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I woke up to an empty bed once more. Normally this was for the purely practical reason that I came in late and Jan left early. Once, not wanting to rouse Jan in the middle of the night I decided it would make more sense to sleep in the tiny fourth bedroom we used as a study. That did not go down well with Kim and Katy, for whom parents always slept together. Those are the rules of the child and Jan and I had to abide by them. Today this was for the slightly more esoteric reason that I was under threat. Some days ago I'd warned Jan to take the kids to my parents. This wasn't an unconsidered plan. I'd decided that physically my family was safe. At least, unless someone needed to get information out of them fast. If that was so, the physical threat was small, and they would be safer in numbers, especially with my dad. Of course, there would be no threat to them if no-one needed information from them, so I took the simple decision of staying in plain sight. The first place to look for me was my home, and that was where I was. I changed my mind. I asked Mrs Milner for help. I changed my mind because I suddenly found myself invited to a dinner at the Chinese Embassy which I was already aware that Lucy would be attending. Mrs. Milner expected me to be there, and I had to give her the reason that I couldn't be. "Oh, you dear child!" she exclaimed. "But why wouldn't you want to take the opportunity to show this woman how you have flourished?" I spat out the mouthful of wine that had spent the last fifteen seconds drying out my tongue and reached for the water before answering. One rinse and I was able to free my mouth from the heavy tannins. "Because," I answered carefully, "this woman has the ability to make me regret flourishing. Her raison-d'?tre is the prevention of it." "I really need to talk this over with Philip." She was pensive for a moment, and then turned back to me sharply. "And you need to talk this over with Harry!" "What do I need to talk over with Harry?" "Harry can look after you, dear. I'll get him down here now." I tried to protest but she waved her hand to cut me off and almost absent mindedly pulled a slightly fatter designed bottle that had a crest on the neck off her butler's trolley. "I need to talk to Philip because I think there is something else to this woman that you are not able to understand. Perhaps that is because of your unique outlook. Philip, however, is able to spot items that even a woman of my experience might overlook. I think in this case I have a few thoughts on the matter. However, we are distracted! Tell me what you think of this wine before Jenkins tells you what to think and I then have to soften his harsh words." Gloria had told me that Lucy would be at the Embassy. She was almost embarrassed by how easily she had managed to place a bug into their suite, with Lucy herself carrying it in. The first bug was useful for little but allowing Gloria to know when the two were in or out, but with that information she was able to set a few more. What she was doing was highly dangerous and illegal. "Tiffany," she said to me, "if you don't want me to tell you how I get my information, I can work that way, but the first thing you'll do is ask me how I got my information!" "Can you get into any of the company systems?" I asked her. "Probably not," she responded. "Public information I can get just about anything, and some private stuff, but getting into systems requires both expertise and inside knowledge." "I do have some inside knowledge. Do you know anyone who could use it?" She paused for a while. I wondered if she was outside with a cigarette. "The obvious person who could use it would be you," she paused again. "You know, that's not such a bad idea. If I can find out who provides the temp staff to your old company, like the cleaners and secretaries and all, we can knock you up a few references and slide you in. Would you be up for that?" "You're thinking of putting me into the company run by the person I'm investigating? Bit like sticking my head in the Lion's mouth, isn't it?" Maybe there was a smile on the other end of the line. It sounded like it. "You were the one who asked the question, and I ask you, who better to be 'inside' than the person who wants the answers and knows what they're looking for?" Slight pause. "By the way, what is it you're looking for?" "Organisational news, major clients, major investments." "Most of that I can get you from public sources, as well as directors' names and addresses, shareholdings and dealings, external shareholders and loads of market analysis." "Okay, so could you get me sales prospects, supplier contract details, and customer records?" "No. That you could only get from the inside and only if you knew where to look." "Yes," I sighed, "and sales prospects are in Sales and Marketing, suppliers are in Purchasing, which depending on the region might be part of Finance otherwise it could be split over multiple departments. Customer records might be found in Finance or Customer Services, of course. Each of those in the London office is located on different floors, and the actual databases are up in Nottingham." "You sound disheartened," Gloria said with a sharp barking laugh. "You thought it was such a simple question, but look, I can get you into your old company and from there it's only a couple of days for you to figure out if there's any use in you being there. Have you got a couple of days to give it a shot?" I was getting up this morning to put Gloria's planning into practice. She had a contact who took me into an agency where I was put on the books as a part-qualified accountant for admin and secretarial work. Gloria knocked up my CV within minutes, including City and Guilds certificates for my accountancy qualifications. My name changed. My CV was in the name of Georgina Somersby. I actually had the legitimate birth certificate, but it had arrived later than others so I hadn't tried to get a passport with it. This meant that if I were to be posted to my old bank, no name of mine would appear where it might cause suspicion. I looked in the mirror. I didn't look like a Georgina, I didn't think, but that was probably the blonde hair. I used to know a Georgina who was darker haired. I brushed out my hair, then tied it loosely back in a pony tail before putting on a layer of cream foundation and a dusting of powder. A secretarial version of my face seemed to appear in the mirror for me, but it wasn't time to make up yet. I stepped back into the bedroom and selected a pair of black hipsters to go over the suspender straps. I clipped on the belt and pulled up black 20 deniers, clipping them in before putting on the knickers. I don't like tights. The whole elasticated bit between the top of the legs makes walking just feel strange. Plus a suspender belt actually makes me feel comfortable like a regular belt for trousers used to. So, as far as I was concerned, my underwear choice was very practical. The bra had to be white so the whole idea of having a matching underwear set was out of the window. It also had to be a little plunged because I was intending wearing my white blouse open at the neck. I preferred minimisers but they didn't plunge, so were visible through the neck, which wasn't a good way to dress. Plunged bras tended to also have shape, especially when your breasts were the size of mine as they had to be underwired. I ended up looking rather larger than I felt comfortable with, and with a grand canyon of cleavage. But, as I clipped the bra in front, slipped it round and pulled the straps up to my shoulders I was amazed and proud of the shape I could see in the mirror. Skinny waisted, smooth hipped, and tits to die for! I smiled and blew myself a kiss. Then I slid into a black petticoat, because I didn't want the lacy stuff or the nylons catching