Iona’s avian like talons drummed the steering wheel impatiently, the cigarette hanging from her lips dripped ash into her lap, her frustration ensuring she was oblivious to such triviality. She had to be away, now, anywhere. This was the worst timing for a traffic jam. He would be home by now, he would notice her things were missing, he would be hunting her down as soon as he realised the money was gone.

Her head start was insufficient to stack the odds in her favour, she’d always been a gambler but she’d used all the cards up her sleeve long ago.

She’d woken up this morning, started her day like all the others, instantly seeking the paracetemol to mask the nauseating headache. She’d been off the hard drugs - or the good stuff as she called it - for months. Reality was a bitch, it stung like one too! This was what she was struggling with, what is my life exactly, up to this point it had been defined by the shit that engulfed her. Whatever had been seen as the cause of her permanent melancholia (bordering on misery, fine line I know) had been both the defining reason for getting out of bed in the morning and the reason she sometimes fell asleep hoping not to wake up.

Happiness is an ironic tool of the devil. We all think we know what would make us happy, but imagine if you got all you had ever wished for and found astonishingly you found it hard to smile. Iona pondered this very subject that morning.

All her life she’d got up, gone to work, whinged about it to anyone who would listen. The unendurably long hours, the people she could having gleefully clubbed to death with a blunt instrument (but didn’t, they were paying customers after all), the never ending stream of obstacles arriving in her path. If only she could win the lottery she’d be happy, right? Time on her hands, what would she do with it all?

People and daydreaming, it was a national pastime, sitting “at work” pondering the if’s but’s and maybe’s of life.

Sitting on her comfy sofa with time on her hands Iona imagined winning the lottery, at first she’d be elated, something going her way for once, then she imagined the weeks, months, years that would follow. She couldn’t imagine how she would achieve the previously unattainable feeling of joy.

She liked plans and would much have preferred to come up with an equation along the lines of:

(A = man B=house C=kids D=yacht E= cars F=toyboy lover G= happiness) A1+B+C X3 (-A1+A2)+F + D +E3 = G.

Except it was far more indefinable and elusive in her mind. Men were a risk in that equation, in fact any part of that could also easily make her unhappy. At the age of 32 she really felt she should have the answer to this one by now. The only time she could ever remember being truly happy was as a child, before her parents divorce. Innocent to the appalling world that awaited, so impatient to grow up as quickly as possible and see all the things your parents were trying to keep from you (and with good reason as it turned out). Sadly once you’ve glimpsed the misery in the world you can never shut your eyes to it again. You are aware, you have these experiences that endlessly disappoint you and you’ve spent so long building them up in your mind, not to the point of grandeur, just special. In the end you give up hope. You expect nothing good to happen, so it doesn’t, you just draw the badness to you and feel slightly pleased with yourself that you were right to stop trying to get out of the hole and you make yourself as cosy as possible in your den of iniquity. Happiness…… it hovered like a speech bubble just in front of her refusing to go away. Her mind wandered.

Nothing came to mind to clarify the curse of the absent glee, it never had, since she was young, a teenager having to make life altering decisions regarding GCSE exams etc she had never known what she wanted to do, never. So she consequently had no driving force, no motivation. Gaining her mandatory 5 GCSE’s to get into college (no more no less) was achieved mainly because she liked having options and without them even she knew here choices at that point would’ve shrunk considerably. She knew she needed money though, not a great amount but enough that she could get what she wanted, when she wanted. So after college she got a job in a hotel bar and moved up quickly. These were the days when graft and enthusiasm were enough to ensure promotion. College and Uni did not seem like a path to which Iona would be best suited. Filthy student types and no money, what was the point of that if you didn’t know what you wanted to be. God, she envied focused friends she’d known and been left behind by. If she had a plan she’d have been off too. Of course the partying part of Uni appealed. She’d almost gone for that reason alone but money had been the deciding factor. She wanted some and students were notoriously poor, no rich blokes to take advantage of, this was one decision that took care of itself.

