elegant knot and secured it with a couple of hairpins. She knew it was sunkissed blonde because that was how her colourist described the look she was going for. Kate looked at it in disgust - once it had actually been naturally blonde and kissed by real sun but these days she spent so much time in the office that her poor hair never saw any sunlight – not that there was all that much of it in London anyway. As a result she spent huge amounts of time and money in an effort to keep it looking natural. It really was ridiculous but she hated that mousy brown hair with a passion - it was just not how she saw herself or would want anyone else to see her either.
With a sigh, she added some jewelled clips to make it look like she had made an effort. Then she turned her attention to her makeup. She slapped on a little foundation, before adding several coats of mascara to her long lashes, eyeliner and a generous coating of red lipstick. She smiled at herself in the mirror, as she put in her favourite sparkly earrings.
Her black evening dress was fitted without being figure hugging, with a long flared skirt and a high neckline. All in all it was perfect for the occasion. Flattering but not so sexy as to attract unwanted attention from any of her male colleagues, bosses or clients who may think that it was okay to get a bit friendly with any unmarried female in the place under 50 once they were fired up by copious amounts of the expensive and free flowing alcohol at the dinner.
She gave herself a liberal spray of perfume – a heady oriental scent – she may want to look conservative but she didn’t want to smell it as well. She picked up the red silk embroidered wrap she had bought on a trip to Vietnam as she walked to the door. She took a last look in the mirror as she slipped on her shoes. She was as ready as she would ever be.
Pre-dinner drinks were on a terrace overlooking the 18th hole. Kate pulled her wrap more tightly around her shoulders as she stepped on to the terrace as it was a fine but chilly evening. The first person she met was Clarence Walker-Wright. Kate suppressed her immediate irritation at the sight of him with his floppy hair and snooty public school boy ways. They worked together in the same group at the same level – which could mean they were allies but their relationship was marked only by their rivalry. He thoroughly deserved his nickname of Right Wanker, she thought nastily.
“Kate, I would like to introduce you to someone. Lord Snow, this is Kate Shaw, she’s Australian.” He said this as if it explained everything – which it probably did but it still irked her.
“How do you do, Lord Snow?” That was the right way to address a lord, wasn’t it? Just because Clarence referred to him that way was no guarantee – they were probably related! She wished that she’d paid more attention during the Lipstick Nazi’s lunchtime seminar on etiquette. Instead of listening, she had been hiding up the back trading inane banter with her mate Matthew.
“Apart from being Australian, I am also a senior associate in ALG’s M&A group with Clarence.”
“Lord Snow is the patron of the Highbury Manor Country Club,” Clarence parried.
“Really?” Kate gave the man with a dazzling smile to show how completely fascinating she found this. However, she was distracted by the sight of Tom Benson over his lordship’s left shoulder. If possible he looked even better in a dinner suit than he did in his golf clothes. He smiled at her and raised his champagne glass in a toast to her. As she had not yet seen a waiter to snaffle a drink, she just flashed him an apologetic smile and raised her empty hands to show him she couldn’t return the gesture, before turning her attention back to Lord Snow.
“You’re Australian, eh? How ‘bout the cricket then?” He was referring to the recent Ashes series between England and Australia.
“Yes, of course, England played very well and deserved to win.” Lord Snow laughed, delighted that she had responded correctly.
“And Australia played like a bunch of school boys.”
“Well, yes.” Before she could think of anything appropriate to say, Clarence had interrupted.
“Speaking of cricket and school boys, I actually played cricket against the England captain when I was at school.”
“You don’t say. Which school were you at?” Naturally, Clarence and Lord Snow had attended the same school. Just as she was wondering whether it was possible to die of boredom with an inane smile on your face, Tom appeared beside her and handed her a glass of champagne.
“Cheers.” They clinked glasses and Kate took a sip.
“Oh, thank you so much. I really needed that.”
“You see, it’s my job as host of this event to ensure that all the guests’ needs are met.”
