The
Twilight Escort Agency
By
Bryon Williams
The Twilight Escort Agency
Copyright BRYON WILLIAMS 2009
Smashwords Edition
First published by Zeus Publications 2009
The National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication
Subjects: Fiction—Sex--Australian humour–comedy
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
The author asserts his moral rights.
Cover design – Bryon Williams and Helen Morgan
Dedication
For Gail and Ian;
old friends and ‘escorts’ who will forever remain young in my memories and my heart.
By the same author
The Grumpy Old Withered of Oz
Code Name Millicent: The Cat Intelligence Agent Who Came in From the Cold
The Tourist From the Light
The Burning Boy
Chapter 1
‘Good morning, Twilight Escorts,’ Ms Estelle Twigden purred as she answered the phone in her ‘professional’ voice. Well, she tried to purr but it somehow came out more like a low growl. Estelle was now in her late fifties, unnaturally prim and proper, as she would have been described in her younger days. But on the inside she was, in actual fact, anything but prim or proper. And now, in her later years, after a lifetime of enslavement caring for her hypochondriacal mother, who had finally been admitted to a nursing home, she was at last able to blossom into the loyal, reliable, disciplined, caring, passionate, but sexually frustrated romantic she had hidden from the outside world for her entire life.
Her mother – ‘the old chook’, as Aubrey, Estelle’s boss, secretly referred to her – after years of crying wolf, finally lost the remaining chickens from her barn and was found by the neighbourhood constabulary, sitting in the local McDonald’s, stark naked and screaming obscenities at some poor old codger who was trying to show her his Quarter Pounder.
‘No, no!’ she lashed out belligerently, ‘I ordered a Big Whopper, not a fucking Junior Burger!’
The only vacancy that could be found was in the ‘We Care for You’ Nursing Home for the Disturbed, which Mother referred to as the ‘We-couldn’t-give-a-shit House’.
Estelle was slim, but wiry, with a figure more like a second hand than an hourglass. The only time she’d worn an uplift padded bra, she lost her balance and fell flat on her face, almost fracturing her hip. Since then she returned to what she referred to as her ‘boyish’ figure, or in her case, the now-fashionable Auschwitz look. She had dark brown eyes that tended more towards a spaniel than a Jack Russell, camouflaged by large, horn-rimmed glasses. Her predominantly grey-streaked hair was pulled back severely off her face and held by a brown suede Alice band. She always wore dark, conservative clothes, which fortunately disguised the figure beneath, and the compulsory low-heeled, black court shoes. Overall her appearance gave the correct impression of a rather stern, humourless businesswoman. But beneath the colourless exterior there beat a heart of soft gold.
‘Yes, Mrs Trabert,’ she said into the phone, ‘dinner and the theatre, Saturday night.’ Estelle wrote the details down on her pad. ‘And what time would you like to be picked up? – And what attire would you prefer? – Oh, it’s opening night – Formal? – That should be fine. I’ll just have to see if Raoul is available of course and call you back. If he’s engaged for Saturday, would any other escort be suitable, like Alexander or Joachim? – I see, yes, Raoul is very charming, and amenable, but he is also quite in demand, you know. – Of course. Well, I’ll be in touch as soon as I find out. Thank you for calling, Mrs Trabert. Goodbye.’
Estelle hung up the phone and pounded a few keys on her computer just as Penny Pryce entered the office through the front door, carrying a large fashionable handbag. ‘Hi, ET,’ she said. ‘Got the lunch. They’d run out of tuna so I got you anchovy paste and salad. Okay?’
By Estelle’s expression, it was definitely not okay but she declined to comment. Instead she picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers that she’d got from her computer record and waited for the number to answer. Penny bounced back to her own desk, placing the lunch bag on Estelle’s desk as she passed, opened her own lunch, a serving of chicken and fried rice, and retrieved a copy of Sex and Celluloid celebrity magazine from her handbag. She flopped down on her chair, opened the magazine and her lunch, and hoed into both.
Penny Pryce was what Estelle described as a ‘young English person’ of dubious background, lacking in class, extremely pretty in a conventional sort of way, she supposed, with fashionably messy, shoulder-length blonde hair, which looked like it had never been in the same vicinity as a comb, and featured an alarming streak of bright blue hanging down to her chin. Estelle thought it made her look as if someone had dropped a bottle of ink on the top of her head and it had run down one side. Her bright pink top didn’t quite reach her waist, leaving a strip of tanned flesh showing between it and the top of her white mini skirt, slung indecently low on her hips. This in itself Estelle disapproved of, but the hint of a red thong, the tattoo of a crocodile with its jaws open and slavering, pointing towards her left buttock, and a silver Balinese navel ring, did nothing, in Estelle’s view, to improve the look. The white calf-length boots clinging to her shapely tanned legs completed the picture, which Estelle thought made her look like a tart. Most men thought she looked more like a scrumptious cupcake.
Penny had been what Estelle described initially as ‘an unfortunate choice’ as a receptionist-cum-girl Friday, but the final decision had not been left in her hands. Mr Charles, Mr Aubrey’s partner, had insisted they hire her as it would give the business what he called ‘FOA’: Front Office Appeal. Estelle certainly wasn’t of the opinion that Penny provided the sort of FOA suitable for the type of clients they attracted. Besides, Penny was allegedly Mr Charles’ ‘niece’, which Estelle considered extremely dubious, but since Mr Charles’ family were also from England, it was, she supposed, quite possible. And Penny had developed a not-unusual feature for a Cockney: the overriding flavour of a most alarming Australian accent. Still, Mr Charles was one of the bosses and the decision was his and Mr Aubrey’s. Secretly, although she tried to hide it, Estelle, against her better judgment, had grown rather fond of Penny and her bright, cheerful presence.
‘Hello, Fred,’ Estelle said into the phone. ‘Mrs Trabert would like to book you for Saturday night for dinner at The Balaton, followed by the opening night of Lady Windermere’s Fan. – No, fan, Fred, not fanny. – It’s not a strip club, it’s a revival of an old classic,’ she said patiently. ‘And do try not to go to sleep this time. You were lucky she didn’t notice when you escorted her to the ballet last time. – Yes, well, I know she dropped off as well but she was paying. – Black tie, I’m afraid, Fred. – Yes, I know, it makes you uncomfortable but after all, she is the client and has the right to stipulate dress code. I’ll arrange for the formal hire and you can dress here as usual, so we can check you out. I’ll confirm the details by email, alright?’
