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April Love Is Back!

By: SamScribble



For me, the Global Financial Crisis probably came along at just the right moment.

For most of the 12 months or so leading up to the little mishap at Lehman Brothers, I had been getting steadily more disillusioned, ticking along, doing just enough to make sure that I made my not-inconsiderable bonus, but all the time thinking that there had to be a better way to spend my days.

I had talked to a couple of head hunters, but they weren't really interested in dealing outside the box. I'm not sure what part of 'bored with banking' they didn't understand. But all they were really interested in doing was moving me on to another investment bank and earning an easy placement fee in the process.

I'd considered the possibility of going back to school and maybe doing a PhD in something obscure and essentially useless. The Influence of Lyons Corner Houses on the Socialisation of 20th-Century Britons, perhaps. But the thought of having to hang out with a bunch of precocious teenagers soon put paid to that idea.

Hell, I had even considered buying a decent-sized boat and just sailing off into the sunrise. (No, not the sunset; the sunrise. If you sail off into the sunset, you spend too much time fighting the prevailing winds.)

And then Maurice suggested that we have lunch. 'Not 'round here,' he said. 'I fancy somewhere different. Let's try somewhere over in the West End.' We ended up at The Square, Phil Howard's two-Michelin-starred establishment on Bruton Street.

'So, are you happy?' Maurice asked.

'For the moment,' I told him. 'Although I shall be even happier with a glass of the Pichon Longueville aboard.'

'I was meaning are you happy in your work.'

'Oh, that kind of happy. Why do you ask?'

'Well, with all the current unpleasantness, there's a bit of a push to reduce the headcount – you know, just in case. I was thinking that if you had any thoughts of jumping, now might be a good time.'

I must say that I was a little surprised. I thought that I had made a reasonable fist of concealing my indifference towards the bank and its activities. 'A good time? In what way?'

'While there's still plenty of cash in the drawer – well, theoretically anyway. Depending on how all this works out, things might be a bit tighter in six months' time.'

'Really?' I said.

'Well ... there are some ominous signs.'

And so, by the end of lunch, we had done a deal. In exchange for roughly two mil and three cases of Lynch-Bages '96, I would pack up my pencil case and Maurice would have made a start on reducing his headcount.

Since a part of the pay-out was salary in lieu of notice, I was technically on gardening leave for the next six months. 'I don't imagine that anyone would mind if you took up millinery or saddle-making,' Maurice said. 'Just so long as you don't take all of our secrets over to Goldman or somewhere like that.'

I assured Maurice that running off and joining another bank was the last thing on my mind.

'But you do have something in mind?'

No, I didn't. The corner of my mind reserved for what to do next was as empty as the wine glass from which I had just drained the last few drops of Paulliac's finest. 'I think I shall have to give the matter some thought,' I said.

Maurice looked a little surprised. 'Oh. I thought that you ... umm .... Look, if you like, I could get you a couple of sessions with the outplacement chaps. You know ... only if you think it would be useful.'

'Thank you. I'll keep that in mind,' I said.

The following week, Nick, one of my now former colleagues, invited me for a pint at The Fox. From the first hello, I somehow knew that our get-together was going to involve more than just quiet contemplation of the brewer's art. 'I have a small problem,' he said. 'I sort of agreed to take a piece of a small film company – just as a way of keeping its head above water until it can be moved on.'

'How is that a problem?'

'Well, with the present little difficulties, Maurice has put the kibosh on it.'

'So walk away,' I said.

'Well ... ordinarily ....'

I waited.

'You see, the thing is, we've already signed. And next Wednesday we need to put three mil in their bank account.'

'Well, in the grand scheme of things, three mil's not a lot,' I said. 'I'm sure Maurice is not going to worry too much about three mil.'

'And a further three in a month's time,' Nick added.

'And after that?'

Nick smiled. 'Oh, that's it. Well ... until December anyway.'

'And what happens in December?'

