Page 10 of Pyg

AMUSE-BOUCHE

EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER

A lice pored over the spreadsheet on her wide-screen monitor. Tiny numbers danced in front of her tired eyes as she tried to finalise the month-end accounts of T another forty-four minutes until Jeremy would be finished with his client. Hopefully, this appointment wouldn’t run over like the last one, and Alice could shut the office to take lunch. As if receiving the invitation to her thought party, her stomach rumbled. Last night, she’d congratulated herself on being thrifty by making lunch, but now, the soggy sandwich awaiting her seemed less than appetising. Perhaps she should treat herself to a flat white from Snoots. And maybe one of those delicious little pastel de ?—

An obnoxious burst of sound from the door buzzer jolted Alice from her thoughts; she pressed the button on her desk to release the catch and seconds later Fran sauntered in, her chestnut curls bouncing along with her stride.

“What, what are—” Alice stumbled at the sight of her.

“Oh, Alice. Do close your mouth.” Fran pouted. “Aren’t I allowed to pop by to bring my little worker bees lunch from time to time?”

“I, er… I have an egg sandwich in the fridge.”

From the crook of her arm, Fran swung a Fortnum Fran obliged, this time scooping an extra-large dollop to poke between her lips.

“Honestly, this is the nicest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

Fran arched a dark eyebrow. “This is just the amuse-bouche , darling,” she said, with a haughty laugh.

“Shh!” With wide eyes, Alice peered over her shoulder at Jeremy’s closed door. Heat rose up her neck to her cheeks at the thought of him walking out and seeing Fran perched in front of her, looking all seductive and gorgeous. Even though Fran was adamant that Jeremy didn’t see her in that way, it didn’t make Alice feel any better about things. Fran claimed that Jeremy barely noticed when she made an effort, and today she’d made an effort all right. She wore a black, hip-hugging pencil skirt, with a long slit… oh my God, that slit… paired with stockings and heels. Fran had topped the cake with a cherry-red silk blouse, unbuttoned to show her full cleavage, which lay nestled in a lacy bra. She leaned over to feed Alice more heaven-on-a-breadstick, and Alice ached to bury her head in that cleavage and inhale her potent musky scent.

You’d have to be blind not to notice a woman like Fran, and practically dead not to be charmed by her. Alice had tried, but resistance was futile. Still, she could really do without losing her job, and sometimes it was almost as if Fran was trying to get them caught.

Fran reclined further on the desk, her arms arching behind her, hips angled upward. Heat ripped through Alice, and she squeezed her thighs against the ache gathering between them, breathing away the reckless urge to push everything off her desk, climb on top of Fran and… just screw it all. That’s what she wants, that’s why she’s here.

Fran’s dark eyes danced around Alice’s face, almost as if she were amused — fuelled even — by Alice’s unquenchable want.

“This weekend, I’ve booked us a room at that cutesy little place in the Cotswolds. I’ve told Jeremy that I’ll be away with the Ivywood tennis girls. I was hoping you might be able to?—”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Fran cocked her head.

“I can’t play tennis. I’m useless at sports or anything to do with balls.”

“Goodness, no… I meant, you know… the outfit. There’s something about tennis whites. Those little skirts and all that bending over.” Fran fanned herself dramatically.

Alice giggled as she flipped the calendar on her desk. “This weekend?”

“What is it? Don’t pretend you have plans that you can’t cancel for me.” Fran flashed a dangerous grin and leaned in to cup her hand around Alice’s cheek.

“It’s just that I’m supposed to be staying with Maggie. She’s planned this whole birthday thing.”

“I’m sure she won’t miss you.”

“Thanks!”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Fran chortled.

“I said I’d be there, and I always seem to let her down lately.”

“You’re always moaning about your sister and her horrid husband, so what’s the big deal?”

“I know, but...” Alice sighed. Why was she even trying to explain this to Fran? Resistance is futile. “I suppose her birthday isn’t until Sunday, so perhaps I can just spend Sunday with her instead?”

“Attagirl,” said Fran, now propped on her elbow with her hot mouth inches away from Alice’s, so close Alice could taste the velvety butter of that delicious —

“Ahem.”

Alice jerked away, her heart pounding as her eyes darted in the direction of the throat-clearer. In the doorway stood the austere, sharp-cut figure of Doctor Truscote, her steely-eyed gaze flicking from Fran’s face to Alice’s.

Alice opened her mouth to speak, but before any words came forth, Fran sprang up from the desk.

“Catherine. How lovely to see you! You’re looking—” Fran made a show of looking the other woman up and down, and let the end of her sentence hang in the air unfinished.

“Francesca,” Truscote said with a nod, then clenched her thin lips into a tight line. The muscles in her square jaw pulsed as her eyes returned to Alice.

“My afternoon session at The Milverton got cancelled last-minute. I’ll be in my office dictating the notes for the Liversidge files. I’ll need you to type them up ASAP. I’d also appreciate a coffee, when you…” she turned her head slightly towards Fran, but her eyes didn’t drift from Alice’s, “…when you have a moment.” Alice could swear she saw the corners of Truscote’s lips twitch with disgust.

“Sure, I’ll be right there.” Alice’s voice came out half an octave higher than usual.

