At 3 PM, Isabel phoned David and asked if he could meet her.
“It sounds urgent, Izzie. Clandestine.” David had an uncanny way of making quite ordinary words sound extraordinarily obscene.
Isabel laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic. It isn’t like that.” She paused. “Well, not really.”
“Then what is it like? No hints?”
“Well, you know how, before explorers used to go off to the edge of the know world, they’d write their last will and testament? Just in case they didn’t make it back?”
There was silence for a moment on the line. “Ye-esss?”
“Well, it’s a bit like that.”
“Oh, goody! The coffee place opposite the cathedral – say, ten minutes?”
“Done.”
Isabel straightened her desk, shut down her computer, and told Khanh that he could leave early, on her way out the door.
She walked the block to the cathedral and smiled as she turned the corner. David was already seated at one of the glass-topped outdoor tables, flirting with one of the waiters. That man was such a sucker for intrigue.
“Hey doll, this is Hieu – isn’t he purty? Tell him what you want to drink so we can get that out of the way,” he said as she sat down opposite him.
“Mineral water, please.”
The waiter nodded and moved away. The minute he was out of earshot, David leaned across the table.
“‘Edge of the known world”? Good god, girl! I’m breathless to hear.”
“Carmen Masse came to visit me today.”
“Oo-oh. I hope you didn’t do anything to make sweet little Khanh blush.”
Isabel waved away the suggestion. “She brought me a contract for translation work.”
David’s face fell and he sat back in his seat. “If I’d known we were going to talk shop, I’d…”
“Just shut up and listen.”
David made a ‘pulling the zip’ motion across his lips.
“It’s for $8000 dollars US – for catalogue work.”
“Oh my GOD! You lucky bitch!”
‘Sh-h! I don’t think that’s what Gilles believes that’s what he’s proposing to purchase.”
“White slavery. How utterly delish.”
“David!”
“Okay, okay.” He settled down again and let out a dramatic sigh. “Did you sign it?”
Isabel sat silent as her water arrived. She opened the bottle and poured it slowly over the ice in the accompanying glass. Then, she took a long drink.
“Well? You cruel woman. Did you?”
She smirked a little.
“You did! Oh MY GOOD GOD!”
Half the outdoor cafe turned and stared at their table.
David looked innocent and then leaned over the table again. “But I though, you know – I though you didn’t enjoy yourself at that particular little…soiree.”
“I never said that, David. I just said I felt weird about it afterwards.”
“But you didn’t seem all that enthusiastic on Sunday, sweetheart. In fact, I was kind of wondering if my best friend wasn’t actually a spy for the moral majority.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You slut!” he hissed, sotto voce.
Isabel smiled serenely. “Look… I’m entering the lion’s den here. Just…”
“Just what?”
“If I start acting weird, tell me. Okay? Just keep an eye on me?”
David’s smile broadened and he wiped away a fake tear. “Oh, my little girl is growing up.”
“Seriously, David. I mean it. If I get…lost. Promise me you’ll come and find me?
The man’s face changed. All the affected campiness fell away.
Isabel implored him with her eyes. “Will you David? You’re the only one here I can really trust. You’re going to be my breadcrumb trail home. Promise!”
He nodded. “I’ll come find you, Izzy – no matter what. Don’t worry.”
* * *
Isabel went home early to prepare. She could have left at five o’clock as usual, but the lack of pressing work, and the butterflies flitting around her stomach prompted her to call it a day.
She took extra care with her grooming; all the while telling herself that it didn’t matter. The dress she chose was sleek and formal: a halter dress in burgundy silk, with an overlay of gold organza. It made the most of what little cleavage she had without, she felt, being overtly flirtatious. She chose a pair of gold strappy mules to go with the outfit.
In the bath, while still denying that she was making any special efforts for the event, she carefully shaved herself smooth under a steaming shower. Just the act of shaving aroused her, and no amount of water seemed to rinse away the juices oozing from her newly bared pussy. When she was finished, she ran her fingertips over the ultra-sensitive lips. It would have been nice to spend another fifteen minutes indulging in a bit of masturbation – just to relax her – but she was firm with herself and towelled herself off in a perfunctory matter. She still had to attend to her nails.