'We need to hand over a further six mil.'

'But you were hoping to have moved it on by then and now you're not so sure?'

Nick nodded and signalled to the barman for two more pints. 'That's about the size of it.'

'So, what's plan B?' I asked.

'Well ... umm ... I was thinking that you might like to buy it.'

'Me!?'

'Well, as I understand it, you're looking for something new to get your teeth into.'

'And how big a piece of this film company are you getting for your 12 mil?'

'Eighty percent.'

'Oh, great! Eighty percent of the action; eighty percent of the risk. Who else was looking at it? Who were you bidding against?'

Nick shuffled his feet. 'Umm ... well ... no one really – although I'm sure there are buyers out there. It's just a matter of poking about a bit. You know how it works.'

Aside from watching lots of movies – mainly on planes and in foreign hotel rooms – all I knew about the film business was that a few people made a lot of money and a lot of people went broke. 'I presume you have a pack prepared,' I said.

Nick grinned. 'I'll email it to you this evening.'

The company was called Munelight Productions. It seemed to survive (but only just) by making training films and corporate videos. From the show reel, the productions appeared to be competent without being spectacular. Many of them appeared to have been made on a tight budget. How on earth anyone had come up with a valuation of 15 mil for the business was way beyond me.

'I think you've sucked a pup here,' I told Nick the next morning. 'But I suppose that I may as well meet this Prunella Hornchurch woman.'

'April,' Nick said.

'April? I thought it said Prunella.'

'Yes, Prunella, but she goes by the name of April. I think you'll like her.'

April and I met at a little restaurant on the northern edge of Soho. 'Nick tells me that you might want to buy the bank's share of the business,' she said.

'Depends,' I said. And I got her to tell me how the business worked and what she thought its prospects were in a world that was rapidly turning to custard.

I'll say this for April: she had an excellent sales pitch. She highlighted the positives like a seasoned pro and neatly skirted around the negatives without so much as getting her toes wet. I could see how Nick might have been sucked in.

'And how long have you personally been involved in the business?' I asked.

'One way or another, for almost 25 years.'

'I didn't realise that the business had been going for that long.'

'Well, it's been though a few iterations. In its present form, it has only been going for about ten years.'

'And before that?'

'Before that it made small films for specialist producers,' she said.

'And have you always been in a business development role?'

April smiled, and then shook her head. 'I started out as an actress. But as one gets older ....'

An actress. Yes, I thought, that would certainly explain the beautifully-modulated – almost sexy – voice, and the smooth, confident delivery. For the next three-quarters of an hour, we talked about how the digital revolution had changed the film business almost beyond recognition. Well, April mainly talked and I mainly listened. And by the time the waiter brought our coffee, I was beginning to think that I understood something about Munelight and its rather limited opportunities.

'I need to go away and think,' I said. 'Perhaps we could get together again early next week.'

The more I thought about Munelight and its prospects, the more I tended to the view that April was the best thing about it. And she was already in her early 50s. How much longer would she want to keep going?

I went through the accounts once more. I also got a quantity surveyor who owed me a favour to value the building that the company owned. In the current market? Five million, tops, he reckoned. And then it was back to Nick.

'I'm pretty sure you've sucked a pup,' I told Nick yet again. 'You've paid too much. Far too much. And with the coming austerity, the margins are only going to get worse. But, because it's you, I'm going to give you a break. One mil on signing; another mil in six months' time; and five mil this time next year.'

'And the rest?' Nick said.

'There is no rest,' I told him. 'And don't spend too long thinking about it because my generosity is for a limited time only.'

'Two and two and six?' he suggested.

I just shook my head.

For a moment or two, Nick said nothing – but I could almost hear the cogs whirring in his head. 'OK,' he said, eventually. 'But you can pay for lunch.'