all the time on the skirt. That just felt awful. And I slipped on the white blouse. It was smart, and collared, but soft fabric, ruched in places. Two buttons undone looked right. Finally the skirt, loose, black, and just below the knee. I went back into the bathroom and could clearly see the face I wanted to achieve in the mirror before me. I was always thankful that Lucy had given me that ability, though I'm sure that Mrs Milner's tuition had made it unnecessary. I painted by numbers with eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lipstick, lipliner, powder and blush. The look was a little more downmarket than I was used to, but I thought it actually made me look sexier. Too much of a man's view, perhaps. I picked out a smart black cardigan just in case it was cool in the office, and a grey trenchcoat against the cool outside. I picked out a large shoulder-bag - purse I guess I should call it - which was in grey leather. But that was no good as I looked through the shoe rack. I really wanted black pumps, which wouldn't suit the grey bag. So then I picked out a small Gucci purse, in black, with a white gold shoulder chain, which I could fit inside the bag whilst travelling in and out of the office. I checked the ensemble in the mirror. I looked really good. I took the elastic out of my hair, brushed it through, and replaced it with a lacy scrunchy, then pulled some hair down the front to frame my face. I liked that simple style. It's funny, but many of the elaborate hair- dos that I was given for attending formal events didn't really strike me as good looking, or sexy. Formal and expensive, definitely, and I suppose that's what they were supposed to convey. I wasn't the only one who thought so, I figured. I'd worn both types recently on dates with Simon. The hair style that neither he nor I liked was a very strange affair of straight, tight updo on top, with heavy, tight curls dangling down everywhere but in front of my face. I had it done for a lunch event at a Japanese restaurant, to which I was accompanying some record label executive. The food was superb, as usual, courtesy of a new chef that the restaurant was celebrating. My date, however, was a complete boor, who simply put the food into his mouth because he could afford to. Presumably he kept putting his arm around me for the same reason, and my initial reaction would have been to punch his lights out, if I hadn't been better trained. A boor wants a bimbo, brainless and very easily impressed. Regardless of my opinion, my job in this case was to sink myself closer to him inside his embrace and marvel at the fact that he could afford to keep such famous and wealthy company. I did not have to make him think I wanted anything else from him, something which I was having great difficulty persuading him of, however distraction works wonders. And bimbos are easily distracted! "Who's that?" "What's he do?" Oh, so simple. I was looking forward to meeting up with Simon again on a number of levels. He was a nice guy, solid and straightforward. The kind of guy I'd hung out with before going to Lucy's wedding. He supported the Arsenal, and we could talk football. He wasn't pushy, so I could spend time relating to him as a person rather than a boyfriend. He confused me. Not quite as much as Jake did, but enough. Enough that I could puzzle about him, but it wouldn't get in the way of spending time with him that I could enjoy. And I knew how to control these things. By that I mean I knew how to control my urge, as I was coming to call it. One quick trip to the toilets with my purse and urge gone for the next few hours. Whereas, of course, if I didn't satisfy the growing urge it would get stronger and start creeping more and more into my thoughts. Sure, when satisfied, I always felt somehow bad about what I'd done, somehow guilty that I was giving in to some 'feminine' impulse, allowing my 'masculinity' to fade, guilty that I couldn't keep control. But when the urge was growing I would fantasise about how to satisfy it, and how much I would enjoy satisfying it, and more and more there were men slipping into these fantasies. I still didn't like them for that, didn't fancy them, but guys like Jake and Simon were there nonetheless! So if I could control my urge, why was it that I decided to not do anything about it between lunch and meeting Simon at the cinema, nor do anything about it whilst at the cinema? There's another thing, Simon and I have very similar taste in films. He tried to get me to choose a girlie film, somehow convinced that he was doing me a favour and being all chivalrous, but that kind of film never interested me. It's gotta have action or comedy, or both. It was a first date after our 'sorta' split. So he didn't push anything, not holding my hand or trying to get an arm around me, just sharing his popcorn. I was becoming comfortable with touch, it was such a naturally womanly thing to do and therefore to emulate. Men would touch women, women would touch each other, and women would touch men, sometimes for conversational emphasis, sometimes for expressing something that couldn't be put into immediate words. I'd learned the touches for "I'm impressed", and "Go on", and "That's sweet". I learned when a touch on me meant "Excuse me" or "Can I get your attention" or "I want to get inside your panties". So not being touched when in close proximity with someone was noticeably different to what I was getting used to, especially not being touched on a date, and I figured that Simon was just being very careful and letting me take the lead. I could live with that, because it meant that I could go either way, or rather any of a number of ways. I could drop him completely, string him along a bit to see how things went, maybe just go back to footie friends, or wonder whether I was really willing and able to try having a male partner. I say that I still retained that choice, but why then did I agree to go back to his straight after the film? It was too early to eat, definitely, but worse than that was the fantasy that was starting to encroach about what I, or rather we, could do at his place. So by the time we got there I really had little choice in the matter. We travelled by Underground, sitting close together, then in a bus squeezed together onto the seat. I wanted him, badly by then, so I took his hand because that was the way to send the message. I looked at him and smiled, embarrassed. Well, I was! I was a shy little girl who didn't think she should be doing what she was doing and I was reaching out to hold a man's hand. Except I wasn't a girl and it was another man's hand. Of course I was embarrassed! So the second date was so much more uncomfortable. It was so much more uncomfortable because Simon acted so differently, but then what should I have expected? He acted exactly as I would have done, as I did when Jan and I became 'an item'. The days and weeks following the time when I believe she confirmed to me that she was as interested in me as I in her became a time when I let loose. I was happy and confident, determined to impress her and shower her with affection. It was a time of 'playground punches', when we each might hit each other on an excuse to touch or attract attention, just like boys and girls in a junior school playground. And this would escalate to the dominance show, to the little wrestling match where the boy proved his strength to the girl, she submitting happily to his grip, his tickle, or his hold. So intellectually, objectively, I knew what Simon was doing, and what he wanted. He wanted to touch, to fight, to play, and ultimately to win. He wanted me to join in, and to submit. A girl does these things naturally. She learns through years of experience of watching her parents or other couples, of nursery and playground politics, from socialising and flirting, from nature, that she is weaker