Twisted Love and Money (3 page)

“They went to
the pub. They volunteered me to thank the ladies for the fruit off
the back of the lorry.”

“Better give
them a minute they are changing in the cab.”

“I’ll give you
a hand,” Seamus offered. His nerve was failing, but he was in too
deep now.

They began to
draw the Tarpaulin over the trailer pulling from the back forward.
When the trailer was covered they went back, one on each side and
began to tie down the Tarpaulin to the metal catches on the side of
the trailer. Seamus worked towards the front end on the outside. As
he was about half way there the cab door opened. A leg appeared in
jeans, and then another leg followed by a bottom in jeans. He
realised it was the older of the two women. However it was the
younger he wanted to meet.

“Hello there,”
Ann saluted as she climbed down, “where did you come from?”

“I was on the
bikes behind. I wanted that is the lads asked me to follow on and
say thank you for the fruit. Thanks.”

Ann eyed the
young man. She liked his handsome looks that were well set off by
his leather jacket and jeans.

“No problem,”
she replied, friendly, “It was great fun. Here let me do that, you
can leave it to Joe and me we’re well used to it. Nice to have met
you.”

She moved
Seamus to one side and with experienced hands began to tie down the
tarpaulin. Abashed Seamus smiled and hopped on one foot.

“I’ll go then,”
he offered.

“Thanks Joe,”
he shouted across to Joe on the other side of the trailer.

“I’ll just
thank the other lady,” Seamus said in desperation to talk to
Ann-Marie. Moving as he spoke, he pulled back the cab door and
stuck his head into the cab. He was met by a shriek and was hit in
the face by one of the cloaks the ladies had worn in the
Parade.

“Beg your
pardon,” he said lamely.

Ann-Marie’s
head appeared at the window of the cab.

“Who the hell
are you?” she demanded, her face bright pink.

“I was behind
on the motorbike. I just wanted to say thanks for the fruit.”

“Piss off.”

“Sorry.”

Ann-Marie
relented as she watched him go morosely back to his bike. She
noticed his wide shoulders and strong frame.

“Just hang on a
minute.”

Joe and Ann
looked at each other and said nothing. They carried on putting the
finishing touches to tying down the load. Seamus sat sideways
against his bike.

Ann-Marie
emerged in jumper and jeans and dropped to the ground. Seamus
spread his hands in a silent apology, making a wry face.

“What did you
say you wanted?” she asked.

“The boys, they
wanted... they sent me after your lorry to thank you two ladies for
the fruit. It was great, we got starved waiting for the Parade to
start.”

“Where are the
lads now?” Ann-Marie asked.

“Delaney’s bar
for a few pints.”

“Tell them they
were welcome.”

“Thanks.”

As he spoke,
Seamus threw a leg over the motor bicycle.

“I’d offer both
you ladies a lift except there is only room for one passenger on a
motor bike.” He smiled with his eyes, looking at Ann-Marie as he
spoke.

“I’d love a go.
Can I have a lift around Merrion Square?”

“Ann-Marie!”
her mother protested.

“Oh mother,
don’t be stuffy. I’ll meet you at the Setanta centre at the car.
This boy can drop me up, its only two minutes away. I’d love a go
on a motorbike. Please…”

Ann wondered
should she put her foot down but the boy looked respectable. He was
rooting in the pillion box on the bike and produced a second crash
helmet. What the hell, Ann thought, it is a Parade day, let her
have some fun.

“O.K., but no
further, I’ll meet you there in two minutes.”

In a flash
Ann-Marie was on the pillion of the motorbike and Seamus, not quite
able to believe his luck, helped her on and with the helmet and
then he took off before anyone could change their minds.

Ann waved at
them as they took off, worried frown on her face.

Then, saying
good-bye to Joe, she made her way to the car. Maybe she thought, if
she passed a pub on the way she’d have a quick gin. It would only
take a minute and the Parade was thirsty work. Ann-Marie would be a
few minutes and she might as well wait in the pub rather than be
stuck waiting in the car park.