When you buy a business one of the things that you half hope for is that it is being badly run. That way you can usually make a few quick changes and see an almost immediate improvement in the bottom line. But, after just a couple of weeks as the eighty percent shareholder in Munelight, I could see that it was actually being run quite well. The problem, the thing that was keeping the business from flourishing, was the fact that there were too many other small production companies and one-man-bands out there that were prepared to work for next to nothing. Somehow, we needed to find a way to change the game.

'Your acting career ...' I said. April and I had just been through the numbers and, to celebrate turning a modest profit for the month, we were enjoying a glass or two of Escudo Rojo, a product of the Rothschild's joint venture in Chile. 'What was your specialty? Comedy? Costume drama? Gritty northern realism?'

April smiled. 'Well, soon after leaving drama school, I did manage to get a small part in a BBC costume drama. I played a serving wench. But mostly I played in what might be called lack of costume dramas. I thought you knew.'

'No,' I said.

'I went by the stage name of April Love.'

'Wasn't that a song? Andy Williams or someone like that?'

'Pat Boone. It was one of my grandmother's favourites.' April reached into the back of one of the drawers and produced a bunch of keys. 'You have to remember it was a long time ago,' she said. She selected one of the keys and unlocked the door of a tall metal cupboard that stood in the corner. The cupboard seemed to be full of boxed VHS tapes and smaller cased DVDs. April selected three DVDs and handed them to me. 'I suppose you could start with those. But as I say, it was a long time ago.'

'Thanks,' I said. And I slipped the DVDs, in their plain white cases, into my satchel.

For one reason or another, it was a further couple of days before I got a chance to sample April's early thespian endeavours. But then on Thursday evening I settled down with a glass of wine and slipped the first DVD into the slot in the side of my laptop.

Judging by the clothing and the big hair, I'd say that Paris in April (yes, that's what the film was called) must have been made sometime in the late 80s. Not that April had clothes on for much of the film. But she did have big hair – both up there and down below. And there was no doubting that it was April.

The plot (such as it was) concerned Paris, a Greek hell-raiser who has been sent by his rich parents to study art in London. Paris shares a flat with April, one of the school's life models. But his obsession is with Helen, one of his tutors.

For the first eight or ten minutes of the film, April is seen posing nude for a life drawing class, the camera ensuring that we get to see her every curve, nook, and cranny. Paris is one of the students drawing April, although he spends most of his time flirting with Helen.

After the class, we see April arriving back at the flat where she takes a long hot shower (more curves, nooks, and crannies) before trying on some sexy underwear that she takes out of a tissue paper-lined box, giving the impression that it might be some sort of special gift. April is just standing in front of a mirror admiring her new bra and knickers when she hears Paris returning with Helen.

Paris and Helen are both a bit tiddly, and Paris tells April that Helen has finally agreed to go to bed with him – but only if April joins them. The rest of the film is an up-close-and-personal exploration of the possibilities of an FMF encounter.

The guy who played Paris was a really terrible actor. And the woman who played Helen was not much better. But the young April ... well, she was surprisingly convincing.

The second film, Naked Ambition, had rather more of a story to it – although April still manages to lose all or most of her clothes on no fewer than five occasions.

But it was the third film that really impressed me. It started with April arriving home from work. She is wearing a smart business suit and she starts to tell us, speaking straight to camera, what a difficult day she has had. Suddenly, in mid-sentence, she stops and looks at her watch. The account of her day will have to wait for another time, she tells us. It has already gone six and James, a man she has been lusting after for several weeks, is coming to pick her up at seven.

April keeps talking to us as the camera follows her into her bedroom where she undresses and then tries to decide what she will wear for her date. She tells us that she needs to look sexy but not too tarty. She takes a red skirt and black shirt from the wardrobe, holds them up in front of her, and looks in the mirror. What do we think? Or maybe .... And she takes out a peacock blue dress with a deep plunging neckline and holds that in front of her. She can't decide. And time is ticking by.

