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Valley of Sinners Ch. 01

By: Egmont Grigor



THE SETTING is Auckland, New Zealand, and the 'Valley of Sinners' is a mythical locality to the north-west of the city business district which actually is a grape growing region, the development of which is loosely based in this action-adventure-romance short novel though all the characters are entirely fictitious. Enjoy.

*

Disappointed yet again by another new century Hollywood 'blockbuster' that had failed to eclipse any of his Top 50 great films of the 20th Century, employment-sensitive Nash Carson walked from the movie theatre in Auckland City wondering if there was a cure against being suckered like this by the advance promotional hype. 

What about staying home and writing book - then sell the movie rights? He grinned thinking other people had done it! 

Nash passed a busty young woman in a little black dress and black fishnets who eyed him disinterestedly. Above him flapped a theatre banner promoting two upcoming 'blockbusters' while to his right, fat-faced people in the fast-food franchise were cramming the nightmares of nutritionists into greedy mouths.

Sunlight filtered through haze shrouding the city's central business district and immediately outside the multi-complex cinema entrance Nash spotted a striking mid-aged woman in a cream suit arguing with a beefy man wearing a ripped black bush singlet, dirty blue jeans and a steel-capped boots. Obviously the quasi-ruffian intended towing her vehicle away.

Curious, Nash eavesdropped on the heated exchange.

"Look, lady, it's my job to take illegally parked vehicles to the pound. You parked where you shouldn't have, so don't gripe. Just front up with two hundred and twenty bucks at Jason's Towing Services in MacKay Street and your problem will be over." 

Nash's interest shifted to the vehicle itself, a 1939 American Chevrolet half-ton pickup painted the colour of his mother's favourite lipstick -- blood red (actually the vehicle colour was Torch Red). He switched back from drooling to update on whether the well-dressed blonde was winning the battle. But oh no, there she was, standing aside, hand on hip and rhythmically banging her handbag against her other leg, red-faced in anger waiting for the tow-away to occur.

This called for intervention as the tow driver was lowering the rear end of his vehicle and within a couple of minutes the Chevy would be winched up the rusty steel incline for an uncaring trip to impoundment until $220 was handed across to secure its release.

Nash called to the blonde: "Miss -- pull out forty bucks and offer it to the Sod."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just do it, before he scrapes your paintwork. Bribes often work."

Two minutes later the distance between the parked Chevy and the tow truck rapidly widened as the now cheerful driver, forty dollars richer, began looking for another motorist to upset.

Nash stood alongside the twitching woman watching the disappearing pariah.

"I can't believe I just did that, and he took my money. That's nothing but corruption; we're supposed to be an incorruptible society."

Nash asked lazily: "Do you attend church?"

"Yes, I do. But what relevance is that?"

"It indicates your lack of worldliness, I guess."

"To hell it does!"

The woman flounced up into the Chevy, slammed the door, grated the gears as she moved forward but had to wait for passing traffic to clear before pulling out into the busy thoroughfare.

Nash smiled, listening to the burbling of the well-tuned V8 motor echoing through the exhaust. No-one would have finished a rebuild like that so immaculately without tossing in a new motor. Why anyone would place such a vehicle in the hands of a woman was beyond reason -- unless, of course, she'd been widowed.

He turned to walk to the bus stop when twin air-horns sounded. Nash turned to see who was being harassed. Instead he discovered the horn blast was for him; the now smiling woman having returned to her original parking position had wound down the passenger window and was beckoning. 

Hullo, he was going to be offered a tip?

"I'm sorry," she smiled pleasantly through well-assembled teeth. "I didn't thank you. Perhaps I could take you for afternoon tea?" 

Oh yeah, Jasmine-scented tea and stale scones served with cake forks and white lace table napkins? It's was an offer begging to be declined with a gruff no thanks; instead Nash heeded a signal from his brain and accepted, thinking it was an opportunity to find out more about the Chevy.

"Jump in Mr...?"

"Carson, but call me Nash."

"My goodness, what an unusual first name," she said, introducing herself as Hope Honeybun. Nash didn't comment about both of her names, both their rare.

"I like your modernised Chevy."

"That I guessed, Nash. Otherwise why would a young man like you intervene on behalf of an old woman like me?"

"You're not old; you are about my mother's age."

The good-looking woman beamed at him. 

Nash wondered who'd create a stupid name like Honeybun. Perhaps her father was Norwegian or Austrian and it was one of those names that don't translate well into English?

"Why Nash, that's the second time you have cheered me up within fifteen minutes. It's so lovely to meet a charming man."

Nash wasn't about to disillusion her. Names he's been called in recent years include 'Good for nothing bastard', 'Dole bludger', 'Wanker' and 'Unstable and unreliable'. This was the first time he could recall anyone tagging him 'a charming man'. A blush threatened to wipe across his palely handsome face.

Hope's choice of venue surprised him. It was a trendy café with no scones in sight and was licensed to serve liquor. Hope chose English Breakfast tea and no food while Nash ordered a double shot long black coffee and a slice of fruit cake.

"Tell me about yourself, Nash."

He replied there was nothing much to tell and set about telling it. 

The 25-year-old lived with his mother in a modest house in the inner-city; his father lived with his partner -- another man -- in Nelson. A parental split occurred some fifteen years earlier, so Dan Carson no longer figured in Nash's mind.

In her youth, his mother Rose had been a country and western singer of some merit, for many summers singing under the name of Debbie Reno at beach resorts and doing dancehall tours in the off-season. She'd always wanted to visit one of the homes of country music, Nashville but so far that had not happened. Dan was away on a rugby tour of Australia when her baby arrived prematurely, so instead of registering him under the agreed name of Raymond, which had been a compromise name between the couple, Rose named the baby Nash. 

Fortunately, Dan rather liked the name and when he arrived home from Australia he and Rose were playing happy families for almost six months before Dan broke into tears one evening, declaring to his astonished wife that he'd found his sexual preferences were changing. From that point they drifted apart both socially and emotionally but it was not until more than a year of grating unhappiness that Rose finally kicked him out and got herself a lodger named Harry. Nash was then aged eleven. 

Nash, showing little emotion, said that Harry remained lodging in his mum's bed until Nash was fifteen. Although accepting the situation as normal, he and Harry had nothing into common including blood ties.

Hope was a little taken aback by this juiced up potted personal history.

"What about you?" Nash mumbled, finishing off his snack.

"Oh, there's nothing much to tell," she said modestly, and then proceeded to give a fascinating synopsis. 

The daughter of Cedric Honeybun, a country veterinarian, and Patricia who'd bred Springer Spaniels, Hope did well at school and continued on to half complete a degree in education before sailing off to Europe with a group of young people. It took almost two years and many memorable moments before they finally arrived in Plymouth with two of the women on board pregnant and a third missing at sea. 

Returning home after a year in England, Hope completed her degree and trained as a teacher. She later married Albert (Bert) Wilson, the principal of her first school. They produced two daughters and that kept Hope busy as the two infants born only eleven months apart. Bert began staying longer and longer at school and became grizzly and eventually confessed that he no longer much cared for her. So, said Hope, she found a man who cheered her up although he made it quite clear he had no intention of leaving his own wife, their lovely house, two cars and his wife's very generous parents. 

Displaying an openness that Nash found surprising, Hope said she'd found herself pregnant again and passed the baby off as Bert's until after eleven years he began divorce proceedings when learning that the third child (another daughter) wasn't his. The two older children went off with Bert and Hope was left alone with her newborn.

"God," Nash said, looking at Hope in awe. "What a story and you told it with so much emotion. It really moved me. You should write a book."

"Huh, I'm a talker, not a writer," Hope said, showing that sweet smile again. "Anyway, you mentioned that you had spent longer in unemployment that in work, so how do you fill in time?"

"Rather badly, like reading, turning up for the minimum required number of job interviews, fishing and going to uninspiring blockbuster movies. My one redeeming daub of creativity is that I write short stories."

"Obviously you don't mean aimlessly just to fill in time, judging by that sudden smile that's come to your face?"

"Well spotted, Hope. I write for the love of expressing my inner-self. Perhaps that's because it allows me to remain confident, acknowledging privately that I'm not a wastrel. Christ, listen to me; why am I telling you this?"

"Because I'm encouraging you to talk."

Staring at the kind face opposite him, Nash realised that was the truth. 

Loners and folk with a penchant for keeping their private life and deeper thoughts bottled up tend to loosen up under persuasive and friendly interfacing, and Nash accepted he was in the presence of an expert; after all, she was a former teacher. He remembered his mother once telling him that most men were just like boys that 'any woman can read them a mile away'. Without doubt Rose had included him in that unflattering appraisal.

The truth was Nash never has acknowledged the need to develop himself as a complex character. His inside world, yes, but not in the way he projected himself. Recognising that he and Hope were heading into an expanding analytical discourse, he chooses to dumb down.

"Do you see your children regularly?"

"No."

That obviously was the end of that topic. He looked at his watch, but she chose not to take the hint and asked, "Will you do a wee thing for me?"

Nash hesitated before saying yes.

Hope handed him her card: 'Hope Honeybun, 1028 Grapeville Road, Te Henui, West Auckland'.

"I'd like you to send me a couple of samples of your short stories. Don't bother if it's too much trouble."

"No, I'll do it."

Hope looked at her watch, so Nash rose to go to the counter to pay.

"I paid when I placed our order; you're not overly observant for a writer, are you?"

Actually, at that time Nash's attention had been diverted by a waitress wiping the counter, bent so low that Nash had no option but to check out her well-filled lacy blue bra.

"Or was your attention diverted?" Hope said with a knowing smile.

"Thanks for afternoon tea and the chat," he said. "You are a very interesting lady." 

They walked to the door where Hope asked if she can give Nash a ride home.

"Nah, I'm sweet," he replied, using street vernacular, immediately regretting his lapse.

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a moment," Hope muttered as she rummaged in her handbag for her keys.

"Your keys: I saw you put them in your jacket pocket."

"Why yes, thank you. Perhaps you are an observer after all. Goodbye."

They shook hands and separated. Nash walked along the street to a bus stop. 

Dressed economically in cheap linen grey trousers, grey boat shoes and a pale blue polo shirt, Nash turned for his last look at the departing Chevy. Hope had neatly executed a U-turn and was powering off, elbow resting on the open window of the eye-catching vehicle. It had been a full-on conversation and he regretted not asking how the Chevy had come into Hope's life.

Squashed against the window seat in the bus by a huge woman, in an unfashionable dress and a stupid floral clip on the side of her headband, Nash thought about the very fashionable lady from Te Henui driving home in her bright red pick-up, its original bits now almost seventy years old.

Not an observer, eh? 

Wrong madam, Nash thought, visualising the somewhat fleshy but smooth-shaped and fit-looking Hope with her attractive duck eggshell blue eyes, slightly-flaring nostrils and generously wide mouth. 

Anyone coming into contact with Nash who gains an eight-plus rating receives more than a passing interest from him. Because Hope drives a Chevy truck and projected an inner attractiveness as well as being outwardly chic, she'd been awarded a nine rating; that is, nine out of ten. Such ratings have nothing to do with sexuality nor are restricted to females. Nash stores such impressions and any unusual mannerisms or idiosyncrasies to build a database from which he can draw upon for fictitious characters for his short stories and, eventually, for his first novel.

Nash planned to begin writing a novel before the year's end. Already he'd drafted an outline and had filled almost four notebooks on memories of past conversations with his mother and also transcribing interesting extracts taken from her old scrapbooks. His interviews with his mother were surreptitious, so she had no idea that she was the model for the heroine of his book, about a young New Zealand country and western singer designed to finally hit the big time in Nashville, USA. Rose simply thought Nash was being lovely to her by asking her to re-tell her old stories about her past; Rose adored reminiscing about her era as a pat-time professional singer.

Nash had observed that Hope wore a wedding ring. Why...to keep the wolves away? 

A casual glance had recorded she was heavy breasted, has surprisingly shapely legs and obviously was not a cream cake-eating older woman sedately passing the second half of her life away watching 'soaps' on TV. The shoes and matching handbag looked possibly Italian and expensive and her hair appeared professionally groomed. He's even worked out her age: married at twenty her youngest daughter born in the year of that divorce would be almost twenty-five, so mama would be between forty-seven and forty-nine.  

Nash wondered how she'd fed her sexual appetite during those twenty-five years, presuming she'd felt the urge. Perhaps she still had visiting rights with the guy she'd bedded and blown her marriage with, or perhaps she has a cosy little arrangement with some of the males at her golf club or bridge club she had listed to him as being her social interests? Alternatively, could she now prefer women? I don't think so -- my instinct won't allow me to draw that conclusion, he thought. She lives in a grape growing district so conceivably works in that industry, possibly front of house manager or whatever one calls the hostess in a winery. 

So Mrs Honeybun, quite a bit of information about you now stored in the mind of an unobservant writer who will transcribe those images and related thoughts on to a CD labelled 'Character Traits, Vol. 2'.

Walking home the short distance from the bus stop, Nash wondered what Hope had observed about him if she'd bothered -- an unshaven blue-eyed male with uncombed fair hair wearing scuffed boaters, overly tight pants and a nondescript unbuttoned polo shirt tucked in over a flat gut? Nothing much for her to remember!

Oh, correction. It was likely she's not a lesbian! He remembered when looking up from brushing cake crumbs off his pants when standing up that her eyes were directly at his crotch. Old Mrs Honeybun, he grinned, what naughty pale blue eyes you have!

"You're home dear?" commented his mother unnecessarily, but at least she was one person in the whole world that worried when he was not safely at home. Rose kissed him and he slapped her on the butt knowing that she calls such action 'improper' but loved him doing it. That he knew because one night when she was delivered home quite intoxicated (anyone else but his mother he would have said 'pissed'), he slapped her butt and playfully admonished her for being a naughty girl. Sitting at the table she asked him to pour her a wine, and then confessed she liked him smacking her bottom, saying it made her feel young.

In his opinion, biased no doubt, she looked young for her age, helped by a fortune spent on body care. Nash mechanically answered his mother's 'You're home dear' with a polite yes, and as usual asked what was for dinner.

"I've got a nice piece of rump for you from Mr Keyes," she giggled.

That giggle was not lost on Nash. He was aware that Mr Keyes also slapped his mother on the rump, grinning in a way he'd not seen the butcher do when committing such a playful ritual with his other 'special' customers. Once he'd seen Mr Keyes, a married man, with his hand on his mother where the hand of a stranger should not be, but Nash pretended having seen nothing untoward. Although only sixteen at the time, he appreciated that his mum was entitled to experience a touch up and enjoy the attention. Since the lodger had left he's never seen his mother out socially with another man or had ever found someone was locked in her bedroom with her. Either his mum was exceedingly devious or just wasn't interested. Possibly loud-mouth Keyes was a devious man as well? If so, good on you mum!

Females figured prominently in Nash's life -- women who were anatomically interested in him, that is. Always single and unattached women, or at least that's what these women he dated casually said they were. Off Nash's menu were loose women, married women, women going out with friends of his and relatives. 

From earliest days Nash learned to be patient, that someone would turn up. That someone answering the need was usually from the one source -- a friend of a friend and came to him highly recommended. What more could a man ask? Nash's reply would be a female right on hand, but his job instability and tendency to fall asleep soon after ejaculating inevitably meant that his female partners moved on to find a better conservationist or whatever their other requirements were.

Currently he was unattached.

While his dinner was being cooked and ironing put into his dresser by his devoted mother, Nash phoned the very likeable Maria Mersey.

They chatted while Maria waited for the reason for the call.

"Can you suggest someone who'd like to accompany me to the movies on Friday night and on to a snack afterwards?" 

"Oh Nash, my poor boy; developing a case of blue balls, are we?"

Nash sat open-mouthed holding the phone. Maria never speaks to him like that. Although very aware of the service she performed for him, she'd never commented -- until now.

"Well-er-if you don't wish to help..."

"Help you? For goodness sake Nash, why don't you shag me? You've worked through most of my friends and I'm the only one left to have the pleasure. Is there something wrong with me?"

"You're married," Nash croaked. "To Matt, my best friend from school days."

"For Christ sake, Nash, I know who I'm married to; you are so unfair."

Maria began crying and shouting her frustrations.

"I've just got to get pregnant, Nash. All of my married friends and some unmarried ones are either pregnant or have at least one baby. I think there's something wrong with Matt, so I want somebody else to try to father my baby. Tonight is a great time, Nash. Matt is overnight in Wellington so can you ..."


Valley of Sinners Ch. 01



"Sorry, Maria. Mum's calling me to dinner. I'll see you next week."

"Don't go! Don't go. Oh Nash I love you!"

He terminated the call fast and, perspiring, walked into the small dining room. A splendid meal awaited him.

"Have you been upsetting young women again, you naughty man. I could hear that woman screaming down the phone at you."

"Nah, mum. It was just Maria having a temperamental."

"Oh, Maria Mersey, your procurer?"

With red alert sign flashing before his eyes, Nash automatically slipped into escape mode: he ignored the comment, keeping his eyes downcast and speaking in a matter-of-face tone wondering how she had managed to work that one out!

"It was nothing mum; eat this lovely dinner before it gets cold. I see that C.C. Grierson's summer sale starts on Friday."

Nash sliced into his piece of Butcher Keyes' rump steak looking a very unhealthy shade of puce.

* * *

Driving home on the motorway, as always half-conscious of the many envious stares from passing speedsters with a romantic spot in their hearts for veteran rejuvenated vehicles, Hope was thinking about Nash.

The young stranger enticed her to pay out a $40 bribe to save a $220 penalty payment, so obviously had an immoral kink to his character.

Yeah, just like you for paying the bribe, which is even worst than suggesting such a payment, she sighed. She was glad she'd invited him to afternoon tea as he was rather cute in an unpolished sort of way. What he needed was someone like her with style to develop as a protégé. That would be rather exciting, but he'd no more accept such a preposterous suggestion than she would propose it. It would be interesting if he sent examples of his writing as Hope long ago had spent many years helping to nurture young writers with talent. 

Nash slipped from her mind.

Locking the Chevy and then locking the garage doors -- it was the sort of vehicle that is stolen to order -- Hope flicked through the post she'd collected from her mailbox at the roadside before continuing up to the house, her panting terrier sprawled at her feet. The mail was sorted into four piles -- real letters, bills, suspected soliciting mail and outright junk mail. Personal correspondence then received priority -- she put one letter aside and then read two letters from close relatives, another from the Residents' and Ratepayers Association calling for a moratorium on further development of rural land for non-productive lifestyle farmlets and one from her best friend Susan Whitehead on holiday in Tasmania.

After making a cup of coffee, Hope opened the letter set aside which was from her youngest daughter Lisa, an employment consultant working in Sydney.

Lisa is her love but so smothering had Hope been that Lisa elected to go to Australia as soon as she graduated from university. Lisa wrote monthly but despite that falling out now almost three years old, still forbade her mother from visiting her. They exchange Christmas and birthday presents but also on Lisa's list of bans were telephone calls except in emergencies.

Initially Hope had groaned that it was like having a daughter yet not having a daughter, but gradually accepted being isolated from Lisa. Gratefully she'd read and re-reads the long monthly letters. In this letter the only significant news is that Lisa's boyfriend Tim had gone on promotion to work in London and that there's a new man in her life, a department store executive named Ralph. A photograph of the new live-in was enclosed. 

It was almost twenty years since Hope stopped smoking, but in moments like this the urge to inhale deeply and exhale the acrid twin blasts through her nostrils returns, yet is rejected. No way is she going to go out and buy a pack of those dreadful cigarettes. She prided herself that she'd kicked that habit. She can't help but worry whenever Lisa finds herself a new partner, being so far away from home beyond easy reach of her mother should she run into trouble.

Hope studied the photograph, coffee mug cupped in her hands. She decided the new boyfriend looks virile, fit and reasonably good looking but at thirty-two was too old for her daughter and his mouth looked cruel. Lisa should be at home where Hope can keep an eye on her.

After dinner and with less than an hour before nightfall, Hope changed into work clothes and went to look at her grape vines spread over six acres, riding her quad bike. In her lonely existence, broken only by the occasional short-stay visitor -- usually a relative -- one of her joys is to inspect her substitute 'children' -- her vines. Now after vigorous growth they are showing bunches of formed grapes that are grown on contract for Te Henui Winery run by the Bronkovic brothers.

A slash of red sunset remains in the darkening sky as Hope returned to the house, with her Jack Russell terrier riding in the rear carrier of the bike. After pouring dog biscuits into a bowl she put Monty out for the night where he knows it's his duty to guard the perimeter of the house. Hope is a little nervous at living alone and often keeps two shotgun cartridges in her pocket for the unloaded gun she keeps behind the door in the kitchen, and another in the garage out of sight, and does so knowing that it's illegal to keep serviceable firearms not under lock and key when not in use. Whenever she is going away from the property Hope locks the guns in a thick steel cabinet.

Each night she loads a shotgun she keeps within hand's reach under her bed. Her father established this practice soon after he'd bought land and built this house; a nasty incident occurred nearby involving a woman who was attacked by an itinerant apple picker passing through the district. So comfortable is Hope about sleeping with a loaded firearm under her bed that when she went to a conference at Masterton and walked into the hotel carrying the shotgun, the woman behind the reception counter shrieked and fainted. Hotel security comprising the absent manager's very slight wife and a cook with a meat cleaver persuaded Hope to hand over the weapon for the duration of her visit. She did so quite unconcerned, but only after removing the two cartridges.

Hope had given up saying prayers before jumping into bed when aged about ten. But in the tradition of her father, the last thing she does at night is to switch to the weather channel on television and check on the latest forecast for the district. This is now accomplished on a smart small television set that Lisa had couriered to her from Hope's local home appliance dealer some five months ago for Hope's forty-seventh birthday.

Drifting off to sleep the image of one of her current occasional lovers came into Hope's mind, and then faded to be replaced with the face of the young man she'd met earlier that afternoon. Run along, Mr Carson, pick someone nearer to your own age, she murmured.

Shortly after eight-thirty each morning except Sundays, Hope and Monty walk briskly down to the roadside, clear the mailbox and return to the house where Hope sorts through the booty while Monty has a piece of sheep liver or ox heart, the later being his favourite food except for fresh rabbit -- rabbit he catches on the run. He'd come home bloodied, from such a kill, knowing to stay outside the house until being hosed down. Hope doesn't mind this ritual as the eager little fellow gets the occasional rabbit too clever to wait until she throws up her shotgun.

On this particular mail sort she initially thought she'd received two of her shopping catalogues -- the only ones she bothered with were Bloomingdales in New York, Harrods in London and Galeries la Fayette in Paris. But instead the two publications were fashion magazines printed in Australia. 

Attached to one was a brief note: 

'To The Queen of the Road Herein are two of my published articles. Enjoy. Nash' 

Oh, good boy, thought Hope. Several days later than she'd expected, but at least he'd done it. My God, a published writer! She'd assumed he'd only write stories as an exercise to keep his mind occupied as an elixir to boredom.

Being called Queen of the Road puzzled her until it clicked: the boy -- young man, actually -- had a thing about the Chevy. The vehicle was called Rupert, named after the red English pedal car she had as a child. Pity about that, he'd never learn about that oddity in naming as the dumb cluck had not enclosed an address.

There is a half-page letter from her eldest, Claris in Christchurch, mentioning that her sister had come up from Dunedin for their father's fiftieth, and everyone enjoyed the big party. Anthony had given his partner Bert a gold watch to mark his milestone birthday.

"Bert is looking fine, mum."

So, it was Bert now? My, haven't we got familiar about father! Although Claris wrote two or three times a year, neither mother nor daughter exchanged personal intimacies although Claris continued to address her as mum. Recalling the divorce arising from her adulterous and child-bearing affair, Hope thought sadly, God, how stupid sex drive can get one into catastrophic trouble! 

That bastard Michael had promised he'd always wear protection but had let her down, causing her to lose her husband and two daughters, with only one of those daughters still communicating regularly and even that line appeared to be hanging by a thread. To top it off Michael was a very average lay, anyway. Their four-month affair ended a month after Bert and her two daughters departed, with Michael screaming at her one evening, calling her a stupid bitch for getting pregnant. Michelle his wife had learned about the affair and was threatening divorce, but Michael eliminated that threat by buying the aggrieved Michelle a new car. He left that night, never to return to Hope.

The next morning she'd wakened, feeling a big load had lifted, thinking, well, goodbye Michael and hullo the beautiful baby you fertilised for me. At least you did that chore perfectly!

Wiping her eyes and then making a cup of coffee, Hope took the two magazines to the table on the deck facing the morning sun. It's a time of day she loves as the day breeze is not yet up, birds are still lively tongued and distant sounds of farming are carried by the soft air. In the city, the morning rush hour is peaking, and she had all this! It is Paradise to be appreciated. God, I'm a bit emotional this morning, she thought; must be about time to get one of the fellows over to entertain me.

The first magazine deals with all aspects of lifestyle, and the short story by Nash Carson with a dishy studio photo of him, is featured as 'it reveals many things that most travellers don't know'.

Right, Mr Dishy Nash, let's read how you bullshit around that extravagant claim; surprise me, as I'm a seasoned traveller.

It is a story about a computer geek and her travelling companion, the company's sales manager. The computer woman knows almost everything worth knowing about computerisation, from camera phones to forensic recovery of vital information on corrupted computer discs. Her companion knows about people, what motivates them, how they can be influenced against their better judgement and how to extract money from them both legitimately and painlessly. Both women are bright, sassy and highly paid executives, being front-runners in their field of expertise. Their company has commissioned them to wiz around the world in three weeks, picking up ideas and trends in their respective fields that will help make their employer make more money, lots of it.

The real difference between the two women proved to be the sales executive knows some of the inner secrets of travelling. Hope had to admit she learned something. For example the conversations between the inexperienced and very experienced traveller provided gems such as these:

Airline upgrades: Walk up to the counter at the final assembly point, beautifully dressed and looking lovely, and request with great confidence, "Could we both be upgraded please." Say nothing more. Your audacity may throw the airline representatives unless they are very experienced in dealing with such a brazen approach. Whatever, you will be told something like, "I'm sorry, the limited number of upgrades available have been taken." Look unfazed and say. "Well then, I'll have to report to our company's leading travel agency to book our personnel with one of your competing airlines in future." The representative may say, "Just a minute, I'll check again," or allow you both will walk back to your seats which you should locate as close as possible to the travel desk. From there you will see glances thrown your way as various staff confer and soon one of them may come over to you. Expect to score up to forty per cent success if your technique is good, even higher if you are appear supremely confident and are totally disdainful in expression telegraphing that you are a seasoned traveller who is not the sort of person to be treated like a piece of luggage.

Unsafe water: This is a problem in many countries, which is one reason why the rich or the well-resourced travel the world staying at American or European-run hotels. Only clean your teeth and gargle in imported bottled water or sodas, even gin is great. Don't even eat salads in street cafes as lettuce is washed in tap water or, in remote areas, water pulled from wells. When booking hotels, ask if they totally treat the hotel's water supply -- even the shower and bath water; your stomach will appreciate your thoughtfulness. 

Booking show or concert tickets: Don't join queues at major city theatre ticket bureaus as you may wait four or even six hours to reach the multiple venues booking office. Try buying tickets at the theatre itself the day before the event, even when the theatre is filling. Cancellations and no-shows are inevitable. But spare yourself the fuss, use an agency to book your tickets in the city you've decided to see; they hold tickets for late-thinkers like you who are prepared to pay a premium price. 

Factory Shop Tours -- Local Markets: Rather than go on an over-priced commercial tour of factory shops in really foreign countries try to find a taxi driver who speaks English (a test: "What is your mother's name; what does it mean in English?"). Negotiate a sharp price for a three-hour hire to be taken to "very good shops where local people buy luxury goods at very good prices -- much lower than tourists pay" and/or "take me to markets tourists don't know about where local people like you buy the best food and best goods." During negotiations you of course promise to give a good tip for excellent service. The outing could be a tad disappointing, but the potential for real adventure is high.

Hope finished the absorbing story well pleased. Clever boy, she mused, having enjoyed the flow of the writing, characterizations and very interesting dialogue. And well researched because I'd wager as you are virtually unemployable for reasons that puzzle me, you have done little or no travelling.

The second short story was one of two pieces of fiction in the second magazine, and Hope concluded that it was difficult to judge which one she preferred. She awarded that honour by a nose to the first writer, a well-known Australian female novelist. Both stories ended leaving her moist-eyed. The novelist's story was about a highly successful couple in Melbourne who leave their jobs in finance to launch a business called The Lipstick Shop. Though specialising in lip coatings the shop also sells moisturisers, face creams, anti-ageing potions and other items -- all related to facial treatments. Business booms and people rush to buy franchises. The story ends with the party to celebrate the signing up of their first five franchisees. During the celebrations the entrepreneurial partnership ends with the female collapsing and dying in her husband's arms from an aneurysm. 

'A very taboo subject handled with great sensitively' is the 'kicker' above the main heading over Nash's story.

The story begins with a fairly vivid description of a couple in their early twenties having sex on the lakefront lawn of a New Zealand bach -- the lawn being rather secluded. That evening a big row erupts and the couple decide to go their separate ways.

It is then revealed that the couple are brother and sister.

The story resumes eight years later when the siblings are reunited at the funeral of their parents, victims of a motor vehicle accident. Initially they remain aloof but as the day wears on the barrier between them begins lowering, until sitting in the church waiting for the service to begin her hand reaches out for him; he sees it and reciprocates, but after a brief clasping his sister's hand is withdrawn. During a moving eulogy by a family friend, the sister weeps, becoming almost inconsolable. Her brother moves along the pew and embraces her, and immediately her near-wailing reduces to heaving sobs as she clutches him, burying her face against his shoulder and chest.

They stand, waiting for the organ introduction to finish before joining the congregation to sing 'The Lord is My Shepherd'.

"Let's bring out families together," he whispers.

She nods, eyes shining through her grief and they hold hands.

Their respective spouses on the other side of them look delighted at hearing the whispered affirmation: The excommunication of the siblings, based on a reason or reasons unknown to them, has ended. 

Hope dries her eyes, smiling. What a brave boy to write a story like that and have the confidence to try to find a publisher. A thought hit her like a brick smashing against a plate glass window as she looked at the contact details of the writer at the base of the article. Hope tends to act on instinct and she is not afraid to take risks so picked up the phone and dialled his phone number.

"Nash, it's Hope here. Where are you?

"In the toilet."

You take your mobile into the toilet?" she cannot help but ask.

"Yes, I have just been checking calls. I'm off to a movie and running out of time."

"Oh, you are about to leave to see a movie. That is quite understandable."

"Why are you phoning?"

"Well, I've read your two short stories that you sent me. Thank you for doing that, I was most impressed. Nash, will you do something for me -- will you come and stay the weekend with me?"

"Do you think that is proper -- you live alone?"

"Oh Nash, we are adults. What does it matter that we will be alone in the same house? I am old enough to be your mother."

"Okay."

"Right then. You have my address -- get a cab on Friday afternoon and I will pay the fare."

Nash asked why would she want to do that?

"You are my guest, Nash, for Christ sake. You don't have a car, nor does your mother according to what you told me in the café, so I'm arranging rapid transport for you -- I can afford it. The alternative will be you taking a bus, changes buses at least twice and then getting a taxi for the last stage as only tourist and school buses come along our road."

He said okay.

"Good, that's settled. At least we have one thing in common: we can communicate. Now, if a flying bundle of terror comes your way as you get out of the cab, call 'Down Monty!' in a firm, authoritative voice. He's a well trained doggie. But Nash, make sure you give the right command otherwise you are liable to have your masculine apparatus ripped from you body."

"I don't know about this; do you think saying that will work?"

"Yes, Nash -- just say 'Down Monty!' Very firmly and you will be fine. His growl is really bigger than his bite. I'm expecting you around mid afternoon."

Hope put down the phone feeling very excited. Nash will be her first house guest -- as distinct from male one-nighters -- she's had for two years who was not a relative.

She thinks about food; he lived with his mother so would be used to home cooking. I'll hop down to the village and buy a roast and all the trimmings and then bake an apple pie and then we can have cheese and crackers and.... No, it will be Friday night so I'll take him to the golf club for dinner.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 01



"Monty!" she calls. But the so-called ferocious guard dog is asleep on the kitchen floor with a slice of sheep liver passing through his digestive system. He does not stir.

* * *

It's a long taxi ride, with the clicks in the meter flicking dollar notes through Nash's mind. He estimates the ride could cost Hope fifty bucks.

"We're almost there, sir," the Maori cab driver said.

"Good," Nash replied. "I suppose you drive this taxi on days to supplement the income from your shift-work job?"

"I own this cab, sir, and three others. I have people working for me."

