Writing for Fun
Dressing To Kill - The Need for Speed - Jenni Bowers
May 2014
She put on her pretty pink blouse with the frilly, v-necked collar which showed off her ample décolletage and her short straight black skirt, dark shiny tights and black patent high heels, brushing her blonde hair until it shone, carefully applying makeup subtly so her 'natural' look would draw the kind of attention she hoped for from James, the handsome broker who was returning to work today after his long business trip to Mexico, which, as his secretary, she had planned, booking his meetings, hotels, flights and collecting his currency, checking his passport and visas were all in order. It had been successful, with James picking up plenty of good business from the South American bloodstock contacts.
Meanwhile, Ray donned his leathers, gazing at his dragon tattoo in the mirror, his back was a work of art, his arms covered with faces of beautiful, strangely mystical ladies and even his bald head sported a fearsome looking skull which was now being rendered invisible as he dressed ready for the road. With the sun out and dry weather forecast, this was a good day for a ride and he intended to do a ton early in the morning round the lovely country lanes of North Wales, whilst the roads were empty.
Leaving the bloodstock farm in Denbigh they owned a vast expanse of beautiful countryside where they also farmed sheep. James had once joked with Ann – 'little fluffy lambikins' – during a discussion about the pretty little gambolling additions to the spring fields – she was not so unhappy to eat their tender meat though!
Ann travelled to London excited and looking forward to greeting James, she still couldn't believe how much she liked this very rich, 'hooray Henry', educated at Eton, she a staunch Labour supporter too – they'd had many friendly disagreements about politics and somehow he always managed to convince her she was wrong!
Now as she planned another broking trip for a different colleague she wondered if he'd be wearing one of his sharp mohair suits from Saville Row, last time she saw him they'd been at one of the numerous company receptions and she'd accidentally spilt a glass of wine over him as someone pushed past her – James had followed her back to the office and stood, shaking his leg, laughing – showing he wasn't annoyed by the incident.
Pulling on his thick leather gloves Ray gave his bike one last polish and revved it up – no ordinary machine this – his prized Harley – such power and excitement in that roaring sound and he was off, gradually increasing speed, his leathers keeping him warm he leaned the bike over, going round the bends in the narrow lanes and 'straightening out' the roads, this was really living.
His helmet was a good one, although he really preferred to ride without it when he thought no-one would catch him; today he wore it as although it was so sunny the wind was cold and he'd had problems with his ears lately.
James had flown into Cardiff and gone to visit his parents at the farm for the weekend before returning to his job on the Monday. Casually dressed in his blue check shirt and jeans with boots, he would change at his flat in London's swanky St John's Wood, he left early to miss the heavy traffic which would build up later in the day. So after a circuit once round the yard, waving to his family, the grooms and the horse he'd enjoyed riding over the weekend, he began the drive back to London and work again.
His Saab was filthy as usual – perhaps asking his brother to take it to Wales hadn't been a good idea, he grinned as he thought of Ann, telling him off about it being so dirty on the London streets – his flippant reply that no-one would 'nick' it in that state. The conversation they'd had when she'd said, 'drive careful' and his reply, 'Oh no, I have a need, the need for speed'.
This statement was borne out by his other love, horseracing, not only insuring the bloodstock and mixing with the racing community but taking part in the amateurs race for the Grand National on the day before the official race.
Ann had joined in the betting one year when he raced and all the staff had watched on the Boardroom TV, but he fell at the first post, breaking his arm and collar bone – that had been difficult, listening to the others comments about what his injuries might be, until the commentator announced that, 'The jockey is conscious and doing well in hospital.'
Since then James had recovered and returned to work just as cheerful and happy to be part of this interesting profession – insuring horses owned by extremely rich Arab princes and others who could afford to play 'the sport of kings'. His latest trip to Mexico had been one of many which the Bloodstock team brokered.
She arrived at work and the usual busy schedule of taking notes, typing policies and so on kept her mind occupied whilst she waited to see him walk through the door. Noticing staff members going into the Directors office and coming out looking grim it seemed the expected redundancies since the company were taken over had begun.
At last it was her turn, still no James – 'He's a bit late now,' she thought as she entered the Assistant Directors office.
'Sit down, Ann,' Richard invited her.
'Hmm – I'm for the chop,' she thought.
'I've got bad news Ann.'
'Well yes, I guessed it would happen as there's now too many secretaries here,' she replied.
'No, I'm afraid it's worse than that, James is dead!'
'You're joking,' she laughed, then it hit her, no – he wouldn't joke like that, although he was good at April fools, this was early May.
'He was in a road accident on the way here, apparently a motorcyclist, on the wrong side of the road, they were both killed.'