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Caroline has lost her father, all she has is his dream car.

And she did, indeed, have one ankle that was about twice the size of the other one. 'Maybe we should see if we can find a doctor,' I said.

'I've already done that,' Gail said. 'Or at least the hotel did. She - the doctor - said that it's just a sprain. Nothing's broken. I've got this ice pack. And some pain killers. Oh, and I've ordered you a steak sandwich. I hope that was OK.'

As well as the steak sandwiches, Gail had ordered a bottle of wine. A Californian red, as I recall. And, by the time that we had finished our surprisingly-good steak sandwiches - with French fries - the normally buttoned-down Gail had become rather loose. I guess it was probably the combination of the drugs and the wine.

'What would you like to do now?' I asked as I topped our glasses with the last of the wine.

'You could fuck me if you like,' Gail said.

I think that I may have laughed. Probably nervously.

'Don't you want to?'

'Do you want to?' I said.

'It would take my mind off my ankle,' she said.

As I watched Gail hobble over to the bed, lie on her back, and undo her bathrobe, I remember being both surprised and amused. It certainly wasn't a scene that I had even vaguely contemplated.

'You might need to help me,' Gail said, as she pushed her knickers down slightly and uncovered her glorious dark blonde bush.

I gave her a second or two to change her mind (she didn't), and then I kicked my shoes off and joined her on the bed. And then she did change her mind.

'No. This is not going to work, is it?' she said. 'I think I'm going to need the ice pack again. Sorry.' And she started to sit up.

'Just stay there,' I said. 'I'll get it.'

I went and got a towel from the bathroom and put it under her ankle. Then I got the ice pack. But it had turned to a slush pack. I had noticed an ice machine at the end of the corridor, near the lifts - elevators - and so I took an ice bucket - and her room key - and went in search of fresh supplies. Ten minutes later, we had the ice pack back in service.

'Sorry,' Gail said. 'Maybe we can try again tomorrow.'

'Where have you been?' Keisha asked.


'I thought that you'd gone to sleep,' Keisha said.

'No. Just thinking.'

'Just thinking?'

'Yeah. Just remembering something that happened a long time ago.'

'You were smiling,' Keisha said.

'Was I?'

On the third and final day of the convention, Gail got to attend a couple of the sessions with the aid of a wheelchair that the hotel just happened to have on hand. And, that evening, she and I shared a surprisingly-good fish supper at the hotel's beachfront grill. But that was it. And the following day we flew home. There was no mention of our Room Service supper and what might have been. Although I must confess that, for the next few months, the memory of Gail's luxurious dark blonde bush did play a starring role in some of my midnight masturbation sessions.

And then - I guess it must have been a year or so later - Gail was head-hunted by O'Rourke & Bateman. Kenny tried to persuade her to stay, but the O'Rourke's offer was too good. It was a chance for Gail to move up to account director with her own account group.

On the night before she left the home of the mad men, Kenny took a bunch of us out for dinner at a Tuscan-inspired place in Marylebone. The meal was excellent. And afterwards, Gail and I shared a cab.

'Where to?' I asked.

'Well ... we almost got there in Miami,' Gail said. 'We could give it another go if you like.' And we got the cab to take us to Gail's place, which was just the other side of Lord's Cricket Ground.

I'm not sure why it took so long for us to 'get together'. Working together probably had something to do with it. And, to be perfectly honest, we didn't have that much in common. Not really. But the sex ... the sex was brilliant. It just worked.

That first night we started out with my tongue exploring her dark blonde bush and what lay beneath it.

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