“Charlotte Reid, w-what on earth are you doing?” Mr Francis finally exclaimed, the phone still pressed to his ear, his fingers had paused mid-dial... The lowest button on my blouse finally squeezed through its eye and I let it fall open seductively. “P-please don’t call my father, Sir” I purred quietly. I suppose retrospectively, dear reader, you could view my strategy as being somewhat questionable in its morality. Despite my wayward nature, I was a clever girl at heart and I understood only too. I assumed that she would not be at home as I had telephoned her office again on Friday and had been told that she was still in the United States on business and not expected back for several more days. As I had anticipated, the newly laid grass turf was pretty waterlogged and so I got the aerator-roller down from the Land Rover and spent a couple of hours carefully pricking the surface of the lawn to allow for better drainage and then sprinkled the grass with a selective fungicide mixture to. More

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