Charlie's Christmas Message

Dear Micks,

A belated Happy Christmas to you all!

This year HM The Queen's Christmas address focused on the importance of sport and games as a means of bringing people together. I couldn't agree more. I've always felt shooting is a marvellous recreation to bring folks together usually against a common enemy. In Blighty, pheasants. In Afghanistan, the Taliban. While you've been out of the country those game birds have become rather canny and have started fighting back. However, we've found diplomacy, making sure they've got good grain and access to water and so forth, has really helped. In fact, there's been a truce in most regions owing to the snow which is real progress. How's it going with you chaps?!

I hope you are all in good spirits (both in mind and glass) ;-) Highland mouthwash always takes the sting out of a bad Christmas whether incarcerated in the garrison or vacantly staring at great aunt Petunia's impressive baubles wishing you could still be in bed away from all the people who claim to be related to you.

You haven't missed much this Christmas really. Extreme freezing conditions, violence in the streets and being stuck in a place you don't want to be because there are no planes, trains or automobiles to 'get you the hell out'. Sound familiar? Many people in Britain might have wished to have traded places with you, in fact. Helmand is preferable to Heathrow, the Taliban far easier to deal with than mother-in-laws and I hear Sodexo do a mean Christmas lunch. Well, it looked infinitely superior to mine when I saw you all noshing on ITN news. (I really hope this was the case. I recently went to a ball catered by Sodexo and the experience triggered several days of acute anorexia.)

Well, I have to love you and leave you now. I need to go and jump start my car which has been hidden for 3 weeks in an ice-cube. The snow has begun to recede here, in some places it's completely vanished but I will venture out in my 80s ski-wear to carry out the motoring task. These clothes are what I feel most comfy in these days. In fact, I went to the Christmas Eve meet of my local hunt and everyone was very surprised to greet me dressed in snow-boarding gear complete with fur snow-boots. I cut a swathe through the tweed. But who had the last laugh when we went sledging? My tweedy companion, the Marine, looked like a human snow-ball my the end of it. He was white, wet and weary. I was as snug as a bug in a rug.

I will post another installment soon and also hope to have a few new short stories for you all.

With lots of love and wishing you all a safe, healthy and successful new year.

Charlie xx

Greetings from Argentina!

Dear Micks,

I am writing this blog from the Pampas, near Concordia, 5 hours north of Buenos Aires. I hope you are all OK and in good spirits.

I have just posted 4 new short stories and should have a few more to upload before Christmas. I intend to post a story of my own in the new year.

I arrived in Argentina on Monday 29th November and will return a few days before Christmas. I know, I am a lucky so-and-so. This week I am playing polo with friends at an estancia near Concordia. We stick and ball in the morning and play 4 chukkas in the evening. After a few days, I am walkingly like a Granny from Grantham! It is very beautiful in the Pampas and tonight we are having a traditional lamb Asado BBQ with our Argentine hosts. I must say I'm loving the food over here and because it's mostly meat I am hoping to lose a few pounds by basically following the Atkins diet!

On Monday, I will head north again right up to the Brazilian border to visit the Iguazu Falls. They are the largest in the world and meant to be magnificent. Perhaps Argentina could be a post tour leave destination for some of you? I'll keep the maps and guide books for anyone who's interested.

The plan is then to fly to BA (Buenos Aires) and take a ferry across to Montevideo in Uruguay. Punte del Este and Jose Ignacio are meant to be like the St.Tropez and Antibes of South America. I'm always up for a bit of beach glamour and have packed a substantial amount of smart clothing which is totally impractical for the rest of the trip. I am rubbish at packing. Think of me as Private Benjamin. We will then journey back to BA to watch the finals of the Argentine Open (the most exciting polo match in the world) before heading down for 10 days of adventure in Patagonia.

