Eliyahu's Mistress

Chapter 1

Summer, 2014

Steven drove slowly along the forest road. It was five-thirty on a beautiful, warm late summer’s afternoon. As usual, there was minimal traffic on the road, so he could float along at a leisurely pace, taking in the majesty of the towering mountain ashes. He slowed as he approached Poet’s Lane and then veered left. A slight dust cloud arose and there was a crunching sound as his BMW made its way down the narrow, winding road.

The gates to number twenty-four were open and he turned left onto the gravel driveway. He was early and as he expected, Frances had not yet arrived. He pulled up at the side of the house, switched off the ignition and sat there.

This was a moment of tranquillity he enjoyed. The only mechanical sound was the intermittent ticking noise of the engine as it cooled. The spectrum of sound was otherwise made up by the soothing chorale of nature. The prolific birdlife in the garden made its presence felt; there was a background swish as branches swayed gently in the mild breeze, and there was one noise in particular that demanded attention.

This was Eliyahu, who had awoken from his slumber on the front door mat. Yapping excitedly, tail wagging crazily, he ambled over to the car with a look of genuine welcome and excitement on his face.

Steven opened the door and got out to greet him, and then knelt down and gave him an affectionate pat. By this time Eliyahu’s tail was taking on a frenzied life of its own. His doleful, wise eyes glistened with excitement and anticipation. He knew what was in store and with no urging from Steven, lay down and then rolled over onto his back. This was the cue for Steven to pat his tummy vigorously. Eliyahu had a look on his face of sheer bliss, his lolling tongue producing a slightly silly expression.

After several minutes, he pricked his ears, tensed up, rolled back over and dragged himself to his feet. Something had caught his attention and Steven guessed what it was.

The gentle purr of a car engine could be heard, mixed in with the crunching sound of tyres on gravel, which became louder and more insistent. A white Toyota Corolla entered the driveway and Eliyahu dashed off to greet his mistress. Steven knew that in the popularity stakes, he came a very weak second to Frances.

Frances waved and then fidgeted about inside her car, gathering her belongings. As she opened the door, Eliyahu rushed her, whimpering with excitement, his tail wagging so vigorously that it looked like it was about to fly off.

Steven stood back. He knew the routine. Frances always arrived home a little flustered and needed space to acclimatise to her domestic role.

‘How are you?’ she called out.

‘Good. I was a little early so I’ve been having some quality time with Elly.’

‘I won’t be long. Just let me find my key and we can all go in and relax.’

Steven gave her a peck on the cheek as she walked past.

‘Lovely to see you. Come in and pour a glass of wine and I will just get rid of all these things,’ she almost whispered, as she brushed by him.

Steven held back, to allow Frances to follow her coming-home routine. Apart from her handbag, jangling keys and several parcels, she was also encumbered by an excited Eliyahu, who persisted in getting under her feet.

Steven sauntered into the house and they carried out a rather perfunctory, disembodied conversation, with him in the lounge and her flitting between the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. The conversation was largely rhetorical and familiar.

‘How was your trip up?’

‘Did you have a good day?’

‘Beautiful day, wasn’t it!’

‘Where is that dog food … ah, here it is … now let me just open this, Elly, and get you your scrumptious meal. Mmmmmm, you lucky boy.’

Frances was dressed in conservative business attire. A well-cut pants suit with tailored trousers, which accentuated her long legs, a white silk blouse and a stylish jacket, topped off with a simple pearl necklace. Her hair was pulled back severely and held in place with a dress comb.

‘How did your meeting go? You sure look the part of a successful business lady,’ said Steven, reiterating a point he often made to her.

‘I’ll tell you about it in a minute. Just let me get changed and go to the loo and then we can have a chat. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass and pour an extra big one for me, because I’m ready for it.’

With that, Frances disappeared into the bedroom while Steven headed to the kitchen. There were sounds of zippings and unzippings and of taps being run, a toilet being flushed, and then Frances emerged.

Steven was always amazed at how quickly she could transform herself from busy business executive, dressed to face the world, to a relaxed lady of leisure, sipping on a glass of wine.

Frances was now wearing jeans and a light mauve t-shirt but had still kept her pearl necklace on. Her hair had been set free. She sat down and looked at him properly for the first time since she had arrived.

