Page 19 of Pyg
CHAMPAGNE AND STRAWBERRIES
TWO YEARS EARLIER
“A lice?” Jeremy’s hearty voice boomed, reaching Alice in the kitchenette where she was loading the dishwasher with the day’s coffee cups.
“Be there in a moment,” she called out. She quickly set the dishwasher to go and swiped a cloth over the countertops. With a satisfied glance around the room, she flicked off the light. Final task of the day, tick. In fact, final task of the week — hello, Friday! Ooh, and payday. She’d treat herself to a Chinese takeaway and a bottle of wine, curl up on the couch and find a decent series to binge on Netflix. Plus, Maggie and Markus were in the Maldives, so she didn’t even have to see them on Sunday for their usual visit. All that lay ahead was a whole delicious weekend all to herself.
Alice peered around the doorway of Jeremy’s office. He’d left the door open after his final client departed and had since been shuffling papers and tapping away at his keyboard.
“I’m going to head off shortly, if that’s okay? Did you need something?”
“Ah, Alice. Yes. Is Catherine still here?”
Alice leaned back from the doorframe to glance around at the closed office door of Catherine Truscote. She’d been ensconced in there all afternoon. With the amount of coffee Truscote consumed, Alice was surprised the woman didn’t need the loo more often.
“Er, yeah. She’s in her office.”
The corners of Jeremy’s mouth pinched together. “Fine. Would you come in and close the door for a moment, please?”
“Sure.” Alice clicked the door shut behind her.
Jeremy gestured to the chair in front of his desk and fixed Alice with a kind smile. In the three months she’d been working at T her Fiesta groaned with the effort. But it’d just passed its MOT, so there were plenty of miles left in the old girl yet.
Having recently turned forty, Alice felt a bit the same; still roadworthy, but prone to groan, especially when effort was required. She stepped outside into the fresh country air which, if she were honest, smelt a bit like shit, but there was something wholesome about it. Just as there was something wholesome about being out and about at this hour on a Saturday, instead of lying in her pit, doom-scrolling whilst eating Pop-Tarts straight from the box.
By the looks of the abbey, work would be a pleasure. Plus, with the double-time Jeremy had promised, she’d be able to pay Maggie back for the little loan, at last.
The notes in Jeremy’s manila file had outlined a smart-casual dress code, but Alice had erred on the side of smart. She’d met Francesca Dalton in the flesh, and she seemed so stuck-up it was entirely possible the woman slept in formal evening wear.
Alice adjusted her blouse where it had ruffled en route and smoothed down her charcoal-grey pencil skirt, which hugged her hips, showing off her hourglass figure. She even looked good in the reflection of her grubby car window; blonde curls tumbling around her face, full lips painted deep red to match her blouse.
If nothing else, she’d nailed the part of ‘sexy PA’, although admittedly that wasn’t the part she’d been hired to play. No, essentially she was here to take the minutes for a meeting where a bunch of bored, rich housewives took themselves way too seriously. But as well as overtime, this was a free stay in an incredible hotel she’d never have been able to afford otherwise, so the least she could do was look professional — sexiness was a bonus.
Pulling her small wheelie case behind her, Alice stepped through the stone-arched entrance into a dark, wood-panelled Reception. Archways encircled the room and led to stone corridors spidering in every direction. Enormous pillar candles flickered in elaborate candelabras, and statues in various states of undress adorned plinths everywhere she looked. Alice felt like she’d gone back in time as she wheeled up to the front desk and dinged the bell. A moment later, a concealed door in the panelled wall opened; a tall man in a hotel uniform appeared and eyed Alice over the top of the spectacles perched on the end of his long nose.
“How can I help you?” The corners of the man’s thin lips tugged upwards with the hint of a smile.
“Alice French. I should have a reservation.”
The man’s gaze dropped to the computer concealed within the desk. His frown deepened as he tapped at the keyboard and clicked the mouse.
“I’m with Francesca Dalton. Ivywood Ladies Club?”
“Ah yes.” The man stood taller and removed his glasses. “Let me show you to your room.” He stepped from behind the desk and took Alice’s small suitcase. “This way, please.”
“Are you able to let Mrs Dalton know I’m here?”
“Yes, of course. I am to show you to your room first, though.”
