Bluebells

British English spelling and grammar.

Recently I saw yet another home early / strange car on the drive. I thought I'd mix it up a bit.

***

Bluebells

The Party

The company Christmas party was in full swing.

"Well everybody seems to be having a good time." he said.

"They do." I replied.

He must have sensed my hesitation.

"A little restrained perhaps?"

"Perhaps." I agreed.

"Sorry," he said, "I should introduce myself. I'm Thomas Townsend, the CEO."

We shook hands.

"I'm Mitch Lawrence." I replied. "I don't work here; Gail Lawrence is my wife."

"Ah, that's why I didn't recognise you. I know all my management staff. Gail is a bit of a highflier. That's her I think, dancing with Chris Wainwright, general manager accounts."

He was showing off now. I half-expected him to tell me the birthdays of Wainwright's children, or who my wife's favourite movie star was.

"Yes, Gail calls it circulating, and pretends it's a chore. But actually she loves dancing; I'm not very good at it."

"I used to be a good dancer once, but I don't bother much since the divorce."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.

"Water under the bridge now, but the divorce is the reason why my employees are so, shall we say, well behaved. Some years ago, my then wife worked for another big company. I caught her having an affair with her boss. Now my people are aware I'm a stickler about inappropriate behaviour. Any liaisons involving married employees who stray; and I fire them."

"Quite right too." I said.

"I'm not a monster though, some will get too drunk, and there'll be the usual festive flirting. But I firmly believe people can have fun and let their hair down, without breaking their marriage vows. It has happened of course. Invariably it's a male manager demonstrating his perceived power over a female in his department. The perpetrators soon found out where the true power lies."

The Call-out

Nobody likes being woken at 5.13. I sleep with my mobile phone under the pillow and stared at it, confused. Its alarm was set for 7.20. How could I make such a mistake? Then the fuzzy remnants of sleep retreated; it was a call.

"Hello?" I said quietly.

"Mitch?"

"Speaking."

"Sorry mate, you've got to get in to work, a-s-a-p. The system's gone down."

"But it should be Cliff on call."

"He's not answering. You're next on the list."

"The lazy bastard."

"I know. I'll make sure he does your next on-call duty."

I scrambled out of bed. Luckily, Gail had not woken. I rushed downstairs and put the kettle on. Then came back up, splashed cold water on my face, finger-combed my hair, and pulled some clothes on; no time to shower. I was out of the door ten minutes later, carrying a flask of instant black coffee and a muesli bar. Gail's car was in the way.

She usually leaves before me in the mornings, so blocking me in, on our short driveway is not an issue. It was possible for me to back up a bit and drive around her. But she goes mental when she sees tyre tracks over the lawn. So I went back in, took her keys off the hook and moved her Land Rover Defender out in the road; then eased my BMW out. As I returned to reposition her car, I noticed something inside. I could have opened that door a thousand times and never spotted it; but there it was. The elasticated pocket behind the driver's seat had the slightest bulge. Maybe I was subconsciously on the look-out for something like this. I follow American Football on English tv, and had mislaid my 49ers cap. I opened the rear door hoping to find it, but found a pair of used black panties instead.

I didn't want Gail to know I'd discovered them. So I reversed her car in an arc across the grass, and back onto the driveway as close to the house as I could get. Then free-wheeled it forward to its original position nearest the road. Her panties stayed in their hiding place. I checked her tyres for grass clippings and they were clean. But then I spotted something else in the tread; a squashed bluebell. I picked it out and put it in my pocket; there are no bluebells on our lawn. Once her keys were back in the house, I closed our front door and surveyed the scene. It looked as if I'd driven out over the lawn again.

Later that day

A couple of hours at work, and the system was up and running. Brownie points for me; a black mark and extra duties for lazy Cliff. I took a long lunch and found somewhere quiet to consider my options.

First, I needed more proof that Gail had had sex in the back of her car. Off-hand, I couldn't think of any other reason she might have removed her panties there, but best to be sure. Her Land Rover Defender was the only clue so far, so it might be a good idea to get her keys copied. Then I could access it whenever I wanted. She must know her CEO's policy, so was unlikely to be fucking a colleague. But who knew what else might be hidden in the car?

