Device - A Very Handy...

"A VERY HANDY DEVICE"

It wasn't supposed to happen that way: these things never were. How
could she, businesswoman of the year, have been so foolish? Yvonne
checked her make-up in the mirror and made for the door. Well, she
couldn't stand there all day; the time had come for action.

Yvonne parked her VW in the allocated space (allocated, that is, for
the MD) and purposefully strode to reception. She spoke to the woman
who always cut her off whenever she attempted to phone John. "I'm
Yvonne Stansbury. I'm here to see John Cartwright." Before the poor
soul had a chance to argue, Yvonne added: "Non-negotiable: tell him I'm
here."

Dutifully, the receptionist tapped out a number on the keypad and spoke
almost immediately. She glanced at the impressive woman that stood
before her: power dressed to thrill, beautiful, and not a day over
thirty. "He'll see you in a few minutes."

"I'll see him now."

Yvonne pushed open the glass-panelled fire door that marked the
boundary of public access to the building, and immediately mounted the
stairs. Three flights later she stopped, composed herself, and then
walked through to the office door marked 'John Cartwright - Managing
Director'. Without knocking she thrust it open.

"Yvonne!" started the fit looking fifty-year-old man. "How nice to
-"

"Cut it, John, we need to talk business. Meet me at Glisters,
five-thirty. Don't be late." She slammed the door. He'd be there.

Five twenty-five: the restaurant buzzed with the early evening rush of
commuters.

Yvonne sat close to the entrance. She knew he would be punctual - he
always was. He was also predictable when it came to conversation: "Oh
daaaarling!" he would gush as a greeting. "I was soooooo shocked to
hear that the bidders withdrew&;#8230;"

Five twenty-nine and thirty seconds: he'd be standing outside the door,
waiting to make his grand entrance.

He entered at five-thirty on the nail. Arms outstretched, wide smile,
he breezed over to her. Yvonne gritted her teeth but somehow returned
the expression as she rose to greet him. Then his mouth opened and out
fell those words: "Oh daaaarling!" He threw his arms around her,
kissing her cheeks.

She sat before he could ruin the lines of her jacket.

"Gosh, you're looking ravishing tonight - positively radiant. But then
you always do. I was terrified of you earlier - all that aggression.
Though I'm not surprised that you were angry; I mean, I was soooooo
shocked when it fell through." He oozed innocence and sympathy. If
Yvonne hadn't known better she would have sworn that he had had nothing
to do with the deal collapsing from under her feet.

For a man of fifty, John Cartwright was attractive: silver hair groomed
to perfection, well toned body, several millions in the bank. It was no
surprise that he had managed a string of extra marital affairs-but it
was a surprise that he'd never been caught.

But Yvonne had never been down that particular route with him. Sure, he
had been a tempting prospect-but very married.

"Thanks for your sympathy, but spare me, please&;#8230;"

"What? You think that I had something to do with the deal crashing?
Moi?

"If not you, who else?"

"Daaaarling: the Internet bubble is haemorrhaging. There are so many
'dotcoms' up for grabs. As it was, yours was the lesser or two options.
Sorry."

She glowered at him. "The deal was supposed to make me a
multi-millionaire."

"I know, daaaarling. But there'll be other
opportunities&;#8230;"

They ordered. John insisted on paying "in commiseration of her grand
failure".

By the time the dessert arrived Yvonne had loosened up a little. She
wanted to give the impression of one who had come to terms with her
lot, and who was now ready to start afresh. "You know, I might have
misjudged you. I thought you were a heartless wretch, but here you are
picking up the tab for probably the most expensive three-course meal in
Britain - just to appease a silly old trout like me."

"Tut-tut. Silly old trout? I'll not hear of it. Shall we move
on?"

He paid the bill with a Gold Card-one of several that Yvonne knew he
kept in his Gucci wallet. He said that he knew of a wonderful little
place where they could "relax" and "loosen up a little," which in
Cartwright Double-Speak, meant, "a hotel where no questions are asked
and I can race you to bed."

She looked at her watch: eight forty-three. It wasn't time to leave
just yet. "I know, let's just stay here for a little while, have a few
drinks - some champagne perhaps - and then we can slip back to my
apartment for a night-cap. Or would Mrs Cartwright miss you?"

"No problems there, she's at some function or other - somewhere.
Waiter: a bottle of Dom, please."

