Inconceivable by Ben Elton

Penny? He said that that was exactly what he was doing!!!! Arggh!
    Oh, my
    God ! I could feel myself going beetroot and that rash on my neck coming back (when I was a teenager, if ever a boy asked me out I invariably instantly looked as though my throat had just been cut). My knees became the knees of a jelly lady and the cheese straw I had been toying with disintegrated and fell into the photocopier (and completely buggered it).
    Anyway, of course I told him not to be silly and asked him what he meant by such familiarities. I put on my best snooty, posh ‘we are not at home to callers’ telephone voice and said that I was a respectable woman. Well, he didn’t say anything, he just smiled in a sort of soft way that he
    knew brought out his dimples and took my hand.
    Yes!
    Smouldering eyes, shy dimples and holding my hand. Sorry about the breathless style, Penny, but I am much moved.
    Because here, I’m afraid, is the terrible thing (none but you must ever know, Penny). I did not withdraw my hand! Not for a moment, anyway, or perhaps even a bit longer than a moment. A minute or two, possibly, not more than three, I’m sure of that. I left it there and we just sort of, well, looked at each other and his eyes went all melty (just like his close-ups in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall when he really was very good). He looked like the dispossessed lord of a bleak moorland estate. I swear his aftershave smelt of heather . God knows what I looked like an electrified rabbit with a rash, no doubt.
    Anyway, time felt as if it had been frozen as I became lost in his eyes. Then, and I don’t know if I imagined it, but I think, in fact I’m sure, I felt his finger playing in the palm of my hand which, as far as I know, is silent code for ‘I would not be averse to rogering you, ma’am.’
    If this is true, I just can’t BELIEVE the man’s cheek. He knows I’m married. Married to a good, solid, honest, ordinary, boring, far better man than he, if not quite so dishy, bloke.
    Anyway, after a bit I did take my hand away, thank God. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t. I think he would have kissed me. His face certainly seemed to be a lot closer to mine than it had been a moment or two before. And then short of making a scene I don’t know what I would have done. He is our biggest client, after all. I probably would have had to kiss him back, which would have been terrible! Anyway, instead I thanked him for the lunch in an extremely cold ‘not today, thank you’ voice and said that I had to get on with my work. To which he shrugged, smiled a knowing little smile, picked up his fan mail and left.
    I must say, I feel most peculiar.
    But also very angry.
    Yes, all right, he’s good looking and famous but that doesn’t mean that every girl is going to fall at his feet for a glass of champagne and a cheesy nibble! I love my husband, dull, sexless bore though he may be. What is more, I want to have his children, something which is not proving easy, and I can do without arrogant actors trying to interfere with my already unbalanced hormones.

Dear Sam,
    N o news on sperm.
    No reply from Tosser re him giving me an important new job.
    No further communications from the Channel Controller.
    My life is on tenterhooks, whatever tenterhooks may be.
    One good thing is that everyone has been impressed by my visit to Downing Street. Except Nigel the Controller, of course, who still hasn’t talked to me about it. Lots of people are trying to get tickets to the show but I’m being ruthless. I say, ‘You didn’t want tickets when it was just Mr Blob Blob and the two puppet monsters. What’s changed?’ and they say, ‘The fucking Prime Minister’s going to be there! That’s what’s changed,’ which I suppose is fair.
    I saw Nigel the Controller today and he didn’t remind me about my appalling faux pas over the letters, which I think is a good sign. Mind you, he didn’t really have an opportunity because it wasn’t just