“All of the guests? Or all of the needs?”
“Depends on the guest.” They both laughed and Kate was beginning to enjoy herself – nothing like an attractive man to flirt with to make an evening more bearable. Of course, Clarence could not resist insinuating himself with Tom and Lord Snow at the same time so drew him into their conversation. Thinking that he really did deserve his nickname of Right-Wanker, Kate excused herself, with a lingering smile in Tom’s direction, and moved further on to the terrace.
There were around one hundred people already there – all the men resplendent in dinner suits and the women, by and large, wearing conservative black dresses, which made Kate smirk. The opening bars of Pachobel’s Canon drifted over the terrace from a string quartet playing at one end. She took another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and made her way over to her boss, Hugh Pritchard, who was chatting with Richard, a senior associate in the banking group. Hugh was tall and thin with a beaked nose and what was left of his fine fair hair scraped across his head. He was impeccably dressed and looking every inch the cultured English gentleman that he was.
“Good evening, Hugh. Hi, Richard.”
“Hello, Kate, you look beautiful,” Richard said, as he kissed her on the cheek. Hugh just smiled at her.
“Thank you. You look very dapper. So how did the golf go today?” she asked, as her eyes scanned the rest of the terrace.
Hugh cleared his throat and then said, “I played with Cecilia and Fred Higgins. I think I played sufficiently badly to convince them that I do not spend all my time on the golf course so they can trust me with their legal work.” Kate grinned at him. She loved his dry sense of humour that was so subtle that many people never realised he was making a joke. She then turned her attention to Richard, “And you?”
“Pretty good, you know. Shot 49 on the front nine and 47 on the second nine so cracked the 100, which is always a good thing. Got a few good tips from Tom Benson. Just told me to keep my head down and it made all the difference.”
“Really?” said Kate, which was enough to encourage Richard to regale her with what seemed like a stroke-by-stroke account of his entire round. Luckily, she was rescued by the Managing Partner, Henry Abercrombie.
“Excuse me, Richard, Hugh, but I want Kate to come and tell Fred Higgins about that trip she took in Vietnam last year.”
Henry frowned upon the idea of talking about work at client functions. It was as if he felt that it was somehow vulgar to actually talk about what it was that had brought you all together. Kate obediently went over to Fred Higgins, the head of a software company that ALG was actively courting. She had done work for them on the takeover of a small, super high tech company that made handheld electronic organisers earlier in the year and had met Fred Higgins several times. She regaled him with the anecdote of her hilarious (in retrospect and to other people) trip on an overnight train in Vietnam to the border with China whilst suffering from food poisoning. She smiled as her story came to an end and said, “Now that was a fine story to tell as we are about to go into dinner. I do hope that it hasn’t spoilt your appetite.”
“Not at all. As long as there are no prawns on the menu, we’ll be fine.” Kate laughed heartily with him. She became aware that Tom Benson was standing at her elbow. He seemed to be cropping up everywhere, not that she minded in the least.
“Tom, let me introduce you to Fred Higgins from Elert Software. His company produces software for banking institutions and a scaled down version for home use,” she said politely.
“Yes,” Tom replied, “Fred’s company is actually one of my sponsors.”
“Excellent,” she replied, mentally kicking herself. She was saved by the bell, quite literally as a member of the hotel’s staff walked around chiming a bell calling everyone to sit down to dinner. In the crowd milling around trying to find their places, Kate sought out Matthew, who would find the whole thing funny.
“Hi, Matt. Guess what? I just introduced our golf star to one of his own sponsors. What an idiot!” She clapped a hand to her forehead in horror.
Matthew laughed at her drama queen reaction. “Kate, have another glass of champagne,” he said, handing her one of the two he held. He was clearly set on enjoying himself at ALG’s expense. “Don’t worry they won’t take any notice, after all, you are from Down Under.”
“Charming, Matthew. And exactly why is it that we are friends?”