They placed themselves in a secluded corner of the bar. The champagne
slipped down easily; there were worse ways to kill an hour. And when
that hour came to an end and the last drops disappeared down their
gullets, it really was time to go. They stepped outside. The
commissionaire hailed them a cab. Yvonne muttered the destination to
the driver.

The journey must have been a shock to John. After rejecting all his
past advances, Yvonne was all over him: she remained so until they
arrived at a hotel in Bayswater. John surfaced for air as the cab came
to a halt. "I thought you said your place."

"For tonight this is my place." She produced a key from her handbag.
The huge fob was marked 'Bayswater Park Inn - 240'.

John's eyes widened. "Pre-booked?"

"My treat." Her comment had the desired effect. She could tell from
John's leering expression that he had concluded that she was submitting
to his powerful persona; that his lengthy war of attrition was at last
won.

They went straight to the room, falling through the doorway and then
onto the bed, giggling like a pair of school kids. Eventually John sat
up and removed his jacket. Yvonne loosened his tie and shirt, and
kissed him passionately on the lips, working her way gradually down to
his now bare chest: he wasn't bad for an old guy. She gradually drew
away and softly smiled. "I need to freshen up." Collecting her handbag
from the doorway, and a small vanity case from the wardrobe, she went
through to the bathroom.

She left him to simmer for a few minutes, and then emerged wearing a
pale silk negligee, hold-up stockings, and thing else. She beamed at
John when she saw that he had undressed and was in the bed, covered
only by a sheet. "Naked?" she asked. "Hmm, just the way I want you." He
grinned back at her, idiot style. It crossed her mind that when one got
down to basics, even the most intelligent of men could be reduced to a
burbling twit in the right circumstances.

Slowly, ever so slowly she crept towards the bed. Her eyes shone like
those of a tiger moving in for the kill. "I've got you exactly where I
want you, John." Another step. "I'd never have thought the two of us
could be this way"-closer-"but then this deal fell through-almost at
the bed-"and I knew that the only way to get on in life was to make
something very special happen."

Yvonne stopped at his side. He reached up for her. "Ah-ah-ah: this is
my show. Let me make the moves." His hand retracted. Lynx-like, she
slid onto the bed, straddling him, trapping the sheet over him: her
near-nakedness tantalisingly close to him.

She leant down as if to kiss his lips, but instead she whispered, "The
deal that failed has brought us this close." She chuckled under her
breath and tossed her head back as John's lips pouted, expecting to be
kissed. She could feel his hardness digging into her through the single
thickness of sheet that separated them. "I had to ask myself, why did
you do it?" She dipped her head and softly brushed her lips against
his. She pulled back before he could take full advantage. "And I
thought, was it because I'd denied you this?" She pressed he crotch
against him, moving rhythmically and slowly.

John gazed into her eyes, nodding involuntarily in agreement. She knew
now that she had him.

"And I thought, what should I do for John, to make up for everything?"
Her tongue darted towards his mouth, making just the slightest contact.
His body responded with a jerk. "Then I thought, 'I'll get him to
bed'." This time she let loose with a deep kiss: her lips devouring
him. He struggled for breath through the ferocity of it. She broke off
and stared hard into his eyes. There was urgency in her expression, but
her words were softly spoken and not what he would have expected. "You
know, mobile phones are so handy."

"What?"

"They're handy. Like just a few minutes ago, when I was in the
bathroom. I had to make a call. I mean, that function that your wife
went to: I'd hate for you to have to worry about her."

"What are you talking about?" His expression had altered from one of
lust to one of confusion.

Again she thrust her lips to his, then slid down, brushing against his
neck, chest, belly. "That function: it's at this hotel," she carried
on, teasing his navel with her lips and tounge.

He tried to force himself up, but was stopped by Yvonne's hand shooting
up and pushing him back down. "She might see us together," he yelped as
his head hit the pillow."

Suddenly the door burst open.

Lights flashed as a photographer entered. From the doorway a woman
screamed out loud. "You bastard! This is going to cost you every
penny!"

John wrestled with the manic woman who was clinging to his torso.
"Frances, it's all a mis-"

"No! It's divorce."

Yvonne could hardly contain herself. "And you'll be broke," she mocked,
swinging off the bed, pulling the sheet with her. There was another
blinding flash from the camera.

Grabbing her bag she walked back towards the bathroom. She reached the
door she turned to see the less than magnificent site of John
attempting to stumble into his boxer shorts whilst Frances berated him
viciously.

"Like I said," Yvonne taunted, "mobile phones are very handy."