than the boy but that if she can put her trust in the boy this is not a problem. So when she is happy, she will submit in the strength game. I never learned that. I used to win the strength game. How could I, even as outmatched as I was now, act my new part in this ancient show? But he did love my new hair. I liked it too, and the ponytail was really just to keep it from looking too smart on the commute to the office. I'd had it cut shorter. Not short! Oh no, my hairdresser had spotted the tattoo on the back of my neck, of course. She'd cut it just up from the small of my back, up to about halfway between my shoulder blades. She'd also refreshed my extensions. How much money? I now had a new job of straightening my hair every morning and curling in the ends to maintain the style. More hassle to look good, which was what every woman did so really it was just hassle to look normal! Finally, I'd also gone for fully blonde, just blonde, none of the highlights or lowlights or any type of lights that the schoolgirls went for. I had the usual looks on the tube. I noticed that a large number of girls were wearing quite loose, floppy, woollen hats which made seeing their hair impossible, and added another layer of obscurity and so anonymity. Guys saw my blonde hair and checked the rest out, so a hat might be a good idea. The offices were exactly as I remember them. Was it long ago already? More than half a year. I suppose I was out of things for a month or so, and things had been pretty exciting since then. I recognised the guard on the desk, Jody, and knowing that she would have no chance of recognising me I wondered if I should surprise her by calling her by name. I didn't, of course. No point asking for attention. No, instead I just meekly asked for the HR representative that I had on a letter, signed the entry book, and took a visitor's badge before sitting down outside the electronic doors to wait. Hayley Messing found me browsing a copy of Newsweek. I stood immediately, brushing my skirt down, and shook her slim hand. She cocked her head slightly as she looked up at me and smiled. "I'm Hayley." "Georgina." She kept looking for a second before nodding and releasing my hand. She turned and led me through the pass-keyed door. "You'll be working in Finance," she stated, over her shoulder as she guided me through the maze of partitioned desks towards the central lifts. "I'll show you around a little first before letting you get settled in and introducing you to your colleagues. Have you come far today?" "Northern line and DLR. It's quite long but easy." "Really," she asked as we reached the lifts and stepped in. "I travel that way, to Chalk Farm." We took the lifts down to the canteen area. "I keep going past there, then get a bus further again." "Wow, that's quite a trip!" In the canteen area Hayley offered me a coffee and anything that I wanted to eat. I took a coffee and we sat down at a table so that Hayley could take me through a few HR items like fire procedures, health and safety, and where to find all the HR information if I should need it. It was a really brief version of the induction that'd taken a week the first time I joined the company! "You're temping in the Finance Admin area," she explained, "where quite a few women are taking leave at the moment. It seems to be the period for babies." That was said with a slight roll of the eyes. "I take it you're not thinking about babies?" I prompted her with a smile. She was young, maybe only just out of college, so it wouldn't be surprising, especially if her present sights were set on the upper reaches of the career ladder. "I'm definitely not thinking about babies!" she said with a wide smile. "So much disruption! What about you? Are you going to join the exodus and force me to look for another Jane Friday?" "No. Not for me." I looked down into my empty coffee cup. Looking back up I caught Hayley's eyes focussed on me. I looked back away quickly before raising my eyes to meet hers. Her brown eyes, dark brown, almost black. Perhaps she was slightly shortsighted as her focus was intense, almost overpowering. Her face slightly tanned, evenly, with blonde hair cut short at the back and sides, longer and shaped on top to sweep across her brow, almost like an exaggerated boy's cut, yet feathered at the ends to soften it. She was pretty, slim and well dressed, and quite tall for a woman, though shorter than me. Maybe she was just above average, but stood straight and had that tall appearance brought on by confidence. I reassessed her. She did still look very young, but also mature. Either a confident college leaver or a woman with a few years under her belt yet looked younger. "What does your boyfriend think about your baby decision?" She didn't take her eyes from mine at all. "I don't have a boyfriend." "Too much disruption?" I laughed. She pushed out her chair and stood up, collecting her few papers. "Come on," she smiled, "we'd better get you up to your desk!" She introduced me to one woman in the admin area that she knew, presumably the manager, though she left that to us to discuss as she handed me over. With that she shook my hand again. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Georgina, and I hope you enjoy it here with us," she smiled. She released my hand. "Oh, before I go, do call me the moment you get your phone setup. HR extension is triple five," she turned and left me in the capable hands of Kate McCarthy. The rest of the day was mostly about meeting the entire Finance department, many of whom I already knew, but of course had to pretend I didn't, and getting me setup with all the accoutrements of the job, like phone and computer. The guy from IT who was sent up to set up my computer was the funniest. "We throw dice to see who gets to come up here," he confided in me. I could see why as the admin area was full of attractive, young women. "Here and Marketing. Marketing is even better, but you've definitely brought the average up here so it could be getting close!" "You're very confident." I noted. "Why aren't you in Sales?" "Confidence is a preference for the habitual voyeur..." he began, before fading off to look at me, his long, lank hair framing a half- decent yet thick-lensed pair of glasses. "I know when I'm out of my league, so like a swimmer out of his depth it doesn't really matter what I do, the result is the same! But Sales? Now that's a department that's full of guys whose cocks sit where their noses should be so they can talk bollocks all day." I stifled a laugh. "I apologise if you aspire to Sales, but you know you should aspire to IT Support, because that's where the guys who really run the company are!" "You know what, you could be right!" I smiled at him, but my mind was quickly turning over. If I couldn't access something as part of my role now, perhaps IT support could be persuaded to help me. "Have you got a card you could give me in case I need your help with anything else?" I asked him sweetly. "Of course," he replied, standing and reaching into a back pocket. In short order I had a business card for one Colin Meade, IT Systems Administrator, which I put next to my new monitor as he left. The admin crew took me down to lunch in the canteen. Of course there was the usual fishing for my history, and then the quick run down on whom I would be working for and with, but fully half of all the gossip centred on Hayley, the girl who had brought me in. She hadn't been with the bank too long, but with the guys in HR reporting back that she was cool to any advances, even though she protested having no boyfriend, and the occasional odd look that was caught by the girls, the debate was over whether she was a lesbian. "Maybe she's just a driven career woman?" One of the girls opined. "Maybe," responded Christine, who appeared to be the leader of the group, a leggy brunette with a naughty smile, "but