Around The World And Back Again

The next day brought a new light, the sun found her apartment and illuminated the living room. Bottles of red wine sat on the floor. The foil wrappers on the pristine glass table. Marble worktops, littered with flour and butter along with the resultant used plate on the draining board.

Miss Tissot stepped naked across her bedroom, standing before her wardrobe, the intent to discard some clothes. Hair tied neatly in a ponytail and no make up adorning her face. She would look breath-taking in any situation.

Some time passed from the late morning wake up to the point of no return. Almost. There her bag sat on the silk sheets, underwear, bras, socks and shoes; it’s contents. Only another half of her wardrobe sat neatly in colour order.

Ranging from party dresses to dinner suits, from satin to lycra and from violet to buttercup, Miss Tissot had a dream wardrobe. She herself picked out most of her clothes although occasional gifts helped her along. She accepted them with open arms, though she would be sure to show her gratitude afterwards.

Another hour later, and her suitcases stood by the door. Her body was clothed in a rich burgundy velour tracksuit. Perfect for travelling. She would today depart to the mutual meeting place that Mr. Vesterinen and herself had previously arranged. Miss Tissot was ready; ready for anything. She was as calm as the cool autumn day it was already and nothing could knock her off her high perch in her life.

A taxi stood at the bottom of the street, and Miss Tissot had locked everything in her apartment up. Her delightful neighbour, Quincy, had agreed to watch over her penthouse apartment for the months she would be gone. He was a kind neighbour, a little older than her and was an attractive man to most. He thought that too. He also thought that his fiery neighbour thought that. He was very much wrong.

This woman was independent, strong and well nurtured; she would not let her standards drop to the resident Casanova. Her posture was well adapted as she rode in the taxi to the international airport. The flight over to Helsinki would not be particularly long; London to Finland, approximately four hours. Of course, her management would not let any expenses waver and ensured she had the most comfortable voyage humanly possible. She had insisted, no. However, all expenses were accounted for and she took this as a kind gesture. She would be sure to let her gratitude e acknowledged.

Here she stood, still as graceful as the star she fell from, all eyes had taken more than enough glances at her. The men in particular, their partners were jealous of her statuesque presence. Her bags had been checked in after the employee was kind enough to fast-forward all the proceedings.

A book in her hands, a delicate purse hanging from her arm and on show for all eyes to feast upon. She purchased the book, deciding that some culture on her flight over could be beneficial for her.

The annoying call bell rang through the terminal, Flight H148 to Helsinki is now boarding. Please proceed to Gate 39, and so she did. Her walk was a dance in itself. Planned out to the very details; toes, sole, heel. Rhythm exuded from the feather footsteps as she glided over the floor. In line, then through the tunnel to the plane. Her seat; in first class, her managements gift. Her feelings were quite subdued, flying was nothing new and extraordinary. Business men were more discreet with staring and ogling over her figure; she was grateful of that. She took up her position for the journey ahead.