Authors: Nicola Yeager
I can’t imagine what you’d do if you spilled some oil-based sauce onto a dress made of black suede. Scream, maybe? I don’t think a suede brush would help much. Franklin is very fussy about things like that. He’s a little short-tempered and can get really annoyed if you make any sort of mess when you’re eating. Sometimes I can see that he’s grinding his teeth and balling his hand into a fist. He’s used to the best and everything has to be perfect for him. Knock a glass of red wine over a pristine white tablecloth and you’ll see a side of him that is best kept hidden from view!
Half an hour later, when we walk into the restaurant, the Maître D bows and scrapes; almost every eye is on Franklin and me. This dress is certainly having the effect he was looking for. When Franklin is dressed up in a suit, he looks almost ten years younger. It reminds me of when I first met him.
I’d finished a degree in geography at Stirling University and had found it difficult to get a decent job. I’d spent almost three years temping, and although I had a lot of fun, I didn’t seem to be going anywhere, plus the money was pretty rotten. I applied for several jobs that
I’d seen advertised in various papers, but it was only when I applied for a job as a cartographer at a petrol company that my luck appeared to be in. Yes, I know that sounds like a boring job, and you’re right, but at least the money was fairly good, compared to what I’d been on before.
This was Franklin’s company. He’d built it up from virtually nothing and after lots of cruel takeovers, it was now one of the premier oil exploration companies in Europe. Before you ask, he doesn’t go out and search for the oil himself with a spade or something. He’s a businessman.
I didn’t come into contact with him very much for the first few months that I was there, but I had noticed him looking at me in the corridors occasionally.
I didn’t really think of him in
that
way, if you know what I mean, but could see that he must have been a moderately attractive man when he was younger, though I guessed that he was well past his mid-sixties by the time that I first encountered him. When I finally met him, he turned out to be much nicer than I’d imagined, in no-nonsense, brusque way. He was charming, polite, clever and took a keen interest in what I was doing. It was a change. It was a relief.
A month later, I got an email from him asking if I wouldn’t mind popping into his office for a few minutes, whenever it was convenient. He didn’t waste any time. He was spending three weeks in Greece on some sort of working holiday and wondered if I’d like to join him. It was simple; he wanted female companionship and I was female. I needn’t worry about my job. In fact, I needn’t worry about money again.
It was like a bloody business proposition and I took it. I remember walking down the road after work that day laughing out loud to myself. I was a bit stunned, as well. Did these things still happen in real life? So there it was; over a six month period, I’d gone from being a lowly temp working for a company that made milk cartons, to being a kept woman. It was as simple as that.
Of course, I still told my parents that I was working at the company. Doing rather well, in fact. I had to make up something that would explain all the clothes and the wonderful holidays that I seemed to be going on all the time.
Just as we sit down at our table, I notice another couple come in. The man looks a little younger than Franklin, but with more hair and a lot more weight. The woman is something else. If I was being threatened at gunpoint to guess her age, I still wouldn’t be able to do it with any accuracy. She could be anywhere from late twenties to mid-fifties. She’s so brown that the whites of her eyes look luminous. To say her skin was sun-damaged wouldn’t be the half of it. I can tell immediately that she’s had some work done on her face. Her fingernails are long and look fake.
She’s covered in jewellery, most of it gold, and wears this amazing short, white, sleeveless dress thingy, a bit like a professional tennis player’s. If she suddenly sprang from a wardrobe on Dr Who, you’d jump, I swear it.
Next: her boobs. I’m sure you’ve seen photographs of various celebs where it’s glaringly obvious that they’ve had a boob job. Hers are like that. They’re just too big and too round. I’ve never been very good with accurate guesses at other women’s bra sizes, but I think we’re looking at something in the region of 44EE. She’s stick thin (lots of gym time, I suspect) so that you fear that she might fall forward onto her face at any second with the weight of them. I don’t know why, but I keep thinking about basketballs. She’s wearing an unsuitable bra which pushes them up a little too much.
