No Way Melissa

A simple little story of simple country folk. Well not quite, but I hope you enjoy it. Not a lot of sex __ sorry.

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"Come on John. This is our chance to nail the bastard."

I looked up at the two immaculately dressed guys sat the other side of my desk and wondered if I should just agree to their idea. Neither of them would I describe as my very best friends, but we'd worked long enough in the city of London together to be trusted colleagues, and we'd done enough deals together to trust one another.

"I'm not so sure," I replied cautiously. "What you're suggesting is blatant insider trading and that's illegal."

"But what he's doing is bloody immoral John," came back Michael sharply.

"If he gets away with it, then hundreds, no dammit, bloody thousands could suffer," added George, the eldest and normally the most upstanding of the three of us.

"Do we know who he's targeting this time?" I asked, knowing that they had no more idea than I did, but stalling for time. My question didn't even trigger a response, simply a shrug from the one, and a sigh from the other. I looked out past them through the huge plate glass window, seeing not for the first time the impressive vista from my twenty-second floor penthouse office window. St Paul's, the impressive curved gherkin building, and the Thames itself all there in front of me; a view that would normally make me realise just how fortunate I was.

But not on that day.

Not at that moment in time.

Does the Minister know?" I demanded.

"Of course he knows John," replied George who had the best connections with the current government. "I dare say the Prime Minister himself knows by now."

But we all knew that they wouldn't be able to help us if things went wrong. That's just they way things worked at this level in the City of London, the financial capitol of the free world.

"I wouldn't want to end up before some court anymore than you two would," I pointed out to them.

"Tell me that when you're down to your last million," retorted Michael. "Because if it's one of us that his bloody hedge fund is going after, then that's where we'll end up anyway."

Difficult times __ difficult times indeed.

We agreed to reflect on our positions over the weekend, but to all take stock of what we had available, and how together we might take him on. If our combined recourses couldn't counter his seemingly unlimited wealth and power, then nobody could. Well maybe there was an American or two, but we were here and they were there. They had enough problems of their own at that moment.

I called my personal assistant Jenny to get David my chauffer to bring the Bentley to the entrance, and offered a lift to my two friends.

George declined, but Michael accepted a lift to the heliport, and all three of us were soon on our way back to our homes for the weekend.

It wasn't going to be an easy or relaxing weekend, but not even I had any idea just how taxing it would turn out for me.

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I tried to work on my portable apple-Mac while David threaded the large limousine expertly through the late rush hour traffic.

Tom Gentry __ Bloody Tom Gentry, the Chief Executive of Conault Hedge Fund, the most voracious, unfeeling bunch of bastards on this God given earth. They'd already bought down a number of otherwise good businesses, and made themselves a fortune in doing so. At least my group of companies produced useful articles, and my two friends from earlier ran honest banks. But Gentry and his damn Conault produced nothing, helped nobody, just gambled huge sums on the stock market and in derivatives making money out of other people's misfortune. I personally rued the day that the futures market had fallen into the hands of vultures like him.

I disliked him from the day that I'd first met him, and my mind took me back to those early days. We were at boarding school together, in the same house even, though he was a year ahead of me, and seldom missed a chance to remind me and my chums of that fact.

A typical school bully.

I hated him the day I met him after he clipped me round the ear for no reason, and I've hated him ever since.

But for nearly eighteen years now, he'd had reason to hate me back. Since the day that I poached his girl friend Melissa, and especially since the day that I'd married her. Nearly eighteen years of near continuous happiness for me, and though like any couple we'd had our ups and downs, eighteen years when I would change very little.

