Free A Woman's Place by Edwina Currie

event.
    â€˜Today’s crime comes from yesterday’s mistakes. If we want to do better tomorrow, we must start – right now. I beg to oppose the motion.’
    The red light came on. Time was up, but she had finished bang on time. A roar of approval came from the body of the hall. Her hands shook as she gathered up her papers and returned to her seat.
    Once there she sat watching the next speaker as flashbulbs popped in her face. The pictures would look well the following day, showing her dignified and serious, exactly right for such a topic. Headlines would welcome her assertion of family values and link her urgings with the revived campaign for ‘back to basics’ for which the right wing yearned, but which had foundered on the blatant failure to espouse such values by too many members of the government.
    An unfamiliar masculine voice sounded in her ear. It had a pleasant musical tone but was very deep.
    â€˜Well done, Mrs Stalker. You talked a lot of good sense about the police but they swallowedit. Quite an achievement.’
    Elaine found herself looking into brown eyes a startling few inches from her own, set in a slightly craggy but handsome face. ‘Thank you. It’s a nerve-racking business, though.’
    For a moment she imagined that the man might put his own hand protectively on hers, which still clutched the crumpled papers of her speech.
    â€˜We’ve met before. I’m George Horrocks. I believe you know my sister-in-law Betty Horrocks. I read out the results at your election count … do you remember?’
    Here was an acquaintance she would happily renew. How great was the contrast between this slimly built man, his tie carefully chosen and knotted, a fresh white handkerchief peeping from his breast pocket, and sad, grubby Roy Twistleton. The next speaker was ranting vigorously about bringing back the birch. Behind a fierce woman hissed for silence. Elaine made ready to slip out.
    â€˜No, don’t do that. Aren’t you supposed to stay and listen to compliments from the Home Secretary? Anyway, we’ll meet tomorrow. You’re coming to the Prima breakfast. I’m your host.’
    The breakfast had not surfaced in her thinking: the speech had been all. Suddenly it took on an interesting new aspect. It was a long time since a man had been that close, but the brief enforced intimacy seemed quite natural. ‘I’ll look forward to it, Mr Horrocks.’
    â€˜My name’s George,’ he whispered. Then he was gone.
    Â 
    â€˜Oh, God, time to get up.’
    Derek Harrison mouthed curses at the alarm clock and rolled over. A twinge of memory made him check whether there was another body in the bed and if so whose; but the young lady was already awake and a long, tanned arm was pushing yellow hair out of sleepy blue eyes. A firm freckled breast, its nipple rosy, peeped invitingly above the sheet.
    Harrison composed his manner and kissed the warm young flesh. His tone became wheedling.
    â€˜I’m so sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to wake you. Did you sleep well?’
    â€˜Uh-huh, sure. Well, I was knackered, Derek. You really know how to go for it, don’t you? How many times was it – four? I lost count…’
    She reached over and tried to caress his face, but Harrison knew that if he did not remove himself at once he would be late. He cast around in his mind for the girl’s name but could only recall the Tory Reform Group party, ever a useful fount of nubile young women with independent ideas.
    â€˜You’re super in the sack yourself, you know.’
    He headed for the bathroom and switched on the shower. Its almost cold water made him gasp and dance. As he emerged, rubbing his hair dry with the thick hotel towel, the girl stretched languidly, pushed back the duvet and smiled slyly at him. She must have been about twenty, her skin peachy, her figure rounded, breasts and abdomen perfectly curved and firm. Her hand