H.G. Tudor - Narcissist: Seduction

I love you and I always have .

This was the first salvo in the unleashing of a weapon of mass seduction.

That was how it began. That was the first tendril that she coiled about Ian Wynne. Well, it was the first tendril that had taken hold. She had extended a couple of snaking, searching tendrils previously. They had failed to connect and instead bounced off their target and slithered away. He had never noticed. The failure to ensnare him no doubt resulted in protestations of indignation. She was not to be denied however and this attempt landed, the hooks sinking into Wynne.

The first attempt had come late on a Saturday evening as Wynne lay on his bed watching the highlights from the days football the new season in its infancy. It was a warm evening and his bedroom windows were flung open, the city beyond. It was summer and for once, it had lived up to its name, baking day following baking day. Wynne was dressed just in his boxer shorts, a fan whirring from side to side near to him, in order to create a draught to move the heavy, still warm air.

The chime of a newly arrived text sounded from his phone. He groped for it, not taking his eyes from watching a replay of a contentious goal, which, on the eighth replay affirmed it had been scored from an offside position. Wynne looked to his phone and the display showed a message had been received from Ashleigh Hovenier. He hadnt heard from his former colleague for a few weeks, not since they had bumped into one another at a mutual colleagues leaving drinks and then met up again a little afterwards. Wynne slid the announcement across to access the content of the message.

Hi, what are you up to?

Odd time to ask that, thought Wynne. His instinct for a prompt reply, instilled in him through a combination of innate politeness and trained necessity given his occupation, caused him to type his answer straight away.

Watching the football and drinking a glass of wine. What about you?

He sent the message and placed the phone back on the cabinet beside his bed. His eyes returned to the football. There was no reply.

The second attempt came the following morning. He had gone for a walk and left his phone in the glove compartment of his car. He had wanted to avoid the ping of an email from a colleague boasting that they were working on a Sunday and instead enjoy his stroll. He regularly drove to the countryside or the coast, finding the isolation of a hill or curving beach the ideal antidote to the frenetic nature of his working week. After a two hour walk across two large hills and back down to his starting point, Wynne returned to his car. He picked up his phone and noted a message from Ashleigh.

How are you? Only answer in the next 30 mins

The message was sent at 10-10 am. Wynne glanced at the display. It showed it was 11-32. He found the stipulation strange but assumed she must have then been busy about something else. He deleted the message and put the phone on the seat next to him before driving home. He gave it no more thought.

This time the third attempt was launched. This was a sustained attempt, which began just after 9pm on the following Friday evening. He had enjoyed a few drinks with his friends after work and then caught a taxi home. Takeaway consumed and having showered, he was settled on his bed watching a film when the chime of his phone caught his attention.

Hi, how are you? It was from Ashleigh.

Hi. Fine thanks. And you? He replied and dropped the phone to the bed not particularly interested and not expecting an answer. The chime came moments later.

Im okay. What are you doing?

Watching a film.

Which one?

Wall Street

Who with?

Nobody. I am alone.

I dont believe that.

Wynne paused. Why would she think he was with somebody? She knew he lived alone. They had discussed this when they had met for a drink about five weeks earlier. Moreover, why would she care?

Well, its true.

Thought you would be with somebody.

Why?

Just do.

I see. What are you doing?

Nothing. Just sat at the top of the stairs x

Sat at the top of the stairs? Was she on the naughty step? And now a kiss. Just the one. Wynne gave a slight smile and began typing.

Been misbehaving again? x

Ha! No. Thats you x

Not at all. I am well behaved x

I dont believe that x

Why not? Its true x

You are a ladies man x

Says who? X

Oh they all do x

Do they now? Why are you sat at the top of the stairs? X

Only place I can get a signal x

I see x

Well thats what Ben said

Wynne frowned. What does that mean?

Ben?

The message left and he waited. This time there was no swift reply. Wynne reached for the control of the blu-ray player and was about to press play to resume his film when the phone chimed again.

Sorry. Sent that to you by mistake. Am talking to Blackmoor as well x

Ah, Michael Blackmoor. The mutual colleague at whose leaving drinks he and Ashleigh had met after maybe a year or so of not having seen one another. He was a serial gossip and well known for only ever getting in contact if he wanted something. Blackmoor had wanted to move to the same bank that Wynne had recently moved to. Wynne had felt like he was in a relationship with Blackmoor, such was the volume of questioning texts and calls he had received about the bank.

Okay. You want to slow down with the wine ha ha x

Im not drinking x

Yeah right x

Im not x

Ok x

Wynne pressed play on the control and the film continued. She was obviously bored sat at home, her husband no doubt out somewhere. He watched as Gordon Gekko filled the screen but before he could speak the phone chimed once again. Wynne let the film play as he turned to the phone.

I need to see more of you x

Wynne wondered why she had written that. They were reasonable friends having worked together for around ten years. They did not speak frequently, but when they did, the conversations tended to be lengthy, albeit they talked about political matters at work as opposed to their personal lives. He struggled to even recall where Ashleigh lived. It wasnt in the city, he knew that, but he wasnt sure exactly where. The two of them had been allied to the good side in the split that had occurred at work. Unfortunately, the good guys and girls had decided enough was enough in the face of monumental management incompetence and an exodus had begun. He had left the bank some ten months ago. He remembered when he had sat in a quiet room on the floor they shared at the office and told Ashleigh that he had resigned. He had been slightly taken aback and admittedly touched by her saying,