A Itchen Fit to Party In

It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon. Well, it was in the middle of the recession. The phone rang.

'Hi, is that Tom Jones?' followed by a little laugh.

Don't go there. My mother was a fan.

'Yes it is. I hope you are not too disappointed?' My standard line when an attractive sounding voice was the other end of the phone.

I could hear her smiling.

'I am sure I won't be. Are you the kitchen planner?'

I sighed, 'I guess that's me. I normally describe myself as an arts and design consultant, but I have done a kitchen before in a house behind Harrods.' Only a small lie. I did design my Mother's kitchen and it is only a few miles behind Harrods.

'Oh sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to, well upset you. I just need my kitchen designed and Emily, a friend of a friend, says that you designed her garden, but that you also did interior work like kitchens.'

I immediately knew who had recommended me. I had an immense amount of fun designing my first, and last, garden. And I do mean a lot of fun. The lady of the house was no lady, if you know what I mean. I was also delighted that it was probably the most profitable job I had ever done as I had charged the good Mr Thompson top rates for designing his garden and shagging his wife. I hoped that Emily Thompson had told her I was expensive.

'Shall I come and look at it? Where are you?'

She gave me the address of a house on a gated estate on the Moor Park Golf Course. Three to ten million I estimated. Today was looking up.

'Look I have had a cancellation this afternoon.'

Did this look too eager?

'Oh that would be lovely. I was wondering what to do this afternoon.'

'I will be there about three.'

It was only a half hour drive, I had time to have lunch first.

'And your name is?'

'Oh Rosie, err Taylor. Mrs Taylor.'

'Mrs Taylor then. Until three.'

The house was definitely towards the upper end of my estimated price range. This added another £500 to the bill.

A vision of loveliness opened the door. A young girl, perhaps in her late teens. She had long straight blonde hair running halfway down her back. Her features were perfect. Her whole body in fact was perfect and, as a semi-professional photographer (as well as a design consultant) I lusted to see more of her. She was wearing a light blue, mans shirt style blouse and a dark blue, full, just over-the-knee length skirt. Very modest, if somewhat old-fashioned.

'Good afternoon,' I smiled what I hoped was a trustworthy smile. 'My name is Jones. Tom Jones. Is your mother around please? I have an appointment.'

She scowled. 'I am Mrs Taylor. It's my house. Well, my husbands and mine. Why does everybody think I am still at school.'

'I am so sorry. You will be pleased to know that at least on the phone you sound more mature than you look. That's not to say you sound old, or look immature but...'

That made her laugh. 'Oh I am sorry. Everybody does it. I guess I shouldn't complain. One day I will get to look older. I am Rosie to my friends. Please call me that. Come in.'

Her name began to ring slight bells with me. I couldn't quite put it all in place yet but I did know that she had been in the newspapers a year or so back.

She took me through the hallway, past a table of family photographs.

She reached out and tutted loudly and turned one flat on it's face. I wasn't quite quick enough to see it. I wondered whether it was a clue to her identity. I noticed she had gone slightly pink with embarrassment.

She took me through to the kitchen.

'Well this is it. Can you make anything of it.'

'Apart from an indoor tennis court you mean. It is huge.'

She laughed. A lovely genuine tinkle of a laugh.

'I gather you have just knocked the dining room and kitchen into one is that right?'

'It was not us but the people who lived here last. My husband managed to buy it cheap as a result of a business deal. The previous owners ran out of money to finish it. They started at the top and were working down, so this is just about the last thing to be done. You can see they even got around to the kitchen ceiling, before they stopped. '

That was a shame. I was looking forward to a lot of work here.

'I think this should be fun. I have a couple of questions. Who is the cook, you, your husband, a housekeeper? How many people are you catering for most days? Do you already have a separate wine cellar and dining room? Do you want a breakfast bar, or a table or something grander than a kitchen refectory table? Is it a kitchen to work in or to be seen in? Cupboards only one end or spread around? Do you also want me to design the interior design, pictures, a mural, artwork?'

