Fran

"Everything ok with the car?"

"Yes, fine. I actually managed to book it in for its test on Saturday morning."

"Great, you'll have no problem. Tell me where you're booked in and I can pick you up."

"No need thanks. I've got some shopping to do while it's being tested. Non-supermarket shopping."

"Oh, OK. How about dinner on Saturday evening then?"

"Sorry, Bob. But I promised Isabella, I'd take her and her friend to a concert at the Alhambra."

There was a pause.

"Some other time perhaps."

"Sure."

It wasn't till he'd hung up, that she realised she hadn't paid him yet. Carl went into the office next door. She could smell his aftershave as he breezed by. She rang Bob back and he replied immediately.

"Bob, I'm so sorry. I forgot to ask how much I owe you."

"I rather hoped dinner on Saturday would cover it."

"You want me to buy you dinner?"

"Of course not Fran. I really like your company. I'd consider it an honour to buy you dinner."

She could picture it now. Anything more upmarket than McDonalds would be his choice. Prawn salad, steak and chips, and Black Forest gateau for dessert.

"Sorry I can't."

"I understand. Alhambra tickets are hard to come by. The weekend after perhaps?"

It was time to make a decision. She couldn't juggle two men in her life.

"It's better if we're clear about this Bob. I don't really want to have dinner with you."

She hated herself for doing this, but Carl was a better prospect, and Bob was becoming a side show.

"Oh. What a pity."

"So, how much did the repairs come to?"

"Are you sure we can't...?"

"Bob! Just tell me how much - please!"

"OK. Two hundred and fifty pounds."

"What? I can't afford that!"

"No rush. Pay me in installments when you can manage it. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. You know, one that doesn't require us to socialise."

That stung, but was no less than she deserved. Now she felt awful. Not least about how she would raise the money.

That evening, Francesca kept Isabella in the loop.

"But Bob is so dishy mum."

"I know. And he's kind, and he's helpful, and all the rest of it. And I know how this sounds, but he's simply not in the same league as Carl Stevenson; that's the man I'm going to dinner with. I realise I sound like a gold-digger, but I have to be practical. I've been out of the dating game for a long time, and I simply can't cope with two men at once."

"I understand. Where does this Mr Stevenson live?"

"Currently, while he's running our new HQ project, we're renting him a small place on the Greenwood estate. He has his own house in London, though he doesn't get back every weekend."

"Probably just when he wants his wife to do his laundry." said Isabella.

"He's not married."

"And you know this how?"

"Lots of the girls at Blackstones fancy him. A couple of them found out his marital status within the first two days."

"Fair enough. By the way, Greg's coming round tonight."

"He's the one who lives near here, but you met him at university, right?"

"Yes. Coincidentally, he also lives on the Greenwood estate. Funny I had to go to Nottingham University to meet someone from just round the corner. He's studying Automotive Engineering, same as me."

"You're still determined to be a car mechanic then?"

"I am. This is 2001, the new millenium, girls can do any job they like. I'm good with computers and most cars nave computer systems these days. And you know I've never been afraid of getting my hands dirty. If things don't pan out with this Stevenson chap, you'll need someone to keep the Fiesta on the road. Greg said you should have asked him to look at it first. He's been working on cars for years."

"Normally I might have, but it gave up the ghost in the supermarket carpark. And Bob was, well, there."

"Got it. Anyway, he'll have a quick look at it tonight - make sure you're not getting ripped off. By the way, he asked me a strange question about Bob."

"Go on."

"Do you know his surname?"

"Yes, it's Rice. Why does Greg want to know that?"

"No idea. Maybe he knows him."

Greg arrived with a bottle of red wine.

"Have you got a jug or something Mrs Thompson? This could decant while I have a quick look at the Fiesta."

He poured it into a large milk jug and went out with Isabella. They had their heads under the bonnet for ten minutes. Then came in and washed their hands.

"Cheers."

They all clinked glasses.

"So, how much do you think I should pay, Greg?"

"I looked at that engine once before Mrs Thompson. There were a few things I could have sorted out for you, if I'd had the chance. But your Mr Stevenson has done an excellent job. If it had been me - even not charging for labour - I'd have to be asking three hundred pounds just for the parts. They're all new by the way."

"Wow!"

"An investment really. It'll keep you going for another year, probably longer."

