They both nodded their consent to this, and Reichard sat back in his chair. Von Klitzing then leant forward.
“If it is okay with you both, I have arranged for Mrs Jarvis to meet the people from PricewaterhouseCoopers tomorrow?”
This surprised Lisa. It was not at all usual that PricewaterhouseCoopers offices worked on Sundays, but she thought that it would certainly be a worthwhile exercise.
“And, Mr Jarvis, the doctor would like you to do a small medical examination tomorrow, if that is all right?”
The couple looked at each other quizzically, prompting Reichard to interject.
“It is quite usual these days in Germany; all executive officers are subject to a medical. After all, we are paying you a considerable sum of money. We just want to protect our interests.”
“Of course, of course, no problem.”
Michael was unflustered. A medical held no fears for him. The meeting continued in a congenial fashion for another fifteen minutes before they rose, and Reichard led them back to the waiting limousine.
“I have not arranged anything for this evening, but I can recommend the hotel restaurant. It is called Trader Vic’s. If you like Asian food, it is very good.”
With that, he closed the car door and disappeared back into the club. It was only a short ride to their hotel, the Bayerischer Hof. The closer they got to the hotel, the more lavish the shops became. It was obvious that this was Munich’s version of Oxford Street. Michael smiled as they got out of the car.
“I know this place—the England football team stayed here, I think, during the Euros. And this is where Liam Gallagher got his teeth knocked out.”
“No! Really? I can’t imagine anybody fighting in this place.”
Lisa looked around at the lavishly decorated lobby. A little staid for her tastes, but a definite improvement on the old man’s club they had just left.
“Not in here, in their nightclub. I read about it in The Guardian, I think.”
They had been given suite 705 on the panorama floor. A book on the lounge table told how interior designer Siegward Graf Pilati had styled the 120-square-metre suite into a Mediterranean dream. They were greeted by yellow tones and high ceilings. A large studio window overlooked the rooftops of Munich and led out to an 80-square-metre terrace, complete with fountain. Lisa immediately opened the window and went out. The view was stunning. Michael came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and she pressed back into his warm chest.
“I like his place.”
“The hotel?”
“No, Munich. I like Munich; it’s a beautiful place.”
The afternoon passed as planned. He met his new team at the firm’s HQ, while she was shown round three exclusive flats, all overlooking different parks in the heart of Munich. They met up again just before 7:00 pm in the suite and collapsed on the large double bed.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Good, they were really nice.”
“I’ve run us a bath,” she cooed.
“Ooh, good idea.”
She took his hand and led him past the open fire and into the enormous bathroom. The centrepiece was a sunken whirlpool bath big enough to contain a rugby team. They undressed and climbed into the hot, healing water. Jets massaged their shoulders and tickled their toes, while the sweet smell of bath salts cleared their heads, rejuvenating and invigorating the pair. Lisa moved onto his lap and helped his hands up to her breasts. The water made them feel even fuller than usual in his hands. Michael kneaded them enthusiastically, and holding her nipples expertly between his thumb and forefinger, he rolled them gently. She pressed her bottom against him, manipulating his manhood between her legs. Leaning her head back on his shoulder, she let out a small groan as he entered her. Pressing against one another, they rhythmically moved their hips together, him gyrating, her gently lifting and lowering herself on his length. Slowly increasing the speed of their movements as if guided by an invisible conductor, they were in perfect unison until they both exploded. Their orgasms came simultaneously. She lifted off him, her back arching out of the hot water. Her noise was coarse and wild, free of inhibition. His breath was heavy, as he sucked in air to fill his void, but only a sigh left his lips to announce his satisfaction.
12
The following day their rides arrived together, punctually at 8:00 am. Heinz had lost his name tag but found an even worse-fitting suit than the one from the day before. It looked as if his arms were being held up by strings, and a single button strained to keep his chest contained in the jacket. Kissing Lisa on the cheek, Michael climbed into the back of the limo that made a quick left turn down the side of the hotel and disappeared into the Munich traffic. A colleague from PricewaterhouseCoopers collected Lisa. The young woman was wearing a blue trouser suit and only minimal makeup. Despite her youth, she had a confident air, her long brown hair was held back in a simple ponytail, and she wore sensible but elegant black shoes. Introducing herself as Sophie, she added quickly that Lisa should just call her “Soph.” She drove a metallic grey BMW 330D, which didn’t inspire at first look, but took off into the traffic, like a rat up a drainpipe. Both women grinned all the way to the office as the BMW ate the curves and bends of the inner city. Their destination was PricewaterhouseCoopers offices on Bernhard-Wicki Street, only three kilometres from the Bayerische Hof as the crow flies. The modern office building was home to over seven hundred eighty employees on a weekday, specialising in assurance, tax, advisory, and all things money-related. The pair reached the front door at 8:10 am, which was some feat on the busy Munich streets.
“You will give accountants a bad name driving like that, Soph.” Lisa laughed.
Sophie just grinned as she held open the door for Lisa to enter the building.
“We will be great friends,” Lisa announced.
Few people could get away with such an assumption, but Sophie’s delight was obvious to see. It seemed in Germany, as in England, everybody wanted to be Lisa’s friend. The women marched through the open plan office space with panache. The fact that there was nobody there did not seem to inconvenience them. Their march ended on the second floor, where, on a working day, half of the staff would be dedicated to Meyer-Hofmann’s affairs. Over one hundred people would busy themselves with the holding company’s assets, controlling balance sheets, researching acquisitions, planning takeovers and mergers, whilst trying their best to avoid corporate taxes and levies of the German Government. Steve Walker was the man in charge of the department, and he greeted Lisa with a double handshake. Steve was a legend in the company. He had become the youngest partner in PricewaterhouseCoopers history at the age of thirty-five. An expert in international tax law, he had famously saved a chain of coffee retailers ninety percent of their corporation tax payments, by reinventing the franchise business. Many had been amazed that he had decided to move to the Munich office. After the way Meyer-Hofmann had courted both Michael and herself, Lisa was sure that Walker had received adequate remuneration. Unlike the managers in the Leeds branch, who lived in their suits, Steve wore just a pair of tailored slacks and an open-necked light blue checked shirt.
Maybe a weekend outfit, Lisa thought.
The shirt brought out the blue of his eyes, which shone with some intensity. Lisa swallowed; not easily impressed, she decided the move to Germany may not be so bad.
“Hi, I’m Steve Walker.” Steve spoke with an Aussie twang. “Great to meetcha.” His smile widened, revealing brilliant white teeth.