Page 48 of All Summer Long

‘Get me naked, Robinson.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Stewie leaned on the bar in The Siren, resplendent in a billowing Indian kaftan chosen to combat the July heat wave.

‘Not wearing a jot underneath it, chaps,’ he said, winking archly at Jase. ‘Swinging low and free as a whistle under here. Quite liberating, actually.’

‘Behave, Stewie, I’ve just been a bit sick in my mouth,’ Dessy said, fake heaving. ‘Wet wipe that stool when he leaves, Jase.’

Stewie ran his hand down the thick black ponytail that he hoped lent him the air of an exotic tribal chief.

‘Wanted to talk to you two. I think our Robster needs a night out.’

Jase glanced quickly around the bar and shot Stewie daggers.

‘I didn’t say his actual name, did I?’ Stewie said, unabashed. ‘He’s barely left the manor since he arrived here. It’s been weeks, and a man has … needs.’ He looked down at his apparently unfettered nether regions tellingly and then up at Dessy and Jase again.

‘Are you suggesting that we take he who must not be named out to get laid, Stew-pot?’ Dessy said, pouring himself a large gin and tonic stacked with ice.

‘I’m fairly sure that the clubs we go to aren’t really his scene, and your Thursday bridge club ain’t gonna cut it either, Stewie darling,’ Jase laughed, wiping wine glasses dry with the cloth draped over his muscular shoulder and hanging them up.

‘You say bridge, I say …’ Stewie started, and Jase held his hand up.

‘Des, pass me that sick bucket. It’s my turn. I’ll never look at Agnes Turner and her American-tan support tights the same way again.’

‘That woman certainly knows a few unexpected moves,’ Stewie acknowledged, miles away, leaving both Jase and Dessy fervently hoping he was referring to Aggie’s card skills. The village stalwart only ever came in to the pub to attend church committee meetings and even then had just one schooner of sherry at the vicar’s insistence and left two thirds of it untouched.

‘I bet Davina would be more than willing to visit him on a mercy mission,’ Dessy suggested cattily.

‘I don’t think so, Desmond,’ Stewie sniffed. ‘That woman has had more men than I’ve had wigs.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Jase said, stating the obvious.

‘Well, if not a night out then a boys’ night in,’ Stewie said, changing tack as Dessy replenished his scotch. He laid a hand over the glass and scowled when offered ice.

‘Boys?’ Jase said. ‘One, two,’ he counted, pointing at himself and then Dessy. ‘And you, three?’ he added, looking at Stewie with an expression that conveyed he was anything but a boy. ‘So four, including the guest of honour? It’s hardly a party, is it?’

Dessy, however, laid a hand on Jase’s solid forearm. ‘Sshh. Let’s not be so hasty, lover,’ he murmured, because the chance to get inside the manor for an evening with their secret superstar wasn’t to be dismissed lightly. ‘I’m sure we could schedule something in.’

‘Top banana,’ Stewie said, drinking the whisky in one shot and sliding down onto his flip-flop-clad feet. ‘I’ll bring curry. Make it myself from goat testicles. Out of this world.’

‘We’ll bring the beer,’ Jase said doubtfully, reaching for the wet wipes as Dessy shot towards the loos, not even needing to fake his heaves this time.

Alice, Niamh and Hazel stood inside the yurt and admired their handiwork at length. They’d spent the last few days giving the roomy interior a fantasy makeover, aiming for the feel of a spicy Moroccan bazaar and knocking it right out of the ballpark. The space flowed centrally from the huge, ornately carved bed in a celebration of jewel-coloured soft furnishings and sumptuous sheepskin rugs, with huge floor cushions that invited you to loll on them and read a book, and a low red velvet couch perfect for snoozing. When night fell the clear central dome over the bed was strategically positioned to stargaze.

‘I’m glad you suggested siting the yurt here,’ Alice said, and Hazel preened with pride.

’It’s a honeymooners’ delight,’ she said in a faraway voice. ‘Many new spirits will be made here, Alice.’

Niamh raised her eyebrows at Hazel. ‘You mean babies, right? Because that bed has baby maker written all over it and I’m not sure it’s anything to do with the spirits, unless you mean gin and tonic.’

Hazel looked at the grand wooden bed fondly and shook her dark curls. ‘Mother nature is a powerful woman, Niamh. She’s here in this space. You mark my words.’

Alice caught Niamh’s eye over Hazel’s bowed head. ‘Drink?’ she mouthed.

Niamh nodded.

‘Time for a glass of wine, Hazel?’ Alice asked, having waited politely for her neighbour to open her eyes and cease communing with the spirits. Hazel shook her head.

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