Ann felt an
anxiety. What had she done? The boy was a stranger. But if she had
said no she would have had another row with Ann-Marie. She had not
been up to it. Things had gone so well today. And the boy looked
all right.

Ann-Marie held
onto Seamus, arms around his waist, as they sped up Kildare Street
and around Molesworth Street and back to the Setanta Centre. It was
a matter of minutes. Exhilarated Ann climbed off the bike and
handed back the helmet, shaking out her long fair hair. He watched
her admiringly and was startled when he met her clear blue honest
eyes.

Ann-Marie
sensed his admiring look and they made eye contact when he took off
his helmet with its wrap around dark Perspex. They both smiled and
looked awkward.

“Would you like
to go for a drive on the bike sometime?”

“My Dad says
that Bikes are death traps.”

“Do you always
follow your Dad’s ideas?”

Her eyes
flashed. “No, but I happen to agree with him.”

“I’d love to
take you out.”

“My mother
would not approve of me going out with a motor bike messenger.”

“And would you
agree with her?”

She looked him
in the eye. “No,” she said.

“Will you
come?”

“I’d have to be
home early.”

“
Next week?”

“Wednesday the
week after next, I’m very tied up next week.”

“Six p.m. suit?
I can be earlier. I knock off work at five thirty.”

“Six is
fine.”

“My name is
Seamus.”

She laughed and
Seamus fell in love with her laugh.

“I’m
Ann-Marie.”

“Where would
you like to meet?” he asked.

“Where do you
live?”

“Out towards
the Naas road.” Seamus replied.

“I live over
near Templeogue.”

Seamus
considered. “ I’ll take you to the cinema in the ‘Tallaght Centre’”
he suggested. “I’ll collect you at your house, if you like?”

“No way. My
mother would have a fit. I’ll meet you there. After the pictures
I’m going straight home. No messing. O.K?”

“O.K., I’ll be
there at six. Looking forward to it.”

“Cool.”

He touched her
cheek for a moment with his finger and then he was gone.

Chapter
three

It was just
before eight o’clock on a dull drizzly day in London as Christine
took off her coat and stowed it in a closet.

About forty,
dressed in neat tan coloured trousers and matching blouse,
Christine was of average height, neat, busy, small busted,
childless but well married, valuing her good job and anxious to
please.

Crawford kept
her as his personal secretary because she was industrious,
obsequious, and efficient.

Her sensible
leather soled and heeled shoes made no noise on the thick carpet
pile as she crossed the large office.

“Thank you
Christine.” Crawford flickered a smile as she placed some post in
his in-tray.

“Is Simmons in
yet?”

“Would you like
to see her now?”

“Please. Tell
her it is about her report on Supermarket growth areas.”

Christine
smiled, “Coffee sir?”

“Thank
you.”

Christine went
to the bar on the right hand side of the office. Earlier the
Crawford would have set up the coffee percolator. He was always in
before half seven, when he was in town. She carefully put the fine
china cup and saucer on the bar and poured him a cup, adding two
spoons of sugar and some milk. Just the way he liked it.

“Thank you
Christine,” he said as she placed the cup beside him.

“Your list of
appointments is on top of your post sir. As you requested you are
free until ten.”

“Thank you
Christine. I need some Red Time on Thursday, probably two
hours.”

“Yes sir, I’ll
juggle the diary,” Christine said and turned to leave.

“Don’t forget
Simmons,” he added pleasantly and she smiled. The smile said, ‘as
if she would.’

He watched her
walk across the large office. Red time was thinking time, time when
he concentrated on his own key tasks and managing. Every week he
grabbed four or five hours from his busy schedule of meetings.

When Christine
got outside to her own desk she phoned Simmons. She was crisp and
formal, as was her habit when dealing with very beautiful young
women. This was not the first protégé Mr. Crawford had mentored.
They came and went but she, Christine, went on forever. She drew
great confidence from her view that Mr. Crawford would not consider
managing without her for a moment.

