‘My accounts,’ said Venny flatly.
‘Right, your accounts. And why not? I was checking out a business investment, and I think it would be a good one, Venny, so why not? I’ll sell the hut, sink some cash into Box of Delights; we’ll get a proper partnership agreement drawn up. What do you say?’
‘What do I say?’ Venny twitched away from him and was up and off the bed in an instant. She had to gulp down a few steadying breaths before she could trust herself to speak. ‘I say you’re a treacherous, underhand bastard, Micky Quinn,’ she blazed at him, ‘just like every other man I’ve ever known. So no, don’t sell your damned precious hut, and don’t even think about partnership deals, because there isn’t going to be one.’
‘Venny!’ Kneeling naked on her bed with his flaccid cock now dangling down between his legs, Micky was looking at her in amazement. She felt a treacherous twist of sensation in her guts as she looked back at him, but she fought down the rising tide of desire, because it was desire that had tricked her into this situation in the first place.
‘Now sod off out of my bedroom and out of my restaurant and out of my life, will you?’ She flounced over to the door, snatched her robe down off the hook behind it and struggled into the garment, nearly tearing the delicate apple-green fabric in her anger. Then she flung the door wide open. ‘Your services are no longer required.’
Chapter Eleven
Within two weeks Venny had found herself another chef. They were, she reminded herself, ten a penny, and she had really thrown herself into the job of finding a replacement for Micky Quinn, scouring the catering agencies and ignoring the petulance of the rest of the staff over the fact that Micky, as she very firmly and coolly told them, was a thing of the past.
As she sat in her office late one evening while the restaurant busily hummed along downstairs, she congratulated herself on her diligence. And on successfully putting the Micky episode behind her. Some odd things had come out of that night when he’d burst into the flat with Jamie and Caspar in tow. For instance, and this was perhaps the biggest surprise of all, Caspar and Flora were now behaving like regular lovebirds, cooing over each other in the most sickening manner. Dani was pleased that she had been instrumental in healing the rift in their marriage.
‘Sexual counselling,’ Dani had joked to Venny about it. ‘Maybe I should set up shop. What do you think? Fucking both partners seems to work wonders.’
And that was what Dani was doing. Often Venny came across Flora with Caspar and Dani, enjoying a threesome in the flat. If the spark had gone out of their marriage before, there were enough sparks now to set alight the entire building. Once, she had even joined in, and they had gone three-on-one with Caspar lying on the bed; tied to the bed, actually. She sighed and felt her crotch moisten hungrily as she thought of Caspar, but really, the physical similarities to Micky were a little too pronounced for her to feel entirely comfortable with him.
It was Caspar who told her that Micky had sold the hut. Venny was surprised by the sharp stab of sadness she felt when she heard that news. She’d so loved it there. And Micky had loved it too. Still, life went on. And so, apparently, did Micky’s career. He had set up his own place, called Beurre Blanc, over in Shepherd’s Bush near Jamie’s studio, and Jamie had told Venny – not without a certain bitter satisfaction, she thought – that Micky was going to enter for the Blue Ribbon awards. Unlike Bill Thompson, Micky was pretty powerful competition, and Venny knew it. They had a fight on their hands. Well, she felt fine about that – now that she had Anton.
Someone was clattering up the stairs. Venny snapped out of her reverie and waited expectantly. One of the waitresses, Kate, almost fell into the office in her haste. Her face was excited but with a garnish of anxiety.
‘Venny,’ she said urgently, ‘we think we’ve got one of the judges in downstairs.’
Venny felt panic clutch at her. Well, they’d known that the Blue Ribbon judges were in the area. They’d had enough notice to prepare. Hell, they were prepared. She stood up, taking a deep calming breath.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked, dismayed by how thin and strained her voice sounded.
‘Well,’ said Kate in a rush, ‘pretty sure, yes. Neil’s seen him making notes.’
‘Maybe a critic on one of the papers. Or a magazine.’
‘Neil doesn’t think so. Come to that, neither do I. Do you know the way examiners look when you take your driving test? Sort of bulky and austere and taking note of everything?’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ Venny even managed a smile at the memory of what a nervous wreck she’d been on the day she passed her test on the first attempt.
