Volume 1 Teaser • The Beginning

Volume 1: THE GRANBY SAGA - The Beginning
141'140 words (total)
Author: Sasha Fergusson, The Granby Family

* 8th of April 1974

I was raised, a son of a British Ambassador, in Germany, France and Italy, hence my languages.
Why I lost contact to my parents?
I found out what he was doing, for real, and it wasn't diplomacy.
I confronted him and he defended his and his government's massive, anti-human and from my point of view, illegal actions.
The many cracks having shaped our relationship over the years, became an uncrossable cleft when he defended Churchill's, numerous times open proclaimed genocide against, amongst many other, the german public, not the warmachine, in WWII.
As my mother's interest in me was limited right from the word "go", other than me as a man, I had no interest in keeping the relationship alive with her, either.
Therefor, I was on my own when I became 17.
Sad?
No!
I was free!

The only place it was most likely not to meet any of my producers, was England.
So, where did I move immediately after finishing boarding school in Austria?
You guessed it .... London. Mainly because one of my mates at the boarding school was the son of a banker through whom I got the opportunity to get into the financial markets.
I loved it right from the start.

Only six years later, I was one of the first, so-called "Wizz-Kids" nowadays so common in about every industry.
I became fairly rich, by all means. Rich, by my own hard work.
I had long, light blond hair and stood 6"2 tall, sticking out of the crowd. I was tall and a good-looker, thus never experienced any difficulty in getting what I wanted. Most of the time, girls just flung themselves onto me.
All-in-all, I loved the attention I received until it became the ordinary.

This is where our story begins ....

It was one of those fabulous spring days of 1974, Monday, the 8th of April to be precise, sunny, with a cool breeze. I loved those days and still do, as you can dress on your dark suit, with tie and shirt-collar like a human being, without feeling uncomfortable due to heat. I felt complete and in total unison with myself as I decided to shop for some underwear in Harrods, during my lunch-hours [Yes, hours!]. I took a cab from the city to the bottom of Knightsbridge and decided to walk up to Harrods, enjoying the sun and the sheer fact of being alive.

Seeing people streaming around me in their multi-colored clothes, from light green to full blossom orange, so common in the early/mid 70s, made me want to wear my shades, as there was the imminent danger of me throwing-up.
I was and still am, a true conservative, not only as far as garments are concerned. I prefer the dark blue pinstripes, pure cotton shirts, basic red silk ties and black or dark-blue slippers, so outrageous in the financial district of those days, as your average cityslicker wore laced-up 'boots', most likely Oxfords. I grew-up in slippers and wouldn't have swapped for anything.

Although my conscious mind play-acted total relaxation that day, I knew that this feeling was only the surface. Since I woke-up this very morning, I felt some kind of tension inside of me, the kind of tension I always felt, when big changes were about to show up on the horizon. May they be good or bad ....
You need to grow this kind of ESP/gut-feeling when your entire professional life is hallmarked by trading commodities and everything else which moves about rapid enough to make any Joe Blow's head spin for a week.

Shopping for me was/is a necessity, no joy. Therefor I rapidly bought some of my favorite YSL suits, fitting me as if they were made to measure, classic red silk ties, shirts I had a-plenty still and totally forgot about my boxers. I had the lot delivered to my office and left Harrods only a half an hour later.

I saw Gwendolyn from about a hundred yards away, heading towards me and directly pinned her appearance right out of the blue, to my tension, falling off like an unwanted coat.
She stuck out of the crowd as she was a stunning beauty with her long, black hair and fringe, perfectly framing her triangular face, accentuating her big, light blue eyes, beaming into the crowd like fully ablaze head-lights in pitch black darkness.
I looked straight at her, trying hard not to blink, desperate to not miss the moment when she might have looked up.
With every stride I took, I became more desperate for her to look into my direction, at least.
.... 80, .... 60, .... 40 yards.

"Look up, please!" I prayed silently.

Finally, the moment came when we were only 20 yards apart and to my delight, she looked straight at my immediate vicinity.
As I was/am extremely VAIN(!), I must admit, that I thought she was looking at me, but immediately wasn't as sure as I wanted to be. The only thing I gathered was, that she didn't return her eyes to the pavement.
Approaching each other, I thought I'd detected a hint of a smile on her face which made my 23-year old heart leap like a frog.

