Last week was my first week back in London after a refreshing fortnight in Greece. I arrived back to the usual 300+ emails in my inbox, a worryingly large amount of which hadn’t been dealt with, except in the most cursory manner, by Katerina, my PA.
Katerina is a lovely girl, hard to believe that just over three years ago she was working in an Estonian car dealership. She is now firmly established in London, has masses of friends, goes to dance classes and sends money back home to parents, who must find their daughter’s new-found position beyond their imaginings in a country that was part of the Soviet empire, only a generation ago.
Now, Katerina is a broad-minded girl, when she first came to the UK, she spent a lot of time in the, how can I put this, entertainment industry, ok, she was a lap dancer. She’s a bit too leggy and dyed-blonde for my taste and after all, off-limits – never mixing sex with work colleagues is one of the few morals I always stick to.
So, Monday morning, just as I was taking a break after 3 hours of non-stop email replies, into my office comes Jonathan, our ever-so-slightly camp, office concierge guy, carrying a couple of suits I’d left with him before my holidays.
Attached to one of the suits was one of those envelopes dry cleaners use to stick things in you’ve left in the pockets.
I opened it without thinking and onto the office floor fell a black lace G-string.
Katerina looked down at it, then up at me, smiled a wicked smile and left.
Of course, it was Cleo’s parting gift before I went on holiday.
I fear the convo in the break room at lunch time is going to be a little livelier than usual…