The Final Gamble free porn video

My gambling addiction had landed me in serious trouble, but now I'd been offered a way out, a final gamble. But I didn't realise I was gambling away my identity - or who I'd become when I had. THE FINAL GAMBLE by BobH (c) 2013. - 1 - "What do you do?" It's something we all ask when making small talk with someone we've just met. My reply to that question always gets a chuckle. "I'm in ladies' underwear," I say, adding as the chuckle comes, "and before you ask, yes, it's very comfortable." It wasn't a very comfortable place to be right now, however. I'd been summoned to Linda Hart's office here at Hart Intimate Apparel and I was panicking, my mouth dry, my palms sweating. Had she found out? Was this the confrontation I'd been dreading for weeks? Had she already called the police? Nervously, I toyed with the splint strapping the broken little finger on my left hand against its neighbour. "I've been summoned into the presence", I said to Melanie, the pretty young brunette who manned the desk outside Linda's office - and 'presence' was right. She might be a fairly average-looking middle-aged woman, but Linda Hart had more presence than almost anybody I'd ever met. "She's waiting for you, Alex," said Melanie, "so you can go right in." "Thanks," I said, pausing as I noticed a new framed picture standing on her desk. "That the new boyfriend?" I asked. "Yeah," she grinned. "His name's Gareth. We're going camping next weekend." "I hope you have a great time together." "Thanks. Now stop delaying and get in there. You know how she hates to be kept waiting." Steeling myself, I grasped the doorknob with my good hand and entered Linda's office. "Ah, Alex, just the person I need to see. Please sit down. How are Amy and Christopher doing?" "They're just fine," I said, lowering myself into the chair in front of her desk. It was a standard pleasantry to ask after my wife and son, particularly since she knew we were having problems, but she also genuinely cared for them. Despite their age difference, she and Amy had become good friends. "Good, good," she replied, distractedly. "There's something I need you to see." She slid a file folder across the desk, past the small figurine of a cat that had been a fixture on it for the last six months. Was this it? Was she presenting me with evidence of my wrongdoing? "What is it?" I asked, fearing the answer. "Open it and see." I did as she asked then rifled through the pages within. "It's a file on you," I said, puzzled, "complete with profiles on all your friends and describing their relationships with you. It looks to be incredibly detailed." "It is," she said. "It was found on the front desk in a plain brown envelope this morning. There was nothing to indicate who had sent it, or why." "This level of detail...." I said, voice trailing off. "I don't think I've ever seen a dossier that went into anyone's life in such depth before. What do you think whoever sent it might want?" "I have no idea but, obviously, I'm worried. I want you to take the file away, study it, and see if anything leaps out at you, anything at all that might help us. Use that fine, analytical mind of yours." "But..but, this is your entire life right here in my hands, in intimate detail. Are you sure you want me to know that much about you? I mean, the most obvious reason for putting together something like this and then letting you see it is blackmail." "I trust you, Alex," she said. "These past few months Charles and I have grown very close to you and your family. I know you won't let me down." That makes one of us, I thought afterwards as I sat headed back to my own office. Once inside, I dropped the file on my desk, fished some antacid tablets from a drawer, pausing as I caught sight of the framed photo of me and Amy on our wedding day, the day she became Mrs Alex Taylor. It was the happiest day of my life. I threw a back couple of the tablets, washing them down with a bottle of mineral water. Only twenty-four and already on the way to my first ulcer. Although the way things were going the odds were against me making my twenty-fifth birthday. Looking down at myself, I sighed wistfully at the doughy, spreading midriff that had buried the washboard abs I'd had during my university sporting days only a few years ago, then ran a hand through my sandy brown hair. Despite my youth it was already thinning, more of it staying behind in my comb every time I used it. If this carried on I'd be old before my time. Shaking myself out of this momentary funk, I picked up the file and began poring over the contents. I was in overall charge of company security so it made sense for Linda to have dropped this in my lap, and I desperately needed something to get my mind off the mess I was in. Despite myself, I was intrigued by the puzzle the file represented. At the top of the first page, before it went into the fine detail of her life there was a brief description of Linda: Linda Margaret Hart (nee Smith) b. 9 June 1969, no siblings, parents deceased. Married to Charles Richard Hart, b. 16 May 1962, no children. They met when she started work at Hart Intimate Apparel as a trainee secretary in January 1988, and married six months later on 12 July 1988. Has since risen to her current position as chief designer and financial officer, a position second only to that of her husband, the company CEO. In the process their marriage suffered and appears to be little more than a business arrangement at this point. They keep up appearances in public and sleep in separate bedrooms. Ouch. I hadn't known about the separate bedrooms. Not the sort of thing you'd want to become public knowledge. And I remember how upset she was when her parents died, just over a year ago now. They were killed in a car crash, just as my own had been a year before that on the worst day of my life. It was a sorrow we shared. Turning to the rear of the file, I pulled out the profiles of Linda's friends. These were mostly single-sheet, a small photo of the woman in question stapled to the top left hand corner, detailing her relationship with Linda, how they had met, specific anecdotes, and some surprisingly intimate confidences. So *that's* how she and Letitia Cole met. How the hell did someone get hold of this stuff, I wondered again? It was both amazing and deeply disturbing. Clipped to the inside front cover of the file was an 8" x 10" glossy of Linda, one of the publicity shots the PR department sends out to newspapers and the like. Linda was short, barely five-five in her three inch heels, had collar-length hair she dyed auburn to hide the grey creeping in, was a little on the plump side with a large backside, a somewhat matronly bosom, and a waist that had the standard middle-aged spread you'd expect on a woman in her mid forties. She was wearing an expensively-tailored skirt suit that made the best of her figure, and tastefully understated jewelery and make-up. She had a pleasant enough face but I doubt she'd ever been pretty, even when young. What you noticed most about her however, what commanded your attention, were her eyes. Even in a photo, her drive and intelligence blazed out of them. After carefully reading my way through the file, I closed the folder and leaned back in my chair, gazing up at the ceiling. I now knew more about Linda Hart's life than anyone should but her, and it had left me feeling kind of dirty. Even so, I hadn't found anything in there she could be blackmailed over. But if this was a prelude to some sort of blackmail, what might the blackmailer want? Money was the obvious answer, but when dealing with a commercial enterprise it wasn't the only one. Hart Intimate Apparel had been founded here in Surrey in 1931 by Arthur Hart, Charles' grandfather, and had grown steadily over the following decades until it was now a mid-level company supplying lingerie to department stores nationally. I knew that Linda