CHAPTER SEVEN: CANARY WHARF
Harry slept, eventually, but woke again several times during the night, and each time he woke he felt Doreen’s naked body warm against him and touched her gently, and each time he touched her she moved closer, and he wondered each time that he could still enflame with such desire, until he woke in the morning feeling that he had been awake most of the night, but somehow did not feel drained. He had slept, and woken, and slept again, in a seamless sequence of consciousness and unconsciousness, but without encountering fatigue. He yawned, and rolled over to check the alarm clock at the side of the bed, and again felt a small warm pressure on his back, and rolled back.
Doreen smiled at him. Now she knew what she had to do to be a kept woman, and it did not seem very onerous. She imagined Mr. Chapman, Harry, would expect a good deal of bonking, because that was what it was all about, and so far it had been good fun, when all was said and done. She also imagined, if she pleased him well, that four fifties might soon start blossoming, and perhaps, with a bit of added charm, he might throw in a credit card. She knew she could do wicked things with a credit card. She lay face to face with him, watching the lust grow in his eyes, and wondered how best to build his generosity. She supposed she might have to be pretty much on call, depending on how close his flat was to his office. But he would probably also be pretty busy during his working days doing whatever he did, and she might be able to get out and about a bit. She felt his hand travel up across her stomach towards her breasts, and flexed herself languorously, stretching out her arms to pull him towards her. She could feel lust matching rising in her to match his, and knew that she would profit if she managed herself carefully, tempering reward to demand, and creating temptation to fuel expectation.
They came together, and she joyed in her passion. She was gone from Tithing St. Mary less than twelve hours, and now she was a grown woman, and the past was all history. She thought again, as she lay holding him, and moving under him, of the future. Perhaps she might push his wife out of the Manor House – that would be a thing to make the village sit up and take notice. Perhaps she would move up in the world, and move on, and find herself a pop star, somebody more of her own age, who would buy her a huge house and – in the fulness of time – put her in the family way. She imagined she might like having children, and being a good mother, a better mother than Marje. Perhaps she would be rich. She imagined she could like that, being rich, and a woman of consequence. She smiled to herself, as she felt the heat in her body building, until suddenly passion swept all else away, and she was caught up in her need for fulfilment and release, and her need swamped her mind.
Then they lay for a moment, in the aftermath of their coition, bathed in sweat, and she rolled up on to her elbow to look down at Harry, and kissed him gently. She had been with a boy or two and one or two men, before. But the boys had mapped out a learning curve, starting with her first hurried grappling in the porch of the Mary St. Tithing parish church after a village dance when she was still just twelve. She had pulled the village lothario, feeling very proud of herself. But it had not been much fun. He had grappled with her for a moment, forcing his tongue into her mouth whilst pulling up her skirt, and his entrance had been quite painful. She had blamed herself, as much as him, for that because she had set out to have him, and had not been wearing panties. Then there had been other encounters, generally hurried, and sometimes brutal: men wanting to shoot their loads and have done. But she had never lain in a bed with a man, never spent the night with a man, and had never enjoyed sex very much. But now everything was different. Comfortable and exciting, and promising.
Harry glanced at his bedside clock and realised suddenly that he had been dallying for far too long. He rolled out of bed, turning to smile at Doreen quickly. ‘I really must get a move on.’
His mind was already on the day ahead. Quick shower, quick shave, some coffee and toast. Levon would probably arrive some time around mid-morning. Quick board meeting, just a formality. Quick phone call to Matthews, Union Funds’ investment director, bidding a pound and a bit, possibly even a couple of bits, for Union’s holding, and then a formal meeting to seal the deal. With luck the whole thing could be in the bag by teatime.
He was now in his bathroom, cleaning his teeth. He swallowed a mouthful of water and spat it out, grinning at his reflection in the big mirror. He still looked quite trim. Trim enough, with a teenage mistress into the bargain. His mind swung back to his plans. He would have to start early on Tuesday, slotting final details in place, and then he could pick up his phone and call Underwood, chairman of Wide Horizons, to tell him that Dreamstone had picked up Union’s stake and planned a formal bid, and the fat would really start sizzling. Underwood was a tough cookie, a man in the solid bastard mould, and could be expected to try toughing it out. But he would not have a chance. The terms of his contract, and not a penny more.