I took the bluebell from my pocket, and it brought back memories. I picked a bunch for my mum when I was a kid, but they were pretty much dead by the time I'd biked home. I don't think you're allowed to pick them these days. I've read somewhere that Britain has half the world's bluebells and a lot of them are nearby in Loxley Woods. They're not far from us, and flowers will be around till late May. I wonder if that's where Gail's came from. Was that where she'd had her tryst? It's a fair old hike to get in there on foot, but the bluebell was in the tyre. Her job occasionally requires her to visit building sites. They're no more off-road than the woods really, but can still be rough terrain.

I knocked off early and visited Loxley on the way home. Beautiful spot; there was a romantic little glade that sloped down to Loxley Stream. Gail and I had made love here a few times; back in the days of strict parents and no bed available. On one occasion we'd done it right in the middle of the flowers. It had been one of our quickest sessions; it was damn cold in April that year. I smiled as I recalled the bluebell squashed in the cleft of her buttocks. Had she brought her lover here to re-live those days? I looked at the carpet of blue and thought I could discern tyre tracks, but it could just as easily been my imagination.

Back home, the first thing I did was check the laundry hamper. Gail's panties were in there now, alongside her matching black bra; no male stains.

"Did you drive over the lawn again?"

"Sorry babe, I was called out; didn't want to wake you."

"Ah, I thought so."

Saturday

I ran her into town Saturday lunchtime. We went in my car, so I could secretly take her keys. She met up with a friend for lunch; they were planning on catching the afternoon performance of Riverdance. It was in the last two weeks of its run in our town, and she'd long since given up asking if I wanted to go with her, so she'd booked a couple of tickets with Trudi. They would have dinner afterwards, and get a taxi home.

I stood in the key-cutting shop removing the Defender's keys from the bunch. I was studying the rest of them and there was one I didn't recognise.

"Can you do a copy of one of these?" I asked, handing over the smallest one.

"No problem." said the guy. "Looks like a desk drawer."

"It is." I confirmed, and thought 'Thanks!'

Monday

Monday morning I called Gail at work.

"I fancy lunch." I said. "Are you free?"

"Sure; I'm in a meeting till twelve fifteen." she replied. "How about you come over here, and eat in our canteen? The food's pretty good."

"Perfect."

I arrived just before twelve and greeted her secretary.

"Hi Jane."

"Oh, hi Mitch. You're a bit early. Gail's still in a meeting."

"Is it OK if I wait in her office? I'll just get bored, watching you filing your nails and playing with your phone."

"Cheeky bugger! Get out of here!"

The desk had a set of three drawers on each side of the knee-hole; all the left hand side was locked. But there was the faint clunk of a metal bar, as I turned the key. The bottom, deepest drawer had a stack of files stamped 'Confidential'. I didn't touch them. The middle one had a collapsible umbrella and sanitary towels - presumably for emergencies. But the top drawer was a gold mine.

There were packets of condoms, one of which was opened. On the one hand, they show she's taking precautions. This might be of some comfort to the wronged party, i.e. me. On the other hand they also show premeditation; which is no comfort at all. Next to them was a mobile phone and a credit card, neither of which I recognised. Her normal phone has a 'Hello Kitty' sticker on the back. I detest the animal, and Gail only has it to wind me up. The card was a Barclaycard. Our usual ones are Mastercard; we don't even bank at Barclays. I took a quick picture of the open drawer and, with ten minutes or so to play with, I examined the burner phone.

There were only three contacts, under B, D, and H. B was Barclays bank, where she seemed to have an online account I knew nothing about. It showed a payment to the Hillside Hotel in Leicester. That would be the H then. D turned out to be Don. Now I had a name. I called the hotel and asked them to confirm the dates, and the names on the booking, from the Barclaycard number I read out.

"That would be Mr and Mrs D Lawrence, next Thursday 18th, for one night. Is that right sir?"

"Absolutely, I just needed to check."

Before I put the phone away, I checked under the 'Photos' icon. There were three short movies.

One showed the same spot where Gail and I had made love all those years ago. She was completely naked and lying on her back in the flowers. There was no sound, but she was obviously laughing as she reached up to her ankles and pulled her legs open.

