Fic, Dangerous Liaisons, Jenny, Helen, 12
Apr. 2nd, 2012 08:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Dangerous Liaisons
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Jenny, Helen
Focus Character: Jenny
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 1,264
Summary : Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial Challenge Team Fest, combining two prompts from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
telperion_15 dangerous liaisons and Jenny and Helen swapping underwear tips.
A/N : With thanks to thelukadreaming for the beta.
Jenny stepped out of the taxi onto the pavement of Hans Road in Knightsbridge. Smiling, she paid the driver, leaving a generous tip. The sun was shining, spring was in the air and – more importantly – she had a day off from the combined pressures of dinosaurs, mad Scottish professors and the need to bamboozle journalists.
The double-windowed art nouveau frontage combined old-world charm and discretion into a seamless whole that never failed to lift her spirits and the interior was as charming and welcoming as ever.
“Jenny, how lovely to see you again!” Laura, the ever-efficient receptionist, came to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks. She’d worked there for as long as Jenny could remember and Rigby and Peller wouldn’t have seemed the same without her.
Jenny smiled. “I decided it was high time I pampered myself.” Well, that and the fact that one of her favourite bras had met a hideous fate under a hail of vile-smelling vomit produced by a somethingnastyosaurus that had just devoured some very expensive orchids. But she didn’t think mentioning that would be very wise in the circumstances. “I’m rather early,” Jenny continued. “I’ll just relax in the waiting room with a coffee.”
“Of course. Make yourself at home. You know the way.”
Jenny certainly did. She’d been coming to the shop ever since she’d earned her first pay-packet at the age of 19. There were some things in life that were beyond price, and a good well-fitting bra was one of those things. The waiting room was its usual mix of young and old, smart and scruffy. A young mother cradled a baby on her lap while her toddler played on the floor with a pile of toys obviously purchased earlier in the day at Harrods, just across the road. The child seemed more interested in the packaging than the toys and his mother clearly didn’t mind provided it bought her the time to indulge herself for a while.
The coffee was excellent and so were the complimentary Danish pastries. Jenny picked up a copy of Country Life and settled down into a chair opposite a woman engrossed in reading The Independent. Her long, khaki-clad legs were stretched out in front of her, ending in a pair of leather walking boots that had seen a lot of wear, judging by their battered appearance.
Somewhere in the back of Jenny’s mind, alarm bells started to ring just before the woman lowered the newspaper and she found herself staring into a pair of amused brown eyes set in a tanned, slightly weather-beaten face. Shoulder-length hair that hadn’t seen a stylist in years framed features that no one could have called conventionally pretty, but despite that, Helen Cutter was a striking woman. Jenny had seen the photos and read the reports, and although she hadn’t met Helen in person before, there was no mistaking the woman sitting opposite her.
A slight smile curved Helen’s lips. “Jennifer Lewis, fancy meeting you here.”
Jenny forced herself to match the smile. “Helen, how…” she hesitated, discarded several replies and settled for, “…lovely to see you.”
Jenny should have realised the bloody woman wouldn’t have bought her bras anywhere as mundane as M&S. Although she was decidedly tempted to alert the ARC to the presence of Public Enemy Number 1, something held her back. To call the security teams would have seemed almost as sacrilegious as sending someone in to break up the famous game of football in No Man’s Land on that long ago Christmas Day. There were some things that transcended conflict and the hallowed halls of Rigby and Peller should not have to play host to Captain Becker and the rest of the Men in Black. Besides, she wouldn’t have been able to cope with their blushes. For all their apparent machismo, Becker and his men were all too easily confounded by the female of the species, especially on their home turf.
Helen’s faded green shirt was missing a couple of top buttons and it was impossible to miss her impressive cleavage.
Jenny nodded in the direction of Helen’s breasts and remarked, “I gather you favour underwire.”
Helen’s smile took on a faintly vulpine edge. “You never know when some wire is going to come in handy,” she replied. “I used the one before this to trap something to eat. It made quite a tasty morsel roasted over an open fire.”
Jenny winced. That was definitely sacrilege. “Needs must, I suppose,” she said in a commiserating tone. “Don’t tell me, the cups made excellent slingshots?”
“How did you guess?” Helen purred.