Fred, or Raoul as was his adopted ‘professional’ name for the agency, was obviously still rattling on about having to wear formal gear and Estelle finally was forced to cut him short. ‘Yes, I know. – Well, look at it this way, it gives you a night out and remember, it does augment your pension, so be nice to her.’
Estelle hung up the phone, remarking to Penny as she entered the booking into the Client File on her computer, ‘Silly old fool, I don’t know what she sees in him. This is her third booking with him.’
Penny looked up from yet another article about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. ‘Maybe he’s got a big donger,’ she remarked matter-of-factly.
Estelle scowled disapprovingly. ‘Don’t say donger, please, Penny. Penis is much more refined.’
‘No,’ Penny explained patiently, ‘penis is average and donger is a whopper.’
‘Well, whatever,’ replied Estelle dismissively. ‘I’m just not up with these modern terms and I’m not sure I approve.’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ explained Penny in the same rather patronising manner, ‘to get you up to date. So, next time you have to interview a prospective employee, you say “Now I’ll just need to take down your measurements. Height, weight, and what’s the size of your donger?” ’
Estelle actually sucked her teeth in disapproval. ‘Thankfully, interviewing prospective employees is not a part of my office duties any more. No thank you, I’ll leave that to Mr Charles and Mr Aubrey.’
‘You seemed to get into the swing of it at the auditions,’ Penny smiled cheekily. ‘Where are they, by the way?’
‘Out to lunch.’
‘Well. That’s the last we’ll see of them for the afternoon,’ Penny replied, returning to Tom and Katie.
‘No, Mr Charles has got an interview with a – ’ Estelle checked her diary ‘– a Ms Therese Singleton, at three, so when you’ve finished your lunch, will you please give the formal hire company a ring and book Fred’s outfit? They have his size on file.’
‘Right, an’ I’ll make sure they put a larger gusset in the crotch for him, shall I?’ giggled Penny, then added, ‘This Ms Singleton, are we taking on more escorts?’
‘It’s to replace Georgiana-nee-Gertrude,’ Estelle reminded her. ‘She’s in hospital having a hysterectomy.’
‘Well, she’ll never miss it now, will she? After six kids and at her age, it’s probably a bit frayed by now.’ As an after-thought, she added, ‘Will that come under Work Cover?’
‘Don’t be silly, Penny, you well know that sex is not included in our services.’
‘Oh yeah,’ replied Penny cynically. ‘I can imagine. You mean to tell me …’
But Estelle cut her off with a quote from their website and the brochure, which she held up for Penny to read. ‘Sex is not a part of our service and is only tolerated by mutual, private consent, and on the condition that no money or expensive gifts change hands in the process. Our staff are clean-living, caring escorts and not prostitutes.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Penny. ‘I wonder how Gordon, I mean, Philippe got that new car of his.’
‘He said he cashed in some of his superannuation shares.’
‘I’ll bet he cashed in on something,’ Penny muttered, returning again to her gossip mag.
Just then the front door opened and Charles and Aubrey entered. While Charles had obviously imbibed a little lunch with his wine, Aubrey remained as conservative in manner as was his mid-grey, wool-and-polyester suit, white shirt and maroon-striped tie that adorned his slightly chubby body, which complimented his chubby face, the cheeks of which displayed a certain ruddy quality, not entirely due to the sun.
Charles called a greeting, perhaps a little louder than necessary, as was his outfit: white slacks hugging, for his age, a fairly fit and tanned body, and a bright, Hawaiian sports shirt featuring a volcano, several pineapples and a parrot. The shirt was provocatively, he thought, open down to the second coconut-shell button, just short of revealing the flesh-coloured, elastic-and-bone waist pincher with pockets, which he referred to as his money belt and which Estelle referred to as his corset. The shirt opening displayed a grey, stubbled chest that was obviously well past waxing or shaving time, and gave the effect of an after-eleven-o’clock shadow. The eyes were still a sparkling blue, although now age puffed around their extremities, with tiny laugh wrinkles at their corners. The teeth were remarkably white and even, due to the fortune that had been spent on dental cosmetic enhancing and regular peroxide rinses, and they flashed as he called, ‘Hello, my little darlings,’ in a manner that suggested he hadn’t seen the two ladies for at least a month when in fact it had only been a couple of hours.
‘Mr Charles,’ said a slightly disapproving Estelle. ‘Remember you have an interview with Therese Singleton at three.’
‘Of course,’ said Charles. ‘And I’m so looking forward to it. What a good, efficient, and might I say, devilishly attractive little woman you are. What would we do without you?’ And turning directly to Aubrey he asked, ‘Don’t suppose you’d like to do it, Aubs?’
‘Oh, n-no Charles,’ Aubrey stammered. ‘I’ve got some, er, reports to go through. And anyway, you’re so much better at interviewing than I am.’
‘Of course!’ said Charles. And then in sotto voce, as he passed on his way to his office, ‘After all, you interviewed Estelle, didn’t you? – And employed her.’
Aubrey actually blushed and escaped, a little unsteadily, into his office.
Chapter 2
Aubrey and Charles had accidentally renewed their boyhood acquaintance while Aubrey was in London, where they were both attending a Real Estate convention. They hadn’t actually seen or spoken to each other for forty years prior to that, but the relief of suddenly finding someone at an otherwise painfully boring gathering who shared a past history of youthful experiences was a huge relief to them both. They clung to each other’s company for the entire evening, catching up on the past and reliving tales, many embellished, of their schooldays, and enjoyed each other’s company to such an extent, they decided to escape to a nearby bar to continue their reminiscences.
Aubrey had been born in Melbourne. His father had unfortunately died in childbirth, which was unusual to say the least. His mother, Daisy, a rather independent young woman for those days, had a leaning toward all things natural, and had insisted that the baby be born at home. The father, John, a rather nervous, insignificant type, was ordered to be present at the birth to witness the torture he had put his wife through, despite her not reaching an orgasm at the conception, which she never tired of relating to anyone who would listen, and to dissuade him from any future ideas of co-habiting and certainly breeding. After the extremely long and exhausting pre-birth agony, accompanied by demands for towels, hot water, drugs, much screaming and foul language from Daisy, the baby’s head finally crowned. This frightening and bloody sight caused John to scream even louder than the suffering mother and, clutching his chest, succumbed to a rather nasty heart attack, collapsing on the floor and dropping dead on the spot. This unexpected interruption did, however, subdue Daisy’s screams somewhat.