The clip-clop of Alice’s heels echoed along the corridor as she followed behind the man; she glanced about herself, trying to work out how she’d remember the way. They came to a wooden staircase at the end of the hall.
“We have you just up here.”
The wooden stairs led to a small landing with two doors facing each other. The man swiped a key card in the door to the right, then stood back to hold it open. Alice stepped into the most luxurious hotel room she’d ever seen. A four-poster bed draped in red linens and plush pillows dominated the centre of the room. From the high ceiling hung an ornate chandelier, its teardrop pendants sparkling in the sunlight spilling through the window.
“Enjoy your stay with us, Ms French.”
Alice had almost forgotten the man. He’d deposited her case on the luggage rack, and no doubt looked on in bemusement as she’d gawped at her surroundings, hoping there hadn’t been some mistake and this room was actually meant for somebody else.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
The man bowed his head and closed the door behind him. Alice released an excited squeal and stamped her feet before kicking off her heels and jumping starfish-style onto the bed. She’d have sent Maggie a selfie if she weren’t on a different continent. Besides, she needed to get herself together — she was here for work, not play.
Alice squealed again when she entered the bathroom and saw a freestanding clawfoot tub with its own view of the sprawling grounds. Resisting the urge to strip off and dive in immediately, Alice straightened her clothes again, spritzed on a little perfume, and scrunched her hair.
“I have a date with you later,” she said to the bathtub.
As she stepped onto the landing, the door opposite swung open, revealing Francesca Dalton dressed in dark-blue high-waisted jeans and a fitted white shirt with sleeves rolled to her elbows. She’d nailed the brief of smart-casual.
Amusement flickered in the woman’s eyes as she caught Alice staring, probably with the same levels of awe she’d had for her hotel room just moments ago. If that room exuded opulence, the woman stood in front of her exuded elegance.
“Alice! We haven’t yet been properly introduced. Francesca Dalton.” The woman extended a hand. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves, grazing the collar of her shirt.
Alice took her manicured hand and returned the firm handshake.
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs?—”
“Call me Fran.” She gripped Alice’s hand a little tighter.
Alice’s breath quickened as the woman’s dark eyes stared directly into her own with an intensity she felt had the power to strip her bare if she held the gaze too long.
“Fran,” she said in an almost-whimper.
A satisfied smirk spread over Fran’s lips, as if she’d just won a contest no one else knew the rules to. “Shall we? Better not keep our Ivywood ladies waiting.”
Alice followed Fran into the labyrinth of winding corridors; the woman was clearly blessed with a better sense of direction than she.
“Jeremy shared the file with you?”
“He did, thank you.”
“And you’re comfortable with the brief? Poor Susan and that molar extraction.”
“I thought it was a root canal?”
“Mmm, yes. Probably. Anyway, it’s just a case of jotting down who says what in some intelligible way.”
Alice nodded, trying to keep pace with Fran, who was now two strides ahead of her.
“I’m sure it’ll all seem terribly trivial, but some of these Ivywood women have agendas, and they’re not afraid of drawing blood to get their own way.”
Great, now they all sound terrifying.
Fran came to a stop in front of a door and grasped the brass handle. Before entering, she turned and hit Alice with a sexy half-smile. “Ready?”
Alice inhaled a steadying breath and released it with a nod. As Fran pushed into the room, the conversations hushed. From their chairs along the conference table, a dozen coiffured heads swivelled in Alice’s direction. All of a similar age and affluence to Fran, the women exuded a status Alice didn’t possess. After a cursory smile at the blur of faces, she took the seat Fran patted next to her.
The lively chatter resumed, and as teacups rattled on saucers, Alice took a moment to buoy herself in a sea of designer dresses, tailored suits, and chic accessories. In contrast to the ripe animal smell outside, a heady fragrance perfumed the air from an arrangement of lilies and lilacs in the centre of the table. Floor-to-ceiling antique walnut panelling adorned the walls, which would have been gloomy if not for the light streaming through the tall arched windows overlooking a topiary garden.
Fran clinked a teaspoon on a glass. “Ladies, shall we begin?”
Alice pulled the printed document from the manila file and set a notepad straight in front of her.
“Firstly, I’d like you to extend a warm Ivywood welcome to Ms Alice French.”