Melissa, the lovely Melissa, the glamorous top model of the moment when I first saw her on Tom Gentry's arm; recognising her long golden hair, and tall slender figure, from the seemingly hundreds of pictures of her that used to appear in the newspapers and magazines round the world. If she wasn't making the news on the catwalks in Paris, London, New York or where ever, then the paparazzi of the day were busy snapping her at all the top clubs, and in the company of some of the richest and most famous men in the world. And who had she chosen? Well the guy whose arm she was seen on these days was pretty rich now as well, and though it was her that still got the press attention, it was me that was now wealthy ___ very wealthy indeed. I loved it, being seen with a woman who still turned heads where ever she went, and still got the attention of maitre D's in the best restaurants much quicker than I, despite my wealth and connections.

Eventually we were zipping along the Kentish countryside, and there at last my home. A timber framed manor house, several hundred years old, depending on which part you were looking at, but recently refurbished to the very highest standards. The door opened as I alighted from the Bentley, and Cathy, our housekeeper welcomed me at the door.

"Melissa home yet?" I demanded, and was disappointed to find that she was not.

"Haven't seen her since Wednesday," remarked a somewhat disapproving house keeper, who considered that a wife like Melissa should always be home when I got back for the week end, having been obliged to spend most of the week at our City centre apartment.

But that's not my wife, who has her own life to think about. She no longer models full time, but still does the occasional photo-shoot, and the odd spot on TV. Having seen it a hundred times or more, I still got a tingle each time I watched her in that TV advert, her back view as she walked through that door, naked except for her fancy high heels. Me and how many thousands of other guys I wondered. She must have just about the most admired and lusted after bare asses in the land, but it's mine, and she's mine, and I was more than happy with that. Yes, she has her life, and her own friends, but I don't begrudge her at all, as long as she behaves herself and was always there for me.

"Disappeared Monday morning soon after you left," she went on. "Only popped back on Wednesday afternoon for a change of clothes."

Oh Dear __ Cathy was in a disapproving mood. Wonder what had got into her?

"She was with that July Cotton," Cathy continued. "That awful woman with the false tits on that TV show."

Ah! __ now I knew why she was in this mood. Cathy didn't approve of the actress July Cotton at all.

"July's not really like her character on TV Cathy," I pointed out, trying not to grin at her simplicity.

"That's because you don't hear them talking," she replied quickly. "If you did then you wouldn't be so calm."

This time I laughed, not unkindly, but amused by her simple outlook on life. "Come on then Cathy," I demanded gently, trying to be serious. "What terrible things have you heard?"

Gossip amongst servants always was a bit exaggerated, and hadn't changed much over the years. Even so what she told me was worrying, no real evidence, but worrying all the same.

"I've been trying to tell you for months," she answered me, a pained look on her face. "But you won't listen. You're always too busy. You think the sun shines out of that woman's arse, but she's running around on you. I'm sure of it, and that July Cotton is part of it.

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Cathy didn't know much of course, just snippets of conversations, and snatches of talk on the telephone.

But it didn't look good. It didn't look very good at all.

When I said earlier that Melissa and I had experienced our ups and downs, then what I really meant was that I had accused her a few years ago of messing around with other guys. She laughed in my face, telling me not to be silly, and not to believe what I read in the press. She really did live in a different world to me, but we had got over that, and up till now all had been fine.

It didn't look good now though. It really just didn't look good. Not with the other things I had to worry about as well.

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To make matters worse, she didn't come home that night. Not so much as a call, and no response from her mobile when I tried it. I was pretty pissed off I can tell you, and when in the morning George rang me to tell me they'd identified who Conault were targeting it got worse ____ It was me. Not just me personally of course, but the group of companies that I controlled. Conault had information on my investments that they shouldn't have had, and we couldn't figure out how they had discovered so much, though I'd recently sacked a manager I'd caught behaving badly, and we decided it must be him.

"What does the Minister have to say George?" I enquired, but that didn't result in much.

"What does Michael think?"

"He'll go along with me," George replied.

"And what do you think George?"

"I'll go along with you," he ventured bravely.

I told him I'd ring him on Monday, and thanked him for his support, confident, or nearly so, that together we might defeat Gentry, illegal though our action might be.

