Park Lane & Mayfair

Today, I am playing house hunting with Chris. We have played this game many times, and although some other people would play with no intention or hope in hell to buy such a fabulous place as the ones we look at, Chris could buy a row of mansions ten times over and still not notice the minute dent in his bank account.

Chris is a semi-regular client. At 38, he has the looks, the money and the business. What he doesn’t have is a companion, and nor does he have time for one. He told me that women he meets for fun and nothing serious ever work because, though they hardly see him, they permanently get attached quickly. Maybe this is due to his striking looks. At 6 foot 2 with a rugby player’s build, Chris certainly has a body to make a woman melt. His dark blue eyes are piercing, and his whole demeanour is so charismatic I can understand why he has the ladies falling over him. But, he is rarely in London, perhaps once every three months, but when he is, he always makes sure to book an appointment with his favourite escort date.

He started by wining and dining me at the most lush of surroundings in Knightsbridge, then moved onto some dirty dancing in some super elite clubs and bars to test the exhibitionist waters, and then one day, he asked me to accompany him to some viewings on some houses and apartments he had heard about through a fellow investment banker. I agreed and was looking forward to seeing how the other half lived. My Mayfair apartment is modest and expensive but nothing compared to the lush settings of the gorgeous house in St John’s Wood that he took me to first. The house was a tardis of space. Bedrooms, bathrooms, a leisure complex and games rooms; the place was filled with mod cons and built to the highest specification. Chris was one of the lucky ones who had learned about this gem and was able to roam freely without the company of an agent. This was no random trait, as I found out after he slipped an agent some cash to sit in his car and wait for us to take a private look around.

Agents were roaming the house with other prospective millionaire buyers, but Chris had no intention of buying, just walking the house while “exploring” each other without getting caught. This was all very exciting and even more so when we stumbled into a room at the end of a guest/staff quarters. I thought the large mirrored wall was the end of the room, but a door opened, and it was one-way glass—cue: door locked, and we were partaking in some personal viewing of our own. Chris knew about this room and was given the key by the agent, which meant an extra tip for him!!!

I do like a man with connections…

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