Francesca had a large gulp of wine. Under other circumstances, Bob would have been her knight in shining armour. But she had to be realistic.

"Is it all right if I come round here to watch movies with Isabella on Saturday night? I'm hiring a couple."

"Of course Greg. You hardly need to ask."

"It's just that she told me you're going out that night. We wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea."

Francesca smiled. He was a bit like Bob.

"Mr Stevenson will pick me up here at six thirty. You're welcome any time."

Saturday morning rolled round and Fifi sailed through her MOT. Francesca went to a reasonably priced lingerie shop; no Victoria's Secret for her. She knew she should put money aside to start paying off Bob, but was feeling excited. She bought a pair of see-through, French knickers, and matching hold-up stockings. Both black. Carl wouild never see them of course, but she'd know.

Greg arrived before she was ready to go.

"What will you be watching?" asked Francesca.

"Sixth Sense and The Matrix." said Isabella. "We'll probably still be here when you get back."

She went upstairs to shower. But first trimmed her pubes. She was aware this was ridiculous but, coming from Italian stock, she tended to be hirsute down there. She'd been shocked at the amount that could be seen through the transparent knickers. She checked herself in the mirror. Perfect. She'd chosen a soft transparent bra and just hinted where her nipples were. Nothing outrageous, but she slipped a shawl round her shoulders to make them less obvious. Francesca liked the idea of Carl catching a glimpse of them, but not Greg.

As she arrived in the lounge, The Matrix had started, and got paused.

"Mum, there's something we need to tell you."

A car horn sounded outside. Carl was early.

"Sorry, it'll have to wait."

"But..."

"Look. My first date in years is here. And I don't particularly want him to come into the house. So, will what you tell me, stop me going out tonight?"

"Well, no."

"Later then. I'm off."

She settled into the passenger seat of his BMW, shrugged off the shawl and put on her seatbelt.

"All set." she said.

"Before we go." said Carl, "How do you feel about wearing this? It's ok if you'd rather not."

He showed her a tiny pink rose. It had been professionally fitted into a silver clasp, with a clip to attach to her dress.

"I hoped it might suit your dress. You look absolutely wonderful by the way."

"I'd love to." she said.

He undid his seatbelt.

"Up here on the left, I think." he said, leaning across her.

He deftly pinned it over her collarbone. Francesca was sure he was aware of her nipples.

"There!" he said, and patted the flower into place.

Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat back in his seat. She thought the kiss was a little forward. Then again, she'd done the same thing to Bob. Francesca decided he would get a proper goodnight kiss in a couple of hours; but no more.

He took her to the Duke of Wellington Hotel. It boasted the best, and most expensive, restaurant in town.

"I'll start with with the seared scallops on baby spinach." he said. "And I ought to order the Beef Wellington, as it's your ' spécialité de la maison'. How do you serve it?"

"It is topped with pâté and drizzled with a rich mushroom sauce, sir. Your choice of fresh vegetables of course."

"Sounds wonderful. And what would you like, Francesca?"

"I will also start with the scallops. But for my main meal, your lamb chops with blackberry chutney."

"Excellent choice ma'amselle."

Another one calling her 'miss'. This was going well.

"As you are both ordering meat dishes," the waiter continued, "may I suggest Cabernet Sauvignon? We have a '97 in the cellar - a particularly fine year."

He looked at Carl.

"Yes, that will be fine." he said.

The meal was wonderful, and Francesca's main concern was that the evening seemed to be going too quickly. The dry red wine made her thirsty and Carl kept topping up her glass.

"I'll only have two." he explained. "I'm driving."

The waiter asked if they wanted a dessert. She hoped Carl would say no, as she was feeling full, and a little tipsy. But when he did indeed refuse, she considered ordering a fruit salad anyway. She didn't want the night to end yet. Then, a band started up in the next room.

"I'd be delighted if you you'd have a few dances with me." said Carl. "I need to work off some of that Beef Wellington!"

"No dessert for me either, thank you." said Francesca.

The waiter turned to Carl.

"Would sir like to keep the bill open? You may fancy another drink. The ballroom bar does excellent cocktails."

"Good idea." agreed Carl.

As they entered, a few people were already dancing. Francesca excused herself and went to the Ladies'. Checking her make-up, she was alarmed at how flushed she looked. She did her best, but with little effect. When she returned, there was a moment of panic. A young man approached and asked her to dance, and there was no sign of Carl. It was flattering nonetheless.