He wrinkled his nose as he began to shave. He could smell fresh coffee, but he knew he had not filled a cafetiere, let alone set a kettle boiling. For a moment his heart nearly stopped. Sylvia held a key to the flat, but never called early. Might she be changing her ways? Might it be Anne, on a sudden impromptu trip up from the Manor House? He mopped his chin nervously and tiptoed to his kitchen.
Doreen stood in his shirt from the previous evening, watching two slices of bread toast under his grill. He could see that she was wearing nothing else. She waved. ‘I found eggs. How about a couple, fried and served on a slice of toast?’
Harry embraced her, his hands caressing her body, and she tried to twist away. ‘I’m making toast.’
He reached out to turn off the grill. The kitchen floor was not the best place for sex, but the sight of her enflamed him, and he was in a hurry. He pushed her down, ignoring her mock protests, thrusting into her as she parted her legs to welcome him. It was a quick encounter, and almost brutal in a way. But it was in his mood for the day, and he got to his feet as she lay panting.
Doreen smiled up at him. ‘I don’t suppose you can take the day off?’
Harry shook his head. He felt like a hero, and he would have stayed, at any other time. But he faced a busy day ahead. But he was mightily tempted. It is a magic thing, to feel so much of a man, and so masterful. He was good at planning, and stalking, and manoeuvering his way through to victories, and he knew it. But nobody had ever surrendered to him so quickly and so completely, and nobody had ever made him feel so good..
He dressed at speed, to block his mind to temptation. Doreen sat at his kitchen table, nibbling at a slice of toast. She had only fastened his shirt with a single button, and Harry had to keep his eyes averted, for her breasts seemed to be struggling to free themselves.
He ran his day through his mind, scanning for a time when he might be free. ‘I’m going to have a hell of a busy day.’ His voice was apologetic. ‘I may not be back until this evening.’
Doreen shrugged lazily. She knew the movement will shrug herself out of his shirt, and she savoured the look in Harry’s eyes. ‘I’ll make myself something to eat, and then do some dusting and stuff.’ She had never been very domesticated at home, but now she was a kept woman, and she imagined kept women might go through a domestic motion or two, at least at the start. She also eyed him thoughtfully, for she had a question in her mind, and it bothered her a little. ‘I found a whole lot of girl’s things whilst you were in the shower. Do you like wearing them?’
Harry stared at her, and burst out laughing. ‘They’re not mine.’ He knew that he did not have time to explain about Sylvia.
Doreen looked relieved. She was finding her way, and she did not want to find herself facing too many problems all at once. ‘Another girlfriend?’ Her smile was one of complicity.
‘Something like that.’ Harry drained his coffee. ‘I must rush. Make yourself at home. You can leave the dusting – a woman comes in from time to time to iron my shirts and tidy up.’
A moment later he was gone. Doreen poured herself a second cup of coffee and sat musing. She had moved in, and now by definition ranks as Harry’s resident girl. She wanted no competition, and whoever owned the clothes could pack and run. She rolled his name around luxuriously in her mind. From Mr. Chapman to Harry, and a half share in his bed, in less than twentyfour hours. It was a sight better than anything she achieved in Tithing St. Mary. She decided to take a lazy shower, and then explore the wardrobe again. She had only looked quickly, but it had all looked like expensive gear, and she thought she might have seen a couple of sexy negligees. Then she might have a look to see what he had by way of videos. Maybe she will find something hot, something to go with the negligees and give her ideas. She imagines she might need inspiration from time to time, to keep her hold firm. After that she could make herself a snack lunch from Harry’s well-filled fridge, and then go out exploring. Fresh air would sharpen up her appetites. She smiled to herself. She was living and learning.
