perspective.
On the subject of unexpected visitors and questionable relationships, however, you’ve had a visitor, too. A young man called in here yesterday. A Hell’s Angel look-alike with a long red beard and big beefy arms covered in tattoos. He asked ever so politely about some ladies’ lingerie which you, apparently, are holding here for him.
I would have been happy to oblige your boyfriend. I might have asked a few pertinent questions. But he seemed very secretive, almost furtive, and I got the distinct impression that he would not welcome my curiosity. As you might imagine I was somewhat at a loss. I had no idea where I could lay my hands on lingerie in his size. I suggested he call back in a few days. Do you have any suggestions or instructions, Molly?
Kindest regards
Patrick
To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: A bedtime story
Wipe that smirk off your face right now, Patrick Knight. I know what you’re thinking, and stop it. That visitor was not my boyfriend, and he’s certainly not a crossdresser.
His name is David Howard and he’s a butcher in Horseshoe Bay, married to a doting wife with three kids and as straight as a Roman road. But he also has a fabulous singing voice, and he’s landed a major role in the local production of The Rocky Horror Show. It’s all very top secret (and believe me, keeping a secret on Magnetic Island is a big call.) I organised his costume before I left, but I was so busy getting the house ready for you that I forgot to drop it off with the Amateur Players.
I’m sorry David had to disturb you. It’s entirely my fault. I left the costume in a black plastic bag on the table next to my sewing machine in the back bedroom, so I’d be very grateful if you could pass it on to him, with my apologies.
Can you imagine the impact and the surprise when big David, covered in tattoos, steps onto the stage?
Thanks!
Molly
To: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>
From: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
Subject: One parcel of lingerie duly delivered.
Curiosity drove me to take a peek at the lingerie before I handed it over to David, and I must say you sew a very fine seam. The lace on the suspender belts is very fetching.
But while you wriggled off that hook quite neatly, Molly, I can’t let you get away completely. You’ve had another visitor (dare I say admirer?) who turned up here late yesterday afternoon, expecting a massage. Probably the fittest looking character I’ve seen in a long while. He seemed very upset when I told him your services would not be available till the end of June.
Explain away that one, Miss Molly.
And while I’m on the subject of the men in your life, the strapping young ranger who supervised the crocodile capture last week was very keen to know when you’d be back.
Rest assured, I don’t plan to sit down with these fellows for a ‘cosy chat’, so I won’t be passing on any advice to you re: your previous or future relationships.
Patrick
To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: One parcel of lingerie duly delivered
Patrick, I’m sorry. My friends do seem to be interrupting you lately. The guy who turned up for a massage was Josh. But honestly, it’s not that kind of massage. He’s a footballer—he plays for the local rugby league team and he has a problem with his shoulders. Like a lot of islanders he bucks the system and has no medical insurance, so he balks at handing over money for a professional massage from a physio.
That’s why he comes to me.
I massage his shoulders. Only. He keeps me supplied with fish. Hence my well-stocked freezer. As for Max, the crocodile wrangler, I have no idea why he was asking about me. I should think that’s nothing more than idle curiosity.
Anyway, as you know, it’s not Australian men I’m interested in. I’m still on the lookout for my lovely Englishman. Any advice on where I should hang out to have the best chance of meeting my dream man would be deeply appreciated.
By the way, I’ve bought a Travelcard and I’ve done heaps of travelling on the Tube now. On my last day off I went to Piccadilly Circus, to explore the hidden courts and passages of St James’s. I found the most amazing, ancient, hidden pub in Ely Street. It’s so tiny and dark and dingy and old, and it has the stump of a cherry tree that Elizabeth I danced around!
I was rather overcome just trying to wrap my head around all the history contained in those tiny rooms.
Molly x
PS I’m such a traveller now. Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I kept hearing a voice saying, ‘Mind the gap.’
To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
From: Felicity Knight <[email protected]>
Subject: Surprise news
Dearest Patrick
I have the most amazing news. Jonathan has asked me (again) to marry him, and this time I’ve said yes.
Can you believe it? Your mother is getting married and she couldn’t be happier.
As you know, it’s taken me a very long time to get over the divorce. Actually, it’s taken us both a long time, hasn’t it? I know that’s so, Patrick, even though you won’t give in and talk about it.
I honestly thought I couldn’t face another marriage after the way the last one ended, but Jonathan has been such a darling—so patient and understanding.
This time when he proposed I knew it was a case of saying yes or losing him. A man’s pride can only take so many knockbacks.
Suddenly (thank heavens) the scales fell from my eyes and I understood without a shadow of a doubt that I couldn’t bear to lose him. I simply couldn’t let him go.
Now that decision’s made such a weight has lifted from my heart. I’m giddy with happiness.
It’s all happening in a frightful hurry, though. I think poor Jonathan is terrified that I might change my mind. I won’t, of course. I know that as certainly as I know my own name.
So it’s to be a May wedding, and then a honeymoon in Tuscany. Have you ever heard of anything more romantic?
Now, darling, I’m including your invitation as an attachment, but Jonathan and I know this writing time is precious to you. You’ve worked far too hard these past couple of years, and I’m so pleased you’ve taken this break, so we’ll understand perfectly if you can’t tear yourself away from your novel. The