I shall try and update you with some funny stories and happenings when I can (internet access, rather like where you are, is limited). So far we have just chilled our boots and ridden horses so no scintillating anecdotes as yet! I'll tell you what though, the buses out here knock the spots off the ones in the UK. They are SO comfortable and civilised. It's a great and cheap way to get around. The seats recline and there's a bar and movies and much, much more. Who'd have thought I'd be such a fan of public transport?!

Apparently, we just left the UK in time. My mother says the country is experiencing a severe freeze. Temperatures in the south west plummeted to -12 and in the north -20!! What's the weather like in Ghanners? Are the temperatures dropping there, yet?

Looking forward to hearing from you soon. Letters and packages are en route. I will try and send a few postcards, too.

Love and best wishes to you all. Stay safe and take care.
Big fat hugs with my tired polo arms.
Charlie xxx

Short Story #12

WE LOOK AFTER OUR OWN

By Teresa Ashby

“Come on, jump in,” Chris said as he pulled back the covers and patted the bed next to him. “It’s ever so comfy. I used to sleep in here with Grandma when I came for sleepovers.”

Kay wasn’t sure what was more sickening, his use of the word comfy, the little cloud of dust that rose up from the bed or the pathetically sad smile on Chris’s face.

“Do we have to sleep in her bed?” she said with a shudder.

Tears welled in his eyes.

“Poor grandma,” he said gazing down at the pillows. “If only she’d died peacefully in her bed.”

Kay groaned.

“She was nearly eighty,” she said. “She had a good innings. What does it matter how she died? Old ladies fall down the stairs all the time.”

She pulled open the top drawer of the dressing table and felt around inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a secret compartment,” Kay said.

“Grandma didn’t have any secrets,” Chris said.

Kay walked over to the bed and got in. There was still treasure to be found in this ratty old house, she just knew it.

“Do you think she cut you out of her will because she didn’t like me?” Kay said.

“Of course she liked you.”

Kay caught his look in the mirror as he averted his eyes. He’d never been able to lie convincingly.

“But you were her favourite,” Kay cried. “Her only grandson. I think you should contest the will.”

“No,” he said, putting his foot down for once. “I’m not going against Grandma’s wishes. She must have had a good reason for cutting me out of her will. I must have done something to upset her.”

He flopped down and pulled the blankets up over his head. She knew he was crying again. It was a bit much. He’d even broken down at the funeral and when they’d lowered the coffin into the ground he’d let out an almighty sob.

It was downright embarrassing.

And how he could be fond of Grandma she didn’t know. She was a right crabby old woman with a foul temper and a sharp tongue.

On the day Grandma died, Kay had helped herself to the cash the old woman kept in the house.

She’d found a wad of twenties in the milk jug on the dresser and there was more money hidden in trinket boxes and between the pages of books.

Kay noticed a box full of jewellery. These scrap gold merchants were always advertising on telly offering cash for gold. She could fill a big envelope with what she’d found, but that would have to wait until after the old woman was dead.

She wrinkled her nose at the cupboard full of smelly stuff. Freesia bath cubes, freesia talc, freesia scent, freesia this and that – Kay loathed the smell and didn’t plan to take any of it.

The old woman was meant to be out at bingo, but she’d come home early and caught Kay rifling through her drawers.

“I’m on to you,” she’d said to Kay. “I know you’re only with Chris for what you can get. I don’t know why he married you. What are you doing here anyway? I don’t want you in my house.”

“Well tough luck, Grandma,” Kay snarled. “He did marry me.”

Not that she’d have bothered marrying him if she’d known the old bag was going to cut him off without a penny.

“This will be my house once you’re dead,” Kay had laughed.

“Is that what you think?” Grandma came right back at her. “Well I’ve got news for you, missy.”

Missy! It was almost as bad as Chris’s comfy.

The old woman talked the talk, but when push came to shove, Kay had the upper hand and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

Grandma was probably dead before she landed at the foot of the stairs. She was definitely dead when Kay stepped over her on her way out of the door.

Kay tossed and turned. Every time she moved she could smell freesias and it was getting stronger.

