WARNING TO READERS - This is a long, rambling, multi-part story and VERY British. The individual chapters will make more sense if read in sequence.
Pt. 25 A Damsel in Distress
Saturday was a grey, much cooler day with periodic bouts of drizzle and so we were not terribly busy at the garden centre which did at least enable everybody to concentrate on necessary day to day tasks in the growing areas and tidying and filling up the displays.
There was only one postal delivery on Saturdays and that came in about mid-morning. As usual Emma opened all the business mail and passed me a couple of letters marked personal, one was a packet from Uncle Arthur containing some documents relating to my trust fund that needed signing and informing me that the large lump sum would be paid directly into my bank the following week.
The second letter was a stiff brown card wallet, posted locally, but I did not recognise the handwriting. I opened it and tipped out the contents, there wasn't a note or letter, just a red gymkhana rosette for 'Best of Class', I smiled; obviously Philippa had enjoyed our time together as much as I had. The muscles in my back and down my legs were still a bit stiff from our energetic fucking. I slipped the trophy back into it's packet and slid it into my pocket to take home later, I thought that I could pin it up with my other riding rosettes and only I would ever know that it was not for riding horses.
Maggie was sitting at her desk across the office and obviously spotted what I was doing, "What's that?" she asked, curious. Not for the first time I mused that women never seemed to miss anything that you didn't want them to see.
"Oh, just an old gymkhana rosette .... From my riding days at Shelby's; I saw Philippa the other day and she said she would send it to me." I lied glibly.
"That was nice of her. See much of her do you?"
I resisted the temptation for say 'I've seen everything there is to see' and just replied, "Only a couple of times, when I have been out to the stables; I've dated Janice once or twice." I saw an opportunity to sate my curiosity. "What is the story with Philippa?" I asked as casually as possible.
"I don't know her that well, we are more acquaintances that friends," she said. "She inherited the riding stables from her father, but originally her grandfather had kept racehorses. Shelby House and the surrounding estate have been in the Shelby family since the early 1800s. The last time that I was at the house for a drinks party some years ago, there was an old formal Victorian garden at the rear which was really run down, if you see Philippa occasionally you should see if you can persuade her to put some business our way," she chuckled.
"What about Philippa herself? I ventured.
"She was a really top flight show jumper and three day event rider in her teens and twenties, even made an Olympic team; then she married some Argentinean polo player who turned out to be a total waste of space and after she divorced she reverted to her maiden name. Then her father died and she gave up the circuit and came home to run the business."
"She seems a bit prickly ... but I have always got on with her OK."
Maggie laughed. "Philippa has a bit of a reputation as a man-eater, she has had short relationships with several men in the past but has dumped them really quickly if they showed any signs of wanting to get their feet under her table, and she has made no secret of having the odd one night stand just for fun. She is a really tough lady, who wants her independence and her own life."
That explained a lot. Perhaps just the occasional fuck with Philippa would satisfy both of our desires and remain just that; occasional.
I had an appointment with Caroline Brookes in the afternoon to present the various design options for her new garden and so spent an hour with Maggie going over the plan drawings one last time. I thought that Caroline was going to be really fussy and I had drawn up three separate options and at Maggie's suggestion had noted some of the variables which could be mixed and matched if she wanted even further alternatives.
"I'm not sure that I should be letting you go out there on your own," Maggie joked. "If you are not back by the end of business, I will call out the Rape Squad to go and rescue you, or maybe even send Emma out to bring you home."
Caroline was a very attractive woman whom Maggie had nick-named 'Ms. Thunder-thighs' after she had flirted and come on to me when we initially visited to assess the project. Personally I did not believe that she would really be interested in anything other than a little light flirting, she was attractive, wealthy and moved in seriously moneyed circles, her choice of men friends would be nearly unlimited.
The job was at Bishopsdown on the northern outskirts of the city a short drive from the garden centre and so I was ringing her front door bell shortly before two o'clock. I had parked the Land Rover in the drive next to her bright yellow Lotus Elan M100 and noted that there was a brand new black BMW 730i in the garage which could only be a few days old as it had 1989 number plates. This lady might be young but if both cars were hers then she had a seriously high income.
Caroline opened the door and invited me in. She was probably mid-twenties, and her bottle blonde shoulder length hair was gleaming from an obviously very recent brushing and her attractive, heart shaped face was fully made up with pale pink lip gloss, blusher and a light blue eye shadow. That day she was wearing very tight white jeans that hugged her rounded hips and thighs and a long pale sky blue, shirt blouse with the collar turned up and the top buttons open to expose her impressive cleavage. As I followed her into the house I noticed that the tail of the shirt covered her round buttocks, which I thought was a bit of a shame as her jeans were very tight. She looked ready to go out, but maybe she was one of those women who dressed like that even at home.
We sat at the end of her long lounge in two comfortable bucket chairs which had been turned to face out of the French doors so that we could see the garden plot. I was really glad that I was on time because there were already two bone china mugs of black coffee on the coffee table beside us.
She smiled sweetly, "It is straight black coffee, isn't it?" I noticed for the first time that she had a slight accent, maybe London or Essex, but not private school; she had obviously grafted for whatever she had achieved in life.
"Oh yes, well remembered," I replied. My guess was that she saw everything and forgot nothing.
She was one of those gushing, very tactile women and had positioned the chairs so that we could sit close enough to be able to spread the plans over our laps. She sat very near to me and continuously touched my arm with her manicured finger tips, frequently bending forwards to peer at the plans, 'accidentally' rubbing her tit against my arm and displaying her cleavage provocatively. She was wearing a very soft plain white silk bra beneath the blouse and after a while I noticed that her nipples had stiffened and were clearly visible through the fabric and looked large and hard.
She was making me seriously horny and I had to keep concentrating on the garden designs and reminding myself that I was here on business. Maybe Maggie had been right; perhaps I should have brought one of the women out with me.
We spent about an hour and a half discussing the designs whilst she used body language to flirt with me outrageously. In the end we agreed quite quickly how the project should be started, I found that she was very intelligent, quick to grasp an idea and actually quite decisive, but I was glad when she suggested that we took a walk around the garden to confirm the vision, although she hooked her arm through mine and retained body contact. I let her wander about comparing the plans to the site whilst I took a few photographs and some soil samples for ph testing.
