Part One Hundred And Forty Eight
Saturday June the twenty fifth dawned bright and warm, and every member of the orchestra and chorus approached the performance that afternoon, with a feeling of half dread, half anticipation. They were all, each and every one of them, used to being in the public eye, and well versed in maintaining their public dignity, but this didn't prevent most of them from being a little nervous of putting their talent on display. After running through a good stretch of warming up exercises, George lay in a hot, scented bath, listening to the birds through the open window. Would she sing with as much purity as they were doing now? She hoped so. She wanted nothing more than to make her father, John, Jo and Karen sincerely proud of her today, to show them all, as if they didn't know it already, that if given a challenge, she could rise to it admirably. After emerging from the tub, she massaged skin food into every reachable inch of her body, luxuriating in the feeling of her own delicate fingers. She stood in front of the mirror as she did this, and the sight of such erotically dancing digits, was really quite invigorating. After drying her hair, she again stood in front of the mirror, still naked, about to begin the long toil of applying her make up. She not only had to look fabulous throughout the entire performance, but her face needed to last through the little get together which was planned for afterwards. But just as she began selecting the various accoutrements of visual enhancement, the doorbell rang. Cursing whichever being had come to disturb her, she wrapped herself in a towel and ran lightly down the stairs.
Standing on the doorstep, was Jo, whose presence immediately wiped the glare of interruption from George's face. "You really shouldn't open your front door dressed like that," Were Jo's words of greeting. "If I'd known it was you, I'd have worn even less," George said with a smirk, closing the door behind her. "Oh, I'll give you prior warning next time then," Jo said following her towards the stairs. "You can come and talk to me while I put my make up on." "Eve probably shouldn't wear any, needing nothing but the look of youth and all that." "Which is precisely why I need to wear it," George said ruefully. "Though quite what Daddy will say at the clothes I'll be wearing, is anyone's guess." Once in the bedroom, Jo sat down in the armchair in the corner, and George moved back to the mirror to resume her former occupation. "Actually, there is something you could do for me, if you would be so good," She said, the glint of daring in her eye. "I've been rubbing this into everything I can reach," She said, holding up the bottle of skin food. "I don't suppose you could do my back for me, could you?" "I shouldn't imagine that would be too much of a chore," Jo said with a broad smile, getting up and moving towards her. As George removed the towel, Jo caught her breath. God, George looked incredible, with her ripe, supple skin just waiting to be caressed. "You have seen it before, you know, darling," George drawled mockingly. "That was a month ago," Jo protested with a slightly shame faced smile, taking the bottle of skin food from her. But as George turned and stood with her back to her, and Jo began languorously smoothing the lotion into her skin, George couldn't help but smirk at her reflection. Jo's hands felt wonderful as they moved over her, and George heartily wished she could have asked Jo not to restrict her skilful wandering to such an innocent part of her body. Who was she kidding, there wasn't anything remotely innocent about her today, which considering the role she was about to play, was perhaps a little inappropriate. When she had spun out this ritual for as long as was humanly possible, Jo slid her hands up to George's shoulders, and slowly turned her round. As they gazed into each other's lust-filled eyes, they could both feel the electricity crackling between them. "Well, if that's what me massaging your back does for you, I can't have too much to learn," Jo said in that sultry, husky tone that turned up George's heat almost to boiling point. Not entirely trusting herself to answer, George reached up, put her arms round Jo's neck, and kissed her, their lips and eventually their tongues intertwined as if never to be parted. "It's a shame we have to be somewhere this afternoon," George said as they came up for air, their bodies becoming perfectly aligned. "You'll just have to keep yourself on ice till afterwards then, won't you," Jo said in clear invitation. "On fire more like," George said ruefully, wondering just how she was supposed to resist her calling to internal combustion before the day was out.
When they arrived at the church, George knew that she was about to make an entrance. Her long, beautifully tanned legs were cast into all their glory by the short black skirt, and her cleavage vaguely reminded Jo of the grand canyon, enhanced by the off the shoulder top with the climbing roses. They were two of the last to arrive, because George didn't want to be hanging around, working herself up into a nervous state of anxiety beforehand. When they walked in, a chorus of wolf whistles from the men, and gasps of awe from more than a few of the women greeted them. "Bloody hell," Neil Grayling said slowly, having always known that George was particularly attractive, but never having had her beauty thrust in his face quite so spectacularly. John just gaped. All he really wanted to do, was to pick up his enchanting little minx in his arms, and whirl her away to somewhere private, where he could systematically remove every inch of make up and clothing. God, she almost deserved to be put over his knee for turning up dressed like that. As Karen walked towards her, she couldn't prevent a thoroughly predatory smirk of ownership from spreading across her face. "Quite how you expect me to concentrate on playing, I don't know," She said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Blame Helen and Nikki," George said with a smile. "They chose it." "Yeah, I bet they did," Karen said ruefully. "I think every man, apart from Grayling, and every single woman, will have sincere difficulty in keeping their hands off you." "Even the straight ones?" George asked, playing along with her. "There won't be a straight one left after this, what do you think, Jo?" Opening her mouth to try and formulate an answer, Jo was saved struggling for a reply by the approach of Joe Channing. "Am I mistaken," He said with a slightly affectionate frown on his face. "In thinking that Eve attempted to maintain her virginity, until after she was at least wedded to Adam?" "Of course, Daddy," George said with a winning smile. "But then in the real thing, all Eve actually wore was, in fact, a fig leaf." "Yes, and I suppose I am expected to count myself lucky, that you do appear to have abandoned that particular tradition." "Oh, come on, Joe," John put in, appearing at his side. "She looks beautiful." "Yes, no doubt this was your idea," Joe said a little disgustedly. "Sorry, but I can take absolutely no responsibility for this," John said blithely, almost wishing he could. "We ought to go and warm up," Karen said to Jo, as they moved away towards the vestry, where it seemed that everyone was storing their instrument cases. As Joe moved away to say something to Monty, Neil approached. "Does your Eve come up to expectation?" John asked when he appeared. "She certainly does," Neil said with sincere enjoyment. "I think I'm going to be the envy of every man in the audience." "Ah, yes, well, there is one particular nose that I can't wait to put thoroughly out of joint," George said in satisfaction. "I want the current secretary of state for trade, to realise precisely what he's missing." "Is this a case of a certain dish being served cold?" "Oh, yes," George said a little evilly. "Almost two years cold." "I'll remember not to ever get on your bad side," Neil said ruefully. "Believe me," John said with more than a little malice in his tone. "This is definitely one piece of vengeance I wholeheartedly support. Neil Haughton deserves to feel as humiliated and trodden on as George can make him."
As the audience began to arrive, and the musicians began tuning up and taking their places, George and Grayling slipped outside. "Are you sure I can do this?" George asked, desperately needing some last minute reassurance. "Of course you can," Grayling said softly, putting his arms briefly round her. "Besides, you've got what sounds like a pretty disgruntled ex to stamp on, haven't you." "An eye for an eye," She said meditatively. "Or in this case, a black eye for a black eye. I used to think that having a cabinet minister was something of a status symbol, but being ordered to win the Merriman/Atkins trial at all costs, can alter one's opinion ever so slightly. So, every glimpse he gets of my legs ought to hammer home to him precisely what he lost, in that one little moment of fury." "That sounds more like the George Channing who first ripped me to shreds in court," Neil said with a smile, thinking that the courtroom clearly wasn't her only well established stage of battle. As they walked in through the vestry, and moved to take their places on either side of Monty, George held her head high, knowing that no matter how many people were crowded into the pews right to the back of the church, she was going to show every single one of them what she was made of.