Then she heard a hissing voice.

“I know what you did.”

She sat up and before she switched on the light she thought she saw movement in the bedroom.

Well it wouldn’t be Chris. She’d put enough pills in his cocoa to keep him asleep for hours.

She kept them in case he got frisky, not that he was likely to when he kept bursting into tears.

She’d given them to him so she could get away tomorrow without having to explain herself. No point staying with him if he wasn’t coming into any money.

She planned to take the jewellery and whatever else she could find from the house. She figured he owed her the car for putting up with him so she’d be taking that as well as the contents of his wallet.

But she couldn’t sleep. She might just as well leave now as wait till morning. Chris was dead to the world as she banged around getting dressed.

Once she’d filled her bag she went out to the landing. The light didn’t work. She flicked it on and off several times and swore.

Never mind. She groped her way towards the top of the stairs then felt a tap on her shoulder.

She turned and saw a shadowy figure standing behind her. The scent of freesias almost choked her.

“We look after our own in this family!”

Kay screamed and as she turned for the stairs her foot caught in the ragged old carpet. She would have saved herself but for the shove in the small of her back. She went flying, screaming all the way to the bottom, hitting every stair on the way down.

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Chris’s mum said at the funeral. “Kay didn’t die because you didn’t wake up; she died because she’d drugged you.”

Chris nodded. Oddly he didn’t feel as upset about Kay as he had about Grandma. He felt more upset about her drugging him than about her dying. And he was pretty pissed that her bag had been stuffed with Grandma’s jewellery and other bits and pieces.

“It’s lucky I found Grandma’s proper will,” his mum went on. “I knew she’d left everything to you.”

She hugged him and he found the scent of freesias comforting. The smell made him smile.

He’d told Kay that Grandma didn’t have any secrets, but there was one he could think of. She hated the smell of freesias.

All that bath stuff his mum used to buy for Grandma just got put in a cupboard and forgotten. His mother loved it though and you could smell her coming a mile off.

Kay must have found Grandma’s secret stash and used some of it. When he’d found her body at the bottom of the stairs, she’d reeked of it.

“Yes,” his mum sighed softly. “We look after our own in this family. Kay should have realised that.”

-THE END-

© Teresa Ashby

Short Story #11

NAKED AMBITION

By Teresa Ashby

I‘ve got to have you,’ Simon whispered. ‘Right after this meeting!’
Louise felt her cheeks redden as she looked around the conference table. She tried to continue her presentation. ‘Er...the figures for the past year show a rise in all key areas...’ Simon leaned even closer. ‘I will have you.’
‘Um... particularly in sex... I mean sales...’ Louise’s face flushed. She tried to laugh it off as the dreary old men of the board suddenly perked up.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Mr Dorrell, astonished. ‘What did you say?’
‘Sales — I said in the sales area the figures are well up. We’ve also had an excellent return on investments,’ Louise continued shakily.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Simon grinning. Despite his attempts to undermine her, the presentation seemed to go well.
As they left, he said, ‘You made a good impression in there.’
‘No thanks to you,’ she snapped, hurrying back towards her office.
‘Oh, come on — you loved it!’
She stopped and looked at him, arching her eyebrow. ‘I did not.’
‘I always get what I want,’ he said, staring directly back at her.
‘Don’t forget, I could sack you if I wanted,’ she said.