Fortunately, John, who had taken the responsibility of impending fatherhood very much to heart, had also taken out a very large life insurance policy only the week before, which left Daisy and her newborn son rather better off than they had been previously, and furthermore, free of any future bothersome demands for premiums.
To her credit, Daisy did attempt to be a good mother for the first few years of Aubrey’s life, but eventually found the joys of motherhood rather tiresome and restricting to her previous joyful independence and freedom, and longed for an alternative lifestyle closer to nature. So when Aubrey was old enough she shipped him off to a rather expensive boarding school, changed her name to Pomegranate, and ran away from home to join a group of hippies in the Dandenong Mountains just outside Melbourne.
Deprived of a loving home life, Aubrey turned to academia and flourished. He eventually won a scholarship to Timbertop, an exclusive boys’ boarding school in Victoria, under the auspices of Geelong Grammar, attended at the time by Prince Charles, and there he was befriended by the less regal Charles Wellington. It was an unlikely friendship, Charles being a naturally inclined extrovert and Aubrey, studious and inexperienced in the finer arts of social charm, deception and skulduggery. But Charles found in Aubrey a loyal follower who delighted in Charles’ outrageous exploits, was invaluable in helping him with his assignments, and was always good for a loan to tide him over until his next meagre monthly allowance arrived from England.
Aubrey also delighted in receiving the many and regular postcards from his mother, who had happily taken to travelling the world in search of excitement: Rio, Paris, Rome and even some from towns and cities in Africa he’d never heard of, whilst she was accompanying some big game hunter on safari. Although he marvelled at her exciting travels, he sometimes worried about her obvious restlessness and finally came to the conclusion that, although irresponsible, it was obvious that she really missed him and secretly needed him to look after her in her fast approaching dotage. Daisy, or Pomegranate, on the other hand, was perfectly happy and absolutely ignored any ties to bind her, going to extraordinary lengths to avoid any intrusions in her profligate life, even to the extent of trying never to be in the same country at the same time as her restrictive and overprotective, if loving, son.
After Timbertop, where his parents were furious that he had not befriended the future King of England, Charles returned to the family estate in Kent. Unfortunately, the estate was completely unmanageable due to lack of maintenance, ability and finances, which had been whittled away by death duties and his father’s constant gambling and liaisons with women of a decidedly lower class.
Charles drifted from one unsuitable occupation to the next, never quite finding his niche in the world of business until he married and, through family connections, he was eventually offered a lowly position in Swindon’s Bank, Real Estate division. His father and mother eventually died and the estate fell into the hands of the National Trust, and now delighted weekend trippers ogled the now-returned paintings and objets d’art his father had previously hocked to support their unsustainable lifestyle.
‘It’s so good to see you again, Aubs,’ said Charles as they sipped their Dimple scotch at the bar of the Crown and Castle. ‘Tell me, how’s the old mater doing? Is she still alive?’
‘Oh, yes, very much so, I’m afraid,’ and then quickly correcting himself, ‘I mean, yes. As a matter of fact, that’s what I’m actually doing over here.’
‘How so, old man? I thought you’d come over for the beastly convention.’
‘Only partly,’ replied Aubrey. ‘Mother hasn’t changed, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to get her to come to her senses.’ He sighed, morosely. ‘She actually returned to Australia once to go on a roo cull and fell off the horse. There was a photo in the newspapers: “Old Roo Shooter Bites the Dust”. She even made it onto A Current Affair on television. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known she was even in the country. Naturally I flew to her side to help. She claimed she was glad to see me, and I thought I’d finally got through to her when she agreed to let me install her in a particularly nice retirement village – “The Hasty Haven”. She had her own ensuite apartment, a balcony overlooking a lovely garden, three good meals a day, library, pool, clubhouse, security – everything you could wish for.
‘After six months, I was beginning to relax and feel she’d at last settled down, and then I got a phone call telling me she’d stolen a pair of wire cutters from the residents’ workshop and cut her way out. I was away on business at the time and she broke into my apartment, dug out her passport and personal documents and literally flew the coop, off again to God knows where.’
‘You’ve got to hand it to her, old chap. She’s always been a goer. How old would she be now?’
‘Eighty-two,’ mumbled Charles, obviously embarrassed.
‘So what brings you to London?’
‘Well,’ said Aubrey, ‘I happened to be reading a magazine in the urologist’s …’
‘Yes, I always find it’s better to have something to read while you’re flashing your arse at the urologist,’ said Charles. ‘It makes one feel so vulnerable.’
‘No, I was in the waiting room actually. I think it was a magazine called Jet Set Seniors. And there, staring out at me was a photo of my mother, strapped into a parachute, wearing a blue sequined jumpsuit with matching helmet, holding a bottle of Champagne, and doing a tumble roll as she landed in Hyde Park! And they say she didn’t spill a drop!’
Charles tried hard to suppress a giggle. ‘She always knew how to hold her liquor.’
‘I checked with the magazine editor and Immigration and it now appears she’s flown out to Tierra del Fuego!’
Charles chuckled and said, ‘Oh, let her go, Aubs. She’s obviously doing what she wants to. ‘
‘But she needs me!’ expounded Aubrey. ‘She’s an old lady! I have to look after her.’
Charles laid his hand on Aubrey’s arm. ‘What does she need you for, to hold her hand while she scuba-dives the Antarctic? Let her be, Aubs, get on with your own life. What are you doing now, anyway, apart from hounding your poor, white-headed old mother?’
‘I’m in real estate back in Australia – Surfers Paradise, you remember, on the Gold Coast, Queensland.’
‘Right. Any good?’ asked Charles.
‘Not bad,’ replied Aubrey, modestly. ‘Well, actually I’ve done very well really. You should check it out sometime. Come for a holiday.’
‘Oh, I’d love to personally, but I don’t think I’d ever convince the Lady Celia to travel that far.’
‘Lady Celia?’ queried Aubrey.
‘My wife,’ explained Charles a little sullenly. ‘Big woman – well, huge actually, daughter of Lord Swindon.’
Aubrey smiled. ‘Aristocracy! Well, I am impressed – not surprised though, knowing you.’