At the hotel she’d started as a barmaid, by sheer necessity she’d moved up to the dizzy heights of management within a year, and proved capable and charming to staff and guests. At the age of 21 she was feeling quite pleased with herself, she lived with a great pal Emily who’d been far too soft with her and charged her a miniscule amount for rent, leaving her plenty of party pennies! That was all she wanted at that point, enough to go out, get lashed and buy nice clothes. Everyone either loved her or was intimidated by her. She didn’t mind which, some people fell into both categories, unfortunate souls. She put on a very impenetrable front. She was deliberately unapproachable in demeanour, except when she wanted something. It kept out the riff raff nicely, except drunk riff raff mistook her “fuck off and die” face for “please come and chat me up.” This miscommunication was sharply rectified anyone she took an instant dislike to sometimes for the pettiest of reasons was forever on her hit list, and she never forgot a face. However for the majority of strangers whose bravery allowed them to approach her found that their edginess faded as soon as they spoke to her. It was of course an illusion, behind the scowling veil of mystery she was actually a pleasant and friendly individual. As long as she liked you, she was utterly incapable of being nice to people she disliked, she could manage civil but that was the most that could be hoped for, sometimes that was unachievable.

Iona had never been able to suffer fools, although the harmless female variety were tolerated, they were mildly amusing. To hear their misguided delusions about men and life. Asking Iona for advice or guidance was always a mistake. She was utterly tactless, never noticed a new haircut let alone successful diets results. If asked what she thought of a friends new look, a gormless response of utter silence would spill loudly from her mouth. Followed by an overly rushed complimentary statement. She was supportive, don’t think she wasn’t, she just had some built in male traits. Some of which caused her problems as women like to talk about themselves, she sat and listened never able to get word in edgeways, so consequently everyone thought she was a bit mysterious and enigmatic. Common misconception she just never felt she could just talk at someone, seemed rude, other people obviously didn’t think so. She always had a lot of male friends especially in her line of work, (drunk men were the friendliest). They talked at her alot too, the drunk ones. They complained about women, their sex lives and she learnt. She learnt how they thought, the moral scale they were on. Very different to the one women were on. Neither sex is particularly trust worthy, but the difference is men insisted on justifying their mistakes by blaming their partners, work, money, depression etc. that’s if they are in the group that felt guilt, some simply blamed evolution for their compulsion to fornicate. Her male friends chatted about relationships endlessly. They felt like they could get into the enemy’s secret files by questioning Iona on women’s motives and thoughts. The great mystery that is women’s minds. Unfortunately Iona was soon able to think like a man, eventually she found it difficult to think like a women. So when asked for pearls of wisdom on the female psyche she soon found it difficult to dig them out. The only female trait she thankfully retained was her undetectable deception skills, women are superior deceivers when the need arises. That’s evolution people, girls can blame that for stuff too! We need it to survive. Its in our DNA right next to our biological clocks (but lets not even go there……. Survival kicking in again!)

She was however , strangely cynical now, when girlfriends would be crying because blokes had cheated on them and still clinging to the idea that they could or would want to change she would be laughing inside, it of course snuck out of her lips as a mere snigger which was audibly inappropriate. But she would then be unable to stop herself from explaining her well formed theory; that men, if taken back by sickeningly grateful girlys after being caught out, will take that as a green light to do it again to the poor desperate love. The only way to make it work after a man has strayed is not to beg them to try again. Not bravely try and put it behind you both or pretend it never happened. Oh no. The only chance to make the relationship work (for her) is to make the man pee down his leg every time you walk in the room. Treat them like a dog. What do you do when a canine’s widdled on the carpet? You shout at it until it ears go down with its eyes, its tail is between its legs then you drag it across the room and rub its nose in it, repeating the word NO very loudly at least 5 times. Then send it to its basket to think about what its done.

So with a bloke you used military type intimidation tactics, punish and repeat punishment until submission is achieved. Told you she had male traits, aggression was one she kept under control as best she could. It was her bound and gagged anger she was truly afraid of. She worried frequently of what havoc would be wreaked it ever got out. It would sometimes loosen its bindings but its true power had never been unleashed. She felt it was saving its strength for something. She genuinely hoped that day would never come. She knew how it would end. Badly.

Maybe this barely controlled rage wasn’t as well concealed as she’d thought and that it was in fact this, simmering behind her eyes that caused people to be wary of her? She’d never know.