"Of course," Nash said, cringing, his mind play-acting: I plead guilty, Your Honour, to making wild assumptions without malice. Most Maori women of her age work cleaning out motel rooms or in kitchens, or am I guilty of stereotyping and being half a generation out of date?

"How long have you been in the taxi business?" he asked, attempting to fine-tune his mind.

"Three years sir, ever since I graduated from university."

Nash cowered totally embarrassed. More than ever he had became aware that he was not living in the real world. This lass was better educated that himself and was entrepreneurial to boot!

Thinking about staying the weekend in a house alone with a widow old enough to be his mother, Nash wondered where he was mad, accepting such an invitation. In all probability she'd feed him a roast, followed by apple pie and then invite him into her bed. Was that what he wanted?

The truth was he didn't know what he wanted. It was so depressing. He'd tried job after job without experiencing any sense of fulfilment. Life wasn't supposed to be like this -- everyone talked about opportunities, main chances, amazing successes and miraculously landing on one's feet. The fuckers who make such statements obviously had never queued at the unemployment office.

Thank God he has his writing. It gave him somewhere to disappear from the depressing real world. At the computer keyboard he experienced the power, of really being someone who can manipulate circumstances and people in time frames just like playing chess. He linked his writing, of course, to the real world as while readers accept fiction only some want to read adult fairy stories. But apart from the few necessary evil women and slack tossers to sugar up the drama, his characters were basically happy with a sense of their own worth.

"Here we are sir, we go up this drive I image?"

Nash looked ahead in awe at the north sloping hillside coated in wall-to-wall vines and topping the hill is a 1970's style three level home -- no, a three level mini-mansion. 

"This is it?" he enquired.

"Yes sir, 1028 Grapeville Road." 

"Well, proceed Rimu -- take me in the pumpkin coach to the castle."

"Yes, sir. Do you write, sir?"

Dumfounded, Nash replied weakly, "Yes, how astute of you."

"It's no big deal sir; I get all types in my cab."

A hurtling ball of black, tan and mostly white hair aims itself at Nash, standing beside the cab, and while he struggles to recall the 'Down Rover' or whatever command he is supposed to deliver, the animal lands on him waist high. He catches it and the mongrel begins licking his face.

"Down Monty!" and the dog leaps to the ground and circles in behind Hope with a humorous grin on its face. Do dogs have humorous grins? Nash wondered, and then realises that the question is redundant because this dog definitely is grinning at him humorously.

Hope went to the driver's door, paid the requested fare and handed across a tip.

"Good luck with your writing, sir," calls the Maori lass, making a three-point turn to head the Ford down the drive.

"Oh, so we are a writer, are we?" Hope teased, kissing Nash on the cheek. "How nice to see you again; I'm so exited as having a house guest who is not family."

"I'm happy to be here," Nash mumbled, convinced this would be a weekend of unbridled sex. She (she is the cat's mother, his mother always says) is dressed in a red and green striped halter, straining to suspend her weighty boobs, a round white tire of tummy pokes out between that and her white high-cut shorts and she's wearing high heels, for God's sake!

As she leads him towards the entry, Nash realises why she wears those shoes: to accentuate her fabulous legs of course. Many young women would give anything to have legs like that -- and the hip sway! Nash thinks he should have packed a good supply of condoms.

Something brushes his right leg. He looks down and sees the tongue lolling head of whatshisname; the mongrel has adopted him! Lonely Nash feels pleased.

"This is the garage," Hope said unnecessary as in the foyer they turned left and entered the garage which housed the Chevy and a late model Rover sedan.

"And on this side is my father's former veterinary clinic, now converted into a bedroom suite. This is where you will stay and I have set up a desk in here for you."

"Why a desk?"

"More about that later, Nash."

So, he had a desk for some purpose and was not going to be sleeping in her bed. Those suppositions leave Nash somewhat bewildered.

They walk up the stairway to the next floor on which is located a kitchen, toilet separate dinning room, living room and formal lounge. There is no study. It's all tastefully decorated and furnished in laid-back style.

"Upstairs is a smaller level built into the roof-line. It contains the master bedroom suite and two smaller bedrooms with a bathroom between them," said Hope. "What do you think?"

"I feel I have fallen back into the 1970s," Nash said, a little rudely.

"Good boy," Hope smiled. "That is the effect intended."

The paintings on the walls, including in the stairwell, were exquisite; as far as he could tell having a mild interest in art, there did not appear to be a rubbishy one among them.

"Lovely paintings,"

"Yes, father began collecting in the 1970s, chasing after artists such as American Ray Parsons, Russia's Arseny Semionov, Australian Howard Taylor and he was infatuated with the work of New Zealand feminist painter Jacqueline Fahey. I am still collecting art and artefacts of that era.

"Come, I'll make you coffee and then we can wander around the vineyard."

That evening as they drove in the Rover to the golf club, Hope said she wanted to present a proposal to Nash.

"I'm not used to being propositioned by women," he said, only half jokingly.

Hope reached across and pinched his cheek. "Funny boy.

"Look, I've read your articles. I am convinced you can really write. I want you to ghost-write a novel under my name loosely based as a biography. You said my life story was interesting enough to become a book, so he's your chance at doing that in collaboration."

Nash was astonished. So, she's after his mind, not his body?

"Do you realise what is involved -- a project like that would take months."

"Yes."

"And if we did it we would argue and event rant?"

"Yes."

"It could become exhausting, and we'd perhaps end up having to discard whole chapters and start again."

"I would be disappointed if that did not happen."

Nash became more interested at that point. "And who would be boss?"

"You would."

"Where would we collaborate?"

"Here." 

"What would the neighbours say?"

"Stuff the neighbours."

She apologised. "Sorry," she said, glancing at him. "My neighbours are very nice people; that was just an expression. I am trying to keep focused on the mission."

"Mission?"

"Mission."

"Right. So where do I live and eat and if I'm not out job-hunting I will lose my job benefit."

"Stuff the benefit, at least for a few months. I will pay you $500 a week plus provide you a bed, food and all the coffee and liquor you can drink. We shall work during parts of the day and night six days a week, and on Sundays we shall rest. You shall live with me like a...like a son. Agreed?"

They enter the car park at the golf club. Nash thinks of his mother; she will miss him. Or will she? 

The thought of going week after week without sex does not appeal, but then Sunday is a free day. Perhaps he'll meet up with young women locally or else invite the sexy Maria Mersey up for the day.

Nash, amazed that Hope would want to pay him that much money plus free accommodation and sustenance, decides to push that point. "I would need some feminine company occasionally."

"No problem, I can arrange introductions."

"Right."

"Right what?"

"I'll do it."

"Oh Christ."

"What is it?"

"The conservative half of me wanted you to decline the offer. My estranged family is not going to like this one little bit."

"Don't tell them, and anyway this will be a novel, although a novel based on fact. Just be careful how you portray them and explain confrontations fairly."

Hope parked the vehicle, and leaned across and kissed Nash on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For not saying no."

To Be Continued...



Valley of Sinners Ch. 02



SO FAR: A jobless and sensitive young man becomes innocently associated with a bubbling woman in her late forties who lives alone on a vineyard out of Auckland, New Zealand. Nash is attracted because she drives a beautifully re-built and upgraded 1939 Chevy pick-up and draws him from his 'shell' with ease. Hope Honeybun's interest in young Mr Carson is that he writes a little and seems to have a worldly sense so installs him downstairs as resident author and commissions him to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley. There is a story, including sins, for Nash to discover.

* 

It is a little before seven when Hope and her 'protégé' Nash Carson enter the golf club. A few people are at tables just drinking, but most will stay on for a meal.

"Hello Hope...hello Mrs Honeybun." 

Hope briefly visits these people who greet her, trailing Nash by the hand. Introductions are made with Nash being called "my young man from the city who's going to write a family history for me." She appears to be known by everyone which seems rather strange for a city guy like Nash where it's usually to know even most of your immediate neighbors.

"Hope!" screamed a woman behind the food serving counter. "Come now or only scraps will be left for you."

"Coming, Maggie."

As they walk to the servery, Hope whispered: "This is Maggie Tait; she and her Basil live just behind us on the other side of the hill. They have a lovely little sexpot still at home called Alayna. I'll arrange an introduction for you when you are ready." 

"Thanks, but right now I'd like dinner."

"And wine?"

"And wine."

"Good, you are my kind of guy."

It is a typical Kiwi golf club. A bar stocked with a good selection of beer and cheap wines. The room is filled with tables with seating for eight, gambling machines are at the far end of the room behind a screen and the 18th green is immediately below the wall of windows. On other walls are photos of past patrons, presidents and honors boards. Sponsors notices also abound.

During the next hour the reasonably quite assembly became noisier as the liquor in willing bodies became entrenched, When Hope and Nash left another two hours later the noise was deafening as more people had arrived after their eating at home with their families.

Hope attempted to explain to the newcomer Nash. "Friday nights end up bedlam, with not all couples who arrived together going home together."

"Oh, the fellows stay behind for more drinks?" Nash queried slyly.

"Oh, don't say I'm going to have to teach you about the birds and bees," Hope laughed.

"Nah, I knew what you were on about; just winding you up a little."

They arrive home and Monty merely gave his mistress a courtesy call before being all over Nash.

"Monty likes you," Hope said thoughtfully. For a moment it appeared she was going to kiss Nash goodnight. But she started up the stairs, turned and said, "Breakfast on the table at 6:30. This is country living."

Nash eyed her breasts, thinking they were big enough to become really lively when set loose. "Right, I thought it might be earlier?"

"No, but I'll be out on patrol at 5.30. You can come if you like."

"Yeah, good idea; get fresh air into my lungs," Nash yawned, without knowing what she was on about.

"Right, I'll pop in and wake you at 5:20, but if you have a boner showing expect to be doused with cold water."

Hope continued up the stairs, leaving scarlet-faced Nash in her wake.

Although having downed six glasses of merlot, Nash remained awake fretting over his perennial problem: whenever he begins a new job -- sometimes even before he starts -- he worries that it might not be the right move in the best interest of his career.

What career, you mutt head? Here he is lying awake in a strange room, where a vet used to neuter cats and cut the tails of little puppies back to stumps. Outside is a dog that appears determined to bond with him while upstairs is a woman who seems so affable and motherly yet is an enigma because she's not yet revealing her true self to him.

Did it matter she is perplexing?

Of course not!

Is he a problem to her?

Definitely not as with Nash Carson, what you see is what you get!

Then what the fuck are you doing in this house? A good question, he decides.

He is in the home of Mrs Hope Honeybun because she has a rebuilt 1939 Chevy, she had big boobs and wandering eyes but above all, she talks to him as if he's a somebody.

Is that all? Come on, Nash baby, the truth.

Um, this is rather embarrassing.

Oh come on, Nash; who's listening?

All right, she's come into my life and immediately confirms that she's a somebody. I knew that at the outset because she drives an awesome looking '39 Chevy. But who else would take a loser from the workforce, talk to him as if he is a somebody, and then invite him to her home in the country? So in trepidation this loser goes to her abode and what does he find? She lives in a mini-mansion in her own vineyard. Now is that a somebody or is it what?

Nash becomes more focused. Hope has asked him to fictionalize her life story, which he would have done just for a bed and tucker, simply to break the monotony of his mundane life. She offered five hundred smackers to write down the words -- EACH WEEK he works on it! Boy, is she somebody. Then at the golf club she towed him around between tables, introducing him to her friends as if he were her son. Cool as a cucumber is she; she is she one cool lady.

The urge to urinate is message from the bladder. An immaculate bathroom with toilet is within nine feet of his bed, but Nash, scratching his crotch, decides to go outside and pee into the grass as he images a cowboy would do when sleepily emerging from the bunkhouse.

It's moonlight and Monty comes up and licks his legs. Nash decides he must become less friendly with Monty to ease the avid attention he's attracting. He lifts his limp penis and begins spraying the grass, having to waggle it all over the place because the damn hound is dancing around trying to gulp down some of the streaming fluid. Although Nash succeeds in keeping the flow away from the dog's snapping jaws he warns, "Don't you try tonguing me in the morning, Monty!"

Returning to his room Nash thoughtfully puts his underpants back on. No need to invite being doused in cold water by madam in the morning, he reasons.

Nash sleeps fitfully and awakes from his last dream just after dawn in a cold sweat. He'd been trapped in the ladies' restroom at the golf course by Hope and her golfing buddies. They strip him, tied him to a sofa, and form a queue, all lifting up their dresses and holding their panties in their hands. He tries screaming for help, but no sound came from his mouth. First to straddle him is Maggie from the kitchen -- Hope's neighbor. Before lowering herself on to Nash's erection she giggles, "My, what a big one, just the right fit for my daughter."

Nash had tried screaming again, 'Help! Help!' But no sound came from his mouth.

A cold shower and a leisurely shave helped slow Nash's thumping heart. Dressed and finishing off a mug of coffee, he heard a light tap on the door and before he can call 'Come in' the door swings open and Hope stands there in surprise looking at the empty bed. She refocuses and sees him on a chair with his boots on the desk.

Gosh, he thinks admiringly, she really has big breasts. They appear ready to burst from her shirt, the top three or four buttons being undone. She's wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a Stetson and looks, um, very young for her age. He boggles: she's carrying a gun.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "Enjoy sleeping alone?"

"Good morning." He didn't have the ancillary question knowing she'd know he usually slept alone -- she was an intelligent woman.

Hope turned and left the room so Nash followed to be almost knocked to the ground by Monty who jumped up at his chest. Nash caught him and then dropped the mutt who tried to lather his face.

Hope emerged from the garage carrying another gun and handed it to Nash.

"Know how to use a shotgun?"

"Is this a shotgun?"

"Oh Christ, I should have known; you're a Townie of course."

Nash knows that people who live in urban centers -- called Townies by country folk -- are not carriers of the plague, but the inflection put into the name 'Townie' certainly indicates that a notion similar to that was in Hope's mind.

Taking the firearm, Nash said, "Nice gun," but was ignored. So he tried to speak with authority. "Where do I get the bullets?"

"Cartridges, not bullets. Your gun is already loaded with two of them. Please don't shoot yourself in the foot."

Nash almost dropped the gun in fright. A couple of times he'd had a toy rifle in his hands, but never a loaded real gun.

"Er -- um -- I would appreciate some tips."

"Wait till we get between the rows of vines where I'll brief you."

They walk forty feet and were between the rows of leafy vines.

Hope eyed him. "We're on patrol to protect young grapes and the vines that give them life. This morning our targets are rabbits and the occasional hare. The gun I have handed you is what we call broken -- you can see the backs of the two cartridges. Please keep your gun broken until you spot a rabbit within firing range -- for you that will be within 50 feet. 

"You have a double barrel twelve gauge shotgun. It's old, but well maintained. Now look at the triggers -- there are two of them. It you miss your target with the first and firm pull of the trigger, you slip your trigger finger out and slip it back behind that first trigger and pull it towards you to give the furry blighter and backside full of lead pellets with the second action. You must remember to have the butt of the gun tucked firmly against your shoulder otherwise the recoil will do two things: it will thump the butt against your shoulder, bruising it, and smack metal against your trigger finger, ripping skin from it. So -- butt firmly against the shoulder. Never forget that."

Hope paused to ask Nash if he understood all of that. He replied it was straight-forward.

"Right, look at me. See how I carry my shotgun at this height? I see a rabbit, so in an almost continuous fluid movement I eye the rabbit, throw the gun up to just under eye level while with this hand snaps the barrels shut and that automatically sets the safety lever, so I flick that open like this. As I see the end of the barrels cover the target I gently press the trigger. It I miss, I try again by pressing the rear trigger. Got that?"

Nash said yes, thinking fancy getting a shooting lesson from a neat looking woman like this instead of an unshaven, red-eyed male smelling of whisky and old sweat. He wondered if there was anything he could teach Hope? Probably not, she appeared to be the consummate woman.

"Right, we are almost finished. When you have fired both barrels, break open the gun like this -- don't take too much notice of my gun as it is an over and under type, see how the barrels of this gun are vertical rather than side by side like yours? When you break open the gun the spent cartridges will automatically eject over your hand. Pick them up as we run an environmentally sensitive operation here. When reloading, always keeping the barrels pointing away from you and anyone else."

Hope ran her fingers over her chin, looking directly at her raw recruit.

"Are you comfortable about this? I won't feel happy about letting you loose with a loaded shotgun if you have any misgivings."

Nash briefly eyed her right breast, thinking she'd have to be careful not to get that one in the way of a recoiling shotgun butt. If she did he'd be just the guy to rub in garlic or arnica to inhibit bruising.

"Nash?"

"Um, oh no problems. Everything's sweet. Your instructions are ever so precise and clearly understandable. Please proceed."

That response seemed to cleanse Hope's doubts. She smiled and continued the briefing.

"Before pulling the trigger, make sure that no person or other animal is in the line of fire, which includes well beyond your target or coming into your line of fire from the sides. It also means only shoot when the rabbit or hare is out a bit from the vines as we don't want you cutting the vines to shreds or blasting grapes. To sum up, make sure that no other living things are in line of your target, throw the gun up smoothly while snapping the barrels shut against the stock. Flick the safety lever open. Ease the butt snugly against your shoulder, eye your target and as the front of the barrel cover it, pull the first trigger back smoothly and relatively gently. If you miss, dip the barrel while moving your forefinger through to the second trigger and as your lift tip of the barrel to point right at the rabbit or hare, fire again. Let me see you go through those series of actions, but don't pull the triggers.

The novice shooter performed well.

"Okay, too much barrel wobbling at the top. Now do it again -- but DON'T pull the triggers."

Nash threw the gun up four more times.

"Good, very much better. If you only try to shoot rabbits fairly close to you I fancy you'll get one of them. Here are six more cartridges. That will be enough for today. Remember, don't fire unless you feel comfortable about it. I'll go into the block behind the house -- be aware that I am there. You just patrol these vines on the flat. Don't venture on to the hillside today. Understand?"

"Yes -- don't shut the gun until I'm preparing to fire, be smooth in my movements, don't squeeze the trigger jerkily or too hard and keep the butt against my shoulder when firing."

"Good, that's it. Don't shoot anything but rabbits or hares. You may disturb a pheasant or two, but ignore them. I'll chain Monty up as I pass the house. See you in an hour or so. Don't shoot yourself!"

Hope later told Nash that less than five minutes after they parted she heard a single blast. She remained slightly nervous until hearing a second blast two minutes later, which confirmed that Nash remained in one piece.

An hour later, Hope spotted Nash when she was walking down the hillside to the house carrying a bloodied rabbit by the ears.

"Break open you gun!" she called.

"Don't have to; I've fired all eight cartridges!"

"Do it -- it's a good habit to develop!"

"Right, teacher. Done it. I shot four!"

Hope came up to the triumphant young hunter. "Congratulations, that's an excellent haul for a novice."

"I did better than you," he crowed without realizing he'd been given the patch where rabbits tended to be most numerous. "Will we have rabbit pie?"

Hope felt the rabbits. 

"This one will be do; the others you must gut and behead, and cut across into three pieces, bag each piece separately and then put into the old freezer in the garage. They will do as occasional dog tucker. Put the guts and heads into other bags and leave them inside the freezer on the right-hand side away from the dog tucker -- they'll go out on rubbish collection day which is Wednesday."

"Gut them?" Nash asked weakly.

"Yes, you're not a Townie now. Country Boys have to know how to gut and goodness knows what else. I'll show you by doing the first one. Or, if you wish you can go inside and hide while I do everything."

Nash, looking pale, said he would watch and then do the rest. "I know I have to take the good with the bad in life, and I rather like being called a Country Boy. It seems to have more class than being called a Townie."

Hope smiled, and grabbing his left ear lobe and waggled it affectionately.

After finishing up, Nash let Monty off the chain and went inside to shower and change clothes. Hope had gone ahead to do the same thing. As he entered the living room he heard her call to him: "Nash, come up. I want to show you something."

Your tits? he grinned. 

When she cut into the demonstration rabbit a squirt of something from inside it landed on her chest, and she paused to wipe it away, her left breast jiggling as she tried to wiped herself clean. Nash wondered would she ever open her shirt or dress to show him what she had.

When he finished his butchering and showered again and changed his bloodied shirt, Hope was waiting on the landing, dressed in a blue shirt and jeans skirt. The shirt was buttoned to the neck.

"You haven't seen around here, so here we go. This is the guest room, not used a great deal and in here is the former second bedroom that I had converted into an office. We shall work in here on wet and or windy days and outside if you wish on other days -- the orchard is a great place. You will have exclusive use of that laptop computer."

"It's a very nice, airy room."

"Yes, I had the iron roof replaced with that glazing up there, and then the abutting ceiling space closed off and painted white to maximize natural light. It's a wonderful workroom.

"Both of these bedrooms share the bathroom that lies between them. My bedroom has its own en-suite. Want to take a look? I have been rushing around tidying up."

"Why thank you. There is nothing I'd like better to do."

Hope glanced at him, as if wondering whether that was a genuine comment or sarcasm. He was looking at photos on the wall of two young girls.

"I've got more up-to-date ones in my dressing room. Come take a look."

The bedroom was very feminine, ivory walls, pale blue drapes and a pink and white frilly bedspread. The plush carpet was cream.

"Very lovely."

"Why thank you. I understood most men hate pink in a bedroom."

"I would question that. Skin is often pink."

Hope giggled and blushed.

"Through here is my dressing room and beyond that is the en-suite. And here is my estranged family. This is my ex, Albert, then this one is my eldest, Claris, who is a branch manager of a bank in Christchurch; this is Bette, the brains of the family who is a lecturer at Otago University and this is my baby, Lisa."

"A fine looking family, even Bert doesn't take a bad picture. Lisa looks rather cute."

"You should see her now; she's filled out a bit and wears very chic clothes. Now fancy that, she's your age. I would rather her being with you rather than those soulless executives fighting their way to the top that she seems to land herself with in Sydney."

"Lisa may have a different opinion about that."

"Oh, I don't know. I reckon she would think you were rather cute."

"That's not promising, as women think their male hairdressers are cute and most of them are homosexuals."

"Oh, my youngest is not into deviants, Lisa is a hot-blooded heterosexual, believe me."

Nash decided that conversation would be going nowhere, so turned and exclaimed that the clothes gave the impression that he was in a fashion store.

"Well, I do like dressing up a bit. Are you into women's fashions?"

"Not really, my experience is really limited to what I see when I wake up in the morning after getting lucky."

"Oh, I see. Then what about this?"

Hope unzipped a hanging bag and gently extracted a beautiful cream satin gown with a plunging neckline and slits up the sides. A top layer of satin was gathered into folds down the bodice to finish under a wide satin tie at the waist.

"That's a truly beautiful gown. It must look lovely on?"

"It does, so I've been told."

Hope zipped the garment back up. They then looked into the all-white en-suite with a vase of lavender on the double washbasin bench top and then went down to breakfast. 

After clearing away Hope said it's time they went on a road trip though the district, with a stop in the village to pick up provisions. They would stop briefly at the regional centre, longer if necessary if he wanted to shop or to go to a movie. If he went to a movie she would wander around the shops and then visit the botanical gardens.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 02



"I'm addicted to movies -- so you make the choice. I watch almost anything, including the occasional real blockbuster."

Hope became rather vague for Hope in the short time that Nash has known her. "Oh, I don't really spend time at movies."

Nash looked at her, mouth agape. He'd not been more surprised if she'd just confessed she'd not had sex since conceiving Lisa some twenty-four years ago. "You don't go to the movies?"

Dropping a handful of dog biscuits into Monty's bowl -- he was out roaming the vineyard -- Hope said vaguely, "Some times I used to take the girls when they were kiddies."

"Well I never!"

"Well you never what?"

"You know, Hope."

"Well, if you must know, films really don't interest me. I'd rather be out driving or lying under a tree reading or shopping or traveling. Then there's keeping busy around here, it's a big house."

"And tending to the grapes."

"Oh no, I'm not allowed to touch them under the specific contract I have with the Bronkovic brothers. I am a contract grower."

"Really, I had visions of you pruning from dawn to dusk, spraying and whatever else you do before you begin stomping the juice out of the ripe grapes."

"You pictured me crushing grapes the traditional way, in a white blouse and black skirt with the stain of red grape juice on my legs and going halfway up my thighs? Well I never," she teased, having the satisfaction of seeing her contract writer flush.

"No, I must not touch the vines. My only obligation is to keep them safe from outside interference, e.g. human intruders and to control four-legged vermin."

"Eradicate."

"No, one can't really eradicate rabbits. I thought even a Townie would know that."

"Can we take the Chevy?"

Hope tossed him the keys, asking if he could drive, and received a nod.

"I've been waiting for you to ask, and was rather surprised about not being quizzed about it's history, gear ratios and why dad replaced the original motor and running gear."

Nash said there was plenty of time for that, perhaps when they were relaxing after lunch in the orchard.

Nash opened the passenger door and Hope thanked him, taking the seat and muttering, "I haven't had that ritual done for me for a very long time." It was her turn to flush.

The polite gentleman said nothing because he was busily speculating what other niceties that Hope had not received for a very long time, and he was not even thinking about sex.

Nash felt his juices flow when he pressed the ignition and the distinctive, balanced rhythm of the motor relayed tremors via the steering wheel to his fingers. He glowed with pleasure and realized Hope was studying his expression with a faint smile. She was a complex woman compared with his mother and even the perplexing and currently childless friend of his, Maria Mersey.

Maria, now there was a thought.

Backing out of the garage he could see in the rear vision mirror Monty racing towards them from far away.

"Monty's coming at a gallop," he said. "Do we take him?"

"No, he's on guard duty. He'll accompany us to the cattle-stop at the road frontage but won't come any further," Hope said, using a keypad to set the house alarm and to close the garage door. "Turn right, but look out for vehicles -- young hoons and older men wanting an adrenalin rush use this long stretch of flat road to do the ton."

"One hundred miles an hour?"

"Yes, and the occasionally crazy bastard tries to go even faster."

No vehicles were approaching as they turned left, moving deeper into the valley. Hope said the valley had a micro climate of its own and soils that were conducive to grape growing. Her father had suspected this and had soils tests done and for two years had monitored rainfall, sunshine hours and soil temperatures at six locations along the valley. In the late seventies the first grapes were planted as a trial and by 1982 later a mini-boom in grape-growing in the valley was underway with the Bronkovic brothers establishing a grape crushing operation as a very basic facility.

"Was their mother's name Natasa?"

"Yes," said Hope in surprise. Do you know of her -- of course she'd dead now?"

"That big painting in your dinning room over the dresser -- artist Natasa Bronkovic."

"Of course, you noticed and made the connection. Why has it been that astute employers not managed to capture and hold you?"

"Ah, that's the story of my unhappy life. But today we dwell on something else. This is my first working day, isn't it?"

Hope flushed, saying that he'd been at work since arriving in the cab, getting the feel of the home environment but today was the first formal day at work -- looking and listening. 

They passed the winery, which had a shop for casual wine tastings and sales but no restaurant or winery tours. She said the three brothers were hard workers and shared their late parent's frugal-mindedness.

"Work hard, minimize expenditure, maximize profit and retire just before death very wealthy," Hope sighed, "Just like my father."

She rattled off the names of the families growing grapes, while on the other side of the road were mainly six acre blocks, mostly running dry stock including ponies. Some of the houses were newish and palatial, 'country estates' of city lawyers, accountants, car dealers and financiers.

This seemed curious to Nash, so he expressed that opinion. Hope explained that the original property owner who owned the entire valley until his death in 1979 had noticed that grass grew better on the north-facing side of the valley. When the territorial authority, or county council as it was called in those days, began planning a roadway through the valley the farmer, Trevor Hopkins, intervened. He persuaded the surveying party - with bribes of fillets of prime steak and cartons of beer - to run the road reserve along the edge of the premier part of the valley, meaning the road when constructed would run along the somewhat less fertile land.

"Mr Hopkins's suggestion that the road extension be named Boundary Road was accepted, but the name caused problems as there are other roads named Boundary in the region. The mayor attended dad's funeral and I suggested to him over afternoon tea that it would be a good idea to rename the road Grapeville Road. Max didn't offer much encouragement but months later I read in the local community newspaper that all approvals had been received, allowing the District Council to rename the road Grapeville Road in honor of dad's pioneering work in establishing grape growing in this valley. All of the locals were chuffed with the idea and currently there's quite a push on to get our Te Henui Village -- we're coming up to it now -- renamed Grapeville. Max the mayor says he'd push to get the name changed if we can get someone to open a liquor outlet with restaurant that specializes in local wines and wines of the wider region. I've undertaken to underwrite such a venture if villagers can find somebody capable of running it well and eventually buy me out."

Nash raised his eyebrows at that disclosure but was focused on a more immediate question. "Grapeville-sourced wines -- I never seen them, and there are none in the kitchen in your wine-rack?"

"What did you drink last night at dinner -- did you notice?"

"Yes, Quinn's Table Red, very nice as I said last night."

"Madge and Richard Quinn are retired farmers who live at the upper end of this valley. Each year they commission the Bronkovic brothers to produce 5000 bottles of table red under the Quinn's label which the Quinn's then on-sell to a liquor chain. Richard Quinn is a former commodore of the yacht squadron and remains its patron to this day, so is extremely well known.

"Have you even heard of Te Henui Cartwheel Merlot?"

"Not until I saw bottles on your wine rack."

"If you read the label you would have seen my name."

"What about Montgomery's Reserve Home Paddock Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"Yes, I can't remember drinking it but have read the occasional write up about it as it's considered one of West Auckland's best reds."

"Oh my, you are well informed. So let's extend your education. Te Henui Black Stump Red is no better than what the name promises, but its great value for a wine selling for around nine bucks in supermarkets. It's a blend of wines from this valley, including juice from vines taken off the hill behind my house."

"Oh, no!"

Pointing to a vacant angled parking space while checking her lipstick, Hope smiled and said: "The brain is working is it?"

"Is Monty's proper name Montgomery?"

Snapping her handbag shut Hope nodded and said the block of vines where Nash had his first experience at shooting rabbits exclusively produces the juice for Montgomery's Cab/Sav. 

"That block is Monty's special domain -- he fertilizers it each morning at dawn, and then tries with very limited success to eradicate its rabbit population. It's the premiere wine of this valley, though truthfully that's not saying much. It's difficult to find because devotees pre-order most of it. The brothers want me to allow them to bend in cab/sav juice from adjoining blocks but they're not Monty's patch. Dad knew about that particular piece of ground from old Trevor Hopkins. Dad purchased 200 acres -- it was acres not hectares in those days -- and built our house there on the site he named it Home Paddock, as Bessie my pony grazed there.

"Why would a busy vet want to buy 200 acres?"

"Because he had a vision -- dad ignored the people who laughed; he reckoned within ten years this would be one of the newest grape growing areas in New Zealand. I'd become dad's secretary/receptionist after finishing high school He wanted me to go straight on to university and become a vet, but at the time I didn't like the idea of sticking scalpels into animals. He grew table grapes where B-Block is now located behind the house where it's sheltered. I set up a stall at the gate and eventually people were coming from the city to buy our table grapes. That's how I developed my expensive tastes, as dad gave me all the money from grape sales which I spend it on dresses for myself and presents for mum and dad. At this stage mum was not living with us and died soon afterwards from complications after an operation. I adored Natasa's paintings and in 1970 I paid her one hundred and twenty hundred pounds for that painting in the dining room and gave it to dad at Christmas when he was getting over his failed marriage. Everyone who knew about the purchase thought I was mad paying that much, but Natasa and I knew better. That painting was valued last year for insurance purposes at $18,000. It's considered to be Natasa's finest work and a woman gallery owner in Sydney who knows of its existence, has offered me much more than that, but it's not for sale as it's dad's painting."

Jesus, thought Nash. Is there no end to this women's complicated outlook even when it involves people who are dead? If his mother died he'd sell all of her things and buy himself a 1939 Chevy pickup and get a conversion done.

Sell everything? Er, well right now he was not quite sure. He'd have to find out more about why to some degree Hope was living her life as if her deceased mother and father were still with her. And why in the hell would anyone name her dog Montgomery? And did the Chevy have a name? He'll inquire at the appropriate moment.

While Hope went upstairs above a shop to see her accountant, Nash surveyed the one-street shopping area. He counted twelve what he judged to be retail shops, a small medical centre and four other premises occupied by consultants that appeared to have once been shops. At the end of the village was a car and tractor service outfit with fuel pumps and opposite that were a veterinarian and a big farm and agricultural supply depot.

The busiest retailers were the grocery, the butcher's shop and a combined bookshop/Lotto agency, chemist and flower shop in that order. A clothing shop had one customer and right in front of him was a coffee shop with no customers, only a young waitress with her arms folded staring at him. Feeling a hormone surge, Nash grabbed the open neck of his shirt in both hands and pulled it apart, giving her the loutish signal, 'Show me yer tits.'