‘I was trapped, Aubs. I met her at a weekend hunt in the Cotswolds. She was only young, not what you’d call pretty – homely would be over exaggerated, and not fully developed then either. When we were introduced, she leant towards me and pushed her face at me. I presumed I was expected to give her one of those air-peck kisses on each cheek; you know that ridiculous social convention that women persist in practising at functions and parties, even if they hate each other. Well, I leaned forward to oblige and the next thing I knew she’d slid one hand behind my neck and, with a vice-like grip pulled me into a full-blown pash, sticking her tongue down my throat like a boa constrictor seeking refuge, while her other hand groped my balls. Her father, Lord Swindon, always looking for the chance of getting rid of his unattractive and embarrassing daughter, saw this as a sterling opportunity and announced to the rest of the gathering that his “little” Celia had obviously found her lifetime mate, which of course was taken almost as an official engagement announcement in those days.’
He paused, ruminating upon his mistake. ‘With the offer of a large house in London, a sizeable dowry, a generous yearly allowance from Lord Swindon, and a position in one of his banks, what was I to do in my situation? I’m ashamed to say, and, as you know, so unlike me, I threw my principles to the wind and stepped into a tornado! We were married before the taste of her tongue down my throat had subsided. I sold myself, Aubs,’ Charles said miserably, ‘and lived to regret it.’
Aubrey smiled sympathetically. ‘I take it there were no children?’
‘Are you mad? The last time she asked me to climb on top of her, I got altitude sickness and frostbite on my arse. It was like climbing Everest without Sherpas or staging camps.’
At this point Charles’ mobile phone started playing ‘There’ll Always Be an England’ and he scrabbled around in his pockets trying to find it. ‘Excuse me, Aubs,’ and into the phone he said, ‘Charles Wellington?’ Obviously the caller was very distressed, rattling on and ignoring Charles’ attempts to interrupt. ‘Now calm down, Rodney – Just slow down and tell me exactly what happened.’ He listened and gradually his face turned ashen. ‘I see. Now don’t panic. I’ll get over there as soon as I can.’ He disconnected the line and thoughtfully replaced the mobile back into his pocket.
Aubrey looked at him questioningly, ‘Something wrong?’
Charles sighed and rose from the bar stool. ‘Slight business problem.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’ asked Aubrey, also rising.
‘I doubt it but come along and we’ll drop in on the way back to your hotel,’ replied Charles as they made their way to the exit.
The Rolls pulled up in a fashionable laneway in the East End. Aubrey was quite impressed with the Roller but Charles dismissed it as another perk from Lord Swindon to the Lady Celia. Not that she drove around in it herself because, as Charles explained, she couldn’t fit behind the steering wheel and even getting her into the back passenger seat required greasing her body and the assistance of two strong men with crowbars. If she went out socially they hired a furniture van, he explained.
The gilt sign over the front entrance read ‘Champagne Charlie’s Hotel for Gentlemen’. Charles led Aubrey up a narrow staircase to the first floor of the building. It was an older Victorian design that had been renovated after bomb damage from the Second World War, but still had the overdone style of a faded bordello, with lots of faded red décor and gilt fittings. The door to the premises was splintered and ajar. They entered a small reception area that appeared to have been ransacked: mirrors smashed, holes punched in the walls, windows broken with shards of glass lying all over the place. A chandelier, barely hanging from its electrical cable, looked as though it was about to fall onto the slashed, red plush, velvet settee.
Charles stood in the middle of the room surveying the carnage, anxiously calling out, ‘Rodney? … Rodney?’ There was no answer. He walked up a once-gilt-railed staircase to the next floor and along a corridor with several rooms opening off it, still calling out but to no avail. He returned to the reception area where Aubrey, still open mouthed, stood bewildered, as Charles moved to the reception desk
‘My God, what a mess!’ exclaimed Aubrey. ‘Someone’s really done it over. It looks like a cheap, ransacked brothel.’
‘It is,’ said Charles casually, reading a note he had picked up from the desk. ‘Or rather, it was.’
Aubrey was astounded. ‘You mean you actually own a brothel?’
‘No, of course not,’ scoffed Charles, affronted. ‘Lord Swindon owns it, I just ran it.’
‘You were a madam?’ said Aubrey.
‘No,’ Charles retorted huffily, ‘I managed it. Rodney was the madam. And God knows where he is now. According to his note, the Bray Brothers gang paid him another visit. This is the fourth time,’ he said, glancing up at Aubrey with a worried look. ‘Apparently they sliced him up a bit and threatened to come back and finish the job if the place opened again.’ He indicated a couple of dried blood spots on the note as proof. ‘They smashed the place up, rounded up the girls and took them away, and I guess this is Rodney’s formal resignation.’ Charles looked sadly defeated.
‘Are you going to ring the police?’ asked Aubrey.
‘And report my brothel had been ransacked? I think not,’ said Charles. ‘There seem to be more immediate concerns. Read this.’ He handed Aubrey the note.
‘They’ve threatened you too, Charles,’ said Aubrey astounded, reading the note. ‘Oh my God! Could they actually train a greased rat to do that?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Charles. ‘Which would mean another visit to Peter Pointer, the proctologist, and I’m damned if I’m going to let him train a fox terrier to go up after it. Come on, let’s get out of here. I think I’m suddenly out of the Gentlemen’s Club business: Another corporate take-over.’
Chapter 3
Back at his hotel, Aubrey fretted about Charles. There was no doubt he’d mellowed a lot since they’d last known each other, and Aubrey felt immensely sad for his old school chum. Although there were remnants of the old Charles, his unhappy marriage, his unfortunate ties to his odious father-in-law, his desperate attempts to survive in a world of comfort and financial security, which it appeared was often on the edge of ‘respectability’ and on the borderline of the law, had obviously taken their toll. Otherwise why on earth would he possibly stay in real estate?
He determined that he would talk to Charles the next day and try to convince him to relocate to Australia where at least he could keep an eye on him and maybe help him to recover some of the joi de vivre of old. Aubrey was like that: always a softie and out to help an old friend in need of kindness and understanding. If he could convince Charles to immigrate, or even come for a working holiday, with Aubrey’s contacts, he would be able to help him get work in Queensland. With Charles back to his old self, he may do very well on the Gold Coast. After all, many a Pom with true con-man instincts had made a fortune there in real estate.
