LITMIR.BIZ

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tightly

      buttoned blouse and hard-nosed stare.”

      Little did Gran realise her cold blonde beauty raised my pulse even before she’d

      allowed me to attempt to unfasten her bra. For me that was a two handed visual job only

      attempted slowly with her holding her long hair back away from the action. After her locks became caught in the clasp we needed to stop and find scissors.

      “Yes, I noticed her,” Dad said, puffing enthusiastically on his pipe, “very attractive. Looks like she’s perfected an advanced beauty technique. Her dyed roots are a darker

      contrast closer to her scalp. She must use a brush to get a straight line.”

      Gran’s voice softened. “You should get out more, John, it’s natural for a young man to want to sow his wild oats, but please, please, meet someone nice for settling down.”

      Gran didn’t whole heartedly approve of my lady loves but, being a peacock in my prime, I continued to seduce much as a desert wanderer might devour an orange, and about as selfishly.

      Chapter 13

      Paradise!

      On good days kitchen life was a struggle. On bad days, it was an absolute nightmare.

      My grandparents who’d always been loving and caring became snappy, and there were more frequent tears from Gran.

      “Daddy, Gran and Gramps are upset,” Pandy reported, with a concerned frown.

      “They’ll have to get un-upset, Sweetheart. I’m committed. There’s no turning back now. Failure isn’t an option. What I need most is for your brother to master that damned kitchen.”

      To make matters worse the stairs to our family quarters, which were on the top floor proved more than an inconvenience to Gran. By the time she reached the top, she needed time out. “I feel as ungainly as a Brontosaurus,” she puffed.

      Gramps gave his best, but it was a bit beyond him too. “Don’t let ageing get you down, John,” he huffed, “it’s too damned hard to get back up!”

      He was not a well man. At times he breathed like an Aberdeen Angus bull.

      “Maybe that’s due to your smoking, Gramps,” Pandy sounded worried.

      Gramps grinned back. “It’s not only my chest, Sweetheart. I’m also as blind as that wall without my specs.” Gramps nodded at the wall. “Reckon I’d be lucky to hit the beach with a beach ball.”

      I really tried in the kitchen. Despite Dad’s threats my efforts proved well below par.

      Gran sympathised. “You’ve had no training, John. Your dad’s silly thinking overnight you’ll become a chef.”

      Dad was not in the mood for conciliation. I could taste his brooding anger. The loss of Alice and her common sense burdened him like nothing I had known, and always in the background were those awful war memories.

      “What he needs badly is a win,” I told Gramps, “instead he’s under-capitalised, over committed, and hopelessly in debt.”

      Gramps agreed.

      Gran remained unimpressed with my efforts outside of finger food. “Tip number one,” she emphasised looking me straight in the eye, “is when making scones don’t use plain flour! Tip number two,” she sighed, “please don’t forget and leave them in the oven for an hour. They become missiles!”

      Under sufferance Gran agreed to carry on with breakfasts provided Dad employed a professional for lunches and dinners.

      I was surprised how easily Dad gave in to Gran’s request. A contributing factor I’m sure was him wanting Pandy out of our kitchens. He worried she may get over excited and burn herself, but with an ubiquitous starched chef’s hat on the job, her kitchen access was about to become drastically restricted.

      Problem was Pandy was happiest with Gran knee-deep around the ovens and Gran

      relied upon her when I was elsewhere.

      “God help her if he’s this protective when her skirts shrink upwards and she develops an interest in boys,” Gran retaliated and as if to emphasise her point, she threw a cutting board covered with food scraps into the sink.

      Husband and wife managers at the Castle Hotel called in for a social chat and a few drinks. Experienced in the industry they felt their new chums on the block had aimed far too high with expectations. They also disagreed with me being relegated to the kitchens as they employed a team of professional chefs.

      “The economics of reality and your son learning to hold a frying pan might not keep pace with your budgeted probabilities,” they told Dad.

      After they’d left I thought about their comments. Contrary to Dad’s Plan B what if ours was no easy task? What if our competition resembled a pride of starving, salivating

      lions and us the heavily limping Christians?

      Downstairs in the basement I bumped into Beau Nash with his braces tugging his

      waistband as far away from his nuts as possible.

      “Now you’re here, young sir, we should read the leaves together.”

      Beau poured me a cup with loose leaves. “Hold the cup in both hands, young sir. Drink but leave a small amount in the bottom of the cup, please. Then swirl the remaining contents three times clockwise moving the leaves towards the rim of the cup.”

      Tea wound its way up and over the rim of the cup and continued its way down the sides and over my hand. Co-ordination was never my strong suit.

      Beau sighed, “All is not lost, young sir, but it’s easier if you maintain some rhythm.” He rolled his eyes. “Now tip the cup upside down on its saucer.”

      Great! Another challenge for the inept.

      “Hold the cup there for about ten seconds, young sir, allowing it to drain.”

      When the tea cup was right side-up its handle had to face him.

      Yes, that’s going to make all the difference.

      Beau stared at the leaves.

      I felt anxious, “What do you see?”

      He sighed, again, “I’m interpreting shapes and patterns of leaves.”

      “What do they say?”

      Beau was not in any hurry.

      Maybe he needed to refer to his manual?

      “I see leaves in the shape of a fan. I interpret a flirtation in your life.”

      “Only one?”

      Beau continued to study the leaves, “There could be multiple flirtations.”

      I smiled, “Bloody good-o, bring it on. Is she well stacked and attractive?”

      Beau frowned. “If I knew that, instead of sitting here, with tea splashed over my

      trousers, I’d be picking numbers for horses, wouldn’t I?”

      Chapter 14

      Eliza

      At the bank I got the broadest smile since my last year in college from a lusty young woman who, by her shape, would have excelled in any low-cut top, had bank rules allowed her to wear one. From the other side of the counter she acted the prick teaser wanting to fulfil my every whim.

      Eliza, as I discovered her name to be, had a wanton demeanour. She sashayed her hips threatening to bowl over anyone who came within her flight path. Her hips were broad.

      She wasn’t fat exactly, although I hoped during sex she wouldn’t insist on being on top.

      She accepted my invitation

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