She tugs on the bra strap jiggling herself back into place. She re-buttons her shirt right to the top, covering up now. Her hand is at her throat cove...ing her flushed skin, as if locking herself within. She turns to face him again. One last apology each, an awkward moment’s silence and they separate to go about their business. As he bends to pick up the dropped gallery guide he watches her stroll away, not striding as before, but slowly, sauntering just a few paces. Hesitation? She stops. Pale blue blouse tied under breasts that stuck out like torpedoes. Exposed mid-riff. Firm, tanned stomach. Mini-kilt. Long, long legs. Gerrard was almost speechless. “Who’s asking?” he smiled at her. “Charlie. Charlie Streatham. I booked in to play nine holes.” After getting his breath back Gerrard regained his composure. He looked at his watch. “We’re a couple of minutes late. Best get started. We’ll play the first couple and I’ll see how you swing.” He regretted saying that the second. More

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