He rang Charles at home early the next morning. The phone was answered by the redoubtable Lady Celia. Her caged-wild-animal growl informed him that she had no idea of the whereabouts of her useless, philandering husband, but she had been led to believe that he usually took breakfast at a café in The Strand called The Joker, which she thought entirely appropriate. He thanked her before she could call her keeper and hurried down to the lobby and hailed a taxi.
As predicted, Aubrey found Charles sitting alone at a table, eating his croissant and drinking black coffee, while nervously checking out the passing traffic and pedestrians in fear of becoming the victim of a drive-by shooting, or a car bomb attack by the infamous Bray Brothers gang. Aubrey settled in the chair opposite Charles, who gave an involuntary start and removed his dark sunglasses.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Aubrey said as he picked up the menu. ‘Lady Celia told me you’d probably be here.’
‘You actually talked to her?’ asked Charles. ‘I thought she’d be in her cage being fed her breakfast bison at this hour.’
Aubrey smiled and looked out at the drizzling rain blowing in cold drafts down the street. ‘You know, if we were on the Gold Coast, we’d be sitting at an outdoor café in the warm sun, eating crisp bacon and eggs, grilled tomatoes and toast, and watching the white foam capped, crystal-clear waves rolling onto the golden beach, and bronzed surfers riding their boards through the pipelines of the surf.’
‘Humph,’ said Charles. ‘And waving our arms around to chase away the flies, and stomping our feet to scare off the venomous snakes and spiders, while the kangaroos attacked the koalas at the next table, and the sharks chomped on a slow-swimming Japanese tourist in the shallows.’
Aubrey laughed. ‘Well, it keeps the tourists down to manageable numbers.’ He looked at his friend soulfully. ‘Come back with me, Charles. It’s just the change you need. I get the feeling the tide is running out for you here and there are still plenty of opportunities for a man like you over there. In fact, I’ve got a couple of business deals I think you could help me with. We’re both in real estate, we’re both still healthy and we’re both still alive.’
‘But for how long?’ said Charles gloomily, contemplating his uncertain future with the Bray Brothers gang. ‘Look at me, Aubs, I’m almost fifty.’ Aubrey snorted. ‘Well alright, pushing sixty,’ confessed Charles. ‘It’s a young person’s world. We’re irrelevant, past our use-by date, and whether I like it or not, and I certainly don’t, I’m stuck with “The Towering Glacier”’ and the father-in-law from Hell, and they know it.
‘The Gold Coast is full of ageing people,’ said Aubrey, ‘It’s a retiree’s dream. And a lot of those retirees have money. It’s a wonderful life for the young and old. Come on, give it a try: even if it’s just for a holiday – why not check it out?’
Charles looked at his friend for a long time, daring to consider that there may be an answer to his seemingly hopeless situation. Suddenly the old twinkle came back into his eye. ‘They’re not still transporting convicts to the Colonies, are they, Aubs?’
Aubrey shot him a worried look, ‘You don’t have a police record, do you, Charles?’
Charles laughed. ‘Of course not, Aubs.’
Aubrey sighed in relief.
‘They could never prove a thing.’ Charles added.
‘Well, in that case, Charles,’ his friend smiled, ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay your own way.’
Chapter 4
Charles walked into his office at Twilight Escorts, flopped into his revolving chair and spun around to face the window. His view was not of the beach and rolling surf, but of a plain brick wall. Well, the wall was plain the last time he looked at it but in the meantime a graffiti artist had dug deep into his creative genius and painted:
Uthanasia Shud’nt be a Choyce It Shud Be Obligatry
Charles scowled, and spun back in his chair mumbling, ‘The ignorant little sod, can’t even spell!’ He reached for his intercom: ‘Ms Twigden,’ he growled, ‘would you ask Gavin to clean the graffiti off the wall again, please?
‘Yes, Mr Charles, I’ll see to it right away. Oh, and Ms Therese Singleton is here for her appointment.’
Charles sighed, ‘Send her in, Ms Twigden.’
Aubrey sat at his desk checking paperwork. There was a tap on the door and Estelle entered, carrying a cup and saucer with two home-made biscuits. ‘Thought you might like a nice cuppa, Mr Aubrey. Mr Charles is interviewing Ms Singleton. Do you want to see her before she goes?’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Ms Twigden, Charles will buzz me if it is.’
‘And Delilah-nee-Delma at number eleven wants the thermostat on her oven checked. She says she keeps burning her cakes.’
‘Thank you, Ms Twigden, get Gavin to have a look at it when he’s got a minute.’
‘Probably using the fan forced setting instead of bake,’ said Estelle. ‘I keep telling her that fan forced is hotter than bake.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Aubrey. ‘If she only knew as much about cooking as you do, Ms Twigden. These biscuits are wonderful.’
Estelle blushed. ‘Thank you, Mr Aubrey. I’ve had a lot of practice, what with Mother being so fussy.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, remembering, ‘how’s she getting on at the Home? Still abusing the staff?
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Estelle sadly. ‘She threw a commode pot at a nurse again the other day. Luckily it was only urine this time.’
‘Yes, well, better than last time, I suppose,’ said Aubrey. ‘That time it really hit the fan, as they say.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Estelle. ‘But her aim is improving.’
‘Well, any improvement is a blessing,’ said Aubrey.
‘And what is your current marital situation, Ms Singleton?’ Charles asked the applicant sitting opposite.
‘Married, widowed, married, divorced, widowed, not married, single, and available,’ said Therese, ticking the order off on her fingers.
Therese was an expensively, and unsuitably, over-dressed woman that Charles judged to be in her early sixties. She’d obviously had a lot of ‘corrective’ surgery, but correction had not been enough. What she really needed was a complete re-construction. In fact, Charles was of the opinion that she’d had so many face-lifts, if she hadn’t shaved, she would’ve been sporting a Tasmania-shaped goatee. The skin on her face was tanned and leathery and so tight you could bounce a twenty-cent piece off it. If she could puff her cheeks out, they would’ve made an excellent drum kit for a rock band.
Charles also noted she had forgotten to have the skin of her upper arms removed, and at first he’d thought she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse. Charles summed her up as being just a little ‘coarse’.
‘And it says here on your application form you are forty-seven?’ he said, trying to keep the utter disbelief from his voice.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Therese, without a flicker of hesitation, but with a slight twitch in her left eye that gave her away.