*******

One evening in front of “Rikki Lake” Emily had casually mentioned she had tried escorting during the lean Uni years, Iona was shocked, not at the thought of escorting and its natural progressions but that Emily could possibly have done such a thing, she simply wasn‘t the type. As Iona listened she heard a voice in her head dare her. By the end of their one sided conversation she was offered a friend of a friends business card. Emily laid it on the coffee table and said,” if you ever fancy some easy money and a free nightout with a rich bloke” to get in touch with Dominique. Two weeks later she couldn’t ignore the daredevil on her shoulder, he’d got louder. For two weeks she’d gone to work at the hotel, trying to decide whether she actually liked her job. She really got on with her colleagues from the pot people to the Big Boss Graham. She was bored, but was that a bad thing? Being good at something was addictive. It would take effort to do a bad job so why try anything that might be difficult? The money was enough. But a little more wouldn’t hurt. She decided to give the escorting a try. Just one time, see how bad it was, expect life to be shit and you wont be disappointed, that was Iona’s motto. She had learned skills at the bar which she felt sure would transfer neatly to this alternative line of work. Smiling at twits in suits, pretending to listen to them whining about their lives, flirting with blokes to ensure a good tip at the end of the evening even if they were male trolls. The only difference would be the lack of a good 3ft ply-wood bar between her the punters paws! However, she reminded herself she had claws of her own to rely on.

She’d unfortunately once found herself in a very sticky situation indeed, log story but basically, one time after a night out in town with friends, on her way home alone, four men had sprung from a car, grabbed a limb each and tried to get her into the car. Struggling to get a foot free and ensure the other one held fast on the door frame she had endured 5 minutes, which felt more like weeks, of frantic struggling, which is a long time when there are four men trying to kidnap a woman in a reasonably well lit street. Finally a 4 inch spike heeled foot felt a grasp weaken and pulled free. In a split second her heel made contact with skull, she felt her balance shift and swung wildly, another man screamed as she put her heel through his eyeball. She was unaware of the damage she was doing she was fighting for her life after all. Then the other two let go and ran off, she fell awkwardly to the floor. She shifted painfully onto her side, laying in a crumpled heap, dazed, when her head fell to the left and saw an optically challenged body laying a foot from her. She sat bolt upright, the adrenalin surged, then movement to her right, the other injured man was alive and squirming she wanted to go over and hurt him properly. But she thought she may be running low on her nine lives as it was. She took her shoes off, clutched them to her and half walked and half jogged home. It turned out she had a dislocated shoulder and fractured wrists but had survived what could have been so much worse. It gave her a very deep distrust of men, and a very over-rated opinion of her skills in self defence. She’d never told a soul.

Dominique was an annoyingly difficult women to get hold of. When she finally got hold of her it was a surprisingly brief conversation. Dominique pointed out that she couldn’t simply send her off to meet a valued client without seeing what he would be paying for. Girls prices were determined by their physical credentials. An interview would be necessary to establish which client category would be best suited to the girls attributes.

It was the most unusual interview she had ever or would ever attend. She arrived on time, Iona was never early, at an out the way restaurant that she later found out was a well known favourite with clients on Dominique’s books. It was deliberately old fashioned, log fires and overly fussy furnishings on plump sofas. Dominique was exquisitely suited in a classic Jaeger skirt and matching jacket with oversize buttons emphasising her tiny frame. She was sharply attractive, but not pretty. She looked pampered and obviously took great care of her appearance. She expected this of girls on her books too.

Iona was asked about her day job, which lulled her into a false sense of security, after half an hour of polite questioning a divine plate of smoked salmon arrived with a tasty glass of Beaujolais. This had been delicately polished off, when the conversation took an unnerving turn. Iona, not being used to talking so much, and certainly not so much about herself, found she was surprisingly unguarded. Fail-safe’s were not built in, as this was not frequently enough experienced to cause alarm bells to ring. People were usually too scared to get so personal unless invited to do so.

