Free The Belgravia Club by Clarissa Fenton Page B

men are mostly red faced lechers. I told her about my night with
James.
    ‘He sounds fantastic...’ she
purred. ‘Can I have his email? Only joking darling, I wouldn’t want to steal
your new man’.
    ‘He’s not my new man. He dumped me
in three lines by email’.
    ‘Oh dear. He sounds disgusting. Now I really will have to get his email from you’ she
laughed, slurping her wine.
    Claire is what I’d call predatory.
I like men, but her appetite is voracious and she will go for literally  anything in trousers. She’s slim and pretty
rather than beautiful, but with an infectious laugh and smile which seems to
drive men wild. She once told me that the reason she became a currency trader
was so that she could work from home and touch herself while looking at online
porn whenever she felt the urge. She was probably joking but you can never tell
with Claire. I know she swings both ways though; we used to work together and
she once tried it on with me at a conference. That’s never really been my cup
of tea, and she was really nice about it and didn’t push it.
    ‘I know just what you need, Sara.
Do you know the Belgravia Club?’
    ‘No’ I replied, thinking it sounded
like some kind of high class gambling joint .
    ‘Ever heard of Lady Jane
Underwood?’
    ‘I don’t think so....’ I didn’t
have quite the same connections as Claire.
     ‘We were at school together.
Her husband’s Johnny Underwood, he’s not an MP though, he’s a peer.’ 
    ‘What’s that got to do with me?’
    ‘I’m just coming to that. Jane’s
got the run of their London house, Johnny never comes to London except when
there’s an important vote and then he’s usually so pissed he ends up sleeping
at his club. They’re practically separated really.’
    ‘What did she see in him?’
    ‘Oh dear, you really are a naive
little suburban girl, aren’t you Sara? What does anyone marry for? Money and children, of course. Except in
Johnny’s case the money’s all tied up in land and their little country place. Anyway, while the cat’s away, so to speak, Jane runs these rather fun London
parties. A sort of girls’ club.’
    ‘I see...’ Although
I didn’t really.
    ‘I don’t mean a boring club like
this one’. She lowered her tone as a portly gentleman nearby harrumphed at this
remark.  ‘I mean somewhere where us working girls
can let their hair down. All very select, invitation only
sort of thing. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you to come along. I
think you’ll like it’.
    I had a funny feeling she was
trying to set me up with someone. She’s always doing that; ‘accidentally’
bumping into some boring farmer up in London who she thinks is gorgeous.
    ‘Hmm, well it sounds like it might
be ok. It’s just girls?’
    Claire gave an enigmatic smile.
    ‘Just come along and see – I think
you’ll like it’.

 
     
    Three
    A few days later I was stepping out
of a taxi and up the white stuccoed steps of one of the biggest Belgravia
houses I’d ever seen. I’ve got plenty of money, but there’s no way I could ever
afford a place like this. I’d dressed in a smart but casual way, jeans, Prada
kitten heels and an old but serviceable Stella McCartney jacket. I was quite
looking forward to a ‘girl’s night in’, some wine, gossip and to forget about
men for a while.
    Some hope! The glossy black door
opened to reveal one of the handsomest men I’d ever seen. He flashed a smile at
me and took my coat, leading me through a vast hallway into a drawing room
filled with the hubbub of conversation and the clink of glasses. I wasn’t quite
sure whether he was a guest or a servant.
    ‘Sara, darling!’ It was Claire. We exchanged the usual air kisses, though this time there was a
little more pressure and, if I wasn’t mistaken, sexiness in the way she hugged
me.
    ‘Come and sit down, have some
champagne. So glad you could come’. I was ushered into a deep leather armchair
and the man who opened the door was instantly