A Little Bitty Tear, Let Me Down.

I was halfway across the bridge, when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the bright yellow Lamborghini exiting the car park on the ground level below. I could just make out Sally's coat through the passenger side of the windscreen. I knew the little shit that was in the driving seat, although I couldn't see him. Robert Jordon let no one drive his bloody status symbol other than himself.

Boy, was I pissed. Robert Jordon was so busy that he couldn't go to New York but he had time to drive my wife about in that bloody pussy puller of his. Christ, I was bloody hopping mad as I made my way back into the terminal building. Unusually for me I went into the bar and ordered a drink. After sitting there fuming for twenty minutes or so, my flight was called and I moved into the departure lounge.

For most of the flight, I studied the contracts as closely as I could looking for the loopholes Henry always put in there that gave us a little leeway on delivery dates and the like. But the boys had been at these latest contracts; most of those subtle little doors had been closed.

I was met on my arrival at JFK, by of all people Paul Johnson himself, along with Petra his PA, whom he had obviously inherited from his uncle and a little entourage of yes-men. I'd met the kid a few times in the past - a bit of a misnomer really - but Paul always seemed a bit like the Jordon brothers, very young next to me. I really only had five or so years on them.

In the past Simon Johnson had normally done most of the talking, whilst Paul had just been one of the other minions who enthusiastically nodded in agreement at everything Simon said, and of course laughed at his jokes.

I was put on my guard by Paul's over enthusiastic welcome. Even more so by the collection of flunkies he had with him, who carried my bags and laptop out to the Limo that was waiting.

"We've put you in the company suite at the WA," Paul said. "SJ was hoping to see you on this trip, but the timing is unfortunate; he's still on his world cruise. He told me to let you know he'd look you up when the ship docks in Southampton."

I can remember thinking this was a very strange thing for Simon Johnson to want to do. Yeah, I'd always got on with the old boy. Henry Jordon and I had met him many times over the years we'd been dealing with his company. But I never took it that our friendship was anything other than purely business. Now that he'd retired why the hell would he wish to see me?

The Waldorf Astoria was always where Henry Jordon had stayed over the years. But when I had visited New York on my own, I'd tended to stay in places a little less, um, extravagant. But Paul was telling me the suite was the company suite so I figured it just happened to be vacant. I couldn't see the Jordon brothers forking out on a suite there for me.

Paul, having dropped me off at the WA, told me he'd send Petra to pick me up for dinner at around seven o'clock; then he and his little entourage took their leave. Jesus, this trip was getting more confusing by the bloody minute. In theory I should be taking or at least asking Paul Johnson to have dinner with me.

It was by then about four in the afternoon local time. I wondered whether Sally had gone to the play on her own or not. After all she had the tickets. I called our home number; as I half expected there was no answer. Thinking that it would be about nine PM in London, I sent a text message to her mobile, asking if she was enjoying the play and who she had found to go with.

When Petra arrived to collect me, she found me on the phone again. I'd received no reply to my text to Sally, and I thought she should have been home by then. But there was no answer from the home phone again. This time I left a message on the answer phone telling her I was going out to dinner and I'd call her the next day.

As I went to leave the room, Petra wrestled my briefcase from my hand and returned it to the chair I'd picked it up from.

"This is purely a social evening tonight, John. Paul would like you to meet his family. He said it was a pity you didn't bring your wife over with you."

"Petra, what's this all about?" I asked her once we were in the car.

I could see Petra was thinking how to reply to my question, and it was some moments before she answered.

"Paul just thinks as you two do so much business with each other, the two of you should really get to know each other better. And he wants you to get to know everyone on the board of Johnson's as well."

None of this was making any sense to me, until I came up with the idea that, just maybe, I was going to be headhunted from Jordon and Son's by Johnson and Partners. There was no other explanation I could think of for everyone's strange behaviour.

The meal was outstanding, with a high percentage of Johnson's board present, complete with their spouses. Then we all moved on to a nightspot where some of the party danced. I didn't venture onto the dance floor, as I was feeling the jet lag; I'd been up five or so hours longer than the rest of them.

