’ ‘I can only speak for myself, but…’ I began until Mel interrupted me. ‘Of course we would love to have a bite of breakfast with you, Mr. a..., Thantos, isn’t it?’ A tiny smile flitted at the corners of his pencil thin moustache. ‘Err, yes. Thantos. Dred Thantos.’ He extended his hand. His grip was firm, but I had never experienced a more fish-handed greeting. His cool and moist fingers were long and thin and immaculately cared for with trimmed nails and smooth cuticles. I suppressed a shudder. 17 on a Thursday afternoon; and, even worse, I knew exactly what it was going to say. I had known four weeks earlier when; as he leant across her seated, upright, professional form; his fingertips had somehow contrived to graze the passively waiting skin of her wrist; as his eyes had failed to resist the twin enticements of her bounteous soft bosom as it sat squashed, captured and upthrust in her scoop necked, fitted top; as his vision lingered with barely concealed lust on the maddeningly full. More

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