She pulled the front of the elasticated band of his underpants down to release his erection. She then hooked the waistband beneath his scrotum and held his erection in her right hand. Opening her legs just a little more, she moved forward and allowed his glans to touch her vaginal lips. Her sex was moist and warm.
“And what exactly is it that you want me to do on Wednesday evening?” she whispered into his ear.
“Well…” Somewhat at a loss for words, he stammered. “There will be the final draft of the speech to finish,” he tailed off lamely.
She leant forward with her hands on his shoulders so her nipples were brushing against his chest and whispered in his ear, “Is that all?” She could feel him trying to push his penis into her, but by slightly straightening her legs, she was able to deny him that pleasure.
“Well, we could … that is we might … or maybe …” Again, he tailed off.
“Will you want to do some of this?” she asked, sitting back a little so that she allowed him to ease his glans part way into her vagina.
“Of course I will,” Michael replied, trying to reassert his authority.
Straightening her legs again, so that he was once more disengaged, she said, “All I want, Michael, is a 25% pay rise. I really think I am worth more than that, but I’m not ‘greedy’. Is that a reasonable increase, for the extra work I do for you?”
She was now standing, her legs on either side of his, her feet in her high heels, her hands on her hips, her dress off her shoulders with both her breasts proudly exposed, looking straight into his eyes. He looked away and muttered, “I can hardly refuse, can I?”
At that point, the carriage clock on his desk discreetly chimed eleven times, immediately followed by the doorbell. Bloody hell, thought Michael, he’s early.
Alice reversed her previous manoeuvre, lifting her right leg over both of his. She stood up straight, not a hair out of place and her make up immaculate. She raised her arms allowing her dress to slip back onto her shoulders. She pulled it straight at her waist so that it lay correctly between her breasts, before smoothing it down over her thighs. She turned to walk to the door, where she hesitated and looked back at him, seeing him deflated and dishevelled.
“I’ll give you five minutes before I bring him in,” she announced. “With some fresh coffee.”
With that she opened the door, closed it behind her and walked down the corridor to the front door, where she admitted Mr Sebastian Fortescue Brown. She could hardly believe what she had just done, but she knew it was true because she could feel the slippiness between her legs as she walked down the corridor.
She took his overcoat and umbrella and asked whether he would prefer black coffee or white. Advising him that Mr Varley was not quite ready, she suggested that he should sit down in the reception area for a couple of minutes. Very soon, there was a buzz on the intercom and she left her desk, went over to his chair and invited him to follow her to Mr Varley’s office.
Returning to her desk, she typed up a letter from Michael Varley to herself, confirming the salary increase, based on the special skills and benefits that she was now bringing to the firm. She did a second copy for the accountant and a third for the bookkeeper, to ensure that Michael Varley would be unable to renege on his decision. She then placed them into the signature book ready to be signed as soon as Mr Fortescue Brown had left.
Feeling pleased with herself, she made the coffee and took it into Michael’s office, where he was listening intently to Mr Fortescue Brown’s proposition. They were sitting in two low armchairs, with an elegant coffee table between them. She placed the tray on the table and poured the first cup for the visitor, bending low at the waist allowing her dress to gape discreetly but invitingly at the front. He took absolutely no notice. She poured Michael’s drink and, with her back to Mr Fortescue Brown, she repeated the action, but with her right leg slightly forward so that as she bent forward the dress was pulled up her back causing it to split, exposing some of her stocking top and thigh. Michael did notice!
That morning, Councillor Christine Sykes attended a charity coffee morning for the local library appeal. In the years following Gordon Brown’s Labour Administration, there had been several years of severe cutbacks to Local Government, resulting in the closure of many local libraries across the country. In some areas, however, groups of well-meaning and rather enterprising people formed Library Action Groups. When first set up, local councils were happy to assist, seeing these groups as a possible method of keeping libraries open to the public.
At the same time, because the reduction of Government Grant to local authorities was so severe, councils were forced to sell off many of their public buildings. This was the death knell for many libraries, because such a large number used to be housed in municipal buildings. There were a few, however, that survived these culls but they were now invariably private organisations, hanging on by their fingernails, often in virtually impossible financial situations.
Christine was a member of one such local committee, but no one else knew that her daughter was married to a city money broker. Not that Christine had been reticent in letting Sarah know of the financial difficulties facing the local Colne Valley library. Sarah had, one evening in the previous autumn, mentioned this to Michael, but he had very quickly diverted the conversation away from what he felt was an attempt to extract money from his own wallet.
The coffee morning raised over £300, which was a drop in the ocean compared with the money that was needed. Set in its own building, the committee had been able to arrange an ‘Asset Transfer’ whereby the Library Committee had taken over the financial responsibility for the building itself. For over ten years they had been able to keep the organisation in the black with certain agreed payments from the council. These had now ceased and the overall financial reality was dawning on them that the building, far from being an asset itself, was in fact a heavy liability, needing considerable and regular funding for its upkeep.