desperately wanted to develop a line of high-end designer lingerie but she had so far met with limited success so it probably wouldn't be our next season designs they were after. No, thinking about it, there was very little a competitor might want from us; it had to be about money. Even though I have a photographic memory and so didn't need to, I read through the file a few more times to see if I'd missed any obvious hooks for blackmail. Apart from now being able to pass a test on the life of Linda Hart with flying colours, I found nothing. By this point it was midday so I made my way out to the courtyard where a lot of company employees were either enjoying a smoke or eating packed lunches in the sunshine. Linda was there, smoking a cigarette. "Any joy with the dossier?" she asked. "None," I replied, "though I'm now ready to go on Mastermind and answer questions on you as my specialist subject." "Well, keep at it," she chuckled. "I'm confident you'll figure out what's going on eventually. Ah, here's Amy." She took a final drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out, then greeted Amy, clearly delighted to see her. They gave each other a quick hug and my wife was all smiles, until she caught sight of me. Then her face darkened. I loved Amy dearly so this hurt, but I couldn't honestly blame her for being so angry. She turned her back to me. "We'd best be going," she said to Linda. "Yes, we should," replied Linda, giving me an embarrassed glance and a shrug. They lunched together on this day every week, the day that Christopher spends a few hours at his play group, catching up on whatever it is women talk about when they get together. She had even started inviting us all up to the Hart family mansion recently, and had insisted on giving me a tour of the place. The mansion was located barely five miles from the factory but set in several acres of magnificently tended grounds. It had its own swimming pool, of course, and one afternoon Christopher and I had got to play in the pool while she and Amy sunned themselves beside it, talking to each other animatedly for hours. They made an unlikely pair, the middle aged woman squeezed into a one-piece bathing suit that displayed her cellulite and all her bulges, and the thin young woman in the bikini who was young enough to be her daughter, yet their friendship and genuine affection for each other was plain to see. Charles Hart was polite to us but aloof, and retired to his study as soon as he could do so without giving offense. Watching them head out to Linda's car now, I gazed longingly at Amy's back. Short-haired and gamine, she looked like a young, blonde Audrey Hepburn. More than anything, I wished I could turn the clock back to those first glorious days of our marriage, to the happiest days of my life, but there was no way we'd ever get those times back again. I'd wanted a daughter as well as a son, but I don't think Christopher will be getting a sister now, at least not one with me as her father. And the terrible thing is that as mad as Amy was with me now she still had no idea of just how big a mess I'd made of things. I pulled the letter out of my pocket, the letter I hadn't let her see, and read it yet again. It was a foreclosure notice on our home. We had to be gone by the end of next week. As it happened, I didn't have to wait that long for the final collapse of the house of cards I'd been desperately trying to hold together. Everything came crashing down the very next day. - 2 - It started when Linda called me into her office. The look on Melanie's face when I walked past her told me this was going to be a much more fraught meeting than yesterday's. "Take a seat, Alex," said Linda, all business, face grim. My stomach lurched when I saw the set of ledgers she had open on the desk in front of her. So she knew. "The look on your face tells me everything I need to know," she said. "Why, Alex? Why did you embezzle twenty thousand pounds from the company?" So I told her everything. In fact once I started I couldn't stop. It had begun as a few harmless little bets here and there, but it turned into an addiction. Soon, I had gambled away everything I had and was gambling with money I didn't have. Amy found out and it caused blazing rows between us, but even she didn't know just how much trouble I'd got myself into. Forever trying to chase the money I'd already lost and having exhausted my credit with every respectable gambling outlet I eventually found myself placing my bets with criminals. It was one of these, Jimmy Lang, who had broken my finger by way of warning. If I didn't settle my debts with him before the weekend he would do much worse to me. "God, I've screwed things up so badly!" I was sobbing now. "So you think this..this gangster will have you killed, and soon? That you only have days left," said Linda. "Yes. He had another poor sod in my situation killed, not that anyone could prove he was responsible. He's a seriously dangerous guy. When he discovered his girl-friend, Julia Benson, wanted to leave him he beat her up and had someone break the legs of the guy she was sweet on." Linda stared at me for a long time then, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, appraising me. Finally she spoke. "What would you say if I told you I could arrange things in a way that would be to the advantage of both of us, that I could increase your life expectancy from days to decades, and not only wipe away your gambling debts and cure your gambling addiction but leave you fairly wealthy? Not only that, but no-one but us would remember you'd ever been in this mess, our marriages would be happy ones, Charles would have the child he wanted - now grown up, of course - Amy and Christopher would always be delighted to see you, and you'd have a daughter?" "I'd ask to see your magic wand," I said, "because it would take magic to do all that." "Yes," she said, looking at me appraisingly, "it would. In fact it would take a spell that could re-order reality for the two of us." "Is this some sort of joke?" I asked, "because if it is your sense of timing stinks." "No joke," she said, giving a thin smile. "I've acquired a single-use, two-part spell - you don't need to know how or from where - that will do just what I said it will as long as I very carefully define the parameters of what I want to achieve within the limits of what it can do." I could see by her expression she wasn't joking. "You're serious," I said, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice. "But this sort of thing is impossible!" "Not only is it possible but, along with the major spell, I acquired a much more limited 'sampler' version of the spell to demonstrate this stuff is real and to convince you. It's in the cat." I looked at the small figurine on her desk, unconvinced. "How is that going to convince me of anything?" "It's a cat now, but it can be something else. Choose another animal." "This is crazy," I said, "total nonsense." "If it is then you've got nothing to lose by humoring me. Choose an animal." "OK, a pig," I said shrugging. "A pig it is," she said, placing her hand over the figurine. She stared into space then, a look of concentration on her face. "Done," she said, and when I looked down it was no longer a cat her hand was resting on but a pig. "That was some sort of conjuring trick," I said, not wanting to believe what I'd just seen. Linda pressed her intercom button. "Melanie," she said, "could you please come in for a minute." The door opened, and Melanie walked over to the desk. "Yes, Mrs Hart?" "Melanie, how long have I had this pig figurine on my desk?" "About six months," she said. "Have I had another figurine in that time? Like maybe a cat?" "No, just the pig." "Thank you, Melanie, that will be all." Melanie then returned to her desk in the outer office, her puzzlement at being asked about the pig clearly evident. Either she was a very good actress, or