I put a smile on, just in case, and although I was in somewhat of a disorderly state, I tried hard to assemble my verbal approach, as we were closing up, rapidly. During the next couple of steps we took, she looked down, minding her footing. As we were about five yards apart, she looked up again, but this time, straight into my eyes. I now could clearly see her smile. I paced-up to show my urgency to meet her.

When we were just two paces away from each other, I stopped and went into reverse gear, allowing her to keep on walking at the same pace she was.

I was careful to not stop her. If I would have, she would have surely tried to pass me by, possibly regarding the move as a breach of privacy. So I quickly coordinated motions, made eye-contact and smiled. She looked at me and lowered her pace to accommodate me.

"I'm not doing this every day, nor do I have a lot of experience in it, but I saw you and was mesmerised by your beauty. May I introduce myself? My name is Sasha, Sasha Fergusson and I would like to invite you for a coffee or a drink, if you have some minutes to spare for humble me."

Gwendolyn stopped, looked at me from head to toe, grabbing her chin with thumb and indexfinger, rolled her eyes up, underlining her obvious thinking process, said, "Yes, why not?" and beamed one of her uncomparable smiles at me, showing me her even, white teeth.
"Where would you like to go?" I asked whilst trying to ignore St. Paul's bells ringing in my head.
I pointed at different locations and she selected The Tower Hotel a bit further down Knightsbridge.
"Great choice!" I said, as I knew the ground-level coffee-shop.
"I'm happy that you agree." she replied and smiled baring her perfect teeth again.

I avoided the big mistake of giving her a good look-over, as this is the privilege of the female!
They do it blatently, as we witnessed, but YOU are not supposed to!

We started walking towards the hotel, when I took care of guiding her path through the crowd, by occasionally contacting her back with my flat right, whilst my left was safeguarding her towards onstreaming pedestrians.

"I'm sorry that I had to stop you right here and then, as said, it is not what I usually do, but I do beg your pardon, in case you felt discomforted." I white-lied and continued "But could you imagine, I would have passed you by without contacting you? I wouldn't have gotten any sleep for the next few years, thinking of the lost opportunity!"

She looked at me and replied with a broad smile on her face "Am I to believe this?"
"Well, err, what should I say? Well, .... YES!"
Into the mutual smiles, she stated "You seem to have a right sense of humour."
"You seem to not have been raised on a graveyard, either!"
She giggled and replied "Matter of fact, I WAS! But that's a completely different story!"
'Jackpot!' I thought immediately and I had not the slightest hint of a clue how right I was.

I opened the door for her and we stepped into the coffeeshop, where we were immediately received by a waiter.
"A table for two, please," and to Gwendolyn "Where would you like to sit?" the waiter asked and I continued ".... Window or aisle?"
She laughed, so did the waiter.
"Window", she replied still smiling.

The waiter saw us to the perfect table, which earned him a fiver, discretely handed.
Although there are sheer masses in and out of that joint every day, he treated us with his best service possible and like I was a flaming regular! What a tip can do, placed into the right palm, at the right time ....
Anyway, on with the story.

When I ordered two cappuccini I said "I am so happy that I jumped over my shadow to address you." looking deep into her eyes, smiling like being in love.
"You are ....?"
"What I am ....? I am .... nervous!"
She laughed again "You are nervous? Really?!"
"I am usually shy, but this time, it was all different."
I judged her laugh that went to a caring smile, she tended to believe me.
"You don't seem to be neither shy, nor nervous." she said equally caring.
"I hardly ever appear nervous, because of my profession, I guess. I learned, that being nervous or even panic is a bad advisor. You learn that the hard way."
"So, what do you do?"
"I'm a broker."
"So you're dealing on the stockexchange?"
"No, on the commodity-exchanges."
"The local markets??"
"Yes, but also in New York and Chicago."
"Long days ...."
"You can say that again."
"Long days ...." she replied.
We just had to laugh.

We were chatting about the World's financial markets for a quarter of an hour now ONLY because she asked and was very interested in the subject! Otherwise I wouldn't have touched my hob with a barge-pole, when I asked her, mainly to get off the topic "I'm not holding you up, by any means, do I?"
She looked at her watch and exclaimed "How time flies, got to be down Hanover Square in five minutes!"
"Would you mind me, showing you there?"
"I cannot ask that!"
"I'd love you to!"