Representing a Liberal Democrat ward in a marginal Labour/Conservative constituency, Christine realised that she had no real opportunity to obtain the Member of Parliament’s assistance. After all, she thought, it was the Tories that brought about these cuts. Far too deep and the austerity went on for far too long. She had tried to gain the interest of the new Labour MP, following the snap General Election way back in 2017, but she had been far too busy nursing her fragile majority to pay too much attention.
Basically, Christine was looking for a minor miracle.
Christine’s daughter, Sarah, spent the morning at a charity coffee morning. As Chairperson of the Richmond Music Society, the committee was discussing an agenda to raise funds for the coming year’s concerts. In ordinary years, the society generally raised sufficient funds from its subscribers to afford the fees of the various pianists, quartets and other performers. But the following year was to be the celebration of the 125th anniversary of the birth of the founder and the boat was being pushed out. Frederick Simpson had been born during the First World War and had almost immediately become an orphan because within weeks his father had been killed on the Western Front. Two years later his mother succumbed to the influenza epidemic which had swept through Britain soon after the Armistice.
Frederick’s early life was consequently unsettled, until his paternal grandparents finally took responsibility for his upbringing, after the death of his mother. His grandfather was a haberdasher in Kingston on Thames and, with the growth of the town, his business had flourished. Indeed, he had become an alderman at the turn of the centenary and a Justice of the Peace in 1910. A pillar of respectability, he had not been pleased when his only son, Joseph George, had taken up with the pretty daughter of the local hostelry, the King’s Arms. Indeed, he had cut Frederick’s father out of the family will, whereupon Joseph had started to work in the pub for his father-in-law.
It was not long, however, that the young couple realised that they wanted their own independence. They left the pub and bought a small ter
raced house before Joseph joined the army in 1913, just before the outbreak of the Great War. Following a period of leave in 1916, Frederick himself was born. Despite the obvious financial difficulties, Frederick’s mother and father had created a loving home. His mother, who all too soon had become a widow, struggled to bring up her son on her own and when she died, Frederick was taken by her parents into the pub.
His paternal grandfather, Alderman Joseph George Simpson JP, was not happy with this arrangement, despite having disowned his son several years earlier. Now, he had a war hero as a son, albeit deceased, and an orphan grandson. To the Alderman it was obvious that he had to take over the financial responsibility for his grandson’s upbringing, particularly as he carried the Simpson name. As it happened, although he didn’t comment at the time, the landlord of the King’s Arms was pleased with this turn of events, as all the necessary costs related to the responsibility for Frederick’s upbringing would pass to the Alderman.
When Frederick was eight, in 1925, he joined the local Preparatory School, with a view to being sent to boarding school at age thirteen. His schooling included music and, almost immediately, he demonstrated a remarkable talent. This was nurtured and developed. The Alderman was encouraged to put Frederick forward for a bursary at the Westminster Abbey Choir School. This life of privilege was severely dented in 1930, when he was expected to join Westminster school, where music was and still remains an integral part of the school’s curriculum. The haberdashery store in Kingston, which had given the Simpson family such a stable lifestyle, was now under severe financial strain when the Alderman suffered an unexpected stroke. No longer able to maintain his close control of the business, he became reliant, firstly on a manager, who was incapable of combatting the effects of the Depression, and later on his wife. The store was taken into receivership in 1938, when Frederick was 21.
Because of his exceptional musical talent, Westminster School had covered all the necessary fees for his education and, indeed, his time at Oxford University. Frederick had little knowledge, at that time, of the generosity being extended towards him, but soon after his graduation, he was advised by his grandmother of the debt he now owed to his old school. His grandfather never recovered from the stroke and died soon after the store finally closed its doors. Feeling a deep sense of gratitude, Frederick returned to Westminster School and joined the staff as a music teacher. Here he was able to let his talent develop, to start composing and performing, creating a second, lucrative career in parallel with the school.
He was both talented and lucky. Performing in the 1930s was not easy. However, the new fangled BBC offered an outlet for his talent and he soon learned that investment in records, record players and artistes had great potential. He set up in business, firstly owning a shop for musical instruments, gramophones and records, but later as an agent. He was far more successful than his grandfather had ever been, even though these activities were severely curtailed by the Second World War. His own war service was uneventful and he was able to maintain his agency work. Upon his discharge, he opened a small chain of record shops and increased his involvement in the careers of various entertainers.
He founded the Richmond Music Society in 1951 as a means to offer newly qualified classical musicians an opportunity to develop and demonstrate their skills in public. It was an immediate success and, happy to remain in the background, the society had given him much pleasure over the years that followed, until his death in 1997. He never married and left the bulk of his rather substantial estate to Westminster School, to assist other boys whose families were struggling to pay the fees.