I think she's looking for someone to have dinner on the table when she gets back from a hard day of butting her head against the glass ceiling. And if I'm not mistaken she'd love for Georgie to call and apply for the job!" The girls all giggled, but I just spotted opportunity number three. Given just a few days, a few smiles, and a sprinkling of luck I could be accessing every system in the company! Harry came to see me as soon as I got back from my first day at work. "Are you joking?!" He demanded, in his broad accent, the moment I told him where I was working. "You know that someone is looking for you, and that someone works for this Lucy Hung, and now you decide to play a card which you should have kept close to your chest?" "Okay, I can see how the timing could be a little off..." "He may be following you now, and he can see you wandering in and out of the bank which belongs to his employer? He tells your old girlfriend and you find yourself out on your ear tomorrow morning with all the systems passcodes changed. Maggie got me down here because she said you need help, but she didn't say it was because you were stupid!" "Okay, I'm sorry." I could feel the emotions welling up inside me. I was always a little defensive when getting told off, but these hormones were making me softer than ever I was, and the tears began to appear regardless of whether I wanted them to. "God," grunted Harry, "and you're a leaker too. Don't try that woman shit on me because it won't work. I didn't train to shoot the eye out of a flea just to back down if I saw a tear in it!" I looked at him, and he was smiling. For all his manly talk, and I believed every word of it, he was still as soft as the rest of them. Another minor item which he had revealed was that he maybe didn't have the whole story from Mrs. Milner, and his reference to my 'girlfriend' was perhaps meant to be read as a female friend, the part he was missing being the part about me once being a man. But maybe not. I couldn't tell. Mrs. Milner knew everything and treated me as a woman, so why shouldn't he? "Anyway," he continued, as I smiled and took a few breaths, "we are where we are and I need to know where we are." So we talked about the situation for a couple of hours, interspersed with tea and the odd whisky. Harry wasn't certain of his plans, but he ran through a few things with me. He was annoyed that he was being sent into an active situation without a 'Plan A' let alone a 'Plan B'! But the thing about Harry, apart from presenting the face of a dour Scotsman, was that he was a quick and active thinker, and also a networker, just like Mrs. Milner, with resources everywhere. One phone call got me a bodyguard and a case full of equipment. His view was like mine. Stay in sight and the threat will be fully focussed on you and nobody else. Alongside this he added a number of clever little twists to the baited hook. The threat would be expecting me to react somehow, not just remain casual, and certain acting casual might make the threat think there was some kind of protection available. Therefore I should act as though I expected trouble, and try to avoid it. The job would explain why I remained located where I was, but I was to change all the locks, get the alarm upgraded, and try always to keep company around. Harry's man would keep an eye on me and be around for when the threat actually became real. He put himself in the head of a foreign agent with a target in London and confirmed that the house was the most likely place that the threat would try to catch me. Regardless of its security, it was also where I was likely to spend time alone, and that time was regular. As well as talking about threats and counter-threats and surveillance and plans, I cooked Harry some of his own Salmon that Mrs. Milner had thoughtfully provided, and we chatted about the Scottish countryside, salmon farming, whisky distilling and the luxury of children that did what you wanted them to. Then he posed the question. "How did this all happen?" "How did all what happen?" "You," he confirmed. "How did a lad get changed into a lass and then find himself doing just fine?" "Who said I was doing just fine?" Before she went Jan and I talked about everything. Everything that had happened from the moment I left for Hong Kong right up to the moment we were sitting across from each other on the sofa that night. "I knew what you did, Tiffany," she confirmed, "and I knew you did it because this woman forced you to, this bitch, as if transforming you wasn't enough! I know she controlled you by telling you what you had to do, watching you, and making sure you complied, but that never made it any less difficult to accept! "I had to accept that my Michael was now a woman, then I had to accept that this woman was now a stripper. I can understand that it was humiliating, but you did it. Then I can understand that you, that we needed money, real money, and you fell into this escort service that paid huge money. But nobody forced you into that, you chose it, this time, selling yourself. But still, you supported yourself and us. I suppose that it was fair that you learned how to become a proper woman, after all it was me who told you that you'd never have a life as a man again. "But sex? With someone else? With a man? Who forced you into that?" "I don't know," I replied. "But somehow she did. I never wanted it, I needed it." "That is pure bullshit!" Jan spat. "Are you gay? Were you always gay?" "No, Jan, and you know it!" I spat back. "But neither are you!" "Oh, so it's my lack of sex with you that's caused you to go looking elsewhere? I loved you whatever, but because of sex you go to see if a new boyfriend is better?" "Not your lack of sex with me, Jan, and I do know that you loved me, but when I came back into your life after Hong Kong you changed as much as I had." "Are you saying I don't love you?" "Yes, I am saying that. Exactly as you can say that it was always difficult to accept my stripping even though you knew I'd been forced, so you could and will never accept my transformation, because you can't understand how it could happen! No matter what your logic tells you, your emotions will always provide you with that niggle of doubt. Maybe I wanted it. Maybe I asked for it. Maybe I like it! "It's like someone who's raped. Did they attract it? Dress for it? Be flirtatious? Advertise themselves? Fuck, did they enjoy it!? What are the disgusting, unsupportable thoughts that go through their partner's mind? And what if they became pregnant and kept the baby? That innocent life that is immediately prejudiced because it isn't the partner's? "You couldn't rid yourself of those thoughts, and you stopped loving me a long time ago." Jan and I separated that night with a gulf between us. A gulf that had maybe been hidden away, covered over, but nevertheless had been there for a long time. I didn't know if she would come back when this latest episode was over. But I did care. So Harry soon knew more about me than anyone else in my life at that moment. It was perhaps something of a catharsis for me. Perhaps the earlier tears had opened me up, and regardless of his professed distaste, Harry was a good listener. Whether it would help him in his protection of me I didn't know. Before he left he took a lot of details from me, including my job address and any colleagues' names that I knew so far, the route and times I travelled, and all of Gloria's details. "Does she know about this agent?" He asked. "She may do, but I haven't asked her to do anything about it." "Okay. I might give her a ring sometime soon anyhow." He also took from me a few items, including Lucy's letters to me and a selection from the big box of condoms. "I might also get you to a lad who can do a little bit of testing on that stuff she's put inside you," he said as he reached for the door. "You mean the stuff they