‘And your photograph,’ he said picking up the ten-by-eight lying in front of him, ‘Do you have anything more recent? The beehive hairstyle doesn’t really do you justice.’
‘I think it makes me look taller.’
‘And the bikini …’
‘That was an original Paula Stafford,’ she interrupted proudly, referring to the famous Australian designer of the fifties and sixties.
‘Yes, but it’s not quite the image we like to project. The python is very nice though. Might be able to get him some work,’ Charles joked with a forced laugh.
‘He’s dead now,’ Therese replied with a straight face. ‘That was Bobby. I used to do an act with him and my partner, Neville. He was a jealous bastard.’
‘Neville?’
‘No, Bobby. He thought Neville used to get into more interesting places than he did.’ She laughed uproariously.
‘Right. You see,’ he said, changing the subject tactfully, ‘our agency only deals with escorts in the over-fifty age bracket. There are enough agencies around to cater for the younger people, but there are a lot of lonely old – I mean mature, independent, single men and women out there who are desperate for a bit of companionship now that their partners have – moved on, for one reason or another. Our agency gives them the opportunity to continue an enjoyable social life with suitable partners of a similar age, for any occasion that may present itself: parties, theatre or movies, dining, fishing, bushwalking or picnics even; anywhere they would like to go with someone for company, with no commitment or strings attached. And why shouldn’t they? There’s no reason why they should sit at home by themselves, reading, watching television, or knitting, when there is so much life and enjoyment available out there waiting for them.’
‘Sounds right up my alley,’ said Therese. ‘I love a bit of fun meself. What’s the pay like?’
‘The client is charged a reasonable fee and we deduct a commission and expenses. The rest goes to the escort. It works very well.’ He paused, thinking how to frame the words for his next comment. ‘Now, unfortunately, at the age you’ve given me, you fall into the too-young bracket for our requirements for an escort,’ he smiled as though disappointed, ‘so I’m afraid, Therese, under our strict guidelines, we wouldn’t be in a position to offer you any work.’
There was a pause while Therese let it sink in, and then she looked up shrewdly at Charles and, again with the slight twitch in her left eye, she said, ‘How about sex?’
Charles smiled a little patronisingly and said, ‘No, I thought I’d explained, we do not encourage our escorts or clients to indulge in anything but companionship.’
‘I’m not talking about them,’ said Therese, ‘I mean you and me. Would that help me to get the job?
Chapter 5
Aubrey had been thrilled when Charles rang him from London, saying he’d decided to take him up on his suggestion and come out to Australia for a trip. On principle, Charles had extended an invitation, albeit half-heartedly, to the Lady Celia to join him but thankfully she’d declined, saying, ‘Are you a complete idiot? Orstralia? It’s on the other side of the planet! It’s filled with cricketers and all those other awful sports people. I’d rather die!’ which Charles thought an excellent alternative. However, he did offer to charter a large container ship for her if she changed her mind, a cargo plane being out of the question.
Aubrey had met Charles at the airport and driven him back to Surfers Paradise giving him a short tour on the way. Charles was absolutely amazed at the scenery, the beautiful clear, blue sky and the wonderful warm sun. The long stretches of clean beaches, the incredible aqua blue water, and high-rise apartment buildings, delighted and intrigued him. There were many tourists of course, but there was such a relaxed feeling to the place, it felt immediately exhilarating.
They stopped for coffee at a popular beachside café. A mix of nationalities sat at the other tables, but the patrons were predominately white, Charles was amazed to note. He sat back in his chair and relaxed taking in the ambience, while Aubrey ordered their drinks.
‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Aubrey, as he settled in a chair opposite.
‘Bloody marvellous,’ replied Charles. ‘I never realised it would be so – sophisticated. I can see what you mean about retirees,’ he said looking around the other patrons. ‘But they all look so much younger than the ones back home: tanned, and they dress so well.’
‘There’s a lot of money on this stretch,’ said Aubrey. ‘The houses and apartments sell for millions of dollars.’
Charles whistled appreciatively. ‘I can understand why,’ he said. ‘It beats a lot of the over-populated spots on the Continent. And it’s all so clean and new looking.’
‘Now, I’ve put you up in an apartment block I own,’ said Aubrey. ‘I think you’ll be comfortable there. Two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, sitting room with a balcony, not much of a view I’m afraid.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ said Charles, ‘but just a room would’ve done, old man.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Aubrey. ‘Besides, I have an ulterior motive. I’ve only just bought the block and I’d like your ideas about the possibilities. It’s a bit ordinary by today’s standards.’
‘Well remember, I’m only a “new chum”, I think you call it. I’d like to get the lie of the land before I’d dare to make any suggestions.’
‘Take as long as you like,’ said Aubrey.
That was almost three years ago and Aubrey and Charles had now reaffirmed their former close, boyhood friendship; Aubrey because he hadn’t formed many friendships and those he had were mostly connected to business, and Charles, suddenly released from the Lady Celia, his dominating father-in-law and his somewhat shady past, had blossomed into a more relaxed and happy person who had kept deferring his return to the Home Country, and extending his tourist visa. Business had flourished, in a large part due to Charles’ craftiness and flair for original ideas, which had been denied him during his long and restrictive married life.
He had moved into the apartment and settled into the lifestyle relatively quickly. Unlike his prior life, he was up and awake quite early every morning, exploring the neighbourhood at first, and then later, hiring a car and going further afield, driving around and absorbing the entire coastal and hinterland strip. He read the daily newspapers and watched the news and documentaries on television avidly. He nearly always lunched with Aubrey and at weekends they would spend time visiting areas and tourist spots that Aubrey had never appreciated before. As a newcomer, Charles saw things in a different light and soon the germ of an idea was forming in his opportunistic brain.
One evening at dinner when they were both feeling relaxed and mellow after a delicious seafood meal and a couple of bottles of excellent Australian chardonnay, Charles was finally ready to broach the subject that, by then, had become so dear to his heart.
‘Aubs,’ he said, ‘when I arrived on the Coast you said you were after ideas for the apartment block I’m living in.’
‘Mmm,’ said Aubrey, ‘and what have you come up with?’
‘Well,’ said Charles, ‘first of all, as you said, those apartments are a little out of date, and the building doesn’t really lend itself to up-market, luxury living. I mean, it’s quite central but there’s no ocean view of course. And I’ve been thinking about the number of retirees either living here or, more importantly, moving here.’