‘You are a sweetie. I don’t know how you can put up with me going through my boring domestic routine and being excessively rude to you.’ She was now sitting sprawled out on the couch, holding her glass and looking affectionately at him, as he stood close to her. ‘The meeting was a real bugger and I am irritated beyond measure, so let’s simply not talk about it,’ she harrumphed. ‘Here I am with a handsome, divine, exotic man in my house. Why would I want to think about some silly old irrelevant meeting? Cheers!’ She raised her glass to him. ‘Don’t just stand there, sit down and start drinking.’

Steven sat down next to her; she looked at him beguilingly and parted her lips ever so slightly. Steven knew the signal but took his time. He looked directly at her, taking her in, and breathed in her familiar, feminine scent, enhanced with her favourite perfume.

He then reached over and gently placed his fingers on her face. An act of overt intimacy. She leaned further toward him and he sought out her ear. The fingers of his free hand were now running through her hair and he started licking her earlobe.

Frances allowed herself to succumb to his well-practised engagement.

Every woman has a key to her to inner passion and this was hers. As she felt his breath and the warmth and wetness of his tongue in her ear, she inhaled his distinctive maleness; her body relaxed and her inhibitions dissipated as nature took over.

She moved away slightly and they looked at each other knowingly. Her eyes had become slightly glazed and her body now wanted one thing and one thing only. She had a desperate and overwhelming desire to kiss him and be kissed back.

Their faces reached out toward each other and met; their tongues simultaneously entwined.

‘I’ve been waiting for this all day,’ she whispered to him.

‘Mmmmm. I always forget just how amazing this is. No matter how hard I try to replay the feelings in my mind, it never does it justice,’ murmured Steven as he sought her mouth again.

Time stood still. Life stood still. Their surroundings became a blur.

Frances’s hand was resting on his knee and it now began to move up his leg. It never ceased to shock her. The thought of it there: hard, masculine and clearly planned by Mother Nature for one particular purpose. She now wanted to touch him and her previous subtlety was abandoned in her quest to undo his belt and unzip his fly.

Steven leaned back and allowed her to open the front of his trousers and lower his jocks. ‘Frances. I think it may be time to go to the bedroom.’

‘Now what on earth gives you the impression that I may be interested in such a thing, kind Sir?’ teased Frances, as she lowered her head toward his lap and then looked up, with a knowing smile on her face.

Chapter 2

Winter, 2010

Steven Rosenburg, a business and marketing consultant specialising in the retail industry, was distractedly looking out the window of his eighth floor office.

The view that greeted him daily was a familiar one, which he never tired of. His office looked east, over the verdant greenery of Fawkner Park and then over to South Yarra and beyond, to the undulating eastern suburbs of Melbourne, bordered in the distance by the Dandenong Ranges.

His phone rang and the receptionist advised him that, ‘Frances Barnett is on the phone. She says that you will know what it’s about. Apparently it has something to do with Anthony Beatty.’

Steven collected his thoughts as her name did not immediately connect with him, but then it clicked as the receptionist put the caller through.

‘Good morning Steven. My name is Frances Barnett. Anthony Beatty, my chairman, said that he was going to ring you and has asked me to make contact.’ Her voice was authoritative but he sensed an element of uncertainty within it.

‘Yes of course, Frances. Anthony has talked to me about this project and I mentioned to him that I would be very happy to help. He’s a good client of my firm and we have worked together for quite some years.’

‘Good,’ sighed Frances. ‘I was a little apprehensive about making this call because I don’t really like asking for favours.’

‘Not at all. It sounds like a challenging project and a really worthwhile cause, so I will be delighted to help.’

‘I’m not sure where to start. Do you want me to discuss it briefly on the phone now or should we meet and I can then fully brief you? There is quite a lot to get through but I have prepared some notes that I hope will assist you in understanding the issues.’

Steven advised her that they would need to meet and that she should allow at least an hour for the first meeting. Accordingly, a time was made for Frances to visit his office on the following Tuesday at 11 o’clock in the morning.

After Steven put the phone down, he formed a mental image of Frances. All he had to go on were the brief few introductory words from Anthony and their rather wooden conversation on the phone. Anthony had mentioned that she was very professional, a good scout, and you will find her very efficient and helpful.

Her phone manner certainly came over as professional. She was polite and to the point. He had the image of someone who was reliable, had high expectations of herself and did not suffer fools gladly.

