Never Say Never Again

'You two compete like nutters, don't you?'

'It has been said. And I guess we always will.'

'In that case we're set for an entertaining night, aren't we?' Depositing her empty glass SJ gestured invitingly, offering up her sex. 'But tomorrow's another day,' she went on. 'Let's make the most of the here and now.'

Chapter Four

By no means inconsiderate Heather had thought about her ongoing relationship with her new PA in a deal of detail. Back on Friday they'd taken care to arrive at the bank separately. And they had had hardly any interpersonal contact during the day. Her own reputation cast-iron, last thing she wanted was for Janet's to be trashed.

Which was strange, really. She'd been very much Vic's lover for years by now. And she'd been "with" SJ a goodly while too. Not to mention Nina, Vic's super-efficient, super-sexy PA. God only knew what they said about Ms Heather on the dreaded Grapevine. Yes, God only knew, but nobody ever put her down about it.

Unless they were all scared, that is. Scared or lost in something approaching admiration.

Yeah, as if anyone could admire a horny so-and-so like her; pin cushions had been known to suffer from fewer pricks than she had. And that was only courtesy of a relative handful of guys!

Suffer? Scrap that; regardless of gender she had adored everything about all the sex she'd ever had.

Sex to her was addictive and very moreish. End of.

Back to the scary aspect. Vic wasn't scared of her and neither was SJ. But Janet, however . . .

Well, it was hard to be sure.

Janet wasn't classically good-looking, but she was tall, nearly as tall as Heather herself. Her shoulders were narrow, her face was rather attractive. Leastways it was in her usual smile-less mode. Give her a hint of a smile and she became astonishing. No, she became ravishing.

Yes, she resembled that female snooker referee. The foreign one who hardly ever showed emotion in even the most thrilling circumstances. The once who could transform herself the moment the last meaningful ball was potted on the green baize.

Yes, frightening beast to unparalleled beauty in no time at all.

Janet knew what to do best at bedtime, too. One one-sided session and Heather was convinced. Not being a qualified talent-spotter, she couldn't give scores out of ten, not without scoring her up there at fifteen or more.

If she ever dared estimate mere scores.

Even so that working relationship needed to be honoured. Janet was far too precious to lose over a single night of mind-blowing sex.

Come to that, she was too precious to lose over thirty nights of mind-blowing sex.

Or forty, fifty or even sixty.

With her logical head on (a la Worzel Gummidge), Heather decided to keep playing it canny, despite the impulse to pay her back in spades. Truth was she loved sharing; being serviced all night was very well, but the scores needed to be levelled.

Not today, though. Not with Mandy imminently due and several lengthy sessions to recover from.

'Hiya Jan,' she said now in greeting, bright and fresh on a Monday morning, smiling becomingly.

'Jan,' Janet echoed, as unsmiling as ever.

'We're now unofficially Hev and Jan. And forget that guff about playing it cautiously. I want a repeat performance in no time at all. Except . . .'

*****

Janet's expression didn't falter as she amended Heather's on-line diary, making sure her availability for the next three days was limited. Not that the lack of any smile at all escaped her boss. Or perhaps it was the sudden iciness in the atmosphere.

Satisfying herself they were eavesdropper-free, Heather leant in close. 'Listen, Mandy's an old friend of mine; I just haven't actually met her yet. And she is crossing the pond to see me. Three nights is a trifle when you take that into account.'

'That's your business,' Janet replied. 'Nothing to do with me.'

'Yeah, as if.' Heather sighed. 'Look Jan, I owe you and I'm going to repay. Okay? Play your cards right and I might well repay multiply. I fancy it as much as you possibly do. Get the message?'

Not a flicker of accord.

'Clear as day,' Jan said flatly.

'You know I don't do commitments.'

'You do when it suits you.'

'By that you mean Mary Rose.'

'And Victoria; and SJ.'

Heather frowned at that. Mare knew the "SJ" nickname but nobody else was supposed to be aware. Okay, so she'd used the nickname quite wantonly before, but how did Janet know? Was she involved in electronic spying?

'I have a few regular lovers,' she said, ditching the conundrum. 'And I am sorely tempted to add you to the list.'

Jan's expression noticeably softened at that. 'Would you really?'

'Yes, I really would.'

'When's the next gap in your rota?'

'Don't ask me. You're my organizer.'

'Tuesday night through Thursday brings us to the weekend. And weekends are SJ's, aren't they?'

'Yes, and next week's free,' (or so Heather sincerely hoped), 'so feel free to pick any day Monday to Thursday. How much fairer can I be?'