‘So?’ said Aubrey.
‘Well, did you know there are over fifteen hundred people a week moving up to Queensland?’
‘I am in real estate remember, Charles.’
‘And a lot of those are older people from a constantly ageing population, right?’ continued Charles.
Aubrey nodded and took another sip of wine.
‘Now there are a lot of over-fifties developments on the Coast: retirement villages, over-fifties resorts and so on. I think there could be a demand for the over fifties who don’t feel they’re ready yet for a retirement village. And maybe they’d prefer to rent rather than buy, and free up some of their capital. Maybe some of them want to live in, say, a block of apartments with similar facilities to some of the ones I’ve seen, without actually moving into a retirement home as such. Yours hasn’t got the view but with a little alteration and a few improvements, I think your block would be admirable. They’d be close to the action and, with an age group restriction, they’d feel more secure and not have to put up with young, maybe noisy tourists, or young families, and still be able to form a community without the “Old Age” label. The Baby Boomers don’t want to be thought of as old. They still think of themselves as the swingers of the seventies.’
‘Don’t we all,’ smiled Aubrey, aiming his remark at Charles who completely ignored it.
‘What do you think?’ asked Charles.
‘Well, I agree about the Baby Boomer market. A lot of them spent up big and went into debt, and when it came to retirement, they suddenly found they didn’t have enough put by to live in the style they were accustomed to. They sold their lavish houses and by the time they paid off the huge mortgages and debts, there was precious little left to buy something smaller and have enough to live on for the rest of their lives. The rental market could be a key.’
He considered the proposal as he poured wine into each of their glasses. ‘How much would these “alterations and improvements” cost, do you think?’ asked Aubrey.
Charles shrugged. ‘Haven’t done the figures precisely,’ he said, ‘but I’d be more than willing to contribute a share if you were interested.’
‘A partnership?’ asked Aubrey.
‘Why not?’ said Charles.
‘But aren’t you planning to return to the Lady Celia?’
‘Good God, why? Anyway, I don’t think she’s even realised I’ve gone.’
‘You did tell her you were coming over here, didn’t you?’
‘Of course I told her. I actually invited her to join me but she absolutely refused, thank God. Then I left a couple of weeks later and wrote her a letter on the plane saying I was on my way. I posted it the moment I arrived in Australia.’
‘You mean you didn’t actually say goodbye to her?’
‘You mean, face to face? Are you mad? She and her bloody father would’ve had me strapped to her scratching pole and fed on her gazelle leftovers. No, a nice chatty letter was much better, and safer.’
Aubrey shook his head in amazement.
‘Well, are we partners or not?’ urged Charles.
Aubrey smiled. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said as he extended his hand, ‘depending on the costing.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Aubs, if the worst comes to the worst, I’ll cut Lord Swindon in on the deal.’
Under the circumstances, Aubrey had his doubts on that score.
‘Oh, and there’s one more thing,’ said Charles. ‘I have another idea. It’s sort of related to the apartment deal.’
Aubrey looked at him with interest.
‘You know the front apartment; the one on the ground floor that faces the street?’
Aubrey nodded.
‘Well, that would make an ideal office.’
‘For the reception, you mean?’ said Aubrey. ‘Would we need one that big?’
‘Not for the apartments,’ said Charles. ‘For the escort agency.’
Aubrey almost bit a chunk out of his wine glass. ‘Escort agency?’
‘Yes,’ said Charles, ‘I have this super idea to open an escort agency for the over fifties.’
‘A brothel?’ Aubrey shouted, in horrified disbelief. ‘You want to open a geriatric knock shop?’
The woman at the next table choked on her bouillabaisse and had to be escorted to the Ladies’ Room. Charles gestured for Aubrey to keep his voice down.
‘No, no, not a knock shop – an escort agency,’ Charles whispered.
‘And I suppose you want to install a Viagra dispenser in the foyer?’ an outraged Aubrey almost shouted.
Charles’ eyes lit up. ‘What a super idea! I’ve got a marvellous supplier in India I found on the web, very cheap.’
‘Charles,’ said Aubrey in a warning voice.
‘No, I’m kidding,’ Charles chuckled, ‘a proper and respectable escort agency. I got the idea when I found out how many single or unattached oldies visited or lived on the coast. And the number of conventions they hold up here. Just think of it. There must be hundreds of older folk who would appreciate being able to hire an escort for the night – or day,’ he added quickly. ‘You know, to accompany them out to formals, or dinner, or outings, or anything; just for company. Sex wouldn’t come into it. Well, if it did it would have nothing to do with the agency. We’d be a thoroughly “respectable” establishment dealing in “respectable” companionship.’
Aubrey studied his beaming, excited face. ‘You’re serious.’
‘Entirely,’ said Charles.
Aubrey’s mind went into over-drive, daring to even consider such an outrageous idea.
Chapter 6
Charles met Penny on his very first excursion to the beach. He arrived all prepared as he would have in Brighton; his only concession to Australian beachwear attire being a pair of pale green baggy shorts, too long or too short to be fashionable, a cream, open-necked shirt with long sleeves, a crumpled towelling hat that he’d shoved in the glove-box of the car, and to complete the ensemble, calf-length, tan-coloured golf socks, worn under a pair of brown leather open sandals. He carried a collapsible green-striped deckchair, a small beach bag, and a new beach towel emblazoned with a pattern of the English flag.
Of course he did not intend to actually go in swimming. He had a paralysing fear of sharks, or even sardines, if it came to that. He just wanted to sit on the beach, soak up the sun and absorb the atmosphere. He chose his spot with a good view of the beach-goers frolicking in the waves, surfers displaying amazing agility on their surfboards, and the mostly young, gorgeous, tanned, healthy-looking bodies. He removed a paperback detective story from his bag in case he got bored with the view, which was very unlikely under the circumstances, sat back and relaxed.
A bright voice next to him with a cockney accent suddenly said, ‘Oi, I bet you’re a Pom.’
He turned to look at the owner of the voice and, squinting from the sun, saw a beautiful, slim, blonde-headed young lady with a streak of bright blue in her wet head-clinging hair.
‘I am English, if that’s what you mean. How did you guess?’
Penny laughed and introduced herself. ‘I’m from the Old Country meself; takes one to know one. My name’s Penny. Just arrived out here, have you?’