“The Managing
Director would like to see you.”

“When?”

“Now, if you
are free. It is to do with the Supermarket report.”

In less than
three minutes she was standing in front of Christine’s desk.

“
You may go in now,” Christine instructed.

Janet was
already at the door, she knocked once and with a flash of a smile
to Christine she entered the room.

She was always
impressed at the scale and opulence of Crawford’s office, fitting
though it was for the Managing Director of a large Multinational
Corporation.

“Morning Mr.
Crawford,” she said cheerfully.

“Morning Janet.
Sit at the coffee table. I’ll come across and join you in a
minute.”

Janet smiled
and went and sat on one of the soft chairs at the coffee table. She
put her file on the ceramic top of the low coffee table and waited
expectantly.

Crawford
watched her every move through hooded eyes and bushy eyebrows. He
was a short thickset man with double chin and a receding hairline.
There was symmetry between his bald crown and his double chin, and
his lips, thick and rubbery, sat under a large nose. He pursed his
lips as she sat down.

Janet was
wearing a suit with a tight skirt that came to just above her knees
when she sat. The jacket of the suit was open and he could see the
white of her bra against the white of her blouse as her full
breasts strained against the straps that held them firmly in
place.

Janet sank into
the couch, tried to cross her legs but found it uncomfortable in
the deep seats and sat back.

“Take off your
jacket and relax,” Crawford suggested, glancing towards her, “I
just have to finish these papers for signature and then I’ll be
with you.”

Janet smiled
agreeably, she was most anxious he took her report on board.

Crawford
pretended not to notice her. He was long sighted and only needed
his glasses for reading. These were gold-framed half glasses, which
he perched at the end of his nose, downwards towards the papers. He
would let her sit a few minutes while he went through the post and
signed a few documents. Every now and then he would look at her
over the top of the glasses. She was laying out her report, a frown
on her pretty face as she reminded herself of the figures. Crawford
was conscious of her every move, his senses alert to every slight
movement of her legs, every twist of her soft curvaceous body
against her respectable restraining clothes.

Had she dressed
as a tart she would not have attracted him. But her beauty held in
sober steadfast office clothes moved him. To his mind there was a
freshness about her, as a fresh ripe un-plucked fruit.

She stretched
one of her long legs straight and pressed it with her hand and then
drew it back again. The move appeared to be unconscious, relieving
the uncomfortable position in the over-soft chair and she was still
concentrated on her papers. He felt a warm tightness and then a
knot tightened in his stomach as she looked up and caught his eye.
He smiled.

“Won’t be a
minute,” and wrote on one of the memos in front of him. Internally
his excitement rose. Another minute, and then he would go and sit
in front of her.

Then she had
her papers ready. He seemed to anticipate her, putting down his pen
and looking up.

“Would you like
a coffee Janet?” he asked.

“Please.”

“Help yourself.
The percolator is full of fresh coffee behind the bar. Don’t mind
me I have just had one.”

He watched her
struggle out of the soft couch. God, she was a beauty. Worth every
penny he paid her, well the company paid her, just for looking
at.

“Now pet,” he
said standing up “Let’s get down to business.”

“Call me Janet.
Pet is sexist Mr. Crawford.”

“Sorry, Janet
it is,” he apologized.

Of course she
did not know she was his pet, twenty-six, a Chartered Accountant
and recruited out of the London School of Economics, bursting with
brains and beauty. He knew she would have settled for half the
salary he had offered her. But when he saw her at a company offsite
conference he knew he just had to get her, so he had made up a
special role and doubled her salary. His present to himself, after
all, he had worked in acquisitions for his company since he was
twenty-five. Now that he was the Managing Director there was no
harm to his way of thinking, in the odd luxury. A pet.

“
Janet I’m glad you have finished your first special
assignment. I have read your report carefully.”

Janet beamed;
she knew in her heart her report was good. And she had worked long
hours on it.