The camera follows April into the bathroom where she takes a shower, spreading her labia so that we can watch the water flowing down through her pink valley. Mmm. That feels so nice. And then she carefully trims her pubic hair. What do you think? Does that look better?

And then it's back to the bedroom where the naked April fossicks through a couple of drawers filled with girly underthings, trying to decide on the perfect bra and knickers for the occasion. Eventually she slips on a matching set in red satin with tiny black bows. What do you think? Too tarty, perhaps? She takes them off again and tries on a pink and grey set. Better? Or maybe this sheer black set.

And so it goes on. And all the time April is talking to the camera, talking to us in that rich, sexy voice, telling us about her hopes and anxieties. Checking how she looks in the mirror again. Slipping her hand down inside the front of her knickers. Smiling. Sometimes even I find myself irresistible.

Eventually, she is dressed and ready to go. She takes one last long look in the mirror. 'Oh, well,' she says. And she hitches her skirt slightly, takes off her knickers, and tosses them onto the bed. 'Wish me luck,' she says.

I must confess that it wasn't the first intimate encounter film I had ever seen. But it was by far the best. It was sexy. It was arousing. (It had me standing to attention.) Yet it was also warm and funny and touching.

'I watched your films last night.'

April nodded. 'Well, it is as well that you know. And remember it was quite a while ago now. I've moved on.'

'Some nice work,' I said. 'I particularly liked the solo piece, Date Night. Who wrote the script?'

'Well, the idea was Aaron's ....'

'Your ex-partner?'

'Yes,' she said. 'But I pretty much wrote the script myself.'

'It could have been Alan Bennett,' I said. 'You know ... an erotic version of Talking Heads.'

The following month, a company with which we had a contract to produce four training films turned up its toes owing us just over 50k. We had really sharpened our pencil to get the deal, and 40 of the 50k had already been paid out in costs. As a result of that little mishap, and a sudden downturn in the demand for corporate videos, we barely broke even for the month. 'I think we need lunch,' I told April.

We strolled over to the restaurant where we had first met and, over a bottle of pretty decent Aussie Shiraz, I asked April if she had enjoyed making the films that she had kindly given me to watch.

'Well, it was a long time ago now,' she said for the umpteenth time.

'Yeah, yeah, I know that. No one has big hair and even bigger shoulder pads anymore. Well, maybe a few American gridiron players. But nobody in this restaurant.'

April frowned slightly, and then she said: 'I didn't particularly enjoy making the first one. The guy who played Paris was a real creep.'

'And an awful actor,' I suggested.

April nodded. 'But the others ... yeah, I sort of did.'

'What about the solo effort? Date Night?'

'Yeah. That was lots of fun,' she said. 'Lots of fun.'

'OK. Here's what I think,' I said. 'I reckon it's going to take the world a bit of time to get out of this present mess. How long? I honestly don't know. But at least two or three years. Maybe four. And for those two or three years – and probably a bit longer – I think the corporate chequebooks are going to be under lock and key. It's not going to be a great time to be trying to make money out of training films and glossy corporate videos – not with all those other guys out there who seem happy to work for nothing.'

April sighed. It was as though I was just saying what she was already thinking.

'So here's what I think we should consider. I reckon I can sell our building for about six mil – give or take. I know a wiz-bang IT development company that is desperate to move into Soho. The IT sector is one of the few sectors that is still booming. The building's probably not worth six mil, but I'm pretty sure that I get them to pay six mil.

'With the building moved on, we will effectively have 12 mil in the bank. After expenses, that means that you could walk away with about two and a half mil. Or ... we could move into another niche market, one that isn't quite so affected by the corporate gloom.'

April took a sip of her wine. 'I'm listening,' she said.

The following day, I met with the head of the IT development company and offered him our building – 'great space, great location, great off-street parking' – for 6.6 million. A couple of days later he came back with an offer of 6.2. We settled on 6.4. On the way back to tell April the good news, I stopped off at Berry Brothers and picked up a bottle of Chateau Latour.

