Eileen came in behind her. "He's gone to lunch next door," she said. "Can I help you with something?"
Lingering for a few moments, she examined several documents on Matthew's desk with feigned interest. Satisfied, she cleared her throat and walked out of the office. Neither of the two women wished the other any sort of day, good, bad or otherwise.
She made her way back to the elevators.
The elevator rang, and someone ran past her and boarded it. "Please hold that," she called out. Taking her time to reach the elevator, a pleasurable knowledge swept through her; whoever the person in the elevator was, he or she would hold the door for her.
"Thank you, dear," she said to the young man aboard the elevator. Because she had participated in all of Wallaby's major functions, whether on stage with Matthew as he wished the employees season's greetings, or during congratulatory speeches and celebration events, everyone in the company recognized Greta Locke - the head-honcho's wife.
Reveling in this notoriety, she strolled into the sushi restaurant and searched among the tables for her husband. Conversations quieted among the diners as they noticed her. Mrs. Matthew Locke pretended indifference to the attention she drew as she started through the dining area and headed for the back room, where on past occasions she and Matthew had dined with some of the other Wallaby executives and their wives.
"May I help you?" the hostess inquired politely, treading alongside Greta.
"I know my way around," Greta said. She went in back and stopped before the group of private partitioned rooms. The doors to three of the intimate little rooms were open, and she could see they were empty. She went for the first closed door, but just before sliding it open she noticed Matthew's shoes, as well as a pair of heels, sitting on the floor by the last room, which overlooked the carp pond at the restaurant's atrium center.
As she neared the room, she heard Matthew's voice. "Here, try this one," then a foolish giggle, presumably belonging to whoever it was who fit into such tiny heels.
Greta stepped up to the platform and slid the door open, just in time to see Matthew, chopsticks in hand, placing a dripping pink piece of raw fish into the mouth of a young pretty thing. The girl sat with her eyes closed and head titled back slightly, wriggled her tongue in anticipation. Matthew's other hand was hidden beneath the girl's hair, supporting her neck.