want to put more of inside me?" "Exactly," he smiled, "that stuff." I closed the door behind him and stepped back into my empty house. Back in work, my own access didn't get me far electronically. My role was a glorified secretary so I had no access to any financial data apart from what came across my desk. That, as a new temp, was not particularly special stuff. So my next plan of attack was two-fold. First to get my new mate Colin to grant me a little bit more access. Regardless that he knew the systems he wouldn't know what was on them, or even where he did he wouldn't be able to judge their importance. I just needed to choose the more open systems that held data that would be worthwhile to me. Likewise I also knew names that would inspire him to help me, just as long as he wasn't the type to go ask them about it, and he didn't strike me as a jobsworth. The second fold, calling Hayley to let her know I was set-up and then hope that things progressed from there. HR didn't have access to the kind of information I was after, but they did have access to people who did, and it was never what you know, always who you know. Colin, whom I knew and obviously wanted to know me better, chatted inconsequentially over the phone about how he was going to upgrade numerous systems, write apps for phones, and replace the useless people up top with what sounded to me like useless people from the bottom. Somewhere in the conversation I managed to mention a system that I wanted access to and a name that I pretended wanted me to access it. Colin sorted it out while we were talking, before asking whether I could get the name to send him an email confirming the request. I told him I'd get right on it, knowing that within twenty-four hours it would have slipped his mind, though also knowing that the next time I requested access he would remember his little slip. At the rate I envisaged myself working with Colin, trying to juggle not getting him suspicious with the sheer number of systems available in the bank, I figured I would need to spend three months at the bank just to get access to where I wanted. So I needed alternatives, and I called through to Hayley. "Hayley? Hi, it's Georgina. You asked me to call when everything was setup?" "Oh, Georgina! Hi! How's it going? Are you settling in okay? Anything you need?" "Need? No, I don't think so. And settling in alright. The girls are friendly." "Yes, yes they are in your area. And I'm glad to hear everything is going well. But listen, you and I take the same route home, and I've been looking for company travelling for a while now. Would you be able to give me a call before you leave tonight, and we'll meet up?" "Sure. I guess it will make the journey more pleasant. I'll call you." "Thanks, I'm waiting! Bye." I put the phone down, but it seemed like it was less than an hour before I was picking it up to call her again. The day of dictated documentation through audio headphones was delirium inducing. Lunch almost passed me by without a whisper. Only the repeated taps on my shoulder got me to eat, and the same repeated taps got me to realise it was time to say goodbye, and I hadn't been into the contracts server even once. All the more reason to play Mata Hari for Hayley Messing. She knew before we even reached the tube that I was heading home to an empty house and offered me a microwaved rice meal at her place. Of course I accepted, and soon we had walked a few streets of Chalk Farm and into the top of a large Georgian terrace house. Hayley had half of the floor below the top, consisting of a living room, a kitchen-diner, and a large bedroom with en-suite. The kitchen area and the living room were quite minimalist, and spotless, as though barely lived in. The quick glance that I got through the open bedroom door gave me the impression that a teenaged boy lived there. There was a towel hanging from the top corner of the door that quickly got thrown inside as Hayley quickly pulled it shut. She flashed me an awkward smile. "My bedroom isn't prepared for company," she explained. I didn't know which of the many meanings I should apply to that statement. I settled for moving into her kitchen and gestured to ask whether I could look around. She nodded and followed me over. "Would you like a glass of wine?" she asked, as I began to nose in her fridge. "Yes, why not?" "I've got a bottle of white in there on the second shelf. Can you pass it to me?" I looked up, found the Pinot Grigio, and passed it to her. Within moments she passed me a cool glass of it back. "We don't have to microwave, you know?" I told her. "You do have a few salad items and a bit of cream cheese in here. Do you have pasta?" She pointed above me to the right. I opened the cupboard and found a bag of tagliatelle, some cans of various beans and sweetcorn, and three or four piles of microwaveable treats, mostly based on rice. I grimaced. "Do you have a saucepan and a frying pan?" She pointed down to the left of the sink and smiled. "No comments on what you find in there, okay?" "Okay." I bent down and looked. There was an unmarked frying pan, but a classy one, looking like a proper cast-iron job. There was also a set of Le Creuset saucepans in the box. I pulled the box out. "Nice!" I commented. "Do you know what these are for?" She reached across and slapped the back of my arm. "You said you wouldn't comment!" So, between sips of over-chilled supermarket Pinot and potted histories of who we each were, I cooked up a bowl of pasta and prepped a leafy salad which was limited to an olive oil and salt dressing. "This is really nice!" Hayley commented after the first mouthful, and immediately tucked into the second. I smiled gently. "Thank you. But it's simply freshly cooked, that's all. And not full of all the crap that you've got in your microwave meals. I can do much better at home." "Would you show me?" she asked, looking genuinely interested in the food rather than implying that she wanted to go to my home. "How about I give you a shopping list and you order the ingredients to here, then I cook them up for you one day?" She nodded, then reached over for the bottle to top up my glass. "I've got to repay the favour, of course. Do you know Armando's?" I knew Armando's. In fact, I knew Armando. But would Hayley expect a temporary worker to have eaten there? "Yes. Hasn't the chef got a Michelin Star for his restaurant in Italy?" "Yes, he does, but my inside man reckons that the one here is much better. He's a guy I went to college with. His company does below the line marketing and he's got Armando's on account. He can get us in with a week's notice. You just tell me when you're free." I smiled to myself at Hayley's mildly masculine posturing. She knew the waiting list was four months, but she knew people and she was claiming she could afford it. Ironically I could get us in by arriving at the door, and I knew I could afford it. Strangely, I had no urge to compete and say that I could get us in tomorrow. I knew that once upon a time I would have jumped at the chance to show off and to impress, but I'd be trained by Mrs Milner in how to react to the masculine. To men really, but this was Hayley acting somewhat like a man. So I widened my eyes. "Really? You could get a table next week?" "Yes, I can. Would you like me to?" I'd taken the 'inside man' out of the equation and placed the achievement squarely onto Hayley's shoulders, making her the centre of my attention. And she'd taken the acclaim, as modestly as any man. "That's very impressive! I'd love to eat there." Hayley beamed. Usually a woman would have at some stage modestly diverted the praise. This woman had an ego which she liked to have stroked. She poured out a bit more of the wine, happily filling both our glasses. Our plates were emptying too, and I put down my cutlery. "Your boyfriend won't mind, will he? Have you got plans?" She