Her eyes swept over Jenny with the sharpness of a judge at Crufts, taking in her appearance from the tips of her Manolo Blahnik sandals (Misticak, black and gold, worth a king’s ransom) to the top of her neatly coiffed hair (courtesy of Jo Hansford in Mayfair). Jenny was left with the same uncomfortable feeling that she used to get when hauled up in front of her headmistress at Dauntsey’s. She fought against the need to look down to check whether a ladder had appeared in her tights. From the knowing look on the other woman’s face, Jenny had a sinking feeling that Helen knew exactly what she was thinking.
“More coffee?” Jenny said brightly. “I don’t imagine you get too much of that where you spend most of your time.”
“That would be lovely,” Helen replied, amusement clearly getting the better of her natural urge to challenge for dominance. “Milk, two sugars.”
Helen picked up one of the catalogues from the low table in the middle of the room and flipped through the pages.
“Let me guess,” Jenny said, deciding it was high time she gained the upper hand. “Felina Conturelle, ideal for everyday wear but perfectly suited for that special occasion…” She pitched her voice low, mimicking the sales patter of a television advert. And suited to the fuller figure, she added to herself.
The look Helen gave her told her that she’d guessed correctly. The brown eyes sharpened as the other woman decided to play Jenny at her own game. She leafed thoughtfully through the glossy pages and then smiled widely. “It has to be Lejaby, doesn’t it? Now let me guess…” Helen raised her eyebrows before swooping in for the kill. “Of course, it really couldn’t be anything else, could it? Dangerous Liaison, a mix of intrigue and seduction with just the slightest hint of opulence.”
Touché, Jenny thought wryly. Helen Cutter certainly made a worthy opponent. She was beginning to see what Nick had seen – probably even still saw – in her, that is if he ever managed to untangle himself from Stephen Hart long enough to peer down a woman’s cleavage again.
“Dr Cutter?” Miranda, one of the fitters, was holding the door to one of the fitting rooms open, a welcoming smile on her face.
“Thank you.” Helen replaced the newspaper on the table and then smiled the sort of smile at Jenny that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Cheshire Cat. “Would you care to join me for a drink afterwards? I know a little wine bar in Soho that does the best champagne cocktails you’ll ever taste.”
“What a delightful idea.” Jenny returned the smile. “We can compare notes on the infuriating men in our lives. I’m sure we’ll find we have a lot in common.”
It might not have been how she’d originally intended to spend her day, but she had to admit that the idea of a champagne cocktail was remarkably alluring.
Once she’d finished restocking her lingerie drawer.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Jenny, Helen
Focus Character: Jenny
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 1,264
Summary : Written for the
primeval_denial Challenge Team Fest, combining two prompts from telperion_15 dangerous liaisons and Jenny and Helen swapping underwear tips.A/N : With thanks to the
lukadreaming for the beta.Jenny stepped out of the taxi onto the pavement of Hans Road in Knightsbridge. Smiling, she paid the driver, leaving a generous tip. The sun was shining, spring was in the air and – more importantly – she had a day off from the combined pressures of dinosaurs, mad Scottish professors and the need to bamboozle journalists.
The double-windowed art nouveau frontage combined old-world charm and discretion into a seamless whole that never failed to lift her spirits and the interior was as charming and welcoming as ever.
“Jenny, how lovely to see you again!” Laura, the ever-efficient receptionist, came to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks. She’d worked there for as long as Jenny could remember and Rigby and Peller wouldn’t have seemed the same without her.
Jenny smiled. “I decided it was high time I pampered myself.” Well, that and the fact that one of her favourite bras had met a hideous fate under a hail of vile-smelling vomit produced by a somethingnastyosaurus that had just devoured some very expensive orchids. But she didn’t think mentioning that would be very wise in the circumstances. “I’m rather early,” Jenny continued. “I’ll just relax in the waiting room with a coffee.”
“Of course. Make yourself at home. You know the way.”
Jenny certainly did. She’d been coming to the shop ever since she’d earned her first pay-packet at the age of 19. There were some things in life that were beyond price, and a good well-fitting bra was one of those things. The waiting room was its usual mix of young and old, smart and scruffy. A young mother cradled a baby on her lap while her toddler played on the floor with a pile of toys obviously purchased earlier in the day at Harrods, just across the road. The child seemed more interested in the packaging than the toys and his mother clearly didn’t mind provided it bought her the time to indulge herself for a while.
The coffee was excellent and so were the complimentary Danish pastries. Jenny picked up a copy of Country Life and settled down into a chair opposite a woman engrossed in reading The Independent. Her long, khaki-clad legs were stretched out in front of her, ending in a pair of leather walking boots that had seen a lot of wear, judging by their battered appearance.