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Mellisa didn't come home that evening either, and I was beginning to get really upset. But then around mid morning on the Sunday, her Aston Martin DB9 skidded to a halt in the drive in a shower of gravel.

She elegantly unwound herself from the sleek sports car, then stood and shook out her blonde hair. By God she looked gorgeous, but then she always bloody well did.

"We need to talk," she told me brusquely, as she swept passed me as if I was the doorman.

Too bloody right we did!

I'd more or less worked out what I was going to say, and she was going to get the rough end of my tongue.

"Where the hell have you been Melissa," I demanded, "You've been gone all week."

"What I do is my own business John," Melissa spat back at me. "You don't own me and you never have."

I wasn't going to stand for that. In my book if we were married, then we both owed a certain responsibility to each other. "Well if you're going back to your old ways Melissa," I threatened her. "We're going to have to rethink our marriage."

She turned and looked at me, that smile that had won over a thousand clients on her beautiful face.

"What marriage?" She asked me sarcastically. "We're finished anyway ___ I'm leaving you for someone else."

Somewhat took the wind out of my sails.

"One of your stupid actor friends I suppose," I shot at her, more out of spite than reason. If she was leaving me, then that was that. It'd save me the bother of throwing her out. "If you think you are going to get any money out of me, then you've another think coming." When we had been married, she had been famous and relatively rich, and me, though by no means a pauper, not the multi millionaire that I had become. It was her lawyer who had insisted on the marriage contract to prevent me getting my hands on her money, but by then she had gone through most of hers, and was having a pretty good attempt at going through mine. But the contract worked both ways, and I wondered if Melissa knew just how little she would be leaving with.

"I won't need your money John," my soon to be ex wife informed me imperiously. "There's plenty where I'm going, and besides you might soon not have much left."

How the hell did she know that??

Melissa turned away and looked up the drive as another car swept into our driveway, obviously following her, but unable to keep up with the reckless way she drove her Aston.

Oh shit!

A Buggatti, a black Bugatti Veyron. Nigh on a million pounds worth of super car, and I only knew one person who had one of those.

"Hi John boy," sneered Tom Gentry as he slid from behind the wheel. "Round two to me I think, don't you?"

"How long has this being going on?" I managed to blurt out pathetically.

"On and off it's never stopped," crowed bloody Gentry triumphantly. "She may have married you John, but she never stopped screwing me."

I just stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"Twenty damn years I've planned and waited for this moment," he spat at me, as he followed Melissa up to pack as if it was his own house. "Now you're beaten John. More beaten than you yet know."

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I never saw them leaving, as I'd gone myself by then, back to my London Apartment. Later that night Michael and George, my two banking friends, and a couple of other trusted friends met at my club. The Government Minister was there as well, but discretely, not officially of course.

"Well I now know where he got his information from," I told them. "My loving wife told him everything he needed to know."

"So based on what you have deduced from your wife's betrayal John," the Minister summed up half an hour later. " You can counter Conault's moves without recourse to any inside information."

"I hoped you'd see it that way," I agreed with him, and we all shook hands and retired to the bar.

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By mid morning the following day shares in my company started plummeting after enormous sums were mysteriously gambled on the futures market that we wouldn't survive the week. But it didn't last long, as two private banks supported my company with funds fortunately put aside, and then two well-known stock pundits told the world there was no problem. The slide hesitated, then slid a yet again when further huge sums of money was gambled against us making it. For several hours it was touch and go, and the phones were red hot as deals and counter deals were struck. At three o'clock in the afternoon, it was announced on the TV that the Government was declaring my company as preferred bidder on a huge contract to supply services to National Health Service. Coincidence maybe ___ then again maybe not. Handy to have friends in high places, especially when what they were doing was so honest.

It didn't matter that the contract was never actually signed. It was just the confidence that it sent out to the market, and the raid on our share price quickly fizzled out.

Conaults lost a huge fortune, and in a turn of events the market turned against him. They never actually went bust, but Tom Gentry's reputation was ruined, and two months later he was ousted from their board. There were few who mourned his going, and to my knowledge nobody who stepped forward to help him in his time of need.