'You can give me Monday to Thursday inclusively. I'd class that as fairer than fair.'

Taken aback for once, Heather gulped. 'I only ever do longer than weekends with Mare. And that's usually somewhere hot and sunny.'

'I'm not expecting sunny but hot fits the bill. Monday to Thursday, all right?'

'At my place, you mean?'

'Yes.'

'Taking turns?'

'But of course.'

'And you don't care about a trashed reputation?'

'Trust me, Ms Heather, trashed reputations are the least of my worries.'

'You mean it, don't you?'

'Too true I do.'

Heather threw up her hands in surrender. Last thing she needed was to fall out with the best PA she had ever seen. First thing she needed was to get hands, mouth and tongue on all the girl's so visible attractions.

Her less visible fanny needed urgent attention, too.

And not before time.

'Okay,' she said aloud. 'Let's do it.'

Chapter Five

Arriving in The Suburban Bar Heather was uncharacteristically nervous. She was also (betraying her old moniker of "the late Heather Hunter") twenty minutes early. Still relatively quiet at that hour, in a way between the teatime and night-time trade. Consequently, it was easy to spot Mandy.

That snapshot didn't do her justice. Although Heather knew she had to be at least her age, the babe looked even younger than a twenty-something Bianca. She still looked sensational as well. Hispanic beauty in all its splendour.

Bring it on!

Bianca . . . sorry, Mandy . . . spotted her just as quickly. Seated at the bar, she already had glasses of pinot lined up. 'Here we go, honey,' she said in her deep, masculine voice and Heather's knees went weak. One glance at Mandy's cleavage confirmed she was a well-put-together girl from there in the Big Apple, not a wildly fantasising boy out of Wisconsin.

(That having been one of her theories, before more concrete girly evidence had been presented.)

Somehow staggering across the floor Heather made it as far as Mandy's welcoming hug.

Not to mention her welcoming kiss.

A lover's kiss or what!

'Woody's been looking after me,' Mandy said as they finally broke lip contact. 'I mentioned you and he insisted I drank in bottles rather than glasses. It's much cheaper that way. And you don't get a lot of that sort of barman advice in NY City.'

'You don't get a lot of that sort of advice in Bradford,' Heather countered. 'In fact, if you get out of a pub and the wheels are still on your car, you can consider yourself lucky.'

'Your round next Hev,' Woody put in helpfully from behind the bar. 'I set you up a tab already.'

*****

Opening exchanges had never really been an issue with Heather. Usually, a connection was made and everything else simply followed on (like a Lancashire cricket team, tee-hee). Conversing with Mandy was easy-peasy. The only difficult bit was avoiding overtly sexual innuendos.

And avoiding Woody's attentions, come to that. Woody was a sound guy but tended to drool when he saw a sensual woman. Not literally, but like eyes wide and tongue out. Heather was accustomed to his obvious interest, but Mandy seemed to be mildly concerned.

Maybe she was afraid he'd vault the bar and ravish her.

As if she needed to be afraid. There was only one person about to ravish her tonight, and it certainly wasn't a barman. Anyone vaulting that bar would be met by a palm heel strike that would put out all his lights for at least an hour.

Tonight's ravishing was exclusively Heather's.

Yes, and wasn't there going to be a lot of it.

'How long have you been here?' she wondered.

'This is my second big glass, so I'm only one in front of you. I wouldn't want to be drunk on the job, would I?'

There went the sexual innuendos, without a backward glance. As if they'd ever really had a need of them at all.

And Good Grief, that whispering in her ear. This time it was going to be authentic, not assisted by a global telephone network.

Bring it on!

'What stage do you think we need to retire to mine?' she wondered, hating herself for sounding very English, prim and proper.

'I'd go for it straightaway,' Mandy countered. 'But I know how much you like your wine. And there's another bottle to down, isn't there?'

'Another two,' corrected Heather. 'The one on its way in here plus the one I'm getting to take to the best curry house. It's bring-your-own-booze, you see. In the good old days, back in the old, rooftop location, there was excellent bar service.'

'The good old days,' Mandy scoffed. 'You obviously lied about your age. How old are you? And what is the age of consent in England anyway? It varies from sixteen to eighteen back states-side.'

'Depending on which state you're in?'

'Yeah, but in a state of excitement and intoxication, it can be as young as thirteen.'

'Sounds much like here, then. And it's officially sixteen everywhere.'

'At what age did you consent?'

'Haven't I told you before?'