The second focused on the Gail's cunt sliding and up and down a dick that must have been nine inches long, complete with condom. It panned up, past her tits and hard nipples, to her face which she promptly threw back in ecstasy. It's what the porn industry calls POV, and in this, the cameraman was sitting on the back seat of her Defender.

The third was from the same place. They was enjoying a blowjob which better displayed the length and girth of Don's dick. She held it tight and sucked; bare skin this time. Then tilted her head back again and revealed an incredible amount of cum. She ran her tongue over her lips like a cheap porn star, and swallowed the lot.

Either Don had taken these with her secret phone or, more likely, taken them with his own and sent them to her. I quickly forwarded them to my phone, put everything back in place, and relocked the drawers.

Fifteen minutes later, we were eating in Gail's canteen.

"Does your company still have that old-fashioned top table for bosses?" I asked.

"It looks like it doesn't it?" she replied. "But it's not official. Anyone can sit anywhere, but human nature has us sitting with our friends. Most of the lower orders wouldn't want their managers sitting at the same table; then they wouldn't be able to complain about them."

"So who else is at our table?"

"There's a couple of other managers, and Sally, my team leader. Jane's over there with some other secretaries, but sometimes she sits with me. It's more informal than it looks."

I found myself looking around and wondering who Don was; a colleague nearby? Or perhaps he was one of the directors up on the big table? I recognised Thomas Townsend of course, and a few others from the Christmas party. But I didn't know any other names.

"Got any trips lined up soon?"

"Funny you should ask. I have to go and visit the site of a new office block in Leicester next Thursday. They've had a quality scare. Ever heard of concrete cancer?"

"Vaguely."

"Well the foreman has called in an expert. I have to witness his tests and sign off the amended paperwork. I won't understand everything he does, but the responsibilty for the final material falls on him. They only need my signature because I was the one who signed off the original job."

"It sounds excitng!" I said.

"Far from it; it's about as exciting as watching concrete being mixed. I won't have anything to do most of the time. But they don't finish till Friday mid-morning. I'll be coming straight home then, back by dinner time."

When I got back to work, I called Mr Townsend. I got his PA of course.

"Could I make an appointment to meet Mr Townsend please? Any time soon, I don't mind when or where."

"Who shall I say wants to see him?"

"Tell him it's Mitch Lawrence. And I want to discuss what he and I were talking about at your Christmas party."

"Certainly, can you leave me your number please? I'll call you back."

He called me an hour later. I told him my suspicions.

"I'll come straight to the point Mr Lawrence." he said. "Do you have evidence of what you and I were discussing?"

"I do."

"Then I suggest we say no more over the phone. Tell me where you'd like to meet this evening, and I'll be there."

"The Farrier's Rest, six thirty?"

"Fine.

"And can you check with your HR before we meet? Find out the names of any staff who have recently booked Thursday 18th and/or Friday 19th as holiday."

"Will do."

The Farrier's Rest

"What'll it be?" he asked.

"I'll have s pint of Scrumpy Jack please Thomas."

"Ah, real cider, you're a man after my own heart. I'll have the same, but call me Tom."

We sat; early Monday evening, the pub was quiet.

"I think the expression is 'you show me yours, and I'll show you mine'. Who's going first?" he said.

"You can start Tom. I think I have the most."

He smiled.

"You're right, I don't have much. I guessed you asked for those dates because that's when Gail will be up in Leicester on business. There are only two emplyees on leave over 18th and 19th. One is Director of Marketing, and I know for a fact he's going on holiday to Hawaai. The other is Don Venables; a new recruit in Gail's department. I have a photo of him if that helps."

He passed me a standard head and shoulders shot.

"Thanks. I discovered Gail has an extra phone; there's a Don on it; though I doubt we'll recognise him from these."

I showed him the two movies of him penetrating my wife. It didn't seem necessary to show her spreadeagled in the bluebells.

"Hmm." he frowned.

"I was surprised she booked her own hotel in Leicester."

"Oh, we don't use company credit cards. Though I see now, that's a loophole that makes indiscretions easier."

I showed him the photo of Gail's desk drawer.

"Her desk, I imagine."

"Yes. Do you know how old this Don is?

According to our file, he's nineteen. Do you intend to divorce her?"

"I do. But I'll get screwed for maintenance payments if she loses her job. I need your help."

