Agent Triple P was attending a meeting at a well known international agency in Geneva and was concerned that his duties might eat into his playtime with B. He had never been to Geneva before but he remembered driving through it in a Bentley one summer, coming back from St Moritz, and had remembered passing a beautiful blonde girl in an almost completely see-through blouse striding across one of the bridges over the Rhone. She was wearing nothing under the almost transparent top and Triple P had been most impressed with the general air of insouciance she gave out.
The plane was quite full but he had an empty seat next to him, according to his online check in. He was expecting someone to take the window seat and was delighted when an attractive part-oriental girl turned up and asked to be let in. He stood up and he studied her carefully. She was wearing tight black jeans and a thick black roll neck jumper. As she put her bag into the overhead locker she revealed a nice roll of brown tummy; not really fat just padding. She had the sort of American accent that showed she was not an American. After the plane took off she pulled off her jumper revealing a low-cut, white, short-sleeved top which displayed enough tawny cleavage to keep even Agent DVD happy. She started to read a book and Triple P, who now found it much easier to read a book three feet away rather than in front of him, started to read it too. She caught him soon enough, grinned and showed him the cover. It was by a well known hypnotist and purported to hypnotise the reader thin. Triple P ventured that she did not need to lose weight on account of the fact that she was perfectly gorgeous as she was. He genuinely meant it and she must have sensed it was more than a cheesy chat up line as she then happily ate her sandwich which she had up, until now, ignored. Triple P and the girl, Lucy, spent the rest of the short flight chatting about the tyranny of womens’ acceptable body profile and as they left the plane he almost regretted the fact that he had arranged to meet up with B.
Passing through immigration at Geneva and, indeed, the taxi ride to the hotel, took a matter of minutes and twenty minutes after landing he was checking in at the Inter Continental. Although a significantly ugly building on the outside, inside it was rather more stylish with a newly renovated and rather striking lobby.
The young lady, Barbara, at check in, was however, desolee that his room was not ready so she could not give him his room key. On presentation of his, admittedly rather superior grade, loyalty card she was energised into some frantic key tapping and said that she had managed to get him a double upgrade to a suite. It would be ready, she said, gazing at him from behind her fetchingly severe glasses, in twenty minutes.
While waiting Triple P phoned B who was none too amused that her office had booked her into a hotel in the red light district. Triple P asked her if she had been propositioned much yet. She was not amused and asked if he was making negative comments about her looks or her dress. She told him he would be very disappointed by the conservative nature of her clothes on this trip. Triple P tried to redeem himself by observing that he had never found her disappointing in any way. She suggested that it was going to take quite a lot of Champagne and chocolate for him to escape from that one. Much to Triple P's relief when she arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later she was carrying a small overnight bag.
It being Switzerland, exactly twenty minutes later Barbara was showing them to his suite with a splendid view of the city and the lake. B said it was a very impressive view of a building site. Although his Inter Continental Ambassador's card usually got him an upgrade of one level in this case he had booked the most basic level of room so was doubly appreciative and slipped Barbara a 40 franc note. This turned out to be a good investment as she subsequently provided a transport pass, electrical adaptors, an iron and a number of other small services. Interestingly they had also laid out two bath robes on the bed having obviously noted Triple P's and B's affectionate greeting in the lobby. Definitely a five star hotel.
He suggested that they try it out but she replied that after his comment about the red light district she felt that he should take her into town for tea. Barbara had told him that the Number 5 bus stopped right outside the hotel and went to the centre of town. B moaned that he was being cheap but the bus ride really was quite short and they got off at the central station and walked down to the lake. By the time they got there the famous Jet d'Eau had been turned off for the day and so after a brief look at some watch shops B dragged him into a Fogal store where he was asked to pay £58 for a pair of stockings for her for an event the following week. He demurred and offered half the price as a contribution. B, somewhat put out and obviously thinking of revenge, then suggested that the Four Seasons might be a good place for tea.
The Hotel des Bergues, as it is more properly called, was very much Triple P’s sort of hotel. Completely over the top in it’s décor. B delightedly pointed out that Triple P was obviously staying in the wrong hotel as they walked into the tastefully over the top lobby to take tea in the even more over the top Bar des Bergues. Tea for B consisted of hideously expensive Champagne expensive sandwiches and even more expensive cakes. Initially, she only wanted a glass but the first glass evaporated rapidly and in the end Triple P spent far more on individual glasses than he would have done if he had just bought a bottle or, more appropriately, a magnum. B was in a much better mood on the bus ride back, however, and gave him some high glycaemic chocolatey kisses.
They returned to the hotel at about 6.30 and did indeed have a very entertaining time in the Jacuzzi although the amount of bath gel B had poured in resulted in an inundation of magic porridge pot proportions as foam overflowed all over the marble floor. Annoyingly B refused to model her new stockings, claiming she needed to save them for an important dinner the following week. Triple P had to administer a light beating with ashoe horn. This improved B's mood quite substantially.
It was 8.30pm by the time they got to the cozy Les Nations bar for a large Martini or two (or indeed, possibly, three). They ate in the restaurant and the food was exceptionally good. B started with risotto with mussels and Triple P had Maine lobster with artichoke and ginger. They took a nice Genevois Chardonnay de Peissy from Les Perrières. Triple P had been rude about Swiss wine in the past but this was very nice indeed. Switzerland produces 200 million bottles of wine a year but only exports 1% of it.
As a main course B had rack of lamb whilst, almost inevitably, Triple P had a very bleu filet de boeuf. Triple P was, by this time, in a very good mood and ordered a bottle of Chateau Pontet-Canet 1994 from their very good claret list. This was opened and decanted at the table but threw very little sediment. It was still surprisingly bright for a wine of this age and although fruity still had some tannin at the finish which suggests that it would go for another few years yet. Most acceptable.
Afterwards they had a plate of Swiss cheeses to finish the claret with. There were five different cheeses. A mild goat’s cheese, a blue cheese, an Emmental, a semi-hard cheese with a pink rind and another one which Triple P could not recall as B liked it so much she stole his portion before he got to try it.
It was 11.30 by the time they returned to Triple P’s suite for a leisurely spoons session.
Next morning, after an invigorating shower, they went for breakfast and Triple P carried on with his new resolution of eating berries for breakfast by having a bowl of strawberries. He then followed these with two fried eggs, sausage, ham, mushrooms and grilled tomatoes. B and Triple P then headed off for the rather drawn out accreditation procedure. The meeting was rather larger than Triple P had imagined and he happily took his place behind his delegation country name.
He would have certainly appreciated the fact that she didn’t want to miss out on her Jacuzzi after dinner and so triple P had to forego his cheese. B insisted on doing a shoulder stand in the empty Jacuzzi then did the splits and finally recycled her large intake of wine and, bizarrely, Welsh mineral water in an admittedly impressive recreation of Le Jet d’Eau. One of the waiters in the hotel had earlier recounted that the locals referred to their famous fountain as piss vache or cow’s pee. This had obviously suggested B’s effort. Not that Triple P would call B a cow, of course.
The next day they gave up on their meeting at lunchtime and found a cozy little Italian restaurant where they managed to drag lunchtime out from one o’clock until three thirty. Before walking into town and looking at the Jet d'Eau up close at last. Wandering back to the hotel B still managed to order and consume a sandwich and fries before they both took the short bus ride to the airport for their flights home.
All in all a most enjoyable interlude!