This is the second edition, revised August 2016.
THE SEEHOFER CHRONICLES.
THE MEMOIRS OF A COURTESAN - Volume 1.
PROLOGUE -- BELGRAVIA.
Monday 8
th
February 1968.
Belgravia, London.
Rebecca Seehofer felt distinctly nervous. The flat in London's chic Belgravia was cloyingly warm, totally at odds with the sulphurous fog that billowed spectrally in the cold February air. The night mist imbued a sense of claustrophobia and worse still, a feeling of isolation. They were in the heart of the capital and yet they may as well have been on a Pacific atoll. We'll, perhaps a desolate island in the Outer Hebrides would have been a more apt comparison.
Becca sat demurely on the beige couch next to her fellow secretary, Sally. Both girls balanced cut glass ashtrays on their clenched thighs and smoked, Sally noticing the way that Becca nervously toyed with the cigarette ash. They knew each other reasonably well, both being secretaries for departmental heads at the ministry. However, this was the first time they had worked together. The two Japanese businessmen had left them alone, one to visit the bathroom, the other to prepare drinks in the kitchen.
"So you're going to do it then?" whispered Sally louder than she had intended, an effect of the alcohol she had consumed in the expensive French restaurant. She had no idea what she had been drinking; imbibing only what the sommelier had suggested to the senior businessman. All she knew was that it was intoxicating and delightfully expensive. Becca glanced anxiously at her friend.
Sally was the sort of girl transformed by make-up. At work she appeared as a young twenty-four year old, rather plain with an oval face that was on the cusp of being podgy, as was the rest of her body. Yet sat beside Becca was an all together different animal, a prime example of the predatory female of the species.
Becca conceded Sally looked very pretty, her heavy make-up offering the impression of a Hollywood starlet. The ruby red lipstick lacked subtly and projected only one message- availability. The cocktail dress refined Sally's profile and her huge bust was haltered and shackled within the garment, manufacturing twin peaks that either intimidated or enthralled. Becca guessed that the Japanese senior partner inclined towards the latter.
Sally took Becca's silence as affirmation and smiled gently at the blonde who was one year her junior.
"Good for you, it makes it better for both of us," again whispered Sally in her broad Yorkshire accent. "Why don't you go to the loo when he comes out and take your tights and knickers off. It sends out the right message. Oh, and your bra whilst you're at it. That should get your bloke going."
"Where do I put them?" Becca's modulated accent was pitched higher than normal, a result of the nervous trepidation that unsurprisingly assailed her.
"In your bloody handbag!" snapped Sally. Becca looked questioningly at her small silver clutch bag. "Christ!" gushed Sally, "you're not wearing your mother's undies are you?"
Becca blushed, as she was prone to do. "Of course not, but the bag is very small..."
"Oh, just leave them in the bathroom and pick them up in the morning."
Becca blanched at Sally's words- 'in the morning'. She had been on many dates on behalf of the department but this was the first time she had agreed to spend the night with anyone. Her concerned musings were broken by the reappearance of the man who had visited the toilet. He was Becca's date for the evening and the junior of the two men. He may have been the junior but Becca guessed him to be well into his forties. He was, at about five feet five, the same height as Becca without her heels, and slimly built except for a paunch. Becca had deliberately abstained from taking any note of his facial features; she preferred the experience to remain as anonymous as possible.
After drinks, the senior partner whispered into Sally's ear and she giggled coyly. He led her towards one of the bedrooms and Becca caught Sally's wink aimed exclusively for her benefit. If it was supposed to reassure the novice then sadly it had the opposite effect. Becca was left alone on the couch, the remaining man sitting in one of the seats opposite her.
Reassuringly for Becca, the businessman who she simply knew as Ken appeared equally as nervous as she did. The senior man, it appeared, was the more experienced in more ways than one.
"Would you like to relax for a while?" suggested Ken. His English, or perhaps more precisely American, was faultless but heavily accented. Becca smiled, hoping it didn't emerge as a grimace.
"I'd like that," replied Becca decorously. Ken smiled his appreciation, stood up, and began to walk towards the second bedroom. Becca extinguished her cigarette and followed.
The bedroom was the smaller of the two. Although pleasantly furnished, she was instantly struck by its austerity and lack of homeliness. The room had nothing to suggest occupation. Ken hovered by the double bed, which was covered by a plump red eiderdown quilt.
He removed his grey suit jacket and placed it over the solitary armchair by the teak writing bureau. Becca hovered, clutching her handbag to her stomach whilst she waited with uncertainty. She was unsure of what she was supposed to do, the advice given to her by Sally forgotten as she was assailed by shame and the gravity of the situation. She empathised with the singer who forgot the lyrics of a song or the dancer who overlooked the choreographed moves.
Becca was no stranger to sex. The reason she had been offered her job was because she was a highly sexed young woman. However, intercourse had always been with partners of her choosing. She had never had sex with a man as part of a business association. Ken perceived Becca's hesitancy.