Somewhere in the back of Jenny’s mind, alarm bells started to ring just before the woman lowered the newspaper and she found herself staring into a pair of amused brown eyes set in a tanned, slightly weather-beaten face. Shoulder-length hair that hadn’t seen a stylist in years framed features that no one could have called conventionally pretty, but despite that, Helen Cutter was a striking woman. Jenny had seen the photos and read the reports, and although she hadn’t met Helen in person before, there was no mistaking the woman sitting opposite her.
A slight smile curved Helen’s lips. “Jennifer Lewis, fancy meeting you here.”
Jenny forced herself to match the smile. “Helen, how…” she hesitated, discarded several replies and settled for, “…lovely to see you.”
Jenny should have realised the bloody woman wouldn’t have bought her bras anywhere as mundane as M&S. Although she was decidedly tempted to alert the ARC to the presence of Public Enemy Number 1, something held her back. To call the security teams would have seemed almost as sacrilegious as sending someone in to break up the famous game of football in No Man’s Land on that long ago Christmas Day. There were some things that transcended conflict and the hallowed halls of Rigby and Peller should not have to play host to Captain Becker and the rest of the Men in Black. Besides, she wouldn’t have been able to cope with their blushes. For all their apparent machismo, Becker and his men were all too easily confounded by the female of the species, especially on their home turf.
Helen’s faded green shirt was missing a couple of top buttons and it was impossible to miss her impressive cleavage.
Jenny nodded in the direction of Helen’s breasts and remarked, “I gather you favour underwire.”
Helen’s smile took on a faintly vulpine edge. “You never know when some wire is going to come in handy,” she replied. “I used the one before this to trap something to eat. It made quite a tasty morsel roasted over an open fire.”
Jenny winced. That was definitely sacrilege. “Needs must, I suppose,” she said in a commiserating tone. “Don’t tell me, the cups made excellent slingshots?”
“How did you guess?” Helen purred.
Her eyes swept over Jenny with the sharpness of a judge at Crufts, taking in her appearance from the tips of her Manolo Blahnik sandals (Misticak, black and gold, worth a king’s ransom) to the top of her neatly coiffed hair (courtesy of Jo Hansford in Mayfair). Jenny was left with the same uncomfortable feeling that she used to get when hauled up in front of her headmistress at Dauntsey’s. She fought against the need to look down to check whether a ladder had appeared in her tights. From the knowing look on the other woman’s face, Jenny had a sinking feeling that Helen knew exactly what she was thinking.
“More coffee?” Jenny said brightly. “I don’t imagine you get too much of that where you spend most of your time.”
“That would be lovely,” Helen replied, amusement clearly getting the better of her natural urge to challenge for dominance. “Milk, two sugars.”
Helen picked up one of the catalogues from the low table in the middle of the room and flipped through the pages.
“Let me guess,” Jenny said, deciding it was high time she gained the upper hand. “Felina Conturelle, ideal for everyday wear but perfectly suited for that special occasion…” She pitched her voice low, mimicking the sales patter of a television advert. And suited to the fuller figure, she added to herself.
The look Helen gave her told her that she’d guessed correctly. The brown eyes sharpened as the other woman decided to play Jenny at her own game. She leafed thoughtfully through the glossy pages and then smiled widely. “It has to be Lejaby, doesn’t it? Now let me guess…” Helen raised her eyebrows before swooping in for the kill. “Of course, it really couldn’t be anything else, could it? Dangerous Liaison, a mix of intrigue and seduction with just the slightest hint of opulence.”
Touché, Jenny thought wryly. Helen Cutter certainly made a worthy opponent. She was beginning to see what Nick had seen – probably even still saw – in her, that is if he ever managed to untangle himself from Stephen Hart long enough to peer down a woman’s cleavage again.
“Dr Cutter?” Miranda, one of the fitters, was holding the door to one of the fitting rooms open, a welcoming smile on her face.
“Thank you.” Helen replaced the newspaper on the table and then smiled the sort of smile at Jenny that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Cheshire Cat. “Would you care to join me for a drink afterwards? I know a little wine bar in Soho that does the best champagne cocktails you’ll ever taste.”
“What a delightful idea.” Jenny returned the smile. “We can compare notes on the infuriating men in our lives. I’m sure we’ll find we have a lot in common.”
It might not have been how she’d originally intended to spend her day, but she had to admit that the idea of a champagne cocktail was remarkably alluring.
Once she’d finished restocking her lingerie drawer.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-05 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-06 08:46 am (UTC)