asked me as I picked up my glass. I'd not done much chatting up before meeting Jan, but I'd been chatted up a lot since Hong Kong. The question, however phrased, was a chat-up line. Women responded in one of three ways to the question of having a partner. Usually 'yes' if they didn't want to continue the conversation, but if they did want to continue it was either 'no' or 'what my boyfriend doesn't know won't hurt him'. The latter was a straight come-on. The 'no' still left doubt over whether the woman was interested. "My boyfriend is a bit on-and-off at the moment. I have my own life and I'm not going to turn down the chance to get out with a girlfriend." I took a few more sips and put my glass down. The rate that the bottle had disappeared I was well aware that Hayley was trying to get me drunk, but I think we were managing about evens for quantity so far. As much as she was trying to get me drunk to relax me and prepare me for some kind of proposition, I was trying to let her get drunk so that she'd just hurry up and get on with it. In truth, I was enjoying it! Here was a beautiful young woman with plenty of masculinity in her. I was looking for someone who would make it easy for me to sit back and be cosseted sometimes, and if that someone happened to be a beautiful young woman? It didn't take too long. With dinner finished Hayley took the plates out and came back and joined me on my sofa. The conversation was about the workplace, so comfortable, but Hayley had the chance to gossip. Within a few laughs her hand was lightly resting on my thigh and I made no motion to move it. Soon it was moving slightly, then stroking me as she talked. I put my glass down on the table then laid my head back against the sofa, giving the impression of complete relaxation. Hayley took that as her cue to lean over and touch her lips to mine, and I responded in kind. She continued her stroking, and the kissing got deeper. I moved toward her slightly and raised my hands to her sides to hold her and turn her around towards me. She moved above me, kissing downwards, and then started to kiss me around the face and ears, and down the neck, bringing her other hand up to stroke my hair back from my face. I wanted it for business reasons. God, I wanted this for any reason! But no girl should ever give herself away cheaply. So I broke off from the kiss and smiled at Hayley. "Don't you think we might be moving a little fast here?" She pouted. "No." "We haven't had a date even! You've only invited me out next week!" I was still smiling as I said it. I think she knew I was teasing her, but the message was still valid. "We've had dinner together, you've come back to mine, and we're just kissing. I haven't even got to second base yet," she smiled back. "So how about we just go to second base," she leaned back in and started kissing down the side of my neck again. It was so nice I nearly moaned out loud. "Wait! No, I don't know. How about we get to know each other a little better first?" She didn't stop. But she murmured in my ear as she nibbled the lobe. "I knew I had to have you from the moment I first saw you. I don't need to know better." "Hayley," I stated seriously, "I do. Please stop." She nibbled down my neck again. "Stop this?" "Yes," I whispered, "please?" She waited a moment, then sat back. "Okay. I'll stop," she smiled slyly. "I don't think you really wanted me to, but I will." "Hayley, I need to get back." I repositioned myself under her, suggesting that she get off. She did, and stood back, offering her hand to help me up from the sofa. "Tomorrow can you call me a couple of stops up from here on your way in?" I nodded. She smiled. "That way I can meet you on the train and we can journey in together." "Okay," I replied. "I'll get off here though and meet you on the platform just so we don't miss each other." "Sounds good." We walked to the door. As we got there she held my hand and turned me around. We were near the same height, I barely had to bend down but she stood up to kiss me anyway, and held me close by pulling my ass in towards her. "Hey," she said as she let me go to the door, "could you wear lower shoes?" I looked at her questioningly. "I don't know," she said, "it's just a thing. No bother." The next day I wore boots into work with a low, inch heel on them. When I met Hayley on the platform at Chalk Farm she was wearing some real fuck-me pumps. She looked amazing, and, moreover, she looked down on me. I thought that I should feel uncomfortable, but somehow I didn't. The idea of a taller girlfriend brought something out in me. I thought that maybe... no, I didn't just think maybe, I wanted her to wrap herself around me, to hug me, to hold me close. I wanted her to be the man. I wanted her to be stronger than me. Perhaps this Mata Hari thing wasn't just a ploy? So maybe I didn't have to have her from the first moment I met her, but she was definitely growing on me! As well as my day job I had my evening work. This gave me a great excuse to slow things down with Hayley. Yet she would find me at lunch for a quick chat 'to see how I was getting on', pass on jokey emails coated with smileys, and try to arrange travelling to and from work together. To the casual observer it may have appeared that she was putting on a bit too much pressure. I was enjoying it, and looking forward to our next 'date'. The real pressure was from holding down a day and an evening job. Whilst I had no-one to look after but myself, there were things to be done. I was missing my kids, and Simon was missing me. The bodyguard arrived and promptly disappeared, yet the following day the house was set up with new wires to small cameras and a couple of panic buttons disguised as light switches. All permitted, I have to add, as he had told me everything that he wanted to do. His prompt disappearance was magic. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, yet I knew he was still around. Or at least I thought he was. One of his jobs was to try to find the guy who was coming after me, and I assumed he would do that by staying somewhere nearby and checking out everyone who came close. Simon missing me came to a head on the weekend. Again. I met him on Saturday and from the moment I saw him I knew it was over. I just wasn't interested. Oh sure, I was still interested in something that he could provide, but every man could do that. It was the rest of him. I just wasn't interested anymore. I knew why, too. It was Hayley. That worried me a little, but it helped me to deal with Simon. After an uncomfortable lunch I turned down the ticket to see the football, and told him goodbye. I think I was lucky that he had a match to watch. He could either stop to debate with me, or accept and leave, straight away. He chose to accept and leave. I did mind. It did affect me. Not in a boyfriend/girlfriend breakup kind of way, more in the way the loss of a relative affects. I'd lost a friend, someone who could have been close, and yet we couldn't be friends because we'd done the wrong things together, and got the wrong kinds of expectations of our relationship. Once a friendship has crossed the line it can't be brought back, so I was sad to lose a friend, someone I could never see or speak to again. I was sad that I'd messed up, yet even sadder when I thought about the future. I couldn't make the friends that I used to enjoy, drinking buddies to go to the pub with. Guys who would talk football, or talk women. My new friends would have to be different, female, with interests that I knew a lot about but didn't find interesting. Or maybe, because I never had hundreds of friends, there were still a few special ones out there, a few I could turn to. On the spur of the moment, standing in the station waiting to cross town to home, I called the mobile number for a young Jake Marston. We met for lunch on the Sunday, starting out with lunch at a chain pizzeria opposite the castle in Windsor. Jake was allowed certain freedoms as a senior boy in college, but I still had to collect him from his house. "So, am I calling you 'Mom' today?" he asked with a cheeky smile. "No!" I protested. "And not Sara either. Tiffany is the unfortunate name that I've grown used to." "Not Sara?" "No. It is my name, but not the one I'm used to. I use it in business quite often." "Ah, yes, the business of being rent-a-mother." I sighed. "Or rent-a-wife, or rent-a-girlfriend." "Tiffany." He mulled the name over. "You're not here on business then?" "No. Not business." "Then it's pleasure! But you do remember our last date?" He was smiling again. "Jacob, quit playing around. You know I'm sorry about that!" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "So what brings you out of the big city?" We talked in pleasantries for a while, catching up on the events of the brief time that had passed since we last met. We finished a fairly light lunch, though Jake was happy to eat a full pizza to himself, with a side order of garlic bread and a sloppy, chocolate dessert. I had comfortable boots on, and we took off on a planned stroll up the Long Walk. "I guess I need some advice from you," I began, as we passed among those hardy souls who were taking the same fresh air as us. "I don't know if you can give me any but I guess we're in similar situations." "How do you mean?" "If I can put it bluntly, you're a boy who likes boys, and I'm a girl who likes girls." "Blunt, but yes. Although you seem to like boys well enough too?" "I thought I could. I even thought I did, but that's changed a little now." "It's not really something that can change a little. At least, not in my experience." "I'm sorry, Jake. I forget how young you are. You always seem so much older." He smiled. "That's a fairly good thing for a teenager." "Did you always know you were gay?" "I guess so, though I didn't always know what it was. I thought I would grow up to like women, but I've never been able to see anything in them that my friends saw. Always passing around the illicit Hustlers, and commenting in the street on tits and asses. I went along with it all, assuming that one day I'd feel whatever it was that they felt, maybe if I tried hard enough. Then girls started approaching me, and I still felt nothing. I guess. Or not really nothing. I felt wierded out, like it was all wrong. I couldn't feel anything but a little bit repulsed. I tried kissing, but it didn't work out. The girls still wanted me, but I felt a little sickened by it, and tried to avoid them." "That never worked out for you, though, did it?" I asked. "No. My mates tell me that all the girls want me." "They would. Not your mates, I mean. All the girls would want you." "I know that." Jake lifted an arm and flexed a bicep. "I am all man!" He growled. We laughed. "So when did you really know?" "Kids started to talk about gays just like they talk about everything else. Boxing them up into stereotypes." I raised my eyebrows. "Big words for teens." "Race, gender, sexuality. All stereotypes to kids. To me too. But something about gays interested me. Just knowing that there were a group of people who liked other boys. But because they were insulted I had to hide my thoughts about them. That's when understanding began to dawn though. When I was maybe eleven or twelve. Girls developed, boys developed, I began to look at the boys around me and understand that I was different. Different like the insults." "You hid?" "Of course. It took a long time to really understand. I didn't want to be different and I certainly didn't want to become a joke because of it. The hate was huge so I hid it. I did everything to be more manly than the rest, hence the girlfriends. I snogged and held hands in public." He paused. "And in private?" "In private I felt sick and started to hate myself." I was shocked a little. "What? Hate yourself?" "Gays were bad, sick, inferior, hated. Geeks were gay, wimps were gay, wierdos were gay, so I guessed gays were geeky, wimpy wierdos. I didn't want to be one." Touch. I moved closer and gave his arm a hug. Reassuring, I hoped. He didn't move away. "You're definitely not one of those." "No, but nothing wrong with being any of those, right?" "You are definitely older in your head than seventeen." "I've had help." "Really?" "Callum. He's nearer your age, I guess. But like you he doesn't seem older." I smiled. "A compliment, I think. Who's Callum? Your boyfriend?" "We met at home. We knew each other for quite a while - he's a neighbour of ours. We got talking at a wedding because we recognised each other and somewhere in the conversation he came straight out with it. 'Jake, you're gay, aren't you?' It was maybe a year ago. I always liked Callum. I felt things around him, and he was always a bit exotic. Still is. He's a musician and a traveller." "A bit of a geeky, wimpy weirdo?" Jake frowned slightly, then laughed. "He is!" "But nobody insults him for it?" "You haven't heard my father talking about him." We walked in silence for a while, getting close to the statue. "Have you got any female friends, Jake?" "I have, but not close friends. Not like mates." "How about your mates? Are they friends?" "Of course they are." Jake seemed puzzled by the question. "Do you fancy any of them?" "Huh?" He paused. I waited. "You're weird. How come I'm talking to you about all this stuff?" I still waited. "I find one or two of them attractive. But I've grown up with them, and I know they're not gay. So it's nothing. They're mates." I didn't push. I changed the topic temporarily. "I had a date last night. Business." I was picked up from home by a taxi and driven to a West London eaterie. Mrs Milner told me that I would be met at the door. I was, by Philip, the psychologist whom I'd last met when he was on Mrs Milner's interview panel. He greeted me warmly, like a long lost friend and we took a table together in the quiet depths of the restaurant. "How have you been, Tiffany?" "Is this a test?" "It's a date. And a test. But not a pass or fail test. Everything you say or do this evening I am going to evaluate because that is my nature, and obviously because Maggie asked me to do so. That said you are now probably nervous, and so you won't act as you naturally would, second guessing everything you would consider doing or saying. Because of that we're going to treat it as a date. I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen and occasionally question to find out a little more about what I'm talking about and to encourage me to go on. Being a man I'll love that and think you're the most interesting woman in the world, without ever hearing a thing about you." I laughed. Philip smiled with me. "Okay," I stated, "go on then." He started to talk. At first it was inconsequential, but soon the conversation began to centre on me, being Philip's observations of my state of life and mind. "You're still in shock," he told me. "Not in denial, but shock. The trauma hit you on every front, physical, mental, spiritual, cultural, intellectual. Your ex-girlfriend has held you together, firstly through giving you enforced direction, and lately as you escape that, through giving you a goal. You've never yet dealt with yourself, with yourself as a person or a spirit moving through a new life. You are being framed still by the outside influences your ex is giving you. What you do and learn is giving you the power to escape her and then to avenge yourself, to get back at her for what she's done to you. Nothing you've learnt or done has been for you or yours. So what happens when she is no more an influence in your life, or if you discover that you cannot beat her or be done with her? Either way you have nothing left to guide you forward. That's when it will all hit you, all at once, that this is you now, and you have to make a life for you. "Your