reality truly had been altered as Linda claimed it had. My heart was hammering in my chest. A way out, this could actually be a way out. "There's got to be a catch," I said, "there's always a catch." "Everything I said the spell can do it will do," said Linda, "but I'm not going to tell you precisely how it will accomplish those things. It has limits, but as long as I very carefully define what I want it to do within those limits this will work. You have to decide whether to go for it based on the information I've given you, so it's a gamble. Your final gamble. I don't think you're going to find a better deal, frankly. So go away, think about it, and you can give me your decision when you, Amy and Christopher come over for dinner tonight." The rest of the day passed in a daze. At home that evening things between Amy and I were as frosty as ever and Christopher, picking up on our mood, was uncharacteristically subdued. I hated how bad things had got with my family and as I drove over to the Hart mansion in our battered VW Beetle - bought for peanuts when our previous car was repossessed and worth about what I paid for it - I came to a decision. I would take a gamble, what I was determined would be my final gamble, and take Linda Hart's offer. It was the only way out of my situation I could see. - 3 - We pulled up outside the mansion gates having not exchanged a single word during the journey. I wound down my window and pressed the intercom button. "It's us," I said. "Excellent!" said Linda Hart from the speaker grille. The gates slowly opened before us and I then drove up the gravel driveway to the mansion itself where Mrs Hart was waiting for us at the door. "How wonderful to see you all," she said as we climbed out of the car. She and Amy shared a hug, smiling at each other with deep and genuine affection. Christopher gave her a hug, too. He thought of her as a favourite aunt. We all then trooped into the house with me somewhat dejectedly bringing up the rear. In the main living room, Charles Hart poured us all drinks. Handsome but a little formal, he was a gracious host as always, yet there was a sadness about him. After reading the dossier I now knew why. I couldn't help sympathizing with him. We both loved our wives, but for different reasons they were lost to us. I'd already decided I was going to take up Linda Hart's offer, but I think that was the moment that sealed it for me. "Can I see you in private for a moment, Linda?" I said. "Certainly," she replied, turning to address the others. "You'll have to excuse us for a few minutes but Alex and I have a little business we need to discuss. We'll only be a few minutes." We exited the room together and she led me upstairs to a bedroom, to her room. The single bed told its own story. From under that bed she dragged a small trunk. Unlocking this she pulled out an old book with ornate symbols picked out in precious stones on its leather cover. "The grimoire," she said. "This is where the spell is stored. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, Alex? Once we start there's no going back." "I'm sure," I said. "I'm out of options and this is the only route out of my troubles on offer." "Excellent!" she said, smiling and offering me her hand while laying her other on the grimoire. "The spell only works if both of us are willing participants. It can't be forced on someone against their will." I took her hand, and the instant we touched we began to change. I watched in amazement as Linda grew taller, younger and thinner before my eyes, her features morphing into those of a stunning young beauty, her hair darkening, thickening and lengthening as it cascaded in lustrous waves down over her shoulders. I was changing, too, both shrinking in height and growing wider at waist and hips, my clothes transforming along with my body. I looked down at myself to see the legs of my trousers fusing together into the skirt of a dress as they rose up my legs, my socks chasing them, thick dark wool turning to thin flesh-tone nylon as they became panty-hose. My view of this transformation became blocked as my shirt was pushed outward by the breasts that suddenly sprouted from my chest, that garment turning into the top half of a dress and fusing with the skirt that had been my trousers. At the same time, the sleeves raced up my arms and vanished, leaving them bare save for the silver bracelet on my right wrist that had been a cheap digital watch just moments before. It was all over in seconds. I hadn't felt a thing. "Ah you OK?" asked Linda, her transformed voice now a sexy purr. I looked up at her, and gasped. Before me stood a young woman in her early twenties with the face and the body of a supermodel. There's pretty, there's beautiful, and then there's breath- takingly gorgeous, which is what she now was. Her lush mane of thick, dark hair, her flashing eyes, and skin that was now a couple of shades darker than it had been, meant she looked more Latina than English Rose. Dressed in a figure hugging little black mini-dress, sheer black panty-hose and five inch heels, she towered over me. "I..I'm a woman!" I said in a high, female voice, staring in amazement at the painted nails at the end of my now pudgy fingers, my pulse racing. "Yes, you are," she said, taking my hand and calmly leading me over to the wall mirror. "Let's have a look at our new selves." Taking those few steps in the high heels I had finally noticed I was wearing, my heavy breasts and now ample arse made my gait felt very odd. Seeing myself in the mirror I gasped for a second time. Staring back at me was the middle aged Linda Hart. "I'm you," I said, "but then who...?" The young beauty beside me was studying her own reflection with obvious delight, turning this way and that to admire her altered body from every angle. Reluctantly. she tore her gaze away from the mirror. "I'm Jade, now," she smiled. "I'm your daughter. And Amy is my wife." "What!?" I sat down heavily on the bed, shocked. "Why? Why did you do this? I've lost twenty years of my life!" "No, you've gained thirty or forty years of life, years you wouldn't have had to look forward to if Jimmy Lang had got to you first. And I did this the way I did because it does everything I promised you, and gives me everything I want, too." She pulled a chair up in front of me and sat down, leaning in and fixing me with that keen gaze I knew so well. "I told you I wasn't able to be the wife Charles wanted, the wife he deserved, but I didn't tell you why," she said. "I'm gay, always have been, but for the longest time I was in denial. My parents were very conservative, very religious, and I believed they could never have handled their only child being a lesbian. So to please them, to deny and to force down those feelings I didn't even want to admit to myself, I married Charles. I admire and respect him, even love him in my way, but I could never feel anything for him sexually. Then, three years ago, you came to work for us. I always thought love at first sight was a myth but when I met Amy, when you introduced us to your wife and her beautiful baby boy, I discovered it wasn't. The feelings I had for Amy were more powerful than I had ever felt for anyone, almost frighteningly so. I envied you then, wanted what you had more than words can express. It really brought home to me just how much I had lost by living a lie, and for the first time I bitterly regretted having sacrificed my youth to timidity - and I'm not normally a timid person - and to pleasing my parents. But there was nothing I could do about it, not then." "So this was just about stealing Amy from me," I said, bitterly. "How can I be stealing her from you when you'd already lost her?" she replied. "And you must have seen how close Amy and I had become. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that we're soul mates. Now our relationship will be more than just platonic. It will be the full expression of our love I want it to be. What I've done is given us all a new and better chance at happiness; you too, if you'll take it. Anyway, as I was explaining, I couldn't have Amy then so I became her friend, watching as Christopher grew older and pretending she and I were his parents. It was all I could hope for until last year, when my own parents died. That's when I found out I wasn't the only one with a secret. My parents Richard and Mary Smith, those God-fearing churchgoers and fine upstanding pillars of the community, were occultists. Among their effects I found the ritualistic paraphenalia and, most importantly, a grimoire." "A grimoire?" "A spell-book, and also a record of all my parents had done and had accomplished in their occult activities down the years. Reading through it in the weeks that followed, I discovered my father had acquired the spell I just used and its accompanying demonstration spell, all fully paid for and free of any, ah, 'obligations'. There, laid out like a legal document - which, in a way, it is - were all the terms, limits, and conditions of the spell. The demonstration spell had already been placed in the small figurine of a horse, where it could be used up to three times, and the main spell needed to be taken into the body of the person who intended to use it. At first, I didn't really believe this stuff worked, of course, not until I followed the instructions and turned the horse figurine into a cat. Why my parents had left the main spell unused I'll never know, but as I mulled over its capabilities I realised that here was the answer to my prayers. I knew you'd been stealing from the company, knew that your marriage was disintegrating and that Amy was really unhappy. Now I had the means to put everything right." "So you could only put everything right by making me a middle-aged woman?" I said, gazing down at my transformed body again, still not quite believing what had happened. Jade - it was impossible to think of this gorgeous young woman as Linda any more - didn't reply immediately, but paused to reach over to the bedside table for her cigarettes. Lighting one, she took a deep drag on it before exhaling a long plume of smoke and regarding me levelly. "It's...complicated," she said. "The spell allowed me to switch our lives, which I did, so that you became me and I became Amy's twenty four year old spouse, but I didn't want to be you, so at the same time I had it change me into this, and into your daughter. The conditions of the spell let me physically transform one of us in a major way after the life-switch and to link us more closely. It also lets me mentally transform the other person in a couple of ways. That's how it was written. I knew the things I wanted to accomplish and had to figure out a way of accomplishing them all within those parameters." "Wait, back up!" I said. "You had it *mentally* transform me!?" "Only in two ways that would help you," she replied. "Firstly, I removed your compulsion to gamble and, secondly, I made you straight." "I've always been straight," I replied, not grasping her meaning. "Yes," she said, "but now you're a straight woman. If I hadn't actively done this, you'd have ended up like I was, a gay woman in a loveless marriage. That would've been unfair to you and unfair to Charles...to Dad. Have you noticed how this room has altered, by the way?" I looked around me, noticing the changes for the first time, distracted as I was by having been turned into a middle-aged woman. "All your things have gone," I said, "including the grimoire. This now looks more like a guest room." "It is," she said. "Unlike me and Charles, you and Dad are happily married and share a bed." "You expect me to sleep with your husband?" I said, incredulously. "He's your husband now, mother," she replied, pointedly, "and whether or not you want to carry on sleeping with Dad is up to you, of course. But that's where your relationship is right now. When the changes rippled out from us, when reality reshaped itself to accomodate the people we now are, it made Amy gay and left you two a happily married couple. In fact Amy, Christopher, and I live here now as well, and have our own apartments in the opposite wing of the mansion to you and Dad." "I don't think I can do this," I said, staring down at myself again. "You don't have any choice," said Jade, gripping my shoulders. "The change is permanent and couldn't be undone even if the grimoire hadn't vanished when the room changed." "But I'm not you!" I cried. "We have different personalities. People are going to notice the change." "No, they won't. You're Linda Hart now, and you always have been. So your personality is the one she's always had." She took a drag on her cigarette, stared at it for a moment before exhaling, then offered it to me. "I don't smoke," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Exactly. I smoke but you don't. You've never been a smoker and you're Linda Hart, so Linda Hart has never been a smoker. No-one will ever remember her as having done so or being any different than you are now in any way. You'll still have mostly done all the same things she did though, and have the same relationships." "The file," I said, realisation dawning, "it was you who put it together!" "There, I told you you'd figure it out eventually," she laughed. "It was stuff you needed to know about a life that was about to become your own. That's also why I was so insistent about giving you a tour of the mansion. Since you were going to be living here you needed to know your way around the place." "You were that sure I'd take the deal?" "Yes, I was that sure. It was the best deal that was on offer, your only way out of the mess you'd made of everything. It might not feel like it right now but you did the right thing for you, for Amy and Christopher, for all of us. In time you'll come to accept that. OK, now we'd better rejoin the others. They must be wondering where we've got to." She stubbed out her cigarette and offered me her hand. Numbly, I took it, allowing her to lead me downstairs to rejoin the others. Along the walls of the landing and stairs were framed magazine covers, all of them featuring Jade. All the top fashion magazines were represented, up to and including Vogue. "You not only look like a supermodel, I guess you are one," I said. She had told me the changes had rippled outwards as reality shifted to accomodate our altered selves, but this was my first inkling of just how far those ripples had spread. - 4 - "There you are, baby," said Amy, rising from her chair to greet us when we entered the living room. I smiled as she headed towards us. It had been too long since she had looked so happy to see me. Except of course it was Jade she was smiling at, Jade whose waist she slid her arms around, and Jade whose eyes she gazed up into adoringly. For some reason Amy was wearing a short red party dress rather than the casual jeans and blouse she had been attired in when we arrived - when I had still been a man - a minor reality shift but it again drove home for me that this was real. "I've poured you a fresh drink, darling," said Charles, handing me a gin-and-tonic, and smiling at me. For some reason I'd never really noticed before how good-looking he was, but what took me by surprise were his eyes. The sadness I'd seen in them before was now gone. "Thanks," I replied, taking the glass and sipping the drink to hide my trembling. He and Amy saw nothing out of the ordinary. To them we were who we'd always been, Linda and Jade Hart, mother and daughter. If I started protesting I was really Alex Taylor, a man neither of them remembered ever having existed, they would think I'd gone mad. That was the moment I think I truly accepted I really was Linda Hart now, and I always would be. Like it or not, I had to find a way of living with that simple hard fact. "We ought to get going, Jade," said