When asked for her measurements and levels of hygiene she answered without a hint of embarrassment. Number of sexual partners, any STD’s contracted in the last 5 years? Skin type, prone to breakouts? Physical fitness? Amount of sleep required to avoid grouchy demeanour the next day? Sexual orientation? Drug / Drinking habits…….. These were not a problem to Dominique she just wanted to know the level of dependency. The queries got stranger and more intimate. The words Alice and rabbit hole came to mind, she was however acutely aware this was a hole Alice would not have come back from. Iona finally admitted to herself that she would not be entering a sideline in escorting she would be entering the vast world of prostitution. After 2 hours and a number of glasses later Iona was done, exhausted and hired. Dominique explained that her agency was not like the others. It was a high class operation, with a lot of investment available for girls who earned it. Clarifying that Iona’s safety as a commodity was a priority, and that all potential clients were investigated and checked as far as was possible. Only pre-approved sites would be considered for meetings until the girl felt comfortable and confident with a client that decisions could then be taken by the employee as to where and when meetings took place. Crucially meetings could never take place off the books, this would cause loss of revenue to the agency, and had proved dangerous for the girls in the past, this was unacceptable. Iona deduced that the only possible way they could know either way was to have spy’s in each of the pre-approved venues and have long-distance minders watching the girls? She had summarised by stating quite simply “If we can trust you you can trust us.” and winked at Iona.

Dominique claimed arrogantly that she was an expert in body language and psychology, had apparently graduated from Hull University with a first class degree in both psychology and law. A potent combination which she felt would be highly lucrative assets in the criminal underworld. Although she never thought of herself as a criminal, far from it, thought more along the lines of guardian angel to the masses. Dominique was impressed with Iona, she was a diamond in the rough. Not overtly sexy, the raven black hair contrasting with her creamy skin, outshone only by her green eyes which she hid like precious gems that thieves would be after. She was found to be able to switch between accents quickly and happened to mention that she quite unconsciously uses whichever accent mirrors that of her conversant, to make them feel more at ease and comforted by her presence. Naturally, she sounded a bit common, but that was easily replaced with polite posh tones when anyone else had approached the table. Just what she was looking for. Iona’s looks were deceiving in themselves. She looked more intelligent than she was, she looked slim but was actually a fat women stuck in a skinny girls body. This would apparently be useful as Dominique knew as most of us do that men like a woman who can demonstrate a healthy appetite at the dinner table, it apparently communicates to them that all our appetites are equally as healthy! And Iona never went without dessert. She also commented on Iona’s invaluable ability to listen, as the majority of men who sought out dates were simply lonely and seeking an impressive companion for the evening. Many clients were impotent in fact and still wanted the company of women but were never going to take it any further, these became Iona’s favourite type of clients. They would shower her with attention, affection and gifts and expect only a kiss in return. Quite miraculously, considering her acclaimed qualifications, Dominique had missed Iona’s subdued anti-social behavioural tendencies. This was due to the fact that Iona quite liked or more accurately respected Dominique, so the person she met that evening was the humorous and delightful Iona, unguarded and trusting.

One month after agreeing terms ( £550 per evening, per client from the agency then extra contributions from the client as they wished) she got her first call from Dominique’s P.A Kirsty. She told her to meet Mr. Johnson at the Palmeira Court Hotel bar in a small village outside Mansfield, this would involve travelling nearly 2 hours, costs would be reimbursed by the agency but Iona had incorrectly assumed work would be local. She asked Kirsty why it couldn’t be somewhere closer. Kirsty simply explained to the ignorant, that clients were put first, the girl was selected by attributes and suitability matching the requests of the client as closely as possible. Geography was irrelevant. However she was informed that many clients chose to stick with the same girl for years and it was generally only new or sporadic users of the service who would be meeting with her to begin with. It was up to her to build up a set of regulars who would then send cars to collect her, among other perks.

She was sent a map and rules for successful service to adhere during the course of the evening: Money was strictly not to be mentioned, the clients paid the agency an annual membership fee of £15000. Any “extras” would be at the clients cost. The girl would submit a summary of services performed at the end of the night to the agency directly by phone. Any questioning of the final bill on the clients part would be investigated and any girl found raising false charges against valuable clients would be severely punished financially and physically. The girls were doing very well out of this arrangement and Iona believed that getting greedy was unnecessary, as finding a man to mine of his wealth was her top priority. Play it right and they would buy you all sorts. Iona only ever wanted enough, never wanted more than she could spend.. She could become a semi-professional goldigger, except she was not after marriage. That was one thing she would never be available for.

