My work colleague and I had waited for our delayed flight in the T5 lounge at Heathrow long enough to have one G&T too many. I had made sure that our seats on this flight to San Francisco were at the back of the premium economy cabin on the left side of the plane. This meant we had two comfortable seats, next to each other, and nobody between us and the grey curtain separating us from economy. Better still, there was nobody in the central row of seats.The crew brought some bubbly to compensate for the delay, and we settled back. Pretty soon our legs were touching. After take off, I spread a blanket over my lap. She did the same.It wasn't long before I had my hand on her mid thigh under her blanket. She didn't protest. I moved my hand up her thigh. Still no protest. Rather, she eased back, closed her eyes and opened her legs.I took my cue and was soon gently massaging her, feeling how warm she already was through her yoga pants. ("Dressing for comfort, long haul," she had explained at. Sitting there, just watching the entrance.I wasn’t there for more than twenty minutes when a black Bentley parked outside the solicitors. In the front seats were the two bodyguards I saw a few days ago walking out of Mr Clark’s office. The back seat windows of the car were tinted black. I was unable to see inside. But I had an idea who might be the passenger.Both bodyguards got out of the car simultaneously. One going to the entrance of the solicitors, while the other opened the back door of the Bentley. As I suspected, it was Designer Suit. He started straightening his jacket while looking to his left and right. Once he was ready, he began making his way into the solicitors. The bodyguard who opened the door for him, following him closely. The other staying outside, standing there with his hands crossed, like a bouncer at a nightclub.A few minutes later, Randolph appeared, still wearing the shoulder sling. Limping up to the bodyguard, they exchanged words. With the guard shaking his.
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