Two Can Play Ch 06

"Have a good time?" Paul asked.

"Wonderful," Rachel brightly responded.

"How many men did you fuck?"

"Is that for you to know?" Rachel was shocked by the brutality of the question.

"I think it is. What you do is very much my concern."

"We agreed on an open marriage, if you remember. That doesn't mean I have to tell you everything - nor you me. And frankly, I'd rather not hear about your activities whilst I was away."

"There‘s not much to tell."

"If you must know, there were four. Tony was the last."

"Was he good?"

Rachel nodded. "More than adequate."

"I'm pleased for you." Paul sighed. He was trembling slightly as he formed the fatal words. "I don't think I can take any more, Rachel. Come back to me properly - wholeheartedly - or…"

"Or what? Are you throwing me out?"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that."

"How would you put it?"

"I'm giving you a choice."

"Thanks a bunch." Rachel picked up her suitcase. "I won't bother to unpack. Our marriage hasn't been much of a success recently, has it? We'd probably be happier apart. We had ten good years together. It would be a pity to spoil them."

"As far as I'm concerned they're already ruined. I lost you the moment you walked in that door and discovered Carol and me, didn't I? You've never forgotten or forgiven."

"I tried to forgive."

"I have no idea how many men you've slept with since then, but I imagine there's a lot more forgiving for me to do."

"I haven't kept count," Rachel murmured.

"I'm sure you haven't." He went to the door leading to his study. "I've got to get back to work. My writing's suffering these days. I'm behind with 'Cottingly' and not written a word of my novel for weeks.

"Goodbye, Paul."

He stood in the doorway looking at her for a long moment, then left the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Rachel felt a tear trickle down her cheek.

*****

Rachel stayed with Kate for two weeks, but then managed to find a dingy furnished flat above a shop in a less than salubrious street. The rent was too high, the furniture dilapidated and worn, the paintwork peeling and scratched. Nevertheless it was her home, the first one not provided by someone else.

The day after walking away from Paul she had phoned him to say she was all right. He suggested they might have been too hasty and perhaps she should return, but she thought it was over between them. Their love for each other had cooled and that was that. They had met once since, when Rachel returned to collect her clothes and some personal items. Kate went along, too, acting as a chaperone, referee and peace-keeper. The atmosphere was frosty, but no voices were raised in anger or recrimination.

Her next, and most important task, was to find a job. Looking through the adverts she found a vacancy for a cashier in a large store. She applied and was accepted, giving a fillip to her bruised ego. The pay was not overwhelmingly generous, but it would keep her going until she found something else.

It took a little time and several attempts, but eventually she was successful in obtaining a position as a public relations assistant for Trends Radio. It meant a substantial increase in salary and she was able to buy a used car.

The opportunity for betterment came about quite accidentally when Rachel met Desmond Elliot. He worked with Kate - "Well, really, I work for him. He‘s the Controller." - and came across to their table in a bar. A substantial amount of liquor was downed that evening, but both Desmond and Rachel were fully aware of what they were doing when he took her back to his home afterwards. There was no wife or family to bother about as they were all in Scotland visiting her parents. The pet dog left in charge sniffed Rachel up and down, decided she was harmless and let the humans get on with their strange business.

The following morning Rachel thrust aside the guilt feelings at having bedded another woman's husband. She could remember only too clearly how devastated she had been when it happened to her, but reasoned that Mrs Elliot was ignorant of Desmond's infidelity. Over a breakfast of fruit and chamomile tea, Rachel talked about her frustrations at work and Desmond said he might be able to do something to help. He was as good as his word and, with his recommendation, she landed the job at Trends Radio, owned by a consortium led by Sir Hartley Bowers.

It was then that she considered getting a divorce from Paul. She saw a solicitor, who sat behind a large, imposing desk. It was old, badly scratched and cluttered.

"Have you been married for more than a year?" The solicitor made pencilled notes on a lined pad.

"Yes."

"Has the marriage broken down irretrievably?"

"I've left him."

"How long ago?"

"About six months."

The solicitor shook his bald head and looked over his glasses at her. "At least two years of living apart is required to obtain an automatic divorce. Also, your husband would have to be in agreement, otherwise a period of five years would be required."

"Oh." Julia stood up. "Well, thank you for your help."

A wave of the solicitor's hand sent her back onto her chair.