The project they were discussing was something that interested Steven and he felt that he would definitely be able to provide sound, useful recommendations.

Anthony, apart from being the general manager of a well-established and successful chain of shops, retailing clothing for women in the twenty to forty age bracket, was also chairman of a Catholic charity that operated some thirty shops across the southern states of Victoria, Tasmania and South Australia. The shops, known as Family Helper, were basically traditional op-shops providing recycled clothing for people in need.

Anthony had explained that their primary purpose was to provide clothing for struggling individuals and families, but the secondary aim was to also generate profits to fund family support services carried out by the Catholic Church. It was the consistently falling profits that concerned Anthony and led to Steven being consulted.

‘I know you aren’t one of us,’ winked Anthony when he discussed the idea with Steven. ‘However, our founder was one of your lot, so I guess we have a connection.’

They had often engaged in ribald discussions about their respective Catholic and Jewish backgrounds.

‘Steven, we don’t have a budget for this, so any help you give us can only be rewarded in the next life. However, we are a worthwhile charity and I know that you guys do carry out a certain amount of pro bono work …’

Steven cut him off. ‘Anthony, you’re one of our best clients, so I am more than happy to help Family Helper out.’

It was at this point that Anthony mentioned that he would talk to Frances and get her to call him, in order to fully brief him.

On the following Tuesday at 11 o’clock, Steven was waiting in the boardroom when Frances was ushered in.

The immediate impression Steven had was of a mature, well-groomed women. He observed that she was smartly dressed. She proffered her hand and looked firmly at him as they briefly shook hands.

Steven was a details person when it came to women. He could not help but mentally summarise most women he met. It began with a quick appraisal, ticking mental boxes: height, age bracket, hair colour, hair type, attractiveness, bearing, poise, facial expression. All this culminated in a rough summary, with an overall initial impression across various categories. This usually took no more than a split second.

It had nothing to do with sizing up potential partners, although deep down there is no doubt an element of this in all men/women first encounters.

Steven invited her to sit down and they got through the pleasantries quickly. Both knew why they were there and neither was awkward about quickly getting discussions underway.

‘I do have a rough background about Family Helper,’ said Steven, ‘but it would really help me if you could tell me about the history of the organisation, where it is now and what you see as the issues it faces.’

Frances, drawing breath, sat back in her chair, looking pensive. ‘Stop me if I am going on too long or if you have any questions.’

He nodded and smiled.

‘We’ve been going since the early 1930s. In fact, our organisation was set up in response to the Great Depression. Originally we focused on helping poor families by providing them with very cheap clothing. Bear in mind that at that time, social welfare was absolutely minimal and families with no bread-winner were in dire straits.

‘I don’t know who originally set us up but I do know that we started from one shop in Collingwood, which was then a very poor working class area.

‘We have now grown to thirty shops. The business is owned by a company called Family Helper Pty Ltd and the shares are held by the Catholic Church. There are sixteen directors but an active board of eight. The other eight are really not active in the organisation and are there just to represent different components of the Catholic Church.

‘Anthony is chair, I am a director and of the other six active directors, three come from business backgrounds and the other three are senior executives in the organisation.’

During this time Steven was busy taking notes.

‘Rather than me talking,’ Frances continued, ‘would you prefer to ask questions, so that I don’t rabbit on and waste your time?’

‘Sure Frances, you’re doing well. What is your role, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘I’m the retail director. I’m employed for three and a half days a week, apart from my duties as a director and as I have a background in retail, I report to the general manager on the retail aspects of the business.’

Frances and Steven engaged in an intense discussion for well over an hour, with Steven asking many questions and Frances doing her best to answer them. Toward the end of their allotted time, they both visibly relaxed.

‘I feel that you have really gotten to understand our business very well, Steven. How do you want to go from here?’

‘I would like to think about this a little and then, if you don’t mind, I will send you an email with details of what I’ll need. Basically, I would like to get summary information, which any retail chain would normally have. Gross margins, number of stock turns per year, details of rent and outgoings payable for each store, costs per square metre for each store and then for the chain … all of those sorts of things. Do you think you would be able to get your hands on all of that information?’

She responded a little defiantly. ‘Of course. Coming from a retail background, I already have all of that information. Just send me a list and I will get you what you want.’