Alice held up a hand and returned the polite smiles directed at her from around the table.
“Right, shall we start with…”
Alice reached into her handbag for her pen. Shit, where is it?
As Fran started rattling through the agenda, Alice’s rummaging became frantic until Fran tapped her arm and she stilled. Mid-sentence and without a glance her way, Fran subtly pushed a silver pen toward her.
Being bailed out before she’d even got started was not the impression she’d been hoping to make. However, the rest of the meeting passed without event. As long as Alice had a task, she could focus and listen. The coffee breaks helped too; Alice used them as a chance to tidy up her notes and clarify any unclear points with the various attendees.
Fran’s presence dominated the room; she skilfully steered the discussions away from contentious points and gently edged them in a different direction. On more than one occasion, Alice had to hide a grin behind her hand as Fran dismantled anyone who got above themselves. The woman commanded complete control, and the more Alice listened, the more enraptured she became by Fran’s hypnotic voice.
The meeting continued into late afternoon, covering every topic from financial reporting to the election of new committee members — at which point Fran was unanimously re-elected as chairwoman, although Alice suspected the women would have been too afraid not to.
As the final session concluded, Alice had almost filled her notebook. She glanced up at the weary faces around the table. In contrast, she could almost feel the energy pulsing from Fran next to her.
“Well, ladies, that concludes a successful day. Thank you, as always, for your contributions throughout. Also, sincere thanks for the vote of confidence; I look forward to continuing as your chairwoman in the coming year.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “As per your schedules, dinner will be served at seven p.m. in The Madison Suite, which allows a little time to freshen up. See you all there.”
Noise rose as the ladies gathered their things and started filing out. Alice shuffled the papers back into the file and picked up her notebook.
“Thank you for today, Alice. We couldn’t have done it without you. You are joining us for dinner, aren’t you?” Fran’s red lips twisted into a sultry smile, her dark eyes simmering with a look that brought heat to Alice’s cheeks.
Alice cleared her throat. “Er, yes, please, that’d be great.” She glanced down at the pen in her hand. “Oh, and thanks for this. I wish I could say I’m not normally that disorganised, but…”
Fran grinned, her fingers brushing Alice’s as she took the proffered pen. That tiny connection sent a charge right through her, and the intensity flickering in Fran’s eyes said she’d felt it too.
With a tap of Fran’s elbow, a pointy-faced woman in a powder-blue skirt suit snatched their attention. Fran looked startled, but with a fixed smile, she spun around. “Harriet, what can I do for you?”
As Harriet reeled off a list, Alice took her leave. Somehow, she navigated her way back to her room. Once inside, she kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the bed, her heart cantering and thoughts swimming with Francesca Dalton. What a woman! Everything Alice wanted to be — and do .
Fuck. Stop it, she’s your boss’s wife. Only to be admired from a safe distance.
With no time for a soak in the bath, Alice freshened up with a cool shower. As she lathered the luxurious soap onto her body, her mind teased her with thoughts of Fran, the cold water proving ineffective against the heat pooling between her thighs. She retouched her makeup and decided to wear her little black cocktail dress. She’d been in two minds when packing it and brought two backup outfits just in case, but it was the perfect dress to impress Fran, even though she shouldn’t have been thinking like that.
The opulent decor of The Madison Suite shimmered in the swaying candlelight. A waiter showed Alice to a seat at the currently unoccupied side of the table, returning moments later to pour her a glass of Champagne. The other ladies already seated didn’t acknowledge her arrival, or perhaps they hadn’t noticed. Either way, they chatted amongst themselves, and Alice fidgeted in her chair. She fought the impulse to pull out her phone; instead, she glanced around the room to take in the decadent surroundings. She held a sip of Champagne in her mouth, enjoying the bubbles fizzing on her tongue as she examined the oil painting above the fireplace. It featured a semi-naked woman on a chaise longue clutching a swan in an intimate embrace.
“Do you like it?” Fran’s husky, honeyed voice ripped Alice’s attention from the painting. Alice turned, drinking in the older woman. Fran was wearing a dark green jumpsuit which fitted and flowed in all the right places over her toned body.
“Er, yeah. It’s… interesting.”
“It’s Leda and the Swan. A controversial piece, but I find some of the depictions, particularly this one, quite… erotic.”