However, as the evening went on, I was more and more convinced that my headhunting idea must be correct. All the board members went out of their way to talk to me and make me feel at home. Petra stuck to me like glue, if anything acting as if she was my PA. You know what I mean, whenever anybody approached me, she would whisper who he or she was, and fill me in on anything I needed to know about them.

It was around two AM New York time when I got back to my room, seven AM-ish back home. There were no messages on my mobile and according to the reception; Sally hadn't left any messages there for me either. I debated calling her but thought it was a little early to do so, as she'd been out late the evening before.

I was roused from the sleep of the dead, at 11 AM, by my breakfast noisily arriving, followed by the now ubiquitous Petra. Once again she appeared to be acting as my PA.

"You have a meeting with the full board at 12 o'clock. That shouldn't take very long and then after that, Paul would like you to join him for a round of golf. Oh, you do play, don't you? Of course you do. I remember you and Henry playing with SJ. Anyway, you'll fly up to SJ's estate from the helipad on the building's roof right after the meeting. Oh, and Paul wanted to know how much of a hurry you're in to return to London."

"Well, that really depends on what Paul and the board have to say about our late deliveries."

"Oh, I think they'll be happy with whatever you say. After all, you're the.... Um, well, anyway they know and trust you. Now you'd better get a move on or you'll be late for the meeting."

Petra had suddenly lost her usual self-confidence. For a moment, she sounded uncommonly flustered and just as suddenly she was in a hurry to leave the room. Or, to get out of my presence for a while, at least!

I'll be honest; I hadn't been concentrating too closely on what Petra had been saying, as I was impatient to call Sally. I called her office at the factory, but the switchboard intercepted my telephone call. The girl explained that Sally wasn't in the office that day. Luckily, as it turned out, the receptionist was a temp and she didn't recognise my voice. The silly bitch didn't even ask who I was. When I asked if she knew why Sally wasn't in, she said she didn't know.

I don't know why, maybe it was a sixth sense. But something made me ask her to put me through to Robert Jordon; she told me that he wasn't in the office that day either.

Totally pissed off, I called my home number, but again it was not answered. Then I called Sally's mobile and found that it was switched off. Robert's mobile proved to be switched off as well.

Totally out of my pram by then, I called Tony Jordon at the Chiswick office. When he came on the line, I demanded to know where the hell Robert was. I told Tony that there was something about the contract that I needed Robert to clarify for me. It struck me that Tony thought for a little longer than was really necessary before he replied.

"Oh, I believe Robert's gone down to Brighton, he's meeting with the directors of Carter's Industries today. I think he said he was going to take Sally along with him to take notes. You know what Tony's memory's like."

Bad choice, you lying little arsehole. That was the bloody contract that I closed last week. It's all signed, sealed and delivered. What kind of crap are you trying to feed me here? Once again, it was a thought, not a statement.

After Tony asked me how things were going, I told him I would probably have to stay a couple days yet to calm them down. Then the moment I got off the phone to Tony, I called Monty Carter's secretary in Brighton. As I expected, she confirmed that there were no meetings planned that day between Robert and her boss. As a matter of fact, she could never recall them ever having met.

Petra reappeared and urged me to hurry getting showered and dressed for the conference. So I stuffed the remainder of my breakfast down my throat and dashed into the shower.

We were a little late arriving, but no one appeared to notice. An unbelievable round of introductions started, followed by a tour of the offices. We didn't get into the conference room until almost one o'clock.

I've got to say that, my negotiations were really a complete farce. Everyone agreed to everything I said and they appeared to be more worried about whether I was upset about anything.

I gathered that everyone agreed with me that the Jordon brothers were a couple of arseholes, and a complete waste of space. But that wasn't actually said in words. Convinced by then that they were planning on making me an offer that I couldn't refuse, I was somewhat surprised when the offer didn't materialise.

When the meeting broke up, Paul and I, followed by a couple of other directors, made our way up to the roof to get on the helicopter. Petra, as usual, joined us. She asked me when I wanted to return to England and organised a flight for later in the day.