‘Well he’s like that. Exactly like that. And he’s had the chef’s selection, so he’s been sampling a lot of different dishes.’
‘And he seems happy with everything?’ asked Venny anxiously.
‘Hard to tell with that sort. But he’s taking his time over coffee now, and I did tell you I had to get off early. Anton’s already left, and so have Neil and the others, so can I leave him with you?’
‘Sure,’ said Venny, straightening her shell-pink suit jacket as she prepared for the fray. She had gone back to wearing suits after Micky’s departure, but suits with a softer edge to them – more low-cut, tighter, shorter, and in softer pastel colours rather than severe black, navy and burgundy like she used to wear. All right, Micky was a rat, but she acknowledged fairly that he had done her a favour, cast his influence over her, made her more aware of herself as a woman.
‘Right, you scoot off, Kate,’ said Venny briskly, because after all she had promised that Kate could leave early tonight to meet her boyfriend, Jez, and it wasn’t Kate’s fault that a Blue Ribbon judge had picked tonight to call. ‘I’ll see to our guest.’
As Venny went into the almost deserted restaurant, she was checking that the place was tidy, even though there had been a good evening’s trade, and some spillage was inevitable, but even she had to admit that it looked pretty good, nice and neat, just maybe needing a little work here and there. Picking up a dropped napkin on her way, she walked over to the man who was seated in one of the cosy plush corner booths sipping at a coffee.
He watched her come towards him, and Venny felt her cheeks pinken slightly at the open male appreciation in his eyes. Soft music was still being piped through the sound system. She heard the outer kitchen door close as Kate departed. And Kate had been right, she thought. He did look like an examiner, a judge. He was a thickset man in his forties, with dark hair peppered with grey at the temples, which added a note of distinction to his overall appearance. His face was heavy and slightly florid, but handsome. He was a man, she guessed, who enjoyed food and all other appetites too. His hand, clasped around his cup, was so big it made the cup look like a piece from a child’s tea set. He had grey eyes under heavy black brows. Yes, handsome, she thought. And despite the aura of reserve she sensed about him, his eyes were very bold as they looked her over.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Venny, arriving at his table. ‘I’m Venny Halliday, the owner. I hope you enjoyed your meal?’
He looked up at her with a smile that assessed her as well as her restaurant. ‘It was very good,’ he said guardedly, and stretched out one of his huge hands. ‘Robert Fielding,’ he introduced himself, and they shook hands. ‘This is a charming building. How old?’
‘Parts of it are seventeenth century,’ said Venny. In any competition this would be her restaurant’s main strength, she knew; its lovely old-world ambience.
‘Won’t you join me for a coffee?’ He indicated the banquette on the other side of the table.
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’ Venny went to a nearby station and fetched herself a cup and saucer. She returned to the table and sat down as he had indicated.
‘Trade seems good,’ he said, pouring coffee for her and more for himself from the cafetière on the table. He offered her the mints. She shook her head.
‘Trade’s never been better,’ said Venny, knowing that t
his was not the time for false modesty. She wanted, needed, to impress him, and if she had to gild the lily to do it, embroider the truth a bit, fair enough. She was determined to win that award, whatever it cost her.
‘I think I’d like a brandy,’ said Robert Fielding.
‘Of course,’ said Venny, taking a sip of her coffee. She half-rose.
‘But I’d like it brought to me properly,’ added Robert with a smile.
Venny paused, frowning in bewilderment. ‘Properly?’ she asked.
‘Yes. There’s a little place in Soho where the waitresses wear frilly little waist-aprons. I’d like it brought to me like that.’
‘I’m not a waitress,’ Venny pointed out, just a little coldly.
‘You’re not refusing, surely?’ he asked, and his eyes challenged her to say yes. One hand fingered the closed notebook that was still on the table – awaiting his next observation, thought Venny with a rush of anxiety, and it was now up to her whether that observation was good or bad. Kate had already left, so she was going to have to play waitress, and really, what could it hurt to do that just this once?
