Chapter 4
After leaving Yazmin's mountain home, I headed for Barcelona. I'd spent longer than planned getting to Barcelona and decided to leave the rest of Spain for another holiday. After checking in at a hotel, I spent the remainder of the day checking my share portfolio and lottery wins. Financially, life was looking very rosy. If my 'luck' continued, by this time next year, I would have close to £5m in the bank! Over the next three days, I explored Barcelona, taking in the usual sights and partaking in the local cuisine. I'd not learned Catalan, but everyone spoke Spanish, French or English, so that wasn't a problem. I drove along the southern Pyrenees from Barcelona, crossing again on its western end. From there, I drove up towards Bordeaux, visiting vineyards and the Atlantic coast before touring the Loire Valley and its beautiful chateaux and eventually arrived in Paris.
The drive through France between hotels gave me time to ponder my future again. My latest thoughts were that if I found someone I wanted to settle down with, I could stay with them for perhaps twenty years and even have children with them before faking my death and moving on. It wasn't something I was keen on, and the more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea of doing that to someone or me. The only alternative I had come up with so far was a series of relationships, which was only slightly more appealing. An extended life was starting to have more downsides than benefits so far. At least my other seven wishes had been successful and welcome, I still didn't know how the two I'd tried to give Serepha had turned out.
Paris is a relatively small city, and its inhabitants are famously rude. However, I didn't find this, possibly because I could speak fluent French, or maybe I was just lucky. Hey, my life has been one lucky event after another now, so who knows?
Paris was pretty, but very busy. The traffic was a nightmare if you tried to walk about, but I wasn't in a rush, so I just tried to relax. The Louvre was excellent, as was a trip up the Eiffel Tower. After four days of sightseeing, I considered heading for the Channel and home. On my last day, I was looking for a café for a coffee and pastry when I stopped and stared at the sight approaching me. Aphrodite herself, yet again! She was walking elegantly towards me, the crowds parting before her as they should. Should I approach her and find out her name? I might not get another chance, so I decided to go for it. As the SAS motto goes, "He who Dares, Wins". As I put one foot in front of the other, she turned and joined some people at a table, who welcomed her warmly.
I chuckled and cursed in equal measure. Finally, I had a chance, even if it was only for a split second, to talk to her, only to be dashed at the last moment. The café looked up market so I decided to have my coffee here. At least I could gaze in awe at her if I didn't make it too obvious I was staring at her. I ordered, and as I sipped my coffee and nibbled my pastry as slowly as possible, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Eventually, when the waiter asked me for the third time if I wanted anything else, I decided I couldn't linger any longer. As I left and passed close by their table, I'm sure she glanced my way and smiled. But that might have been wishful thinking on my part, surely she wouldn't remember a lowly being like me.
Leaving Paris, I headed to the Eurotunnel to catch the train under the channel to Folkestone. As I waited in line for the next train, my phone rang. To my shock and delight, a woman from the Lottery told me I'd won a prize in the previous night's EuroMillions draw. After I'd hung up, I logged into the App to discover I was the sole winner of the One Hundred and Eighty-nine million pound draw!
I let out a manic cheer to the bewilderment of the cars around me. This had been a fantastic holiday, and it had ended brilliantly as well. As the train hurtled under the Channel, I considered what I would do with my wealth. The first thing would be to find a suitable property to move to.
Once I arrived home and unpacked, I started looking at properties online. I didn't know where I wanted to live, and I had no roots that kept me anywhere, so as long as it was a nice area, I didn't mind. Having the whole of the UK to search soon proved tiring and frustrating. Having a sudden moment of inspiration, I searched to see if anyone provided a service to look for upmarket properties for people. Of course there were you muppet! In fact, there were dozens and dozens of them. Not having ever been in the position before of being able to pay for someone to look for a house for me, I hadn't considered it. I made a short list of firms that appeared to work in the heady price range I was after and decided to call some the next day.