She looked at him with an unchanged expression at boredom at first, then grinned and for a moment Nash thought she was going to display her rather well-bundled package. Instead the girl who looked about twenty gave him the fingers, laughed and walked back behind the counter to serve a customer arriving at the doorway.

"Come and we'll grab coffee and a cake," called Hope who was that customer. 

Replying "Good one" Nash was embarrassed as really coffee and cakes didn't seem such a good idea after his indiscretion outside the window, but Hope was already up at the counter selecting her snack. He went in, head bowed, hoping that the young woman would be too busy at the coffee machine to notice him. But she did, winking at him.

"I've ordered your coffee, choose something to eat," called Hope walking to a table.

"So you are Nash -- mum's told me about you, saying some of the women at the golf club were joking about taking you into the women's restroom for a line-up. Mum said she would try lining you up for me."

Nash dropped his bacon muffin, the plate shattering on the floor. He knelt down and began picking up the pieces.

"Oh, butter fingers are we?" commented the waitress, rushing around the bar with a small brush and broom. She bent down from the waist right in front of Nash, so that his eyes had no place to look but right down the gaping neck of her shirt. Pert twin cones with a glimpse of nipples filled his vision.

"Alayna Tait, this is my house guest, Nash Carson. I think your mother is right, you two will have so much in common."

"Thank you, Mrs Honeybun. Perhaps I could come and sleepover some time?"

"Whenever you wish, my dear; what about this weekend? I'm going to the summer flower show in Hamilton and will stay there overnight with a friend. You could come over and cook dinner for Nash."

"I-I-I need to g-g-o home and see m-mum," stammered Nash.

"You'll have to excuse him, Alayna. He's not yet used to the openness of country people. But that's a great idea -- you come on Saturday and fix dinner and on Sunday go into the city with Nash and you both can take his mother for a spin in the Chevy. It seats three on the bench seat, with seatbelts for three."

"Yes," that will be great. We close here at 1:00 on Saturdays, so about that time Nash walk over to our place for a swim in our pool -- don't worry about the bulls; they are pussies at this time of year. I'll be home about 1:15; I'll try to keep mum inside the house as she rather fancies you."

Nash turned brick red.

"She's a tease, Nash," Hope said softly

More customers had arrived so Alayna went to attend to them. While chatting with Hope Nash managed to look at Alayna three times, and twice she caught his glance. She had long brown hair tied in a cute pony tail, lots of freckles, a wide mouth, an infectious smile and was quite slender except for her chest. Although not pretty she had an easy personality. In fact, all the right credentials for a good lay; yes please!

"She's got a reputation for being a choosy and excellent bed companion, Nash. I've so pleased as she's given you the green light."

Nash dropped his head, and Hope became concerned. "What is it, Nash?"

"Well...it's...it's...."

"It's what, Nash?"

He took the plunge, saying it was rather like committing adultery.

"With whom?" Hope asked, genuinely interested that apparently there was a woman in his life. She felt ashamed that she'd not thought of asking him, taking it for granted that he was a loner.

"I'd rather not say."

Hope thought about that for a moment and slowly turned pink.

"Me?"

He nodded.

Hope turned scarlet: "Nash, for God's sake. I'm old enough to be you mother. I haven't giving you the slightest encouragement as far as I am aware."

"I apologize, Hope. I have no wish to offend. I think about sex several times a day and now you are in my thoughts. It's just happened, and there's nothing I can do about it. I have no intention of doing anything about it, but if you can't live with this unintentional revelation just say so, and I'll walk away."

"My dear boy, I'm not offended. In fact, now I think about it, I'm rather flattered. But just let's keep our relationship on an even keel, huh? Think about me as much as you wish; think dirty about me if you like. But just don't lay a hand on me-- not even a finger," said Hope, unable to restrain from giggling at the thought of that. What I really mean is don't touch me with sexual intentions in mind. Am I making myself clear?"

"Very clear, and I shall have no problem acceding to your wishes."

"Good boy. Rut with Alayna and get this thing with me out of your mind. She'll love that, but don't get too attached to her, Nash. She's a lovely girl but rather over-sexed and don't think she will be yours exclusively, if you know what I mean. That reminds me, you will need protection. Do you have any with you?"

Nash shook his head.

"I thought as much," sighed Hope. "So many men are too shy to buy condoms. I'll get you a good supply later this morning at the regional centre. My bank's branch in the mall is open on Saturday mornings; I would like you to accompany me. Have you an EPFOS card with you and another form of identification."

"Yes, drivers' license."

"Good, I shall transfer $500 dollars into your account for this Friday's payment and sign an auto-transfer to become effective from next Friday."

"But I have been with you only less than three complete days this week."

"Well, consider it's your lucky day, Nash, in more ways than one, and even I feel it's my lucky day to some degree. We must fly, don't forget to give Alayna an affectionate farewell."

"Goodbye, Alayna," called Hope, and they exchanged waves.

Nash stood at the cash registered, and Alayna came to him.

"Hi, Nash. It's all fixed, Mrs Honeybun paid."

"I know, I just came to say goodbye," said Nash, reaching across the counter to shake her hand.

Alayna licked her lips, reached over and pulled him towards her and gave him the sweetest of kisses.

"Now off you go. Oh, you'll be having late lunch at my place Saturday."

Hope was standing outside and handed Nash a notebook.

"You must not be with me without a notebook and pen," she said. "I'll drive to the shopping centre in Henderson while you write up things you remember from this morning, but leave out Alayna -- just background stuff and family names."

"Oh look at you, Alayna's plastered your face with lipstick. Stand still for a minute."

Hope wet her lace handkerchief with the tip of her tongue and gently rubbed at Nash's mouth. He closed his eyes, no longer prepared to look at the fully covered heaving bosom just in front of his eyes. Now that really was a real pair of tits. Despite having his eyes closed, he felt movement below his belt. Fortunately he was spared embarrassment as she finished the clean-up quickly. Hope unlocked the passenger door for him and smiled at his surprise as having the door held open for him.

"We country girls have class," she said, locking eyes and not blinking.

After clearing away after dinner that evening, Hope invited Nash to relax on one of the sofas in the lounge.

"Sprawl out and I'll fetch liqueurs."

Hope handed Nash a smallish glass producing an enticing fragrance.

"What is it?"

"Enjoy -- it's Glayva Scotch Whisky Liqueur over ice. Glayva means 'very good' in Scots Gaelic."

"Hmmm. Exceedingly nice. Thank you madam."

They chatted, Hope enjoying having a house guest to exercise her conversational skills. While Monty was very good company, he was a rather mute companion although a fair listener. This was her chance to find whether Nash had substance beyond his slick one-liners and casual comments.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 02



"Your mother, as I understand from what you've told me, owns a small house on a small site in the city. In contrast, I have all this with the closes house three hundred yards away. How do you feel about this inequality socially, politically and economically?"

"Why do you assume I should be bothered to think such things?"

"If an attractive young woman you were hoping to impress were to ask that same question, would you answer as you've just answered me?"

"Oh dear, how can I refuse an acid-tongued older woman scratching like a chicken investigating to see whether she can uncover any philosophical and-or political morsels that may determine new frontiers?"

Hope squirmed, saying she was only making conversation but that response seemed to lack conviction. She attempted to cover up by asking Nash to answer the question graciously.

"Politically, my mother and I are poles apart. She wants to see everyone enjoying good health, equal opportunities with the rich people accepting they must be taxed for redistribution to the poor. A devout socialist is my mother Rose. While not wishing anyone poor health, I am aware that many of us foolishly contribute to our future poor health through bad living; no Government is ever going to eradicate that personal ineptitude in a democratic society. I don't wish to see everyone being given equal opportunity artificially through socialistic tinkering as that would destroy our social fabric, as taken to the ultimate there would be no poor and, as a result of fiscal plundering, no rich either. Some people deal with opportunities better than others -- and I would suggest that Rose and I, although not in your class, would probably do better than average because we are not short on drive and aspirations."

Sipping more Scotch, he continued: "Economically, neither Rose nor I would resent you being a person of far greater substance than ourselves. Just as some people run faster than others, swim faster than others and dance better than offers, some people grow their assets better than others and our society needs top producers like that -- but don't expect the bottom third of society to believe that fact of life. However, the true answer to your question lies neither in political nor economic reasoning. It's entirely a social based answer. If Rose uprooted herself to live alone in solitude she would wilt, truly. My mother is garrulous, community minded and simple-minded person, which explains why she became a country and western singer rather than an opera singer, leaving talent aside. She knows virtually everyone living within a hundred yards of her house, and they know her because she takes an interest in them. That's her way. Mum could never live an isolated life. End of story."

Hope looked at Nash closely. "Wow, well said. I was a little shocked to hear you referring to Rose as being simple-minded but in the context I got the point you were making."

"Thank you; next question."

"Well, um, I'm interested in this one: what is your attitude towards women? I am not expecting to be shocked, as you interact very nicely with me."

Nash stroked his chin, wondering what this question was really about, but was unable to decide. "They rate highly with me because they are sex objects, and don't gasp like that because fundamentally that's one of their primary functions. I like women who like men which explains why I object to those women who attempt to arbitrarily change the traditional social role of women as social re-engineering rarely works. Imagine changing natural blondes into the superior class of women at the expense of brunettes and then having to listen to dumb brunette jokes? That's meant to be a titivating analogy, not a learned profundity. On the other hand, people attempting to address unacceptable social inequalities between either sex are to be applauded."

He smiled. "I think by now you get my drift. I believe women should be women, and not attempt to either be men or to supplant men. I love my mother and think she is a fine woman. It is she who influenced my attitudes towards women, and for that I am grateful. Now, I've had a lovely day and evening with you and if you are a kind woman, as I really think you are, you will now let me go to my bed as I'm tuckered out."

"Of course," Hope said, standing up. "Come here and kiss me good night."

They hugged and Nash kissed her gently on the ear above her gold drop ear-ring. "You are a perfect hostess."

"Of course, I am a woman!"

"Will you tell me about the Chevy tomorrow?"

Hope sighed.

"Yes, but you need everything in perspective. First you must hear about my father. Now off you go."

"Goodnight."

"Sweet dreams."

* * *

Lying awake, thinking about the book, Hope rejuvenated some of the memories of her father -- either experienced with him or related by him. When she began talking about her father tomorrow Nash was bound to begin interrogating her. With the curtain windows, just stirring in the evening breeze and lit by the glow of the half moon, Hope stared at the ceiling and let her mind drift.

The next day after lunching on a mixed lettuce salad tossed with various chopped fresh fruits and cashew nuts, Hope and Nash lay on their sun loafers -- the backs of which at Hope's suggestion were propped up to aid digestion. Nash turned on the digital disc recorder that Hope had given him. She presented the condensed version of her father's life in the valley, warning that it would be crammed with detail.

In 1969 Cedric James Honeybun arrived at Te Henui, named after a river valley now without a river, as the waterway had been diverted during the Great Flood of 1949 to flow on a new course to the north-east.

Cedric, then aged fifty, was looking for a couple of acres on which to build a house and to re-establish his veterinary practice that originally had been located on the town fringe, but then gradually become over-run by urban sprawl. He ran a country practice with a receptionist as well as a field technician to help with heavier animals and doing the running and fetching. He had no interest in changing into an urban vet specializing -- as he said repeatedly -- in dealing with the neurotic felines of elderly women or the expiring canaries of retired clergymen. 

Land on both sides of the western end of the valley was owned by one of his clients, Trevor Hopkins, a fourth generation farmer who was rather well beyond retiring age. Cedric called on Trevor and they talked over a whisky bottle. It turned out that Trevor was interested in Cedric's quest for land as he'd planned to divest some of his property holdings. He pulled out a subdivision scheme plan.

Pointing to a block on the scheme at the far end of the valley, closest to Henderson, the elderly farmer urged Cedric to buy that piece -- all two hundred acres of it. He reckoned it was the best piece of land in the entire valley as grass grew faster than anywhere else and it never really dried out during summer droughts like it did even on the block opposite. 

A couple of hours later Cedric, a tall, fleshy faced but quite handsome man with a thickening waist and long, unruly auburn hair, drove away feeling very satisfied. Trevor had undertaken to arrange with his solicitor to draw up a sale and purchase agreement with the cost of surveying the two hundred acres to be included in the agreed sale price, as well as all costs for approvals of the subdivision through to and including issue of title. The purchase was dependent on the issue of title.

Cedric's wife Sally was dismayed that he'd purchased a farm while Hope -- then a young teenager -- was thrilled at the prospect of grazing her horse Silver on their own farm instead of having to forage in the present rental paddock shared with two other horses. 

There was a row, with Sally demanding where would they get the money to buy a farm and Cedric insisting she was not to worry about money. He had money. Sally had demanded that he tell her how much money, but Cedric said she knew the rule: his money was his business, just as what she did with her personal monthly allowance from him was her business as well as the money she'd inherited from her mother's estate.

In the past year Cedric had received low-key enquiries about selling his house and detached office, so he contacted the appraiser who'd made the most recent approach. The appraiser said that developers were quietly buying up property for a proposed regional shopping centre and he'd let it be known that the property was available. Cedric used a golfing friend who was a real estate agent to broker the deal and received a price that almost stunned him: enough to buy the 200 acres plus pay the architect's fees to design his new family house and probably to complete the foundations and basement as well. He already had more than enough money saved from his lucrative specialty in veterinary work -- horses -- to complete the relocation project.

Before the house was completed, the feuding Cedric and Sally had separated and the following year she died of double pneumonia after a lung operation. Hope was aged fifteen; she and her father had always been close, but she told Nash her 'biographer' they really bonded after Sally's death.

Three weeks after the funeral Cedric handed Hope a check for five thousand pounds and told her it was all arranged for her to go to live with his sister in England and get herself a good education. It was a very tempting offer but Hope decided she would rather stay at home and look after him; Cedric was flattered by the loyalty of the young teenager so established a trust for her, seeding it with that five thousand pounds.

Completing high school, without distinction in marks or merit awards, Hope holidayed in Australia with another of Cedric's three sisters for three weeks and on her return announced she wanted to work as his assistant receptionist, with the intention of taking over when he thought she was ready for the responsibility.

For them, it was a perfect arrangement because they worked so naturally as a team. Later Cedric tried to persuade his daughter to attend university and then try to enter vet training, but Hope was not at all interested in becoming a vet. She half completed her degree, went overseas and returned to complete her degree and undergo teacher training. She married her school teacher boss Albert Wilson, and went to live in his rented home in Avondale.

Meanwhile, keeping up to date about development of grape-growing areas in such places as Poverty Bay, the Hawkes Bay, Wairarapa, Blenheim and Otago, Cedric began developing his vision of the whole of the valley floor and northern hillsides being covered in grape vines. Eventually he commissioned soil tests, which proved to be very encouraging and a consultant set up six weather recording stations for Cedric to monitor. Most of Cedric's holding was farmed on short-term leases by neighbors including Basil Tait. At this stage Cedric did not have a longer-term plan for land he owned other than hoping it would be suitable for grape growing.

The secret he'd shared with Hope was that the soil tests had been very encouraging, that the land was shallow clays over a base layer of silt -- the consultant's report stated, "revealing a soil structure closely resembling newer areas of West Auckland having being converted most successfully into viticulture in recent times." Cedric said if test drillings to find artesian water for irrigation and the weather monitoring confirmed to be conducive for viticulture -- as old Mr Hopkins was adamant it would -- then Hope could expect to see the valley change remarkably within the next five years.

Like other visionaries in this world, Cedric the highly regarded vet, very competitive golfer and well-known womanizer, became a bit of a joke in the district for his unshakable belief that one day the whole valley would be green with vines laden with grapes.

Hope was aware, more or less, that her father chased after women or was it women chased after her father? She wasn't sure and didn't try to find out as it didn't bother her. 

Suddenly, in 1980 it was all on. One night in bed Cedric let slip to a Mrs Pope that the trial block was providing to be 'a cracker'. Two nights later Jennifer Pope unintentionally passed on that information at the golf club Sunday evening dinner and within hours the news had spread around the district and the rush by farmers to get their old river flats and sunny paddocks tested for grape growing potential was urgently pursued. Big money was offered for Cedric's valley flats.

Old Mr Hopkins, who by this time was very frail, had worked on the council to get a new road through the valley as he intended opening up hillside land with further subdivisions into smaller grazing blocks. Cedric called in his own surveyors to produce a subdivision scheme for the rest of his land, dividing it into eighteen blocks. The scheme was approved by the council so he had the survey completed and the blocks registered into separate titles -- the nine lots of better north-facing land were registered in his name, the other nine on somewhat inferior land on the other side of the road were registered in Hope's name and he formed Te Henui Holdings Limited, with himself and Hope as directors.

One of Hope's lots contained a rocky outcrop at the rear but the frontage ran parallel to the road and was practically flat for some distance inland until rising to the outcrop. Hope, who was staying with Cedric with her baby for a couple of nights while her husband was at a school principals' seminar, had written on the subdivision plan with a red pen, 'Juice extraction plant and later winery' Entertaining a new 'friend' that evening, Cedric looked at the notation on the subdivision plan on his desk when showing Mrs Holmes around the house and smiled, At supper he said to Hope that no-one would set up a winery in the valley.

"Not until you ask someone to set one up, and sell them the idea," interjected Mrs Holmes, a legal secretary whose husband, a solicitor, currently attending at a law conference in Canada which is why she was looking for someone like Cedric.

The years passed. Hope returned to live with Cedric after her marital bust-up, and changed back to her maiden name of Honeybun. One evening Cedric came home smelling of whisky and perfume and announced that earlier that day he'd signed a contract to have two acres by the house developed into a trial vineyard. Consultants had been most impressed with the table grapes growing behind the house on marginally poorer land and were staggered by the amount of money from the sale of table grapes that had gone either into Hope's pocket for clothes, or into her trust account. After listening to her father and Hope made a most amazing offer to him -- at least that's how he later described it to Hope. She invited Cedric to occasionally bring one of his women friends home for the night, but to select ones that were unlikely to land him in big trouble. She said he should not be out prowling like a tom cat when he had a very large bedroom to bounce around in.

The idea appealed to Cedric, so he decided to set up a pull-out bed for Hope in the basement office to use when he had female company overnight. The next day the still very pleased vet lodged ten thousand pounds into his daughter's trust account, partly because she was so kind about his friendships with women but also because she had undertaken to do almost everything around the house, including his ironing and washing.

Soon Hope had befriended a number of her father's females, sometimes meeting them for coffee in the village. From the arrival of the first one she made it her duty to make them feel at home, and to relax. She began bringing the man home herself, so Cedric installed a wider and stronger pull-out bed for her. Hope's male friends tended to head down the driveway at dawn, preferring to avoid meeting 'the father'.

That first woman Cedric brought home was Mrs Bronkovic. Natasa Bronkovic was considerably younger than Cedric; the two women already knew each other from art group. Natasa appeared terrified at seeing Hope waiting to greet here like a hostess, or perhaps Natasa was visualizing the reception was just like coming face to face with the madam of an European brothel.

Hope invited Natasa to sit down and said how wonderful it was for her father to have women friends who were willing to share his interest. She left the room and returned with a trolley loaded with coffee, cakes and bottles of wine and a bottle of whisky. Natasa was profoundly impressed. Hope then announced she was off to bed, kissed her father and smiling warmly told Natasa that she was must have breakfast with them in the morning and that set the pattern for the entertainment of Cedric's ladies.

After that evening when Hope next saw Natasa there was no embarrassment between them. Now, with that comment of Mrs Holmes -- 'Ask someone to set up a winery and sell them the idea' -- Hope decided to visit Natasa. Natasa (spelt without an 'h') was intrigued why Hope would want to visit her so suggested she come right away. So armed with her subdivision plan Hope took the first steps of her first business venture.

Natasa was thrilled with the approach, and thought her three young sons who worked in different wineries would be interested to hear Hope's plan to bring them together and with the prospect of eventually working for themselves fulltime. She agreed to set up a family meeting but advised Hope to bring her father as men liked doing business with men, especially men like her sons with Dalmatian blood. But Hope remained firm, either they did business with her or she'd go to someone else. Natasa said she would talk sternly to her sons and ask them to behave like real men.

The talks were a success, with the sons agreeing to start up a wine pressing operation as soon as sufficient tonnage was available. Eighteen months after that meeting the business was operational, with the Bronkovic brothers taking out loans to buy all the plant and machinery for juice extraction while leasing both the land and building from Hope, with an agreement to progressively buy shares in Te Henui's subsidiary company, Te Henui Winery Ltd, until they owned the winery and its block of land outright.

Cedric had been delighted with the development of Hope's business acumen, advising when he could, and providing an interest-free loan to top up her trust money for site development and construction of the building. By this time all of Cedric's nine leased lots were in staged development, averaging 2300 vines per hectare. 

Hope paused to warn Austin that hereon the history took significant turns. The decision to set up the first stage of a winery did not go unnoticed and Tremain Hausman, a pugnacious 'gentleman farmer' who spent more of his time at the tavern than on the farming estate inherited by his wife Catherine, approached Cedric, announcing he wanted to negotiate to take a shareholding in the fledging winery operation. His suggestion was to form a company and that Cedric and himself each take up a forty percent shareholding in the land and winery, with Catherine and Hope taking up ten percent each.

Catherine Hausman was now very wealthy, being the sole beneficiary of her parent's estate -- the former 29,000 acre farm of her father, Trevor Hopkins, having been cut up and mostly sold off prior to his death. Trevor had gifted 400 acres of valley land and northern slopes to his daughter, now managed by her husband, and some of that land appeared very suitable for grape growing. Catherine, whose ability as an artist had been discovered and encouraged by the Natasa Bronkovic, had taken a fine arts degree at university and now painted fulltime. With really no interest in the land she left the decision-making to Tremain.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 02



Tremain's undisclosed goal, according to what Hope told Austin, was to be the biggest individual grape-grower in West Auckland. As he developed 'his' land, he proposed buying out smaller suppliers. He realized the key to his ambition was to control the valley's wine production facility, so approached the Bronkovic brothers as operators, who refused to discuss such business with him, saying he should consult the Honeybuns.

Hope was in Australia at the time so Cedric listened to proposal and said such a proposal was impracticable because his daughter Hope who owned the land on where the winery was being developed and currently owned eight-five percent of the winery.

At that disclosure Tremain lost his temper and said he didn't want to be involved with what he called 'a spoilt brat like Cedric's daughter.' Well then, said Cedric, he had no wish of being involved in business with someone who bad-mouthed Hope. That concluded the discussion and he made it clear there was no likelihood of talks between them ever been resumed.

Tremain, his face dark and his jaw tight, said he'd build his own winery and take suppliers away from the Te Henui Winery, unaware that the Bronkovic brothers had growers tied in to very amicable supply contracts. Tremain boasted he'd show Cedric what big money could really do and within the decade he'd dominate wine-making in the valley and local growers would not renew with the Te Henui winery when contacts expired because they would want to associate with the far superior Hausman Winery which he would have built.

As the supply of grapes throughout the valley increased, the Bronkovic brothers stepped up their involvement at their juice extraction operation, the source of finance for which was substantially from Cedric and Hope. The youngest brother Marko went off to Adelaide to complete a diploma in oenology on the advice of a marketing consultant, who argued that today marketing was all about quality, prestige, technical excellence and acquired reputation. None of the Bronkovic brothers wished to 'go back to school' but as the idea of buying in an academically qualified winemaker long term did not appeal, the two older brothers decided Marko, then aged twenty-two and who had attended university for almost a year before quitting, was the best choice. 

As the winery occupied only a tiny portion of the lot leased by the Bronkovic brothers, -- Hope leased back the remainder and had it developed into forestry.

A real community spirit began generating in the valley as more and more families arrived to become involved in growing and tending the vines or underpinning the expanding service industry based at the village. Although valley life continued at a fairly even tempo, the inevitable ups and downs occurred. A series crisis -- initially kept secret from the wider community ¬-- erupted when Ana, wife of the second-oldest Bronkovic brothers, who had been thought to be barren, became pregnant. Under duress she pointed at Cedric as being the boy's father. 

There was a great to-do but Hope emerged strong, with Natasa's support, and negotiated a settlement involving the infant's future welfare just as Ana and her son Anton were about to be cast out of the family. It was agreed that a six acre block of Cedric's land opposite the winery would pass into the ownership of Anton, when he turned twenty-five.

Hope also suggested that her father be banned from the winery, and her partnership with her father be dissolved and she would take over the partnership loans to the Bronkovic brothers. After long discussion the brothers returned to the negotiating table to face Hope and Natasa, who was sitting with Hope to keep the exhausted young woman awake.

The brothers agreed to accept the package as offered with the proviso that Cedric hand back Natasa's painting that Hope had purchased a year earlier for his birthday. There was a pregnant pause and Hope rose to her feet, re-energized. She smiled and then proceeded to give the brothers a tongue-lashing for being arrogant, macho males -- no, the painting would not be handed back, it was now a Honeybun family painting. Then she applied a new condition after being told something during the earlier break in negations. The condition was unless mother and child were free to remain within the Bronkovic's extended family; there would be no final agreement.

Out went the brothers again, this time taking their mother with them. Finally the four of them stood in the doorway. Natasa, as spokesperson, looked at the exhausted Hope and said solemnly, "Agreed. We are no longer in dispute."

As agreed, the husband took back his wayward wife after Natasa slapped him and said he had been the problem over conception, and this son -- her second eldest -- looked at his wife and fell head over heels in love with her again. Drago did not, however, regard the son as his own.

Word swept through the valley that there had been a major confrontation between the Bronkovic's and the Honeybuns and the brothers were hailed by valley vineyard workers and winery staff and growers for standing up to the Honeybuns. Although the brothers basked in this adulation, their respect for Hope Honeybun had increased enormously.

Although news about the illegitimate son leaked out and of Cedric's regular 'ladies' abandoned him, other women took their places eager to be associated with this ageing man with a growing regulation for his virility. Rumors spread about another 'out of wedlock' offspring.

Resolving that initial confrontation left Hope with an increased burden of debt although potentially so did her wealth, at least on paper. Soon after, the community began to acknowledge Hope. As she drove into the village people tended to stand aside, waving her ahead to be served next. She was invited to become patron of the district horticultural society, which she accepted, so then the golf club invited her to become co-patron, which she accepted, although never having hit a golf ball in her life until then. 

Life continued being good to her and two years later a deputation called on her, inviting Hope to stand for a vacancy on the county council, but she declined, saying it was just not her thing to sit through meeting after meeting. So the president of the village Retail and Professional Association resigned and Hope was invited to stand, unopposed, for election as the 1983 president, and she was elected and continued holding that post for the next eight years. Before long the young mother of three was acknowledged as the district's leading woman, and the reference to Hope as being 'unofficial mayor' began to stick.

Another of Cedric's indiscretions later surfaced, with Hope once again arranging for the transfer of a six acre block of prime vineyard land being transferred to the illegitimate child at the age of twenty five. This child was Eloise, the daughter of Brigitte, wife of Chaney Moreau who the Bronkovic brothers brought in from France to be winemaker for the first three vintages at Te Henui Winery. When it was time for Marko to takeover, Chaney moved out and later returned to become chief winemaker at the new Hausman winery.

The end for Cedric came after he was diagnosed as having incurable cancer and was dead not quite three years later, aged 72. Hope was the sole beneficiary and understandable for quite some time suitors began to call, so two German Shepherd dogs joined the ageing Montgomery 1V and his pup, the present Montgomery V behind the now locked steel gate at the cattle stop. 

"Well, that's the story," Hope yawned, rising from her chair. "I'll fetch a cool drink and some fruit, and then I'll tell you about Rupert."

"Rupert -- you have a brother?"

"No, silly; be patient and you'll find out."

Walking up to the kitchen, Hope thought about those pesky 'gentlemen callers' who had arrived to offer her romance. Not long after they faded from the scene Hope began her very convenient 'weekends away' as the guest of personable men who wanted only her body. As such men tended to be 'happily married' that explained the difference between them and suitors, a distinction that suited Hope just fine. It never occurred to her that she was underpinning a Honeybun tradition established by her beloved father. Of course she has no intention of relating this little secret of hers to Nash. Hope sighed; it was her secret and would remain so.

However, eventually, Hope would find that questions concerning her possibly sexual activity already occupied a niche in the mind of her contract writer. Nash planned to be discreet with that particular probe, deciding to question three people -- Alayna and her mother Maggie and Hope's youngest daughter Lisa. If they would not help then he'd have to cast around to try to find past or even current lovers, a quest he'd rather avoid. Perhaps the brothers at the winery could help him. The alternative was to ask Hope outright at the risk of getting his ears boxed and being run off the property.

To Be Continued...



Valley of Sinners Ch. 03



SO FAR: A jobless and sensitive young man becomes innocently associated with a bubbling woman in her late forties who lives alone on a vineyard out of Auckland, New Zealand. Nash is attracted because she drives a beautifully re-built and upgraded 1939 Chevy pick-up and draws him from his ‘shell’ with ease. Hope Honeybun’s interest in young Mr Carson is that he writes a little and seems to have a worldly sense so installs him downstairs as resident author and commissions him to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley. Nash hears without interest the development of the valley and about her lusty father and his women and reasons he must probe to find out about Hope’s sex life. It appears this is a Valley of Sinners.

* 

Still out in the orchard, Hope continued to give background to her young ‘biographer’ who has been listening to the development of the valley into a wine-making area with sordid tidbits of interest as well.

The story of the Honeybun Chevy is treasured by Hope and she knows it well, having heard it told by her deceased father many, many times and read and reread the vehicle log and entries in Cedric’s diary as she’d loved hearing about how the charismatic vehicle, as her father used to call it, came into the family.

When Cedric Honeybun went into Te Henui Valley in February 1969 to find a piece of land to buy, it was logical to call on farmer Trevor Hopkins, whose land encompassed much of the valley and beyond it for some distance on both sides. The men knew each other quite well.

During a break in yarning and downing whiskies, Trevor suggested they take a drive over to the back where he had an ailing horse grazing in a sheltered area beside a stream that ultimately fed into Te Henui River to the north-west.

They drove off in a 1956 Holden ute (Australian for utility vehicle), with Trevor admiring the aging vehicle, commenting that it must be almost run into the ground. Trevor disagreed, saying that ‘the old girl’ would last him out. In fact he’d traded it in for a new 1965 Ford pick-up, but within three weeks had traded it back in to the dealer and Trevor re-purchased his Holden. It seemed that glamour and horsepower was not everything to Trevor.

Cedric could find nothing wrong with the horse except it was slowly winding down as it was well into its twilight years, approaching thirty.

On the return back to the whisky bottle, Trevor diverted and stopped at collapsing hay shed. Inside they looked at a vehicle that had been Trevor’s father’s pride and joy – a 1939 American Chevrolet pick-up, built in Oakland, California. Trevor recalled when he first saw the Chevy it was beautifully painted in Boatswain blue with black mudguards. 

Cedric couldn’t take his eyes off the rusting vehicle despite it looking almost as decrepit as the shed housing it. It was dusty, infiltrated with bits of hay and rats’ nests, the tires were perished and falling off the rims and one detachable headlight was missing. Trevor noted Cedric’s interest and said nothing until they were seated in the homely kitchen again, with his wife Katie pouring tea and handing them freshly-made scones, still warm enough to melt the thick covering of butter.

Trevor asked what Cedric had been thinking when he’d been ‘kicking tires’. Oh, just what an old beauty she’d look if she were rebuilt, was the reply.

They commenced discussing Cedric’s search for a suitable piece of land to build a house incorporating a clinic with a couple of acres for a big garden, fruit trees and room to graze the pony of his daughter, Hope. Trevor then made the suggestion that Cedric should buy the choice piece at the south-eastern end of the valley but take a larger slab as an investment as it was becoming fashionable for city folk to want to live in the country not too far from the city.

That sounded a good idea to Cedric but he couldn’t decide how much land to purchase. Aware that the conversation was bogging down, Katie suggested two hundred acres sounded a nice size so the men negotiated a price and shook on the deal. Trevor then added that if Cedric were interested, he could cart away the old pick-up for the price of a couple of bottles of whisky. Cedric didn’t know if he were that interested. Katie also sorted that one out, saying if he removed the vehicle she could torch the shed, as it was an eye-sore.

The next day Cedric arrived as a passenger in a truck towing a vehicle retrieval trailer. The men, assisted by Trevor and his two farmhands, hauled the Chevy aboard and it was taken to a friend of Trevor’s who’d already restored two veteran cars. This friend was always in perpetual motion, something that retirement and creeping age had not yet managed to inhibit. Maurice Agnew was a former motor mechanic and with a complete restoration and a recent rebuild under his belt, looked over the Chevy with interest. His prognosis was that the motor would be seized and would need rebuilding, but the chassis and bodywork of the vehicle was in surprisingly good condition. As it would need rewiring it would be best to convert it to 12-volt.