"No thank you. I'm waiting for someone."

"No problem." he said. "Can I buy you a drink while you're waiting?

Tempting. She needed something cool. Then Carl appeared.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" he asked smoothly. "Or would you like a drink?"

"I have to go." said her young admirer, and melted away.

"Sorry to abandon you. I wanted to tip the waiter. We may not see him again."

"Good idea. That chap was just chatting me up." explained Francesca.

"Hardly surprising." Carl replied. "I imagine it must happen all the time."

"Not really. I'd like something cold please."

"How about an iced Long Island Tea?"

"I've never tried it, but it sounds perfect. But I'd be more comfortable if you had something too. We don't need any more alcohol."

He grinned and led her to a table.

"Make yourself comfortable, and I'll go and get the drinks. She sat back and watched the dancing. She was feeling mellow, and a little horny. Carl came back with the drinks.

"You look very sexy." he told her. "I'd better keep an eye on you. I don't want to be sitting here on my own, if you get a better offer!"

She leaned forward and patted his thigh.

"Tonight I'm a one man woman!" she said, and blushed.

What on earth made her so bold? Her Long Island tea was delicious.

"What did you get?"

She was looking at his red and orange drink.

"A Sunrise."

"Oh, I've tried Tequila Sunrise before. May I have a taste?"

"Be my guest."

"No, too sweet for me. I'll stick with my iced tea!"

It was around eight thirty when they had their first few turns around the dancefloor. As Francesca expected, Carl was a good dancer.

"I need a cold drink after that!" she said.

They went back to their table and she took a long swig of her cocktail. It was nearly empty.

"That wasn't very lady-like!" she said.

"Don't be silly. I'll get a couple more."

While he was gone, under the table, she pulled her dress up. A little breeze around her warmest areas felt much better. She finished off the last of her drink, as Carl returned with fresh ones.

"Let's just watch the dancers for a while." he suggested.

He moved his chair round next to hers, pushing the table away so he could squeeze in. Francesca realised he was getting a good view. Sure enough he stared.

"God, I can't remember the last time I saw stocking tops!"

He pulled the table back towards them. but not so far that he couldn't still see.

"Sorry, not very lady-like again. I'm just so hot!" she said.

"You most certainly are!" he agreed.

They sat in silence for a while. Francesca sipped some more cocktail. Just like the Cabernet Sauvignon, it seemed to be making her more thirsty. She wondered what was in Long Island Tea, and realised she was getting drunk. Then Carl simply asked if he could kiss her.

"I understand if you say no. I'm not usually this forward. It's just that you are so desirable."

She didn't think she had ever been called desirable before, and thought a kiss would be nice. It wasn't as if she hadn't planned on one anyway, and she didn't have to take it any further. She sat back in her chair.

Her right arm was trapped as he leaned into her. She put a hand on his shoulder as their mouths merged. It was hardly pushing him away, but it slid off as he brought his hand up to her cheek. She'd never been kissed like this before, and it felt possessive. His thumb pulled her jaw down a little and he slid his tongue in. Then his hand dropped and squeezed her breast. There was no pretence it was an accident.

"That's enough!" she said, and pushed him away.

"Sorry Francesca, but I want to make love with you. Please say yes."

"No. I've served my apprenticeship in cars thank you."

"A room then. I'll go and see if I can get us a room. I can still have you home by ten thirty."

But she knew a room would be the point of no return, and could only be full sex if she agreed to go. Not back seat groping where she could still push him away. A room was commitment. Her body liked the idea, but her mind did not. Francesca pushed him back into his chair. She was not going through with it; not on the first date.

"Carl..."

She looked away at the dancefloor. And there was Bob, right in front of her! He hadn't seen her, and was dancing with a girl with long brown hair. That hadn't taken him long!

"... go and see if they have a room."

Carl soon returned. Francesca stood, feeling dizzy. He put his arm round her waist and steadied her. She downed the last of her drink and put one arm round his shoulder. Appearing to stumble slightly, she bumped into Bob, who was still dancing.

"Sorry Bob!"

His mouth opened in astonishment.

"Fran! I thought you were at the Alhambra! I..."

"I thought dinner and dancing sounded more fun. Seems you did too. Show me the room please Carl!"

She glanced at Bob's date.

"Looks like you've pulled as well!"