The first one I contacted had a glitzy website with excellent reviews. After making an appointment in three days, I headed off to the gym and a return to my version of normality. On the dot at Eleven O'clock three days later, I welcomed Tiffany into my home. She specialised in finding homes for the rich and famous, so I at least met one of those criteria. She spent two hours asking me detailed questions about what I was looking for and making suggestions. I hadn't even thought about more than half the things she asked me. Who knew buying a multi-million-pound residence could be so complicated? Tiffany was easy to talk to and very friendly, which I imagine was necessary for her job. I estimated she was in her early to mid-thirties, and she had long, straight, auburn hair and a cracking figure covered by designer clothes. She either had a wealthy husband or earned a lot from her commissions. If it was the latter, at least she must be good. She had a wedding ring on, so I didn't even contemplate making a move on her.
After grilling me, Tiffany promised to make a shortlist of places we could visit over the coming weeks. The following week flew by before Tiffany contacted me again. She sent me an email containing properties she wanted to visit with me, initially in the surrounding area where I lived. Picking me up the following day, we visited each house, but none had the 'wow' factor I was after. Tiffany and I got along well, and I was confident in her ability to find me a new house eventually.
Over the next few months, we frequently visited properties, moving further and further away, which soon required overnight hotel stays. While I wouldn't class us as friends, we certainly got along very well, often chatting over dinner in the evenings after a day checking prospective properties. We also learned much more about each other because we spent so much time together. Tiffany had recently celebrated her fifteenth wedding anniversary with her husband, Hugh. From how she talked about him, they were still in as much love as they were on their wedding day. Hugh was a successful barrister working in London and had been involved in several high-profile cases.
I shared as much as I could about my life. I obviously didn't mention Serapha or the wishes I'd been granted. Still, I indicated I'd used the opportunity when I'd been sacked to try my hand at the stock market, which had been a great success, plus my 'surprise' win on the EuroMillions. Depending on the hotel, after we'd eaten, we occasionally danced together if they had a band or musicians playing. Tiffany was an excellent ballroom dancer and taught me a great deal. I never tried anything sexual with her because she was married, and she never indicated any interest in me. It was a professional, if friendly, relationship.
That all seemed to change one Friday, around three months into our search. When she picked me up to drive to the area she had planned that weekend, I couldn't help but notice her change in dress. Usually, she was dressed very smartly, with her skirts always below the knee, and I'd never seen a hint of cleavage. This time, her skirt was mid-thigh, showing off some nice-looking legs. Her silk blouse was tight, with a dangerously low neckline, and her lacy bra frequently made an appearance. We toured two properties before arriving at our fancy hotel for the weekend. As we'd been looking around the houses, Tiffany would lean over more often than usual, giving me glimpses down her blouse. I was very confused as to her sudden change of demeanour and uncertain if I was imagining her coming on to me.
Over dinner that night, she would play with her hair, giving me the eye and all the classic come-on hints I'd read that women used. To make matters worse, she was no longer wearing a bra, her nipples were distractingly poking through her thin blouse, and the creamy mounds of her breasts threatened to make an appearance with every move she made. This naturally had an effect on me, and for most of the meal, I sported an engorged cock, although thankfully, not quite a full-blown erection. I kept trying to tell myself I was misreading her actions and that her change in dress was just her being more comfortable around me. Maybe this is how she usually dressed? It came to a head when she asked me to dance. The hotel had a string quartet playing, and as Tiffany and I danced, she clung to me tighter than before. We danced until around eleven in the evening, when we would typically call it a night. As we exited the lift, Tiffany walked with her arm around me, pulling me tight to her. When we arrived at her door, and I said goodnight, she looked devastated and burst into tears. As she rushed into her room, crying, I followed her, not knowing what was happening.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I've made a fool of myself!"
"I don't understand," I replied. "What's going on? Has something happened between you and Hugh?"
"No"
"Look," I said. "I'm a bloke. We're crap at understanding women, and I'm no exception."
"I was trying to seduce you," Tiffany said. "But you aren't interested, and I feel embarrassed and pathetic."
"Okay," I said with a sigh. "I thought you were. I just can't understand why."