After the lengthy inspection with not too many tut-tuts, the beaming Maurice and Cedric sat in the garden sipping beer, with Cedric thinking about which way to answer Maurice’s question – a complete, authentic restoration or simply a refurbishment with a complete modernization under the bonnet and right through to the back suspension.

Cedric couldn’t decided, so Maurice asked him what were his plans for the vehicle – to enter it in veteran and vintage vehicle events, to use it for Sunday drives or to use it for everyday driving? Well, Cedric thought he’d like a grunty, reliable vehicle with a comfortable interior to use every day, so chose the modernization option but leaving the exterior still looking authentic. He thought he’d like the exterior painted fire engine red and the seat covered in tan leather.

Right, said Maurice, rubbing his hands with glee, asking Cedric for a check for two thousand dollars, adding he’d begin the round of wreckers’ yards in the morning. Come back in a year’s time, or sooner if he wanted to view progress and not to forget to bring some beer, Cedric was told.

Cedric waited for a month before returning, a crate of beer in the tray of his year-old Holden ute. He boggled at what he saw – everything was in pieces. In the middle of the workshop was just the chassis of his vehicle. It had been sandblasted, repaired, rebolted with new bolts and repainted. The cab was in one corner of the garage, the pick-up box in another and between them were stacked various bits and pieces. On one wall were a series of photographs of the vehicle as it had been received, and recording progress as it had been stripped down. Many of the photos were extreme close-ups. But what caught Cedric’s attention was a colored enlargement of one of 15,500 Chevy pickups that were produced in the 1939 model year. His eyes lit up as he said the image was better than he’d imagined.

Maurice was pleased, asked for a beer, and said it was time to talk of about replacement motor to drop in and whether it was Cedric’s desire to have one that could be mated to a three or a four-speed manual gearbox or did he want auto transmission. Um, replied Cedric, saying he’d fetch the crate of beer from the ute.

Cedric eventually left the mechanical decisions to Maurice. The original 216 cu. in. 6-cylinder engine was replaced with a 1963 Corvette 327 cub. in. small block Chevrolet V8 engine, producing 340 hp, mated to a four-speed Borg Warner gear box.

The months passed and finally the long awaited phone call was received by Cedric when he was at a farm gelding a stroppy young stallion. The Chevy was ready to be handed over. 

In years to come, Hope and Cedric would be sitting on the deck or in the orchard during summer evenings or in front of the fire during winter time after dinner and if conversation lapsed, he would occasionally re-tell the history of the Chevy. His eyes would glisten when he’d come to this part.

Being driven to Maurice’s home by Natasa Bronkovic, Cedric could not remember feeling happier since the birth of Hope. He felt very excited as he’d not seen the vehicle for many weeks; Maurice had called him in to view the first of six coats of red paint that he’d spray over the cab and pickup tray and over the inside of some of the cab. Coats of lacquer would then be applied, but Maurice warned that it was a bad choice of color as it would require redoing every few years because red paint faded quite quickly. He conceded, however, the Chevy would look wonderful when the project was finished. 

Maurice had done almost ninety-five percent of the work himself – choosing to use experts to do the transmission and align everything up and to replace the upholstery.

Cedric recorded in his diary, which Hope still had, about coming face to face with the completed Chevy. She read to Nash the extract she’d written out:

‘My heart skipped and my eyes misted. She looked so beautiful, just like a new bride. I resolved then and there that she should remain in our family forever. When I’d last saw her the cab and pickup tray were being painted before being placed on to the chassis. Now she was complete, right down to new shoes (the white wall tires). My hands shook as Maurice tossed me the keys. I walked around her twice if not three times. I can’t remember as I was so overcome. I knew Maurice was almost wetting himself watching me – he was making cracks to Natasa and they were both laughing. I opened the driver’s door – it felt heavy, and opened ever so smoothly. The smell of new leather hit my nostrils and I almost passed out with emotion. Reluctantly I closed the door and went to Natasa’s car to get the beer and my check book. I felt ever so happy.’


After inheriting the vehicle, Hope had that power unit replaced in 1984 with a small block 350 Camero V8 engine from a wrecker’s yard. It came with a five-speed manual gearbox and she had disc brakes fitted and upgraded the heater, rather than installing air-conditioning. She preferred maintaining the original hot weather ventilation – both side windows wound down and the windscreen opened from the bottom by a hand crank mounted in the centre of the dash. Quite a gale could be created with this system when moving along under speed.

Hope finished the recollection with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m unable to recall ever seeing daddy so happy when I arrived home late one afternoon. He charged out of the house and said that he had something to show me. Pulling up the middle garage door – we didn’t have auto-openers installed then – I saw coming into view the most beautiful ute I’d ever seen. He’d backed it out so I could see her full frontal. I told him what I thought. He was pleased but asked me never to call it a ute again. I could call it a pickup or a half-tonner; being American, the Chevy was not a ute. I recall screaming with delight when I saw her. I begged him to take me for a ride, and he said he’d not put on such a presentation without inviting me for a ride – it was the icing on the cake.”

Hope wiped her eyes, smiling beautifully, saying that this was perhaps her best memory of her father. “We drove down to the village like show-offs – we really were. Other drivers tooted at us and people came out of their shops and waved or cheered. Dad had told some people that he was getting a 1939 Chevy half-tonner rebuilt and the word had spread through the district. People were genuinely pleased to have something old to look at as the village itself and everything around it was very new. Trevor Hopkins had the agricultural centre and saleyards behind the shops and he’d built first five shops and I guess they are still owned by Catherine, Trevor’s only child.”

Hope continued: “Dad let me drive the Chevy home from the village and when we stopped in the garage he put his arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the head, saying, ‘I’m so happy darling. I want you to keep her in the family for as long as she can turn those wheels of hers’. I was excited as I knew by what he was saying the Chevy would pass on to me.”

Nash loved watching Hope’s face – she looked as years had slipped from it and she was reliving that day with all her heart. He said it was a lovely story and he’d have pleasure incorporating the story in his book.

“But you give me a problem. The Chevy’s name is Rupert, isn’t it, and yet you consistently call the vehicle she; how am I going to explain this eccentricity?”

Hope smiled. “You won’t have to bother for the benefit of women readers. Just mention that my first vehicle when I was a little girl was a red pedal car that came to me with the name of Rupert. They will understand.  Of course men won’t understand but there’s no need to spell it out as they’ll still not be able to comprehend as that’s how men’s minds work.”

“Oh really?” Nash said politely, looking a little baffled. 


*  *  *

The Sydney harborside at the ferry terminals was swarming with tourists, workers actually working and people lunching. To be technically ‘hair color correct’, the red-head artificially turned chestnut Lisa Honeybun was a lunching worker. She loved the buzz generated by the people, the colorful odd characters in this area that many locals called ‘the pulse of the city’. 

Nibbling her salad roll on a bench seat, she was sandwiched between a burly man who obviously believed the soft-sounding passing of wind was socially acceptable and on the other side lolled a giggling young office worker using a mobile phone to update her listener about finding a suitable date for the office picnic on Sunday. Farts or loud phone usage? It was a toss up as to which was worse but the office worker moved off back to work – having announced that imminent intention into her phone – so Lisa moved into the vacated space.

Finishing her salad roll and capping her half-full bottle of spring water, Lisa pulled from her shoulder bag the latest letter from her mother. It was a chatty three-pager; the only really interesting item was that her mother bribed a truckie preparing to haul her illegally parked truck for impounding. Fortunately, this ‘rather nice young man with a whimsical smile and obviously an excellent brain’ induced her to offer the tow-away guy money for his back pocket, and the rogue accepted it, releasing the Chevy. In a whimsical frame of mind mother suggests that perhaps Lisa should come home and with her specialist skill find this poor unemployed man a decent job. 

Lisa could not believe her mother wrote that last sentence in a sane frame of mind. Not only has her mother become involved with street riff-raff but she wanted Lisa to help her repay the rat-bag for his kindness. What a ridiculous notion, that she, Lisa Honeybun, should cross the Tasman to find a job for some street bum who her mother had temporarily befriended.

Really! It’s a wonder her unbelievably grateful mother hadn’t taken the deviously-minded street bum home to bed him. Lisa smiled at the thought of the district gossip Maggie Tait walking in and finding her best friend screaming as she repeatedly impaled herself on the little stiffy of a bewildered street bum. Mother, you usually do better than that, she admonished, being aware of her mother’s interest in keeping her sexual mechanisms in working order.

Oh mum, sighed Lisa. Why can’t I experience the satisfaction from a man that you seemed able to do without even appearing to try? Lisa grinned, thinking of the hot summer’s day when she returned home early from university, wringing in sweat from the long bus ride, to find Monty chained up and mother nowhere in sight. Up in her bedroom she looked down into the orchard and saw something straight out of a French novel – a man lying still obviously plugged into his mother, with deep scratch marks on his back, and she lying also soundly asleep and also totally nude, with her hair ringed by three daisy chains.

Lisa had quietly opened her windows and took a couple of photographs. She waited for a quarter of an hour and they stirred. If they were going to do it again, she would not watch. But no, they kissed and both stood up, her mother’s heavy breasts displaying mid-age droop. As she was taking a series of photographs – goodness knows what for – the man turned his head, allowing Lisa to recognize him instantly: the almost non-communicative Basil Tait; oh my, what an obliging neighbor!

She still has those photographs in the storeroom off her old bedroom. She’d kept them because they are quite lovely, really. Not at all obscene which is why the local chemist agreed to print her negatives after calling her in to ‘discuss this rather embarrassing film of yours’.

Lisa had no trouble convincing the chemist.  

“They’re not obscene, Ed, and if you ever visit my mother again for a similar purpose, I promise to take no photographs.”

“Er, your mother and I were only discussing her medication.”

“My mother only takes aspirin, Ed, and one does not normally have a consultation lying nude on our kitchen table with your customer, in this case my mum, who I spied lying nude and exhausted beside you.”

“Lisa, Lisa, of course I’ll print your photographs, free of course. Now, about that lovely afternoon I had with your mother. As you know my wife Norma is a lay preacher and…”

“Ed, that afternoon occurred more than two years ago, and Norma did not know then and does not know now, so that afternoon belongs to history, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, quite, but what if your darling mother should call me again to attend to her desires?”

“Go to her Ed, no self-respecting daughter would deny her mum of simple pleasures. Your lustful secret will be safe with me.”

For some weeks – ever since Tim had left her – Lisa has thought more and more about having distanced herself so adamantly from her mother. It now seems so bizarre. They never really argued; it was almost impossible to argue with someone who is so placid and confident about herself. Her mother simply believed she had to right to watch over her youngest daughter closely, even though Lisa by this stage was a young woman about to graduate from university. The red-head decided the only way to rid her of this perpetual interference was to say that they must separate and keep separated. 

Lisa had regretted being so heavy about that. Her mother had looked as if she’d been stabbed through the heart; there was no other way of putting it. Lisa had screamed and ranted, but still she could not force her mother to repent and break into tears. She screamed at her mother to say something, but all that her mother would say was, “Do what you think is best dear, but as a mother I believe I have a right to assist you through life. I must remain involved.”

To this day Lisa remained aware that had her mother cried, Lisa would have extracted satisfaction and perhaps would not have excommunicated herself. She would have found another way out – after all, she’d studied psychology and received near to top marks in tutor appraisals, submission of papers and in examinations. Yet her mother, perhaps being unable to spell psychology correctly, had completely out-psyched her daughter over this confrontation.

My guilt over this has at last dissipated. My guilt has gone! Lisa clenched the edge of the green wooden seat, feeling as if she’d been exorcised.  That’s enough of melodramatics, my girl, she sighed. You were a stroppy, self-opinioned and selfish bitch – a typical out-of-control redhead. Go visit your mother!

Go home for a visit? Oh dear. Go home for a visit?

Tears came as she whispered, “I love you mummy.” That thought has never deserted her, but she’d worked hard to block the thought, to make it easier for herself. Sydney summer flies were darting at her eyes to sample the excess moisture, so she wiped them dry, knowing she should be wearing sunglasses.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 03



Opening her shoulder bag she pulled out her classy, ridiculously expensive sunglasses and sat looking into the bag, poised like a fawn ready to scamper in panic. She was gazing at her mobile phone. She knew what to do, so without further emotional carry-on, did it; she phoned her immediate boss: “Al, it’s Lisa. I need to visit my Kiwi mum, so want to take next week off. Can you reassign my appointments if I brief you?”

“This is a bummer Lisa, but yes providing you partner me to the awards on Saturday week.”

“Yes, I will go with you. Thanks, you are a darling.”

That was easy.  Al, married with twin infant sons, and Lisa had occasionally bonked in his office; Al’s wife, claiming her career had been ruined through pregnancy, was going through a period of keeping her legs closed.

Lisa then phoned the office’s travel agency and asked to be booked a flight to Auckland on Friday, returning the following Friday, with a medium-size rental car for the period between flights. After a brief wait Erin confirmed and Lisa decided to arrive home as a surprise.

She arrived in Auckland on Friday mid-morning and walked out to find her rental car, relieved that the summer temperature was more bearable that in Sydney with its current heat wave. It was a silver, almost new Toyota, and she drove off quietly with the air-con off and the windows down as this was Auckland, not Sydney – cooler with different smells in the air. She was seeking instant environmental re-immersion. 

Entering the inner-city Lisa decided to go through Ponsonby and down the street where she’d lived for a summer before beginning her final year at university. During that break she worked for an employment agency – the same firm that found her a great job in the international agency’s Sydney office. The house looked so scruffy, disappointing Lisa. It had been the first time she’d lived away from home and she’d thought it was a wonderfully charming place in which to reside and party. God, how she and her four flat mates had partied!

Turning into the next street Lisa saw her mother’s Chevy pull out from where it had been parked beside a beautifully restored cottage. A woman about her mother’s age was waving goodbye – so, a new friend for mum, eh?

Lisa accelerated and blew the horn of the Toyota. The Chevy pulled over and Lisa became misty eyed seeing Rupert looking so spotless. She scurried to the driver’s door and opened it.

“Hi…”

The greeting died in her mouth. She was looking at a fair-headed man with a quizzical smile. She looked beyond him for her mother, but the passenger was a young busty woman in an unbelievably daring – for New Zealand – sundress. The plunging crossed-tied neckline fell well below her navel and there wasn’t a great deal of material before Lisa glimpsed very long, tanned exposed thighs.

“You want to make an offer – we’ll take a million bucks, love.”

Lisa gaped at this grinning man, an opportunist car thief.

She was even more startled when the young woman said, “Hullo Lisa; nice to see you home.”

Lisa peered at the young woman again, and recognized her – Maggie Tait’s daughter. How lush and grown up she’s become.

“Hullo Alayna, I didn’t recognize you for a moment.”

“Is this Hope’s Lisa?” said the overly confident man, looking at her appreciatively.

Lisa was not amused but Alayna eased the tension by introducing him as Nash Carson, her mother’s house guest.

“But I still don’t understand – you have my mother’s half-tonner. She won’t let anyone have it, and even I could only drive it if she accompanied me. Do you realize it is probably valued at almost fifty thousand American dollars?”

“All high-spec or coveted vehicles are expensive, Lisa,” said the man with irritating authority. “Your mother is in Hamilton overnight attending a flower show. Here, use her spare mobile to phone her – she has her phone with her. Press 888,”

Lisa snatched the phone and pressed 888 but paused, not pressing Send to connect her call, realizing that if she phoned it would spoil her surprise homecoming.

A highly modified cutdown Holden purred down the narrow street, carrying five apparently drunken or doped up louts. They yelled at Lisa, one rudely saying, “Nice ass!” 

Lisa ignored them but as the car drew level the driver leaned out and pulled her light dress up to expose her knickers.

“Boys, this is prime butt; any takers?”

Lisa spun around and yelled after the slow moving vehicle, “Shove off, you assholes!” 

The car continued on for about fifty yards and then stopped. 

“Christ, they’re going to come back,” Nash called. He jumped out of the Chevy, dragging a long canvas bag. 

“Alayna – can you drive the Chevy? You’ve had two lessons.”

She nodded. “I really want to wait with you Nash, but I’m scared. They look really mean guys.”

“Just drive into Ponsonby Rd and park alongside that restaurant where we took mum for lunch and wait for us. Do you think you can find it?

“Yes, dead easy. Take care Nash. I think I know what you have in mind. See you, Lisa.”

Lisa ignored the younger girl driving off.  “What do you have in mind?”

“Finishing this off so they run and don’t bother us again. Are you courageous?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“You’re the one who’s studied psychology; you should be telling me what to do.”

“Run!”

“That’s exactly what they want us to do, to have the thrill of the chase as they run us down.”

“Jesus!”

“You don’t talk as ladylike as your mother does.”

“Mother doesn’t get into street crap like this. Oh God, the driver is revving the motor. They’re coming at us.”

“Good. Just do what I say, Lisa and don’t argue. Stand out in the middle of the road and look provocative, facing them.”

“Provocatively?”

“Yeah, left arm bent, leg straight, hand on the back of that hip. Front leg bent, heel raised and hand pulling up your dress quite some way, but don’t show it all.”

Lisa was now looking scared, her green eyes wide open.

“But that’s making me into rape bait, Nash. Are you mad?”

“Sorry Lisa, it’s the only thing I can think of at the moment. It should work, but be ready to leap out of the way if they charge – go in front of your rental car. The driver won’t want to spoil his custom paintwork.”

The threatening car began moving forward.

“What’s you plan, Nash?” she croaked. “It better work otherwise I’ll be a hospital case within the hour, if I live.”

“Good girl, Lisa. Hold steady. For fuck sake don’t look at me! I want them right up close so I can scare the crap out of them. I’m relying on you.”

Nash ducked behind the rental and unzipped his bag. He peered over the bonnet and caught the grinning faces of the five occupants close up. The three in the backseat were giving obscene hand gestures.

“Okay, Lisa. You can relax; your job is over Come behind this car.  Pee on the grass verge if you need to.”

She was aghast  he’d say such a thing.

Nash stepped forward with a broken shotgun, the grunty Holden only ten feet away. He snapped the over and under barrels shut, and looked ready for business, staring at the occupants of the vehicle that had stopped abruptly. The four passengers ducked down and the driver turned to look behind as he accelerated violently up the street and disappeared over the crest.
There was a screech of rubber as the car was turned sharply and more wheel spinning could be heard as it accelerated away.

Nash turned to Lisa smiling and placing the shotgun on its carry-bag rushed to her. She’d gone white and was shaking, almost about to faint. He hugged her tightly and she began to sob.

“It’s all right,” he crooned. “It’s over; you’re safe. We’ll not see those pricks again.”

First the shaking stopped then the sobbing died. Nash handed her his handkerchief.

She wiped her eyes, looking slightly clownish as the mascara had run and lipstick was spread well beyond her lips.

“Christ I almost need a change of underwear,” he said, causing the recovering young woman to laugh. “Welcome to Auckland,” she sighed.

“Don’t badmouth Auckland; most places in the world have motorized louts.”

“I guess that’s true. I think I can stand unassisted now.”

“You have a nice body.”

“And you have nice hands,” she said, this time giggling. “Please don’t say anything to mum about this incident.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Lisa, if you want to normalize your relationship with your mother quickly, start afresh and pretend the past differences between you two didn’t happen. Be open, caring and loving and it will be reciprocated. I read about this kind of stuff.”

“Well…”

“Just do it, Lisa. Let’s go and find Alayna before she starts really worrying about us. She was thinking about the possibility of a gang rape.”

“Oh Nash, do you have to say that?”

“No, it was insensitive. I’m sorry I said it Lisa, truly.”

“Thanks, Nash. Let’s go. You drive as I’m still a little shaky.”


They drove silently for a while, and then Lisa said, “Nash, can I ask about your relationship with my mother? All I know is that you saved the Chevy being towed away by encouraging her to offer a bribe and that she took you to afternoon tea. Then what?”

“Lisa, this is her business; it’s not my business to tell you. I can confirm I am happily living in her house, sleeping in your grandfather’s former office/surgery. In case you are worried about your mother, I can assure you that she is in no danger, our relationship is purely platonic and that I have no designs on her. Neither do I have plans for her Chevy although I admit to being infatuated with it, nor have I designs on her house or the twelve acres that go with it.”

“Well, how frank you are. At least those assurances, if you are to be trusted, are a relief.”

“If I am to be trusted – didn’t you just put your total trust in me on the brink of being terribly treated?”

“Oh Nash,” she wailed. “Of course I did. I’m just emotionally drained and am not thinking straight. Redheads have a reputation for spiking themselves by occasionally acting irrationally. I am so sorry. I’m a stupid old cow.”

“You shouldn’t put yourself down like that – stupid young heifer, perhaps, but you’re not a stupid old cow.”

Lisa began giggling, and that became louder and louder. 

 “Lisa!” he shouted.

“What?” she asked, sitting forward in alarm.

“Is okay, just lie back here on my shoulder if you can. I think you came close to having hysterics then. Just relax, you’ve come through a terrible experience on that street plus you are a little wound up about coming face to face with your mother again.”

“You’re right. I must relax – relax Lisa. Nash?”

“Yes.”

“You spoke about mother owning twelve acres. Are you not aware that she still owns almost hundred acres of the original block purchased by granddad?

“Jesus!”

“A profanity but I guess it clearly describes your astonishment. All six blocks beyond her six acres she has leased to growers plus the site of the winery opposite the fourth block. The winery and the growers who have built on their leased lots all have agreements to purchase or to remove their buildings if they decide not to renew their leases. Mum’s worth quite a bit now, but if she ever sold title to all of those blocks she would be a millionaire. It’s prime land, Nash.”

They turned into Ponsonby Road and headed for the restaurant car park.

“Another thing to clear up, Nash. Why are you carrying a shotgun?”

“Your mother has taught me to shoot rabbits, and I wanted a shotgun like hers. So I ordered it and had my license processed. I was paid yesterday so I picked up my gun this morning.”

“What, mum pays you enough to go out and by a $600-plus shotgun?”

“Er, I dropped myself into that one, didn’t I? She pays me a weekly sum less than that, but Lisa please ask her about this; it’s her business.”

“May I apologize profusely Nash?  From mum’s brief comments in her letter I took you to be a street bum. I had no right to make that assumption. You obviously are now in work and by refusing to explain why I believe your ethics may even be strong than mine. You also have courage, Nash. So why the fuck you are in my mother’s home I really don’t know and having the freedom to drive her beloved Chevy is beyond my understanding. But I guess it’s going to all unravel for me, given time.  All I can say, Nash, is at this point I respect you. I could offer you money as this afternoon you practically saved my life, but I sense that would offend you. I would be willing to offer you my body, but that offer may also offend you.”

“Nice offer – the body, I mean Lisa; it looks terrific. But right now my allegiance is to Alayna; some other time, some other place, perhaps? “

“It’s not an offer I’ve made on the spur of the moment ever before, Nash. I take it you can accept the offer is now withdrawn?”

“Of course, Lisa; think nothing more of it. Here’s the restaurant.”

The headlight flickering of the Chevy signaled Alayna had seen them; she ran to the driver’s door.

“Are you all right, Lisa?” she asked, leaning in the driver’s open window and looking worried.

“We stared the bastards down and they retreated,” Nash said, not wishing to be more specific. “She’s okay, just a little exhausted. Let’s go home a get her into a bath then we’ll have some drinks and talk about happier times.”

“Yes,” Lisa sighed.

“Alayna, you drive this car and I’ll follow behind you two in the Chevy. You’re not a registered driver of the rental, but neither am I, so take extra care. I don’t think Lisa should drive.”

“Fine, Nash,” Alayna said, brushing her lips over his. I won’t tell mum that you scared the shitheads away with an unloaded shotgun.”

“What!” Lisa screeched. “You set up that confrontation with me as bait and with an unloaded shotgun!”

“Relax, Lisa,” Nash grinned, running a hand down her cheek. “Think of the story you can tell your children and your grandchildren.”

They all laughed and just inside an hour were safely home.


As arranged, Lisa called out that she was out of the bath and would be down in a couple of minutes, so Nash began making the first of three omelets. His cooking skills were almost non-existent, but he did omelets. Alayna was showering in Nash’s suite, having first unchained and fed Monty and phoned her mother saying she’ll be home late.

Lisa had stretched out in her old bath, feeling very much at home, as little in the bathroom or in her bedroom has changed, although she knew from her mother’s letter her bedroom is now called the guest bedroom.

Initially she was indignant thinking about that dangerous bluff with the shotgun, but then began accepting it as a worthwhile risk because the consequences of doing nothing were even worse. The bluff was solid as although she normally fancied herself as being a rather perceptive person, even she and had simply assumed the shotgun was loaded.

It had not fazed her having thought her mother might have gone down a generation to have a very much younger man in her bed. After all, he’s rather good looking, spoke well with the right mix of passion and sensitivity and looked fit enough to be a real goer; just the right sort of fellow for her mother. In fact, she had rather fancied him herself after he’d completely defused her hostility and then went on to save her from Hell. That’s why she offered to sleep with him as a way of saying thanks, which was only partly true. She also wanted to find out if he is a real goer.

Sorry, Nash, she titivated herself that I am not attracted to you just for your brain. Why he’d found it difficult to find suitable employment was beyond belief. His education appeared fairly basic, but he was confident, extremely confident as shown this afternoon, articulate and displayed an engaging personality. She could easily have him placed in banking or insurance in Sydney provided he possessed some office experience and was computer literate. Obviously he had managerial instincts as he’d been able to get her doing exactly what he wanted on that street without screaming at her and causing her to panic further. In fact he’d calmed her and had talked her through her role with the skill of a movie director. She wondered if he liked movies – she was practically addicted. Tough if he liked movies as that would be one thing he and her mother did not have in common.

Lisa wonders if Nash would have company in his bed that night. Alayna told her on the drive home, without any embarrassment, that she’d stayed with him the previous night ‘with Mrs Honeybun’s knowledge – in fact she’d set it up’. Her mother setting him up with a lush looking babe like Alayna! That seemed vintage mother. At least within the next twenty-four hours she’d know about this mysterious relationship between Mr Carson and her mother, a relationship that apparently devoid of sex.

Ten minutes later Lisa walked down for drinks, wearing only a fabulous long blue nightdress. It has an attached chopper shelf bra that prevented her breasts from bouncing around like ping pong balls going down the stairs and the material was just thick enough to hide the fact that there was no panty line. She’d laid out her old dressing gown on the bed, but had decided not to wear it.

Almost without thinking she’d sat down at the dresser, tied her long hair into a pony tail, and applied full make-up. As she finished Lisa realized she was not going to all this trouble to just make an impression, she was trying to outshine Alayna.

The effort was mostly wasted. There was no instant impression registered because Nash has his back to her putting chopped onion, tomato, cheese and parsley into three omelets and then rolling them while Alayna was on her knees beside Nash cleaning up the spattering from two eggs that he must have dropped. Lisa couldn’t prevent the thought did Nash like his women on their knees, tush turned up. She blushed furiously

Alayna stood up, looking sharply at Lisa before smiling and saying, “You look lovely.”

“Oh hi, Lisa, that blue of your nightdress is a nice shade,” was the contribution of the cook.

No, she need not have bothered. Alayna’s hair was still sopping well from the shower, she had no make-up on apart from lipstick and she was wearing baggy jeans and one of those invitation T-shirts with the words F * * K Me in big lettering. Really!

Surprisingly, the omelets were delicious, with both women complimenting the cook.

“Alayna’s rustling up some real food later, but I thought we should have a snack before drinking as we’ve had a rather traumatic afternoon,” Nash said, pouring three glasses of Vet’s C-Block Estate Red. “Personally, I thought I was in the greatest danger when I was accosted by someone and virtually accused of being unlawfully in possession of her mum’s half-tonner.”

Caught by surprise just as she had taken a hearty swig of red, Lisa laughed sending a flow of wine across the narrow kitchen table and over the lettering of Alayna’s T-shirt.

“Don’t you like the tee-shirt?” Nash chortled and the two women burst into unrestrained laughter.

Alayna left the table saying she’ll have to change into one of Nash’s T-shirts.

“I need to wash out the red wine before it stains it,” she said. “I usually seem to get lucky when I wear this top for some reason.”

“She’s a great girl,” Lisa said quietly to Nash. “I used to be her sitter when she was young. She’d become one of the most popular girls at school for – ah, how do I say this delicately – gaining a reputation for being very good at it.”

“All of us have some skills,” Nash mused, leaving Lisa not knowing how to answer that without risking making some sort of confession.

Alayna returned wearing Nash’s pub T-shirt with the wording, ‘University Degree in Penetration,’ No-one was rude enough to comment.

Three bottles of red later, with the remains of steak sandwiches and salad going into a pail used to take food to the poultry house, Nash said he’d better run Alayna home as she had a 7:30 start in the morning. The women kissed and Nash kissed Lisa goodnight on the cheek.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 03



Almost two hours later she heard the Chevy come up the drive and the garage door open.

“Like mother, like daughter,” Lisa smiled, already drifting back into sleep. Once when she’d been sitting Alayna, Maggie who’d been to a party and was rather primed, had giggled when she’d driven Lisa home and said, ‘Don’t tell anyone this, especially you mother, but when I was about seventeen your grandfather used to take me parking and would lay me along that lovely seat in the Chevy’. 

Lisa had been rather shocked but then remembered her mother saying that her father had rather a reputation with the women. Obviously it was not only as a favored partner at bridge.

Before going to bed she’d set her alarm. When it went off at 5:15 she jumped out of bed, brushed her hair, cleaned her teeth and splashed on perfume. She dressed in her red top with a plunging neckline that reveals her half-bra, and put on her black pedal pushers. She felt great.

Downstairs Lisa made two cups of coffee and four pieces of toast and took the tray down to Nash’s room, knocking and waiting to give him time to pull a sheet over himself. She entered the room only to find it empty. She felt the depression where he’d been sleeping, but the bottom sheet didn’t feel warm; he’d been gone for sometime, but where?

Lisa went outside to find Monty tethered. He scarcely bothered with her after giving her two quick licks, instead returning to strain against his chain looking down to the Montgomery block. Two minutes later a shotgun blast confirmed Nash’s whereabouts and Monty rattled his chain and whined.

Flouncing back into the house Lisa sprawled on Nash’s bed, drained both cups of coffee and whined, “Why am I behaving like a whipped up teenager. This has to stop.”

An hour later Nash entered his bedroom to find Lisa asleep on his bed, her legs wide apart but she was covered decently. Grinning, he took the four bits of toast, fetched his camera and returned outside to where he had nine rabbit corpses lined up ready to be photographed. Hopefully, by the time he’d butchered nine carcasses Lisa would be back upstairs preparing his bacon and eggs and hash browns.


Lisa sensed Nash had returned the room – ah, yes. The door was closed. Although embarrassed to find she’d been on her back with her legs splayed was confident she’d been adequately covered. Ah, the toast has gone; he’d think she’d brought coffee down to drink with him and had fallen asleep – after drinking both mugs of coffee, of course.

It was after seven and Lisa knew if her mother has trained him well he’d be expecting breakfast at 7:30 on a rabbiting morning. She hunted unsuccessfully for low-fat yoghurt and wholemeal bread. What would her mother give him? Ah yes, the kill me kindly breakfast – fatty bacon, eggs done in fat and hash browns cooked in butter. Quickly she cut fat off the bacon rashes and began grilling them and fried the eggs in a smearing of vegetable oil. She toasted the hash browns and just before the bacon was done she put four halves of Beefsteak tomatoes under the grill, turning them after one minute and putting a pinch of sugar on the top of each half.

She was correct about 7:30 as right at that time she heard Nash coming up the stairs.

“Good morning,” he said quite boyishly, almost a little shy. “What a lovely smell to be greeted with.”

“Yes, it’s a lovely perfume.”

“Oops, sorry I mean the aroma of cooking food. I have yet to catch the fragrance of your perfume.”

Come closer and I’ve give you fragrance, both barrels of it, she growls to herself.

“What a lovely top, and cute bra.”

He’s noticed! Lisa is delighted, quite forgetting she’d decided to no longer act like a flighty teenager.

Lisa sipped her coffee watching him eating and was surprised to learn he’d shot nine rabbits, saying her mother was a great shot and her record was nine.

“Well, I better make sure I stop whenever I reach nine, if I ever get that many again.”

What a sweet thing to say, sighed Lisa. He’s such a nice young man.

“This meal – this meal,” Nash says deliberately. “It’s not cooked the same way Hope cooks it, but I rather like it. In fact I prefer it. Much less fat, right?”

“Yes, we must look after our bodies.”