She tried to answer as best as she could. Neither she nor her husband were particularly strong cooks, but he did like to throw parties for up to thirty people from time to time, which usually started off in the kitchen of course. Her husband had given her free range to do whatever she liked so long as it was in keeping with the house and surroundings. No black ceilings or full height waterfall effects. No footballer's wives. Yes she would like me to organise artwork or photos for the walls. Perhaps food and drink as a theme.

Boring.

There was just her and her husband in the house usually, she added, and he was often away. My cock actually stiffened at this disclosure. Not enough for her to see.

And yes, to a breakfast table and chairs, say for twelve. And no to needing a wine cellar. Her husband was delighted with the contents of the one they had in the basement, which he had bought along with the house.

'Oh,' she said. 'I am so sorry. I have not even offered you a drink. Would you like a wine or a beer or...?'

'A glass of wine would be lovely. Perhaps a sauvignon blanc if you have one open.' Hopefully she didn't have a chardonnay open.

She rummaged in the smaller of the two fridges and found a half-opened bottle.

'This was only opened last night,' she paused. 'It is a Chablis grand cru.'

A wonderful wine. Far more than I would ever spend on a, 'Lets just have a glass of wine,' bottle and very satisfactory even though it was from the Chardonnay grape varietal.

'It is sort of a Chardonnay but I think you will like it.'

'I am sure I will. That will be lovely. Thank you.' And it was. She joined me, which finished off the bottle.

I thought that I had better at least get some idea of money in her head.

'My charges are around £1000 for the plan.' I paused. How would she take this? Do I offer her a discount? Is she hesitating?

'That's fine. And for the artwork or decoration?'

Woah. Good news.

Well that will depend upon how we need to source it, how much there is. If you want originals, or numbered prints I would charge a finders fee.

Perhaps we could work on the plan putting in agreed spaces on the walls which we can then fill with suitable artwork. I know for example a place in Bordeaux for example where I can source original art work to do with the premier cru vineyards. Maybe something like that.'

'That sounds wonderful.' My husband would love that. He loves his wine. He has been an enthusiast for over thirty years now.'

My eyebrows raised.

'Oh. Well yes he is a little older than me.'

That was an understatement, I reckoned.

Then it came flowing back to me. Rosie Millard. Now Taylor.

She had risen to her fifteen minutes of fame via the television's University Challenge. She had answered almost all the questions that her team were given and safely steered them through to the final. They had eventually lost to the Cambridge team by a very close margin, despite the fact that her three team mates hardly answered a question right all night.

The press had feted her as the new Brain of Britain, and she was inundated with lad's magazines wanting her to pose in her underwear, or less. It came to a head when she turned down a vast sum to model for Playboy. She had been quick to pour scorn on the gutter press which reacted with previously untold tales of her modesty and prudishness from ex school friends and neighbours. I then remembered that I had read that she had given up college and married a guy much older than she was.

I must have gone quiet and given away the fact that I had recognised her.

'Yes?' she said.

'I am sorry,' I replied. 'At the risk of upsetting you again, I have recognised where I have seen you before, When I first saw you I felt that you were very familiar. You were on that University Challenge. I have to say I was a big fan of that programme. And frankly, of you on it. You were wonderful.'

She blushed. 'Thank you. I really wasn't as good as the press made out at answering. I was just a little quicker than the boys,' she said modestly.

'I was also very impressed with you turning down all that money from playboy,' I said. 'Was that true? A million dollars.'

She laughed and pulled another bottle of wine from the fridge.

'I know that it was only a year ago but I was very naïve then. I would not have taken my clothes off for ten million. A lot of those stories about me being prudish were pretty true. I guess I am still pretty bashful.'

She blushed again. At what, I was wondering?

The phone rang.

'Hello darling. What time is it there? Breakfast time?'

She made a small face of apology and moved towards the hall to take the call in private. After four or five minutes of what seemed just like acknowledgements, 'Yes, no, yes dear,' I heard her say, 'Yes Alan, the guy planning the kitchen is here at the moment. No, of course I haven't. No I wouldn't. No. Please don't ask that.'

I wondered what on earth she was talking about. Her voice was getting quieter as she moved into one of the other doors off the hallway. I was intrigued enough to follow her along the hall so that I could just hear her.