I waved the waiter, paid and we jumped right into the first taxi waiting in front of the hotel.
"Hanover Square in five minutes" and handed him a tenner through the window.
"Very well Gov" he replied and as soon as we were seated, he pulled out or should I better say, took off?

Helping her into the cab, I had the first real opportunity to look at her.
She wasn't only pretty, she was absolutely stunning with long legs to die for, her 4" heels and opaque tights (yuck!), leading all the way to the hem of a black leather miniskirt. She was about 5"6 and her black hair had a steel-blue shine. Over a black sweater she wore a short, black leather jacket. Apart from her tights, everything was right down my alley, taken into consideration, that she dressed herself! ;-)
We were both pushed into our seats and immediately flew right, her on top of me, because the cabby did a U-turn at full throttle! We had to laugh, when we tried in vain to hold on to whatever was available.

"What did you give him?" she asked, "A hundred Pounds?"
"No, a tenner!" I laughed.
"Well, times are rough these days!" she replied.
We laughed again.

"By the way, my name is Gwendolyn, but everybody calls me Gwen."
"What a beautiful name!" I replied wholeheartedly and continued "When everybody calls you Gwen, I call you Gwendolyn, if I may."
And so I did for as long as we were together. I guess she later loved me for that, too.
"Gwendolyn ..." I said quietly and looked at her eyes "I'd love to see you again."
"I'd also like to see you again!"
"That's wonderful."
"You want my number?"
"Is the pope a catholic?"
We laughed again, so loud that the cabby looked at us in the rear-view mirror.
"Do you have a pen?"
Knowing that I didn't, I asked the cabby and he handed me one over his shoulder through the ajar partition.

She scribbled her name and number on a piece of paper and I did the same, showing her that I was earnest and as soon as that was done, the cabby turned into Hanover Square.
"Five minutes, Sir." He exclaimed proudly.
"You can stop right here" Gwendolyn said.
"Well done, mate! Please hang about." I saluted him and stepped out of the car, immediately turning to help Gwendolyn out.
"Can I call you ... Tonight?" I asked coyly.
"Sure, why not?"
"Around eight?"
"Yes, that's fine!"
She smiled at me and wanted to leave, but returned to give me a peck on the cheek.
Without waiting for a reply, she ran towards the building to our left, her hair floating in the air. She turned twice to see me still standing there, I waved.
"Cor blimey!" I heard the cabby say when she looked back the second time.

Turning to the driver, I asked "Want a break?"
"I could do with one."
"I'll get you a pint in the Bride & Groom."
"How appropriate!" he said and we both laughed.

"Where did you get that from?" he asked by looking into the rearview mirror.
"Off the street, about a half an hour ago!"
"How do you do it?"
"Long story, always a happy ending."
"Would you tell me HOW you do it?"
"I'll tell you in the Bride & Groom." which was virtually around the corner.

In the pub, I told him all about my view on women. He was surprised how simple it all becomes, once you take the blinkers off. We drank two pints each and he hopped off.
I walked around the corner and I was home. You might ask me about not having to go back to my work? I had a sales assistant and a secretary.

I was thinking about Gwendolyn for the whole afternoon, nothing to do with sex, though. I wasn't imagining how I would fuck her, moreover I was considering what kind of person she was. Was she an iron maiden on the inside, one of the new ‘female' bra-burners or was she a normal, lovable person, fun to be with? The first impression I had was the latter and I sincerely hoped for the rest.

I was on the phone to the office to make time pass quickly as I hardly could wait for eight o'clock to come around. Although I was fairly busy, the day dragged like weeks, the last five minutes chewing-gummed like days. I never felt this way before.

Sharp eight, I dialed her number.
Toot, toot-toot ... toot, toot-toot ... toot, toot-toot ... toot, toot-toot.
It was ringing, no end. My heart was beating throat-level.
The longer it rang, the more I lost hope she'd answer.
I hung up.
"SHIT! " I half-screamed aloud.