‘No, I’m not refusing,’ she assured him with a conciliatory smile. ‘You just surprised me, that’s all.’
‘Good.’ Robert sat back with a happy sigh. ‘There’s no hurry. I’ll wait while you get yourself sorted out. Just the apron, then. Oh, and keep the heels on, of course.’
Venny looked at him. ‘Just the apron?’ she echoed incredulously.
‘That’s right. That’s how they do it in this lovely little place in Soho – haven’t you been there? Gorgeous waitresses wearing nothing but these tiny aprons. I suppose you do have such an apron? Only I thought I saw the waitress wearing one earlier. With a black dress, of course, so that I was forced to imagine how she might look without the dress underneath.’
‘Well, yes, we do have waist-aprons for the waitresses,’ stammered Venny, torn between outrage and excitement at his unexpected proposal.
‘Good,’ said Robert with an expansive smile. ‘There’s no hurry. You go and get changed, and bring me my brandy. I’ll finish my coffee.’
And he sat back like a man expecting a treat. With a last wondering glance at his perfectly composed face Venny went off to the now empty kitchen and snatched up Kate’s discarded apron. She had a feeling that the old Venny, the Venny she used to be, so cold and controlling, would have told Robert Fielding exactly where to get off, and in so doing would have also blown her chances of winning the Blue Ribbon. But now she could admit to herself that the new Venny was titillated by the idea of serving a man in a state of near-nakedness. In fact she already felt quite creamy and aroused at the thought, her wetness beginning to flow, her nipples puckering with excitement under her suit.
Smiling to herself, Venny quickly unbuttoned her jacket, beneath which she was naked. Her breasts dangled heavily as she bent over and pushed her skirt to the floor. No pants, either. She ran a hand languorously over her pubic hair, tickling her mound and biting her lip quite hard as pleasure forked up from her twitching little clit. When Micky had been here, she hadn’t wanted to wear anything that could impede his progress to her skin. But now, she reminded herself with a slight frown, Micky was gone; and there were other men to satisfy her – men like Robert Fielding, who was waiting for her now. She picked up the small white linen apron. It was a scant half-moon of fabric with a frill around its curved outer edge and a waistband and ties along its flat side. She put it around her waist and tied it in a big bow at the back. Craning around, she could see the bow flopping in a most provocative fashion above the bare peachlike curves of her arse. She glanced down at her front. Her naked nipples were outrageously hard; the tiny apron covered her crotch with about three inches to spare; the high heels she wore accentuated the length of her legs.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she passed back through the swing door, with its little circular window, into the restaurant. Not looking at Robert Fielding – although she could feel his eyes resting hotly on her – she went to the little bar, pressed a glass to the brandy optic, set out a saucer and a coaster, then came back around the front of the bar with Robert’s brandy and carried it over to him. With every step she could feel her tits bouncing louchely. The feeling of his watching eyes on her was exceedingly sexual. All at once, Venny saw why those girls in Soho didn’t object to performing this service. If it excited the watching men, it almost certainly drove the half-naked girls crazy with lust.
‘Your brandy, sir,’ she said sweetly, and bent from the waist, her naked breasts hanging inches from his eyes, to place it in front of him.
‘Thank you,’ said Robert with equal civility, but the huskiness in his voice betrayed the depth of his arousal as he stared at her.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ asked Venny politely.
‘Mm, you can attend to this,’ said Robert, leaning back on the banquette and turning a little towards her, so that she could see the heavy bulge of his upright penis, clearly outlined beneath his twill trousers.
Venny looked down at this tempting sight, and decided that it would be rather exciting to play the frightened virgin to his domineering patron. She averted her eyes delicately.
‘Goodness, what can you mean, sir?’ she asked nervously. ‘You can’t mean that you want me to take it out?’
‘That’s precisely what I do mean,’ said Robert, reaching up to give one of her nipples a lustful tweak. Despite her intentions to play the frightened little servant, Venny let out a tiny moan as he did so, and Robert chuckled deeply. ‘I mean that I want you to take it out, and suck it dry.’