Approaching the hotel the predictable nerves kicked she downed a mini bottle of vodka just outside the entrance and popped a polo in her mouth to give her a mint flavoured reminder that she still had a job to do. Mr. Johnson was in the hotel bar, she had seen his file prior to agreeing to the assignment so she knew what he looked like, kind and hard working had been her gut feeling from the photo, but she was shockingly bad at first impressions and gauging people. Knowing this was a weakness was the only advantage it gave it her.

It would not have done to be gazing round blindly looking for the date while he was equally weakly eyeing every female that entered for a flicker of recognition. It was prearranged that it was up to the girl to approach the client. He was to relax with a drink and would be met with a kiss on the cheek from his date. The itinerary for the evening was cocktails at the bar followed by a meal at a posh local eatery. Iona had actually been quite excited about this. She of course questioned her moral character before agreeing to this job. How far would she be prepared to go? She decided it would depend entirely on the man, they could go to some street corner whore if they simply wanted sex, idiots with no regard for class or manners would not use this type of agency. Kirsty politely deflected clients requests if they tried to make appointments for sex. She kindly gave them a number for a different “branch” of Dominques operation. So this gave her a misguided notion that only respectable gentlemen would be considered for her. She had a picture in her head of middle-aged professionals well dressed and equally well mannered. Sex or anything resembling it would be negotiable at the time. It occurred to her that prior to this non-relationship type date Iona would have had to work to get dates, flirting and chatting with guys to get their undivided attention. Men had always been a disappointment, take her out to the cinema maybe throw in a bag of chips on the way home and usually get sex anyway. Boyfriends usually only lasted a few months for her. Either she would get bored of them or they would get bored of her, it was just the way it was and she came to expect it. So it kept happening. She decided that all that was different about this arrangement was that she didn’t fancy them and they were going to give her money afterwards, if she could go through with it. It made her feel better when she realised she hadn’t even fancied some of the blokes she’d slept with anyway, she was just annoyed now that she hadn’t been paid. Well she was done with freebies that was for sure.

Leaving home that evening she had told Emma where she was going and what time she expected to be back. Her alarm was set for work at the hotel the next morning, no rest for the wicked as they say. She really did not want to be home too late, she hated being in a rush so gave herself an extra half an hour on the alarm for pre-work preparations in the morning. Emma had wished her luck and gave a few tips on escort etiquette.

“Ok, firstly never initiate sex, he may be unable to perform and get angry or embarrassed. Secondly don’t get drunk, as tempting as it may be and as relaxed as you may feel, you are working you need to be switched on at all times for signs of danger and sales opportunities. Thirdly, treat them all the same, especially the ones you don’t like, in that case just get through the evening as quickly and politely as you can then put a bar on that client. Please be careful Iona, if anything happens to you it will all be my fault, I got you into this…….” Her voice trailed off, waiting for an absolving statement that it would most certainly not be her fault as Iona could make up her own mind, but it never came. Instead Iona pointed out that it would be all her fault.

“Well if you hadn’t mentioned this tax free career path I would not be out there risking God knows what? But you did so I am, just promise that you’ll call the ….. Err, maybe not, promise me you’ll come looking for me if I’m not here when you wake up?” She preyed on Emma’s guilty conscience skilfully.

Emma agreed to this emphatically. “I’m sure you’ll be absolutely fine though, I’m not really worried in the least, maybe for the chap a bit, but not for you.” They both grinned at this, and got on with choosing accessories for her outfit. The agency had given Iona Vouchers for some classy shops, they did not want her letting them down. She had gone on a champagne fuelled spree with Emma and her friend from work Marvin (camp as Christmas, great shopping buddy, loved shoes more than life). Tagging along was a Junior P.A from Dominique’s seemingly unending pool of P.A’s, called Rosie. That had been such a fun day that again it clouded her judgement about how it would actually be on the job so to speak. All glamour and opulence. She really had never seen the movie “Pretty Woman” until Marvin on her hearing about her moonlighting, said she just had to find time in her life for this as it would be her bible for prostitution.

“ I am not a prostitute Marvin!………. Yet!” She giggled. She had got over her moral Beechers Brook and was on the home stretch (limo).

