"And here we have the Cartier, Madame," the sales assistant proudly held up a bright, jewel-encrusted watch for the lady to see.  "A snip at only £2000."

            Rosie Barbour leaned forward and drew in breath through her nose as if she was sniffing an exquisitely perfumed flower.  Her eyes lit up.  "I'll take it," she purred.  "You do take Amex, don't you?" she asked.

            Setting the jewellery down on the counter the sales assistant nodded courteously and accepted the gold card held out to him in Rosie's well-manicured hand.  He ran the card through the till and began to wrap the watch.

            "Oh, just wrap the box, please," said Rosie.  "I'd like to wear the watch now if you don't mind."  She held out her hand and allowed the young man to fasten the watch onto her delicate wrist.  The transaction processed, Rosie sashayed out of the store, one Cartier watch up without so much as a second thought.

            Strutting through the arcade it would be hard to imagine Rosie as anything other than the well-to-do, attractive lady that she was today:  dressed in a full-length mink coat, designer heels and adorned with expensive accessories, anyone would think that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth.  Rosie smiled to herself; she was feeling good today.  Those girls from the office would never have recognised her.  Of course, she hadn't always been like this.   She had come from a modest background, not exactly what you would call poor but not that well off either but she had managed.  As a young girl Rosie had worked hard by going to college and training as a secretary and eventually landed a plum job as personal assistant to the director a large building company.  Rosie was good at her job and her efforts were soon being rewarded by her boss, Mr Barbour, in more ways than one.  Naturally, there had been gossip to deal with, especially after they officially became an item  This was, after all, no small-time office romance.  He was the boss.

            Rosie stepped out into the Glasgow morning and drew a long, deep breath.  She felt like a new woman today.  She was normally quite careful with her spending; she had to be really.  Admittedly, she liked to have nice things as much as any other woman but her husband had always kept a tight rein on the finances.  "I've worked all my life for this, Rosie," he would tell her.  "I won't see it all blown on extravagant indulgences."  Rosie would naturally oblige by avoiding expensive shops and only using her credit cards (which were really her husband's) for essential household purchases.  They did have a joint account together, but Rosie knew that it was more than her life was worth to go spending any of that.  Her husband trusted her and she wouldn't want to go spoiling that.

            She pushed open the door to the department store and strode into the mecca of up-market shopping.  I could do with some things for the new conservatory, she thought and strode over to the lift.  Selecting third floor from the array of buttons on the wall, she stepped into the lift and ascended three floors to Household Goods and Furniture.  She was humming quite happily to herself now; she really was in her element in the furniture department.  She must have tried almost every sofa in the store this morning.  Settling herself down on the plush leather she tried hard to imagine what it would be like to sit on it with Stanley.  She allowed herself to fall onto a large black leather chaise longue.  Pulling her knees up onto the shiny sofa she thumbed the attached price tag.  It was over £3000 for this item alone.  It was expensive but he couldn't complain at her now, not now that he was gone, away with her.

            She had only been seeing Mr Barbour for a few months when he had asked her to marry him.  She had been shocked by the speed of their romance but was overjoyed at the prospect nonetheless.  He was all she had ever dreamed of and more besides:  handsome, charming, slightly older than her, an esteemed member of the local shooting club (very posh) and very, very rich.  How could she ever resist?  They married in a modest ceremony at the local registry office and decided to forego the honeymoon, as "there's too much on at the office," her new husband had informed her.  Rosie was still somewhat young and naïve at this point and was too smitten in her new, ideal husband to put up much of a protest.  And so it was that she had returned to work the Monday after her wedding day.

            Rosie stood at the till, this time holding her "household expenses" credit card, as this was really a purchase for the house.  For that lovely new conservatory.  While arranging the delivery details for the sofa, she spotted a fabulous little occasional table.  What the heck, Stanley would love it anyway.  She could hardly contain herself.  A day out at the shops was like a new beginning for her.  She looked at her new watch.  Stanley would still be waiting at the house, she thought. 

            Rosie knew that it had been rash to embark on an office affair, never mind the fact that it was with her boss.  "It's not all that unusual for a man to have an affair with his typist," one of the admin girls, Myra, had informed her when the affair became public.  "But most don't end up marrying him."  Rosie, sensitive in her youth, had found this an odd, rather hurtful remark and to be honest, it had troubled her.  Not long after the wedding, Mr Barbour had suggested to Rosie that she might like to give up work altogether "to look after the house and be a proper wife."  Rosie had obliged, glad of the opportunity to become a kept woman of sorts and learn how to be a fantastic wife to one of the most sought after men in the area.  This meant, however, that Mr Barbour would need a new PA, what with him also expanding the company and away on business so often.

            Rosie trotted down the stairs of the department store.  She would make her way to the station and grab a cab from there.  She checked her watch again.  Perhaps she just had time to buy some wine for tonight.

            The words of Myra the typist often came back to haunt Rosie when her husband was away ‘on business'.  He was a businessman, very attractive to the ladies and never short of cash.  But would he really cheat on her?  She would certainly never think of having an affair with anyone.

            Rosie was now perusing the shelves of the local fine wine store.  What was Stan's favourite wine?  Chateauneuf -du-Pape was nice, but was she that keen on it?  Mmm, perhaps some nice champagne would be better, call it a celebration if you can.  A new beginning.  She glided over to the counter.  "A bottle of Krug please" she commanded the assistant pulling a wad of notes from her purse.

            Her fears about her husband's fidelity had been realised the night she had meant to be at her mother's.  Unaware of Rosie's change of plans - her mother had decided to re-schedule their dinner date - Rosie had returned home to find him with Myra.  Friendly, helpful Myra, the schemer.  He had tried to explain, it was over with Rosie and she should accept it.  They would need to divorce and she wasn't to try to get any of his fortune.  No, he would close the joint account and he had the resources to get the best lawyers and he would see to that.  He wanted to marry Myra.  Rosie could get out.

            She opened the door of the black cab and struggled in pulling her numerous bags of goodies behind.  "Grosvenor Crescent," she informed the driver and settled down on the seat.  Stanley would be waiting for her, she mused.  Dear dependable Stanley.  She giggled softly.  Since that awful night with that Myra woman she would never be without him.

            The cab pulled into Grosvenor Crescent and Rosie paid the driver, tipping him handsomely.  If you have the money then why not.  She struggled up the path and admired the new conservatory as she went.  It wasn't originally her idea to have it built, but now she saw it as her little sanctuary.  Her little secret place.  She slid her key into the front door and walked into the house.  It was eerily quiet.  Throwing her bags onto the floor she slipped into the conservatory clutching the bottle of Krug.

            The conservatory had been built by her husband's firm, Stanley Barbour and Family.  It had been his idea to have it built originally - somewhere for him to go at the end of a working day, somewhere to rest in peace.  And it really was a magnificent construction too: all white and new with a wonderful marble floor.  Rosie tapped her foot on the floor with her heel.  Oh it was irksome to keep telling people that Stanley was on a business trip with his loyal secretary Myra.  "How long for?" people would keep asking her.  "Oh, a while," she would reply.  "But I talk to him every night."  She sighed.  Stanley and Myra had what they wanted now, they were together.  She tapped the floor again.  Could say the pair of them went out with a bang on that night.