‘But it looks so big,’ breathed Venny as his hand dropped to her hip, caressing the hot silky skin there before progressing lower to cup one luscious buttock. His hands were so big that his fingers intruded into her slit, not enough to please but just enough to tease. Venny could feel another moan building in her throat, but she bit it back. Her labia felt hot, swollen, almost indecently wet. Her heart drummed in her chest like a brass band.
‘It is big,’ Robert admitted, not without an edge of boastfulness. ‘Unzip me and see.’
‘What if it’s too big for me to manage?’ quaked Venny, now thoroughly enjoying their game.
‘Too big for you to take it in your mouth?’ asked Robert. Venny nodded. ‘Then we shall have to use some other orifice to relieve it, won’t we?’
‘Which orifice would that be, sir?’ asked Venny with fake trepidation.
‘Your cunt,’ said Robert, dipping his wandering fingers deeper so that one found its way into her. Venny moved restlessly, pressing her thighs together to relish the intensity of her own excitement. ‘Or perhaps your delicious little arse,’ he added, and another finger found the delicate puckering ring of her anus, and pushed in very gently.
‘Do you want me to unzip you now, sir?’ she half-gasped.
‘Right now would be good,’ said Robert encouragingly.
Venny leaned forwards as his hand continued its exploration of her nether regions. His eyes rested salaciously on her ripe, naked tits as they dangled right in front of his eyes.
‘Glorious tits,’ said Robert in congratulatory tones. ‘Never thought they’d be this big when I first looked at you.’
Venny meanwhile was busy unbuckling his brown leather belt, and unfastening the button at his waistband – which was straining a bit over his well-filled belly, she noted. He was a big man, big all over. Perhaps his cock really would be too big for her. Holding her breath in anticipation now, she slowly slid down the zip of his trousers. Nothing too alarming happened. A white-clad bulge loomed into the opening, poking from beneath his pale-blue shirt-tails. Now Robert caught his breath, too. His hand on her buttock tightened almost to the point of pain.
Delicately Venny continued her task. She smoothly pushed aside the shirt-tails, and concentrated on the white parcel that awaited her, ready to be opened and enjoyed. Hooking one thumb into each side of the widened gap in the front of his trouser
s, she looked at him and smiled.
‘Lift up, please, sir,’ she requested.
Robert eased his hips off the banquette and Venny was then able to pull his trousers down to his ankles. His thighs were vast yet well-muscled, and covered in dark hair. A warm, musky male scent arose from his skin. With a sigh of pleasure Robert slid his hips a little forwards and opened his legs for her to continue.
White Y-fronts, thought Venny, almost smiling. Hardly stylish. But this wasn’t a stylish man. His sports jacket was quite old, with leather patches on the elbows. This was a fairly conservative, probably rather staid sort of man. Probably he hadn’t even bought those Y-fronts. It was far more likely that his wife had, but Venny wasn’t looking for wedding rings at this stage. All her attention was focused on the bulging rod under those excessively unattractive pants.
Now the decision was: whether to take him out of the slit at the front, or bare him completely? She was not a woman for doing things by halves, after all.
‘Lift up again, sir, will you?’ she asked him in a whisper.
Again, unable to stifle a little groan of arousal, Robert lifted his hips. Without hesitation Venny hooked both thumbs into the elastic waistband of the unlovely briefs and yanked them right down to join his trousers at his ankles.
‘Oh, that’s better,’ she breathed.
It certainly was. She eyed the huge purple prick revealed to her with awe. It was of medium thickness, but it was very long. If she tried to take it too deep into her mouth he would choke her. And as for her cunt! She thought about how that enormous length would feel up inside her and her wetness immediately became a flood of desire.
His pubic hair was very thick, and gingery in colour. She ran a curious finger over the springy mass that clothed his fatly lolling testes, which were pushed up invitingly by the hard foam of the banquette underneath them. Robert groaned and strained his naked hips up towards her hand. His hands came up and clutched at her breasts, squeezing them almost cruelly. She was pulled inexorably forwards, almost overbalancing onto his lap, while he brought one turgid nipple to his mouth and sucked desperately.
After Hours: Black Lace Classics Page 15
