Far too late to be considered fashionable, Irene arrived in a black cab with no explanation, just an enigmatic smile. Spirits lifted almost immediately. Flatly refusing to be hurried, she glided graciously forward to join the grinning flamingo’s, spreading her arms as if giving a benediction.
Roger was suddenly breathless, his stomach settling to a slow simmer as his head whirled… Irene was simply delectable. Her breasts bubbling over a balconette; two mounds of creamy blancmange behind the fine mesh of a pink see through top. Her white mini skirt gave way to long shapely legs and red painted toes peeking out from a pair of red strappy sandals. In that moment Roger forgave her everything, even the short veil perched on her head that reminded him of the net curtain from her toilet window. Seeing beyond the lines on her face to the youthful creature inside who had been more than a couple of times round the block and emerged relatively unscathed, he was almost moved to tears.