Here are Chapters 1 - 6 if you missed them:
https://steemit.com/life/@francesleader/pinstripe-spy-chapter-1
https://steemit.com/life/@francesleader/pinstripe-spy-chapter-2
https://steemit.com/story/@francesleader/pinstripe-spy-chapter-3
https://hive.blog/life/@francesleader/pinstripe-spy-chapter-4
https://hive.blog/gems/@francesleader/pinstripe-spy-chapter-5
https://hive.blog/gems/@francesleader/pinstripe-spy-chapter-6


![image.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmc32Gj4z16Rp4mdqj7QX4HYHFi9nRq1454J4Ef5oS3ELk/image.png)

Chapter 7

At 37 years of age I had created an extremely complex life for myself.
Who was I?
Was I the pinstripe spy, working undercover and gathering corporate intel for Stop The City activists?
Was I the young mum, providing a stable home & education for my teenage son?
Was I a minor liaison for Hell's Angels in their huge drug empire?
Was I a student of Taoism & natural healing?
Was I the sexually charged hippy, offering physical pleasure as long as it did not involve love or commitment?
Was I a sportswoman and long distance swimmer?
Was I still burying my feelings for my ex-husband after his overwhelming betrayal?
Was I a success or a victim?

I was all these things at once.
Seldom did any aspect of my life interact with any other. I wore all these hats and exchanged them with eye-watering rapidity.
Nobody really knew me.
They knew only what I showed them, a deceptive and blindingly colourful kaleidoscope of a woman.

I would wake early, shower & dress up in suits and high heels. Race to the train station and spend the hour and a half journey to London putting on my makeup and reading the headlines on newspapers held aloft by silent businessmen all around me.
I would spend a mere two hours completing my assigned work and the rest of the morning taking advantage of the empty board room to study archives and files.
After lunch I would pull out my course work on Chinese philosophy and strain my brain to understand it.
Then I would travel either directly home or to visit my Stop The City liaison. This would involve passing the intel and getting stoned on good Afghani Black cannabis resin.

I would kick off my shoes, change into a loose fitting kaftan or jeans and t-shirt as soon as I got home. I would cook, clean and listen to my son's gaggle of friends cracking up about their latest "meaty chas" which involved misbehaving until an irate adult male would chase them around the streets as they hooted with glee.
This small crowd of young teenage boys were the light and laughter in my life. They all had keys to my home and never abused the privilege but would surprise me occasionally by doing the washing up or vacuuming the lounge. We would sometimes play card games but mostly they would pepper me with questions about everything from sex to subjects they should have been taught in school but were not.
They were Maggie Thatcher's lost generation.
Doomed to attend Youth Training Schemes, endlessly hopeful of getting a career, but standing no chance in reality.

On Friday evenings I would collect or receive delivery of a small amount of cannabis resin and cut it into even smaller chunks, wrap them in cellophane and sell to friends on a first-come first-served basis. It provided me with enough profit to support my weekend personal needs.

I did not go out. I didn't really need to. My weekends were full of shopping trips, entertaining friends and trying to keep up with household chores. In summer months we would hold or go to garden parties, attend free festivals and cleverly bunk our way into Glastonbury.
One of my son's friends, Jay, was particularly attentive to me. He was 17 years old and the son of a Salvation Army officer.
He noticed that I had a huge collection of books in boxes and strewn in piles around my dining room.
"Do you want me to build you some shelves?" he offered and I jumped at the chance to accept.

He built 3 strong shelves along two of my walls and we filled them with encyclopaedias, Open University study manuals and my collection of books on art, science and precious literature.
I was ecstatic. This gift impressed me, maybe a little too much, because from that day onwards he and I became inseparable, much to my son's dismay.

One summer we were joined by Dean's older brother who had just been released from jail. He turned up on a motorbike and soon became a regular member of the tribe I would find lounging around my house. He had a great idea, he said one day.
He wanted to form a softball team because he had acquired several gloves, balls and bats from a team which had disbanded locally.
"What is softball?" we chorused and we were soon on our way to the local park to learn.
Our local Sunday league wanted teams which comprised of 6 males and 3 women or children. We quickly created our team and became known as the NATs. This name grew from a joke in which we were nicknamed the New Age Travellers by our opponents because all members had very long hair and did not drink alcohol in the clubhouse like other teams. We dressed very casually too.

We were extremely successful, each season rising up the league table until I won the best female player award, much to my absolute delight and shock.
By the time my son was 21 we had been playing for several seasons and loving it. Girlfriends had become either team players or fans cheering us on.
Jay had become my partner, living with me and although he did not say very much, my son was not happy about it.
My closest friend in Scotland offered Dan, my son, a home while he looked for work in Aberdeen which was still booming with oil and gas corporations. He grabbed the opportunity and set off full of hope.
My boy was now a man and I could not have been prouder of him.

One of my closest female friends popped in to see me one evening and handed me a note with a phone number on it.
"I was at Essex Uni yesterday" she explained "and there was an advert on the notice board. This guy, Richard Ashrowan, wants a Secretary/PA" she smiled at me. "You will never guess what specific skills he needs!"
I could never have imagined that anyone would ever need a secretary with an interest in Chinese philosophy, but there it was, falling into my lap!
I phoned and set up an interview for the following Saturday. 
I drove to the outskirts of Colchester and found the address easily enough.
Richard read my CV with raised eyebrows "You work in the City?"


![image.png](https://images.hive.blog/DQmfHtL2jA6L4dqN8yGTUb4TeyQodjUfo7vdict8Sd3qiid/image.png)


"Do you know the I Ching?" he asked me.
"I love it." I replied.
"What is your favourite hexagram?" he twinkled as he spoke. He was slightly younger than me, long dark hair, dressed in a loose white cotton Indian suit and standing in a beautiful office at the side of a large country house.
"Hexagram 32. Perseverance" I replied without hesitation, gazing over his shoulder at a wall of very interesting looking books.
He grinned widely and explained the job.
I would be his PA and apothecary.
He was a Barefoot Doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine who specialised in herbal formulas.
"Don't worry if you have no experience of herbs" he said smoothly. "I will train you before we open our doors to clients.
Can you start on the first of next month?"

I drove home in a daze, hardly believing my luck or destiny.
Finally I could get away from the corporate nightmare, the long hours of train travel and the arrogant soul breakers in the City of London.
I was tingling with excitement.