“Oh, Kate,” he said as he put his arm around her shoulders, “You know you couldn’t possibly survive at ALG without me to lighten your life.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek. Kate laughed up at him – it was quite true. She caught a glimpse of Tom Benson watching her and Matthew intently. She drew away from Matthew guiltily. “Better find my table and keep a low profile.”
The dining room looked glorious. It was obvious that no expense had been spared and that the events organisers ALG always used had been despatched from London to Highbury Manor to ensure everything went smoothly. The room was lit entirely by candles in huge candelabra standing around the walls and small ones in front of each place setting. The tables, covered in heavy white floor length cloths, were practically groaning under the weight of the amassed cutlery, plates and wine glasses. Despite this splendour, all attention was drawn by the flower arrangements, which covered the remaining space on the tables. What appeared from a distance to be flowers were, in fact, miniature cabbages, apples and pineapples with towering pieces of twisted willow shooting off towards the ceiling. The whole thing was fabulous and completely over the top.
As was the dinner. Kate was rather disappointed that the menu did not include peacock or any other exotica but it was still heavenly. She sat at a table with a congenial group of clients and colleagues, more interested in talking about England’s recent cricket resurgence and their football team’s chances in the upcoming World Cup than work, which suited Kate perfectly. She glanced across the room to where Tom Benson was seated at what was nominally the head table, with the managing partner and his wife, another senior partner, Philip Bentley and his wife, Cecillia and Fred Higgins, another client couple and Gillian Martin. Kate thought sourly how convenient it was that Gillian had been able to seat herself as the only single female at the table so that she was effectively Tom’s partner. Tom looked up as she was glaring at Gillian and flashed her a smile and she had to smile back so he wouldn’t think she was shooting him filthy looks.
She engaged in the conversation at her table with more energy and enjoyment than she really felt on the basis that if Tom did happen to look across at her she wanted to appear interesting. After all there is nothing more attractive than a woman apparently having a whale of a time without you. Even if said woman is actually aware of every move you made.
As the plates were being cleared from the main course, Kate watched as Tom leant over to say something to Philip Bentley, before picking up a bottle of wine and making his way towards her table, smiling at her as he got closer. She stood up to talk to him as he approached her table, wine glass in hand leaning casually on the back of her chair.
“Phil ordered this and said that you’d probably like some.” He was holding up a bottle of Australian wine – seriously good Australian wine. She drained her glass and held it out for him to fill. Before he was a chance to fill her glass, she commented, “Phil? That’s rather familiar.”
Philip Bentley was an Australian who had come to London in the early 1980s and been made a partner at ALG before he was thirty. Now in his fifties, he was a scary man. To call him formidable was simply an understatement. His fully justified faith in his own intellectual capabilities was matched by an equally implacable view that everyone else was utterly stupid until proven otherwise. This had stood him in good stead as a lawyer, if not as a human being.
“Yes, well, he’s my godfather. I’ve known him my whole life so I think it’s okay for me to call him Phil. It’s only fair since he still calls me Tommy.” Kate giggled at the idea. But she was just too curious about the possible insights into Philip Bentley as a normal person.
“He’s your godfather?” She was trying not to look incredulous but failing dismally.
“Yes, he was my father’s best friend at school. My Dad always says it was a friendship born out of the accident of the alphabet.” She looked blank at this so he explained. “Benson and Bentley – they had to sit next to each other on their first day of school and the rest is history.”
“So that explains why you are here.”
“Yes and a sizeable donation to the charity of my choice.”
“What’s that? The Save Tom Benson From Poverty Trust.”
“Something like that,” he said, with a lazy smile. A lazy smile she returned whilst all sorts of lustful thoughts fizzed through her brain.
“So, do you want some?” he asked, waving the bottle of wine around.
“Sure,” she said, holding out her empty glass. But he still didn’t fill the glass.
“You have to promise to dance with me later.” He made it sound like she would be doing him a favour.