He hadn't lost everything, but when his Bugatti crashed into a motorway bridge on a long straight stretch of road at a hundred and seventy miles an hour, less than a month later, they did say that he was down to his last million.

Poor sod!

Pity really __ that Bugatti had been a lovely car.

Melissa came crawling back. Well of course she did, but I didn't throw her straight out.

When she called me at my apartment in the city, she was all love and apologies. Maybe she'd checked up with her solicitor what she was likely to get out of our split up.

"Hi honey," she cooed sexily. "I made a terrible mistake, but it wasn't my fault sweetie."

"Oh no?" I queried. "Deserting me for my worst enemy wasn't your fault you say?"

"No honey ___ honestly sweetie-pie, he forced me into it." Melissa claimed.

"What did he do then," I went on. "Tie your hands behind your back with your own panties and force you to have sex with him."

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and I wondered how close my flippant remark might have been to something that may have indeed happened. It could well have been, because she changed her tack.

"Look honey," Melissa carried on at last. "I admit I went to bed with him willingly enough, but I didn't mean it to split us up. I still love you, and you're my one and only true lover."

"Bloody Gentry told me that he'd been fucking you since soon after we got married Melissa," I reminded her.

"He exaggerated a bit," she whined back.

"Oh of course Melissa, we went away on honeymoon for three weeks so you must have waited at least that long."

She changed tack again, in fairness fairly bravely of her, throwing caution to the wind. "For goodness sake John," she spoke out with an air of more confidence. "You know I've never exactly been too faithful to you during our marriage. The circles I've always moved in have a different attitude to casual sex than yours."

This admission was news to me, though in all honesty not exactly a great surprise. I said nothing, and just let her carry on.

"Sex is sex ___ so what. I've fucked guys when I was a teenager because they'd given me work when I first got going, and since then I've done it for the fun. But John I've only ever loved you my sweet. You've always been the only one for me."

She was really very convincing, and besides having been a top model, she'd also done a bit of acting. If it hadn't been for Gentry then ........? Well I hadn't exactly been a saint myself. What was I to do?

On the one hand I think she really did have some feelings for me, though now that Gentry was no more, my wealth could have influenced that.

I guess I still loved her in my way.

She was great in bed __ fantastic in fact, and though she couldn't cook for tuppence that hardly mattered in my position.

She was also extremely beautiful, and that wasn't just my biased opinion. It was only a couple of years since she'd been voted as one of the ten most beautiful women in the world by that stupid celebrity magazine her and her friends read. It had never harmed my business to turn up to some function with Melissa on my arm, and there were few guys around that she couldn't wrap round her finger.

But Gentry ___ even now dead he was still there haunting me as he had done for so long.

"I'll be back down in Kent Friday night," I told her. "Be there and we'll talk about it."

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I actually got home a bit earlier than normal as I had several things to arrange before Melissa got there. When she turned up in the Aston Martin, and unwound herself sexily from the seat, I could tell that she'd taken extra care with her appearance. The short flimsy dress she wore could not be bought in any high street shop, and the name 'Versace' struck a bell, but I couldn't be sure. One couldn't help but admire her.

"Hi darling," Melissa breathed huskily at me as she kissed me warmly on my cheek.

I took her into the house, and led her through to the salon, where I took her into my arms. Her soft body melted against mine, and I felt firmness of her genuinely natural breasts crush up against my chest. By Golly she felt nice, and I realised quite how much I had missed feeling her body against me since she had gone. Reaching behind her, I unpopped the button at the back of her neck, and released my grip on her sufficiently to let the slip of a dress slide slowly down her body. We kissed tenderly, then I took her hand, and as she carefully stepped out of the dress, I led her gently in the direction of the billiard room next door.

"Oh John," she murmured sexily. "It's some time since we made use of the billiard table this way."

I pushed open the door, and stood back to let her through.