She’s loud and animated as she chats to her husband or whatever he is and waves her hands around. He’s ignoring her, though, and is more interested in looking over at us. He narrows his eyes and looks quizzically over at Franklin and then smiles. I’m thinking, ‘Oh my god they’re going to come over here’ and no sooner has the thought formed than they’re on their way over. The man’s smile cracks into a grotesque laugh.
‘Excuse me – is that Mr Franklin Seth-Smith OBE that I spy before me?’
Franklin uses the table to slowly push himself up to a standing position and walks towards the man holding his hand out.
‘Tybalt, you old criminal. How are you?’
Just a little aside. I’m sure that one day, if my life radically changes overnight, I might have children. I can almost visualise being in a hospital bed and the nurse bringing my little bundle of joy over to me. It’s a boy.
‘What are you going to call him?’ I can imagine her saying.
‘Tybalt,’ I reply.
‘In which case,’ she would say, ‘I am taking that baby away from you as you are plainly not of sound mind. I shall now call the police.’
I mean, really. Tybalt. How could they?
‘How long have you been here?’ Franklin asks Tybalt.
‘Got here this afternoon. Had a chance to play yet?’
He’s talking about golf, no doubt.
‘A few holes. Just acclimatising at the moment. Listen. Are you about to have dinner? Why don’t you join us?’
And now he’s going to talk about golf all through dinner. Great.
I look up at Tybalt and give him my most pleasant smile. This should be a cue for Franklin to introduce us all to each other, except he doesn’t. Whenever he meets another powerful man, I tend to cease to exist. He hasn’t even acknowledged the presence of the woman yet, whoever or whatever she or it is.
‘Don’t mind if I do, you old rapscallion!’ says Tybalt.
‘Sit ye down, sit ye down!’ says Franklin, waving Tybalt and fiend to the two vacant seats at our table. Why do men lapse into vaguely bawdy, archaic language with each other? Don’t they realise how dumb it sounds? It has echoes of a faint ribaldry that isn’t really a part of their lives and never will be.
Tybalt gives me an appreciative glance, which is mainly aimed at my cleavage. If I was out at dinner with a ‘normal’ guy, god forbid, and Tybalt did that, he’d probably find himself on the receiving end of a possibly fatal punch to the groin. But in the world I now live in, I have to put up with it and Franklin will be pleased by it. It’s what Franklin wants; other men admiring his trophy girlfriend’s boobs.
A quick word about my boobs.
I know I had a little pop at Tybalt’s bronzed alien woman just now, but the truth is I’ve had a boob job, too. Yes, Franklin paid for them and yes it was Franklin that persuaded me to have it done.
When I met him, I was a pert C cup and now I’m a fuller, attention-grabbing DD. It was a costly op and the cost is one of the reasons that people never notice it. At least that’s what I like to think.
This is not a cop-out on my part, but I’d always, always wanted bigger boobs. It wasn’t to attract men particularly (though I’m sure that played a part), but I just felt they’d look good on me. I’m fairly tall (5’ 9”) and have wide hips and a big ass. I just felt that I could be more in proportion with bigger boobs, that’s all. Anyway, it’s nothing now. Everyone does it.
On top of that, it makes me look stunning in a bikini. I’d always wanted to be one of those women that people can’t take their eyes off and now I’ve done it. They’re fake, but they make me feel sexy. Naked, believe me, I’m really something.
Tybalt sits next to Franklin and nods at me. ‘And who is this beautiful creature, you old sod. Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
Franklin smiles. ‘This is Saskia. Saskia Lucas. Saskia – this is Tybalt Dymond. We’ve crossed swords in the past during various business deals. Tybalt is now in luxury property. You’ll see his name in the back pages of any Condé Nast magazine.’
Tybalt takes my hand and kisses it, ‘Very pleased to meet you, Saskia. That’s a beautiful dress, if you don’t mind my saying so!’
Alien woman coughs impatiently. Tybalt gets the hint.
‘And this is Estelle. Estelle – you must have heard me talk about Franklin. One of the original Pirates of the Caribbean! If he boards your corporate ship, you know you’re in trouble!’
