The Ninety Days of Genevieve (7 page)

She stared at the outfit in amazement. Philip's words came to her mind: politically incorrect. Tarty was another description. Get used to these? She held the skirt against her waist and realised that it would barely cover her bottom. And there were no panties in the box. This time she knew better than to consider wearing a pair of her own. She knew that
Get used to these
meant exactly that. But did he really expect her to go outside in a skirt that looked like an extended belt, and no knickers? She knew that he did. But surely only just to his car? If she ran, she told herself, no-one would notice her lack of underwear.

She picked up the shoes. Could she run in these? Could she even walk in them? No wonder he suggested that she get used to them. On impulse she slipped them on. Although they were uncomfortable they also felt extremely sexy. She sat down and stretched out her legs. She had small ankles and the thin straps emphasised this asset. She pushed aside the silky skirt of her loose kimono and looked critically at her legs. Not bad, she thought. Well, quite good really. She found herself wondering what Jade Chalfont's legs were like. What would she look like in these unashamedly erotic and totally impractical shoes? Had Sinclair ever bought her a pair too?

The thoughts spoiled her previously sensual mood. She took the shoes off and glanced at the clock. That destroyed any remaining desire to daydream. It was time for work.

'Fancy a drink?' George Fullerton had breezed into Genevieve's office. She glanced up and shook her head.

'Not now. Too busy. Thanks, though.'

Fullerton did not go away. 'Let's put it another way. I've got to go to Pete Hessler's birthday drink-up and I want company.'

'George, I hate birthday drink-ups,' Genevieve said. 'Especially if ifs someone I hardly know. And I really am busy. I don't want to take any work home this weekend.'

Fullerton glanced at his watch. 'I'm not suggesting a drunken orgy lasting for the rest of the afternoon,' he said. 'The taxi will be here in five minutes. Be ready. Thaf s an order.'

During the taxi ride Genevieve checked that her memory was correct. Pete Hessler had worked for Barringtons before Genevieve had joined the agency and was now freelance. She suspected that George had an ulterior motive in asking her to accompany him but she could not imagine what it was.

The small pub was full of jostling, noisy people. Genevieve could see from the expression on some of the customers' faces that they were regulars who were not happy about this invasion of drinkers.

'See anyone you know?' George Fullerton enquired.

'Yes/ Genevieve said. 'And they're not about to come over and kiss me on the cheek. There's that idiot John Garner. Do you know he once told me that women shouldn't go out to work, they should just have babies.'

'What did you say?' Fullerton asked.

'That unlike men we were capable of doing both/ Genevieve said. 'Or something like that. Shortly afterwards you promoted me. I was very pleased.'

'And you made sure Mr Garner knew about it?'

'Oh, I wouldn't be that petty/ Genevieve said sweetly.

'You knew he'd hear about it on the grapevine anyway/ Fullerton said, smiling. 'Sit here for a moment. I'll get you a drink and then I'll have a quick word with Pete.'

Squashed in the corner and sipping a Cinzano that she did not really want, Genevieve amused herself by trying to put names to faces. As she watched the packed crowd, she soon noticed that a lot of activity was going on in one particular area. There were sudden blasts of laughter. Drinks were passed over heads. Genevieve observed that most of the men seemed to edge towards this noisy group after having a quick word with the man whose birthday they were supposed to be celebrating. When the crowd parted she saw that it was centred round a woman. As she watched the woman turned. Her gaze was direct and uncompromising.

Genevieve stared coolly back. There was a kind of steely self-confidence about this woman, who looked as if she had just stepped off a catwalk. She was tall and slim with glossy black hair cut like an ancient Egyptian. Her brilliant red mouth was large, perfectly outlined and unusually sensual. She wore a plain dress and some metallic jewellery that winked dully in the pub lights. As the crowd closed round her again Genevieve noticed her shoes. They were black patent leather with high heels, and while they were nowhere near as extreme in either height or design, they reminded Genevieve of the pair that Sinclair had sent to her.

As she watched, the woman leaned towards one of the men and laughed at something he had whispered in her ear. Loving the attention, aren't you? Genevieve thought cattily. I supposed you don't feel dressed unless you've got half a dozen admirers fawning over you, and these men are certainly obliging.

George Fullerton had battled his way back to her table. He glanced at the noisy group and shook his head. 'You'd think it was Miss Chalfont
⁷
s birthday drink-up not Pete's, wouldn't you?'

'Chalfont?' Genevieve repeated.
'That's
Jade Chalfont?'

Fullerton stared down at her innocently. 'Yes. You don't know her, do you?'

'I've heard of her. How could I forget such a phoney sounding name?'

'Miaow!' Fullerton murmered, grinning.

'She works for Lucci's/ Genevieve added.

'Oh, I know that. A new recruit.'

'What's she doing here?'

'Pete knew her, way back.'

'I imagine half of London probably knew her - way back!'

Fullerton's grin widened, 'You are on form today, aren't you? Actually Pete didn't invite her. I understand she sort of invited herself. She's being picked up by a prospective client, and the parking's easier round here.'

'It has to be a male client,' Genevieve said.

'Come on now/ Fullerton said, 'be fair. You're the one who told me you exchanged compliments with Mr Sinclair because it was good for business.'

'Just why did you really bring me here, George?' Genevieve asked.

'I wanted company/ Fullerton said.

Genevieve heard the brief toot of a horn outside. George Fullerton looked out of the window. Genevieve watched the crowd. It parted to let Jade Chalfont through. She strode forward with the self-confident walk of a professional model. She clearly knew all the men were watching her, and not only enjoyed it but expected it. She swished past Genevieve without giving her a glance, leaving only the faint trace of a very expensive perfume behind her.