"No, no, no. We haven't reached the end of the line yet. Has he committed adultery?"

"Erm....yes."

"Ah." The solicitor made a note. "So you found out and left him."

"Well....not quite like that."

"No?"

"I didn‘t leave straight away."

The solicitor looked pensive. "Six months ago, you said."

"Yes."

"And when did he commit the adulterous act?"

"Oh, I don't know....I can't remember."

"Really?" The solicitor raised his eyebrows, removed his glasses and glared at his client. "Such an important matter as that and you can't remember?"

"A lot has happened since then."

"Do you think it was more than six months ago?"

"Oh, yes. I know it was."

"Much more?"

"Over a year."

"And you lived with him after that?"

"Yes."

"For more than six months?"

"Yes."

The solicitor scribbled furiously on his pad. "In that case, adultery cannot be used as grounds for divorce. You would be held to have forgiven him."

"I did....I suppose."

"Um. We seem to be left with unreasonable behaviour, a rather vague term which takes in many possibilities. If he is violent towards you, for instance....."

Julia shook her head.

"Frequently drunk."

"No."

"Obsessive behaviour in some way."

"Nothing I can think of."

"Financially irresponsible."

"No."

"Unreasonable sexual activity. A homosexual relationship would be an example."

Julia stood up once more. "Thank you for your help and time, Mr Craig, but forget it. Maybe I don't have grounds for a divorce."

"But we haven't yet explored every possibility."

"I'm sorry. I've explored all the possibilities I intend to explore. Good day."

Julia wasn't quite sure why she should feel so angry with the hapless solicitor, but angry she was and the door banged behind her.

*****

About two months after joining the firm Rachel was called up to Sir Hartley's office, an imposing room dominated by a large desk almost bare of paper, but with a computer screen at one end and a telephone at the other. Comfortably ensconced in a high-backed leather swivel chair was the proprietor of Trends Radio, a formidable man of business. In his mid-fifties, Sir Hartley was a large, florid man with a hail-fellow, well-met attitude, though many had found it best not to get on the wrong side of him.

"Sit down, Mrs Cooper, sit down." He waved in the general direction of a wicker-work chair. "I take it you have no objection to the appellation of Mrs? I deplore the modern trend of using Ms. It sounds so unpleasant. Like an angry bee."

"Not at all, sir."

"Splendid. You haven't been here long, have you?"

"Nearly two months, sir." Rachel felt nervous. Was he about to give her the sack?

"Settled in all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good...good." Sir Hartley leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him. "I have a specific job for you, but you're at perfect liberty to say no. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"An influential broadcaster is coming to town tomorrow. I hope to lure him onto our little radio station and my wife thought we should invite him to dinner. That makes a threesome. Bit awkward and overpowering for our guest; two of us, one of him. It occurred to me that he might be made more at ease by having another guest; an attractive young woman to smile at him and beguile him with her chatter. Mr. Elliot says you'd make a splendid job of it, and I think I agree, though I know a little less of you than he does."

Rachel wasn't quite certain what to make of the last remark. Had something been said between the two men of her one night stand with Desmond? Surely not. It seemed inconceivable that they should speak of such things, especially as he had committed adultery. All the same, she felt herself blush at the possible implication behind Sir Hartley's remark.

"He works much more closely with you in public relations and comes into daily contact, while I am necessarily more remote from the staff."

Rachel inwardly sighed with relief. She had obviously misconstrued the boss's meaning and her private life hadn't been made the subject of office gossip.

"What do you say, Mrs Cooper? Will you do this for me?"

Rachel smiled. "Of course, sir."

"Good. Good. I'll let Mr. Elliot know the final arrangements and he can organise everything for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"No, no. You're doing me the favour. Thank you."

The following afternoon Rachel was allowed away early to prepare herself for the evening. First stop was a hair salon, where she had an appointment, and then quickly home, where she had already spent hours the previous evening trying to decide which dress to wear. She finally decided upon a calf length lace dress with a halter neck, scalloped hem and gold satin lining. After donning the dress, Rachel looked critically at herself in the mirror. Her nipples could plainly be seen, pressing against the thin material. She tried a strapless bra, but it was uncomfortable and lumpy, so dispensed with it.