'I suppose this means back to the gym,' April said as we sipped.

'Well ... up to you. But I wouldn't have thought so. I think, for our target audience, part of the attraction of the over-50 woman is that she's over 50. And you are still a looker.'

April smiled. 'And you're a sweet talker.'

Five weeks later, we had moved out of Soho and set up our new workspace in the garden flat beneath my Holland Park house. With me living upstairs, and April living in nearby Shepherd's Bush, it was an ideal situation. The open plan living room became our main working and meeting space; one of the bedrooms was turned into an editing suite; and the other bedroom became a storeroom.  We continued to take on training and corporate projects – but only those on which we could make a healthy margin. The rest of our time we devoted to our new project: the return of April Love.

We started out by surveying what the competition was up to. And, to be honest, neither of us was particularly impressed. There were a few ideas that showed potential, but not a lot. There was some talent that showed possibilities, but it cried out for some serious development. And there were glimpses of cinematography that seemed to be headed in the right direction – although only in snatches (no pun intended). But we were certainly unable find the complete package.


April Love Is Back!



'It's the Internet,' April said. 'No one wants to pay for quality these days. They all think it should be free.'

'Well, our product will be quality,' I said. 'And I have no doubt that those who want it will be prepared to put their hands in the pockets.'

April smiled. 'I hope so,' she said.

While April went to work on a script, I took a quick trip to Bordeaux where I went to visit a wine producer whose work I thought was seriously undervalued. I also knew that he needed working capital. 'Here's the deal, Marc,' I said, 'I'll take 2,000 bottles of that cheeky little merlot-cabernet franc blend at seven euros twenty a bottle, and I need you to label them as La Baroness.'

Marc shook his head.

'What? You don't have 2,000 bottles?'

Oh, yes. He had 2,000 bottles. In fact he had 4,000 bottles.

'Good,' I said. 'Because all going well, I could be back for another 2,000 before Christmas. So what's the problem? You don't like La Baroness?'

No, the name was fine. It was the price that he didn't like.

'Perhaps I should have another taste,' I said.

While it was a well-made wine, it certainly wasn't a wine for cellaring. But as a 'drink it over the next couple of years' wine it had lots of charm. The nose was fruity without being over the top. There were hints of cigar box. And there was just a touch of farmyard. Yes, I could probably afford to go up a little.

'Seven euros seventy-five?'

Again Marc shook his head.

'OK,' I said. 'Here's my very best offer: eight euros fifty – and you keep the other 2,000 bottles to one side for me.' Eight euros fifty was still only about seven pounds twenty. I'd be able to land it and clear it for less than ten quid a bottle.

'Nine euros?' Marc suggested. But I could tell by the tone of his voice that eight-fifty would do the deal. I just shook my head. And we shook hands on eight euros fifty.

When I got back to London, April had the bones of a script put together. 'How are we going to do this?' I asked. 'Are you going to act it out for me?'

'I think you should read it quietly on your own,' April said. 'I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to put on a live show for you.'

'Fair enough. Oh, and by the way, we have Chateau Marlene organised. Henry and Olivia are off to Australia for a couple of weeks to follow the cricket. I said we'd probably only need it for three days. I hope that will be enough.'

That night, after April had gone home, I wandered upstairs, poured myself a glass of a Bordeaux-style red (which, in fact, had come all the way from the Gimblett Gravels on New Zealand's East Coast), and then I sat down to read April's script. After almost three months of reading scripts for training films and corporate videos, I was beginning to get the hell of reading the words and letting my brain turn the words into images – although the images my brain was creating from April's script were nothing like those you might expect to see in a training film or corporate video of course.

'Well, it works for me,' I told April when she arrived the next morning.

'You think so?'

'I do.'

'Let's just hope that I can pull it off then.'

'I'm hoping that it will be the gentlemen of the leafy suburbs who will be pulling it off,' I said. 'If you see what I mean.'