Amy. "I want a few hours together in our hotel room before we head out to the party. We don't stay out overnight very often, and they got us the honeymoon suite so we owe it to ourselves to make good use of it." She grinned at Jade and squeezed her hand. Jade grinned back, eyes alight. "'Party?'" I said, while what I was thinking was "'Honeymoon suite?!'" "Yes, dear, surely you remember?" said Charles. "When Jade and Amy go out on the town in London they usually go clubbing, but tonight her modelling agency is throwing a party. Don't worry - if Colin Firth is there I'm sure they'll get you his autograph." They all laughed at this. Clearly I had a thing for Colin Firth. "Right then, 'bye, Mum," said Jade, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before moving on to Charles. "'Bye, Daddy!" she said, giving him a hug. She gazed at him slightly wistfully for a moment, then he too got a kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye princess, you and Amy have a great time." "We will," said Amy as they headed out. "Don't let Christopher stay up too late." I went over to the window and looked out. Where I'd left our battered VW there now stood a gleaming red Ferrari. Jade got into the driving seat and Amy into the passenger one beside her. They turned and smiled at each other, then Jade pulled Amy to her and they shared a passionate kiss. A minute later the Ferrari roared off down the drive, kicking up a spray of gravel as it went. "We really have to get Jade not to tear off like that," said Charles, coming up beside me and sliding his arms around my waist, "not that our daughter ever listens to us. She's always been far too headstrong a girl for that." I was saved from having to react to Charles' arms around me when Christopher tugged on the hem of my dress. "Read me a story, grandma!" he said. Grandma. I'd gone from being Christopher's father to his grandmother. That was one more thing I was going to have to deal with but for now I was just relieved to have an excuse for disengaging from Charles. "Of course I will, sweetie," I said, scooping Christopher up in my arms, "which one would you like to hear?" "Goldilocks an' the three bears!" he said. I glanced over at Charles, who was looking at us with the strangest smile on his face. "What?" I said "Seeing you with Christopher in your arms like that I couldn't help but think back twenty years to when it was Jade in your arms. Even as a young child she was so beautiful, and seeing you together I would just melt. I don't think you'll ever know just how happy you both made me...still make me." Unlike Charles I knew this had never happened but for him these were real memories, as real as the happiness he was feeling as he recalled them. Or maybe they *were* real. When reality had altered perhaps the past had too and my own memories were now fiction, recollections from a life that had never been. It was the sort of speculation that if you took it too far could drive you mad. "I'll take Christopher up to his room now," I said, "put him to bed and read him his story." "Good idea, m'love. And when you come back down we can crack open a bottle of wine and together we can watch that DVD I got you, the rom-com." A romantic comedy. Great, just great. "Sounds wonderful!" I said, sweeping from the room with Christopher. Not knowing which one was Christopher's in this new reality I let him lead me to the other wing of the house and upstairs to his bedroom. "Go wash your face and brush your teeth and then I'll read you your story. "OK, grandma," he said. While he toddled off to their bathroom, I checked out the other rooms on this landing. The first looked to be a guest room, but the second one I entered was clearly the one shared by Amy and Jade. There was a double bed - the bed they now shared - a pair of dressing tables, wardrobes full of clothes and, on the bedside tables, sex toys. Their number and variety suggested Jade and Amy enjoyed a more, ah, *adventurous* love life than Amy and I ever had. There were framed photos on the walls of Christopher at various stages, and of the two of them. The biggest of all showed Jade and Amy on their wedding day, two beautiful brides in their big white dresses, looking radiantly happy. I wondered who Christopher's father was in this reality? Since Jade and Amy had almost certainly used a fertility clinic it would be some anonymous sperm donor whose identity we'd never know. "Grandma!!" yelled Christopher, ready for his story. In has room I read him the story of 'Sleeping Beauty' then tucked him in for the night. "Good night, my beautiful boy," I said, kissing his forehead. "Good night," he replied. "I love you, grandma." "Grandma loves you too, sweetie," I said. "Now go to sleep." Closing the door to his bedroom behind me I made my way downstairs to where Charles was waiting for me in the TV room with the promised bottle of wine and two glasses. "Finally, we're alone," he said, with a smile. Glasses of wine in hand, we settled onto the sofa together to watch the rom-com. Charles slid an arm around me and pulled me to him, and I let him. I barely noticed the film we were watching or who was in it, so focussed was I on being snuggled up against Charles, on the nearness of him and how he smelled. The problem wasn't that this was a turn off but that it was a turn on. I was hyper-aware of him, of his nearness and of his maleness. And it excited me. Jade had said I was now a heterosexual woman, and here was the proof she was right. What was I to do? I spent the rest of the movie pondering that question, and by the time it finished I had more or less decided. I've always believed in taking the plunge and leaping in rather than pussyfooting around, of tearing that band-aid off in one rather than gingerly peeling it back a bit at a time, but even so I surprised myself by what I did next. "I need you to take me to bed and have your way with me right now!" I said to him the instant the movie ended, before I could change my mind and chicken out. I told myself afterwards that it was the wine talking, that I would never have been so bold otherwise, but Charles took me at my word, led me to our bedroom and, well, *took* me. The old heterosexual male me would have been horrified by this. The new heterosexual female me was delighted. Well, until the initial euphoria wore off and I got my first chance to examine my naked body in a mirror, that is. "God, I'm so fat!" I said, wincing at the cellulite, at my waist and hips, and at my pendulous breasts. Then there was my backside. "My arse is enormous!" I wailed. Behind me Charles laughed. "Why do women always worry far more about that than their men do? Now stop fretting and come back to bed." - 5 - I awoke the next morning confused as to where I was, the weight of someone's arm across my middle, their body spooned up against mine, and that body did nor belong to Amy. Startled, I lurched forward. Feeling my mass shift in unfamilar ways, the alien sensation of heavy breasts on my chest, was enough to bring the memory of yesterday's transformation crashing back. "Linda?" came a sleepy voice from beside me. "What's wrong, darling?" "Nothing, honey," I lied, "just a little nightmare. You go back to sleep." Climbing out of bed, I went over to the wall mirror and confronted my naked body. It was not a pretty sight, but it was one I was going to have to get used to seeing. I was now forty-four years old, and a middle-aged woman who had let her body go a little. Ok, more than a little, but as I examined it I thought it had potential. I'd never be twenty-four again, and I'd bypassed my thirties entirely, but with a mixture of dieting and exercise it might be possible to get my body into some sort of shape. My body. It was surreal to look in the mirror and see Linda Hart, the woman who for so long had been my boss, standing there naked before me and to know that not only was I now her, but in this