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She was a couple of inches shorter than Melissa, but as she had a smaller torso, she had long creamy legs, which Ian could see were waxed as his eyes followed them up to just below her thighs where her skirt ended. Her skirt was hot pink and clung so tightly to her toned bottom that even an extra ounce of weight would have caused the seam to tear. Her midriff exposing halter-top was even less subtle, her large breasts straining against it like water against a weakening dam. She had full rosy lips and dark green eyes, contrasting with her dyed red hair which looked like a firework explosion with it’s volume and curls. Ian snapped out of his trance when the girls sat down, leaving him standing on his own like a lemming. He recovered by asking, ‘What would you ladies like to drink?’ ‘Um… Vodka and orange, please,’ Melissa answered. ‘Same ‘ere,’ piped Amanda. ‘But make mine a double.’ Ian picked up his empty bottle and walked to the bar. ‘I see what you mean Mel. He’s not a great. I would not have believed it possible given the sadness and the….banality, yes banality, of the life you were delivered into with that stupid husband.’ Isabella laughed. ‘Mama, I shall grant you that Henri was an unsuitable match for any woman of even meager heart, but I had other sources of inspiration.’ Marisa raised an eyebrow and made a slight grin ‘Lovers, Isabel? Did you take lovers?’ ‘A few mama, only, a few.’ ‘Then how? Who? ….’ Marisa suddenly stopped. Isabella said nothing but Marisa suddenly knew the answer. Anton! Marisa remembered her much earlier suspicions about Isabella and Anton, particularly when Anton had petitioned Alberto and her prior to Isabella’s marriage to Henri. Without saying so, Anton had intimated the unsuitability of Henri for a ‘woman such as Isabelle.’ Alberto had dismissed his entreaties as being based on Anton’s undoubted respect for Isabella’s intellect, but Marisa had more than once wondered whether Anton had some deeper, more carnal, knowledge of.
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