“Well, you’re obviously good at looking after yours,” he said, eying the top of her half bra that is just showing. She resisted bending over a bit more to give him a better eyeful; that’s just the sort of thing a girl like Alayna would do. But she isn’t that type of girl, or is she? Alayna’s tee-shirt in the downstairs bathroom would be dry; perhaps she should go down and put it on. She began to giggle.

He looked puzzled, so she decides to be nice.

“I’m not used to any man saying my bra looks nice. You must be seeing a lot of me if you can see my bra.”

“Not all of it. I love women in sexy underwear.”

“Really, have you seen mum’s collection?”

“What sort of trick question is that?”

“Unintentional, I assure you. I guess she wouldn’t show it to a man. Want to come up for a look?”

“I’m sure she would not take kindly to that.”

“What mum? She wouldn’t mind. Come on,” says Lisa, holding out her hand, but he didn’t move saying, “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. If she wants me to see it, she’ll show it to me.”

“It doesn’t matter, I accept your viewpoint. I’d take you up to show you mine, but I’m traveling light so have none of the really lovely pieces with me.”

That conversation lapse so Lisa said brightly, “What should we do this morning? Mum should be home around lunchtime.

“I’d really like to sit in the orchard with you telling me some of the interesting things you can remember about growing up with your mother. Just let your mind wander. If you don’t mind, I would like to take notes.”

“What, are you a writer?”

“Do I look like one?”

“That’s difficult to answer.”

“Well then?”

“Memories about living with my mother, from childhood through to leaving home; that could take hours.”

“So?”

“All right, let’s clean up here and then do it.”

That’s it, Lisa thought triumphantly. He’s going to write a book about my mother. I’ll tell him only the nice bits. How fascinating, but who would buy a book about her?

They sat in the orchard on sun loafers; it’s lovely and cool as the house was still blocking the sun and would do so for at least another hour.

“Now Lisa, I expect you to reminisce with integrity, telling me the good and the bad and even the shocking. Is that our understanding?”

God, he’s good. How could anyone not find suitable employment for him?

“Okay, warts and all,” she replied. “Why you should want to even hear me talk about this must be linked to this mysterious relationship you have with my mother. Should I start?”

“Whenever you are ready, Lisa. God you look beautiful in this gentle light and lovely setting; the light looks wonderful on your hair and you do have a wonderful figure – quite the modern woman.”

“That lovely to hear that, Mr Carson, but shouldn’t I be the one doing the talking?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, wiggling in his sun loafer, after propping the back up. 

“Let it rip.”


*  *  *

Alayna Tait was pleased it had happened but now Lisa was home she’d be relegated but she didn’t mind. She recalled how it began. She was standing at the window of the Drop-In Coffee Shop, waiting for the mini morning tea rush. Lucy the proprietress was home trying to shake off a cold; she’d phoned to say she’d be in at 10:00. Alayna interpreted that as Lucy had been on the booze the previous evening with her good-for-nothing husband Frank, a refrigeration repairman.

Earlier that morning her mother Maggie had asked her to write out a list of presents she’d really like for her birthday which was a month away, her twenty-first. Composing a mental list, Alayna thought a car, a new saddle for Sweetheart her eight-year-old black mare, a ticket and accommodation for a week’s stay in Surfer’s Paradise in Queensland, a voucher for new clothes at Miss Modern’s in the city, a…

She’d then found it necessary to focus on a man on the sidewalk staring at her. He was a stranger to the village and looked rather attractive, although perhaps a little too staid and proper for her. Anyway, her interest is now in older men as so far they have proven to be more generous, expecting to have to treat her well and treat her to a meal before getting what she had to offer. They also tend to have nicer cars and if they are married there’s an extra burst of excitement when they are out together, with him trying to dodge being recognized which often means going out of town to a resort hotel. Lovely!

To her amazement the conservative young guy on the pavement signaled to her to give him a quick look at her breasts. She stares at the cheeky bugger; he didn’t know her from a bar of soap and yet instantly picked her out as someone likely to do such a thing!

Alayna was aware that she’d inherited her mother’s great sense of fun, thank God. What her father had to offer in the way of good blood lines was nil, the half-mute scarcely bothered to converse with his own wife. Men could be so stupid, frowned Alayna. Her father looked unloved and yet was married to a woman who expressed love and affection from almost every pore.

That guy outside was waiting for her to react. Alayna was very tempted as she had occasional surges that her mother called uncontrollable sexual impulses. But then she saw Hope Honeybun approaching, looking lovely as usual. Alayna smiled at the guy outside, made an obscene gesture at him, and went to serve Mrs Honeybun.

Alayna’s mother had a huge number of friends, but Hope Honeybun was way out Alayna’s favorite of then. She acted like an unofficial godmother even though some of the women call her with a catty tone, ‘Mayoress of the Valley’. That’s because Hope was absolutely loaded, reputedly to be ‘a silent millionaire.’ But the beauty of it she acted as if she didn’t know this herself. She’d do anything for anyone, and often did but why Alayna was such a fan was because Hope treated her as an equal, and didn’t seem to mind hearing Alayna cuss, and had a few four-letter expressions herself. But she also was the only one who talked about ‘Alayna’s males’ as she politely referred to them, as Alayna was not able to be that intimate with her own mother. That situation developed from Alayna thinking she was pregnant – mistakenly as it turned out – and she went to Hope for advice. Hope had not even batted one of her false eyelashes when hugging the distressed girl and comforting her.

They’d talked for hours and Hope had told her gently, ‘Alayna, all this activity of yours is bringing an unsavory reputation down on you, you have to learn to be more discreet. Do you know I occasionally go with a man?” No Alayna didn’t, and stared at Hope open-mouthed. If Maggie Tait was unaware that Hope Honeybun was occasionally bedding a man, then nobody knew! Her mother knew everything, or at least Alayna was under that impression until Hope’s confession. So trusting was Hope that she didn’t even ask Alayna to keep her secret and from that moment Alayna learned to differentiate between secrets and gossip fodder.

“Hullo, sweetheart,” Hope had greeted her after Alayna had decided not to flash at the guy on the sidewalk. “Looking lovely as ever I can see.”

“Good morning, Hope. You’ll be turning a few heads yourself.”

They exchange big smiles and Hope ordered two black coffees and said ‘Himself’ who is dragging his heels will choose his food.

Himself? It has to be that young bloke outside. Was this another of Hope’s secrets? But then she remembered he mother had mentioned Hope had a young guy staying with her. 

A confession isn’t forthcoming from Hope so she was left to speculate. Apparently this guy was working for her on some project. When he dropped his plate she quickly said to Hope that was $7.00 for their coffees and two muffins, and had rushed to clean up the mess. It pleased her to find the guy on his knees already picking up pieces of broken plate. This considerate action triggered one of her uncontrollably urges so she impishly leaned low to give the fellow a real eyeful. She caught where his eyes were focused and gave him what only could be called a motherly smile. At least that’s how she interpreted how a mother would smile at a suckling infant.

So, good old Hope Honeybun. She moved in like a professional matchmaker and an afternoon visit was arranged and she’s been invited to cook for Nash the following Saturday night – but not only that, Hope invited her to stay over knowing there’ll be no one else in the house other than two young people ready to bonk. Nash seemed rather shy about this, but she’d pull him out of that.

But she had worried unduly. While serving the morning tea mini rush, Alayna was delighted to catch Nash glancing at her, even though he was talking to Hope. Then she saw him looked at her again; he was hooked!  Later he came up and stood at the cash register waiting to catch her attention. He was ever so polite, and held out his hand to shake on a temporary farewell. Alayna didn’t wait for an uncontrollable urge, she stretched across, pulled him forward and kissed him. The guy looks exceedingly grateful! 

“My, Alayna, you seem beside yourself in excitement,” said her bleary-eyed boss Lucy as they clean up after closing for the day at 12:30. “You look as if you’ve found yourself a nice man,” she joked.

“Yes, I’m seeing him for late lunch.”

“Good heaven,” Lucy said. “Then you go, dear. You got everything ready by yourself this morning, so it’s only fair that I do the cleaning up work myself. Just go!”

Lucy was one of her mother’s more conservative friends, but she was kind. Lucy flushed with pleasure when Alayna kissed her leathery cheek and thanked her for being such an understanding employer. Like most of the mothers in the district, she knew Lucy was aware that her assistant had taken the virginity of about half of the class when she was at high school, including that of Lucy’s rather shy younger son Alec. From that experience Alec really came out of his shell and became quite a lad himself as well as doing much better at schoolwork. So, what could Lucy say about Alayna other than she was a lovely young woman who was willing and very popular with café regulars, including mothers who all know about Alayna’s extracurricular past.

Reaching home Alayna performed a speedy broadside in her mother’s car on the unsealed driveway turning into the garage. She preferred mum’s sporty car to her own modest sedan. She raced into the kitchen, grabbed her mother who was preparing lunch, and twirled her around.

Maggie shrieked, and Basil came running thinking she’d stuck herself with the carving knife when ripping into the leg of ham. Instead, Basil found mother and daughter hugging and kissing each other all over the face. Obviously they were having one of their emotional overloads. “What’s up? Did you get a raise, Al?”

“No, Basil. She’s got a date. Hope’s man is coming for lunch.”

“I didn’t know Hope had a man,” says ruddy-faced Basil – the ruddiness being a result of working outdoors on the cattle farm in weather extremes and over indulging in wine – red wine they purchased cheaply when Te Henui winery has a clearing sale.

Conscious that she was still in her mother’s arms, Alayna succeeded in not tensing in response to her father’s stupid phrase about Hope having a man.

Maggie said: “His name is Nash; he’s lovely and his living in Hope’s basement doing some sort of work for her that I must find out about. Now that you are here, you carve the ham. I’m always thinking I’m going to cut off a finger with your impossibly sharp knife – that knife would cut steel.”

“Oh, that chap Hope had at the golf club the other night. Most of the women were staring at him, licking their lips. I reckon…”

“Basil! Your daughter is in the room.”

“Oh yeah,” said Basil, slumping back into shut-mouth mode.

“Nash is not a funny name. Hope told me that his mother Rose, who went by the name of Debbie Reno, was a country and western singer of repute and used to do the beach circuit and she had this big thing about Nashville.”

“Christ, Debbie Reno. I haven’t heard about her for years. One night she and I…”

“Basil! Your daughter is in the room.”

“Oh yeah,” Basil said, slumping back into shut-mouth mode.

Alayna used both hands to make an obscene sexual action gesture to her mother. Maggie nodded and whispered, “Probably, but she’s not one that I’ve heard about. I’ll get it out of him.”

Maggie constantly worked to ensure that Basil continued to believe that Alayna was a model daughter. Because he didn’t talk much, there was little risk of him boasting that he had an upright daughter and thereby destroying his credibility!


“He’s coming, he’s coming,” Alayna called excitedly. “That’s the Chevy coming up the drive.”

“Quiet down, love,” Maggie said kindly. “Do you think you’re dressed adequately?”

“I’ve have my bikini on underneath so he’s going to see a lot more than this,” Alayna sniffed, thinking her mother could be a bitch at times. Maggie had come out in a sundress and ten minutes later had returned in a baby doll version, making her daughter feel jealous. Mother was out to do her big flirt routine.

“Stay here with us; don’t give the impression of being too eager,” Maggie advised, her daughter accepting that counseling.

Nash came around the side of the house to the pool, heading to the sound of a radio playing music. He’s carrying a bunch of colorful flowers from the village florist, and Alayna felt her heart pulsating. But the cad gave them to Maggie and her mother put on such a show of being shyly overwhelmed before reaching up and kissing Nash, leaving a lipstick imprint on his right cheek.

“Hullo, Mr Tait,” he called. Basil waved, not bothering to stand up.

“And hullo Alayna, don’t you look lovely!”

He said that so pleasantly and looking at her so intently that Alayna felt her legs weaken. God, until now she’d thought men no longer have that effect on her.

Nash unzipped his carry bag, pulled out a bottle of red wine and handed it to Basil, who looked at the label and grunted, “Thanks, a good drop.”

Did he have a present for me; I’ll be so disappointed in him if he doesn’t, worried Alayna, biting her bottom lip. She watched the hand dip into the carry bag pull out a wrapped CD.

“Don’t know your tastes in music, Alayna, but you said we would be lunching beside the pool so I found this re-issue of the Beach Boys at the bookshop.”

“Oh Nash, how wonderful,” Alayna shrieked, ripping it open, and kissing him flush on the mouth. Nash grabbed her to ensure the contact lasted.

“I thought you two didn’t know each other, that you only met this morning,” Basil said dryly.

“I think I know her better already, Mr Tait,” Nash grinned.

“Hmmm. Well since you bought me an Australian label of this quality you better call me Basil.” 

Both women exchanged surprised glances and did so again moments later when their guest replies skillfully to a probing question from Basil: “I don’t suppose a Townie like you knows much about farming?”

“True Basil, although I do know farming has been the backbone of the country for a very long time.”

 “Hmmm.”

What a perfect reply from a Townie Alayna sighed, knowing this one was all but between her legs.

“Darling,” her mother said. “I’ll put this lovely present on the CD player while you fetch the food.” 

“Right, mum, responded Alayna, looking at Nash.

“I’ll help you, Alayna,” said Nash jumping up, returning his still untouched glass of red to the table.

Alayna saw her mother smiling as she looked at the CD; it was  the same CD that Alayna bought her a couple of months ago as an apology after they had rowed over a new scratch on Maggie’s car. She showed the disk to Basil and put her fingers to her lips. He nodded, knowing not to say “Hey, we’ve got this disk already.”




Valley of Sinners Ch. 03



An hour later, with lunch partly digested the wine-fuelled conversation mainly between the two women and Nash going exceedingly well and loud above the melodic din of the Beach Boys, Maggie announced it was time for a swim.

The particular song the Beach Boys were singing was nothing like strip music, but apparently Maggie thought it was, so as they all watched her over the rims of their wine glasses as she disrobed provocatively. With her yellow sundress unbuttoned and off she reached a hand in and adjusts her sizeable breasts into the cups of her one-piece swimsuit while still facing them. Alayna stiffened preparing to be embarrassed as Maggie then reached down to snap the elastic edging inside her thighs, but managed to do so with control, no pubic hair coming into sight.

“Come on you lazy guys,” Maggie called.

Nash stood up and Alayna watched expectedly, but he was wearing surfing shorts that came below his knees, not Speedos. She went to the edge of the pool, pulled her sun dress over her head and immediately dove in to ensure Nash had no time to see her goods. Let him come and find out for himself.

Alayna waited patiently for her mother to complete the Big Tease routine, splashing him, trying to duck him and then challenging him for a race over two lengths. Maggie was a good swimmer but Alayna could tell by Nash’s fluid action he was allowing Maggie to win. What a nice man.

Maggie tired, so left the pool. Basil had chickened out and was already asleep on his sun loafer, so Alayna’s wait was over.

“Sorry about mum, she tends to get sexed up when young jocks are around.”

“No worries, she’d delightful, and what are good daughter you are for letting her have her play. It’s your turn now; anything in mind?”

“We could swim thirty lengths without racing.”

“But you don’t want to do that?”

“No, or we could play slashing and ducking each other.”

“But neither of us is interested in that?”

“No.”

“Well up to the far end, then?” he suggested, looking at her deeply. She headed off without answering and knew without looking he was right behind her, probably drooling as he watched her flashing legs. Alayna was very proud of her body.

Reaching the end of the pool they looked back at the parents. Basil had his floppy hat right over his face but the dark sunglasses of Maggie were focused on them, unmoving.

“Does she have a long sight problem?” Nash grinned.

“No, very good vision actually. But she knows we’re going to be feeling each other up and kissing.”

“Are we going to be doing that?” Nash teased.

“Unless you’ve got something else in mind?”

“I’ve got nothing else in mind, groaned Nash,” drawing her to him, clearing straggles of hair from her face and began kissing her gently. Alayna’s hand wandered down below his navel and seconds later she withdrew   it, smiling happily.


Clearing away after dinner that evening at Hope’s home, Nash asks Alayna what she wished to do.

“Got to bed with you,” she said, ensuring there would be no misunderstanding about her desire. Five minutes later they were firmly coupled, Alayna sitting astride Nash and about to start jiggling.

“How does it feel?” she smiled.

“Exactly the right fit,” he grinned. “Bounce with vigor – I want to see those tits bouncing as well.”

“That may make you come too quickly.”

“The reservoir is fully charged.”

“Oh God, just let me at it,” and she began bouncing while sucking her thumb.


In the morning shortly after 9:00 they showered together and were at it again in the bathroom this time, with Alayna lying over the side of the bath on a pillow of towels.

“How is it?” she asked; Doggy is her favorite position.

“The right fit,” he gasped.

Alayna screwed around to look at him, noting that Nash looked rather exhausted.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before.”

Nash drew right back, and pushed forward again: “Have there been others?”

“You’re such a nice man,” purrs Alayna, reaching under and cupping him.


Later they drove into the city in the Chevy. Nash collected his shogun and they went to his mother’s house. Design character was evident on the outside of the tidy, well-maintained house but moving inside Alayna stopped and gasped. The old scrim covered match-lining one expected to see in old houses had gone, replaced with gib-board covered with 19th century look-alike wallpapers. The hanging gas chandeliers look authentic, but were cunningly electrified. The dark teak floors shone and seemed to glow with life; all the light switches and backing plates and all the door handle assemblies had been re-brassed. It was a beautiful restoration.

Rose Carson greeted Alayna hopefully, quietly asking the visitor, “Are you two going steady?” Rose looked disappointed when Alayna replied, “I’ve only been with him since yesterday but I must tell you I don’t think I’m the marrying kind.”

As Rose hasn’t expected them to call, she has no food prepared.

“Don’t fret, Mrs Carson – Nash will take us out to a restaurant.”

The Italian restaurant on Ponsonby Road was a good choice – live music as it was Sunday – and the menu met their approval.

Alayna persuaded Rose to talk about her singing career, and as the wine flowed Rose recalled events with great gusto, so much so that Nash heard about events, people and carry-ons that he’d not heard about before.

“I think you may have known my father intimately – Basil Tait. He seems to recall you.”

“Sorry, but I don’t remember him dearie,” Rose said to Alayna. “The name certainly hasn’t stuck. Was he a drummer or something?”

“No, I said intimately – he slept with you, several times apparently. You wouldn’t let him go according to what he told mum and me the other night after he’d found that Nash was your son.”

“Several nights, you say? That was rather usual as we usually only stayed at any place one or two nights,” said Rose, not turning a hair knowing that Nash was listening to this. Nash knew she’d been no saint, and suspected he knew she still wasn’t celibate.

“Dad said he spent almost two weeks with you before he had to leave to get back to his parent’s farm.”

“A farm boy you say – almost two weeks. I would have thought I remembered that, it must have been some sort of record for one of my fans.”

Alayna rolled her eyes and looked slightly embarrassed. “What about this for a memory jog: his nickname was Horse.”

“Oh God, him!”  Rose screamed in delight, disturbing the entire restaurant. “Of course I remember him; he was a very big man.”


Mid-afternoon they waved to Rose outside her home and headed for the motorway.

“Did you have to mention your father’s nickname,” Nash sighed. “That was very embarrassing.”

“It had the desired effect,” Alayna smirked.

“Yes, agreed,” responded Nash, who was then diverted by an urgent blast of a car horn behind them. “This attractive dame driving the silver Toyota behind us is waving us to stop. Perhaps there is something wrong with one of our tires, or a brake light is out? I better pull over against this line of parked vehicles.”

The woman was really aggressive, making uncalled for accusations against Nash. Alayna looked closely at the woman and recognizer her –  Lisa Honeybun. As they exchanged pleasantries trouble with the five meanies in the low-slung customized Holden came up to them in a threatening fashion and Alayna became really frightened.

Driving off in the Chevy at Nash’s request she founds the restaurant car cark at her first attempt, parked and rushed off to the toilet. Alayna once thought she was pregnant, has been bungy jumping, unintentionally skied over a small bluff and been chased by a bull, but she can’t remember ever being as scared at this.

Those guys in the car looked primed for a gang rape, and for a while she imagined herself being a victim. Then Nash freed her, giving her a passport to safety. But waiting in the car park her fear returned – what if something happened to him and to Lisa? Hope would kill her for not having stayed with them. She knew Nash had the shotgun but it was not loaded. Obviously he would try a bluff. It could work; then again it might not. She wrung her hands and then began considering her options if they failed to come back in reasonable time.

Alayna had exhausted the options and was sitting in despair, hunched over the steering wheel of the Chevy, when she saw a silver car coming towards her and then recognizes both Nash and Lisa. She flashed the Chevy’s headlights at them, very happily to see them smiling at her!

Driving Lisa home, Alayna was quizzed about Nash, but she wasn’t much help as she didn’t know much about him. Lisa had the gall to ask had she and Nash had sex together, so she simply said yes, and Lisa just grunted.

When Lisa came down to dinner, Alayna could see she had dressed to kill. Her green eyes are intense and her nipples – very obvious through the satin nightdress – were proud.

Right, mused Alayna. I’m not backing out; he’s my man of the moment. If you want him you’ll have to make do with a threesome. Alayna was confident Nash wouldn’t cast her aside in this situation but being a man he would be interested in what the elegant Miss Honeybun has on offer.

Surprisingly, pre-dinner and dinner was almost a ball, with lots of laughter. Before it ended Alayna realized that Lisa is yawning – her lights seemed to have gone out. The threat appeared over.

Later Nash drove her homewards, at her request turning into the disused quarry and parking under the pine trees. They were at it for almost two hours – he was good, not the best she’d had – but better than average and he lived virtually next door! She has it made, although next Tuesday was the vet’s night and the manager of the nearby sawmill was taking her to the city the next night, and then on Friday night she was booked to have dinner at the rugby club with the assistant coach – if Nash wanted in next week, he’d better make a firm date.

Maggie was up watching TV and greeted Alayna warmly. They kissed and Maggie told her daughter her father had just gone to bed but before going in to kiss him good night she should have a shower as she’s smelt of sex.

“Some of us get it, and some of us don’t,” Alayna teased.

“Say what you like, but I’m going through a good patch at the moment.”

“Oh, excellent. Who?”

“My lips are sealed, darling. Go clean up.”

After showing and applying plenty of powder and a couple of squirts of one of her milder perfumes, Alayna went into her parent’s bedroom and snuggled in against her daddy, keeping on the top of the sheet.

“I met one of your old girl friends today, Nash’s mother.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t remember me.”

“She did when told of your nickname Horse.”

Basil almost stopped breathing.

“Who gave you that information – your mother?”

“I didn’t say that,” Alayna replied deviously. “People talk, you know. Big reputations take longest to fade away.

“Why did women  call you Horse, daddy?” Alayna asked feigning innocence.

“Here, kiss your old dad and go to your bed darling. You already know more than you need to know. Good night.”



To Be Continued.



Valley of Sinners Ch. 04



SO FAR: A jobless and sensitive young man becomes innocently associated with a bubbling woman in her late forties who lives alone on a vineyard out of Auckland, New Zealand. Nash is attracted because she drives a beautifully re-built and upgraded 1939 Chevy pick-up and with ease draws him from his 'shell'. Hope Honeybun's interest in young Mr Carson is that he writes a little and seems to have a worldly sense so installs him downstairs as resident author and commissions him to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley. Nash hears with interest about the development of the valley and of her lusty father and his women and reasons he must probe to find out about Hope's sex life. It appears this is a Valley of Sinners. He has indulged with one sinner and Hope's daughter Lisa arrives home and her interest in Nash appears heading for a lusty coupling.

*

When feeling in need of discreet male company, which happens about monthly, Hope Honeybun often stays with an old friend, Ivan Hicks, in Hamilton -- a city two hour's easy drive south of her home. Sex with Ivan had never been great and their latest two sessions Hope would rate about average, which still meant it was better than going without. 

What Hope liked about Ivan was his ability to converse well on almost any subject that Hope threw at him. Ivan was also a charmer and treated her like a lady.

Although in Hamilton to attend a flower show that she'll not see, Hope knew if anyone asked all she needed to say was "The displays were wonderful, brilliant in fact, and so many of them, my mind is a blur. I didn't see anyone that I knew." Better being deceitful than having to try to explain to any inquirer why would she want to go all the way to Hamilton to be treated like a queen for the weekend; most people would never understand.

As she drove over the cattle stop crossing on to her property, Hope applied the usual quick visuals -- yes, the house was still there, not burnt to the ground; the leaves of the grapes all appeared to be a healthy green, and that little blur of lightening coming down the track was her little mate, Monty. All was well.

Hope drove into the opened garage, at the last second spotting Nash walking out of the orchard dressed only in very brief white shorts. Very sexy! She bounced from the car and kissed him. He smelt clean and 'orchardy'.

"Hi, Hope," Alayna called, her essentials just covered in a very small bikini. "We've had a lovely time and trust that you did as well and achieved all of the things you wanted?"

"Thank you dear, come in and help me prepare lunch."

"Ah, Hope, we'll stay in the orchard for a while and leave you two together," Nash said, with the devoted Monty at his feet.

"What two?"

"Hello, mother."

Hope spun around, dropped her handbag and spraying tears raced across the concrete apron outside the garages to fling herself into the outstretched arms of her youngest daughter.

"I'm sorry, so terrible sorry, Lisa."

"Me, too, mum. I never should have been so unbending."

"Lisa, that's enough from both of us, Hope said authoritatively. "The bridge is mended, let's move forward."

"Agreed. How are you, mother?"

"I'm fine, really fine these days as I have been moving forward. I take it that you have met my employee?"

"Ah, yes, your Mr Carson. I must confess mother he's an exceptional find."

"Good heavens, you and he haven't..."

"No, unfortunately; he seems to have rather conservative scruples, mother. One girl at the time it is and at present that is our little nympho from next door, the rather delightful Alayna."

"Well, quite" Hope smiled. "Even he is a little up-market compared with some of the scruffies that she seems to take up with. I am, after all, her unofficial godmother so it pleased me to bring them together."

Hope walked upstairs arm-in-arm with her daughter, enveloped with the glow of being bonded once more. She was interested, very interest, at the attitude of Lisa toward Nash. It seemed to her that Lisa has formed some sort of attachment toward Nash and did not appear to be jealous over his association with Alayna. Lisa seemed comfortable with that pairing, and appeared to have been relaxing in the orchard with them when Hope had arrived.

No, it was something more. Can it be that Lisa was developing a romantic attachment of her own? Unbelievable as it seemed, it certainly looked that way to her -- Lisa's eyes, her body language and her just expressed emotional assessment, 'an exceptionally good find' point to that assumption. Something must have happened to draw Lisa to him like this. How extraordinary! She knew her daughter so well she would have expected Lisa to arrive and say, "What the fuck is this man young enough to be your son doing living with you?" Instead, her acceptance of him appeared complete; very interesting!

The question had to come. "Mum, what is Nash doing living here with you?"

"I've taken a rather likening to the lad in a motherly way and he's helping me out in managing things around here."

"He refuses to tell me, mum, telling both Alayna and I that it's your business. I was told to ask you if I wanted to know. He's writing an article, perhaps even a book about you, isn't he? I know because I've spent several hours reminiscing about my childhood."

"He's being doing that? That wasn't on his schedule."

"He's also been questioning Alayna intensively."

"Alayna, what does she know about me?"

"Gossip -- remember who her mother is? Also how the neighbors fit into your life.

"He asked me to talk about everything -- warts and all."

"And you obliged?"

"Yes."

"Good gracious. Lisa, I do have a book in mind. He was supposed to spend the first fortnight getting the feel of the place, and then I was going to discuss with him a broad outline. I want him to gather factual information which should help him to understand my background. I want him to write a novel broadly based on my life but with true characters concealed."

"Why do you want to do this?"

"In memory of my father; the recent history of this valley has a lot to do with him, much more than even you perhaps imagine."

"Like what?"

"Wait for publication of the book, my dear."

"What if he's not a good enough writer?"

"Then I'll try again with someone else. I'll be asked him to transcribe all of his notes, research details and interviews on to CD that shall remain my exclusive property."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, Lisa. It is for the moment. And thank you for being a cooperative contributor."

"If he's any good he'll want to go to visit my two half-sisters, my step-father and my father."

"I suppose so. I'll talk that over with him if he wants to do that. I have him on a retainer and will pay his research and travel costs.

"I still don't understand..."

"Leave it, Lisa. I may send you drafts to read. Eventually the whole picture will emerge and my decision to undertake this project will be justified, at least to me. Now, darling, enough of that; how long do I have you?"

"I return to Sydney next Friday morning."

"Well, that's better than a couple of nights. I'll have time to get to really know my youngest and potentially the most loving daughter again."

"Potentially? I'm not sure that I am comfortable with the inclusion of that word."

"Then let's work at eliminating it, darling."

"You never were a simple country woman, mother, but now it seems you are determined to make yourself appear more complex. I find that rather agreeable."

A motherly smile appeared as Hope looked closely at Lisa, who seemed to be in peak health and very happy. What more could a mother ask? It was time to be hostess as well as a reunited mother. "I think we better call those two up for refreshments. With all the rutting, Nash will need building up."

"They have been at it, mum, but very discreetly I must say. Interestingly, at other times they act more like brother and sister, at least when I was around."

"Really? That pleased me as Alayna needs more stabilizing influences in her life."

"She's told me that she's not the marrying kind, and feels driven to play the field."

"That's a pity, what about you? Do you fancy him?"

"Mother!"

"I am your mother."

"I don't find him objectionable, but let's leave it at that."

"Call them up please, Lisa. I'll get the coffee on. I purchased some food on the way through the city -- please collect it from the front seat of the car as you pass it. Oh, please ask Nash to bring up everything else from the car."

"Yes, madam. The lady of the house is home and back in charge!"

"Nice to have you home again, love, with that cheeky lip and all."

Hope was overjoyed at having Lisa home again, delighted that their feud had ended and thrilled that the reasons for installing a lodger have been accepted so surprisingly placidly. Now, that was not like Lisa at all so she must bail up Nash and squeeze out the information about his unexpectedly docile relationship with Lisa.

It was a delightful late lunch with Lisa relating some of her memorable experiences of living and working in Sydney. Nash had the women screaming with laughter talking about his worst moments in cinema. Equally absorbing was Alayna describing some of the weird males she'd dated. After Hope described some of her adventures in the Chevy, it was time for Alayna to go as she had a date that evening.

"Take her home in the Chevy," Hope said.

"No, if I'm to be a country boy I'm going to walk through the bull paddock -- I must lose my fear," Nash answered. "Come on, Alayna -- my baptism of fire."

"Thank you, Hope, I had a lovely weekend," Alayna said, kissing Hope and whispering, "He treated me so wonderfully."

"God she's a tramp," Lisa said, watching them walking into Montgomery-Block and turning to go towards the hill. "She's out with someone else this evening, probably some poor woman's husband."

"Yes, that's about it I suppose, but she's still a nice kid. There always have been women like Alayna in this world."

The both head upstairs for a nap.

Hope was making the gravy for the roast chicken when Lisa came down wearing only a nightgown, a lovely but very provocative looking creation.

"God, you have a beautiful body darling, I am so jealous, but grab one of my dressing gowns -- he's back, unharmed, and has just come out of the shower judging by the improved water pressure from the sink mixer.

"No, I'm fine. He saw me like this last night at dinner."

"What, you and he alone and you dressed like that?"

"No, I had less ornate gown on and Alayna was here. He took her home late and was gone for two hours, if you're interested in hearing that."

"You've never shown yourself like that to a man to my knowledge."

"Ah, yes. Things are a little different when I'm away from home, mum, and a whole lot hotter in Sydney, I assure you."

"Really? Well sit like a lady. I guess you have got panties on?"

"Don't even ask, mother. I don't want you getting blood pressure. He won't even notice."

And that was true. Nash came in looking very neat, wet hair slicked back. He kissed them both lightly on the cheek and looked over Lisa in her olive Carmeuse and matching lace long gown with a low back with crisscrossed straps and cascading lace trim down the elegant sweep of the back. He could not help but notice it and to Hope's astonishment Lisa performs a slow pirouette for him.

"Nice night dress, but would look better with a lower neckline," he finally remarked after feasting his eyes on this impromptu floorshow. However, thereafter his eyes did not seem to wander and for the rest of the evening Hope observed that her daughter and her house guest rather acted like...like...brother and sister.

Twice during dinner Hope mentioned her father, with Nash recognizing this is quite a pattern with her. Hope frequently mentions him during their evening conversations, occasionally the name cropped up during other times of the day if a memory is stirred.

After the leisurely meal followed by coffee and gentle conversation in the lounge, Hope went to bed to watch the Sunday night Playhouse on TV, leaving Lisa and Nash to clear away. They loaded the dishwasher, washed the pots and larger dishes, exchanged a light kiss on the lips and headed off to their respective beds.