altered reality I always had been. I could claim to be Alex Taylor, but to do so would carry about as much weight as claiming to be James Bond or Harry Potter - characters who had also never existed. I squeezed one of my pendulous breasts, grabbed a handful of the flab around my waist, then slapped my enormous yet surprisingly firm arse. All that flesh and it was me, all me; no dream this. I should be gibbering by now, or suffering a breakdown over this impossible thing that had been done to me, yet I wasn't. I was resigned to my fate, had already accepted this is who I would now be until the day I died, and I felt weirdly calm about the whole thing. And I thought I knew why. This time yesterday I had been in fear for my life and, frankly, crumbling under the weight of my problems. Now that weight was off me, and even with the price I'd paid to have it removed, my sense of relief was overwhelming. From behind me came the sound of someone softly snoring. It seemed Charles had taken my advice and was already asleep again. I turned to face him, regarding that sleeping figure thoughtfully, trying to make sense of my complicated and conflicting feelings. The man lying there slumbering peacefully was my husband (a husband!! I had a husband!!) and the father of my adult daughter (a mother!! I was a mother!!), and however well I might be coping with the physical aspect of my transformation that was going to take a lot of getting used to. I still couldn't quite believe I'd acted as I had with him last night, that I'd been so impulsive. What had gotten into me? I had no idea, yet I couldn't deny the result had been entirely positive. He was a handsome, charming man and as the heterosexual woman I now am I found myself strongly attracted to him. Nor did I regret having acted on that attraction. I felt like I should think I might be rushing things with him, but I didn't. It was all very confusing. After showering - a whole new experience in this body - and throwing on a bathrobe and slippers, I headed downstairs to brew up some coffee and make breakfast. It was barely seven o'clock, but no sooner had I arrived in the kitchen than Christopher joined me, already dressed. " G'mornin', Grandma," he said, throwing his arms around my waist and hugging me. "'Morning, sport," I said, ruffling his hair. "Ready for breakfast?" "You bet!" While I was cooking up toast, eggs and hash, I folded the TV out from under the kitchen cabinets to watch the morning news. As well as the usual depressing reports from the middle-east and about the latest in a long-line of homophobic US politicians to have been caught with a rent boy, there was a special item on the Church of Stark, which was currently the fastest growing religion in the US. Other religions promised miracles but this one had apparently performed one on live TV with its leader Karl Stark and a female companion shedding more than thirty years of aging in as many minutes. Independent medical experts had confirmed this was no hoax. Stark had subsequently been assassinated - also on live TV - and his companion, a woman named Carol Erhardt, was now running his church. I wondered if the 'miracle' had been accomplished by some form of magic. Yesterday I'd have scoffed at the very idea that magic could be real; today I knew better. Breakfast with Christopher was a joy, and I smiled indulgently as he excitedly regaled me with stories about those things that are important to boys his age. Charles rose soon after ten, coming into the kitchen and patting my arse as he kissed me on the cheek. I brewed us up a big pot of coffee and was pouring us each a cup when we heard a car roaring up the driveway before screeching to a halt outside. "Sounds like our daughter's home," said Charles, drily. Thirty seconds later Jade and Amy came into the kitchen. Amy was carrying Christopher, who'd been playing outside. "'Morning Mum, Dad," said Jade, kissing us both on the cheek before sitting down at the table and pouring coffees for herself and for Amy. "You two look happy," said Charles. "Did you have a good time?" "It was great," said Amy. "The DJ at the party played stuff you could actually dance to. I don't think Jade and I have danced so much since we first started dating." "Best night out I've had in ages," said Jade. Only she and I knew just how true that was. "Your mother and I were into ballroom dancing when we were younger," said Charles. I was glad we weren't into it any more since I had no memory of that at all, of course. Also: ballroom dancing? "That sounds like fun," said Amy. "It is," I agreed, "as long as you're not allergic to sequins." This got a suitable laugh from everyone, and that was pretty much the way the rest of coffee went. Jade and Amy took advantage of the swimming pool later that morning, though from what I could see they spent as much time making out as they did actually swimming. And laughing. They laughed a lot, and seemed very happy. It had been a long time since I'd last heard Amy laugh. Or seen her that happy. Early in the afternoon they headed out again. "My friend the model Cate Hunter was filming her part in the next St.Trinians movie this past week," explained Jade. "Most of the other models at our agency had been signed up too, in non-speaking, background roles. The final day is today and this afternoon they're doing the last scene and all the publicity shots. She invited me and Amy to take part." "I couldn't resist," said Amy, excitedly. "I know I'm shorter than the models, but I've loved the St. Trinians movies since I was a little girl." "Today is also Cate's nineteenth birthday," said Jade, "so we'll be going straight from the shoot to a party back at her flat. We're planning on still being in the uniforms, too. We'll be back late so don't wait up." "St.Trinians," I said, thoughtfully as they left. The sixth form uniforms of cartoonist Ronald Searle's anarchic schoolgirls were cut to be sexy and included tiny skirts, garter belts, dark seamed stockings, and high heels. When I was still male I'd have found that a real turn-on. When Charles and I went to bed that night we didn't have sex again. Instead we merely cuddled for a while before both turning over and falling asleep. I still don't know whether I was disappointed or relieved. - 6 - The following day Jade talked Charles into letting her borrow his silver BMW while he took her Ferrari in for routine maintenance. Not that he took much convincing. Like most daughters, Jade could wrap her father around her little finger. Seeing them together like that, the perfect father and daughter, it was hard to believe they had ever been any other way. Jade was wholly Jade now and she revelled in it. I was the one who still hadn't fully accepted this new reality, who was still pining for one that was never coming back. "You strapped in?" asked Jade as I adjusted my seat belt. "Yes, we're good to go," I replied. "Then let's do this!" As usual, Jade tore off at speed leaving a big spray of gravel in her wake. She wasn't much slower on public roads. How she never got ticketed for speeding was a total mystery. Amy was taking Christopher to his play group and Jade had an errand to run. She had asked me to accompany her. "So," she said, after we'd been driving for several minutes, "I see you wasted no time in getting it on with Dad." "What?" I said, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?" "Oh please, mother. If anyone would know what that body looks like the morning after a night of sex it's me. When Amy and I got back yesterday I saw it in your face immediately. And I'm delighted for you, both of you. It seems only right that you should be trying out your new body with Dad at the same time I was trying out mine with Amy. I hope you and Dad enjoyed it even half as much as Amy and I did, because I can honestly say that was the most wonderful night of my life." "I'm...happy for you," I said, and despite myself