She pondered a moment, wondering if it would all be too embarrassing, then decided the dress suited her perfectly, complementing her pale skin and fair hair. Brief panties, stockings and black suede strappy shoes with 3½" heels completed the picture, except - her neck was bare. An inexpensive, but delicate and attractive necklace cured that problem; and a matching pair of earrings. Yes. She looked once more at the finished image in the mirror. Just right.

Rachel decided not to use her car, but ordered a taxi to take her to the high class restaurant where they were dining. This was a social occasion and she had no wish to be put in the position of refusing drinks. Nowadays almost anything was enough to put a driver over the legal limit and she didn't want to take a risk.

The taxi arrived promptly and deposited her at the restaurant ten minutes early, but even so, Hartley Bowers and his wife - was that really his wife? - were already seated at a small table by the bar, glasses in front of them.

Sir Hartley politely stood up and eyed his employee from head to toe and back again, nodding his head in approval.

"Perfect, Mrs Cooper."

"My husband means you look lovely." Lady Bowers was in her early forties. Statuesque, with a magnificent figure, Rachel was reminded of pictures she had seen of the Bluebell Girls.

"Yes, Mrs Cooper.. Very....erm...." Sir Hartley searched for the right word. Alluring, sexy, enticing, seductive, tempting; he settled for - "attractive."

"Darling, you can't keep calling the poor girl, Mrs Cooper. After all, she is our dinner guest."

"Quite." Sir Hartley cleared his throat and looked at Rachel, a frown furrowing his brow. "Erm..." It was obvious he had no idea what to call his employee, apart from Mrs Cooper.

"Rachel." She helped him out.

"Ah, of course." Sir Hartley beamed in triumph at having overcome that particular hurdle. "I've ordered a bottle of Chablis. If you would prefer something different...."

"No...no, Chablis would be great."

"You'll be an escort for a very popular broadcaster tonight, Mrs....erm....Rachel. At least, he's popular in his own country, but I soon hope to make his name known over here. Bernardo Martine, from South America."

"Is that what I am, Sir Hartley?" enquired Rachel. "An escort?"

"Well...erm...in a manner of speaking. It simply means you're here to make the evening more companionable. This is a social occasion and I don't plan on discussing business...."

"I should hope not," Lady Bowers interjected.

"....but should the subject come up I don't expect any input from you, Rachel. Along with my wife you're here to add a little glamour to the evening."

"Oh, thank you very much." His wife's voice was laden with sarcasm. "Especially for the qualifying adjective."

Hartley Bowers looked ruffled. "I didn't mean that you're not both extremely attractive, or that you were not capable of intelligent conversation, but you're here to...to...divert us from business."

"I think you'd better shut up, darling, before you put your foot even deeper in the mud."

"Erm, yes. Perhaps so."

Lady Bowers turned to Rachel. "Apart from making some extremely dubious back-handed compliments, my husband is also forgetting his manners. We weren't introduced." She held out her hand. "My name is Margaret."

"Pleased to meet you."

The Chablis arrived to be followed shortly after by their guest. Bernardo Martine was everything a girl could wish for in a man; tall, perfectly groomed, suave, film star good looks and charming. He spoke softly, his English being extremely fluent, with just the faintest hint of an accent. Both women were instantly fascinated by him and the three of them talked and laughed throughout the evening leaving Sir Hartley as the outsider. He was not displeased; it was obvious his guest was thoroughly enjoying himself and that could only augur well for the business to be conducted next day.

They parted outside the restaurant, Sir Hartley and his wife leaving in a chauffeur driven limousine.

"You have a car?" enquired Bernardo, gazing after the departing limousine.

Rachel shook her head. "Not with me. I didn't want to drive after drinking."

"Very wise."

"There are laws."

"Of course. You live far?"

"About fifteen minutes in a taxi."

Bernardo gazed at Rachel for a moment or two, looking like a little lost puppy. "This is a big city. The night is young and I am on my own. I would take it as a compliment if you would show me something of the nightlife."

Rachel hesitated. "Well..."

"Perhaps a club," Bernardo suggested.

"There's a disco around the corner." Rachel sounded dubious. "It's very loud...flashing lights....crowded."

"Sounds good."

"I'm not sure about that."

"Please. Let us go."