Louise had been warned about taking Simon onto her team.
‘He’ll have his eye on your job,’ Melissa had warned. ‘He’s ambitious, that one. He’ll use every trick in the book.’
‘Well, he’s certainly not having my job,’ Louise retorted.
‘Just be careful,’ said Melissa. ‘He’s clever. He could have you licked before you know what’s happened.’
‘I can handle him,’ Louise replied. But now she was beginning to wonder. He’d almost ruined her presentation and had come close to making her look an idiot in front of the board.
Back in her office, Louise pointed to the chair in front of her desk. Simon sat down in it. ‘I took you on because I thought you could do the job,’ she said.
‘And because you fancied me like crazy.’ He was grinning again.
‘You wish!’ Now she was getting mad. He continued, ‘I could tell. You kept looking at my legs and touching my hand all through the interview.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
It was true. The day Simon walked into her office, bits of her had begun to ache in a strangely pleasant way.
And now she couldn’t take her eyes off his powerful legs — the way they strained against his trousers. She could almost feel them locked with hers. She avoided his stare, looked at the thick, plush carpet and imagined her and Simon entwined, naked...
‘You’re trembling.’ His voice suddenly cut through her thoughts.
He was standing behind her now, and was stroking her flushed cheek. She could feel his breath on her neck. That not-unpleasant ache was back. Simon placed his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them.
‘Relax. Just let me take control,’ he whispered, soothingly.
‘Wait a minute,’ she said. Then she walked to the door and turned the key.
‘We don’t want to be disturbed,’ she said with a smile.
‘Hey, wait...’ Simon backed away, apparently alarmed by her sudden change of heart. ‘I... I’m not really prepared for this.’
Smiling, Louise opened a drawer, taking out a variety packet-of-three.
‘I am,’ she said, ‘I’ve got different colours, flavours, ribbed — I’ll let you choose...’ She paused. ‘The first couple of times, at any rate.’
She undid Simon’s shirt and then dropped his trousers and boxer shorts. He shuddered. Looking down, Louise let out a gasp of delight.
Pushing Simon down onto the thick-pile carpet, Louise sat astride him. Despite his shocked expression, in other very apparent respects Simon was holding up magnificently. She pushed her skirt up to her hips, peeled off her shirt, then cast it and the rest of her clothes aside.
Pinning him down, she enquired, ‘What is it you really want, Simon? Make up your mind — is it my job? Or is there something else?’ She’d never seen a guy so torn. He was desperate for her, desperate to be team leader — and yet he was enjoying being dominated.
‘I have to put you in your place,’ she told him, grinding her hips against his, causing him to moan with pleasure. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, yes!’ he managed to utter. ‘Do whatever you want...’
‘Oh, Simon — I intend to!’
For the next three hours, Louise had Simon in every imaginable way. The ache in the pit of her stomach eased and her whole being buzzed.
Simon was still flat out on his back when she’d dressed and tidied herself. She touched up her lipstick, then poked him with her foot.
‘I’d like some coffee,’ she said, ‘and those financial reports I asked for yesterday. Now, Simon!’
He scrambled to his feet, clutching his clothes to his chest and looking
bewildered.
‘But...’
‘Now, Simon.’ Louise repeated more softly, giving his firm bum a squeeze. Simon dressed himself hurriedly in front of her, and then, looking disheveled and exhausted, headed for the door.
‘And Simon,’ she purred.
‘Yes?’
‘Just make sure you remember who’s the boss around here.’
‘Yes, Louise,’ he said nervously
He’d hardly left the office when Louise’s phone rang.
‘It’s me, Melissa. So how are you coping with Simon? Has he got you licked, yet?’
A smile spread over Louise’s face.
‘Well, kind of... but I’m still in charge.’

-THE END-

© Teresa Ashby

Short Story #10

AS NATURE INTENDED

By Teresa Ashby

“Remember that naked rambler?” Les said. “I think he had a point.”

“Yes and it got him into a lot of trouble,” Beth said. “He kept getting arrested.”

“You can make light,” Les sniffed. “But he was just trying to show that there’s nothing shameful about the human body.”

“There’s nothing particularly beautiful about it either,” Beth said, remembering Les’s antics as he got dressed that morning.

The sight of his naked wobbly bits cavorting round the bedroom as he struggled to get into his boxers put her right off her Weetabix.

“It’s not about beauty,” Les said, coming over all serious. “It’s about freedom to express oneself in the manner nature inspected.”