I kind of was. "Thank you," she said, patting my thigh and giving me a dazzling smile, "that means a lot coming from you, Mum." Most of the rest of the way Jade chatted away, telling me about last night's birthday party and those who had been there. Given how much she mentioned her, she seemed to have been particularly taken with a model named Kelly. We finally pulled up in front of a large, somewhat shabby old Victorian house that had been converted into flats at some point, as so many in London had. Jade had come here to return the St. Trinians uniforms she and Amy had worn yesterday. "Here we are," she said. "This is where Cate lives." Grabbing the uniforms from the rear seat, we climbed out of the car, walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by a tall, good looking young guy about twenty years old. He was about six-three and wearing jeans and a T-shirt that stretched over a mighty torso and displayed impressively muscular arms. This was someone who obviously put in major gym time every day. He was seriously hot. "Hi, Mike," said Jade. "Jade! How lovely to see you, and looking as gorgeous as ever." He gave her a big hug before turning to me. "And this must be your mother. A pleasure, Mrs Hart." Oh he was a charmer! He shook my hand, that gorgeous young man, then led us inside and up some stairs to a small landing. Here we encountered Cate Hunter, who was talking to a small, elderly woman. Cate was simply stunning. Tall and statuesque, her magnificent body with its small high breasts and amazing legs was clad in a figure hugging white minidress and strappy four inch heels. But it was her face that stopped you in your tracks. Framed by a thick, lustrous mane of golden hair, it was as close to perfect as a face could be. She was even more breath-taking than Jade, something I hadn't thought was possible. "Oh, hi Jade," she said. "I wasn't expecting you this early. I was just about to take tea with Mrs Ellaby." "That's OK, dear," said the old lady, "they're welcome to join us." "Mrs Ellaby's herbal tea *is* amazing," said Cate. "Then it's settled," said Jade. "We'd love a cup of tea. Thank you, Mrs Ellaby." "Mike?" said Cate, turning to her boyfriend. Together they made a singularly well-matched and beautiful couple. "Ah, no, I'd better not" he said. "Our flat still looks like a tip after last night so I think I'd better start tiding up and bagging the empty bottles." I happened to glance at Mrs Ellaby during this exchange. From the look she gave Mike I don't think she liked him very much. I wonder why? Mrs Ellaby was a short woman, maybe five-two, her permed grey hair stopping just above her collar and her rheumy eyes framed by those old-fashioned winged spectacles. She was a bit stocky, with no waist to speak of but a substantial arse. Her face was thin, wrinkled. and a little jowly, while her hands were kind of claw-like - as a result of arthritis, maybe?. She was wearing a floral print, knee-length sleeveless dress, no jewellery, and was using no make-up that I could see. Thick grey pantihose and opened-toed shoes with wide one inch heels completed her outfit. She looked to be around seventy years old. With Mike gone, Mrs Ellaby ushered us into her flat. "You sit yourselves down and I'll make us all a cuppa." "You must let me help," I said, following Mrs Ellaby into her kitchen as Jade and Cate sat down on the sofa and took out their cigarettes. In the kitchen I took down four mugs and placed them on a tray while Mrs Ellaby put the kettle on. "Your daughter is very beautiful," she said. "She is," I agreed, "and I never thought I'd ever meet anyone in the flesh who was more beautiful than her, but Cate just takes your breath away." "Yes, she is rather stunning, isn't she? And she's a really lovely person, too." She clearly thought the world of Cate. "How long have you known her?" "She moved in a year ago," replied Mrs Ellaby, smiling at the thought. Then her eyes filled with sadness. She looked stricken. "Is anything wrong?" I asked. "It's nothing," she said, giving her head a little shake, the smile returning, "nothing you need concern yourself about. Now let's get the tea into our beautiful girls." She placed the tray on the table and we took the chairs facing Cate and Jade, who were chatting and smoking away like old friends. Mrs Ellaby poured the teas from the teapot. "Cate was just telling me that she and her friend Lorna Cheung did a lingerie shoot for one of my rivals last week," said Jade. "I visited her then," said Mrs Ellaby, "she looked very nice in her lingerie." "I'm sure she did," said Jade, "but my designs are better." The conversation continued in this vein, sticking mainly to fashion, until our teas had been drunk and Mrs Ellaby carried our empty mugs through to the kitchen and started washing them. "I'm very fond of Mrs Ellaby," said Cate, smiling affectionately. "She's nosey in that way women her age can be, and sometimes gets a bit confused, but she's a friendly old dear, bless her. She fusses over Mike and me like a mother hen. She was pretty depressed after her partner died last year, but just recently she started dating our downstairs neighbour Colonel Pottingham. They're such a sweet old couple and the way their romance has developed has been a joy to watch. When you see them holding hands, and the way they look at each other, it warms your heart. It shows that even at their advanced age you can still find love. I couldn't be happier for Mrs Ellaby. She's one of those women who really needs a husband in her life, and she'll make him a wonderful wife." She sounded almost gleeful at the prospect, which showed just how fond of Mrs Ellaby she must be. If Mrs Ellaby looked on Cate almost as she would a granddaughter then perhaps in her turn Cate regarded her as a sort of surrogate grandmother. Yes, that must be it. It was really rather sweet. "Thank you for the teas," said Jade when Mrs Ellaby returned, "but Mum and I really must be going now. No need to show us out." When we descended the stairs and Jade opened the front door we were confronted by a couple of blonde young women. One was short and pretty, the other tall, beautiful and dressed in a St. Trinians uniform. I couldn't shake the feeling I'd seen the shorter one somewhere before. "Hello, Jade," said the taller of the two. "Back already?" "Hi Kelly," chuckled Jade. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself last night, and still wearing your St. Trinian's uniform, I see?" Ah, so this was *that* Kelly. Jade raised an eyebrow and Kelly blushed, then they both burst out laughing. "Yeah, I had a *really* good time last night!" she agreed. She then turned to her companion and said, "This is my friend Simone." "Pleased to meet you," said Jade, shaking her hand before introducing me. "This is my Mum." More handshakes all round, then Jade said: "I wish I could stay and chat, but we're running late. It was good seeing you again, Kelly." "Yeah, you too. See you." Jade and I then headed out to the BMW and set off. At the end of the road we passed Cate's boyfriend Mike, a bulging black plastic sack in each hand, clearly heading for the local bottle bank. Once again I experienced a stirring in my loins at the sight of that boy and his magnificent manliness, whereas for his girlfriend I had only aesthetic appreciation of her entrancing beauty. She provoked no more sexual reaction in me than Amy now did. "That was interesting," I said, "meeting your friends." "Yes, I first met them all was at my modelling agency. They all know me from there and, including newer models like Cate. Except none of that is true. I'm faking it as best as I can, but until we altered reality I'd never been a model, never had a modelling agency, and never met any of them before in my life." - 7 - I slept late the following morning. When I woke I was annoyed to find Charles had gone into work without me. He may have thought he was letting