“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Can you be at the office by eight-thirty on Monday?”
“Sure, but they won’t let me in.”
“I’ll be there to meet you. Take care and enjoy the weekend.”
“Thanks.”
His whole tone of voice was different. He was treating me like Rebecca and not as Rob. I smiled, as I was learning that appearance is everything.
I returned to the house, giving myself a fashion show with some of my new purchases. Some of the lingerie and underwear was wonderful. It was the sort of stuff I’d always wanted Debbie to wear, but she’d never been that imaginative. I posed for myself in front of the large mirrored wardrobe in my room, feeling growing excitement at being what I saw myself as, an incredibly sexy girl.
I’d bought a very slinky black dress that hugged my new figure as if sprayed on. I couldn’t wear underwear with it, as it showed every crease and line. It was so smooth and sensuous that I became aroused just wearing it. My nipples expanded becoming very prominent through the material. Once more, I helped myself to orgasm, trying to imagine what it must be like to have a man inside me.
I changed out of the dress, into a pretty, but slightly less sexy dress in pale blue. With a black jacket, and blue shoes, I took my new bag and walked a couple of hundred yards to a small wine bar I’d seen earlier. It was five past eight in the evening. I left the gun in the safe at the house.
It was quite busy, so I sat at the bar.
“Hello love, what will it be?” said the barman, a sandy-haired Australian in an open white shirt and dark trousers.
“White wine, please, dry.”
“Big one?”
“Bragging or asking?”
He laughed. “Asking.”
“Why not?”
He smiled and poured me a large measure of dry white wine.
“You eating?”
“Is it safe?”
He laughed again, handing me a menu.
“Waiting for someone?”
“Not tonight.”
He nodded, glancing around at the others at the bar. An inebriated young man started waving at him.
“Excuse me,” he muttered and walked off.
I took stock of my surroundings. Although it had a French name, Le Bistro, it was typically English. It was obviously favoured by the young professionals, so the décor and music was appropriate. It was rather too young and modern for me. The old me, that is. As Rebecca, this was more my scene.
I wasn’t by myself for long. A ruddy faced, slightly plump young man approached me.
“I say, you wouldn’t be all alone, per chance?”
I looked at him. He was a real Rupert. He had a nasal voice, very upper-class and used to privilege. He had an arrogant air about him, one that certain young army officers arrived at the regiment with. Either they lost the attitude or they left. I wasn’t keen on Ruperts, as they took too much for granted for my liking.
Matching his accent, though less nasally, I put him firmly down.
“Regarding the present company, I assume I shall probably remain alone.”
He gaped at me for a moment, looking round to see if any of his equally nasal chums had witnessed the exchange. As they hadn’t he turned slightly bolder.
“It wouldn’t do for such a beautiful girl to be alone on a Saturday evening.”
“Actually I’m waiting for my date. She gets off her shift in half an hour.”
At the word ‘she’, the man balked, smiled weakly and reversed rapidly to whence he’d been.
“That was beautiful, mate!” said the barman.
I turned and stared at him. He simply smiled, so I relaxed and smiled back.
“I hate those sort too, but they pay my bloody wages,” he said.
“I can live without them. I’m Rebecca.”
“Pleased to meet you, Rebecca, I’m Harry. Um, just to get the record straight, are you into girls?”
“Why? Do you know any?”
“I don’t give a shit, darling, I just like to know where I stand, okay?”
“Let’s put it this way, I’m not in love with anyone at the moment, boy or girl, when it happens, I’ll let you know which side of the fence I find myself.”
He laughed. “Beautifully put, Rebecca, put it there, darling.”
He held his hand out so I shook it as expected.
“So, new in town?”
“New to this area. I’m staying with an old family friend. They’re out of town at the moment, so I’m at a loose end.”
“Where’re you from?” he asked.
“Hong Kong, you?”
“Really? I’m from Australia.”
“No shit, Sherlock, which part?”
He laughed again. “Brisbane, do y’know it?”
I shook my head.
“It’s a nice place. You’d like it.”
“So, why come to wet and cold old England?”
“A change. I left college last year, so I’m having a year out, bumming round the world. I got here at Christmas, ran out of cash and had to get a job. I hope to get to the States for Easter.”
“Good luck.”
“Why did you leave HK?”
“My parents died, so I came home.”
“No shit? I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Shit happens.”
“Sure does, another?” he asked looking at my empty glass.
I slid it across.
“Why not? I’m not driving.”
As most people were at tables and eating, the bar was quiet.
“You fancy some food?” he asked.
“What’s the Tagliatelli Carbonara like?”
“Good, it’s not a big portion, but you’ll find it’s better with some garlic bread.”
I smiled. “Okay, you’ve sold it, the Tagliatelli with some bread.”
He scribbled my order and disappeared to the kitchens. When he returned he was grinning.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I slipped you ahead of lover boy and his friends,” he said, jerking his thumb at the man I’d rebuffed.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling.
“So you’ve really not got a bloke?”
“No, I never said that. I said I wasn’t in love. My bloke is a vet called David, but he’s at home with a broken leg. He came off his motorbike.”
Harry’s expression showed a mixture of relief and disappointment - relief that I wasn’t an obvious dyke, and frustration because I had a bloke. Men are so damn transparent.
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m trying to become an actress, but there’s not much call for big blondes.”
“You can act a sex scene in my bed any day,” he said, grinning.
“I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.”
He went off to open and serve some wine to one of the tables. I caught sight of my reflection in one of the many mirrors. I smiled, I really looked gorgeous, so there was little wonder men kept hitting on me.
Harry was back.
“Still here then?” he asked with a smile.
“I haven’t eaten yet, remember?”
He grinned. “So, this bloke, the vet, how serious is it?”
“He thinks he’s in love, I think, while I just like the guy. We haven’t known each other long.”
“Is he good in bed?”
I laughed.
“You are so typically Australian, an Englishman would never ask a girl that!”
“Well, is he?”
“I don’t know, happy now?”
He grinned again, washing some glasses. He was called away to serve some more wine, so I sat and watched the world.
“Excuse me, is there anyone with you?”
I turned. This was getting to be tiresome.
He was older than the others, in his mid to late thirties, I guessed. He was also wearing a wedding ring.
“Not at this precise moment.”
He smiled wearily. “Don’t look so worried, this isn’t a move, I just hate the ‘is anyone sitting there?’ line.”
He was well spoken and dressed in a slightly crumpled, but expensive suit. He needed a shave and had great dark rings around his eyes.
He sat down slightly heavily. Harry came over.
“A double whisky, please, with loads of ice.”