Lisa called in on her mother and snuggling beside her watched the finish of the program.

"Nash would be the most unlikely unemployable man that I know or have every read about."

"I came to the same opinion myself, dear; most peculiar. We shall have a drinking session before you go, just the three of us, and squeeze the work history and attitudes towards work out of him. It's not proper for men to remain mysterious to women."

Lisa agreed with that and kissed her mother. "Good night mum. I love you." She walked off to her bedroom in a heavenly nightgown that the young man downstairs did not appear interested in removing that evening.

Hope called to the departing Lisa: "Wonderful to have you home darling. Now, don't you ever stop loving me; you know I've never stopped loving you, and never will."

* * *

With Lisa home only for a week, Hope felt it necessary to re-introduce her daughter to the local community. On the Tuesday a marquee was erected in the old horse paddock beside the Honeybun's orchard -- the type of marquee people hire for weddings with a false ceiling of white tulle following the interior of the canvas roof behind which glow hundreds of 'fairy lights.'

Late on Wednesday afternoon guests begin arriving and shortly after the village shops closed all 178 guests confirming acceptance of the invitation had arrived to welcome home Lisa.

Lisa was sure she knew nothing like 178 people in the valley but she became aware they all knew Hope who introduced Lisa to them. Lisa had been quite stunned that her mother would throw such an extravagant party for her, but then again who needs a reason to party?

"Ah Lisa -- remember me, Sharon? Megan? Paula? Marion? Pete? Steve? And so it continued. All old schoolmates, all married to seemingly unattractive spouses who were introduced, and all had children -- anywhere from one to five.

Lisa had her hair piled high, done by Maggie who although untrained, was acknowledged as being the best hairdresser in the region. Lisa was wearing bright floral tight clinging pedal pushers, very high-heeled white shoes with colored straps, and a totally see-through tunic with a see-through half-bra and looked magnificent.

The women boggled, the men couldn't keep their eyes off her. Realizing that her daughter's way-out dressage was being accepted, Hope took off her very dark sunglasses as if allowing more people to recognize her as the exhibitionist's mother! 

Initially, Nash remained close to Lisa. He really had no option as her hand was locked around his left wrist and he was being pulled behind her like a trolley.

But Lisa had to let him go as women began crowding him. They'd seen Alayna kiss Nash, long and sultry, and then Maggie was all over him followed by a contingent of women golfers who knew Nash through his appearances at the golf dinner one recent Friday night. Many other female guests appeared to think this is a reasonable ritual to follow, so lined up to be introduced by Maggie.

Hope kept glancing at this melee and was quite fascinated; the popularity of her young writer was growing. Nash eventually appeared at her side. She took one look at him and suggests he should go and wash his face: "It's covered in at least twenty shades of lipstick, you Casanova," she giggled.

Moment later someone took Nash's photograph as he stood alongside Hope with Lisa attempting to wipe his face with her lace handkerchief. That photographer was from the district's community newspaper.

It was a balmy evening, with the sides of the marquee removed and people under canvas could see other quests flitting between the fruit trees, glass in one hand, nibbles in the other. It looks very much like a painting of a fabulous soiree in the Loire Valley or somewhere in Massachusetts

The quartet, which had being playing excerpts from the Classics, switched to jazz with rousing tempo, and the party buzz lifted. A continuous supply of hot finger food was available and all of the wines are premium wines of West Auckland wineries from grapes grown in southern areas, the exception being Te Henui's best wine ever -- the Montgomery cab/sav harvested after the great Indian summer of 1993, a wine that supposedly sold out upon release.

After a short speech of welcome by Hope, responded beautifully by Lisa, the older of the Bronkovic brothers called out, "Where did your'93 red come from, Hope? I believed I had the last case in existence."

"Oh," said Hope, "I put some cases away for Lisa's wedding, Neven. But nothing is in prospect right now so I decided to toss five cases in here this evening. That leaves me with five cases that I shall keep even at the risk of them turning to vinegar."

"Do you have a date in mind, Lisa?"

"It was always supposed to be next summer, Mr Bronkovic," Lisa, smiled. "But you're a winemaker, you know the score -- one can never pick a vintage year in advance. When someone proposes I'll know my time has come."

That produced laughter and Neven solemnly proposes a double toast to "Hope our Mayor and Lisa who's inherited her mother's charm."

"To Hope the Mayor and Lisa," came the toast by guests who were drinking away merrily. Apart from a few early leavers, most guests stay on well beyond midnight, with some spending the night under canvas or sleeping under the stars.

Nash was kissed awake in his bed by Lisa around 2:00 a.m.

"Huh."

"Hi, I just called in to see if there was anything you wanted?"

Although waking from a heavy alcohol-induced sleep, Nash caught her meaning. He was attempting to phrase a romantic response when they heard Hope calling: "Lisa darling, hurry along. You need to get a good sleep as you are taking me shopping in the city later today, remember?"

"Bugger," Lisa muttered.

"Saved by the bell," Nash sighed.

"Some other time then?" Lisa smiled "Come on, give me a big wet kiss."

Thereafter, Hope always seems to be everywhere, and if leaving the property she'd asks Lisa to drive her. The last chance of sexual union -- if that is what the young couple really intended -- came on Thursday night. Hope was to take Lisa to the airport next morning.

They dined at a restaurant in Henderson, a great, happy and light-hearted occasion. Lisa drove the Rover home because she'd consumed the less alcohol and Hope kindly told Nash to take the front passenger seat. He and Lisa held hands on straight stretches of road, Nash having initiated that intimacy. At one stage, when there were no headlights of any approaching vehicles to illuminate them, he gently stroked Lisa's thigh, catching his breath as he saw her nonchalantly draw up her skirt.

But then it was all over as they arrived home. Walking into the house Hope said, "This is your last night home, darling, probably for quite some time. Would you care to sleep in my bed tonight -- I'd very much like to know that you are sleeping beside me?" 

"Of course, mum; anything that makes you happy."

Lisa made a last-ditch effort, quietly making coffee just after 5:30 am and taking the two mugs to Nash's room. But before she reached the door she heard a shotgun blast from Monty's block. Tears leaked through her eyelids, closed in frustration.

She took the mugs of coffee up to her mother's bedroom and shook the heavily asleep Hope.

"Coffee, mother dear?"

"Marvelous, did you make one for Nash? He's usually awake at daylight."

"Who?" Lisa sighed, causing Hope to look at her curiously.

Nash arrived late for breakfast. Lisa had finished her piece of bacon and a piece of toast and marmalade and was upstairs preparing for her departure.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 04



The body language indicated to Hope that he was in a mood.

"How many rabbits did you get this morning -- Lisa tells me you've bought your own shotgun?"

"Yes, same as yours. Twelve rabbits and a hare."

"Twelve?" Hope queried.

"Yes, twelve," he scowled.

"My goodness, I must go and tell Lisa."

When Hope returned to the kitchen, Nash and his breakfast had disappeared. She went to the kitchen window and looked down. Nash was sitting in the orchard with his best mate, feeding Monty bacon rinds and a half-eaten sausage.

A few minutes later Hope and Lisa arrived ready to leave. Nash had backed the Rover out for them. He was leaning on the back of the car and as they walked over straightened and took the two carry bags from Lisa.

"Have a good flight, Lisa."

"Thank you, Nash. It was lovely meeting you. Try to look after mother for me, will you? I know she can be such a handful."

Lisa leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Nash didn't return the kiss but gave her three short pats on the back. She then said something to him that Hope couldn't catch but she heard the reply -- "It's not you fault; these things happen."

Hope was puzzled by this strange, low-key farewell by two people who the previous evening appeared ready to rip the clothes off each other. She'd been looking forward to having Lisa to herself on her final evening home and that tom cat had almost spoiled it for her.

They climbed into the car and Hope called, "I'll bring back something for lunch" but Nash already had disappeared back into the orchard with Monty.

"A nice chap, don't you think?" Hope said, hoping to start a conversation around him, but her daughter thwarted her by answering, "You could say that."

Well, Hope mused, what kind of answer is that?

"Mum, I know this is unfair on Nash, but I think you should drop this book project. It will only cause you grief and further eruptions within the family."

"What family -- I only have you, and you are big enough to withstand presume and possible humiliation but you will be safely distanced in Australia to experience actual fallout."

"You have two other daughters."

"Well, you and I know that, but they seem unable to accept that as fact. The links between has have become mere strands -- two or sometimes three letters a year from Christchurch and one a year from Dunedin if I'm lucky."

"Your daughters have names, mother."

"Oh, do they? I have difficulty remembering."

"Is Nash a substitute son?"

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"That diversion won't work with me, mother."

"I see. So I must say no, definitely no. Nor is he one of my decreasing numbers of occasional lovers. Does that satisfy you?"

"Yes, it did more than adequately answer my question. You realize of course that should you invite him upstairs to sleep in my room when the weather turns colder it will be only a matter of time before he receives the next invitation."

"What, into my bed?"

"Yes."

"You're priceless, Lisa. You've been seeing too many soppy films. He's a working man, not a stud. But come on, Lisa; let's talk about him more seriously. You've been around him for a week now, what is your assessment about him being virtually unemployable? I've never heard so much nonsense in my entire life."

"I haven't interviewed him formerly in an effort to arrive at a conclusion but first, tell me this: have you noticed he tends to only do things he wants to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"He goes out rabbiting at dawn because he likes the thrill of the hunt, the clarity of the early morning air and apparently, so far has not come home empty handed. He does things to impress like jumping up from the table and beginning washing the dishes, yet during the day he'll walk passed the sink and leaves the few dirty dishes sitting there untouched. The pretty and very busty Alayna, did you noticed he never phoned her or said he was going out to drop in on her? Yet she phoned have at least three times to my knowledge and came around three times. He loves Monty making a fuss of him but does he ever feed Monty without being asked or brush him or give him the weekly bath?"

Hope remained thoughtful and then said, "I get your drift, but these are really rather small things and are not his responsibilities."

"I know, but rack that up into the workplace where an employer is expecting him to display initiative and to be working as a team player?"

"Well, that would be rather different, so do you think it has occurred?"

"I wouldn't have a clue, but have wondered about it. I'll tell you this for what it's worth mother, if you really wish to pry into it, go talk to his mother. My guess is that he grew up having everything done for him and perhaps there is something else. If it is she's bound to know but may not wish to reveal private family business. This sounds like a mission right up your ally, mother, and I would like my curiosity satisfied."

"Would you like me to do it?"

"Yes."

"Why? Have you gone soft on him?"

"Mum, I promised myself I would not mention this to you. I'll tell you the outline if you promise me that you'll not tell another living soul and not even hint to Nash that you know our secret."

Hope saw that Lisa was a little stressed.

"Goodness for a moment I thought you would be telling me he tried to rape you, but it's bigger than sex, isn't it?"

"Yes; well?"

"I promise not to tell anyone or even hint that I know about it."

"Good, well last Friday when I was driving from the airport by sheer chance I came across Nash and Alayna in the city in the Chevy. I'd made a small diversion to look at the flat where I lived when taking up that job in employment consultancy. His mother happens to live in the next street which I passed through and Nash and Alayna had been out to lunch with her and were just heading home, for some after lunch bedroom games I shouldn't wonder. I could see it was a male driving the Chevy and didn't recognize Alayna, so assumed they had stolen your vehicle and honked at them to stop, which they did. While I was remonstrating with them some thickheads came cruising by in a really hot Holden and the driver slapped my ass as he drove passed exceedingly slowly. Naturally I called him names and the car stopped with the guys who were drunk or on drugs judging by their excessive behavior had turned, and were staring at us."

Hope's comment, "You shouldn't have done that Lisa" was ignored.

"Nash said that they were going to come back, so quick as a flash got out of the Chevy and asked Alayna to drive off to the restaurant car park where they had lunch. Nash thought that after dealing with us they would steal the Chevy."

"Why didn't he get you to drive it off?"

"Because I had the rental; he thought if we all tried to flee they'd run us down and deal with us anyway. Besides, he wanted me for bait."

"Oh my God, why?"

"To scare the shit out of them so they wouldn't come after us. Fortunately he'd just picked up his new shotgun and had taken it from the Chevy.

"But it wouldn't be loaded and he wouldn't have had time to take cartridges out of a sealed box."

"Mum, who's telling you the story?"

"Sorry, dear, go on, but I can't understand why you didn't tell me on Sunday at lunchtime."

Lisa shrugged and continued.

"The Holden had turned and was coming back to us so Nash told me exactly what he wanted me to do, to stand in the middle of the road, looking sexy like Marilyn Monroe, luring the louts to us. I was almost wetting myself, I was so scared. He told me to pull my dress up higher so they would be looking at me, rather than him as he got the shotgun out of the bag. They were only ten feet away when he called me to jump behind the rental car while he went out into the middle of the road, slammed the barrels shut and began lining up with the Holden's windscreen. This time it was the turn of the hoods to wet themselves, and the Holden went roaring off backwards, never to be seen again. Later when I learned that the shotgun had not been loaded. I didn't know whether to head butt my hero or to faint. Earlier he had me in his arms, having just caught me as I started to pass out in post-fright trauma."

"Oh, you poor darling. But why didn't you tell me, I'm your mother, dammit!"

"Because I promised him I would not tell anyone. He said he'd worked hard to protect me from possible gang rape so didn't want an aftermath that would besmirch my character."

"Besmirch your character? That sounds like something out of a cheap novel."

Lisa laughed, saying that Nash is addicted to movies.

Hope worried they might have taken the wrong option, that perhaps they should have ran for it but Lisa disagreed, saying that the Holden was supercharged and very much more powerful than the Chevy.

"It doesn't matter, mum. The bluff worked and I found out that your Mr Carson has a ton of guts."

"So you now fancy him?"

"What sort of question is that, mother?"

"Look who's now trying to put the hound off the scent."

"There's nothing between us, mother; absolutely nothing in terms of romantic attachment. I rather think neither of us has a heart."

"I'm please to hear that, darling. I don't think he's the right sort of man for you."

* * *

The next day after breakfast Hope and Nash set themselves up comfortably in the orchard and Hope begin to relate her life story. "Yes, warts and all," she sighed, responding to his urgings.

Three days later with breaks between two-hour sessions Hope finished her story.

"That's it, more or less. I'll do what you say and carry around a notebook with me and record anything else useful that comes to mind." By now they had bonded like never before.

Drinking iced water spiked with a lime at the end of a very hot day, Hope glanced at Nash and said he looked tired.

"Yeah, listening to you takes a lot out of a man. I think I'll have an hour's kip before dinner if you don't mind."

"Of course not, but look, use Lisa's bedroom. Open the French doors on to the balcony and the windows at the other end and you'll get a through draught. I'm just slipping into the village before the butcher closes to pick up some steaks. I think we'll have a barbecue out here tonight."

Nash said that sounded lovely and stifling a yawn offered to get the meat for her.

"No I'll do it but thank you, you have impressed me."

Hope immediately regretted saying that, thinking that Lisa had poisoned her mind, but Nash didn't appear concerned, and why would he? It was a pleasant rejoinder that appeared to be nothing but a compliment.

Returning home Hope went upstairs and looked in on him, having already checked his bedroom which was really hot, through the sun beating on its facing exterior wall of concrete blocks. Nash appeared to be sleeping peacefully, nude, but with his back to her. Fifteen minutes later he entered in the kitchen in shorts and unscrewed the caps off two bottles of larger from the fridge. On scorching days they liked to drink beer.

Cheers Nash said as they faced each other. He was wearing only a pair of shorts and Hope had changed into a thin tan colored dress and had dispensed with a bra, but was wearing panties. Leaning back on the sink bench she was aware her breasts were hanging lower than normal; but she thought so what wondering if she minded him staring at them like that. She looked down and was horrified -- there was a damp patch between her breasts.

"Oh, look at me, how embarrassing," she said, wondering why on earth she'd prefaced her obscure apology with the 'look at me' comment. I need to go and change -- could you please turn the roast vegetables when the timer goes."

"There's no need to change -- sweat is perfectly natural and practically unavoidable in this extreme weather. I don't think I've seen that dress before, I love the color but the cut is a bit dated."

The oven bell went and Hope began turning the vegetables.

"Yes, it's from the back of the wardrobe. I chose it because it's thin and cotton, well for heat wave wear, I thought, without thinking of body leak."

"Body leak?" Nash laughed. "I don't think that's term most people use to describe skin perspiration."

Hope colored but looked at him cheerfully and said, "You clown, get me another beer."

Nash put a fresh bottle in front of Hope who was now sitting at the table, head resting in her upturned palms. "Look, I've goofed. Who the hell wants super-heated roast vegetables on a hot evening like this? I should have done a salad instead."

"I wondered about that, but no worries. Tell me when it's time to barbecue the steaks -- I'll do them as we don't want you wet patch spreading." Eying her chest Nash said, "Actually it's dried off quite a bit, probably from the ambient heat from the oven." 

"Room temperature would do it, I should think," Hope countered. "Come on, I have an idea. Let's take that bottle of sparkling wine in the fridge out to the orchard -- it will become cooler there sooner than in the house. I'll put another bottle in the freezer and in a little over fifteen minutes the vegetables will be done. I'll slice them into cubes and let them cool outside. We'll eat them cold with the steaks after we've cut that second bottle."

"Sounds good to me; mothers know best."

Sprawled out on their sun loafers, each with a glass of bubbly, Hope said casually, "Earlier you mentioned mother know best. You talk occasionally about your mother but we've never met. Would you like to go in on Sunday and bring her back here for lunch? This heat will be much more moderate by then as a change to a southerly flow is expected by late Saturday instead of this stuff coming in from the west straight out of heartland Australian. Sydney's temperature was expected to hit 38 degrees early this afternoon."

"Well, that's very nice of you. I'll phone in the morning and pass on your invitation. I know she's curious about you and wonders why you would want to hire a bloke like me. If she comes perhaps after lunch I'll wander off and you two can have a heart to heart."

"I'd like her to visit us -- please tell her that. I don't want your mother thinking that I'm doing some sort of duty."

"I will, and thanks again. Now let me fill you up with more chilled plonk; it's going down a treat, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes!"

Two hours later Hope announced she was going to bed. "I've downed too much wine and am ready to crash. Just throw a cover over everything and I'll clean up in the morning."

She came over and kissed Nash on the forehead, her hanging breasts loose under the thin dress draped over his right arm and chest but this contact seemed perfectly natural and he did not react.

"Good night, Hope. The drinks will keep you oblivious to the heat and it will be cooler when you wake up."

"I know and that's why I went over my limit tonight. You must sleep in Lisa's room tonight -- your room will be like a furnace. Shift all your things up there in the morning."

"Good idea, thanks."

A few minutes after Hope had gone Nash cleared away and cleaned the barbeque and table until they were in near pristine condition. He surprised himself being so diligent and wondered if he were simply trying to impress Hope or was being with her slowly changing him? She did have exceedingly good tastes, good habits and worked and played hard. Yes, perhaps she is beginning to influence him -- for the better! He chuckled. 

After finishing the dishes he took a cooled mug of coffee to Lisa's room and sat out on the balcony. The heat-laden air is oppressive, very still but the flying bugs were busy and usual night sounds presented the customary calm evening symphony. Just when it seemed the farm animal section had missed its cue this evening, one of the Taint's bulls bellowed and Monty on the deck below growled a response, probably in his sleep.

Nash sighed and slowly fell asleep in the chair.

Hope awoke in the morning to the sound of a shotgun blast almost right below her window. It will be Nash she sighed, in the Home Block that run between the house and the road -- the block that makes visitors aware that they are entering a vineyard. She turned to check the bedside clock and found a mug of coffee and piece of toast -- the toast was still warm.

"Oh shit," gasped Hope, aware of her naked top. She felt farther down and was relieved that while both legs are uncovered, the crumpled sheet ran up between her thighs to almost her navel. At least he hadn't helped himself to an eyeful of everything. Well, she was almost prepared to swap her dignity for a mug of dawn coffee anytime, with emphasis on almost.

They'd had a great session winding up her recollections yesterday, the words seemed to tumble from her mouth and she clearly pictured many of the scenes that seemed to bring some of those reminiscences vividly to mind, as if it were only yesterday. She was pleased, very pleased, that the three-day talk-fest hadn't been totally her doing the talking. Initially Nash questioned for clarification and then began to fancy himself as a journalist, asking questions to elicit deeper thoughts, such as, 'Why do you think your father never remarried' and 'Tell me more about your father's illegitimate child."

Hoped sighed. She hadn't meant to give the game away so early but it was past lunchtime on that second day so she was hungry and hot. "Which one, there are three? Just a minute while I pour myself another pre-lunch drink"

Nash had meant the Bronkovic infant who'd been at the centre of that stand-off between her father and herself and the Bronkovic Brothers. So she told him about Anton, now widely known as Ant, and then revealed the existence in the valley of her two half-sisters.

Hope had mixed strong gins before venturing down this path and Nash almost finished his in one gulp because he was so startled when youngest of the illegitimate children was identified as Alayna. 

"Jesus," he said. "That's some family secret. Does she know?'

"No, nor Basil. Until this minute I believe the only persons who know are her mother Maggie and me. Alayna knows me only as her unofficial stepmother, not her real half sister. The intention was she would be told by Maggie and me when she turns twenty-five and takes possession of G-block which is between the blocks that Anton and Eloise will receive when they attain the age of twenty-five."

"My other half-sister is Eloise, daughter of Brigitte Moreau. Brigitte is a cousin of Mimi Bronkovic. Brigitte was visiting the valley with her husband from France shortly after their marriage and volunteered to take Mimi's sick cat to Cedric's surgery. I was away staying with a friend, my father was at a loose end and so the inevitable happened. The Moreau's immigrated to New Zealand two years later, Chaney working in Te Henui Winery until he left to become chief winemaker at the Hausman Winery. The mother, Brigitte, eventually revealed to me who was the true father of her child, swearing me to secrecy so we do have a problem over disclosure here -- you'll have to smooth-talk to her.

Nash sensed there was more to be revealed.

"These land endowments: they were your father's delayed bequests?"

"No," said Hope without emotion. "Daddy didn't feel he had any responsibility towards women who were incapable of controlling their ability to conceive during liaisons with him. I decided to make some kind of gesture using his land he'd bequeathed to me." 

"You are attempting redemption?"

"They will simply get a solicitor's letter with a certificate of title with an explanation that the land has been bequeathed to them by the late Cedric Honeybun. Maggie has decided to make the disclosure to Alayna in the presence of Basil and myself -- of course even Basil doesn't know so it's going to be a rather dramatic disclosure. Both Ana Bronkovic and Brigitte Moreau have yet to decide they will reveal their long buried secret."




Valley of Sinners Ch. 04



Shocked by these revelations, Nash wondered about the legal implications, particularly if all or any of the illegitimate children or families decided to seek a greater share of Hope's wealth.

"I have endeavored to protect my own children, but even that could cause squabbles leading to court action upon my death." Hope had told him. "It is my instruction that sixty percent of my estate goes to Lisa and twenty per cent each to my other daughters Claris and Bette. Claris and/or Bette may well try to claim a bigger share but their virtual divorce from me when they left me with their father, now long divorced from me, has been well documented and I continue under legal advice to document when they write or communicate with me in other ways. I have not seen either of them since they left home so dramatically twelve years ago."

Hope and Nash lunched virtually in silence after those disclosures, with Nash twice shaking his head. Finally his thought tumbled out, shocking her: "My bet is that Hollywood will want film rights to this book."

Then came another thought, so preposterous that she physically shook. He said: "This story must be told in its entirety, as it's a case of the truth being better than fiction. Your wish is to dedicate the story to your late father, as a lingering memorial to him which means telling the truth. I'd like you to consider biting the bullet and producing a real biography of your life. We would need to seek legal advice about the best way of protecting ourselves and any publisher so we are indemnified against any claims of damages lodged by or on behalf of the illegitimate children and through using the names of people still alive linked with compromising circumstances with your father."

"Oh God," Hope had cried. "I couldn't do that. I would be pilloried by this community and our family name would be considered akin to animal dung."

"Take it steady, Hope," cautioned Nash. "No need to get upset. Just think about it a bit. As I see it you have three issues to think about over coming days.

"One, do you wish to continue this project?"

"Two, should it be a novel, or a biography?"

"Three, should you be replacing me with a professional author, one who is already highly regarded?"

"Now you go and have a siesta. I'm off to wash and polish the Chevy in the shade of the orchard."

During the next couple of days Hope thought a lot about question three. She'd decided instantly that it had to be her biography simply because the story could be told better from that perspective as in real life the story had not yet finished, as she was now administrator of her late father's affairs in both senses of that word. That decision made question one redundant.

Finally she'd reached a conclusion. She'd debated with herself the pros and cons of having Nash try to write the book, or bringing in someone else and then having to start all over again. Nash had the inside running as he'd befriended Lisa like no other writer would manage. Apparently he'd extracted three notebooks of comments and impressions from Lisa who now considered him to be a hero for saving her from the probability of a terrible gang rape.

Incredibly, through a series of social gatherings Nash had managed to generate a high degree of acceptance in what was rather a tight community. He had charm and he was being exhibited as Hope's protégé, but he seemed to have an invisible shroud of sexuality that seemed to trigger at times, like when he was meeting new people.

It was something that only some women -- and no men -- seemed to sense. Only then had Hope concluded that it was the same presence that she had recognized her father had possessed. Shaking her head, she threw up her hands, accepting that the invasive attraction was the very reason that she'd focused on Nash after he'd assisted her in avoiding having her Chevy towed away.

Alayna, of course, had sensed it although in all probability there seemed no need for a man to have a special musk or whatever it was to get her half-sister into bed. Maggie, too, picked up on it in an instant.

Hope concluded that in further researching for his book, Nash would have easier access to people who were extremely interested in him, whereas those same people would probably turn other researchers away. That last consideration counted heavily in his favor.

Hope then accepted another probability: Lisa had been drawn to Nash's sexuality. It would explain why she had frequently positioned herself very close to him and twice had come to dinner dressed only in a nightdress which she'd never done before. Then, on that final evening Lisa had behaved so much like a cat on heat that Hope had thought about throwing a bucket of water over her until coming up with the idea of having her daughter sleep in her room on her final evening at home. Gratitude for being saved from a nasty situation on a city street was one thing, but if gratitude was a factor in Lisa's behavior it had upgraded itself into something tantamount to passion.

* * *

Not long after midday on Sunday -- a day ruined by a strong and blustery wind -- the Chevy turned up the drive and Hope, wearing one of her formal dresses, rushed out to warmly greet the arrival: Nash has fetched his mother to meet Hope and enjoy a country-style luncheon.

Hope formally greeted the visitor and was immediately told by her neatly attired guest to call her Rose. Only newspaper delivery girls and people wanting money called her Mrs Carson, Rose laughed.

Rose handed across a bouquet of flowers from her garden, a big jar of guava jelly and a very expensive high fashion magazine published in Italy.

"Nash told me you dress like a princess."

"A dowager princess no doubt," giggled Hope and Nash moved off saying he'd get the drinks.

"Come into the orchard Maud -- sorry, Rose."

Rose laughed and said she appreciated humor like that. She exhibits a lively personality, her hair was silver with a dyed black 4 cm wide streak from her crown to her fringe -- a new style according to what Nash told Hope later. Rose's eye-lashes were even longer than the ones Lisa had when going out at nights. She was petite with an infectious laugh.

Hope said Rose appears far more affable than she had expected. Her impression was that women living in the inner city were very cultured and very correct and spoke in private school accents.

"Me, one of those?" Rose said, throwing an arm across her bust in mock shock and then breaking into a screeching rendition of a denial mimicking an imaginary 1920s unwashed, uneducated street urchin from Liverpool.

Wiping her eyes wet with unrestrained laughter, Hope walked towards the orchard asking, "Are you from England?"

"I was born in the north. My father had been a music hall comedian in his younger day and after that became a tour bus driver, one of the most popular ones around because of his humor.

"One day one of his passengers told him to pack up and come to a new job at the man's big baseball stadium in New York, which involved whipping up the enthusiasm of the crowd before the start of the big game. Dad said sorry, but he could not leave his wife and two children behind, but was told the job offer included total payment of the relocation of the entire family and a largish apartment at a very low rental. From there he went into radio and then on to TV, hosting mainly talent quests. The production unit was short of a filler one day so dad gets mum to rush me to the studio where I was auditioned and was on the show that night, age eight, singing a popular country and western number in a horrible English accent. I bought the house down and viewers kept phoning in wanting to hear me sing again, so I was given the opening 'warm up' spot on the show for eight weeks, bringing in enough money to set me up in music lessons for two years and some new dresses for me and mum. It was a memorable period in my life."

"That's wonderful," Hope smiled, "Now excuse me for a moment but although it's windy today it's quite sheltered in here -- we can either go inside or try here. What do you think?"

"Oh, here please. So this is what Nash calls the apple green and very airy interview room?"

"I suppose so, we do our interviews here but I've never heard him call it anything else but the orchard."

"Oh, that boy is such a tease."

"Drinks, ladies."

"Thank you Nash. You stay and talk with your mother. She and I have decided it's okay to eat out here. I'll bring lunch down."

"No, you sit here and enjoy mum's company, Hope. She has quite a wit and quite a way with her. I'll get everything down in a tick; just have a couple of phone calls to make."

"Well I never," says his mother. "Nash offering to do something extensive like this? Usually he's such a lazy sod and barely lifts a finger. He doesn't usually jump into the breach like that unless he...Oh, gawd."

"What were you about to say?"

"It doesn't matter, it's a tad embarrassing."

"No, don't hold out on me. Say it, please."

"Unless he fancies a person."

Hope blushed trying to suppress a laugh. Rose watched amused until the dam broke and they both laughed without restraint.

"I'm telling you, if he tried anything like that on me he'd get my working boot right up his backside."

"Good for you, Hope. These young people, all they seem to think about is sex and who to do it with. In our day we attached ourselves to a bloke and then got on working to make ends meet, didn't we? And usually they only got to base when they deserved it." 

"Yes, and weren't most men going steady such deserving cases in our days," Hope laughed.

"Care to share the joke?" Nash invited, arriving with a table cloth over his shoulder and a small tray groaning under a load of dishes with place mats separating them.

"Christ, Nash, that's my best crystal you've got heaped up there," Hope said, turning pale.

"Be careful, Nash," his mother said. "It should be all right; he will have worked it out and tested for stability before setting off down the stairs. He'd even tested the sturdiness of the tray and taken a close look at the handles. Nash is excellent at that sort of thing. I'd guess he's tried to bring everything down in one shot but couldn't find a tray large enough. You'll probably find the salt and pepper shakers in one pocket, serviettes in the others."

Both women watched hawked-eyed as Nash put the tray carefully on the side of the barbecue, politely declining offers of assistance. He placed the table cloth over the table and then fetched across the four salads, two at a time, then a bowl of diced cold potatoes and another of quartered tomatoes and onions. Neither woman expression changed when Nash took the salt and pepper shakers, serviettes and two tubes of different salad dressings from his pockets.

"Be back in a second. We still need the wine, glasses and the salmon."

The women grinned as he went off.

After lunch had been cleared Nash returned with coffee and chocolates and asked if anything else was required.

"No, only your company," Hope said kindly. "Congratulations, you served an excellent meal."

"Thank you but I need some exercise. I think I'll walk Monty for a bit. He'll be pissed off being chained up for the past two hours. You girls can then yap your hearts out."

"Off you go, you cheeky bugger," his mother said fondly.

Confessing to not know much about Nash's background -- that he didn't offer so she hadn't pressed -- Hope invited Rose to enlighten her, if she were comfortable about that.

"He's my youngest. My husband Dan turned into a queer and lives with a guy in the South Island. Mae my oldest child is twenty-eight, married to a manager of a wood processing plant out of Napier and they have twins who have just started school. Ross is a professional golfer at present playing on the Japanese circuit; he's thinking of throwing it all away, buying a yacht and sailing around the world with his Japanese fiancée."

"They sound very nice children. So how old were the children when your husband left home?"

"Eighteen, sixteen and fifteen. Ross was about to leave home and Mae married the next year, so that just left my young singing buddy and me."

"Your what?"

"Nash, my singing buddy. Haven't you heard him? He's great."

"No, I haven't. I wasn't even aware that he could hold a tune."

"Oh, there we go again. He'd such a lazy sod. Somebody has to have everything set up and invite him to join in for him to get off his butt. As he sings only country and western not a lot of folk do the asking."

"Goodness, any other surprises?"

"I don't think so, not unless you're into golf, he plays off a ten I think and like Ross he's got this ability to attract women. I use to think that Ross had got hold of an after-shave with some kind of female bait mixed into it -- a cocktail of pheromones, perhaps. But he always denied it and I got the feeling Nash didn't even know what I was talking about. He thought girls came to our place to see him because there were so many of guys they didn't like -- always a smart thinker is Nash."