"I'll do whatever I can."

Thursday

Eight that morning, I was sitting in Thomas's grand office.

"She got away on time?" he asked.

"Yes. She left early for the airport."

I'd planned to disable her car, and drive her myself, but it would have made things too complicated. I didn't need copies of her car keys after all, though the trip to the key cutting shop had paid dividends.

"Good, did you manage the sabotage?"

"Yes, I found the extra phone in her overnight bag, while she was in the shower. I didn't want her to notice anything amiss, in case she had a last-minute check, so I took the battery out. Then I did the same with her regular phone."

"Excellent." he said.

"She'll take a taxi straight to the Leicester site from East Midlands airport. Having no working mobile may be worrying, if she actually finds out, but should not affect her ability to do the job."

"Good." said Thomas. "For my part, I've instructed the foreman on the site to introduce her to the main players, and then send her to the hotel for lunch. Her main tasks begin this afternoon. The hotel has agreed to allow her into her room as soon as she gets there. They will give her the message that she is to call your mobile at one o'clock precisely. They'll give her your number in case she's forgotten it. I suggest you turn it off till then."

"Good move. My number will be stored in her contacts, which she won't be able to access. I also had time to slip a couple of personal messages into her bag."

"Ooh, do tell. This is fun."

"Sure." I replied. "They're not that personal. I removed all her underwear; though she'll have to find another partner when Don doesn't turn up. And I left half a dozen printed stills from those movies I showed you. She'll get the message."

I didn't feel the need to mention there was also a pressed bluebell onto each photo.

"So, apart from dealing with young Venables, we're all set. He'll be here shortly."

"You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yes Don, take a seat." said the CEO. "Sorry to drag you in on your holiday, but I needed you specifically. Did you have anything planned?"

"Actually I'm missing a train as we speak sir. But I can catch a later one."

"Right. Well this gentleman is Mitch Lawrence."

Don nodded at me, and the colour drained from his face.

"And you can take it as read, that anything he tells you to do has my blessing. Refuse and you'll be fired immediately without references."

He gulped.

"You will come with me to my house," I said, "where I've taken delivery of a dozen large flat-pack removal boxes. You will help me pack my wife's belongings into them, and tape them up. I have your porn photos and you will place one on the top item inside every box, before it's sealed. The removal guys arrive at eleven thirty to take them all into storage. Then I'll drive you back here. If you keep quiet, Mr Townsend might let you keep your job."

"OK. I'm sorry."

"I'll give you that one." I said. "From now on, shut up."

I intended to place a squashed bluebell on top of each photo, but didn't need to share that with either of them.

"If Mr Lawrence is satisfied," said Tom, "you will start again on three months probation. Mrs Lawrence will not be your boss."

He nodded.

At noon, I lunched in the staff canteen again, this time on the top table. I got some benused looks from a few people who knew me, but who cared?

Back in Tom's office, I turned my phone on at one minute past one. There were two recent missed calls, presumably from her hotel room. It rang.

"I can guess what this is about." she began.

"You've unpacked then."

"Yes."

"Well, I've packed up all your stuff from the house; and it's in storage. They're waiting for your instructions as to where to send it."

"Idiot; you'll get shafted in a divorce."

"I don't think so Gail. You can come and check you've got everything tomorrow, but then leave. Hang on while I hand the phone to my mate Tom. You're on speakerphone."

"What?"

"Mrs Lawrence, this Mr Townsend speaking. I have borrowed your husband's phone. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mr Townsend."

"Good. I have seen the photographic evidence of your adultery, and it is more than I need to fire you. However, your husband has asked me to make you this alternative offer. You come back from your Leicester trip tomorrow and clear your desk. On Monday morning you report to our branch in Aberdeen. I suggest you travel there by train on Sunday; we will reimburse you for one week in a hotel. After that, you are on your own. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mr Townsend."

"I am well aware it is unusual to hear divorce conditions from your CEO, but here they are. No maintenance payments and one third of the value of the marital home. Mr Lawrence has promised to put it on the market and sell as soon as possible. Agree to this and you can keep your job at the same pay level. Disagree and you'll be fired without references. Decide now."

A slight pause.

"I agree."

I stopped off at Loxley Woods on the way home. But I didn't pick any bluebells.