Frances moved her chair back, gathered her papers, put them in her briefcase and again put out her hand for Steven to shake. ‘I want you to know how grateful we are for your help in all this.’ This was clearly a little prepared speech.

When Frances left the room, it was with a flourish.

As he gathered his papers, Steven mentally summarised his reaction to Frances. Taller rather than medium height, age about forty-eight but maybe more — certainly quite a bit older than him at any rate — and definitely well-groomed and professional, just as Anthony had mentioned. Well dressed in a conservative business-like way; very nicely spoken, with a pronounced English accent; auburn full bodied hair, probably a little longer than shoulder length but pulled back into a very business-lady ponytail; friendly hazel eyes; self-confident manner.

Chapter 3

Steven and Frances had agreed on a time for the following week to get out into the field and visit some stores.

‘The information you are getting me is going to be extremely valuable,’ Steven had said. ‘However, nothing beats poking around and observing the operation on the ground.’

Frances had agreed with this comment. Although she had been meticulous in setting up reporting systems, so that she and the general manager would be able to work with the same sort of information a commercial retail chain would work with, she agreed that they had nothing to define who the customers were and why they came into the stores in the first place. They also had no information that could help explain why profits had been consistently falling.

It was agreed that they would meet at Frances’s office in Fairfield at 10 am on the following Wednesday. When Frances mentioned in a subsequent phone call that her office, and indeed the head office of the organisation, was located in Fairfield, she visualised a slight grimace cross Steven’s face that his words could not disguise.

‘It’s not that far, you know,’ she mocked him. ‘You southern suburb types seem to think that anywhere north of the Yarra is like going to Queensland. It’s only right next to Kew but on the other side of the river.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he joked, ‘you’re probably right. I am from the southern suburbs and yes, I do tend to stick to my side of town … so this will be even more of an experience for me.’

Wednesday morning was chilly but by 10 o’clock, the sun had come out and Melbourne was about to experience a cool but sunny, blue-sky, wintry day.

Steven discovered that Frances was quite correct in her assessment. Fairfield was not far at all and he got there earlier than he had anticipated.

Melbourne has always been a north or south side of the river place — in this case the river being the rather inglorious and humble Yarra.

On the south side originally lived the wealthy and the power elite, whilst the inner north side was largely more industrial and working class. Fairfield was developed in the second half of the nineteenth century as a lower middle class area. It had wide, well laid out streets but the houses, by Australian standards, were close together and in many cases were semi-detached. Most houses had gardens, although many were small.

Family Helper had its office and warehouse in a small industrial pocket of Fairfield. The factories on the estate would once have been used for manufacturing and other smelly, noisy uses but were now becoming more refined businesses. Industry had largely moved out to cheaper and more spacious industrial areas and the factories remaining were increasingly used for service and semi-retail instead.

Steven was dressed in modish business attire, which was a habit he had subconsciously picked up from his father, who had been a stickler for looking and dressing well. However, an observer would readily pick up that Steven was not garbed in an accountant/real estate agent/lawyer uniform. His shoes were a dark tan, he wore grey trousers and a smart, well-tailored reefer jacket rather than a suit, and his shirt was pale blue with a light pinstripe, capped off with a maroon tie.

Frances was looking out the window of her first floor office over the car park when she saw his silver BMW turn in with tentative hesitation, as if Steven was unsure if he was at the right building, and then followed through with a confident park. She watched him as he opened the door, stretched out, reached for his jacket and put it on and then headed toward the reception area. She allowed herself to notice that he carried himself in a dignified manner and with the air of confidence of one aware that he generally made a pleasing impression on people.

She rang the receptionist and advised that she would be down very shortly to greet the guest.

After genial warm greetings, Frances suggested that they begin the morning with a tour of the head office, including introducing him to the key staff, and then they would visit the Preston store.

As they walked around the offices, she observed that Steven had a friendly and outgoing manner that quickly put people he met at ease and helped overcome the normal awkwardness which tends to prevail when people meet in business circumstances. He seemed genuinely interested in talking to the people he was introduced to and after several of the discussions, he jotted down notes in his note book. He mentioned to her how impressed he was with the office and the people he had met.

The office tour took about half an hour.

‘Well, that’s it Steven. Now I suggest that we drive out to Preston. Can we go in your car?’