‘Well yes, as a matter of fact, another good guess.’
Penny laughed again. ‘Not really. I can tell the signs. I’d put some suntan cream on my face if I were you. The sun gets pretty fierce. Mind you, up here the weather doesn’t change all that much. You’ll know it’s summer when you burn your hands on the steering wheel.’
‘But I’ve got a hat on, and my arms and legs are covered.’
‘Yeah, but still, it’s best to be on the safe side. Here, I’ll put some of mine on ya.’ She tipped some lotion on her hand and gently applied it to his cheeks and forehead. ‘What’s ya name?’
‘Charles, Charles Wentworth, I’ve just arrived out from London.’
‘I’ve got an uncle lives in London: Uncle George, haven’t seen him since I was a kid. I’ve been out here for years, since I was sixteen,’ Penny said. ‘I’m a True Blue Aussie now.’
There was no doubt Penny was an attractive girl, no matter what colour. ‘I’m just out on a hol,’ said Charles.
‘Well, in that case, I think it’s my duty to educate you a bit in the way of Aussie-dom.’ She settled herself down next to him on the sand. ‘Now pay attention otherwise you’ll be treated as a foreigner. First of all, the L in the word Australia is optional and the word should be pronounced “Astraya”; the plural for “you” is always “youse”, the “girt by sea” in the national anthem has nothing to do with Gertrude sitting by the water, and Aussies get choked up with the first verse of their national anthem and can’t remember the words of the second verse. Stubbies can be either worn or drunk, Kylie Minogue is known as the girl from Neighbours, and never ask anyone for a rubber if you want an eraser.’
Charles laughed uncertainly, not quite understanding what she was talking about.
‘And let me see,’ she said, racking her brain, ‘oh, and the black axle grease they put on their toast is called Vegemite, and must be avoided at all costs. A group of girls wearing “thongs” may not be as attractive as it sounds because they’re actually wearing flip flops, and during the drought, you may as well turn your garden hose into a bong rather than get prosecuted for watering your garden.’
Charles laughed even louder and said, ‘I thought it was bad enough being brutally strip-searched by the customs officers in case I was trying to sneak in an apple or an orange.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, ‘you might get away with a few drugs, but fruit and vegetables and anything made of wood are a big no-no.’
They both laughed uproariously then Penny stood up and said, ‘Come on, take off your shirt, socks and sandals and we’ll go for a paddle in the water.’
Charles was reluctant. ‘What about the sharks?’
Penny laughed. ‘The only white pointers you’ll have to worry about will be walking around in bikinis.’ She held out her hand to help him up. ‘Come on.’
As they walked along the beach, ankle deep in the crystal-clear water, there was suddenly a commotion, with groups of people shouting and pointing out to sea. Charles immediately thought there must’ve been a shark attack but Penny laughed and reassured him, indicating a large black hump rising out of the water, hundreds of metres from the shore. ‘Look, it’s a whale,’ she cried excitedly.
Charles studied it carefully for a while and said, ‘Thank God for that. I thought the Lady Celia had made up her mind to join me after all, and decided to swim out.’
That night while Charles and Aubrey were dining, Charles regaled Aubrey with tales of his exciting day. ‘And I was amazed at the extraordinarily well-endowed young men in those skimpy swimmers. Pee-cock Pouches I think Penny called them.’
Aubrey thought for a moment and chuckled. ‘I think you mean Budgie Smugglers.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Charles, standing corrected. ‘Budgie Smugglers.’
By the time Charles went to bed that night he could hardly move. He’d forgotten to apply the sunscreen lotion to his back after he’d taken off his shirt. He’d learned his lesson, and from that day on he never left the apartment without sun protection.
On his next excursion to the beach he arrived looking much more casual. He’d daringly decided to adopt the Budgie Smuggler look but, feeling a little self-conscious, he’d rolled up his golf socks and shoved them down the front of his newly acquired Lycra swimmers to enhance his ‘manhood’. His Budgie Smugglers turned out looking more like a ‘Vulture Vehicle’ and drew much attention and, in some cases, envy. Unfortunately, while he was walking along the water’s edge, a large dumper wave crashed onto the beach, thoroughly drenching him. When it receded, he was sopping wet from head to toe and the tan golf socks had dislodged themselves and finished up between the cheeks of his bum. And worse still, the socks had unravelled a bit and the toe of one of them escaped through the leg hole of his trunks and was hanging down his leg. ‘Ooh, look, Mummy,’ said a small child nearby. ‘That old man’s shit himself!’
Chapter 7
Over the following weeks, Charles and Penny met regularly at the beach and enjoyed each other’s company enormously. Penny also introduced him to the ‘club scene’ and they spent many a happy time ‘bopping to the beat’ as Charles called it, and getting very drunk on rum and Coke.
In the meantime, plans went ahead fairly smoothly with the apartment alterations and Charles was like a kid with a new toy. Aubrey still wasn’t convinced about the suitability or viability of the escort agency idea but it got to the stage where he had to make a decision. Influenced by Charles’ excitement, he finally gave in and acquiesced to his plan, saying as long as it was kept scrupulously ‘respectable,’ he would go along with it. After all, he thought, if it didn’t work out, they could always convert the office back into an apartment.
They had decided on the terms and infrastructure of the venture, with Charles and Aubrey as full partners, sharing the duties and responsibilities. Although Charles was now a partner and close friend, Aubrey knew his friend of old and thought it best to stay as fully involved as possible to keep an eye on proceedings. To facilitate this, Aubrey decided to move his permanent office to the escort agency.
Eventually the project was finished and Charles excitedly took Aubrey on a tour of the completed premises, pointing out their individual offices, the front reception with its desks, computers, filing cabinets and other smart but tasteful office equipment. The one- and two-bedroom apartments had been completely refurbished and air conditioned, and more glass had been added for extra light and space; balconies had been extended to make room for outside dining furniture and a pot plant garden, and the original pool had been solar heated with attractive gazebos dotted around the tile surrounds and gardens, for shade. All in all, it was very comfortable for the requirements of aging tenants.
Inspecting the garden, Aubrey stopped at a modern-looking sculpture. ‘What’s that?’
Charles giggled almost boyishly and said, ‘It’s a sculpture – made entirely of solar panels! Isn’t it marvellous? Cheap power.’