‘Yes, but we’re all down here. Care to join us?’
‘What sort of example is this to be setting?’
He laughed and went to talk to Pinkie.
I circulated. I had another Margarita. The corners of the room blurred comfortably. Things began to pick up. The volume of music increased considerably. People had to shout now to make themselves heard. Somewhere, someone dropped a glass. There was a shout of laughter. I recognised this moment.
I’d seen The Boss do this. He would stay for maybe an hour or so, showing his face and then things would start to get rowdy. He knew, none better, that steam needs to be let off occasionally. You never actually saw him go, but you’d look up and he’d be gone. His senior staff would melt away shortly afterwards and then the party would kick up a gear.
Of course, being Dr Bairstow, he always got his own back the next morning with an unpleasant combination of a prolonged and complicated all-staff briefing and widespread distribution of the ‘Deduction from Wages for Damages Incurred’ paperwork. However, the point was that somehow, he knew when to make himself scarce and now, so did I.
I put down my glass and oozed backwards out of the door. As I left, they cranked the music up again.
It took a while to negotiate the stairs; heels, long dress, alcohol, and an inability to see my own feet being the main problems. I started down the corridor and an arm shot out from a curtained window alcove and dragged me inside.
I knew his smell. I knew his touch. Most of all, I knew those breeches. I fell gracelessly into his arms and found his mouth. Things got a little hectic for a while until a couple of people ran past, shouting, and we remembered where we were.
‘My room is just around the corner,’ I said, trying to adjust my clothing. ‘You couldn’t have waited?’
‘You’re lucky I didn’t throw you across the sausage-rolls and take you there and then.’
I had a sudden mind-picture and sagged against the wall, struggling a little for breath, but that would have been because it was a small space and the curtains made it stuffy. Not because of the sausage-roll thing at all.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
‘I’m trying to get these back in there.’
‘Why would you want to?’
‘So I can decently walk around the building.’
He surveyed the problem with an engineer’s eye. ‘No, I don’t think it’s going to happen.’
‘It must. I got them in there.’
‘Barely.’
‘You’re not helping.’
‘Why would I want to?’
‘Well, I’m obviously going to have to spend the rest of my life in here, then. Good night, Chief Farrell.’
He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it over mine. ‘Here, borrow this.’
I looked at his broad chest and had to lean against the wall again. ‘Tell me how that is supposed to help.’
He stuck his head out of the curtains. ‘Come on.’
We sprinted out of the alcove and along the corridor, crashing through my door. The shirt came off again and sailed over his shoulder.
‘I should get out of this dress.’
‘You’re already out of that dress.’
Having been made for a TV programme rather than for an actual assignment there was an anomalous concealed zip. He fell to with enthusiasm and slowly the dress began to slither to the floor in a whisper of silk. I reached out an arm and switched off the lights.
He stopped what he was doing and said, ‘You really don’t have to do that, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘it’s just … next time, maybe.’
‘Next time, definitely,’ he said, resuming normal service.
‘Yes,’ I said, lost in him and what he was doing and not really paying attention. ‘Next time,’ and pushed him hard against the door.
‘Don’t think I’m not very appreciative, but are you on some kind of medication?’
‘It’s the breeches,’ I said, channelling Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, whose husband was well known for pleasuring her with his boots on.
The darkness was thick and warm and curled around us. Small breezes wafted through the open window, cooling my skin but nothing else. Two floors down I could still hear the music, throbbing, deeply insistent, finding an echo in this hot, dark room. I could feel my heart pounding. And his. We were slick with sweat. I could feel his need, as great as my own.
‘Whoa,’ he said, lifting his head. ‘Is there a time limit? Are we trying to set a record?’
‘I want you,’ I said simply. ‘I’m hot and full of desire for you and I want you now, before I lose that feeling. I want to feel real, raw, red-hot passion.’
He pulled away again, looking down with shadowed eyes.