'No, he didn't see the photograph. I turned it over, as soon as I saw it. It was very mean of you to put it there to embarrass me.'

I was standing right by the hall table and it was the work of a few seconds to turn over and examine the photo we were talking about. I quietly replaced it. It was a photo of Rosie topless, her hair in plaits, standing awkwardly in just the bottom half of a bikini, pouting and looking at the floor. She looked very fuckable. My cock thickened again automatically.

Her voice turned from defiant to pleading.

'Please don't make me. I am wearing that blue shirt and the dark blue full skirt that you don't like me wearing. I only get the chance to wear it when you are not here. Of course I am wearing panties, yes and a bra. Okay I'll take it off. No, not in front of him. Yes you know I will do whatever you want. So, I have a choice either the red mini or take off my panties is that right. No I can't do both. I understand. Yes okay. No you know I will. Oh do I have to turn the cameras on. Yes, yes, I will. Yes I love you too. Hurry back. I do miss you and everything you do to me. I just wish it was only you, all the time. I love you. Bye.'

I was quickly back into the kitchen, scratching a few notes onto a pad. My mind was working overtime.

There was a bit of a delay. I had time to get quite a few notes written.

She clicked a switch in the hall cupboard. The cameras?

Knowing what to look for I was pretty sure that she had taken at least her bra off and possibly her panties. There were a couple more buttons undone on the shirt. She really was going to give me a flash.

I smiled warmly. I had a very good idea of how to proceed next.

'I think I know the sort of thing you need.'

I pulled out my lap-top and showed some top of the range cupboards, and suggested the most expensive range.

I impressed upon her the idea of lightness. It was such a big room it was inclined to darkness unless we could light it properly and keep everything bright and light coloured.

'After all you want to be able to see everything properly in here don't you?'

She blushed again and crossed her legs, showing quite a lot of thigh for a full skirt. Had I reminded her what she was not doing.

She leaned over to top up my glass again. Definitely no bra and a lot more breast. No nipples yet though.

'I have had an idea for the decorations though. As I arrived I couldn't help seeing that photo of you in the hall that you modestly turned over. Instead of a food and wine theme which is very blasé now, what about photographs of you, or more precisely your body parts, a beautiful elbow, a calf, a shoulder, your lips? Beautifully taken, artistic photos, perhaps monochrome. It would not even be necessary to tell everyone else that it was you, just some girl with a beautiful body.'

Her eyes bulged, her hands shook and she dropped half a glass of wine over her skirt.

'Oh no. I have spilled my wine over this skirt. I will be back in a moment.'

She rushed off and I completed my drawings and took some measurements. From my side of her conversation this was something that I knew her husband would like. '

Rosie reappeared ten minutes later in a little red miniskirt. I could already see a lot more thigh than I had under the old skirt.

I decided to push my luck.

'There, look at you. Showing me your legs. You must like the idea. You have fantastic legs, in fact a lovely body. Do you need to discuss it with your husband? Shall I speak to him, to assure him that it will be very respectful, tasteful even?'

'No, no I can talk to him. He will be home on Saturday. I really think I prefer the wine and food though.'

She was flustered. I had sown the seeds and could do nothing more. Despite what she had been told to do I could see that she had no intention of showing me any more. This idea, obviously horrific to her, was going to go down well with her husband. We both knew that and that is why she was afraid. I hoped that the kitchen camera included sound. It was either an expensive system or the cameras did not yet link through to the kitchen. I could not see any sign of it at all with a casual glance around the room,.

'Right,' I said as I prepared to leave. 'I have taken the measurements I need and will prepare the plans for the cupboards and white goods, leaving spaces for say twenty to forty photos of food and drink or my other more prurient theme? I will email you the first floor plans Friday and I will speak to you Saturday or at the latest Monday to see how they looked. I should warn you I do not like to leave anything to chance so will want to come round two or three times checking the measurements, and making sure you are comfortable with the way it is proceeding.'

'That will be fine. Emily spoke highly of you and I can see that you are a perfectionist. I'm sure that will be fine. Until next week then.'

Sunday lunchtime I got the call.

'Oh Mr Jones, It is Rosie, Mrs Taylor here.'