While waiting for her freshly painted toe-nails to dry, she buffed her fingernails to a high sheen and admired them for a moment. For a moment, visions of plunging her fingers into Carmen’s sopping cunt danced in her head. She found her nail clippers and carefully cut each fingernail down to fingertip level, blushing as she smoothed the edges until there was no sharpness left.
By seven-thirty, Isabel stepped out the door of her little alleyway house, and flagged down a taxi at the end of her street. The Mandarin was an ultra-chic, extremely expensive restaurant frequented mostly by the Japanese who liked a taste of Vietnamese food, but were paranoid about food hygiene. Isabel and David had often joked that it was where the stupidly rich ate street food at a hundred times the normal price. But tonight, Isabel stepped out of the taxi and climbed the red-carpeted stairs to the entrance having left her jadedness at home.
Inside, the restaurant design was based on a traditional Chinese house: several stories with a single interior courtyard. The walls were hung with 19th Century print portraits of the scions of the Chinese Vietnamese community. Stern looking dowagers and dyspeptic looking mandarins gazed down at her in their layered silk finery. Ornately carved wooden screens separated off the different dining areas, giving each table a modicum of privacy. A huge, gleaming staircase of dark mahogany surrounded the courtyard and led to the second floor, and a severe-looking waiter in a stiff black jacket led her up them.
Isabel was pleased to see that she wasn’t the first to arrive, nor the last. The Masses had a large circular table. Gilles stood up as she approached, as did three other men. Carmen gave her a wide smile.
“This is the newest addition to our team, Isabel Fletcher. I believe she’s partly a Brit,” said Gilles, addressing himself to the strangers at the table. He introduced her around. She shook each of the three Englishmen’s hands in turn, accepting the chair that placed her opposite Carmen.
* * *
All in all, Isabel thought the dinner had gone very well. No one got spanked for spilling wine, no one orgasmed between courses. In fact, the Masses and their dinner guests were the very model of appropriate behaviour.
From time to time, Isabel wondered why she’d been invited; most of the conversation had revolved around furniture design, market trends and the perils of shipping. But the gender imbalance at the table had been obvious; she figured she was there primarily for adornment. Far from being offended, she was rather flattered.
At about eleven o’clock, the party broke up. At the entrance to the restaurant, Gilles had bundled his clients off in a taxi, and Isabel was waving at passing cabs in hopes of getting the next one.
“Don’t take a taxi, Isabel. We’ll take you home,” Carmen said.
Gilles snapped his mobile phone shut. “Kien is just coming with the car. Anyway, I feel like a nightcap, don’t you?”
The question was directed not at his wife, but at Isabel. All sorts of feelings converged to war inside her, a cacophony of voices all speaking at once.
The sensible Isabel said. ‘Decline the invitation and go home like a good girl.’
‘Your dinner wasn’t for free – it’s time to pay up,’ added the cynic.
The adventurer said, ‘What are you scared of? Life will pass you by if you don’t jump in head first.’
‘How can you refuse the attentions of two of the most attractive people you’ve ever met? You should be accepting this with open arms,’ coaxed the lover.
The prude spat, ‘These people are degenerates and they want to drag you down with them.’
‘Remember Saturday night? You loved it. Don’t you want that again?’ whispered the slut.
Isabel shook her head to rid herself of the riot in her brain. “I… well… oh, why not!”
The sleek vintage Citroen pulled up to the curb in front of them and the driver got out. Gilles went around to the far door, and Carmen ushered Isabel into the back, and got in beside her. As spacious as the interior of the car was, Isabel was in no doubt at what was going on. She was the filling in the middle of the sandwich. The minute she felt the driver release the clutch and pull away, Carmen slid a hand up Isabel’s skirt and Gilles slipped his between Isabel’s halter-top and her bare breast.