The Mind Man

Chapter eight

Laura Taylor ran a black stocking up her long slender leg and fastened it to a black suspender belt. Even though there wasn't anyone in her life at present to appreciate her lingerie, it still provided her with a source of confidence. In her job she needed whatever edge she could get. She stood up straight and wriggled the skirt of her light gray dress down over her hips and studied herself carefully in the full length mirror. Her breasts were not large but she knew she created a desirable and influential image. She liked what she saw and she smiled. The dress clung tightly to her tall slim frame. Her long, sculpted arms remained bare and the sparkling Chanel necklace emphasized her long delicate neck. She opened her closet and carefully selected a pair of black Salvatore Ferragamo shoes to complement the picture. It was very important for her to look her absolute best.

She walked into the bathroom to brush and blow-dry shape and bounce into her long black hair. After applying make-up like a meticulous artist she went downstairs to find her roommate, lounging in a bean bag watching an old Tom and Jerry cartoon on the television.

"You're up early," Laura remarked.

"I've not been in long. I'm off to bed in a minute."

"Oh I see. It was one of those nights was it? What was he like?"

"Paul? Oh, he was all right once he stopped asking after you."

"I only spoke briefly to him last night when he came to pick you up."

"Yeah I know, but you don't half look a treat when you're done up. I put him straight though. I told him you were vain and high maintenance and that anyway he wouldn't stand a chance because you had men queuing to go out with you."

"I wish."

"I told him bigger women were better at it. After that he couldn't keep his hands off me. Men are such creeps."

"Did he like what he got?"

"He didn't say much, but when he dropped me off he asked me to go sailing with him on his father's yacht, down at Plymouth next weekend."

"Oooh...he's got money has he? Are you going to go?"

"I don't know. I hate the sea. I get seasick all the time."

Laura went into the small kitchen. "Is there any tea made?" she shouted.

"Yes I've just made a pot. I'll have one too. And there's a packet of crisps in the pantry, throw them out will you?"

Laura emerged shortly after with the teapot and two cups, together with the potato chips and two slices of toast thinly spread with marmalade, on a tray.

"You're a dear." Helen grabbed the packet and attacked the chips with vengeance.

"How was Paris?" she managed to ask with a full mouth.

"Every journalist in the world was there."

"Did you talk to the President Jacques...what's his face?"

"Jacques Chirac. No, because he is not the President anymore, silly, Nicolas Sarkozy is and no, I didn't get to see him. We were crammed into a tiny room and had to wait for hours. Everyone was getting so angry and it became intolerable. Finally Michele Alliot-Marie, the foreign minister, issued a statement. It was nothing I couldn't have learnt from here. And as soon as she finished she left, we weren't allowed to ask any questions. It was terrible. I only managed to save the trip by getting an interview with the Socialist leader and his views on immigration."

"Then who's Jacques Cousteau?"

"He's the underwater diver guy, you idiot; he died a long time ago. You haven't listened to a word I've said have you?"