old friends and colleagues are gone, you have none of your old support networks. Your family, apart from a few sparks, is dying away. Are you fighting for them, or are you even trying to replace them? I don't think so. "You need to, Tiffany. You need to find a place in your new life for family and friends. Don't think you're protecting them from what happened to you, let them protect themselves, and they haven't asked for your help, but you need to ask for theirs a bit more." It was very direct, and I didn't think he was right. I disagreed. "You took a long time to ask for help. People have chosen to help you because they want to help you, not because you wanted them to help. If you escape your ex, or even get your revenge, you will need a lot more help. Just don't be too late in asking for it." I sighed. He sighed too. "Maggie asked me about your situation and how it came about. Our emotions are strange things, and being subject to them we are unable to understand the impact they have on us. I think that your ex loved you. In anger she mistook her feelings for hate, an emotion just as focussed and passionate. She has tried to remove you, yet she still set you free when she could have kept you. Her fascination with you continues as she watches you. She wants you back, even now. She thinks that she's made it impossible, but she hasn't, you're still alive, and she stays in contact. As difficult as it may appear now, to both of you, she still wants you to beat all the odds and come back to her. Even she doesn't know it but she's testing you. Grabbing you, showing you her power, her value, her worth, but she wants you to beat it all and come back and take her, take her and everything that's hers." "And that's her weakness," I murmured. "Excuse me?" Philip asked. I looked up at him. "Thank you, Philip. You've been a great help." For once I saw a bemused expression on the professor's face. "Have you been listening?" "I have. I need friends. I need help. And Lucy wants me back." "So how can I help?" Jake asked after hearing my tale of the previous evening. "I guess I was already starting to realise what Philip was telling me, that I need help dealing with myself, and friends." We were starting the walk back, and none too soon, as the chill was starting to creep through my coat and scarf. "You listen damn good, and you know everything about me, so I hope you are a friend, even if you're an oldie." I punched him. "Not much longer if you carry on with comments like that. Anyway, I've been to plenty cooler clubs than you have, so if you quit the old comments I might take you to a few." "I'll quit the old comments." "Yeah. So, I'm going on a date with a girl." "Really? Cool. What's her name?" "Hayley." "Is she nice?" "Very. Maybe a little bit manly, but in personality. Physically she's very attractive, very feminine." "Callum is a little bit feminine physically, but manly in personality. Free and independent, anyway." "So how do I date a gay girl?" Jake stopped at looked down at me. "Uh, Tiffany? What makes you think I know?" "If Callum took you out somewhere, where would it be, how would you act, what would you say?" "Oh, I guess, well, thinking about it maybe I do have some idea," he thought for a moment. "It would have to be gay friendly or I wouldn't do anything that wouldn't seem straight. Girls can hold hands, and gossip close, and touch, but beyond that you're stepping out in public, and that would mean I wouldn't want to be noticed or spotted. I'd feel worried even if there wasn't much chance of trouble. This is like your first time, isn't it? Like you're coming out of the closet, sort of thing?" I laughed. "Yup, it sure is. I've never been gay before!" He laughed too, a deep bark of a laugh. "You've come to the right guy. I've hardly done it before either!" He continued, "you know, that's why you're so easy to talk to. I never figured it till now. You listen like a girl, but you understand guys, and you've got the problems I have, or sort of, anyway." "And you're the first male that I've spoken to that hasn't wanted to see me naked." "Oh," he frowned. "I do want to see you naked, but only for the aesthetic pleasure, if you get me? I still think women are beautiful and deserve to be looked at. Just not touched." "You're weird." "And you're geeky, wimpy and gay!" So my first new friend taught me that I had to be quite circumspect in my public dealings with Hayley, a lesson that the male in me might never have understood. As Michael I would have happily greeted her with a long kiss on the platform at Chalk Farm during rush hour. As Tiffany, that couldn't happen. I had been embarrassed to show any affection to Simon, even though it was the most natural thing in the world. I wasn't embarrassed to show affection to Hayley, and though to me it might be the most natural thing in the world, it shouldn't be. Just like I hadn't grown up a girl, neither had I grown up a lesbian, and there were more things to learn, more rules to be abided by. Not abiding by these rules could alienate Hayley, or damage her, and I found that I really didn't want to do that. So Armando's was a very public affair, and therefore I kept any hint of flirtation well under control. Armando himself wasn't in the country, and Gino, the maitre d', was the soul of discretion, so I had no fears of anyone 'recognising' me. Hayley wanted to order the food, but in a subtle twist of conversation I got the waiter to recommend a couple of dishes that were much more to my taste, and hopefully to hers. She even asked if I would choose the wine, deferring to my kitchen ability, as she called it. I managed to delay enough that the waiter left us for a moment, then on the pretence of looking for him to get a bottle of house red I managed to reach Gino whilst out of her line of sight. "Gino, honey, a bottle of tonight's recommendation and call it the house red when it gets to the table. My card," I said, slipping him the company black card. Not even the flicker of an eyebrow as he ran it through the reader and handed it back to me with a magician's sleight of hand. The bottle, when it arrived, was all chocolate and blackberries, with not a hint of barrel, though some of beetroot, and the knowledge that every grape had been squeezed underfoot. Hayley was taken by the taste and texture. "Amazingly fresh!" She opined. Probably ten to fifteen years old, I figured, but youthful wines were often heavy so I smiled with her. The food was amazing too, simple meats cooked to perfection with odd vegetable salads like bok choi, grated roast celeriac, and mango slivers in a toasted oil. I loved it. I always loved it. I was impressed by everything, genuinely, so it was no problem for Hayley to bathe in it. She reached for my hand across the table. "I can't do this too often, you know." I looked back at her. "Please don't! I want to remember this." Her eyes lit up. "Oh my God, Georgie!" She leaned in close, secretive. "Can I tell you something?" I was puzzled. "Yes, what?" "You're coming back with me tonight." The next day, sitting in the office, I knew that Steve Connaught was the newest induction into IT Support, the same group that Colin Meade was in, and entitled to grant access to any system, anywhere. I knew that Victoria Fillimore was PA to the same MD that I'd worked under, Jim Chang, and was only three months in the job but spoke passable Cantonese. I knew that Gordon Gilchrist, my ultimate boss in UK Finance, was going away at the end of the week and was giving his deputy, Josh Middlemass, the keys to the safe. I also knew that I was having difficulty keeping the smile off my face, and that Christine had quickly found out about it. By lunch I had access to three more contract and financial systems that enabled me to search the breadth of the business internationally; had bumped into Victoria Fillimore in the kitchen on the top l