The disco was everything Rachel said it was and more. Very noisy, dimly lit, the flashing lights around the dance area having little impact anywhere else, and so crowded it was impossible for anyone to attempt anything more than jigging up and down on one spot. Bernardo, however, was filled with enthusiasm and he soon had Rachel up on the floor.

It was one big jam of people, bodies pressed close together and any movement there was bore little resemblance to dancing. Rachel's nipples hardened beneath the thin material of her dress as her breasts pushed against Bernardo's chest. There was also an unmistakeable stiffening around his loins. A hand explored her bottom, cupping a cheek on top of her dress. But it wasn't Bernardo's hand! Both of his were in sight, held high, his fingers clicking in time to the music.

If there had been room Rachel would have turned and given the invader a piece of her mind, but she could do nothing. The whole situation was obscene. The strange hand groped again, but this time pushing into her crack through the material of her dress. This was too much! She did her best to glare ferociously over her shoulder, but not one pair of eyes met hers.

"I want to get out of her," Rachel shouted.

Bernardo replied, but his words were lost in the noise. Rachel grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd making free use of her elbows. Even in the foyer conversation was difficult because of the thumping bass emanating from the disco.

"We are going?" enquired Bernardo, as Rachel made her way out to the street.

"I can't stand it any longer. Anyway, someone was pawing me."

Bernardo looked puzzled. "Pawing?"

"Touching me up. You know...." Bernardo shook his head. "Feeling my bottom," Rachel explained.

"Ah. And that is not right."

"Not some stranger in the middle of a crowd. No."

"But if it is not a stranger and in some other, more private place?"

"That might be different."

"Am I a stranger?"

"I don't know you very well, but you are a friend of Mr. Bowers and we've had dinner together."

"And been to a disco." There was a mischievous twinkle in Bernardo's eyes.

Rachel nodded. "And been to a disco."

They laughed and Bernardo took hold of her hand. "My hotel is not far away. There is no stranger there to touch your bottom. We could have a quiet drink in my room."

"In your room?"

"It is very comfortable."

"I'm sure it is."

"What do you say?"

There was no doubt what he had in mind and it wasn't a quiet drink. She hardly knew the man, but liked his warm, friendly manner; and he really was so handsome.

"Yes. All right."

Bernardo was right about the room being comfortable; so was the bed, though Rachel didn't find out about that until later. They had a couple of drinks first and danced to some soft, gentle music piped through the hotel system. They were as close together as in the disco, but this time there was no crush of bodies around them.

After a few minutes of lazy movement, Rachel gently pushed Bernardo onto a settee.

"Sit and watch." She slowly gyrated in front of him.

She unzipped her dress, her movement unhurried and tantalising. For a few moments she modestly held it in position, before lowering it to the ground. Stepping out she kicked it to one side.

Bernardo gazed intently at Rachel as she sashayed three feet away from him, naked except for brief panties, suspender belt and stockings. She came even closer until her legs were touching the edge of the settee.

"You mustn't touch," Rachel instructed.

She kneeled on the settee, his legs between hers, and then, her body movement keeping time with the music, leaned towards him. Her breasts almost, but not quite, brushed his face and her sex hovered only inches above Bernardo's penis, still encased in trousers, but visibly erect.

"I think you have worked in a lap-top club, have you not?" asked Bernardo, his voice slightly strangulated as he fought for control.

Rachel laughed. "No."

"You are very good."

"Thank you."

"I must confess to having visited such clubs."

"I'm sure you have."

He reached into a pocket and brought out some paper money. "They have the quaint custom of putting money into the girl's garter."

"I'm not wearing a garter."

"This will do." He pushed the notes into her suspender belt.

For some reason the touch of money against her skin excited Rachel even more and heaven knows, she needed little encouragement. Cupping her breasts in her hands she leaned towards Bernardo and presented her nipples to his lips, swaying back a few inches as he went to take one.

"Ah, ah, ah." She wagged a finger at him.

"I know," he replied. "Look, but do not touch."

Rachel carefully raised herself up until she was standing on the settee, precariously balanced on the soft cushions, her feet either side of his legs. Her most private place was now on a level with his head. With some difficulty, and nearly falling once, only being saved by Bernardo grabbing her arm, she lowered her panties as far as they would go. Now her pubic hair was only inches from his face. Rachel felt her juices running down her legs and could only imagine what this display was doing to Bernardo; at least, she hoped it was.