I decided to wait a half an hour.
I was in a bad mood, to say the least. All hope and care I'd projected into her, was gone. Whilst I was falling into a bottomless pit, I asked myself "Had she been faking interest?"
"No!"
I replayed how I experienced her some hours ago and I decided with 100% surety that she hadn't faked, but there still was a residue of doubt.
Therefor my anger quickly faded and was replaced by questions like "If she wasn't home, had something happened to her? Maybe she had an accident?" I saw her lying under a car, in a hospital bed, on an operation table with hooded surgeons all around her, shaking their heads sadly ....
In seconds, all of my anger diluted into worry.
"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! " I said aloud when the phone rang. One leap and I was there.
I picked the receiver up and quoted my phone-number, as that was the norm in England.
It was Gwendolyn!
"Have you rung?"
"Sure did, sharp on the hour and as you didn't answer, I was worried that something might have happened to you."
"You're sweet, but I was held-up."
I looked at my watch and saw that it was just four minutes pass the hour. Me fool!
"That happens. Everything is fine, now that you're on the phone."
"I have been thinking about you all afternoon."
"Me too ... Thinking about YOU, that is."
I heard her smile.
"I'm a little worn out."
"Oh, I leave you alone then." was my appropriate answer.
"No, no! No, no! Don't!"
"So we can stay on the phone for a little longer?"
There was a little pause just before she said softly "I'd rather see you."
"How wonderful! Would you like to have a quiet, relaxing dinner with me somewhere?"
"That'd suit me fine, Sasha."
"Where would you like to go?"
"I don't mind, really. I'll follow your choice."
"Small, cosy, come-as-you-are, candles on the table, red-and-white tablecloths, iti place?"
"Sounds absolutely great!"
"Shall I pick you up?"
"That'd be fantastic."
"Where?"
She gave me her address which was not too far off the way.
"When?"
"In an hour?"
"Perfect! I'll be there at 10 past nine."
"See you!"
"Bye-bye, Sasha."
My heart was leaping and jumping by the prospects, a feeling I'd never experienced before and I knew, I was in unconditional love.

I went downstairs at a quarter to nine. There were always taxis in front of the Carlton, just up my road.
I'd changed to a fresh, plain dark-blue YSL suit with a light blue shirt, red silk tie and put shiny black slippers, decorated by two tassles each, onto my feet. I felt great and very much looking forward to, meeting Gwendolyn for our first dinner of, hopefully, many more to come. I made sure I had plastics and some folding notes with me, just in case.
I always kept ones, fivers and an AMEX in the breast-pocket, the bigger notes, in the right inside pocket of my jacket. I never had a wallet. Wait, that's not true. I once was given one for my birthday in which I stored all the cash I received on this day and promptly lost it. Since then, I never had one and I never lost a penny.

On the way to Gwendolyn's house, I was smiling.
Since I had told my last steady girlfriend to go and jump in a lake, I decided to concentrate on my career, which had done me good. I had some one-night stands since then and mistakenly thought my life was perfect, but, the minute I met Gwendolyn, I knew that there was something important missing, affection and consequently, love.

During my entire life, I had been developing standards, my women had to meet, in particular .... dresscode! They could have been the most beautiful in the World, but if they didn't live-up to the standards, it was over as quickly as it began. That was the reason why I became a true drifter, a pussy- chaser.
Until I met Gwendolyn, I thought I was hunting pussy, exclusively. That was obviously wrong.
Then I suddenly knew why I behaved like a skimming stone ....

Although I loved to have chats with cabbies, I remained silent with sudden mixed feelings, as far as me meeting Gwendolyn was concerned. I was afraid that my expectations were too high, the standards too stringent to fit. Somehow I manoeuvred myself into a strange mood, which I had to get out of, presto. To accomplish that task, I went back to the moment I spotted her in the crowd and everything following the incident. That cheered me up.

"Sir? This is Wimpole Street. Which number was it?"
"Number 12.", "The perfect number." I added quietly.
"That's right here." he exclaimed and stopped. I checked my watch to see whether I was on time.
"Please wait, I'm meeting somebody. We'll be going to Tottenham Court Road hereafter."
"Very well Sir."

I quickly found her bell and rang it twice. Almost immediately a window opened on the first floor, Gwendolyn stuck her pretty head out "I'll be right with you!"
"I'll be here, take your time!" waving her, but she was already gone.

Only a few moments later, the front entrance opened and she appeared. She must have been running down the stairs or was it her twin sister I saw upstairs?