He nodded his assent but looked uncomfortable. ‘Could I buy you a cup of coffee before we start? I hope you don’t think I’m being rude but if I don’t get my morning coffee, I tend not to be worth knowing and I wouldn’t want to inflict that on you.’

Frances looked a little upset. ‘Of course, I should have offered you some but I was so focused on showing you around that it didn’t cross my mind.’

Frances suggested a café a short walk away on the corner, which, she stressed, had terrific coffee. As they walked down to the café, Steven summarised some of his initial observations and asked Frances questions about the operation of the business.

The café was crowded, as Melbourne cafés tend to be. As the weather was warming up, all of the outside tables were taken but there were several available inside.

Frances was warmly welcomed by Michael, the proud, hospitable and Lebanese proprietor, who fussed over her and promised that he would bring out her latté as soon as possible.

At Steven’s suggestion they shared a muffin, which he cut in half.

‘I must say, Frances, that I have been very impressed with what I have seen so far.’ He took a quick sip of steaming coffee. ‘And I’m impressed with the coffee you have out here in Fairfield.’

Frances was obviously pleased with his assessment and she flashed him a smile in appreciation. Steven had noticed that although Frances was an apparently happy person, smiling was not part of her normal mannerism. When she did smile, it lit up her expression.

‘You know Frances, I hope you don’t mind me being personal, but that is the first real smile I have seen you give and …’ He searched for the right words. ‘I feel … quite honoured to receive it.’

Frances firstly looked puzzled upon hearing this and then sat pensively for a few seconds. ‘I … I’ve never really considered that before. But I guess you’re giving me a compliment … and so, thank you. Knowing that you like my smile, I will do it more often.’ And with that, she gave him a cheesy, silly smile.

Steven laughed aloud. ‘There is a real trend now for excessive public smiling, don’t you think?’ he opined. ‘I mean, look at all those silly breakfast show couples, laughing and smiling at absolutely nothing. I find it really annoying, don’t you?’

‘I can’t say that I watch many of those shows but I do know what you’re talking about,’ responded Frances. ‘Sometimes, when I flip onto commercial radio stations in my car, they all seem to have laughing couples, being irritating and ridiculous. I last on a station for about ten seconds and then can’t stand it … so yes, I know what you mean.’

Frances ostentatiously looked at her watch and said that they really must be going, because they still had a lot to get through.

Chapter 4

Frances had prearranged to take Steven on a tour of the Preston store. They drove there in Steven’s car and chatted amiably on the way about the business and some thoughts that Steven was forming in his mind.

‘I have picked the Preston store for your first visit, because it is one of our earlier stores … I think it is number three … and it is a very typical Family Helper store. I know that you will be very impressed with Jenny, who has been the manager there for years and does a wonderful job.’

Steven was concentrating on driving and Frances observed that he was a relaxed driver; she felt secure being a passenger in his car. However, he appeared a little stressed about navigation, so she discreetly directed him.

‘What do you think makes a good store manager?’ asked Steven, turning around slightly to look at her but still maintaining his concentration.

‘I could easily answer that question … but I won’t,’ responded Frances. ‘The reason is that I would be really interested in your reactions after you have completed the visit.’

‘Okay,’ nodded Steven, ‘now we can’t be too far away because you mentioned that the store is just around the corner from High Street.’

Frances pointed out the street; Steven quickly found a car space and parked methodically. They alighted and walked towards the store.

‘This is not a bad secondary retail position, you know,’ he mused. ‘How long have you been in this particular shop?’

‘Would you believe that we have been here, in this very same shop, since about 1934? It’s been owned by the same family for all of that time and we have never missed a day’s rent, so they are very happy with us,’ responded Frances.

The shop was a large one with a double shop window, and was located just one shop down from busy High Street.

‘When we moved here, this was probably quite a secondary position and Preston was a very working class area. However, the whole demographic of this area has changed and there are now a lot of young families, professional people and yuppies … generally, the newcomers tend to be comfortably off,’ said Frances.

The shop was cavernous, well-lit and Steven felt that the presentation was good and the stock layout was cleverly done.

Frances nodded and exchanged pleasantries with the three shop assistants on duty, who all clearly knew her. One of them, a pleasant-faced women, invited them to go around to the office at the back and mentioned that ‘Jenny has been expecting you’.

Jenny greeted them warmly. She was a