“You what?” Beth sniggered. “You mean intended. Where did you get that from?”

“It was on telly just now,” he said, looking miffed. “Holidays for freedom seekers.”

“Holidays for peeping toms more like,” Beth muttered.

“Ah, you see, that’s just the sort of attitude those of us who are at ease with our bodies have to put up with. It’s not about titillation. It’s about being able to do your own thing without fear of ridicule or arrest.”

“You’ll be telling me next you intend to streak up the High Street on Saturday afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said. “But there are health benefits to going naked.”

“Oh? Sunburn in summer and frostbite in winter. Lovely.”

He switched the telly back on signalling the end of the conversation. Beth glared at him. He’d had a right bee in his bonnet lately about naturism.

In fact, ever since they’d been to Fuerteventura, he’d harped on about it.

Almost every beach they’d gone to had been covered in naked bodies.

“I feel overdressed,” Les had grumbled as an endless line of naked Germans strolled past at the water’s edge. “I bet I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Take your shorts off then,” Beth said.

“I will if you will.”

“No way.”

“Humph. Is that a man or a woman? They seem to have a full set of both lots of bits.”

“Stop staring, Les.”

“I’m not staring,” he said, his eyes like gobstoppers.

Oh, yes, their holiday had been quite an eye opener in more ways than one.

A few days later Les arrived home with a bunch of flowers.

“What have you done?” Beth asked suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

“But I have booked us up on a taster weekend.”

“Ooh, sounds good,” Beth said. “What are we tasting? Wine? Whisky? Chocolates?”

“Nuumumm,” Les mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nuumumm,” he repeated.

“What’s that then?”

“It’s just four days,” he said quickly. “I did it over the phone. A naturist short break. Four days of being as nature intended. Just think, love. The wind in your hair, the sun on your skin . . .”

It took two hours for Les to coax Beth out of the bedroom and when she emerged, she had a face like thunder.

“I’m not going,” she said, gritting her teeth. “You can’t make me go.”

“But it’s all paid for,” he said. “And everyone will be the same. It won’t matter what clothes you wear, because you won’t be wearing any. And there’ll be no heavy suitcases to lug around, no worrying about what to wear to dinner . . .”

She still wasn’t speaking to him when the tickets and brochure arrived a couple of weeks later.

Her plan was to open the envelope, tear up the tickets and pretend they hadn’t come.

Just out of curiosity, she opened up the brochure.

It spoke of keeping fit and getting back to nature.

As Beth turned the pages, she started to smile.

“Ooh,” she said. “That looks nice. That looks very nice.”

It wasn’t what she expected at all. No blobby pink bodies playing starkers tennis. But on page 5 there was a picture of an extremely attractive bloke clutching a pair of binoculars.

She hid the brochure away and took it out to look at occasionally to remind herself why she was looking forward to their taster weekend.

Still, there was no need to let on to Les that she was quite looking forward to getting back to nature. He could suffer a bit longer.

While he was suffering, she was getting plenty in the way of chocolates, flowers and cups of tea in bed as compensation and bribery.

At last it was time to pack. Les could hardly stop grinning as he packed his toothbrush and very little else.

“You won’t regret this,” he told Beth earnestly. “You’ll come out of this experience a fuller person. Why are you packing clothes?”

“I’m not as comfortable as you with going for the natural look,” she said. “I may stay covered up.”

“You’re not entering into the spirit of this at all are you?” he said, sounding disappointed. “No one will look at you because we’ll all be the same. Nudity is a great leveller.”

“So is a steam roller, that doesn’t mean I want to drive one.”

“Elizabeth!” Les gasped. “Are those binoculars?”

“They are,” she said. “Nice aren’t they?”

He was scandalised.

“B-but you can’t,” he spluttered. “People will think you’re one of those voyagers.”

“Voyeurs,” she corrected.

He was still in a huff when they arrived at the old ivy clad manor house, but he perked up when he saw their room.