My heart skipped a beat.
She wore a clinging red wriggle-dress which went down to the top of her knees. The square cut-out displayed her stunning cleavage to perfection. Around the neck she wore a matching silk scarf, which I later noticed, trailed her back down to her bum.
Her black-hosed feet stuck in 4" red pumps with a low cut at her toes. Provocatively slow, she walked down the few stairs leading to the pavement. Her makeup was absolutely perfect and her pouting, bright red lips, were accentuated by smooth lipgloss.
We met at the foot of the stairs and I lightly hugged her, giving her a small peck on the cheek.
"Good evening, Gwendolyn, you look absolutely marvellous!"
"Thank you!" she replied and took my hand to be guided to the cab.
What a sight she was!

She climbed into the backseat and I plunged in right beside her, whilst closing the door.
"Off we go!" I said to the cabby, seeing him eying her up in the rear-view mirror.
"Off we go-ho ....!" I reminded him.

After my reminder, he immediately started the engine, as though he had forgotten something. I turned to Gwendolyn and saw her smiling.

As soon as we were at cruising speed, she crossed her legs and I heard that familiar swishing sound only stockings do. My eyes flew to her legs to check.

"You like them?"
"Your tights?"
"They're not tights, silly!"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm wearing stockings!"

I felt blood rush to my ears and to my dick, not in shame, but in excitement!
Being the man I am, I am hardly ever speechless, but in those days, stockings were the utter exception! I had been frisking London for shops where to buy genuine nylon stockings, for months, until I found that only a few outlets still had them in plentiful stock. Oh, you could purchase them for 50 quid a pair in selected lingerie boutiques, but I found places, where you could buy the most delightful 12den RHTs for less than 50P!

It was, and still is, mandatory to me, that my women wear stockings and say good-bye to tights in all. The ones, and there were quite a few, who didn't want to wear them, I sent to Hades right away. Some even called me a pervert, preferring my women to wear an item of utter elegance and sexiness, which was, only five, six years ago the lady's garment of every day use! Naturally, like any right-minded man [not to be mistaken with today's metro-sexual wimps], I prefer my women to wear stockings made from pure nylon over toddler's wear screaming "I am a recycled truck-tyre"!

Therefor, to make it crystal-clear right away, I replied "I very much prefer them over tights".
"Me too, but they're so hard to find, these days."
"Have you tried Fenwick's on Hanover Square? They're reasonably priced, too!"
"They have stockings?"
"Yes, all kinds of RHTs!"
"Right under my nose?!"
"Yes!"
We laughed.
"I bought those here, right opposite Fenwick's at the lingerie store."
"They're expensive."
"And how! That's why I only wear stockings on special occasions. If I'd have more, I'd wear them every day."

My heart skipped more than one beat, as I, to top it all, just discovered her suspenders leaving distinct marks on her dress-skirt, making it extremely difficult to reply in an orderly fashion, but I finally managed "So this is a special occasion?"
"YES!" she said and smiled at me with wide open eyes.

I was dumbstruck and felt wild swarming butterflies in my belly. Still, I answered, pulling myself together as much as I could, pursuing the subject "Have you ever tried fully fashioned stockings?"
"No, but I'd love to!" her eyes lit-up even more and continued "I adore those old movies from the 30s, 40s and 50s, where women were so elegant, always wearing seamed nylons. I tried to find them just about everywhere, but, to my dismay, I couldn't."
"Have you tried Kings Road?"
"You're kidding!"
"Nope!" and now I smiled broadly.
"Tan, black or white?"
"All of them!"
"WOW! WHERE? TELL ME! PLEASE!"
"You know where Cecil Gee's is?"
"Yes."
"Just a few steps from that is an old-fashioned store with all kinds of rubble in the display."
"There?"
"Yes, THERE!"
"How many times have I been walking pass that shop!"
"What's your size? 8 ½ or 9?"
"Nine, with a long leg, if they have."
"I'll be looking after that for you, tomorrow! Promised."
"You are .... you are made for me!" she exclaimed, embraced me very tight and pressed her lips hard onto my cheek.
I felt like being teleported to happy times of my youth. Wonderful times they were. I felt the same enthusiasm, the same tense feeling, finding a soulmate, an island in a sea of recycled truck-tyres.