Carl was so cool. He never asked who Bob was. He'd claimed he'd wanted to make love to her, but, once in the room, it just raw sex. He didn't last long, but she had an orgasm. It was just after ten thirty, when he pulled up in front of her house. Francesca kissed his cheek and went in. She was cleaned up, made up, and calm, as she went into the lounge. Isabella was waiting.

"Greg's just left." she said, with a slight hint of reproach. "Did you have a good time?"

"It was very nice." she replied. "But now I'm tired. Will your news wait till the morning?"

"Of course."

Next morning she felt rough. Isabella had brewed coffee. Francesca put her mug on the kitchen table and grabbed one of the cookery books off the shelf.

"Morning mum. What are you reading?"

"The section on how to make cocktails. Just curious."

She found Long Island tea. Vodka, gin, rum, tequila, triple sec - whatever that was - lemon juice, and cola. That explained a lot. Isabella was pulling a jacket on.

"Going shopping with Tammy." she said. "Don't worry. I won't spend much!"

"Aren't you going to tell me last night's news? You can't leave me worrying all day!"

"Oh yes. I sent Greg a photo of Bob's car. That wing on the back is called a spoiler. He says it looks like a Nissan Skyline GTR. Japan also drives on the left and some were sent over here. But the ones in red, with the black bonnet should be last year's V reg. So if Bob's surname is Rice, Greg reckons RPR 126F must be a personalised number plate. Your Robert Rice has a brand new car. Greg says it's worth more than a BMW."

"Well silly me!"

"You should encourage him mum. Greg's seen Mr Stevenson over at Greenwood. You know there's no real future with him."

"Why? Because his BMW is so cheap?"

"No. Because he's married with a son. A couple of weeks ago Greg saw them getting out of a taxi and going into Mr Stevenson's house. He's been lying to the girls in your office, so it's a good job last night was only dinner!"

She breezed out.

Francesca sat there stunned, then called the Duke of Wellington Hotel. She introduced herself as Mrs Stevenson, enquiring about her and her husband's booking last night. She explained that they ran a small business and needed a detailed receipt before they left town. Her husband was in an important weekend meeting, and couldn't remember if he'd got one or not. Could they please check?

Fifteen minutes later, she was at hotel reception.

"We have no record of your husband requesting a receipt, so I've run one off for you."

"Thank you."

"So, it was dinner for two, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, two Long Island cocktails and two Sunrise mocktails."

"Mocktails?"

"Oh, that's a fun word we use for cocktails without alcohol. Plenty in the Long Islands though of course!"

"Of course."

"And Room 201; no breakfasts. I see you checked out last night. Was there a problem with the room?"

"No, no problem. We found out last minute that the company we're dealing with had booked us in elsewhere. Not as nice as here of course, but we were too embarrassed to tell them."

"Ah. We still have to charge you unfortunately."

"No problem."

She handed over the receipt.

Francesca studied it.

"Excuse me." she said. "But is this date right?"

She passed it back. The woman frowned at it.

"Yes. Last Tuesday, Mr Stevenson booked the room and dinner for two - for last night."

She was fuming when she got home. How dare he? He pretends he's worried about crossing company guidelines, then books a room the moment I agree to dinner! The bastard! What did he take her for? Well, whatever he took her for, he wasn't far wrong was he? Now she'd briefly had two suitors in her life, and lost them both. Francesca swallowed a whole mug of cold coffee and went and had another shower. Then forced herself to eat a cheese sandwich with a hotter coffee. She was ready. This wouldn't wait.

The Greenwood estate wasn't that big. Singles and young couples. Low rentals and what they called starter homes. Not many children, and... a silver BMW. She went and knocked on the door. Carl still looked handsome in a T-shirt and jeans. Though a little less so once Francesca smacked him hard across the face. He staggered back into the lobby and she followed him, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"I guess you haven't called round for second helpings!" he said, rubbing his cheek ruefully. She pushed him into the living room and he fell back into a chair.

"You're married with a son!" she began.

"I never told you I wasn't."

"You told everyone else in the office, and you knew that's what I believed."

"So what? My wife is in London; she doesn't need to know. And it's not as if you didn't have a good time. You went off like a hand grenade!"

"I did no such thing you arrogant bastard. You were adequate; that's all. Anyway, I didn't come here to discuss the sex with you. I came here to discuss how you lied to me. Albeit lying by ommission. I'm furious!"