Harry entered Dreamstone’s offices briskly. Levon had picked the company up on a foray into the music world, just a week after recruiting Harry as a fledgling accountant, and had kept the name. He considered it lucky, and liked telling Harry how he had bought a dream employing one of the brightest young brains in Britain. Harry always smiled at the words, because he was now Levon’s partner. Dreamstone had mushroomed, growing from three people in a small room in Denmark Street, London’s Tin Pan Alley, to occupy the whole of a ground floor in one of the main Canary Wharf blocks, with a score of sharp young brains manipulating a complex spider’s web of links and connections. Levon and Harry now possessed the power to conjure billions, and sometimes to make the City shiver.
He smiles cheerfully at Teresa, the Dreamstone receptionist, as he hurried past her into his office, acknowledging her welcoming wave. Teresa was Irish, and a bit too much up front for Harry, though he had once shared a magic moment with her on his office sofa during a Dreamstone Christmas party. Sometimes she made him think of a tiger with a bright smile.
Christine, his secretary, was already hard at work processing documents he had emailed in from the Manor House. Christine was tubby, happily married, Harry-proof, and worth several times her weight in gold. Harry wanted to put her on the boards of some of Dreamstone’s investments, but she preferred a lower profile. Dreamstone made sure she lived well, bought her a new car every year, paid all her fuel and maintenance bills, and sent her once a quarter to freshen her wardrobe in the West End with an open chequebook. Harry considered her more than worth it.
‘How’s it coming along?’ He punched at his own screen to pull up the files. He felt bright, bushytailed, and ready to take the world by storm.
‘Levon called in. He’ll be here in just over an hour.’ She glanced at a notepad. ‘Tim Matthews at Union Funds wants to talk to you.’
Harry was already punching Matthews’ number. He waited for the call to connect, and then leaned back in his chair. He could see the cross glinting on the top of St. Pauls as he looked out west through his big office window. It was a good omen. ‘Tim, Harry here.’
Matthews sounded guarded. ‘The Shark wants to sit at the table.’
Harry took a deep breath. ‘I heard.’
‘We’d rather do business with you.’
Harry smiled slightly. Matthews stood to collect a few bob on the side from Dreamstone if he helped push the deal through. Deals are made in such ways, and he knew who was buttering his bread.
‘We’ll be ready this afternoon.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Kickoff first thing tomorrow morning.’
Matthews grunted. His fellow Union Funds directors were all pressing for rapid action, and the Shark had kicked the ball into nine figures. ‘Can you get something here in writing today?’
Now Harry laughed out loud. ‘Do you want me to send it in sacks?’
‘They’re pressing me, Harry.’
‘I’ll bring it in person this afternoon.’
The telephone was silent for a moment. Then Matthews spoke again. ‘Ok. Come and have tea with me at the Waldorf, we’ll be less conspicuous.’
Harry thought of Doreen. He did not want her to grow bored. ‘I’ll bring a friend.’
‘The boss?’ Mathews’s voice rose a little in alarm. He feared Levon Haris at times.
‘No, a new friend.’ Harry rolled his tongue on the word. It would be a nice chance to show off.
He hung up to redial Doreen’s mobile. ‘We’re going out to tea. I’ll be back at three.’
Doreen had begun working her way through the closet of dresses and negligees. She was enjoying herself, because they were good, and fitted her nicely. ‘Make it two, and I’ll put on a fashion show for you.’
Harry swallowed. He could feel himself blushing, and it was a thing that had not happened to him for many years. But he was working under pressure. ‘It’ll have to be three.’
‘Spoilsport.’ The phone laughed at him softly, and cut off.
Christine came into his office and he tried to avoid her eyes. He knew his face would betray him. Christine smiled indulgently. She had a soft spot for Harry, because he looked after her well. Once she even contemplated romping with him, at a Dreamstone Christmas party, but Teresa had beaten her to it. She had decided, after an initial moment of jealousy, that things were probably meant to happen that way. Harry was a nice man, but with a bastard side to him as well. He could be very caring, when he chose, but also as cold as ice. She had never entertained any ambition to freeze off her fingers.