"So they both grew up girl crazy?"

"No, neither of them seemed particularly bothered by girls. They liked them and both said girls were more interesting than boys, but neither was really strong into girls sexually, as far as I could see. I kept them supplied with the necessary protection, but I can't recall them ever asking for more. I just kept dropping the occasional dozen pack into their socks drawers, thinking they were too embarrassed to ask for a top up."

"So, Nash grew up in female company."

"Oh no, as soon as Ross cleared off I installed a man into my bed and when one relationship broke down I would commence another."

Hope topped up the coffee cups and congratulated Rose on being so pragmatic.

"I suppose young Nash accepted he had a lot of uncles?"

"No, there was no deception -- he knew the installed one as 'mum's lover' but to his face would address them as Mr So-and-So. Some were kind to him, some indifferent, and one or two knocked him around a bit, me sometimes as well. But that's life and with each guy it only happened the once, because I'd say, 'If you ever again hit my kid like that I will slice your balls out while you're asleep.' One guy took off within two minutes, never to be seen again and never having his smart lounge suite and brand new refrigerator collected or notifying that it be sent on to him. One or two others slept uneasily for a few nights while others though I was bluffing, but they decided not to test me."

"Would you have done it?"

"No, I probably would have just slit their wrist and had them rushed off to hospital alleging they tried to commit suicide in my bed after being unable to get an erection three nights running. I'd thought about it see -- if I'd cut them out and had the stones in my hand, what would I do with them? Feed them to the cat?"

"You're a real hoot, Rose, but I can sympathize and really understand your predicament. Men can be such bastards."

"Yes, and women can be too."

"True, so did Nash grow up resenting the fact that his father was alive and not living with him to take him skiing, to football and all those sorts of things?"

"Yes, but the anger gradually evaporated but my feeling is nothing has filled the hollow that's left in his soul. The right woman might complete his transition into manhood. I have wondered if it might be you -- he's always talking about you."

"Christ, don't go wishing that on me, Rose. I'm old enough to be his mother and, curiously, my life has been a little like yours. In recent years I've maintained a little line-up of men who come in handy. If I were to favor one male there could be a lynching."

They laugh without restraint; Nash appeared with Monty and asked if they'd like to share the joke. He's firmly told it was only girls' talk.

Nash enquired if his mother has offered to sing one of her favorite songs to Hope, who looked surprised.

"She hadn't offered."

"You have to ask her otherwise you wouldn't be aware she does this for people she likes. She's a bit lazy like that."

"Just like you and golf"

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Nash. 

"Rose, I would be honored if you would sing to me. What do I need to provide -- we don't have a CD player but we do have a piano upstairs?"

"It's cool, Hope. She's pretty good at singing unaccompanied."

"That's fine, but I want you to sing along with her, Nash."

"Huh?" he said in surprise, then turned to Rose and growled, "Mum, you and your big mouth."

They sing 'Me & Bobby McGee' and 'Have I Told You Lately That I Love You'. Rose said she'd sing one more, provided Hope joined them.

"That was amazing, really lovely," Hope said, eyes flashing. "Sorry, but I'm really not into country and western music."

"You must know one C&W song," Nash wheedled.

"Home on the Range?" 

"Great, one of my favorites," Rose smiled.

"Here we go," she said, taking Hope's hands in hers. "One, two, three..." 

Before the song finished Hope is singing full throttle, and enjoying it.

"Come on, just one more time," she smiled, and off they went again.

As they walked to the Chevy, Rose reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a wrapped CD.

"Here, Hope, this is for you. Five years ago I hired a studio and recorded my favourite twenty-one songs out of the scores and scores that I used to sing. Have it as a keepsake."

Hope ripped it open and gasped at the cover photograph of a very pretty young woman.

"That was me, aged twenty-two and believing I was singing my way to be signed up for Nashville, but I was not good enough. By the way, a photo of the real me, taken five years ago, is on the back cover."

"That's lovely; I'll treasure it and will play it, regularly. There is a CD player is Lisa's room that I am supposed not to touch -- she is my twenty-four year old in Sydney. Do you mind waiting a minute, I've just thought of something."

She returned carrying an old 78 rpm album. She handed it to Rose who looked bewildered.

"It's yours, to remember me by."

"B-b-but I can't accept this. It's an early Gene Autry, in mint condition. You could get hundreds and hundreds of dollars for this from a collector in the States."

"I don't want the money, Rose. I want you to accept it as a little gift of possible interest."

Rose hugged Hope. "I shall treasure it, but we'll meet again, soon. It has been so wonderful being here with you and seeing the orchard room."

"Oh darn, I didn't show you through the house."

"No worries, Hope. Some other time, huh?"

Hope was on her sun loafer in the orchard when Nash returned from taking his mother home. She said 'Hi' as he walked towards her and said, "What was that for?" when he kissed her gently on both cheeks.

"For being so nice to mum. She enjoyed herself and was burbling on about you all the way into the city. You've got quite a fan there."

"That's lovely, and thanks for being nice to me. But now I have a bone to pick with you. Why didn't you tell me you play golf? You knew that I was scratching for a partner last Sunday."

"You didn't ask me."

"Nash!"

"All right," he said, brushing back his hair. "I knew you were struggling to get a partner as many of the men were away on an inter-club. But Hope, I am with you almost all of your waking hours -- you need breathing space, to be in your chosen environment, where you fit."

"I needed a partner, Nash, but fortunately I got one. Well, now for Sunday week you need one. My regular partner Neven Bronkovic and I will be challenging you and your partner at 1:21 on Sunday, the losers having to pay for the winners' drinks and dinner. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Oh, all right, but I don't have my clubs. I sold them before coming up here."

"No problem, we have hire sets at the club."

"Also I don't have a partner."




Valley of Sinners Ch. 04



"No problem, I shall find you one."

"I'd rather have a selection."

"Oh, would you. That's a little high and mighty, but never mind."

Hope wrote something in her notebook, tore out the page and said, "Take this down to the clubrooms now and put it up on the notice-board - the one outside the ladies' changing room. You ought to get one poor unfortunate to accept your appeal to join you for a match on Sunday afternoon with drinks and dinner guaranteed."

On Saturday morning Nash went down to the clubhouse and was staggered. The names of thirteen women were written in at the bottom of his appeal for a partner. Initially he thought it was a joke, but looking at the signatures saw obvious differences in handwriting and even in the pens used. He decided to make the choice over coffee back home.

Hope was watching a British comedy on Sky-TV.

"Any names?"

"Yeah."

"Good, I thought you would get someone. Let me see."

"Good heavens," she blurted counting quickly. Thirteen pheromone sniffers."

"What was that?"

"I said, Good heavens, thirteen feminine do-gooders. How will you make the selection?"

"Applied intelligence; I'll probably see an anagram in a particular name that spells winner."

"Good for you. Our probable ladies' club champ for this year on form is on that list, but I'm not going to tell you who she is, as her handicap won't drop until Friday week."

"Come on, I'll be good to you if you tell."

"Good to me in what way?"

"In what way would you like?"

Hope turned back to the TV set, her faced flaming.

"I'm not telling, so don't try to wheedle."

Ten minutes later the TV program finished and Hope listened to a one-sided telephone conversation with increasing curiosity.

"Hi, it's Nash Carson."

"Very well, thank you."

"Good. Listen, would you kindly partner me on Sunday week. You have volunteered."

"Oh, that's great. Yes, we will, won't we?"

"Currently ten."

"Why thank you."

"Yes, I noted your handicap."

"So you're gone down two strokes in the past six months. That's excellent,"

"No I don't, I've sold them so will hire a set."

"Oh, that's very nice of you. Are you sure he won't mind?"

"Well, if you gave him the set I suppose you are entitled to have some say about who uses them."

"You wear the pants? Oh, good. Wear some on Sunday, won't you."

"Yes, you're not the only one who laughs at my jokes."

They went on to talk about the weather, the state of the course and about having a great time on Sunday night. Hope tried to work out the woman player he had chosen.

She went through the players memorized from the list, but could only remember twelve of them. Of those, probably all twelve had dropped two shots in recent months as conditions became dryer, giving more run.

Which of those women had given their husbands golf clubs?

Aha, that twelve was now three. She eliminated Maggie immediately and then as Sue's husband was left-handed, that ruled her out. Shit, thought Hope rather crudely; he's bumbled around and managed to pick the hottest women player in the club, in playing golf too. Debbie Weeks, who'd be the women's new champion if she kept her current form. The lucky devil, if he plays to his handicap it will be a walk over for them. Still, she'd have fun observing Debb's seduction techniques during the afternoon and evening; she might learn something.

Nash came from the phone, looking pleased.

"Any ideas."

"Yes, it was easy -- the gorgeous Debbie Weeks."

"Wrong, Maggie Tait."

"Oh, what a shame. Make sure you take enough money to pay for our dinners, won't you? Why on earth did you pick her, she's so inconsistent? We believe she would do much better if she tied down those swinging boobs of hers; the momentum of their weight seems to put her off balance."

"I'm not aware of her inconsistency. I looked at the handicap board. I get only one stroke off your partner, who's on a nine, and being on fifteen you get six shots off Neven. But Maggie girl, being on twenty-seven, gets eighteen -- one stroke for every hole."

They lounged quietly for a few moments then Hope confessed that she enjoyed having Nash around -- the loneliness in her life had gone since he'd come to stay. 

"That's nice of you to say that," he yawned. "I enjoy being here -- you are a remarkable woman, Hope."

Hope looked quite shocked.

"Me? Oh you flatterer. I wish you'd met my father. He was truly a most remarkable man; I idolized him."

Nash choose not to challenge that statement, instead yawned again, snuggled down in his sun loafer and with his hands behind his head said softly, "Please tell me about your sexual experiences."

Hope flushed and said, "Yes, all right, but you relate your experiences first -- and leave nothing out, mind you. My father and I used to occasionally have very similar conversations to this."

To Be Continued...



Valley of Sinners Ch. 05



SO FAR: A jobless and sensitive young man becomes innocently associated with a bubbling woman in her late forties who lives alone on a vineyard out of Auckland, New Zealand. Nash is attracted because she drives a beautifully re-built and upgraded 1939 Chevy pick-up and draws him from his 'shell' with ease. Hope Honeybun's interest in young Mr Carson is that he writes a little and seems to have a worldly sense so installs him downstairs as resident author and commissions him to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley. Nash hears with interest about the development of the valley and about her lusty father and his women and reasons he must probe to find out about Hope's sex life. It appears this is a Valley of Sinners. He has indulged with one sinner and Hope's daughter Lisa arrives home and her interest in Nash appears heading for a lusty coupling but she returns to Sydney without that happening. Author Nash learns there are three sins, not one, involving illegitimate children and Hope has made provision to compensate for the sins of her late father.

*

After beef sandwiches and salad for dinner, Nash Carson took the lively terrier Monty for a walk up the hill behind the house and at the top looked across the bull paddock to the distance home of the Taits. He called Maggie on his mobile phone and asked if he could get personal.

"Of course, I've been waiting to become intimate with you from the first time I saw you," she said calmly.

"No Maggie, not quite that personal. For goodness sake, Basil may be listening.

"He's gone to bed, over-indulging in alcohol – again." 

"Er, so have you been drinking?"

"Up to my tits in booze." 

"Great, then you'll be partly insulated against feeling insulted since you've consumed that amount. May I ask, with the noblest of intentions, do you own a sports bra?"

"Who do you think I am – a patsy?"

"Oh, that's a pity."

She snorted and said they don't make those fluffy things for real women with real boobs.

"Of course they do Maggie; I've seen them large enough to almost stand in for an emergency sail for a yacht."

"You're kidding – that big?"

"Yes, really big.

"Okay but why are we having this conversation; are you intending to drop over and play around with them?"

"Well it occurred to me that a lady of your size would really benefit being trussed up a little firmer to play golf. I'm convinced that it would improve your balance, leading to you lowering your handicap."

"How many stokes would I drop."

"Hmmm. At a guess, four strokes lower by the end of summer."

Maggie said that changed her thinking; it could really be worth trussing herself up."

"You bet; it certainly would be worth it."

"I'll probably buy one then."

"Yes, buy one tomorrow and play in it on Tuesday and Thursday club days to get used to it so we can be winners on Sunday."

"It I endure doing this for you, what present would I give you? 

"Oh, a bottle of wine."

"I'd rather you thought about giving me something long, thick and warm."

"Maggie, keep your voice down. I'll have to think about that."

"I really like you, um, Nash."

"I know you like me."

"I like the look of your smooth, taunt young body."

"Yes, I can imagine you like nice young bodies. I'll think carefully about you idea of a present. Will talk again soon; goodnight Maggie."

A little earlier Hope had given Nash the background on Maggie. Named Margaret Elaine Lewis at birth but quickly called Mel by her doting father, a name based on her initials that survived until Margaret became a stroppy teenager, Maggie had been born in the valley. So had her two closest friends, Sue Smith (now Wicker) and Hope Honeybun.

The physically larger and boisterous Maggie became the ground commander of the trio. Sue's penchant was entertainment officer as she liked coming up with ideas and organization. Hope gravitated into the role of homework tutor and financier because she was the 'brains' and was so good with money, being able to think of ways of injecting new cash flow when the trio were under-funded for their next joint venture. Hope also became fashion consultant as the girls progressed through high school because she had an eye for color and could discriminate between fad and fashion.

The three remained close as adults, with Maggie now Maggie Tait, After Albert Wilson divorced Hope she reverted to her maiden name Honeybun and two years later her illegitimate daughter Lisa also changed to Honeybun. Sue Smith, now Sue Withers, lives near the regional centre where she manages the retail division of her husband's travel agency. The three former school mates get together at least monthly and each year Sue and Hope set off as a twosome to one of the fashion capitals of the world for a week's extravagance. 

Two years after her marriage, Maggie became bored – living on the farm, in a sub-standard farmhouse because her husband's retired parents lived in the new house with its lovely swimming pool where one could walk out straight from the kitchen to the pool-side barbecue; it was a magnificent home environment. Maggie was years away from gaining possession of that house, bored and listless in the summer heat. Basil was up north at a bull sale so when the cheeky farm supplies salesman called and asked if he could have strong tea and two of the scones he'd spotted cooling, she served them, then said she now wanted payment and took him to the lounge sofa where she had her way with him. It was her first extra-marital affair, but she was neither remorseful nor worried – she was on the pill and indulging in sex was second nature to Maggie.

At the next stock sale Basil was told of the rumor that a farm supplies salesman called Robert had get lucky at the Tait farmhouse, and Basil was sure the rumor was not referring to his mother. So within the week the livestock agency had a salesman named Robert on sick leave with a broken jaw and Maggie was asked to stop taking the pill and had what she confessed to Hope and Susan was 'the best two months of sex that I've had in my entire life'. 

Three years later Maggie was the mother of three infants, very busy and wishing she could move with her brood into the new house. She now wanted less sex from Basil but the thought of infidelity was never far from her mind. Even Basil was caught in the back-lash, being confined to masturbation except if he'd sold the latest draft of in-calf heifers or bulls for prices well in excess of the sale average or arranged a baby sitter and took his wife into the city for dinner and an overnight stay at a posh hotel; he'd then get that after-the-event smile back on his face.

Exactly eleven years after delivering her first born, Maggie was back in the maternity wing grunting and wailing all over again. Exhausted she watched her proud husband holding the sleeping daughter they named Alayna, Basil being slightly confused because he'd though he and Maggie hadn't been having sex since goodness knows when.

"Don't you think she has your eyes, darling, and just look at the Tait family nose – cloned to perfection," Maggie had said weakly, eyes fluttering as she fought against sleep; her first priority was to ensure Basil's acceptance of the baby in his arms.

"Yes, I do see the likeness," he enthused. "You know, she's a Tait through and through."

Basil, alas, had not within a bull's roar of his wife's vagina on that night of conception. It was a comedy of errors, in fact. Augustus Smith, manager of the local farm supplies centre was on a hot promise – Maggie had indicated to him during a heavy bout of petting in his office with the blinds down that yes, she would allow him to go further, but not in his office during working hours when any one of his numerous pimply-faced cadets was likely to come knocking at the door.

"Partner me in the combined stableford on Sunday and then after dinner drive me to McEwan's old quarry behind our farm. Then we can rumble!"

Augustus began panting and had to loosen his collar.

"We'll hit golf balls all afternoon then we'll ball the night away," he wheezed, eyes bulging.

"Steady on, Augustus. Haven't you had it for a while?"

"Not for four months and twenty-two days," he said, adjusting his underpants.

"Oh my lucky stars!" exclaimed Maggie. "Roll on Sunday night."

Augustus played golf like a man possessed, on Sunday, finishing seven under his handicap. Maggie struggled, and came in five over hers. They still took the runner-up prize, a voucher for a leg of lamb each. 

Maggie found it difficult eating her meal because Augustus sitting beside her on a crowded table was relentless, stroking her inner thigh.

"Get me a nice dessert," Maggie said, using the opportunity to get some relief from Augustus' wandering fingers that had changed from stroking to probing.

At the desert trolley Amy Heinz said loudly to Augustus, "Ladies' first" and he told her to wait for her turn. Amy decided that her live-in partner had not been called to defend her honor for some weeks so yelled, "Lilly, this creep has pushed in ahead of me."

That call sounded ominous and any man with an ounce of gallantry or fear would had smilled and stepped aside, but on this occasion not Augustus, whose hormones were rattling around inside his body as if it were a pinball machine. Lilly bounced up, turned Augustus by the shoulder and head-butted him, sending a tooth flying and a burst of claret from his nose.

"Bitch!" screamed Augustus, dropping to the floor to pick up his dislodged tooth. 

Lilly pulled up her dress and kneed him above the heart. Augustus dropped like a stone. The Ladies' Committee arrived en bloc and carried him to the ladies' lounge. In a few minutes he'd recovered and his neighbor Sheryl Tuckwell volunteered to drive him home in his car. Augustus remained lucky because Sheryl had not had sex for almost a year as her husband's hernia had worsened but the fool refused to have the relief operation. 

The debonair Charlton Lusk offered to take the stranded Maggie home but Linda Mercer intervened, saying he'd promised to take her home and it was only a small sports car, too tight a fit for three persons.

All this left Maggie unperturbed, as these things sometimes happen. She was just about to go over to the bar to find some drinking companions when she saw Cedric was about to leave.

"Oh Cedric, could you please give me a lift home?"

"Of course, lovely Maggie – I'm leaving right now," he said, holding out his arm for her. "My, what a beautiful frock."

Maggie had just turned twenty-eight and felt horny. She'd always felt attracted to Cedric but usually other people were about. This time she had him to herself. Aware that he was sixty-four, that didn't bother her. He had a reputation of being very kind, good with his hands and was said to be a good stayer.

They passed his home, a light was on in Hope's bedroom.

"That girl is always reading," he chuckled. 

Two hundred yards farther on they turned into the side road that circled the hill and continued on past the Tait farm.

With the quarry entrance looming up, Maggie said casually, "Like to park in the quarry for a while?"

Calm as you like, she remembered later, Cedric said to her: "You know what you're suggesting, I presume?"

"Yes, I'd like a a piece of this," Maggie said, reaching for him, having absolutely no idea that this indiscretion would lead to a pregnancy.

Ninety minutes later Maggie arrived home, went inside and found Basil asleep in front of the turned-off TV, an empty wine bottle on the small table beside him as well as half a glass of whisky and water. Maggie finished off the drink and went to bed. Cedric Honeybun had really impressed her, giving her more than she'd expected in fact.

Maggie's children coped with the sight of her advancing pregnancy; the two boys were somewhat embarrassed in the company of friends, or walking through the mall, where they tended to trail her by several yards. But they all shared to some degree their mother's zest for life and the imminent arrival of the baby gradually took on the expectation of a Big Event. Even Basil responded, allowing Maggie to convert his office into a nursery in return for being given the store room in the garage for his new office. The bonus was being allowed to replace his ageing and clunky desktop computer with a much better equipped laptop with DVD allowed Basil to watch rented movies with the office door locked.

Really, the only blip was Maggie's second child, Belinda. As the Big Day neared her misbehavior become increasingly apparent. Maggie was called to the school principal's office to discuss the inexplicable deterioration in Belinda's conduct with the latest misdeed – calling her teacher a bitch in front of the entire class. That was a major punishable offence: a week's suspension from school was being considered.

Sarah Weeks took one look at Maggie as the worried mother entered the principal's office and laughed, saying "My God, that's it!"

"What's that's it?" enquired Maggie bristling, ready to thump the cackling bitch.

"You're pregnant, very pregnant," continued the giggling educator.

"Don't you think I'm aware of that?" Maggie asked, her slapping hand flexing.

"Belinda...heh, heh, heh, Belinda is becoming insanely jealous. Off you go, I'll get one of our counselors to stark working with your daughter immediately."

Perhaps as to be expected, Maggie being Maggie did not begin her Big Day by calmly saying to Basil mid-afternoon, 'Darling, would you mind turning off the cricket test and taking me to hospital'. Even Maggie had visualized a perfect prelude to birth occurring something like that.

But no; during the night she had been very restless, with Basil leaving her side to sleep in the guest room. Near dawn his side of the bed was taken by Maggie's fourteen-year-old rehabilitated Belinda, who had arrived with a cup of tea for her perspiring mother. Belinda applied a cold compress to her mother's forehead and began massaging the very extended belly, cooing, "My darling little baby, my darling little baby." Maggie gradually relaxed and managed to get an hour's sleep.

Breakfast at the Tait's that morning was a little more robust than usual. Any visitor would have described it as bedlam.

Stephen and Ian were fighting over some grotesque All Black Rugby piece of plastic from the new packet of cereal, Belinda was yawning and complaining about being too tired to go to school while Basil was flicking through the pile of newspapers and old magazines asking had anyone seen his bull fair catalogue.

Maggie simply stood with a cup of weak tea and lemon, leaning against the sink bench to ease her back pain. She smiled at the scene, thinking what a lovely family she had, a rather caring and euphoric comment for her although she would never conceded that.

"Hurry, you kids will miss the school bus," Basil said and then snarled, "Where's my catalogue?"

No-one listened to Maggie when she groaned and said something, her face screwed up until she repeated herself: "I said I think my water is about to break!"

"Jesus!" shouted Basil, looking about wildly as if expecting expert helpers to charged into the room.

Without a sound Stephen and Ian grabbed their school lunches and ran for the safety of the school bus shelter.

"Bring the car to the front door, daddy. Fast. Stay where you are, mum."

Belinda ran to the nursery and fetched her mother's bag, which had been packed for a fortnight. She steered waddling Maggie to the front door, telling her to keep calm and not to take any notice of panicking Basil.

"You're not coming with us!" shouted Basil as soon as they had Maggie strapped in to the front seat. 

Ignoring him, Belinda got into the backseat, opened her mother's suitcase and took out her mother's spare cell phone and began ringing a short list of numbers.

"Daddy, the maternity wing please – and fast!"

Basil drove off smoothly as he could over the bumpy farm track. Turning on to the sealed road, his panic returned and his foot rammed on to the accelerator.

"That's better daddy, we don't have all day."

Less than an hour later Belinda phoned the first of two sets of grandparents. Basil had just left for the bull fair.

"Grandma Jean, we've just delivered the baby, a girl. We're calling it Alayna."

"That's a foreign name."

"It doesn't matter if it sounds foreign, grandma. You'll get used to it. She's fine, actually – smiles.:

"How is your father?"

"Rather a mess actually. I've packed him off to the bull sale as I don't want him around spoiling mum's finest hour."

"What does the baby look like Belinda?" 

"It's a beautiful, beautiful baby Grandma. Already I love her. I'm having my own baby as soon as I can."

"But you are only fourteen – you can't have a baby now."

"No, of course not, grandma. I will be married first. Goodbye, and don't forget to bring a very nice present for Alayna, and a really huge bunch of flowers for mum. She's been through Hell."

"What word did I just hear Belinda?"

"I said she's been through Hell."

"I heard that the first time. This is dreadful."

"Oh, you heard me the first time. Then why ask what did I say?"

"I'm disgusted to hear you swearing; what will God say?"

"Oh, we didn't think that was swearing, all of use that word all the time. Why is Hell considered to be swearing by you old people yet you refer to Heaven all the time?

"You are being silly and ridiculous."

"I'm not been ridiculous. I just require an intelligent reply. Grandma! Are you there, grandma?"

In coming weeks Maggie was miffed at first, with people seeing her with a pram and clucking over the baby they assumed was her grand-daughter. But she soon learned not to enlighten these strangers because once told it was her own baby most of them would look at her as if she'd never heard of contraception. Well she had and used to be on the pill but had changed to insisting that her husband and the occasional lover use condoms She hadn't bothered to request Cedric to do that as she simply assumed his age of sixty-four was a natural contraception.

Maggie already employed a cleaning lady and she had tentatively arranged to employ Mrs Morrow, a former nurse, to help with the baby but really there was no need for that. Belinda acted as if the baby was hers, even getting up in the night to fetch baby Alayna to their mother at feeding time. If Belinda was not at school she was in the house or out poolside, keeping within earshot of the infant. Finally Belinda took pressure off herself by teaching the boys to change wet diapers (neither they nor Basil would touch a messy one) and to play with their baby sister.

Four years later Belinda had married an electrician and was ecstatically pregnant two months later, making Maggie a grandmother on her 33rd birthday and that made Alayna an auntie just as she commenced primary school. There would be no more children for Maggie as she made sure of that, surgically.

Later Stephen went to university and in his second year went flatting, joined in that year by Ian who began training as a computer technician. With Alayna off during the day at school, the boys gone and Basil working on the farm all morning and then slumping asleep after lunch with a catalogue over his face, tired from watching his DVD movies, Maggie became mildly depressed.

The her good friend and neighor came to the rescue. "Good gracious girl, what's wrong with you? You look worn out and you've lost a lot of weight," Hope said with concern when Maggie collected her at the airport on Hope's return from being on safari with a tour party in South Africa. Hope herself was looking radiant, thanks to special attention received from the rugged but gentle – at least in bed – South African tour leader.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 05



"My doctor calls it nest flight depression, and wants me to stuff a drug down my throat but that's not the answer. I've leased a horse to get back into riding again, but that has a side-effect, it's making me sexed up again and really I'm not ready for that feeling like this."

"Right, I've got something in mind for you," said Hope, remaining mysterious. Two days later when collecting the mail from the roadside letterbox Maggie sorted through the bills and livestock catalogues and found a letter in Hope's handwriting – Hope had paid Maggie's joining fee to the golf club, her first six months' subscription and six golf lessons, the first to start the following Monday.

"Come over for lunch tomorrow and I'll tell you about course clothing, course etiquette and other stuff," wrote Hope. "Don't bring Basil."

Maggie and Basil had occasionally gone to the golf cub on Sunday nights for dinner and she had enjoyed those outings, knowing quite a few of the golfers and other visitors. Hope provided a great lunch and Maggie went home in just in time to meet the school bus really excited, partly because of the wine. She'd not been drinking thinking it would only add to her depression, and her doctored had agreed. But Hope thought otherwise, that Maggie should try hard to get back to her old self of being a larrikin, boozing, chasing men and going out more with Hope just like in the old days before pregnancy.

"This is the renaissance of our life-long friendship," Hope laughed, opening the second bottle of wine. Maggie laughed, feeling a lot lighter in spirit, but she knew the docile, worried looking stranger she'd become would be back in the morning.

But there had not been time for that. Next morning Hope arrived just as Maggie was finishing making Alayna's sandwiches. Alayna went running to Hope yelling, "It's Mrs Honeybun!" Alayna was very found of their closest neighbor whom her mother was always saying was the most glamorous person in the whole of the district.

"Come on, Alayna, I'm taking you to wash your face and clean your teeth. Then I'll brush you hair and put on this new ribbon I've brought with me then I'll drive you down and put you on the bus. Maggie, get ready – we're going into the golf warehouse in the city to kit you up. Bring your credit card."

On Monday Maggie waited nervously at the appointed time for her first golf lesson. She was relieved that the pro had an all-weather facility that was not in full view of the clubhouse as she knew she was going to be terrible. Apart from horse-riding – she could jump well on a strong horse - she was next to useless at sport.

Maggie saw the club professional approaching, carrying a mug of coffee. Hope had said he was third-rate, as that was all the club could afford, but he was an adequate teacher and "wink, wink, nudge, nudge."

Sexy? I don't think so, thought Maggie, looking at him closely. The big bushy eyebrows gave him an automatic downgrade for a start and he had a moustache! Yuk.

"Good morning Mrs Tait, and how are we today? Ready to give it a go, I would think?"

How fucking patronizing, fumed Maggie. Come on, Mr Third-Rater; let's get swinging!

But he didn't have that in mind. First he described the fundamentals of the swing, and said it was broken down into elements too numerous to describe right now as it would only confuse her. He asked Maggie to take her five iron from her bag.

"Which one is a five iron?" asked Maggie.

"You have three woods with covers on in your bag, plus – hmmm – you've got eight irons and a putter.

"The iron with the number '5' stamped into the metal head facing you is the number five iron," he said, dryly.

"Oh, that's clever," replied Maggie without a hint of embarrassment. She knew nothing about golf, although Basil watched it on TV. This Mr Alec Rowlands was being paid to tell her everything."

"The lesson continued, and after fifteen minutes he did what Maggie had expected to occur in the first ten seconds of the lesson – he placed a ball near her feet.

Pointing to a flag on a stick fifty yards away he said calmly, "Now, keep your eye on the ball just swing back and through slowly like we have been practicing in the general direction of that flagstick. Commence when you are ready – don't rush at it."

Maggie was whipped up; she'd show Mr Rowlands she'd taken everything in and know knew a five iron from whatever the other clubs were called and that any idiot would hit a ball fifty yards with a big club like this. Why, she could putt that far.

Accomplishing a wobbly back-swing, Maggie managed to drive down and through with some power. As she looked up at the flagstick to see her ball land, but heard a din to her right. Was that her ball that had hit the tractor shed?

"Yes, well. It's not ideal to start off with a s...s..."

"Start off with what?"

"A s...s...shank." He seemed terrified when he eventually said the word.

"Oh, really – does teaching that come in a later lesson?"

Mr Rowlands looked aghast but he pressed on.

The next ball went along the ground for thirty yards, the next was skied.

"Very good," said Mr Rowlands. "You've struck all three balls, though with different results. But not to worry, we shall teach you to strike the ball fluidly and consistently. I think that should do us for the day."

"Fluidly? How can you hit fluidly when you're trying to do all these things?"

"These things, as you term them, will gradually become second nature to you. Look, allow me to stand behind you and take you through a fluid swing. Just hold the club and let me do the work – like this. There we go. 

The ball left the tee-pad and hit the flagstick half-way down.

That excited Maggie but not half as much as having Mr Rowlands standing behind her. He was not third-rate at all. His after-shave smelt wonderful and she should feel the power being generated through his arms and shoulders as the club went back, down and through.

"Can we do that again?"

"Well, Cyril is standing over there waiting for his lesson."

"Come on Alec," she said, using her best sexy voice. "I believe I'm on the verge of learning the true meaning of fluidity in stroking a golf ball."

"All right, are you ready?"

When he had his arms around her to hold his hands over her hands, Maggie wriggled her butt in against him, and said, "Yes. Over to you, captain."

He chuckled and she felt the power flowing through into her hands as he unhurriedly took their hands back and through in a fluid, gently chip shot that had the ball arc up and fall to come to a stop just past the pin, missing hitting it by less than eighteen inches.

"That was magnificent, Alec."

"My pleasure, Maggie," he said, unclasping his arms after holding what would be described as a very long finish.

"Will I see you in the clubhouse from time to time?"

"Rarely, I usually drink down in the Ploughman's bar at the tavern to relax without having to talk golf. Are you thinking about joining the club?"

"I've already joined, Hope phoned all the committee members and they all emailed their approval of Hope's nomination of me to the club secretary. It will be confirmed at the next membership subcommittee, of course."

"Ah, Hope. She's a great...um."

"A great what, Alec?"

"A good golfer and a very nice woman."

"Yes, she is. I'll see you again tomorrow, then."

"Certainly, I'm looking forward to it. Bye Maggie."

Loading her clubs into the boot of her car, Maggie grinned. She knew she was ready to engage in sex again. Basil would be pleased, and so might Alec if she managed to land him. Perhaps Hope would put in a good word for her, it was worth asking.

Alec never managed to convert Maggie into a graceful golfer who played with great consistency. He reckoned, during one of their more intimate meetings, that she was a little too headstrong with virtually uncontrollable mood swings and adrenalin rushes. But she battled away and particularly enjoyed her twosomes with Hope. Golf seemed to draw them even closer together.