April just smiled.

The plan when I had first acquired the bank's share of Munelight was that I would look after the business and financial matters and April would look after sales and production matters. But, as things developed, April and I began to meld into a surprisingly close knit team. Nevertheless, when it came time to film our first return-of-April-Love production, we – that is to say she – decided that it might be better if I stayed 'off set'.

'I think I might find it easier if it was just Louise and me,' April said. (Louise was a freelance director of photography – or DOP as we call them in the trade – with whom April had worked for many years.) 'Maybe after we've got this first one out of the way. It has been a few years since I did anything like this.'

I could see what she meant. 'OK,' I said. 'I'll focus on getting the packaging finished and the publicity started.'

The cunningly-designed packaging consisted of a box within a box. The discreet outer box simply bore the legend La Baroness, Handle with care, and a return address. The inner box, which safely encased two bottles of La Baroness Rouge and a DVD, bore the legend 'La Baroness: Comfort and Entertainment for the Discerning Gentleman'. It certainly looked the part for £149.95 (plus post and packaging).

When April and Louise arrived back from France about midday on the Thursday I felt a little bit like a small boy waking up on his birthday. 'So ...,' I said, 'how did it go?'

'Umm ... I think it went quite well,' April said. And Louise nodded – although I thought that her nod was slightly pensive.

'So when do I get to see it?'

'I think that you should probably wait until we're finished the edit,' April said. 'That way, you'll be seeing it in the same way that the punters will.'

Reluctantly, I agreed. And the two women disappeared into the bedroom editing suite for the next day and half, eventually reappearing in time for Friday night drinks.

'Are we getting close?' I asked.

'Oh, we're there,' April said.

'So can I see it now?'

'We think that you should wait just a little longer,' April said. 'Let's just have a glass of wine and unwind. And then we can get out of your hair, and you can take the DVD upstairs, sit down in front of that over-sized monitor of yours, and see what you think.'

I had to admit that it made sense. But the suspense was still killing me.

Eventually, April and Louise went off into the night to find taxis, and I was able to take the DVD – and the remains of a bottle of pretty decent Rioja – and head upstairs to my 'over-sized monitor'.

The film opens with a very slow zoom-in on Chateau Marlene in the late afternoon. A rich yellow light can be seen in a couple of the ground floor windows towards one side of the chateau. As the camera gets closer, it becomes apparent that there is a figure doing something in the room with the light on.

And then the camera is inside the spacious country-style kitchen in which a woman, with her back to the camera is pouring a cup of tea. Having poured the tea, the woman looks as though she is about to do something else. But then she seems to change her mind. She picks up the cup of tea and leaves the kitchen, turning off the light as she goes.

The camera follows the woman as she walks through a lavish formal dining room. At the other end of the dining room there is a pair of doors and, beyond the doors, a short flight of stairs leading up to an elegant sitting room. The woman carries the cup of tea up the stairs and places it on a small table beside a large upholstered chair.

For a moment or two, the camera hovers on the cup of tea. And then it pulls back slightly to reveal the woman, who we can now recognise as April, as she sits down in the chair and produces a hard-backed novel from behind one of the cushions.

April takes a sip of the tea and then opens the book at a book-marked page. As she reads, a small smile creeps across her face. A hand drops to her lap and she begins absent-mindedly stoking her crotch through her skirt. After a while, she puts the book, face down, on the arm of the chair and unzips the front of her skirt. Then she picks up the book again and slips a hand inside her skirt.

The camera moves in a little closer as she slips her hand inside her knickers. As she continues to read, she moves her hand up and down, making quiet, satisfied sounds as she massages her vulva. And then she puts the book down again, lifts her buttocks from the seat, and elegantly removes her knickers.