The purple Pucci print long halter neck had been her favourite by far, and Marvin’s but Rosie said it would be inappropriate for the understated elegance they had been hoping for. Sadly Rosie also had the vouchers in her possession so it was a no win situation. Know when you are beaten! Iona never did and vowed to find an occasion for which that dress would be utterly appropriate. Her “first job dress” was a stunning strapless black sheath with a black diamante brooch atop her left breast. It looked fantastic suited her figure really well. She had small breasts which she felt had always been an advantage, after all men will sleep with the ugliest of trolls if they’ve got great tits. This way any man who took a shine to her, had to be a discerning type of a fellow, must of thought she was pretty or interesting. Only determined men had ever approached her, and while they may have been the same ones that bedded trolls they were prepared to make an effort with her to achieve the same result. Bloody troll shaggers, she loathed them, well her days among the riff-raff were over.

All dressed and with some where to go she entered the bar and immediately spotted Mr. Johnson it was not crowded just a few hotel guests and business men having a relaxed drink or two. Iona was consciously also looking for the spy but prioritised enchanting Mr. Johnson instead. He was slightly more handsome in the flesh and he seemed completely overwhelmed by Iona and her striking appearance at his side. She had pecked his cheek as directed and he had not flinched an inch, clearly used to this surprise greeting. She introduced herself as Sophia, as instructed by Kirsty’s thorough instructions, and he took her hand and kissed it and introduced himself as Gregory or Greg if she preferred. He looked younger than 55 years she had been expecting and generally she was feeling waves of relief wash across her thoughts. She had been dreading that the photo had been of someone else. That they had got mixed up somewhere along the line and that she would turn up looking the best she ever had in her life and waste herself on a male troll, who’s only interest in her dress was getting it off as rapidly as possible. But she needn’t have concerned herself Gregory was impeccably mannered and treated her like a queen, at one point she wanted to cry. Why couldn’t she have met someone before tonight who could behave so charismatically and so respectfully? If any of her previous boyfriends had shown her half this affection and attention she would never have found herself embarking on this ludicrous outing. But she was glad she’d arrived here eventually, if only Gregory had been twenty years younger he could have had a freebie. God, she was a whore! She’d been making small talk for 20 mins and had already blushed, she had put on her best voice and pronunciation for Greg and this was paying off from the start. He was smitten for the entire evening listening intently to all her tales of frivolity, some were even true, she was retaining her sobriety so far and as they arrived at the restaurant for dinner she had almost forgotten she was at work. She resolved to tell Dominique at the earliest opportunity that she should consider setting up a dating agency as well. As a legitimate addition to the empire it couldn’t fail.

She ordered something with duck in, but the bloody menu was in French. So unnecessarily pretentious in her opinion, “canard” she believed meant duck and was one word she did know along with “cheval.” Greg spoke enough French to get by in a restaurant but whether that would’ve extended to a conversant level she had her doubts. She appeared to be duly impressed and his ego was suitably massaged. He didn’t seem to be gregariously arrogant but it was a few decibels above obvious. Arrogance in a man was a narrow line to tread. Too much was a repulsive quality, a hint of it was deeply attractive, that mid-range was the tricky area. It took time to decide where to place the feature sometimes. If he was humble with it or funny he fell instantly into the attractive box, if he relished talking only about himself and constantly mentioned what he owned and where his travels would take him next (“to heaven when I look in your eyes baby”) he would be unceremoniously tipped into the repulsive rubbish bin.

Greg however was confident she decided and she’d mistaken it for arrogance, he was witty, dryly so, and wanted know about the woman sitting across from him with incisive comments on his own life thrown in for good measure. The drinks begun by trickling delicately into her hands and by dessert had overflowed around her. She so did not want to embarrass herself in front of him. She did not want to slur her words or drop her gateaux down her dress. So she excused herself and concentrated on walking in a straight line in the direction of the ladies to powder her nose. She had bought her portable chemistry set in her ultra feminine clutch bag it was long and thin fifties-esque and beautifully concealed a silver tube which she liked to use for her little lines of pick me up powder. She felt sure without this she would fall asleep in the next half an hour, alcohol took her down. In fact she’d be lucky if she only fell asleep on Greg, worse case scenario she’d be laying in his lap crying uncontrollable if she drank anymore. Four swift sniffs later and an assessment of the make up situation and she was back in the game!