“I think that’s called bribery.”
He raised his eyebrows at her and asked “Do you want it or not?” He looked at her in a challenging way. Kate could not resist a challenge and she definitely wanted whatever he had to offer. “Of course, I do.”
He poured a very generous amount into her glass and turned to walk away. She sat down again, thinking about their exchange. She felt a hand on her bare arm and then Tom leant down to her and whispered in her ear, “Don’t forget, you promised.” A prickle of sensation started at the base of her hair and rippled down her back and to her legs. She paused to rub her arm where he had touched her. If he had solicited that kind of reaction just by whispering in her ear in a crowded room, imagine what he could do if he really put his mind to it. Kate took a big gulp of iced water.
The wine smelt divine – dark, rich and earthy. She took a sip and then raised her glass in a toast to Tom who was watching her from his seat. They grinned at each other across the room, quite oblivious to what was going on around them. At least until Gillian felt the need to engage Tom in conversation. Kate shrugged mentally and rejoined in the animated discussion on the best place for summer holidays.
There was a decided change in the evening as the last of the plates were cleared from the tables. The subtle background music that had floated over them during dinner changed in favour of more jazzy, big band dancing tunes. This led Tom Benson to invite Cecilia Higgins, wife of Fred and the Chief Financial Officer of Elert Software, to dance. Cecilia was clearly charmed by Tom dancing with her. She smiled coquettishly throughout their spin around the dance floor. He proved himself even more charming when, on relinquishing Cecilia into her husband’s arms, he asked Henry Abercrombie’s wife to dance. Gradually more couples moved on to the floor to shuffle around to the familiar tunes. It was unbelievable to see them all, including Gillian, simpering over him, thought Kate irritably as Tom worked his way through all of the female guests at his table.
Finally he made his way over to Kate, “Would you like to dance? Not that you really have a choice since you already promised.”
“Oh, well, if there are no other women you haven’t already danced with,” she replied ungraciously. Tom laughed as he led her on to the now crowded dance floor. Her bad mood evaporated as she stepped into his arms and smiled up at him through lowered lashes. They began very properly. Tom with one arm around her slim waist and the other holding her hand. Kate put her hand on his shoulder. It was like a rerun of primary school dance lessons, thought Kate, but from memory her partner in primary school hadn’t had quite such impressive muscly shoulders. She looked up at him, still smiling, and said, “You do realise that by dancing with all the women here you’ve just secured your reputation as the most charming golfer in the whole world.”
“Yes, well, that was my intention.”
“Really?”
“No, I just wanted to dance with you but thought that would be a little obvious.”
Kate tried to ascertain whether or not he was being facetious. Tom’s answer was simply to pull her closer to him, wrapping his arm more tightly around her waist and nestling their clasped hands between them on his chest. A new song had started, slower and smoochier than previous songs. Kate moved imperceptibly closer to him so that now their bodies were touching and they were swaying gently in time to the music. She became aware that the song was Sade’s Your Love is King. It made her smile wryly.
“Did you choose the song?” she asked softly. He listening intently for a moment then returned her smile. “No, but I should’ve.”
They stopped talking and just looking intently at each other. Kate’s senses were working in overdrive. She was incredibly aware of the fresh, spicy smell of his aftershave, the feel of his fine wool jacket under her fingers and every point where their bodies met seemed to be radiating heat. And when his cheek brushed against hers, she nearly died on the spot. She realised, as the song came to a close, that they were hardly dancing. She had quite forgotten where she was and drew away from him, as reality returned. But Tom didn’t let go of her hand and drew her back to him.
“You know, Kate, I really would like to get to know you better. Why don’t you come to my room later for a drink?” Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise at his directness.
“I’m in room 312,” he said as he departed, handing her to Richard who had asked Kate to dance.