We all laugh at this incomprehensible, embarrassing and desperately unfunny comment. Without warning, Estelle makes a sudden grab at my wrist and peers at my watch. WTF?
‘Oh my god! You’re wearing a Roger Dubuis! Look! Look, Tybalt!’
She jerks my arms toward Tybalt so he can get a better look. I think I’m getting a Chinese burn from the friction. I’m clearly just a thing to which this marvellous watch is attached. Tybalt is more interested in the wobble of my boobs.
‘This is the one I was telling you about. The one with the amethyst and spinel face. Not that I’m hinting or anything!’
She laughs. It sounds like a vacuum cleaner being dragged backwards through a cheese grater. When she’s recovered from this laugh (although I haven’t yet), she thrusts her own watch in my face. Black leather strap, diamonds everywhere and a diamond butterfly on the face.
‘It’s the Van Cleef & Arpels
Papillon
. Lovely, isn’t it?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, ‘
well done.’
Franklin’s eyes flash dangerously at this comment. He doesn’t like me being rude to his friend’s women, even if the rudeness is over their heads. There are a very tight set of rules in my world now, though the old me still tries to break through and break them.
We order dinner. Tybalt orders obscenely expensive Champagne. I think he’s showing off. To who? Franklin? Me? I wonder if he’ll put this meal on his bill. As we eat (I had a delicious
Cabrito
Assada
with a cucumber and tomato salad) he and Franklin talk about golf. They talk about golf courses that they’ve been to and other tedious golf related stuff.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I can’t find any enthusiasm for this particular sport at all. Estelle listens keenly, pretending to be interested. I hate women who pretend to be interested in their man’s sport. It’s always a sell-out, whoever they are or whatever background they’re from.
‘So do you play, Saskia?’ Tybalt has turned his attention on me again. He’s addressing this question to my cleavage, which I’m pretty sure isn’t going to reply. It certainly doesn’t play golf, either.
I take a sip of Champagne. ‘Golf? No. I’ve never got the hang of it.’ There’s a subtext in that comment, which is to do with women not being good at things. Franklin and his friends like and approve of that type of remark and I’ve become quite good at it.
‘Well, it is more of a man’s sport, I suppose. What sort of sport are you interested in? Do you like any indoor sports?’ He gives me an arch look. I ignore this question as if I don’t understand it. That’s another one of the unspoken rules.
I’m actually thinking ‘God, what a
sleaze ball!’ For no apparent reason I start thinking about an old boyfriend of mine. I don’t like thinking about him normally, as he broke my heart. I’ve pushed him so far down that he rarely resurfaces nowadays. When he does, it’s like a pain I can feel throughout my whole body.
We were together through the whole of my gap year. I was living in Cornwall. His name was Kirstan and he was a surfer. He liked to describe golf as ‘the sport of corpses’. I laugh slightly as I think of that phrase. Tybalt picks up on this straight away. Underneath the faux chivalry is a rampant insecurity and an unpleasant aggression, which I’m sure Estelle knows about only too well.
‘Sorry – have I said something funny?’
‘No! I was just thinking about something someone said to me a long time ago.’
Franklin frowns at me. ‘Perhaps you could share it with all of us, Saskia, if it’s that funny.’
God, this is like being in bloody school. ‘Perhaps you could tell the whole class!’ I hate him sometimes. I swallow the hate and try desperately to think of something that will explain my brief snort of laughter. Something innocuous that will get a laugh and put everyone at ease again. But I can’t. I’m going to have to come clean and damn the consequences. I take a brief, feminine sip of Champagne.
‘Well, you were saying that golf was more of a man’s sport. I just remembered someone telling me that it was the sport of corpses.’
There’s a terrible silence. Can you cut silence with a knife? I think you could cut this one. I take a big gulp of Champagne and smile. I think I’ve just killed dinner. Tybalt and Franklin ignore me completely and go back to their golf chat. Estelle leans over.
‘So tell me about yourself, Saskia. How long have you and Franklin been together? Tybalt is always talking about him. He has great respect for him as a businessman and so do I.’