Dessert arrived and the crème brulee which would ordinarily have captivated her fell away. She let the waiter take it after twenty five minutes ignoring it, asking instead for a café ristretto, a small potent shot of caffeine. Greg had forced a crepe or two down and was now struggling to fit a coffee in too. But he capably managed. After the meal they began walking towards a car park, he offered to take her to an exclusive bar for members only. The paranoia kicked in hard. It was a trick she was sure. The man she had begun to trust an hour ago was now having to dig deep to make up the lost ground.

“ You cant go home yet, its not even midnight? Please join me for a nightcap, it would be such a waste of a beautiful lady to send her home without showing her off first.” He was persuasive, not least with his hands which were now carefully sliding round her petite waist.

He was leading her gently towards a car, not just any car, an Aston Martin. Iona knew her Volvo 440’s from her Lotus Elise’s and this was a serious piece of automobilia.

Her jaw dropped for a good few seconds before she regained her composure.

“Speaking of showing off beauty………. Good Lord!” she whispered and thought she might cry again.

“Well it gets me where I need to go. Where do you want to go now Sophia, home to bed? Surely you’re not beaten yet? The night is young and all that…….” He trailed off hoping she would follow his train of thought. Her thoughts simply shouted to her to stay in a public place. Then hope he would get suitably intoxicated that he’d wake up the next day convinced he’d had the time of his life.

She seated herself in the most beautiful car she’d ever known. Was it his? The suspicion welled up inside her. It was probably his wife’s car, she was probably the money in the family. Bloody men. She’d seen the tell tale white strip across his wedding finger but had expected no less. Iona thought it would be have been extremely unwise to raise this subject on their initial meeting, if he wanted to discuss it she would wait for him to bring it up. He climbed in beside her, he wasn’t particularly tall about five foot nine and fitted in as if the car had built soley with him in mind.

“It’s not far, about twenty minutes away, ok?” He was trying to reassure her, he could sense she was uneasy about the whole situation. He had stopped asking the agency if the girls were first timers as it certainly put him on edge and made him feel like he was babysitting. He preferred to not know, the evening found a natural equilibrium if the girl was prepared to relax into it. If the girl seemed unable to loosen up he would end the evening at the first opportunity. So far he’d enjoyed Sophia’s company, she was open and alluring, beautiful but completely unaware of it. She smiled a lot, a coquettish little curl on her painted lip.

“Thank you Greg, for the evening so far and the evening ahead.” Her nerves were still on a edge a little, enough to keep her sober and focused, hopefully not enough that they showed. She didn’t want to insult him as he was being supremely kind to her, she was having a really good time. She wanted to keep quiet but the chemicals in her veins would not permit it. “So can I ask, what line of work are you in? Is this a company car or….?”

“I’m a lawyer, and no its my car, for now.” He lied. He was not a lawyer he was business man, dealer in antiques mainly. Had a lot of beautiful pieces in his country pile left to him by his parents, he wasn’t deliberately misleading her he just thought it common sense not to disclose to much information. Why would he for God’s sake?

“Wow, I’m suitably impressed Gregory, what’s it like being a lawyer then…..?” she was waffling but he politely answered her enquiry all the way to the club.

On arrival at their destination they turned steeply into underground car park, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck, she’d had recurring nightmares for years revolving round the confined spaces of dark car parks. Her smile dwindled and her limbs locked tightly to her, coiled ready to spring.

The car stopped and they both got out without incident. Gregory led her toward a door way which looked dank and shabby. A solitary sentry stood by this hole in the wall and greeted Mr. Johnson with a nod. He spoke only to advise Mr. Johnson to sign his guest in as usual. Once through the entryway a whole new scene sprung up, velvet drapes and plush décor met them where the handsomely carpeted stairway tapered off. Exquisitely dressed women were drinking stylish liquids in almost invisible glasses. The men were either stunning to look at, or stunningly rich, or both. Prior to this moment Iona had felt a tad overdressed, Greg had looked well dressed but decidedly understated. They fitted in perfectly now. She asked Greg where the ladies was and glided away like smoke. Nose suitably powdered she was about to return to Greg’s side when an urge to wander and explore this attractive landscape seized her. Sashaying through the throng of premium species she let her eyes slide over the men glancing in her direction, the women looked straight through her. Heading down a narrow corridor she found her path blocked by a man and a woman in their twenties she thought she smiled, casting her eyes down as she did so, to imply she was merely passing when the woman took her hand.