[Now, you got to know that in those days buying hosiery or lingerie for women was a very intimate thing. Unlike today where your average PARTNER (formerly known as 'wife/girlfriend') says, whilst clipping her toenails on the living-room table and scratching her bum, sniffing her fingertips for results, "When you go shopping for groceries today Willie, after you've done the washing-up and the floor, naturally, .... you hear me Willie(?!), bring me some tights .... don't forget the detergent for your laundry, no buying ciggies, you hear me, Willie?! Don't mind the colour or size, they’re luckily one-size-fits-all nowadays, have to dress-up in my pants-suit, it's uncle Sam's funeral tomorrow! Got that?! Willie!! Did you hear me????!!!!]

Gwendolyn re-crossed her legs and the sound, so familiar, was to be heard over the noise of the engine.
"Swish!" she said "I love that soft rustling noise."
"Me too!"
"Want to touch them?" looking at me with a curious expression on her face.
Without an answer, the fingertips of my right made contact to her knee upon which she jumped a little as if she experienced a light electric shock.
"Wonderful!" I said.
"I love your touch, Sasha!"
"We'll have to stop, otherwise .... no guarantees given." I whispered.
"We don't want that to happen." She said playfully taking my hand off her knee, but instead of letting go, she held my hand and said "It's like I've known you for years."
"I was waiting for the moment to say the same to you, Gwendolyn."
We kept quiet, holding hands all the way, occasionally smiling at eachother, until we reached the restaurant.

I held the cab-door open while helping her out, closed the door behind her and paid the cabby. When I turned to her, she looked at the slim, three- floored building.
"I have not known that this existed."
"I used to work around the corner, that's why I know. It is a cosy place with a very good kitchen."
"That's all we want!"

I opened the door to the restaurant and was greeted by the owner, who always did the honours. [Gwendolyn wasn't impressed by this, which made me really happy. Why? I always feel bad, when people admire me, it makes me feel a show-off. Lousy.]

We were shown to a nice corner-table by the window on the first floor.
As soon as we were seated, Gwendolyn started the conversation "First, I'd like to thank you for not having bugged me for what I'm doing for a living, where I come from, etc."
"If you don't want to tell, I'm fine by that. I don't want to go out with a job or a possible heritage, but with a person."
She smiled understandingly and continued "I'm volunteering with Vogue."
"Oh yes! Hanover Square, Vogue House! I was watching you, not where you went!"
"That's nice of you to say."
"Not nice, true!"
"And I study journalism."
"Tell me more!"

She told me all I had to know to have a good picture of her studies, work and duties.
She also told me that the flat she lives in was one of her father's, which didn't surprise me at all. I immediately knew she came from a good stable, when I first saw her.
Everything sounded very interesting to me, but would be too boring for you, so I fast forward to the more interesting detail.

After I had ordered coffee she said "By the way, have you seen our last edition?"
"No, not yet."
"We did quite a large article about hosiery, predicting the come-back of stockings."
"Did you .... wee .... THEY?"
"Yes they did. We reported that Christian Dior is about, producing nylons again!"
"WOW! I really like this kind of news."
"So I can regard myself as a trend-setter." she remarked proudly and threw her hands up into a winner's position.
"And how!"
"I like wearing stockings, because of the things which come with them, like nice, lacy or silk suspenderbelts and low-cut or lacy see-through bras. I only feel complete when wearing all of it."
"You won't believe how I value what you just said. Elegance begins underneath."
"You just put it in a nutshell. I couldn't agree more!" she replied.
"What colours do you prefer?"
"I'd like tan stockings for every day wear, if I had enough of them, that is. Black are a little naughty, but surely depending on what one wears. Fully fashioned, I'd save for the evenings and grand nights out."
"I'm overwhelmed by your views. I feel exactly the same! I am impressed."
"Thank you!" she replied and smiled.

All through the evening I could hear her stockings talk. A swish here and a swish there. She obviously enjoyed the sound as much as I did, but even more, she enjoyed me being helplessly excited by it.

"Can we have lunch together, tomorrow?"
"I'd love to!" she replied.
"Doesn't that interfere with your work?" she asked a little later.
"Well, no, not really. I wanted to take a day or two off, anyway."
"You're not doing it for me, Sasha?"
"Honestly?"
"Yes, please."
"Honestly, I do."
"You shouldn't! You might get in trouble!"
"I won't, believe me." I replied soothingly and touched her hand as softly as I could.
"You're sure?" she asked with a face like a kicked dog.
"I am totally sure and please .... no need to worry."