Genevieve could not resist standing up and looking out of the window. A Mercedes stood by the kerb, its engine purring. It looked depressingly familiar. As Genevieve watched, Jade Chalfont swung towards the car. James Sinclair climbed out of the driver's seat, walked round and opened the passenger's door for her. She kissed him on the cheek and slid elegantly into the car, making sure she displayed a long length of leg and a brief tantalising glimpse of stocking top as she did so. She obviously knew that she had an appreciative audience watching her from the pub.

'Lucky man,' someone said.

'It's strictly business. You heard what the lady said.'

'I wouldn't mind a bit of that kind of business myself,' another voice added. They all laughed.

'All you need is a few million, a Mercedes and plastic surgery to make you look like James Sinclair,' someone suggested.

'George,' Genevieve accused, 'you knew that woman would be here.'

'I didn't,' Fullerton said. He paused. 'Well, not definitely. I suspected that if Miss Chalfont knew that Pete and I were friends, she might come along to size up the opposition. In fact it's worked out far better than I hoped. Obviously Lucci are courting Sinclair too. That would certainly imply that he's serious about changing agencies.' He paused. 'It also means that you've got Miss Chalfont as a rival.'

A rival? The words haunted Genevieve for the rest of the day and into the weekend. She knew that George Fuller-ton was talking about business rivalry, but she could not help wondering if Miss Jade Chalfont was also going to be a sexual rival as well. Had Sinclair offered her an agreement too? Was he going to compare performances? Had he sent her a box of clothes too, and a curt note to
get used to them
? Had she been obliged to dress up to please him, or did he arrange some other kind of fantasy for her?

Genevieve knew she was being ridiculous. She had no proof that Sinclair was interested in Jade Chalfont as anything other than a business contact. The fact that she had kissed him meant nothing. She was obviously a touchy-feely kind of woman. She probably kissed everyone she met.

On Sunday afternoon Genevieve laid the clothes Sinclair had sent her out on the bed. Unfortunately the black high-heeled shoes once again reminded her of Jade Chalfont. She banished the thought. What was more important was to decide whether she really could walk outside dressed in this micro-skirt and plunge-neck blouse.

It was only a short journey from her apartment door to the street, and then she assumed that she would just have to walk to Sinclair's car. It was also true that most of her neighbours had gone to their country cottages for the weekend, but how would she feel if someone did appear unexpectedly and recognised her?

Her apprehension disappeared after she had applied the make-up. She stared at herself in the mirror. With her eyes darkly outlined and heavy with mascara, and wearing the bright-red lipstick, she had completely altered her appearance. When she loosened her hair and put on the clothes the transformation was complete.

She had not tried them on before because she had not had time. Apart from her first attempt at balancing she had not tried the shoes on either. Now she realised that the skirt was even shorter than she had first believed. It barely skimmed her crotch. And the blouse was too small. It tugged across her breasts with the buttons pulling and her nipples showing clearly through the thin material. She looked like a hooker. No-one would ever recognise her. She could not believe that a change of make-up and these tarty clothes would make such an instant difference.

She put on the shoes and stood up. Despite the fact that the shoes were obviously meant to restrict her to tiny steps, and curtail her freedom, there was something about their overtly sexy design that made her feel strangely powerful. It was as if by trying to control her they actually captured and controlled the men who enjoyed looking at them.

She practised walking and realised that if you altered the way you moved it was not too difficult to strut about in the raunchy but uncomfortable heels. Her main problem was not balancing or walking but preventing the skirt from riding up with each step she took until both the curving underside of her bottom and the golden triangle of her pubic hair were clearly visible.

She hoped she would not have to walk far. Just to the car would do fine. She had no doubt that Sinclair would be picking her up by car and that wherever he was taking her, whatever he had planned for her, it would be indoors. He surely could not expect her to go out on the street dressed like a this?

She heard the powerful sound of an engine and went over to the window. A massive black and chrome motorcycle pulled up to the kerb. The rider was clothed from head to foot in tight, black leathers, a space-style helmet with a dark visor covering his head. He carried a similar helmet under his arm. She tried to persuade herself that this was a stranger waiting for someone else. In a minute he would mount his machine and ride away.

But even in leathers there was something familiar about the tall, slim figure. When he blasted impatiently on the horn she knew she was right. A motorcycle? How could she ride on a motorcycle in this skirt? It was hardly long enough to cover her bottom. If she sat astride the pillion it would probably go up round her waist.

Did he really expect her to show herself in public wearing the kind of clothes that made her look like a total exhibitionist? The kind of woman men instantly thought of as a good lay? Her first reaction was anger, but she had to admit that the idea excited her too.

And, she reminded herself, she had not chosen this situation. It had been forced on her. Well, more or less. She knew she could invoke the back-out clause but that would be the end of any chance of a deal with James Sinclair. It would also probably be the end of her chances of early promotion. She went downstairs and into the street.

He stood by the powerful, chrome-tanked machine. His leathers fitted him as if they had been tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and slim hips. She found her eyes drawn to the bulging trouser zip and quickly looked away. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she found his sexual equipment exciting.

He hardly moved his head but she knew she was being checked.

'Very nice/ he said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and she realised there was small speaker in the helmet. 'Lift your skirt.'

There was no one else on the street but she still flattened her hands protectively against her thighs. 'I'm not wearing anything under this,' she said.

'You'd better not be,' he said. He handed her the helmet. 'Put this on.'

She took it and held it. 'I can't ride pillion dressed like this.'

'Why not?' He sounded surprised. 'It's a nice warm day.'

'It's obvious why not.' She tried to tug down the ultrashort skirt. 'You've only got to look at this outfit to know why not.'