“Are you alone?” She said flirtatiously.

“No, why?” was Iona’s curious response, the woman’s fingertips were by now slowly moving up Iona’s arm, causing the most inflammatory tremors to run the length of her arm and permeate her spine for a moment.

“Just checking, shame you’re not available. We need to make up the numbers you see.”

“You mean a third? Well I’m not available tonight but I can put you in touch with a lady who can arrange anything you like.” Iona’s words practically melted in the mouth.

After spending twenty minutes talking to Tessa and Mark business was looking up. Iona had been discreet and oozed sophistication. She moved on, heading past a group of men in their thirties she was struggling to hold herself back. The coke was pushing her to go and talk to everyone who caught her eye, but there was a voice in her head which kept reminding her of her original plan. Mine the man, except she was getting seriously distracted by the eye candy. The finery on the clients was matched in every element of the surroundings. Fine silks laced the seating cushions and what appeared to be beds were coated in satin and velvet. She felt blissed out. The music in the air seemed at a perfect level, not too loud just enough and it throbbed in her ears. It was as refined as everything else. She approached a bar which emerged from a hole in the wall. The bar staff were immaculate and attentive. A hand attached itself to the small of her back as she turned rage flaring, she saw it was only Greg too late, he saw the building rage recoil regretfully back into its box and removed his hand to ensure it continued to retreat.

“Drink? I’ve got us a lovely bottle of bubbly and a secluded spot all waiting for you.” He offered.

“Thought you were keen to show me off? What you trying to hide me away for?” She realised as soon as she’d said it, she was questioning him which wasn’t polite. She was supposed to go along with his wishes until she felt uncomfortable to continue the evening.

“I didn’t say we’d be alone, did I? There are some friends I’d like you to meet. If you are up to it? What was he implying by that .

“Of course I’d be delighted sir.” She softened and dropped her gaze in submission.

He took her hand and kissed it softly. His wife is a lucky lady she thought, all this luxury in her life. She wondered if she would be happy if she were Mrs. Johnson tonight. No, she wouldn’t; the price currently being paid by Mrs .J was an unfaithful husband in exchange for all that money could buy to distract her from the despair of her unsuccessful marriage.

A great sadness ruminated in her soul. Would that always be her role as a source of sorrow in the lives of others? Quite forgetting the men who promised to be faithful husbands on their wedding days. Was no-one happy, truly, was every one as deluded as Mrs .J only thinking they were happy until reality stuck the knife in revealing the spectre which had been lurking at their side all along. All the grins in the room were they all fixed on along with the lippy and hairspray? Did everyone have a secret stalking their consciousness?

She slipped on smile as she approached the group of beings apparently hovering just off the floor. The mixture of chemicals was stirring up quite image in front of her eyes. The colours in their garments was excessively bright even in the dim lighting. The champagne appeared to be sparkling as if sprinkled with dusting of diamonds.

“Care for a glass?” He proffered a tempting glass with crystals dripping down the sides delicately.

“Thank you.”

“Jez come and meet Sophia?” He gestured to a chap close by with peppered curly hair.

“It would be a pleasure.” the words met her before he did. He was loud. But after a few more sentences she realised he was not drunk, thankfully. Drunk and loud was always an obnoxious combination. She stood back and did not have to crane close to catch what he was saying. The personal space rule which so many ignored was being observed and she was grateful.

“Lovely to meet you Jez” She replied. Utterly indifferent to the man planted in front of her.

“And how do you two know each other then aye?” He blustered.

“I work in a hotel that Gregory was staying at. Not the most professional way to meet a man but, he’s irresistible, and persuasive.” It was so close to being the truth it flowed out seamlessly.

“I see, shameless floozy eh? Just Greg’s type!” Jez the joker had started to grate.

“Don’t tease her Jez” Greg struck back to defend the lady’s honour as she had for him moments before. “She’s out of my league mate, but felt sorry for me I suspect. She’s doing her bit for ‘Help the Aged’ saint of a girl.