By now, her skirt is ruched up, exposing her vulva, and her fingers are circling her clitoris and tracing up and down her spreading labia. She continues to read. But not for long. Soon, her eyes are closed and she is focused on working her clit. Round and round, backwards and forwards her fingers go. And then ... and then ... and then she comes with a shuddering little orgasm.

For a few moments she slumps in her chair, her elegant clothing in partial disarray, a smile on her face. And then she opens her eyes. There is a brief look of surprise – perhaps even of shock. 'Gosh! How long have you been there?' she asks. 'I suppose you saw everything, did you?' And then she seems to relax again.

'Well, it is a very good book,' April says in her trademark sexy voice. 'I'm sure that you know someone who would enjoy it. Your girlfriend? Your wife perhaps? Or your mistress?' And then, after another pause, she says: 'Don't have a mistress? I bet you do,' she chuckles. 'Secretly.'

April takes another sip of her tea and then frowns slightly. 'Of course, if you really don't have a mistress, perhaps I could be your mistress. That's something to think about, isn't it?' she says, smiling again. 'You and me. I would be very discreet.'

The camera explores the small-but-sumptuous sitting room. 'I like this room,' April says. 'I can be myself in this room. Well, you've already seen me being myself, haven't you? Just because I am a baroness it doesn't mean that I can't be myself.' And she smiles, straightens her skirt, and adopts a more ladylike pose.

'Gosh. Is that the time?' April says. 'I need to get ready.' She gets up from her chair, picks up her teacup, and starts to walk back towards the stairs. 'You can come and talk to me if you like. Oh, and I suppose that I had better take these,' she says, noticing her abandoned knickers.

April returns to the kitchen, places her teacup on the large scrubbed-top table, and then pours herself a small glass of champagne. 'Just a cheeky little non-vintage number,' she says. And then she briefly holds the glass to her nose. 'But it does have a very pleasant citrusy note. I think you'd like it. In fact I'm sure that you would.' April takes a sip. 'Yes,' she says.

With her champagne glass in hand, April leaves the kitchen, but rather that turning towards the formal dining room, she turns the other way, and the camera follows her up another staircase and along another corridor to a spacious, sumptuous bedroom. 'This is my bedroom,' she says. 'In some ways I like this room even more than I like my sitting room.' And she smiles and winks.

April places the champagne glass on her dressing table. 'You'll need to excuse me for a moment,' she says. 'I just need to get my bath started.' And she disappears into an adjacent en suite bathroom from where, after a moment or two, there comes the sound of water running.

When she returns, she begins to undress, slowly, sensuously. 'Normally, Simone draws my bath and helps me with my dressing. She is such a treasure. But her dear mama has been a little indisposed of late, so I have given Simone a couple of days off to be with her. For the moment, it is just you and me. But then I'm sure that you don't mind that, do you?'

After a little more of Louise's excellent camera work, April announces that it is time to see how the bath is coming along. The camera follows her into the bathroom and, for the next few minutes captures all of the sensuality of a mature – and sexy – woman surrounded by soft bubbles.

'There. That's better,' April says, as she returns to the bedroom, clad only in a large peach-coloured bath sheet. 'I think I will wear one of my strapless gowns this evening, so I'm going to need a strapless bra.' And she opens a tall mahogany linen press and, from one of the drawers, produces a pale duck egg blue long-line strapless bra and holds it up. 'What do you think?' she asks.

Letting the bath sheet drop to the floor, she dons the bra and adjusts it to accommodate her womanly breasts. 'And now for a matching suspender belt,' she says. 'I do prefer stockings and suspenders. Don't you?' And with the matching suspender belt in place, she takes a pair of stockings from another drawer and puts them on too.

'Hmm,' she says, wagging her head but still smiling. 'You're looking at my pussy, aren't you? Here I am, wearing this beautiful bra and this beautiful suspender belt, especially for you, and all you can do is look at my pussy.' She shakes her head again. 'What is it that my brothers used to say? Cunt struck. Yes, that was it. You're cunt struck, aren't you? Well, enjoy it while you can, because I need to put some knickers on now. It wouldn't be proper to go to Madame Gris' little soiree without any knickers on, would it? Although, of course, it might be fun. Perhaps another time.'