'Make that a no.'

'Okay then, I was thirteen.'

'Was it with Mary Rose?'

As if on cue Heather's mobile rang. And didn't it just have to be the red-haired witch herself. 'I am so sorry,' she said to Mandy, 'usually I remember to switch the damned thing off.'

'So, answer, be rid and switch off. We've three nights before us. A short phone chat hardly counts in an equation like that.'

Strangely reluctant, Heather accepted the call.

'Told you I'd ring today,' Wilhelmina W. Witchiepoo cackled, not bothering with introductions. 'I said I'd call today and here I am.'

'Better late than never.'

'I bet that's what you say to all the guys,' said Witchiepoo, cackling again.

Heather rolled her eyes in exasperation, mostly for Mandy's benefit. Mandy looked as though she'd guessed the caller's ID and was interested in how things went.

What a sharp cookie was she.

'Never mind me and those guys I rarely see,' Heather protested, 'what's the news?'

'A week on Friday. I'm getting that early train again. Ali's picking me up outside Bingley station. You and SJ will already be in bed by the time we get to Hunters Farm. And Ali will be with the three of us until eight Saturday morning. After that we'll just have to entertain ourselves. Meaning us girls.'

'A week on Friday!'

'You said the sooner the better, so that's how I've set everything up.'

'Is this all a product of your admittedly fertile imagination?'

'Yes and no. I created the scenario, but the others all played along.'

'Ali and SJ?'

'But of course. I cleared it with them before you. What with you being such a chicken.'

'I've never chickened in my life.'

'You're in then? On the life of that old school moggy?'

'You bet I am.'

'Brilliant. Solidarity, sister.'

Wincing, Heather gave the unavoidable reply: 'Solidarity, sister.'

If they hadn't been two hundred miles apart, they'd have bumped knuckles.

Or maybe they'd have bumped groins, again and again.

*****

'Am I right in thinking that was the girl who took your virginity?' asked Mandy as Heather rang off to switch off, albeit way too late.

'No,' Heather countered, 'that was Mary Rose.'

'Someone got in before her, then?'

'What can I say. It was an all-girls school and Mare was swotting up as always. An opportunity came out of nowhere and we both went for it.'

'As they do,' chuckled Mandy. 'Dare I ask who your first was?'

'She's married with four kids now, so I'm honour-bound to withhold her name. But she used to have a world-class collection of porn videos . . . ones to suit all tastes, if you know what I mean.'

'You watched guy on guy?'

'Well, no, not much and only then out of curiosity. But we had everything else covered. And, even in my young teens, I could see girls were so much better at sex than any guy could ever be.'

'Mare Rose has been catching up ever since, no?'

'No.' Heather frowned. 'We're neck-and-neck in the race for whatever.'

'But why?' Mandy asked a minute into a surprisingly lengthy silence.

'For sexual adventure,' I guess.

'From what you've told me before you're an expert in sexual adventure.'

'So is Mary Rose. We compete over everything, and that most of all.'

'Sounds like fun.'

'It is. It always has been.'

'And, from what I just heard, you've another big fun night coming up.'

'I cannot tell a lie, even though I've never chopped down a cherry tree.'

'I'll bet it's cherries you chop down, not cherry trees.'

'As if that hasn't been said before!'

'But truly, I'll warrant.'

'Truth has no relevance when it comes to sex.'

'It does for me. That's why I want to skip the curry and get to your place. Time waits for no woman, and all that.'

'Ah,' said Heather. 'There's something I haven't previously disclosed.'

'Like a live-in mistress?' Mandy scowled.

'No, like I've booked all day tomorrow, Thursday and Friday morning off. Call it a late decision.'

'But you're the busiest exec in the history of banking.'

'Not until Friday lunchtime I'm not. In the meantime, I'm exploring vintage railways and parsonages with you. We might even find time to read Wuthering Heights together.'

'I'd rather have sex with you.'

'Okay, but after a curry. I've had nothing since a bacon butty early this morning.'

'Hmm, I've had nothing since that airline lunch five or six hours ago. It was tasty, but no more than adequate, to say the most.'

'Job sorted.' Heather waved to attract Woody's attention. 'Can we have whatever's left and a fresh bottle to go?'

Mandy was still eying her, with those astoundingly dark peepers of hers.

'Time's not an issue anymore,' Heather said perkily. 'And it's been yonks since time's not mattered to me during the week. Never mind steam-training it Keighley to Haworth, let's go all the way up to Oxenhope.'