Sarah Varley was well aware of the weight of history on her shoulders. When Frederick died, aged 80, he left a reasonable bequest to the society with the comment that he hoped it would flourish for many years to come. Sarah felt that the society had been loyal to his wishes and it remained reasonably successful. Some years before, one of the lecturers at the West London University arranged for concerts to be given in one of the university halls for a peppercorn rent. The only proviso was that one concert each year would be set aside to allow the students an opportunity to display their talents. The lecturer was now the vice chancellor and the arrangement continued to the benefit of both the society and the university.
In order to celebrate the 125th anniversary of the birth of their benefactor Frederick Simpson, however, it was agreed that the society should invite a number of past performers, whose careers had later blossomed, to give a series of concerts. All very well in principle, of course, Sarah thought, but not so easy in practise. To cover the costs of newly qualified musicians was one thing but the finances of established performers was indeed something else. The budget immediately doubled and although ticket sales were proving to be strong, it was obvious that the additional costs would not easily be met. It would be necessary to raise further funds by sponsorship. This had never been done before and some committee members were dogmatically opposed. They viewed the whole matter of discussing money as unseemly and somewhat tawdry, until Sarah, with her blunt Yorkshire approach to life, pointed out that these established musicians would have to be paid and, instead of raising the money elsewhere, perhaps these committee members could write the necessary cheques to support the Anniversary Celebrations? This proposal was met with a stony silence, followed by a grudging acceptance of the sponsorship programme.
So it became Sarah’s job to raise the various funds prior to the commencement of the school year in September, when a series of eight concerts was planned to be presented on a monthly basis. Being a Yorkshire lass, she was canny enough to keep her cards close to her chest. She knew that the subscriptions would raise around half the overall financial requirements. She also knew that there were certain funds held in reserve, but she still set the committee a target of raising the other half by sponsorship, advertising and fund-raising events. What she basically needed was a list of 10 benefactors, each donating £1,000. Naturally, all this was mentioned to her husband, in the hope that he might become one of the sponsors. Needless to say, although the proposition was firmly lodged in his mind, it had not become a priority.
There were seven months in which to raise the money and support was already secured from one local business. An application was made to the Lottery Fund and this was now being assessed. The local council simply turned her down without any real discussion. She seriously considered an approach to Westminster School, but was uncertain as to the possible outcome. Rotary and the Lions both listened with interest but, to date, had produced no concrete support. It was all rather depressing.
After lunch and with an hour so spare, David went into the school’s computer library, supposedly to revise for his exams, but actually to look up ‘Spring Tides’. He now appreciated how much an effect the moon had on the earth and as he read further, he began to understand the importance of those moments when the sun and the moon were both influencing the movement of the tides at the same time.
Without the tides, of course, some towns and ports would have no involvement with the sea. In the olden days, the flowing tide would allow the seamen to bring their ships far up the beach and when the tide ebbed, their keels and bottoms could be cleaned of weed and barnacles. He supposed this was still done with small boats, but large liners and ships would be brought into dry dock. Even then, a strong spring tide would assist in bringing a vessel into dock, before the gates were shut and all the seawater pumped out.
This regular movement of the tides was controlled by the movement of the moon. He knew that the moon didn’t have a circular axis round the earth, but was egg shaped, or elliptical. When the moon was closer to the earth, then its gravitational pull was stronger.
As David read on, he learned that the tides in the English Channel could be large. This meant that a considerable mass of water moved up and down the Channel twice each day. He also learned that because the Channel was so narrow between Dover and Calais, the flow of the water could be very strong. He also read that the North Sea w
as relatively shallow between East Anglia and Holland. This also had the effect of making the flow of seawater an important factor to coastal shipping.
He then remembered what Mr Smith said that morning. “There might be nowhere for the water to flow into the sea.” But, if the tide was so high, would the rivers stop flowing altogether? David began to wonder what might happen if the wind was so strong that the wind and the tides combined. That would be pretty disastrous, he thought.
As he walked home after school, he wanted to know whether the two depressions in the Atlantic were moving at all; also, whether they were deepening and what level of wind speeds were being generated. He now knew that the spring tides were expected at the end of the week and he felt as if he was completely alone in watching a natural calamity unfold. It was still cold, with a stiff easterly breeze, coming off the north European landmass. After eating his evening meal, he went to his room to check the shipping forecast.
The southern depression was starting to move north east, towards the southern tip of Ireland. It was still deepening and the wind speeds were increasing. The northern depression was slowly moving east and was currently at a point some 200 miles off the north coast of Scotland. The warm, moist air had met the cold dry air of the continental anti cyclone and along the northern weather front wind speeds were also increasing. It was snowing in Scotland, with heavy drifts being forecast. It was even snowing in north Cornwall.
Chapter 9
Tuesday – Two Days to Go
"Here is the fishing forecast for Tuesday. The depression between the Azores and the Bay of Biscay has moved north east towards Ireland. It has deepened and the wind speeds have increased to 60 knots and are expected to rise further. The rainfall is intense and visibility is extremely limited. All shipping is advised to avoid all sea areas from the Azores northwards and eastwards to the African coastline and Europe.
Thursday Page 11
