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‘Lady Marmalade’. Neither woman actually giggled but Amanda had to press her lips together to keep hers to herself. It seemed she’d just experienced a sort of sisterhood, some kind of liberated or at least liberating moment unlike any she’d ever experienced before.
    The front door locked behind the departing blonde. Amanda tossed her mane and turned her attention to the business at hand. ‘Am I keeping you late?’
    Rupert’s face lifted. For a moment Amanda’s newfound resolve wavered; he still had baby fat in his cheeks, giving him a moon face that melted her heart. He looked at Amanda’s Manolo Blahnik knock-offs first and then his pale-blue gaze travelled slowly up the long gleaming metallic sliver of nylon-sheathed leg that showed through the slit in her skirt, over her svelte hips, slender waist and plump breasts, to her face. The tip of his tongue slipped from between his lush red lips, as if he meant to lick them, then darted back out of sight. His eyes widened with the effort of recapturing a businesslike expression, but when he spoke the delivery was smooth. ‘I’ll be delighted to take care of you, madam, if you don’t mind waiting a few moments.’
    ‘I’ll browse until you’re free.’
    Amanda put a little swing into her hips as she strolled past Rupert and his customer. The older woman twitched the foot that was cradled in his hands. Amanda supposed it was to draw Rupert’s attention back to her.
    While pretending to look at the displays, Amanda checked out the young shoe-man. His shirt had narrow vertical red and white stripes, with a pure-white collar. His tie matched the red in his shirt. He was quite the dandy! Rupert was remarkably young to be a manager. She thought he might be about twenty – a very good age for a boy-toy. What a wicked woman she’d become! Still, didn’t most young men fantasise about being taught how to make love by mature experienced women? He looked very innocent – the kind of boy who hadn’t been pleasured by very many girls’ mouths, if any. A boy who’d probably really appreciate the oral skills she’d honed on her damned cheating husband over the years of their marriage. And she’d teach him how to please girls. His lips were so red she would have sworn he was wearing lipstick even though her practised eye told her he wasn’t. He had a milky-white complexion.
    She frowned down at the ankle boot she held in her hand. What was it she’d been considering when his gorgeousness had distracted her? Yes. It was clear that seducing the lad would be nothing but an act of the purest altruism.
    Amanda moved on to the holiday footwear. While she inspected the fake rope sole of a rather ugly casual flat (what had happened to the real thing? Espadrilles?), she mapped out her final moves in her mind. Her plan – for the debauching of Rupert – was perfectly formed by the time his customer was back in her own shoes.
    Amanda dropped her jacket and bag on the circular bench and sat down beside her things. She pressed her knees together and turned her ankles to her right, in the classic pose of the lady. Plucking daintily at her skirt, she arranged it so that it covered her legs but so that the slightest movement would uncover her right one. Then she sat very still.
    Moments later, Rupert’s customer left without buying anything. When he’d locked the door behind her, Amanda said, ‘I hope I didn’t cost you a sale.’ She crossed her ankles where they were pressed together above her pumps. The slight movement made the slit of her skirt part to her knees.
    ‘No problem. She’s in once a week, regularly. She only buys anything about every other month.’
    ‘Perhaps she just likes the attention.’
    He grinned. ‘Could be.’
    ‘Or just to show off her legs.’
    ‘We get that, sometimes,’ he admitted.
    ‘Older women?’
    ‘All ages. You’d be surprised.’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t – a good-looking young man like you.’
    He grinned broadly. ‘Gee,