On the golf course, I called my secretary in Chiswick on my mobile and told her I would be staying on for a few days. Whatever was going on back there, I wanted everyone to believe I was going to be out of the country for a few days yet. Petra must have over-heard my conversation.

"Sorry to be inquisitive, John, but is something wrong? I've got to ask because, I couldn't help but notice every-time you call England, you're on edge about something," she asked in a concerned tone.

"I'm not sure, but I think something isn't right over there, although I'm afraid it's personal."

"We've known each other a long time, John? Can I be of any assistance? You know that I know how to be discrete."

"Well, you could help me. It would be useful if nobody finds out that I'm flying home this evening. No one in England, that is! If what I fear is happening, I'd like to try and catch them in the act."

"Oh, god, you don't think your wife is...."

"I don't know, Petra. But we had an argument before I left and she hasn't been where I thought she should be when I've tried to call her. I can't seem to get hold of her on the phone either. It might be that she's still annoyed with me, but there's a man I can't get in touch with either, and someone else over there is telling me lies. There must be a reason for that."

"Oh, I see now why you're in a hurry to get back. Look, if anyone from England tries to call you, I'll have them transferred to me. I'm the only one besides Paul who knows you're on the plane this evening anyway. All Paul's calls go through me, so I'll stall anyone who tries to get in touch with you. You can call them back on your cell phone and they'll have no idea where you are."

"Thanks, Petra, now I think I'd better get back to the game."

Whilst I'd been in conversation with Petra, I'd noticed Paul start to walk towards us. I'd moved out of earshot to make my phone calls. What I found confusing was the fact that out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Petra make a little gesture with her hand, when she saw Paul begin to move in our direction. Paul immediately changed direction and had fallen into conversation with the other two players.

The game over, we went into SJ's mansion for a meal, where I met again SJ's daughter, Beatrice. Once again I thought something was not quite right. I'd known Bea for years, but she seemed awkward around me that day. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I got the feeling that these folks knew something I didn't. I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake in telling Petra of my suspicions.

We flew back to the company HQ later in the day in the helicopter; then Petra accompanied me to the airport. She'd arranged for someone to collect my gear from the WA. The flight back to Heathrow was uneventful until I'd landed. A steward met me in the arrival's lounge, and told me there was an urgent phone call for me, leading me to a service phone.

"John, its Petra. We had everyone on the phone for you last night, after you left. Your wife called and I told her you were in conference with Paul. Then later both the Johnsons called, but separately and I gave them the same message. Your wife then called again and asked me if I knew when you would be returning home. I told her I'd booked you on the Saturday evening flight. Was that all right?"

"Thanks, Petra, that should be fine. I'll call them from my mobile later and give them the same story. Thanks for your help."

"Keep in touch, John. I'll let you know if any of them call here again."

So my loving wife had reappeared and was showing signs of being concerned about where I was. I wondered why she was suddenly so worried about me.

I booked myself into the Novatel by the airport and found that Hertz had already delivered the car I ordered from New York. I, or rather the company, had an account with Hertz, so it was my simplest choice, but the car was booked to me privately.

Not being tired, I took a drive past my house. Sally's car was in the drive and the house was in darkness. To be expected, since it was just after four in the morning. From the call box on the corner of our road, I called the house phone; there was no answer and the answer-phone picked up. I called four times in a row and, when she never answered on any of them, I figured it was safe to assume that Sally was not in the house.

Leaving the car where it was, I walked down to the house and entered quietly. A quick search of the place proved to me that it was deserted. What to do now, I asked myself. Well, the best idea I could come up with was to sit down and wait for Sally to return. I made myself a pot of coffee and settled myself in the lounge. I'd planned on the coffee keeping me awake, but it didn't!

It was the burble of the Lamborghini's noisy exhausts that woke me, just before eight o'clock. Through the window I watched Sally and Robert get out of the yellow peril and walk up to the house.

"Come in, Bobby. It won't take me long to shower and change. Go in the kitchen and make some coffee, will you. I need something to clear my head."

