Josie drove me to the venue for the party. She did not plan to drink but saw no reason why I shouldn't enjoy myself once I had done the job required of me. She had been transformed from the forlorn, jilted woman I had met six months before. Now she was a confident organiser. She did nothing to hide her satisfaction with our relationship, but what had started promisingly as mutual support was now gradually turning purely physical. In the process I had accepted another woman into our bed and lost my moral sense of propriety along the way.
That was purely my own doing and not the fault of Josie. It felt wrong in the cold light of day, but it was highly enjoyable at the time.
I couldn't understand, though, how Josie could throw other women into my path. It was almost as if she was showing off a prized puppy. I was feeling increasingly certain that she knew our affair was coming to an end. Her husband was pleading for forgiveness and could soon be competition I could do without. If he moved back in, I would make myself scarce. I wouldn't want to break up a marriage, no matter how fractured it might be.
The venue for the calendar shoot party turned out to be a huge manor house in leafy Berkshire. It was exceptionally grand and impressive, set in spacious grounds. It was probably early 19th Century in origin with extensive, sensitive modern additions. Knowing that this was a private home gave me palpitations. What sort of people needed a house that big? I wasn't used to mixing in such wealthy circles. I wondered what the owner was like? Josie told me who he was. Of course, I had read about him, a Middle Eastern multi-millionaire, some sort of Sheikh, I supposed; not so impressive perhaps today, with the growth of billionaires. Yet, still, imbued with all the power and influence that money brings.
The door was opened as we alighted the car, by a strikingly attractive lady with equally striking, dark hair, middle eastern features, and a golden tone to her skin. She was wearing a tasteful full-length, navy blue and gold kaftan which flowed gracefully along the curved lines of her body. I recognised her face immediately which, once seen could never be forgotten. She had figured in celebrity gossip columns, but more for her benefactions than her transgressions. She was the Middle Eastern businessman's wife. My uneasiness grew. These sorts of places were the private preserves of the rich and powerful, almost outside the law by which us ordinary mortals were ruled.
"Hello, Henry, pleased to meet you. My name is Aleysha. Thank you for coming early. Alana is here, fussing around with the sets in the ballroom, but we don't expect the others for another hour.
"I was surprised when Alana suggested a man as the photographer. That will alarm some of the women, who we decided not to warn in advance.
"We are expecting your absolute discretion. Agreed?"
I was only half listening. She had remarkable features which turned a striking face into a beautiful one. Her eyes were large almond shapes, and a deep blue. Her lips were generous and highlighted by pink lip gloss. She wore little make-up but then she didn't need it to enhance her natural beauty. I mentally compared her against Josie, who was the prettiest woman I had ever met up to then. It was a tough choice to make and perhaps unfair, for Aleysha was ten years younger.
She studied my eyes closely as she waited for my answer.
"Yes, of course, I will treat everything I see here with the utmost discretion."
Satisfied with what she saw, she smiled and nodded, and led the way into the house. The main entrance hall was a spectacular double height atrium with tall windows letting in light from the South. But I was more impressed with Aleysha's layout than that of the house. It was apparent that beneath that conservative outfit was a body that held great eastern promise. It was enhanced by her graceful movements which allowed the lightweight dress material to cling to her gentle, graceful curves, and hinted at the hidden treasures subtly suggested beneath. It was unfair on me to consider her as just a trophy wife, though she fulfilled all the physical requirements.
Her husband had a passion for racehorses, and had set up home in the Home Counties to indulge that passion. Close to Ascot the location of the famous racecourse, and a few minutes drive from Windsor, he could indulge his passion with like-minded Royals.
With his wealth the businessman could probably have chosen any woman he desired so, no, it was no surprise that I was appraising his stunning acquisition. Yet she was reputed to have brains as well as beauty, and had established her own range of conservative women's fashions, whilst also engaging with local community good causes.
She turned back and spotted my appraising eye. I saw a brief frown cross her face, but then she smiled, as if she were changing her mind.
"I am unused to having a strange man at close quarters in my house. And, no, Henry, this is not my costume. This is how I normally like to dress at home. Tonight will be something of a departure for me. I have to tell you that I am quite nervous. You will have to inspire me with confidence."
Her English was impeccable and spoken with the particular care exercised by someone of education and refinement for whom it was their second tongue.
She showed Josie and me through to the ballroom, then went off to prepare herself. Two ladies in maids' uniforms kept discreetly out of the way. It seemed that I was likely to be the only male in the building, if all the staff on hand were women. This was intended to be a ladies' only evening, so what was I doing there?
Aleysha's departure left me feeling strangely bereft, as if I could not bear to be without her. It was an odd feeling to have, about someone I had only just met. Her physical presence carried with it an irresistible allure.
Two thirds of the ballroom had been allocated to the photography. Large wheeled screens in single pastel colours were positioned around the allocated space. That would allow foreground objects to be photoshopped in later, behind the live subject. Potted palms, a chaise long, sundry other furnishings and props were stored in the centre to be used for individual shoots. A red Yamaha motorcycle and matching helmet held pride of place. But in the centre along one wall was a large , sumptuously decorated Christmas tree whose lights were already ablaze.
There were three lighting rigs on low-lying trolleys which could be wheeled from one location to another. No expense had been spared on the equipment. Alana had done her homework to make this venture work, but it was quite clear who was funding the event.
Then there was the party end of the room, decked out with sofas, rugs, cushions and disco lighting. A portable bar had been set up with an array of drinks. A large video screen was already alive with a muted music video playing. These ladies were clearly intending to have fun whilst they waited their turns to pose for their calendar piece. My mind posed the unhelpful question at this juncture, why would these ladies, who discreetly kept out of plain sight, want to publish a calendar which might draw attention to them?
Alana was at the centre of all this, holding a clipboard and making notes of available props and subjects' names. She wore a voluminous, full-length, sack-like shift which billowed as she bustled around. I stepped into to help with any moving of props, and asked her what the calendar was for.
"It's for a good local cause. Aleysha will explain. She has many business contacts who can help to sell it to an exclusive clientele, for a premium price."