'Rosie, hi, how nice to hear from you. How were the plans?'

Oh my husband, err, we liked them very much. Just one or two minor changes, perhaps you could come over and we could talk about them.'

'I would love to, when do you have in mind?'

'Well Alan suggested today, but I assured him that you would not be able to break into your Sundays, so maybe next week though Alan is off again on business at some stage.'

She was flustered. I was betting that she did not want me to meet Alan.

'Today is fine. This will give me something to do that I will enjoy getting my teeth into. I will see you at three again.'

Again she answered the door. This time she was wearing a strapless, and obviously braless black camisole top, thin enough just to see the traces of her nipples and a loose satiny black skirt that came nearly midway down her thighs. A very different girl to the one I met Wednesday.

She walked before me through to the kitchen where I could hear glasses clinking and wine being poured. I noticed that the photo of her topless was back on the hall table. She went pink as she passed it, knowing that I would be able to see it properly this time.

Alan came forward with a glass in his hand. Early fifties perhaps, not tall, but big. Not fat, no beer paunch, just a heavily built confident man.

'Tom, may I call you that? Good to meet you. Here, I believe you like the Chablis. Good job on the plans.'

'Delighted to meet you,' I said. 'Yes this is a particularly fine Chablis if it is the same as the one we had last time. I am glad you found the plans acceptable.'

'Yes, just one or two little changes perhaps. Darling, can you show them to Tom please.'

'Yes of course, perhaps we could have the space for the bin, here and not there.'

'Not a problem, of course, and it is nearer the sink. But just so you realise why I put it there, I suspect that you keep your sink waste separate from your packaging and non-food waste. That was why it was nearer that working surface. The sink incinerator will take care of most food waste.'

'Oh,' she said. 'I hadn't thought of that. Okay let's leave the bin where it was. Now the island perhaps could be a few inches longer to accommodate a few bottles of cooking red that we would not be keeping in the fridge.'

I nodded. 'Of course,' and made a note.

She stopped.

'And the other things, not changes, just ideas to make sure that we are on the same wavelength,' said Alan.

Rosie sheepishly walked over to the far side of the table that was standing in the middle of the room turned and leant her body flat along the top while keeping her legs firmly on the ground. Her nipples, which I could now plainly see were firming and her face was turning pink.

'My husband would like the island work surface to be this height. He... he .. he would like it a lot.'

'Stay there a moment,' I said, as she started to rise. 'Let me measure the height.' I whipped out a pocket tape measure, and walked around to where she stood.

I caught Alan's eye glinting with amusement as we both knew I could measure the table without Rosie spread all over it. It was a lovely view though. Her skirt had risen up her thighs, almost uncovering her buttocks.

'And this is for...' I looked over at Alan and he nodded.

'Yes. I thought so. The problem of course is that this is a little low for a working kitchen island. It is too low to chop vegetables for example.

What we could do, of course, as we are lengthening the island anyway is to put a step in the work surface bringing the last three or four foot this end down to the level that you want. We could possibly even put a couple of handles both sides, perhaps, to hold onto or even tie things onto on the other side there.'

Alan beamed. 'A remarkable idea. Do it. That alone was well worth your extortionate fee.'

I reminded myself to be a little careful with the bills in future.

'And the other things Darling,'

Rosie went to the back kitchen wall and bent double at the waist, with her legs straight and parted and pointed out where the kick-boards should go.

It was almost all I could do not to laugh. I probably would have done if I had not been carried away looking at the crease where her legs became her buttocks, Divine. Her skirt was just a little too tight to let me see whether she was wearing a g string. They were certainly not granny-pants.

She then stood and climbed onto a small ladder at the end of the kitchen, rising about five steps up, until she could easily reach the ceiling.

The bottom of her cheeks were now even more exposed. I wondered whether she was wearing knickers. I also wondered how long she had been practising these moves.

I moved solicitously forward to help hold the ladder.

'Please be careful up there. I would hate my new customer to be invalided due to a fall and not able to use her new kitchen.'

My move did of course, coincidentally, improve the view immensely.

By nowI was pretty sure she was not wearing panties at all. If she was, the thong string was tucked tightly up her backside.