She was flustered following her encounter with Tom Benson on the dance floor – not to mention shocked at what an appalling dancer Richard was. As always in times of high stress, she sought out Matthew. He was sitting outside on the terrace with a group drinking whisky and smoking cigars. He pulled her to sit beside him on the ledge of the terrace. Kate put her arm around his shoulder and tucked her head in so she could talk to him privately. First, she told him about Richard’s complete lack of any sense of rhythm and how many times he stomped on her feet, just whetting his appetite for her main story. Before she got to her story about Tom, Matthew asked her what was going on as they had seemed rather “friendly” on the dance floor. Expecting her to hotly deny it and accuse him of being an inveterate gossip, he was surprised when she just sighed.
“God, Kate, is there actually something going on? Sexual tension you could cut with a knife out on the golf course, longing looks at the 19th hole and all that sort of thing.”
Again she sighed noncommittally. This was enough for him to press for further details.
“Okay, Kate. Out with it,” he commanded, turning away from the others.
She whispered softly in his ear, “He asked me to meet him in his room for a drink.”
“Oh my lord,” Matthew shrieked, practically shoving her off their perch in his excitement. “Go, go, be gone with you.” He was now making shooing motions with his hands.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Katherine, the man is gorgeous and he wants you. For God’s sake, if you don’t go, I will.”
Five minutes after she had seen Tom bid goodnight to Henry, Kate was standing outside room 312. She was not entirely sure what she was doing there and was in the process of a lengthy internal debate on the pros and cons of knocking as opposed to fleeing back to her own room. She was worried about being caught loitering outside his door like a lovesick teenager. She took a deep breath and knocked quickly on the door before she could think about it anymore.
She waited a long time but no one answered the door. She checked that it really was room 312 and that she hadn’t gone to the wrong room because her brain was so busy with what might happen inside rather than getting her to the right place. She was just beginning to think that this might in fact be a lucky escape and deciding whether she was more relieved or disappointed, when Tom opened the door.
“Sorry, I was about to take a shower.”
“Yes, that’s obvious,” replied Kate as he ushered her inside. It was one thing to have a drink with a fully clothed man in his room but it was something altogether different if the man in question was wearing a bathrobe. She couldn’t help thinking about the fact that he must be naked under the robe and how easy it would be to untie the belt and see just what he looked like without it.
“Would you like a drink?” Tom asked as he shut the door behind her.
“Well, that’s why I’m here so I guess I’d better.”
She looked around the room. He had been given a suite with a large sitting room and a separate bedroom. Kate thought this might just keep what was left of her virtue in tact. He motioned for her to sit down. She settled down in the corner of a squishy couch. She thanked him as he handed her a large whisky and plonked himself in the armchair next to her. She took a sip and looked at him over the top of her glass. Kate wasn’t quite sure what it was but he made her think very bad thoughts, especially when he wasn’t even properly dressed. Perhaps it was just the bathrobe and its automatic associations with intimacy and well, nakedness. Somehow her brain just kept coming back to the idea.
“So?” he said.
“So,” said Kate, with a smirk as she slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet up on the couch, getting more comfortable. Before either of them could think of something to say there was a soft knock at the door. She looked questioningly at Tom but he just shrugged.
“Excuse me,” he said as he went to answer the door. At least he’s polite, thought Kate.
“Tom,” purred a voice that she barely recognised as Gillian Martin’s.
“Gillian,” Tom replied cautiously. She stepped into the room, placing a hand on his chest to steady herself and leaning in closer to him, said “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay – in case there was anything you needed.” The last word came out as a suggestive drawl.
Kate, watched all of this from her cosy corner of the sofa, frozen to the spot, torn between a desire to giggle and wishing she was invisible. Clearly her brain was not good under this kind of pressure – no fight or flight response from her. Instead it was the four year old in her that kicked in with its “should I giggle or put my hands over my eyes and sing ‘la, la ,la, you can’t see me’” response. Tom, also struggling, turned slightly to make eye contact with Kate over Gillian’s head. She followed his movement and noticed Kate for the first time.