Truscote nodded and strode across the room. When the heavy oak door clicked to a close, Alice released her held breath with a muted, “Fuuuuck.”

Fran chuckled.

“Why are you laughing right now?”

“Trusty’s got her crusties in a bit of a twist, hasn’t she?”

“Fran, it isn’t funny. This is serious. What if she tells Jeremy what she saw?”

Fran retook her perch on Alice’s desk and steadied Alice’s jittering hands with her own.

“And what did she see, Alice?”

Alice looked at her blankly.

“Exactly. She saw nothing.” Fran smiled.

She’s actually enjoying this.

“Just tell the sour old cow I was getting an eyelash for you.” She scoffed. “It’s not like she’d know affection even if it bit her on the ice-cold arse.”

Alice raked her fingers over her cheeks and sank into her chair.

Fran glanced at her watch and hopped off the desk. “Right then, I better be off.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I can’t hang around here all day. I have things to do.”

“What about Jeremy?”

“Do tell him I said hello. There’s a sandwich for him in the basket; the rest of it is for you. Enjoy!”

“But—”

“All good things, Alice, all good things. Besides, I shall see you this weekend! Don’t forget your tennis gear.” Fran blew her a kiss and disappeared through the door.

“I don’t have any tennis gear,” muttered Alice.

* * *

After a soft knock, Alice pushed through the heavy oak door with a tray balanced in her left hand. Truscote didn’t look up; her fountain pen scratched rapid notes across the lined paper of her notebook. Alice placed the cup of coffee on the coaster — she’d made it with hot milk, just how Truscote liked it. She’d also added a fancy biscuit from Fran’s basket, hopeful that Truscote might notice the gesture and not mention anything about before.

This whole thing with Fran — should she say affair?

Yes, but it sounds so seedy and cliché: the PA fucking the boss, or in this case, the boss’s wife . She didn’t know how to make it stop, or even if she could. More to the point, if she actually wanted it to stop. And now that Fran was thinking of leaving Jeremy, perhaps they even had a future together?

Alice swung wildly from being smitten with the woman, to sort-of-despising her for being so… so whatever it was that fuelled Alice’s raging desire. Fran was like crack, and Alice the crack-whore — constantly craving the next hit that inevitably left her feeling lower and more desperate than before. Ugh. She was disgusted with herself and cursed her weak will and libido because she knew she’d always bend over and take whatever Fran served up.

Alice’s insides twisted and the metallic taste in her mouth made her realise she’d bitten the inside of her cheek too hard again.

It didn’t help that Jeremy was one of the nicest people she’d ever met, earnest and kind — the opposite of his wife.

Truscote cleared her throat, wrenching Alice from her thoughts. She gave the silver-haired woman a small smile and moved towards the door.

“Alice, wait.”

Shit. Alice turned.

“Thank you.” Truscote combed a hand through her cropped hair and removed her reading glasses.

“For what?”

“The coffee. I was concentrating on my notes. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You’re welcome.”

“And for the biscuit. I like these. Fortnum’s, right?”

Alice bit her lip and bobbed her head.

“Sit for a moment, will you?”

“I should get back to the accounts?—”

“That can wait.”

Alice swallowed and, accepting her fate, moved to take a seat in one of the two leather chairs facing the desk. Truscote eyed her whilst taking a tentative sip from the steaming cup.

“Mmm, that’s good.”

Alice stared at the desk, tracing the knots of the dark wood with her eyes.

After a tense moment, Truscote leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice. “You need to be careful with Mrs Dalton. She’s?—”

“It’s not what you think.” The volume of her own voice startled her.

Truscote sat back and the corner of her mouth lifted in satisfied affirmation, thanks to Alice’s over-reaction.

“Look, Alice. I have no right to tell you how to live your life. But, when it comes to the Daltons, I have an obligation to warn you. Jeremy, he’s a good man. But Francesca, she’s?—”

“She’s what?” Alice’s fists clenched at the unexpected hurt of hearing someone else ripping into Fran. Alice could think what she liked about Fran, but they were lovers. What right had this woman, this sour cow, got to pass judgement? Fran is worth a thousand of this frigid old bag.

Truscote raised her hands. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Alice got to her feet, blood pulsing in her ears as she batted away her intrusive thoughts: the urge to snatch the cup and throw hot coffee all over Truscote’s smug face, the urge to take back the fancy Fortnum’s biscuit, the urge to tell this old bitch where to shove her job. She breathed deeply to steady herself.

“Thank you for the warning, but I can make up my own mind about Fran. And you’d better not mention any of this… this nonsense to Jeremy.”

Truscote puffed a laugh through her nose and shook her head. She replaced her reading glasses and resumed her notes.

Conversation over; Alice dismissed.

Back in the relative sanctuary of the reception room, Alice held out her shaky hands. She could do with a drink after that encounter. She could do with seeing Fran again.

Jeremy’s appointment would end any moment now, but she couldn’t wait. Fuck it.

She scrawled an excuse on a sticky note and stuck it to her screen — Jeremy would understand. He’s good like that. Her thumbs tapped out a text as she shrugged on her coat and stepped outside.

Still about? Meet me for a drink?

Alice grinned as an instant reply from Fran pinged through.

White Lion. See you there x