me catch up on my sleep - which was nice of him after our, ah, exertions last night - but not what I wanted. I might be the boss's wife now but I'd hated being late in when I was Alex Taylor, and I hated it now. I showered and swiftly got dressed. It wasn't until I was finished and checked myself out in the mirror that I realised I was dressed pretty much identically to how the original Linda had been the last time I'd seen her at the factory. I studied my reflection critically. I was short, barely five-five in my three inch heels, had collar- length hair dyed auburn to hide the grey creeping in, was a little on the plump side with a large backside, a somewhat matronly bosom, and a waist that had the standard middle-aged spread you'd expect on a woman in her mid forties. I was wearing a dark, expensively- tailored skirt suit that made the best of my figure, and tastefully understated jewelery and make-up. I had a pleasant enough face but I doubt I'd ever been pretty, even when young. However, there was a difference. What you noticed most about the original Linda, what commanded your attention, were her eyes. Even in a photo, her drive and intelligence blazed out of them. Sadly, this wasn't true of me. All I saw in my eyes was uncertainty. Being a wealthy family with a large mansion we naturally owned a variety of cars, though all but two were out when I opened the garage. I chose the Range Rover over the mini. The latter might be more practical in the narrow lanes between the mansion and the factory, but the former had more room inside and was easier for me to get in and out of. When I arrived at the factory the guard on the gate seemed surprised to see me. "Mrs Hart?" he said. "I wasn't told you would be here today." "Well I am, so please let me through, Bert." He lifted the gate and waved me through. The next problem was that I couldn't find a parking place with my name on it. Annoyed, I parked my car alongside those of the workforce, which gave me a longer walk to reception than I'd expected. Inside I breezed past the receptionist, not really registering the puzzled look on the receptionist's face, and made my way to my office, Linda Hart's office. My secretary Melanie was in her usual place, sitting at her desk outside my office. "Good morning, Melanie," I said. "Mrs Hart?" she replied, looking surprised. "Can I help you?" I was about to say something when I spotted the name on the door of my office: Jade Hart. "Uh, just here to see my daughter," I said, striding past Melanie and into the office before she could stop me. As well as the desk, the office also contained a large area set up for photo shoots, though I'd never seen it being used for that purpose. It was being used for it now. "Mother," said Jade, striding over to me in her lingerie and six inch heels, "what are you doing here?" Behind her the photographer and the make up artist gave me black looks. "I've come into work," I said, "and I thought this was my office. Has it moved?" "You don't have an office," said Jade, gently, "because you don't have a job here." "I...I don't?" I said. "Then what do I do?" "Watch TV, look after Christopher when we need you to, take tea with your friends. You're rich, Mum, you don't need to work, and you don't. If you're at a loose end why not ring Letitia Cole for afternoon tea at the Dorchester? She's been your best friend since you were in school together. You need to keep up those relationships." "What are you doing?" I asked, feeling dazed. "A photo shoot modelling my own designs," she replied, "the 'Jade' line of lingerie. They're the same designs no one was interested in before. Now, with me modelling them and my name attached they're selling like hot cakes to all the high-end stores. Never underestimate the importance of a name or the power of a pretty face." She gently ushered me out then and I returned to my car, feeling deflated and not quite knowing what to do with myself. I sat there for ten minutes or so, mulling over all that had happened to me the past few days before reaching a decision. I then started the engine and set off for central London. I needed to withdraw money from my bank. - 8 - The gambling den was in the cellar of a Chinese restaurant in Soho. You had to pass through the kitchens to get to it, and to know it was there in the first place. Jimmy Lang looked just as thuggish and menacing as I remembered from my former life, the scar on the right side of his face from a glassing during a bar fight in his native Glasgow being as ugly as ever. He was leaning on his cane - an affectation in his case since there was nothing wrong with his legs - his hand wrapped around the heavy metal knob on top. It was this he had used to beat poor Bobby to death. I tried to remain calm, which was difficult. The last time we'd met he broke my finger and threatened to kill me. If reality hadn't changed then by this point he would almost certainly have been my murderer. "And who might you be?" he said, his piggish eyes looking me up and down suspiciously. "My name is Alex Taylor," I said, searching for any sign in his face that he recognised the name, and finding none. "So what're you doing here?" "I was told this was the place to come when you'd worn out your welcome everywhere else." "Oh you were, were you? Look lassie, I think you'd best turn around and be away back home to your husband." "I can't," I said, "not until I win back the money of his I've already lost." I reached into my handbag and took out the wad of notes I'd taken out of my bank account on the way here. "That's three grand," I said, waving it at him. "Surely that's enough to be allowed into your game?" I watched greed war with caution behind his eyes as he pursed his lips and studied me with more calculation than before. Jimmy had bragged that he could always "smell a copper". Satisfied that I wasn't one, he eventually nodded. "Looks like the game has a new player," he said, ushering me into the den. It was a small room, mostly dark save for the bright light over the circular table in the middle of the room at which five men were sitting, playing cards in hand. In one dimly lit corner was a small bar, and behind that bar a tall, thin woman lost in shadow: Julia Benson. I took an empty chair at the table. "Deal the lady in, Frank," said Jimmy to one of the men, and Frank did so, sliding the cards across the baize to me. There was already a small pile of notes in the middle of the table. Buy in was a couple of hundred, so I threw in four fifties and examined my cards. My intention was not to walk away with a large pile of winnings, which was hardly likely and possibly dangerous - the game was rigged and two of those at the table were confederates of Jimmy, a fact I'd learned far too late in my former life - but I also didn't want to lose my money too quickly either. That wouldn't have suited my purposes at all. After we'd been playing afor the better part of an hour and I was down almost two grand, I waited until a new hand was being dealt then asked: "Can I get a drink?" "Sure," said Jimmy, "what'll it be?" "Gin-and-tonic, please," I said. I hoped he wouldn't bring it to me himself. I was in luck. "Fetch the lady a G & T please, Julia," he said. She did as she was told and when she leant into the pool of light over the table to place the drink beside me I got my first full look at her. It was of necessity a quick glance since I didn't want to create any suspicion, but I'd been priming myself for it since sitting down and I took in all I needed to. After that I contrived to quickly lose my remaining money by making increasingly reckless and apparently desperate calls until it was all gone. "Too bad," said Jimmy Lang as I got unsteadily to my feet. "Are you sure I can't extend you a line of credit so you can keep playing, Mrs Taylor?" "No thank you," I said, voice trembling. "I think I have to go home now and face the music." "Suit you