And April slips into her matching knickers, pulls on her dress, and, after taking another sip of champagne, bids us bonsoir. For now. 'I will be back,' she says. 'And if you are still around then, well yes, there may be more treats.'

As the screen faded to black, I thought it was as good a time as any to press the pause button and refill my wine glass. April and Louise had done a fabulous job. April's character and delivery was hot, hot, hot. And Louise's cinematography was both stylish and sexy. I could see gentlemen of a certain age all over the country pouring themselves a glass of La Baroness and surreptitiously unzipping their flies. Perhaps, I thought, along with the wine and the DVD, we should also include a small box of tissues.

The second part of the film began with the baroness returning to the chateau. She is clearly hyped up from her evening out, chatting about the other guests at Madame Gris' soiree, and in particular about her impressions of them – both the men and the women – from a sexual perspective. She may be a baroness; but her language is pure and delightful filth.

And then, gradually, she begins to wind down. Once again, we see her stripping as she prepares to go to bed. 'Are you still cunt struck?' she asks. 'Are you? I think you are. Would you like to see my pussy close up? Yes, of course you would,' she says.

Part Three starts with April waking up to the sound of church bells. 'Mmm,' she says. 'Sunday. A day for pure thoughts and pure deeds.' And after a little pause she pouts slightly and adds: 'But I can't help it if my thoughts and deeds at this hour of the day tend to be of, well, pure sex.' From the a drawer in one of the bedside tables she takes out a small vibrator. And so begins another delightfully erotic scene.

'I see that you're still here,' she says, after she has demonstrated, with all the clarity and step-by-step detail of a well-made training film, her favourite masturbation techniques. 'And you still want more, don't you? You still want to see more of my pussy.' She pauses, smiling, and then continues: 'Well, in that case, you'll just have to watch out for my next little film.' Still smiling, she pauses yet again.

'In the meantime ...,' she says, eventually. And she blows a little kiss in the direction of the camera (and the discerning gentleman viewer).

I drained the last of the wine from my glass, picked up my phone, and called April. 'I'm in love,' I said.

'It's OK?'

'Oh, much better than OK. Much, much better. An erotic masterpiece.'

'I'm not sure about that,' she said. 'But good. I'm glad that you like it.' I could hear the relief in her voice. 'Louise and I thought that it worked pretty well, but when you're close to these things, it's not always easy to tell.'

'So when can we start dispatching?' I asked.

'Well ... we need to put the titles on ... and there are a couple of spots where the sound probably needs tidying up a bit ... but I guess the master should be ready to go out by the end of Monday.'

'In that case, I will tell Mike to throw the switch – or whatever he has to do – and the website can go live.'

By the end of the first week, April Love, aka La Baroness, had acquired 63 new fans. By the end of the second week, the exclusive club's membership had grown to just over 600. And halfway through the third week I was on the phone to Marc down in Bordeaux asking him to send the 2,000 bottles of wine that he had set aside and then see what else he could rustle up.

To celebrate, April and I treated ourselves to lunch at Scrivano's, a little Tuscan-inspired restaurant on the border between Holland Park and Notting Hill. And even before we had had a chance to decide what we were going to drink, Maurice walked in. 'Oh, hello,' I said. 'You're rather a long way from Canary Wharf.'

'Yes. I'm ... umm ... taking some time out,' Maurice said.

'Oh? You've left the bank?'

'Well, not exactly. But we're in negotiation,' he said.

'I see.'

'And you? How's the film business? Must be tough – you know, with things the way they are.'

'Well, there are certainly challenges,' I said. 'But it's a hell of a lot more fun than banking.'

Maurice seemed surprised. 'Really?' he said.

'Oh, yes. Really,' I assured him.