“Very nice,” he said. “Oh, well, might as well get into the spirit.”

He whipped his clothes off and cast them aside.

“I won’t be needing those for a few days.”

He went and stood at the window, beating his chest and sucking in lungfuls of cold fresh air.

Down below, more people were arriving. They looked up and Les gave them a cheery wave.

“Hello there!” he called. “Friendly lot,” he went on. “Everyone’s smiling.”

“Sure they’re not laughing?” Beth muttered.

Soon it was time to go down for dinner.

“You can’t wear clothes,” Les groaned. “Everyone will look at you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve no sense of adventure, Beth,” he said.

She looked him up and down.

“Les, I really think you should wear something.”

“Okay, I’ll wear something,” he said with a sigh. “You go on ahead. I’ll meet you down there.”

They were a friendly, welcoming lot, just as the brochure promised. Beth took her seat at the table and got chatting to a man with a beard.

Suddenly, there was a loud gasp. Heads swivelled.

Les had just made his grand entrance. Completely starkers except for a tie round his neck.

There was a ripple of embarrassed laughter, then someone guffawed.

A waiter passed Les a menu to cover his embarrassment and he beat a hasty retreat.

Beth found him much later cowering in their room.

“Apparently you’re not the first to make that mistake,” she giggled. “Tomorrow, we’re off to explore the ancient woodlands and take in some coastline. We’re hoping to see some rare birds.”

Les stared at her.

“You booked us on a naturalist holiday, Les, love,” she laughed. “Naturalist as in ecology, biology and bird watching. Not naturist as in letting it all hang out . . . ”

-THE END-

© Teresa Ashby

Short story # 9

AN UGLY OUTCOME

By Teresa Ashby

Guy was where he always was, propping up the bar — all alone. Other people tended to move away from him, shutting him out of their cosy little groups. Women, any that bothered to give him a second look, laughed at him.
He should have been well used to it by now, but it still hurt. He knew he was ugly, knew his nose was twisted, knew his skin was cratered with acne scars. Someone had once said that his eyes were lizard eyes, bulging and red-rimmed, but what could he do about them?
Some ugly people attract others with their sparkling personalities, but Guy found it painfully difficult to speak to anyone.
So, when the beautiful young woman walked in through the door, he quickly averted his eyes because he couldn’t bear to see the scorn and revulsion that he knew would be reflected in her face.
He hardly dared look up as she slid on to the stool beside him. She smelled sensational, of expensive perfume. Probably Chanel No 5, although he didn’t know for sure. He’d never had a girlfriend and his mother had always used the kind of cheap sprays that would kill flies.
The woman wore very high, spiky-heeled shoes and, as his eyes moved very slowly up over her long, slim legs, he felt his mouth go dry. By the time he reached her gorgeous face, he was shaking.
‘Hi,’ she said softly.
She was speaking to him! What should he do?
‘Hello,’ he mumbled, wishing his voice had some class, some charm. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘White wine, thank you.’ She smiled. He was dazzled. He’d never bought a woman a drink before.
He wondered if this was a set up, but from the looks on their faces, everyone else in the bar seemed as shocked as he was. She chatted easily to him, drew him out of his shell and even made him laugh.
Guy fell in love.
When she got back home, Estelle rushed upstairs, ripped off her clothes and tossed them on the floor.
‘It was just horrible,’ she sobbed. ‘I found the ideal man, but he was so ugly. Ugh!’
James lay on the bed, watching her, a smile on his face.
‘You mean you really found one, at last?’ he said.
‘Oh, I found one all right. He’s perfect in every way. Right height, weight, build, colouring — everything! Except his face,’ Estelle answered, shuddering.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter about his face,’ James sat upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Come on, darling, we’ve come this far! Don’t go soft on me now!’
‘I don’t know, James,’ she sighed. ‘I almost puked when he kissed me. It was like...like kissing a goldfish!’
Estelle shuddered again, violently this time. ‘As for the rest...’
James stood up and put his big, strong arms around her.
‘Just think of all that money,’ he whispered. ‘When he’s dead and you’re a poor grieving widow — a rich grieving widow — it will seem like a small price to pay.’
‘What if someone finds out?’
‘They won’t! There’s no reason for anyone to suspect anything. It’ll be a straightforward car crash and you’ll cash in the insurances. He’ll be driving my car, carrying my papers and I, my love, will be waiting in Los Angeles with a new identity.’
‘You’ll be Mr Jason Etherington,’ she smiled. ‘And I’ll come to Los Angeles, fall in love with you and we’ll marry.’
‘That’s right, that’s the plan,’ he grinned, kissing her.
‘But what if any of our friends...?’
‘Details, details,’ he sighed impatiently. ‘We’ll make new friends. The McCoys will cease to exist.’
James had planned everything to the finest detail, and Guy was so gullible — he fell in with the whole scheme, as if he were working to a script. What a simple, stupid man.
Estelle said a lingering goodbye to James, then he took his car away to prepare it for Guy’s final drive, parking it in a quiet car park while Estelle made the fatal phone call.
‘Guy, darling,’ she said, her voice more honeyed than usual. ‘I had to leave my car in the Brook Street car park this morning. Would you be a sweetheart and get it for me? I don’t want to leave it in the car park all night and I can’t pick it up myself You’ll find a spare car key on that key ring I gave you yesterday.’
She felt no stab of conscience, no sense of guilt. She only felt relief, knowing that she wouldn’t have to kiss Guy ever again, wouldn’t have to endure the touch of his clumsy, rough hands on her delicate skin.
‘Yes, of course.’ Guy, as always, sounded friendly, helpful, and completely naive. Estelle put the phone down. James would be fixing up the engine right now, even as Guy made his way to the car park. Then James would fly to Los Angeles and lie low until she claimed her inheritance and contacted him...