Chapter Six

Skipping over three utterly fabulous nights (and two days) with Mandy, Heather had to declare that the visit had been a success, including the Bronte Parsonage. No, make that exceptionally the Bronte Parsonage. Otherwise, truth was they had put into practice most everything they'd talked about 'on-line', with the added benefits of seeing and feeling.

That being together in bed, naturally. By daylight they'd been sweeter than sweet.

Holding hands had been as naughty as they'd been out of cover. Well, maybe holding hands mixed in with a lot of exceptionally hungry kisses . . .

And discussing Jane Eyre had been astonishingly intimate.

(What a naughty imagination Charlotte had. These days she would be mistaken for Jackie Collins. Or she would have been if Jaqueline hadn't so tragically died last year.)

As for being behind closed doors . . .

Oh yes, yes, yes. Seeing Mandy frigging herself with her mobile phone, there in full colour, and larger than life.

Internal and external, there at a click!

Or, rather, there without any need for a click. Right there on her bed, frigging and frigging, frigging and frigging, time without end.

Repaying the favour was no hardship. And her Yank guest showed all signs of enjoying herself too.

Then it was Friday, Mandy gone and SJ ready to claim her due, along with a lot more Karma Sutra, of course.

Like nearly two days of foreplay followed by an afternoon of the real thing.

Yum, yum, in every sense of the phrase.

And then, Monday in the week of the forthcoming foursome, it was finally going to be Janet's turn.

Janet who'd only previously had one night. Janet who'd shown great strength in getting a big block-booking with "Ms Heather." Janet who'd already shagged her to planes way beyond Heaven.

Only once had been awesome. And here she was, gagging for more.

Lucky Heather or what!

The problem was work-related. Not that Heather didn't have work-related lovers. All modesty aside, she'd had numerous colleagues over the years, as well as that famous three, somehow escaping the dreaded WYB Grapevine.

Well, at least escaping the most vicious tongues on that Reuters-comparable network.

She hoped.

Janet was the ultimate PA. She had to be ranked in the top ten worldwide.

No way could that reputation be tarnished.

Even when Heather wanted to tarnish it so badly!

But in a nice way. Her feelings for Janet were mellow and warm.

In fact, her feelings for Janet were hot and moist.

Hot, hot, hot.

If asked Heather never could explain sexual attraction. To her it just happened, sometimes to a guy, more often to a babe.

Except that wasn't true. Lots of girls she'd been attracted to, and often subsequently slept with, had been less than traditionally "attractive". There again, in her opinion, all girls were innately attractive, and she would never put a fellow sister down.

Even now, torn in indecision, she would never turn her back on any sister, regardless of her colour or creed. Heck, she'd even have stood up for Alexis Colby, maybe reluctantly, but (Joan Collins) was still there in the sisterhood, self-advertised queen bitch or nay.

("She's so swishy in her satin and tat; in her frock coat and bipperty-botterty hat. Oh God I could do better than that.")

No, no way could she ever turn her back, not under any circumstances whatsoever.

Well, not in a non-sexual way, that was. Several sexual activities worked for her very well back-to-back, as it happened.

*****

Monday went smoother than smooth. That is to say Janet was as efficient as always and Heather did not rub herself off under cover of her desk. Sexual tension. As If! "Fatal Attraction" or what!!

Hoping against hope that the attraction was two-way, even having been properly pleasured beyond all bounds, Heather did her utmost to concentrate on workday activities. Later she would realize she had signed off approval on half a dozen dodgy loans and referred two or three cast-iron certainties.

In other words, she'd severely damaged her batting average. If she'd been Sir Geoffrey Boycott she'd have had to go outside and shoot herself.

(Bearing in mind that "Sir" Boycott was only knighted in 2019, forty decades after God's Own County unitedly granted him the honour, and at least thirty years too late at that.)

But enough of northern frippery. Being within yards of Janet all day, so near yet so far . . . well it was up there with "don't open the box". And girl oh girl, didn't she want to open her box.

Somehow Heather made it through the longest day (since D-day, anyway), and it was five fifteen.

At last!

'Would you care to accompany me for a drink in The Suburban,' she asked, sotto voce.

Checking for non-existent snoopers, Janet bit her hand off. 'Let's go for it,' she said keenly.

'You're aware of your reputation . . .'

'Sod reputations. A couple of drinks and bedtime. The first of four bedtimes. Who could ever ask for anything more?'

Not Heather, that was for sure. 'Okay,' she said pseudo-reluctantly. 'Let's go and womanly bond.'