To cut this conversation, I called the waiter for the bill, who served us two Sambuca on the house. It was THEIR standard.

"Shall we go somewhere else? We could have a nightcap in the Sportsman."
"That sounds like a nice idea, but then I'll really have to go home. Got to be in the office by eight."
"EIGHT?! Murder!!"
"I'm afraid so."
"When do you get up?"
"Around ten."
"WOW!"
"I work until 9 or longer, most of the days."
"You'll have to tell me more about your job and what exactly you're doing. Promise?"
"Sure! Maybe you visit me at our office one day?"
"I'd love to!"

Just when we finished the Sambuca, the waiter came with the bill, I paid [Yes, that was normal in those days] and we left. The Sportsman's Club was just a hundred yards away.
As soon as we were back on the streets of London, I put my arm around her hip, walking towards Oxford Street. She was most definitely in a good mood and obviously enjoyed my presence. We walked by a pub called Blue Post and soon were greeted by the uniformed doorman of the Club.

"Hello Mr. Fergusson, nice to see you here again! It has been a while ...."
"Thanks George. Meet my girlfriend Gwendolyn, please."
"I am enchanted, Miss Gwendolyn." he bowed and kissed her hand.
When his head came up he was looking at her again, holding her hand a touch too long.
"George!"
"Yes Sir?" he looked startled, still holding her hand.
"George, she might need that hand, later-on."
"Oh sorry Sir!" he said, waking from the trance.
"If Miss Gwendolyn requires to enter in order to wait for me one day, you will let her in, won't you?"
"Sure Sir!"
"That's very nice of you, thank you." and dropped a fiver into his hand.

[The reason for the above question: 1st, clubs were clubs, nobody allowed but members. 2nd, single Ladies, especially when good-looking, entering a club on their own were regarded most likely as being hookers or 'golddiggers' looking for sugardaddy.]

Once inside, Gwendolyn asked "Can you show me to the Ladys'?"
"Just follow me."
"Where will you be sitting?"
"Don't worry, I'll wait for you, just outside."
"Thank you."

She blew me a kiss and vanished behind the door.
'What a stunning looking, well-educated, soundly brought-up young Lady she is. You are a lucky bastard!' I said to myself.

It lasted her a pee, a quick wash and a check on her makeup and she was through the door again.

"Thank you for waiting." She said and whispered a kiss onto my cheek.
"It's a pleasure waiting for you."
"You're so kind."
"Let's go and find a seat."

The Sportsman was a bit run-down and by continental standards, scruffy. I guessed it passed its prime which must have been the mid to late 60s. I can hear you ask why I haven't shown her to a nicer place? All of the places in London were somehow scruffy in those days, so nobody really cared about it. The only exception were the high-end restaurants, nightclubs and international hotels.

I ordered two Vodka Bitter Lemon and we started talking about this, that and the other. I saw that she became tired and less attentive, so I asked her whether we should leave and we did.

George waved a cab and soon we were in front of her door. I was beside her at the foot of the steps leading to the entrance when she turned.
"I want to say that I really enjoy being with you. .... As I said earlier, it is like I've known you for a long time."
"Thank you! I feel the same way for you too."
"Life seems to be very easy with you, Sasha."
She looked at me thankfully but tired.
"I wish you a good night and wonderful dreams."
"Thank you."
"May I kiss you Gwendolyn?"
"I thought you'd never ask ...!" she giggled quietly and closed her eyes slowly.
The feel of her full lips was sensational.

"Good night Gwendolyn."
"Good night, Sasha." she said, looking sad.
She took a business-card from her handbag and scribbled her office-number on its back.
"Give me a call tomorrow morning when you have the time to tell me where to meet for lunch, OK?" and handed me the card with a smile.
"I will. Good night."

We were standing three feet apart now, still looking at each other.
"Now go." I hushed her.
"Good night, Darling." she said when she finally turned to walk up the stairs.

I saw her getting her key out, sticking it into the lock, opening the door and turn again. With her lips she formed another "Good night", waved at me and closed the door behind her.

I got in the waiting cab and in a jiff, I was home.
The picture of her didn't leave me until I fell asleep. I definitely was in love.