Sadly, the policeman explained: ‘The car seems to have had some kind of engine trouble as it crossed the bridge. I’m afraid your husband was dead before the car even hit the water, Mrs McCoy. Our divers have retrieved his remains. We need you to come to the mortuary to identify him.’
The hands and face of the corpse were burned beyond recognition, just as James said they would be.
‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘That’s James, that’s my husband.’
There was never any suspicion of foul play, and Estelle played the part of the grieving widow to perfection. It wasn’t that difficult because she missed James so terribly, but knowing he was waiting for her in LA made the separation bearable.
At last, a letter came from the lawyers containing a big settlement cheque. Tax and fees had taken quite a large chunk, but the amount of Estelle’s inheritance still made seven figures. The first thing she did was to book herself on a flight to Los Angeles. She wouldn’t call James from the airport as planned, she wanted to surprise him.
Estelle smiled when the cab dropped her outside a tatty tenement block. ‘Soon, my darling,’ she thought, ‘we’ll be living in the lap of luxury!’ The lift was broken and she had to take the stairs, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now that she was going to be reunited with her darling James.
She knocked on the door and listened, her heart thundering as she heard the sound of James’ footsteps coming down the hallway. As the door opened, she was about to throw herself into his arms, when she saw Guy’s ugly face breaking into a welcoming grin.
‘I thought you’d never get here,’ he said. ‘You see, Estelle, people make the mistake of thinking that because I’m ugly, I’m also stupid. Your husband just wasn’t quick enough. I caught him tampering with the car’s engine and I forced the whole story out of him. I know it should have been my corpse in that car. But it wasn’t, my sweet, it was his!’
A picture flashed in her mind of the body that she’d identified... it really had been James.
Estelle fainted with shock. Guy gathered her in his arms and carried her into the apartment. ‘It’s going to be all right, Estelle,’ he murmured softly. ‘It doesn’t matter, my sweet. I’ll never tell a soul what you did. And all you have to do in return for my silence is stay here with me...forever.’

-THE END-

© Teresa Ashby