“Oh, I see you’re in good hands.” She had reverted to her usual business like self in a flash, “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. Goodnight Tom, Kate.” With a curt nod, she banged out of the doorway. Kate could no longer control herself and collapsed in a giggling heap on the couch. Tom stood transfixed by the door, “It’s not funny, you know. Bloody frightening actually.” This just made her laugh even harder.
“By the way, how many invitations did you issue for this little drinks party?”
“Ha, ha. Only one and I’m not so sure about that one now.”
Kate was still convulsed with giggles, “Does this happen to you all the time? Women just coming to your hotel room to see if you need anything?” She made the inverted commas signal as she said need so they were both knew what she really meant.
“Not nearly often enough.” She managed to reduce her giggling to the odd guffaw and picked herself up off the couch. She moved over to where Tom stood, hands on hips, and said, “I’m sorry. But she did say you were in good hands.” She smiled, stroked his cheek and then leant in to kiss him.
It started as a small ‘I’m sorry I laughed at you’ press of her lips against his. But Kate found that once she had pressed her lips against his that she would really quite like to do it again and perhaps for slightly longer this time. So she did and then she thought while she was doing that she might just slide the hand that was still resting against his cheek around to where the short hairs grew at the base of his neck. This sent a shiver of pure desire through Kate and she was no longer thinking about what she was going to do but just doing it. So she found herself in the space of about two minutes with her arms tightly wrapped around his neck, standing on tip toes and pressing the whole length of her body against his as she kissed him deeply. He had absolutely no hesitation in being led by her in this particular dance.
Her hands moved to his waist where she untied the belt before slipping her arms around his bare chest. His skin was smooth and warm and Kate inhaled deeply and let out a small sigh. She slid her hands further down his back as they continued kissing. To her mingled surprise and frustration she encountered not the naked bottom she was anticipating but the soft cotton of his boxer shorts. He gave a little laugh as she stopped kissing him and pushed him away slightly to check whether that really was the case.
He took a further step back and said, “While we are on the topic of clothing, I have a problem with your dress.”
“Oh, really?” said Kate in a way which she hoped was seductive but thought sounded a little defensive.
“Yes, it’s not quite ugly but it is very staid. It’s not at all what I imagined you would wear.”
“I hate to think what I was wearing in your imagination.” It impressed her more than she cared to admit that he had been thinking about her. She then went on with a shrug, “It’s a dress designed not to give men ideas.”
He laughed. “It failed miserably with me and your colleague. What’s his name? The short guy with curly brown hair and a terrible hook.”
“Richard? The banking guy? No way!”
“Uh-huh,” he said as he moved in closer and began kissing her neck. “Now, Kate,” he murmured against her throat, “I think, and I’m sure Richard would agree, that you would look infinitely more attractive out of that boring dress.”
She laughed as he continued to kiss a line down her neck and to the high neckline of her dress and she ran her fingers through his thick hair. “God, Tom, does that line ever work?”
“You tell me?” he said as he straightened up and gently slid his hands down her arms, taking with them her dress which he had somehow managed to unzip without her noticing.
Kate was in shock until she saw Tom’s own reaction to her standing before him in her underwear. There was nothing staid or boring about her underwear. It was expressly designed to give a man ideas (or make a woman feel very good about herself, depending on your point of view). Kate was wearing a bra and matching pants in a sheer raspberry coloured material edged with black satin ribbon with small bows at the shoulder straps, her cleavage and the top of her pants. She also wore suspenders, stockings and very high heels.
Watching his reaction, Kate began to smile confidently, “So was this more like you had imagined?”
“Umm, no. I don’t think my imagination is that active.” Kate threw back her head and laughed. He came towards her with a serious look in his eyes and she stopped laughing. She took a step towards him and wrapped her arms around him. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her hard against him. Kate gasped at the feel of his nearly naked body.
“Well, I was certainly right when I said I thought you’d be very good at being bad,” he said. She just gave a throaty chuckle.
Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008
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