Friday Night, Saturday Morning

'What about your white bits?' Heather countered.

'They're as good as gone, but noticeable to a critical eye. There again, I only had a handful of weeks. And you had a flying start in the first place.'

Danny scowled at that remark, so Josie enlarged. 'Hev hardly had any white bits to begin with. She's a born-and-bred farm lass, the product of umpteen generations. Farm lasses don't do pale skin.'

That set something going in Danny's head, but he didn't quite know what.

'How about meeting a pair of beyond gorgeous twins?' Heather persisted.

'Sorry, no I did not.' Josie chuckled. 'And you don't need to explain who they are. You've told me two million times before. And I was miles away. I hardly ever went into the town, goldfield rich or not.'

'Shame,' said Heather, 'as I seem to have previously mentioned, those two are something else. Get them together, they're a force of nature. Have them individually and they're as obliging as could be.'

At that point, the waitress returned, in search of food orders.

'I'll have the usual,' Heather said without a glance at her menu.

'I'll have a medium-rare fillet steak,' Danny obliged after a hasty scan at the bill of fare.

'I'll go with him,' Josie added, shamelessly freeloading.

And those eyes! Hard to believe, but bright blue could be just as dangerous as emerald green.

'More drinks?' the waitress inquired, as if the answer was obvious.

'Go for it,' said Heather, 'and get yourself another as well.'

There goes my bank balance, thought Danny. Then, writing it off as a (relatively) minor hit he started racking his brains again.

Heather wasn't mixed-race, she was a farm lass of several generations standing. She lived in a big old luxuriously renovated farmhouse, didn't she?

So then, what was rattling his cage?

In his working life Danny did an awful lot of entertaining. "Entertaining" was part of the ritual dance of pulling in new business. But that wasn't the be all and end all. He considered himself to be "Sales" but the powers-that-be believed he was "Finance". Consequently, he had to read the FT every day as well as signing up with a dozen organizations which issued monthly "financial magazines."

Reading that background crap was a pain in the ass but hey, he was well-paid and liked the lifestyle.

(His "entertainment" budget was very generous too, so why rock the boat?)

At some stage, maybe a year or more ago, he'd read a glossy article about WYB. Banks weren't even close to his targeted customers, but the local connection couldn't be ignored.

Consequently, he'd read the article with genuine interest, rather than out of a sense of sheer duty.

Once upon a time, not a lot of years ago, Bingley had been home to one of the UK's larger building societies. Nowadays the building society was as good as gone and the town was home to a medium-sized bank.

But what a bank! It was one that outperformed everyone else in the market. Unable to remember names, he knew two relatively youthful women had helped to boost "sales" way beyond any other bank in their sector.

And way beyond most of the big boys, too.

That article had named the two women. Their names escaped him, but one description rang only too true.

A young woman who'd been profiled. One who'd been paid at least a million in bonuses.

That is correct: at least a million in one single year.

And she was the one who'd used the proceeds to buy back her historic family home.

Suddenly aware of the direction of his ponderings, he concentrated harder than ever.

Coming up Micklethwaite Lane he'd assumed they were bound for that new estate.

Hunters Farm, they called it.

But they'd turned off into the original Hunters Farm, maybe a hundred yards shy of the new-build, semi-detached sprawl.

Holy Jesus, he'd been fucking Heather Hunter, banking goddess and worldwide super-hero.

(Or rather, she'd been cheerfully fucking him.)

'I think he's twigged,' said Josie. 'Haven't you exchanged names?'

Heather laughed dismissively. 'I should start now!'

'What are you like?'

Their meals arrived before Heather could answer. And she'd gone for a rump steak, one which made the two fillets look decidedly ordinary. Hell, hers overlapped the enormous cast iron platter. If it had been any bigger it'd have been as good as on the floor.

'You're Heather Hunter,' Danny ventured after consuming a couple of tasty onion rings.

'That is correct,' said Josie, 'and you and me can remain on first name terms only. I'm sure we both have secrets to hide.' She chuckled. 'I'll think of you as "Danny Big Cock" from now on.'

He blinked at that. 'What are you trying to say?'

'I'm saying Hev's good at giving clues. We have a telepathic connection. And she's never wrong.'

'I think Josie's on for this afternoon,' Heather added, chewing on her well-done beef. 'I've given her all the clues she needs. She knows how good you are. And it'll make sense too, won't it?'

Danny tore his attention off Josie's chest. I'll think of you as "the girl with the best tits in the world" his brain yammered, thankfully keeping the sentiment to itself. 'Will it?' he said aloud to Heather.

'For sure. You were flagging and here she is, ready, willing and able to take up half the load.'

'But I can't possibly cope with two of you.'

'Forget what I promised before. We can split tonight three ways.'

'Tonight!'

'Don't be pathetic. We'll avoid threes and take turns. You can even snatch a snooze if you want. Can I be fairer than that?'

Danny looked towards Josie.

'Is that what you want?'

'I could be persuaded.' She giggled. 'I want you to watch me and Hev too. Please say yes. Please see us luxuriating in sheer, unadulterated girl-on-girl sex.'

That was too much for Danny; it was way, way too much.

'Okay,' he said meekly, a lamb to the slaughter. 'Girl Power rules yet again.'

Josie and Heather laughed like loons.

'Girl Power,' Heather echoed.

'You ain't seen nothing yet,' Josie endorsed.

Guess what; she wasn't joking.