It was amazing; neither of them noticed me sitting in the lounge, even though the door was wide open. I guess some folks don't see what they don't expect to see.

Sally ran up the stairs and Robert went into the kitchen. I heard him going through all the cupboards. Then he came out and called up the stairs to Sally.

"Where do you keep your coffee percolator, Sal?"

"On the side," she called back down to him.

"Well, I can't find it," he called back up to her.

I heard Sally come back down the stairs. "Oh, you men are useless without a good woman around to look after you," she said as she entered the kitchen.

"That's funny, it should be on the side there. I don't think I left it in the lou.... OH, MY GOD! What are you doing here?"

Sally, having not found the coffee percolator in the kitchen, had come into the lounge looking for it, and finally spotted me. She stood there in a skimpy bra and a thong. Neither of which I might add, I had ever seen before.

"Oh, I was just sitting here waiting for my faithful wife to return. And now I think I'm gonna kick a slimy little arsehole's teeth down his fucking throat for him," I said as I got out of my chair.

Both Robert and Sally seemed to be glued to the spot in shock for a moment; after all, they were both sure I was still in the US. Then Robert came to his senses and began to try to make his getaway. Unfortunately for him we had a rather unusual and complicated night latch on our front door. The damn lever on the thing turns the wrong way. The more he tugged and pulled at it, the more panic-stricken he became.

I slammed him against the door and literally punched the shit out of him. I don't think the little wanker even knew how to defend himself. Sally was screaming at me that "it wasn't what it looked like" and was trying to pull me off of Robert.

I don't think I knocked him about half as much as I would have liked to have done. To be honest, I'm not a naturally violent person. So when he tried to roll into a ball on the floor, I stopped hitting him. I think some folks would have taken the opportunity to kick the shit out of him, but it wasn't something I could bring myself to do.

Turning the catch in the correct direction, I opened the door and shoved him outside. Then without really thinking about it, I grabbed hold of Sally and pushed her outside as well.

Slamming the door closed, I returned to the lounge, only this time I headed for the liqueur cabinet.

Sally banged on the door and rang the doorbell for a little while. Through the lounge window I watched Robert, who had retreated to his car, get out again carrying a travel blanket, I assume to cover Sally's almost naked body with.

Sally called through the post box, once again saying that it wasn't what it looked like, and begging me to let her back in. I was adamant that I wasn't going to get into a shouting match with her, so I ignored her.

Some of the neighbours had taken an interest in our little cabaret by then; I could see them watching from their front doors and gardens. Sally, I assume figured I was back in the lounge as she changed her target and began banging on one of the lounge windows, still screaming at me to let her in.

Unfortunately for her she must have hit the window a little too hard. Just as the police arrived, the windowpane shattered and Sally cut her arm quite badly on the shards.

It seemed that only a couple of moments passed before the paramedics and ambulance arrived. I assume the police called them; I didn't!

Then I had a policeman knocking on the door. I'd watched him talk to both Sally and Robert before he did so.

"Good morning, sir. Would you like to give me your side of this little debacle?" he asked.

"I caught my wife with an arsehole. Do I need to say anymore?"

"Not really, sir, but the man says you hit him."

"I did. Wouldn't you? He was in my house!"

"Hmm, you didn't strike your wife?"

"No, I bloody didn't. I just helped her through the door, so she could be with her boyfriend. I thought I was being quite magnanimous."

Another officer who had remained talking to Sally and Robert came over, shaking his head at the first officer.

"He doesn't want to take it anywhere. And the lady says there was no violence shown towards her."

Then he said to me, "That is a nasty gash your wife's got on her arm, sir. The medic says she's going to need some stitches in it, so they will be taking her to casualty. But she is going to need some clothes though. Will you take them down there for her?"

"Not on your bloody life, I won't. That's her bleeding problem, not mine anymore. Let her little shit bag boyfriend buy her some new ones; he's got plenty of money,"

"I see. Look, you realise she must have some clothes. She can't walk around dressed like that. She's almost naked!"