Alice swallowed, her suddenly dry mouth thirsting for more Champagne, as Fran took the seat next to her.
Before long, all the empty seats filled, and the food service commenced. Each delicious course was served with a flight of wine. After the third, the edges of the room started to blur, and Alice had long since tuned out of the various conversations around her. Under the table, something warm and soft brushed against her thigh, snapping her back to her senses.
What the — she glanced at Fran, whose head was turned in conversation with the woman to her right. Perhaps it was an accident.
Oh — the brushing fingers were now tracing circles on her knee, causing tiny explosions to erupt under her skin. Alice poured a glass of water and gulped it down as Fran’s hand rode up her leg.
Oh fuck.
Alice clenched the napkin spread on her lap. Should she push Fran’s hand away? She really didn’t want to, but —
Before she could decide, Fran gripped the tender flesh at the top of her leg, her fingers sinking into Alice’s skin and treading the thin line between pleasure and pain. Alice gasped. No one seemed to notice, and Fran’s hand came to rest inches from her now-drenched underwear. Any closer and Fran would know just how aroused she was.
Heat rose up Alice’s neck and into her cheeks.
“Excuse me, I need to get some air,” Alice said to no one in particular.
With her heartbeat drumming in her ears, Alice stood, and Fran’s hand subtly fell away. Fran didn’t even look around, but laughed loudly as she touched the forearm of the woman next to her.
Much like Alice’s arrival, no one seemed to notice her departure. She stepped outside into a cool evening breeze that carried the scents of honeysuckle and lavender. Alice blinked hard — no, I’m not that drunk, and yes, that really just happened.
She glanced over her shoulder, half-hoping that Fran had followed her outside and was on her way to finish what she’d started. But there was no Fran.
To return now would look like she was going back for more, and whilst she was keen to resolve the ache between her legs, there was a time and a place, and perhaps her boss’s wife wouldn’t be the wisest of conquests. Alice decided to call it a night and meandered back to her room. She drained a glass of cold water and started to undress as a knock came at the door. Alice’s chest lurched, because she didn’t need to open it to know who stood on the other side.
To open the door would be to invite her in, and to invite her in would be to accept everything that was coming to her. Fuck.
Alice shrugged her dress back on and made her choice.
Behind the door, Fran stood with an uncorked bottle of Champagne and two empty flutes held by the stems.
“Well, you left in a hurry. Something I did?” She flashed a wicked smile and tongued her top lip.
Alice gulped as desire ripped through her. “I, er, think you know what you?—”
“I’m sorry, did I offend you, Alice?” Fran pouted, but her eyes were full of teasing laughter.
“No, it’s just that… well, there’s Jeremy, so I thought… you were straight,” Alice stuttered.
Fran scoffed. “I thought you were intelligent.”
“But you’re married.”
“Oh, Alice, don’t be na?ve. I have an appetite which Jeremy cannot sate. Besides, I’m sure you’ve fucked plenty of women who claimed to be straight, but as you know, spaghetti is straight too until it gets wet. Now, do you want to fuck or not?”
Alice nodded; Fran had her at spaghetti .
She moved aside and Fran sauntered into the room. She put down the bottle and glasses, then stepped back towards Alice, who was now completely at this woman’s mercy.
“This dress…” Fran purred and ran a finger under the strap, letting it fall off Alice’s shoulder. Alice shivered at her touch and Fran lowered her head and kissed her collarbone.
“As soon as I saw you in this dress, I knew I had to have you.” Fran guided her backwards until Alice was against the wall and then she kissed her, hungry and desperate, almost feral, biting and sucking her lips, probing with her tongue. Fran tasted like Champagne and strawberries, and Alice moaned into her mouth.
Fran ran a hand up her thigh, hitching up the soft material of her dress. When she reached the top, she edged her thumb around to Alice’s soaked underwear, stroking her through the lacy material. Alice’s breath hitched.
“You’re so wet for me,” Fran growled, biting Alice’s neck as she flicked her thumb underneath the lace, and massaged the precise spot with the perfect amount of pressure.
“Oh fuck, yes. Yes!” Sparks fizzed behind Alice’s eyes as her orgasm erupted. She’d never come like this before — so quickly and from so little. But here she was, melting in Francesca Dalton’s hands, and it was fucking exquisite.