Shortly after Alayna turned eight, Hope invited Maggie to go with her and Sue Whitehead to New York for ten days. Sue was happy to go as a threesome.

Basil was reluctant for Maggie to go without him but one telephone call to Belinda fixed that.

"Oh mum, you've just got to go. It's a chance of a lifetime. I'll get it sorted by lunchtime. Sharon and I will be over for lunch."

Maggie wondered why Belinda sounded so excited. She soon found out.

Belinda arrived with seven-month old Sharon and after the grandparents had fussed over the sleepy infant she was put to bed and Belinda came out carrying a bottle of sparking wine from the fridge and three glasses.

"Mum, dad. It's all sorted."

"What's sorted?" asked Basil, mystified.

"Mum's going to New York, I've arranged for Alayna to go to the school farther long our street for those few days – I'm wildly happy that I'm going to have her all to myself, and dad, you can't miss out; look what I've found for you on the Internet! From next month the South Island Aberdeen Angus Breeders' Association is organizing a tour of studs each month for North Island members, leaving from the ferry terminal at Picton on Monday at noon. And dad," Belinda said, reaching into her shoulder bag, "this is a present from Rex and me."

She handed him across an envelop containing an email.

"What is it?" asked Maggie. "Quickly, I need to know!"

Basil took his time reading it and grunted. 

"Very nice, Belinda Lovely really. It confirms that my membership application to the society is confirmed as they know who I am, and the receipt for my subscription paid online and my membership card will be forward by mail in the next few days."

"Darling, you'll be going, won't you; isn't this lovely of Belinda and Rex?"

"I'll think about it, Maggie."

"Dad!"

"I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but I said I would think about it, Belinda."

Maggie shook her head at Belinda and put her fingers to her lips.

"I'm going to the toilet," she announced. 

Once inside Maggie phoned one of Basil's saleyard and cattle fair cronies. She returned outside.

"Clarrie says he's just has to go with you on that South Island tour. He's calling around to get some more of your mates to go. He reckons they'll jump at the chance to booze and look at pretty women but better still, they will be able to guts anything they like without being questioned about calories or carbohydrate content. You choose the Sunday you wish to leave Auckland and I'll ask Sue and Hope if they can dovetail our trip with yours."

"Maggie, I haven't decided yet if I'm going yet."

"Sorry, Basil. This is out of your hands. You are going." 

An hour later as Basil was putting sleeping Sharon in her carrycot into the back seat of the SUV, Maggie clutched her daughter tearfully.

"What a wonderful thing you are doing for us."

"It's no big deal, mum. Throwing a bit of spare cash for a membership sub and taking care of Alayna for ten days is absolutely nothing at all, compared with what you guys do for Rex and me. Rex is looking forward to having her stay with us as he reckons she's such a scream."

Three weeks later the three women left for New York.

"Your excitement is infectious, Maggie," grinned Sue. "We're not normally whipped up like this when we travel."

"Put it down to the drinks we had at the airport," bubbled Maggie. "What we're drinking now is real champagne isn't it?"

Sue nodded.

"It was great that you got us upgraded, Sue. I owe you one."

"It's nothing, Maggie. Forget about it. My business is travel."

They arrived at their hotel in Manhattan from JFK Airport just as the sun was setting. Understandably, Maggie was agog while her companions had been to the metropolis before. Maggie was disappointed that the hotel suite was small, although it had three kingsize beds and a nicely furnished lounge. 

"There is no swimming pool, nor gardens – it is really very basic."

"This is New York, Maggie, not Honolulu, Auckland or Sydney. Land here is terribly expensive and wages and property and other taxes are high – so just relax and accept what we've got," sighed Hope. "Now, Sue and I plan to take a shower and sleep for four hours and then book in for manicures and then a massage. Do you want to be in?"

"What, in-room sex?" Maggie boggled.

"No, silly, a real massage," Sue smiled. "We're aiming to go out at midnight for a meal and then to have a look at the action. It's 24 hours since we left our homes, and we're now in a very different time zone. We need rest – forget shopping. We can look at shops in the next day or so. If we tank up in a bar tonight you won't feel like doing much tomorrow until evening, anyway."

"How do you know?"

"Sue and I have done it many times before, Maggie. Just have confidence in us. We'll see you right."

Shortly after 10:00 Maggie was having her nails done by a Afro-American called Maxine. The woman was unbelievably tall, slender yet had an amazing bust and incredibly long fingers and she chatted with Maggie as if she'd known her all her life.

Then a blonde woman arrived called Olga. Maxine was now doing Sue's nails and Hope called to Maggie to have her massage.

"You get on the bed please, but first take off you clothes, eh?"

"Not bloody likely," Maggie snapped looking very defensive.

"Do it," Hope smiled. "She won't be a lesbo, her profession is hotel room massaging. You won't know yourself when she'd finished. She removes most of the travel weariness from your body."

Maggie complied, and almost fell sleep again until Olga began working on her backbone.

"You go have a shower please. Very hot," said Olga.

Ten minutes later Maggie emerged energized and feeling like a teenager, well, perhaps a young thirty-year-old. She dressed to kill but changed later when she saw her two companions wearing boots, jeans and colorful tops.

"How do we split the nails and massage charges?" Maggie asked.

"Hope keeps the tab," replied Sue. "We'll reimburse here during the long wait-over in Los Angeles.

They went into an Italian restaurant, lined in dark wood, crammed with wooden tables and chairs and the floor was stained the same dark color; the table clothes and knapkins were starched and fresh flowers on the table further impressed Maggie.

"What, we have to queue in order to eat, but I guess this is New York."

A handsome, dark man in a black suit and conservative tie came along the queue asking people how many were in their party. When he reached the trio from New Zealand he was told three and Maggie glimpsed Hope placing something into his trailing hand. It was done so deftly that she only just spotted it. 

"Come this way, ladies" said the man in a foreign accent and seated them ever so charmingly. "Are you visitors to Manhattan?"

"Yes, we come from New Zealand," Maggie said proudly.

"Is that is the mid-West?" he asked, puzzling the Aucklander.

After he introduced their waiter and after their orders had been taken, Maggie said critically, "That man with the foreign accent didn't have a clue where New Zealand is, and how much did you tip him?"

"I had to tip him as we didn't come to New York to stand in queues, Maggie. I gave him fifty dollars."

Maggie looked astounded.

"Don't faint, it's how things are done around here. And by the way, you are the one with the foreign accent, he has a New York accent and probably his forebears came to this city from Italy two, three perhaps four generations ago."

"Or longer," said Sue, and Hope echoed, "Or longer."

Maggie couldn't fault the food and the service was unbelievably expert, and their boyish waiter with long dark hair flicked low over his forehead had dark, smoldering eyes that seemed to lock on to Maggie's eyes whenever he arrived back at the table. She was almost ready to burst into an Italian love song, or to pant, or both.

"Are you all right, Maggie – you look very flushed?" enquired Sue.

"She's in the process of falling passionately in love with our waiter," Hope said, without malice but still causing Maggie's flush to deepen.

They went on to some bars and had a great time and each of them was hit on at least once and Sue finally left with a man considerably older than herself.

"She gone with him to arrange our itinerary for tomorrow," Hope joked, as she and Maggie prepared to walk back to their hotel.

"Oh, I thought it was simply to study the New York accent," Maggie grinned, letting Hope know that she'd got the joke.

Entering their hotel Hope said, "Let's go and have a night cap."

The bar was almost empty and they hadn't even decided what to order when the bar girl put two cocktails in front of them. "The drinks are with the compliments of those three gentlemen over there."

"Which three?" Maggie asked. Hope.

"Didn't you feel yourself being undressed when we entered the bar by those three sporty looking types in the far corner?"

"Oh gawd, they're younger than us."

"Very good, Maggie. Now let's enter stage two."

Hope tasted her cocktail and turning, raised her glass to the three men. They almost charged in the rush to get over to Hope and Maggie's table.

They were from Oklahoma and yes they knew where New Zealand was – "By the tip of Australia...no, it's closer to Chile...no, it's a suburb of Wellington."

"Very good fellows, but why are you trying to pick us up?"

"We're not that kind of men, ma'am," said the taller one, addressing Hope. "We've just arrived and thought we should invite you two ladies to join us for a night on the town tomorrow night. We don't know anyone in this city, and you two looked very unlike New Yorkers – you've both got big smiles like girls from Oklahoma, so we thought it would be nice to have female company – that is, if you don't mind been a party of two girls and three guys?"

"That sounds lovely...um?"

"Al, ma'am."

"That sounds lovely, Al. But would you mind if we bought our companion – she's our age. She's up in her room right now getting her nails done hoping for a big night out tomorrow."

"Gee...um?"

"Hope."

"What a lovely name. Gee, Hope, we would like to take you three girls to dinner and then perhaps do a bit of clubbing, if that's all right by you. We know how to behave and if you girls say no hanky-panky we will honor that request, won't we boys – oh, this is Junior and this is Ronald. 

"Yes, ma'am," said Ronald shaking his head vigorously. "No hanky-panky unless we receive the green light."

"Well boys, that's very nice of you," said Hope. "But don't fret too much over this hanky-panky thing. Like you, we're in New York to have a great time."

Sue was in bed reading when they reached the room after only half an hour in the bar.

"What, had he run out of enthusiasm?"

"No, he went on and on about his guilt complex in asking me to his room as his wife believes he didn't eye other women. So when he walked almost sobbing to the toilet to relieve his over-indulgence in beer I simply took off."

"What a disappointment. Never mind Sue, Maggie and I promise to give you a really good time tomorrow evening. We'll go downstairs for some drinks at 10.00 and then have dinner and then go clubbing."

"Yes," Maggie giggled. "You may event meet a gent from Oklahoma who'll offer to join you in some hanky-panky."

"I wish," said Sue.

"Wish granted," Hope whispered to Maggie.

The next day the girls hit the shops, taking Maggie up and then down the other side of Fifth Avenue. Maggie had been briefed to buy only small items to avoid having a luggage weight problem going home.

Maggie had expressed an interest in buying a diamond ring, so they went to the diamond district and spend hours and hours drooling and by the end of the day before doing back to the hotel for a sleep before joining the men from Okalahoma; each had purchased a diamond ring.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 05



"Good one, Maggie. No luggage problem in buying a diamond ring," said Sue.

"Only a credit card problem next month," Maggie sighed.

The following afternoon Maggie was taken to fashion houses. She liked the clothes, liked them on the models, but unlike her two smaller framed companions, she did not purchase anything.

"Right, Hope said Sue. You take our purchases back to the hotel and have a lovely, long sleep. I'm taking this under-shopped Kiwi to Macy's – first stop the perfume and make-up counters."

Maggie will forever remember that late afternoon walking into what she soon was calling, 'Shoppers' Heaven'. The perfumery counters were like a an oasis of shapes, colors and exotic fragrances like nothing she'd experienced, one hundred times more extensive than in her previous experience of shopping in central Auckland. She couldn't believe that the displays and exotic-looking salespersons could continue going on and on as they did.

Then she went into the women's fashion clothing and there, rack after rack of beautifully cut and finished garments in her size, and even far larger. In the basement she found a special sale item – a luggage collection by designer Diana von Fustenberg. She chose a hot-pink half crescent travel bag with black leather trimming reduced to half price for only $US260.00. Maggie didn't travel a great deal but just possessing such a luxury item made the purchase worthwhile.

Flying home they had quite a long stopover in LA. They went into a restaurant for cocktails and settled their portion of the tab that Hope had kept for the three of them.

"My first night manicure and massage and then the Circle ferry trip around Manhattan Island – they are missing from my account," Maggie pointed out.

"Those were our shouts for a Kiwi girl new to the wonders of New York," Sue yawned. Maggie kissed them both and said what wonderful women they were. Maggie had a bulging suitcase packed with presents and fashion clothes and an additional item as surplus baggage which Sue was able to negotiate its inclusion as accompanying baggage with no penalty payment. It was something Maggie the county cook had always wanted, and she found it at Macys – a 1.6 quart Bain-marie copper double boiler with a porcelain insert. After her diamond ring, it was her most desirable purchase.

Sue had gone to sleep on her side of the table and Hope and Maggie were drinking their second cocktail, filling in time for the four-hour wait, when Maggie thanked Hope for being such a brick for shepherding Maggie through he first real overseas experience; previously she'd only been to Australian.

"Those fellows we were with, did you give it to Ruben?"

"Yes," Maggie said unembarrassed. "I found one why his nickname is junior – he was a little under developed down there."

"Well, perhaps you should have had Al," Hope sighed. "You know they were married men and all spoke fondly of their wives and children and kept on saying that all they wanted to was rip-roaring time, with some petting to finish off, but that's all. It sounded rather sweet, actually but men being men it was no surprise that they were unable to remain in denial. I've never heard Sue screaming and shrieking so much, she really got going."

"Glad to know that I wasn't the only one to make a naughty fellow of my date," Maggie laughed

A few minutes later she had a great desire to make a confession. 

Maggie is a person who tends to blurt and only think of the consequences after her mouth has opened, typing that tendency to her personality. But this time she was in control with a secret bottled up for far too long. Despite the consequences of disclosure that could end a lifelong friendship, she pressed ahead as with this recent display of kindness by her friend it no longer seems right to hold out on Hope.

"Hope, you and I have been very close from the time we first came together at pre-school. You have always been a great inspiration to me, and have been very supportive – far more than I have deserved."

"What's this?" Hope laughed. "A proposal?"

"I have a confession to make, Hope. Something that could tear our friendship apart; I have to tell you."

Hope studied Maggie's face and could see Maggie's hazel eyes looked troubled.

"Think before you leap, Maggie. Don't tell me anything you'll regret later."

"Hope, it's time to come clean. True friends don't keep secrets from one another like this one."

Maggie looked at Hope intently. Suddenly the calm face before her went white and lost all expression. It transformed into the face of a bewildered woman. 

"Oh God, it's Alayna – you and my father and Alayna, isn't it?"

Maggie began crying, not even surprised at how easily Hope had peeled away the secret.

Hope reached out her arms, and Maggie fell into them, sobbing.

"It's all right, Maggie," Hope, said, tears forming. "He was such an artful seducer; you'd be fodder in his hands. Some of the most resilient women in the valley were lured to his side. But although he's gone, the consequences remain with us. We've got to live with this, Maggie, just as we have been doing."

"I'm so ashamed to have been living the big lie. I just want to roll over and die."

"Hush, Maggie," Hope soothed, clasping her trembling friend even closer. "You are distraught. Think about what you've ended up with from a brief moment of indiscretion. Alayna is a bubbling, engaging personality. She is growing up into a beautiful and charming girl. I treasure her, Maggie, and to suddenly find that she is my half sister is...well...it's a shock, yes, but I now find myself ecstatic that I am related to her. This will endear her to me more than ever."

Maggie sobbed and sobbed.

"Come, come, Maggie. You are a magnificent mother and I am thankful you have wrenched this secret loose. It has not been easy for you but for me, I'm over the moon!"

"Really?" Maggie said, lifting her head to look at Hope dubiously. "You don't wish me to disappear from your life?"

"Good gracious no, Maggie. I want to remain as close to my half-sister as I can. Your secret is totally safe with me."

Sue stirred, asking what Maggie and Hope were whispering about so intently. She said she felt horny, wanting to get back home to her husband quickly.

"Well, I'm not unduly troubled; I've long learned to take it or leave it," sighed Hope.

"Likewise," said Maggie, avoiding showing Sue her emotionally ravaged face. "But there we go." 

* * *

That amazing revelation had strengthened the relationship between Hope and Maggie as they now shared a huge secret. True to her word Hope had kept the secret and now Hope was worried that in his determined probing Nash might wrench that secret from Maggie. Still, secrets were history; the biggest worry was for her to avoid leaking the secret as she and Nash had become very intimate – verbally. 

Over breakfast Hope told Nash that she and Susan Whitehead were going to Paris for seven days the following month and suggested he ask his mother to stay and look after him, suggesting Rose have her room. With the proposal still sinking in Nash phoned his mother who accepted instantly, saying that the neighbors would look after Rufus, her aged cat who'd wandered into her home almost eight years ago and stayed.

Nash said to Hope after relaying the news, "It's a wonder you two don't take Maggie on your annual shopping trip – you do lots of other things together." 

"Well, you know. Maggie is Maggie. We did take her a few years back to New York. We had a great time, but Maggie was like a heifer out of its paddock in fashion shops. All the women made her feel so uncomfortable – not because of their elegance and airs but because so many seemed all bordering on products of anorexia. They made Maggie feel as if she were a balloon – her words. She rather held us back. Sue and I could have gone shopping alone but one doesn't leave an extrovert gal like Maggie loose and alone in New York!"

"Quite, like me she would be more at home in cities known for their market days and beer and wine festivals."

Veneering a marmalade trace over a piece of mixed grain lightly toasted bread (a grapefruit or sliced orange, one piece of toast and coffee comprised Hope's standard breakfast), she asked how the research on their book was going.

"Fine," Nash said, wiping the remnants of bacon, eggs and hash browns on his plate with a piece of buttered toast. "I've spoken to various contract growers and now it's time to go to the winery."

"Oh, I suggest you delay that until after Sunday. You'll meet the boss brother Neven at golf on Sunday as he's my partner."

"I more or less know him, as we've met socially and when I joined a public tour of the winery."

"You'll get to know him a lot better at golf as you two will see each other in action and will be doing a lot of talking. It will be a five and a half hour round, as it's Sunday afternoon with refreshment stops at the 7th and 14th."

"Getting to know him will help my research?"

"Of course it will. Don't be so naive. The Bronkovics are very traditional – they don't talk about their business with strangers. Neven is the business brains of the family although his Mimi is the day-to-day ruler of the three families. She is French, the daughter of the head of a family winery who Neven met when he went to study wine-making technology in France during one vintage. Neven was twenty at the time, she just seventeen. But he returned home without her. She arrived some months later, unannounced, and calmly said that she's arrived to marry Neven, who at that stage had the hots for one of his cousins. His mother jumped at the chance to get Neven out of the pants of cousin Lenka, so began arranging the wedding and bullied into her husband into supporting her. She wrote to Mimi's parents in France, who were totally against the wedding and when it was decided to proceed they and other family members refused to attend."

"The mother, that was Natasa, right – without the 'h'?"

Rolling her eyes, Hope said, "I wish you could have met her, Nash. She was a matriarch without peer. She never shouted, perpetually smiled and her normal manner was as soft as silk. Yet men were scared of her as they could feel her authority, hearing the whispers about her of course. Even the toughest son, Neven, treated her with deference. Some time after Natasa's death he told me that his mother never ranted publicly. What she did was to smilingly invite the recalcitrant male or female into a vacant room, the door would close and then the windows would rattle as Natasa bared her fangs and raised her voice. Before long the victim would come scuttling out and Natasa would emerge completely unruffled."

Glancing at Hope and noticing a tear, Nash said softly, "You really liked her, didn't you?"

Hope smiled, screwing her serviette in her hand, saying at Natasa had virtually become her surrogate mother, a relationship that developed long before Natasa and her father began their tryst.

"During my first year at high school Natasa saw me in the village one afternoon looking sad. I knew her of course, as I'd gone all through school with her sons, and was in the same class as the youngest, Marko. But she'd always been nothing more than polite to me. On that afternoon, it all changed. She sat down beside me, hugged me and said that no young girl should be without a mother. Until then I'd thought that I was unbelievably tough for a girl, but I just leaned into her and cried and cried.

"Initially the boys were jealous of the relationship that developed, but they became used to it. Over time I had sex with all three of them, individually of course. But even that did not make us any closer as like their father they tended to be rather arrogant and believed women were inferior to men. Even that changed many years later."

"The time you dressed them down when you were asked to hand the painting back?"

"Very astute, Nash; yes, something came over me and I gave it to them, both barrels. They began to panic, looking towards the door. Natasa saw that and locked that door and the one behind them. That made their eyes bulge every further and my tongue got sharper and sharper. Afterwards no-one mentioned that ten minutes of verbal assault. I guess all of my frustrations at their repeated put-downs and my shame over my father's behavior came welling out of me. It soon came to my attention, however, through subtle changes, that I had been elevated by the boys to more or less the status of fourth brother. None ever attempted to have sex with me again."

Nash was most impressed and it occurred to him all of these people in the web connecting back to Hope had opened his mind and memory to relationships in a way that women appear to handle so readily and yet for many men it remains a struggled. He was pleased to learn about the development of this new skill – this 'brain readjustment'.

"That is a very powerful story, Hope. Do I include it in the book?"

"Do as you wish, Nash. But the consequences for you might be terminal if my so-called brothers believe that you have publicly shamed me – not them, but me. They are rather proud of their adopted sibling so might group to defend my honor because they consider me to be Natasa's replacement, though nothing has ever been said to suggest that. It's just that I'm called in whether there is a crisis within the extended family, and my seat is where Natasa used to sit as the matriarch."

"Nothing has ever been said, how odd?"

"I wouldn't worry about that Nash; it's just how the family operates, the traditional way. I'd worry more about your future if I were you. Publicly shaming a Bronkovic is no laughing matter. Natasa's sister Ibelia was sexually touched by a gardener when she was a novice nun. The next day the gardener was found bound hand and foot behind a grazing horse which had wandered half a mile down a gravel road from the convent. The man's face was a fearful mess, as was much of his body. But he lived. There was a police enquiry but with no witnesses, no evidence apart from the horse and no-one talking including the horse, the gelding was handed back to Ibelia's father who had reported it stolen just hours before the dragging occurred.

"Jesus!"

"Oh, there are numerous stories but perhaps the one I like best is the one concerning Neven's bullying school teacher. In class one day he called Neven a 'Yugoslav bonehead' and in gym that afternoon another tutor used that very same insult when Neven crashed off the parallel bars. The fact that the same expression was used did not go amiss. It had been rumored that the two male teachers were queers or gay as it's called today. Next morning when the caretaker arrived to light the school boilers he found both teachers nude, chained together. They were gagged, with flour sacks tied over their heads and the word spelt 'Queeers' painted in red paint on their bellies. The police were called but before they arrived some senior boys had grouped early for rugby and saw the chained duo, and that was the end of those teachers at that school. The teachers swore that school pupils had caught them working late and had then humiliated then, both insisting that although unmarried they were not homosexual. The police questioned some parents known to be outspoken about homosexuality among both male and female school teachers, but their enquiries were unsuccessful. Natasa told me not long afterwards that she found spots of red paint on her boy's shirts and when she checked, that tube of exact color match was missing from her studio."

Nash laughed, but it's not his usual easy laugh. "Hell, Hope. What am I to do?"

"Work hard on getting the respect of Neven first. Then if you write about any of these things I would suggest you sit down with the family and show them what you have written, emphasizing that changes and deletions can be made. You never know, they may laugh, slap each other on the back and say publication of such material may strengthen the legends associated with the Bronkovic family. Then again...."

"Then again what?"

"You're the writer, use your imagination," Hope answered vaguely, rising from the table and leaving Nash scratching his chin as she went to the next room to fetch her reading glasses.

For most of the morning Nash worked steadily, transcribing his notes from weeks of interviews from notebooks to computer files. He found it immensely satisfying and soon forgot about being the subject of insane mistreatment at the hands of the burly Bronkovic brothers. He turned a page in a notebook and there lay Lisa's business card. After a brief hesitation, he reached for his phone.

"Hi Lisa, it's Nash."

He heard her breath catch in his throat; that flattered him and sounded promising.

"Nash, oh Nash. I'm often thinking about you...and mum of course. Where are you sleeping?"

What an odd question to ask, he thought but said in her old room. 

"Oh," 

"Oh what?"

"Just oh."

Puzzled by this monosyllabic conversation, Nash asked Lisa was everything all right.

"Yes, but it's very hot in the city and the air polluted by bush fires."

"Oh."

"Work going well?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Your mother is well, I just phoned to say hello. I was going through my notebooks and came across your business card, so just phoned on impulse. I've miss your voice, and your laughter. I've miss seeing you about the place. I'm sitting in the orchard and right now there is an empty sun loafer beside me."

"Oh, Nash!" she wailed chokingly and said goodbye, terminating the call.

"Was that a phone call or was that what?" Nash grumbled aloud, looking at his phone before putting on to the table. He assumed that Lisa must have had her mind on important business when he phoned and like a thickhead he's warbled on and made her homesick.

A couple of minutes later the house phone went and with the windows open Nash heard Hope talking but could not make out what she was saying. It was a call of several minutes and soon afterwards she arrived with cool drinks and stretched out beside him.

Hope's sun loafer was out in the sun, so she pulled the bottom of her sundress right up and begins rubbing in suntan cream. Nash observed she had rather nice thighs for an older woman – aware she eat practically nothing during the day and really only seemed to eat a decent amount at dinner when they had guests or eat out. Who was she saving herself for? Then he remembered she still had 'her men' as she called them, without embarrassment. Nash wondered if 'Horse' Tait had ever been clamped between those tanning thighs. 

Perhaps he should ask Alayna if she suspected anything as he would be picked up by Alayna at nightfall to go for a drive. They hadn't been together for weeks but she'd phoned earlier saying she was rather lonely and wondered if he'd like to mess about a bit. Nash had replied yes, that he'd been thinking of her at night's recently, seeing her long thighs and her almost perfect breasts floating above his bed. He noted that she'd started breathing quite heavily and said he'd not called because he did not wish to intrude on her busy life. Nash suggested perhaps they could go out for a meal and make a night of it. That excited Alayna so he said he'd walk down to the road entrance and be waiting for her at 9:30. Her response was to make that 9:00.

Hope asked Nash to rub suntan cream on to the back of her legs. She pulled her sundress up again and flicked the back higher so her black lace panties were visible.

"Nice thighs." 

"Perhaps so and thank you for not adding 'for an older woman'."

Nash kept his mind in neutral as he squeezed the cream on to his hands and quickly smeared it over the warm, soft and very pliable skin. Being in neutral or not his mind telegraphed an urgent message to his penis to snap to attention. He knew this was the classic situation that in novels led to unintentional sex – he really had no idea. Nash finished the sexy rub, closed the lid of the cream and began walking away to...well he had no idea why where he was going or why.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 05



"Hold it, you've missed the most crucial part – my thighs above my knees are the most vulnerable part for sunburn and you scarcely moved up above my knees."

"Sorry," he murmured, squeezing more tanning cream into his palm. Attempting to visualize an endless desert of nothing but wind-swept sand dunes he went about his task methodically, even raising the elastic edging of her panties to apply cream there. She raised her butt to assist, almost crashing it against his forehead as he peered down, trying not to get the cream against the fabric. He slapped her butt and announced he was finished.

"Thanks – done with unexpected professionalism," she said. "Wake me at noon, as we're due at the regional centre for lunch at 1:15. Thomas Brewster wants to discuss business on behalf of a client, and I guess the client may be with him. I told him he should take me for lunch and that I'd have my business affairs manager with me – that's you."

"Me?"

"Yes." 

"But I know nothing about business."

"So what? You've got the right sort of mind for it, you're devious, and a reasonable negotiator and you can think ahead, perhaps even better than I can, which is saying something. Besides, I don't wish to be out-numbered if he has that slob Tremain Hausman with him."

"Oh, Catherine's husband?"

"Yes," Hope said in surprise. "How do you know her? She's a virtual recluse."

"I went to see her about her father, saying that I was staying with you and was preparing to write a history of your family."

"But she never sees anyone, Tremain does the talking."

"I was told that, but I waited until I saw her husband leave on a walk over the farm with a brute of a dog and went to the back of her house where Mimi..."

"Mimi, you know Mimi Bronkovic?"

"Yes, I sit with her and Alayna in the coffee shop."

Hope rose, looking at him sharply. "And you go to the coffee shop? When is this?"

"Most mornings, six days a week when Monty and I walk to the village to collect the bread, milk and newspaper; I call in to say hello to Alayna who at that time is usually having coffee after setting up. Mimi occasionally comes in and joins us. When Alayna has a late start Sally presides at the table. I first met Mimi at the winery."

Sitting right up now, Hope looks most concerned. "Now look here. I don't wish to sound like an over-concerned mother but you have placed yourself in a very risky situation. Men don't talk to Bronkovic women without Bronkovic men being in attendance, and you, Mr Naïve, have picked the most volatile husband of all – Neven."

"I know, Alayna warned me quietly about the risk but it's time the Bronkovic men realized this is the 21st Century, not the 17th."

"Nash Carson, you must promise me that you will not sit at a table ever again with Mimi unless one of the Bronkovic men is at that table."

"Stuff that, Hope. It's a free world. Catherine Hausman has gone on about me having a good face to paint and asked for my phone number but Mimi who is attempting to following in the footsteps of her artistic late mother, has already asked for me to sit with her soon; she thinks that I have a wild look about me that captures colonial character, whatever that means."

Hope looked at him, shaking her head. "My boy, this valley contains two dangerous men – Neven and Hausman; you are all set to get up the nose of both of them in the worst way possible. I simply cannot believe this."

"Well then, you come with me if Catherine wants me to sit for her, and you have your chance to get Neven to trust me. Catherine indicated she wants to give me something if she decides to have me sit for her."

"Then if that gift is bestowed between the sheets, that it will be the last sex act of your life if Tremain gets to hear about it, and he will."

"Don't be so melodramatic and assuming. She's thinking about a sitting fee of a fifty bucks."

"Well, don't say you weren't warned."

Half an hour later Hope said, "I'm going up for a leisurely shower. Coming?"

"What, to shower with you?"

Hope looked at him thoughtfully. "Actually, I meant are you coming inside."

"Got you going there, didn't I? I'll stay and do another fifteen minutes transcribing. I haven't had much time this morning what with all this exciting conversation and rubbing your rather nice thighs."

Hiding her face, Hope said, "You live dangerously, Nash; very dangerously indeed."



To Be Continued.



Valley of Sinners Ch. 06



SO FAR: A jobless and sensitive young man becomes innocently associated with a bubbling woman in her late forties who lives alone on a vineyard out of Auckland, New Zealand. Nash is attracted because Hope Honeybun drives a beautifully re-built and upgraded 1939 Chevy pick-up and draws him from his ‘shell’ with ease. Hope Honeybun’s interest in young Mr Carson is that he writes a little and seems to have a worldly sense so installs him downstairs as resident author and commissions him to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley. Maggie's secret has been revealed and Nash learns more about the mysterious Catherine Hausman. 

*

Pretty Mimi Bronkovic is the most outgoing of the Bronkovic women as well as being the oldest, but at forty-five she’s only a year older that Ana and three years older than her other sister Yela. Hope and Maggie gave her a couple of years and Neven, the oldest of their generation, was five years older than his food-loving wife Mimi who only through binge dieting managed to keep her weight in check.

No-one in the valley had expected the eldest and somewhat conservative – in the traditional family sense of the word – son of Josip Bronkovic to marry a New Zealand woman without European lineage and they were right. Indeed, there was talk about the oldest of the Bronkovic brothers not marrying at all despite his two brothers already having taken the walk up the church aisle. 

In despair in 1987 Neven parents insisted that their thirty-three year old son accept airline tickets from them to visit France in the off season to increase his knowledge and expertise in the art of wine-making and vineyard management. At the same time they arranged for their son, in the twilight of prime marrying age, to visit relatives in his parent’s original homeland. Josip and Natasa’s expectation was that their boy would return with a potentially hard-working bride of Dalmatian origin. But that was not to be. 

Neven returned empty-handed but smitten, in love with a French woman, five years his junior. He never made it beyond France before his return home. Mimi’s haughty parents, who operated a three hundred year old family winery where Neven spent almost three months, were unmovable – they had no problem about their daughter having a fling with this powerfully built and single-minded New Zealander, but Mimi must marry a Frenchman, and that was that.

Initially Mimi accepted her parent’s wishes, and when Neven left shed few tears – she was used to a procession of lovers passing through her home or village and actually had no intention of marrying. But gradually she began to mope and realised that Neven was a lover without peer, the only lover whom she genuinely liked. In fact she now believed he was adorable.

One afternoon – seven months after Neven’s departure and definitely not pregnant – Mimi ostensibly left home to stay the weekend with an old school friend in England. The next day the now very focused Mimi was in London, boarding a flight to New Zealand.

She arrived at Te Henui village by cab from Henderson and on the street spoke in excellent English to a pretty blonde woman and asked for directions to the home of Neven Bronkovic.

Amazingly, the woman hugged her and said she must be Mimi.

“I’ve known Neven for much of my life,” enthused this friendly woman calling herself by the strange name of Hope Honeybun. “Neven has told me all about you – over and over again, actually. Are you here to marry him?”

Overwhelmed by the knowledge and friendliness of this woman, travel-weary Mimi could only nod.

“Look, you cannot stay in the home of your fiancée, you must come with me and stay as the house guest of my father and myself for as long as you wish.”

Realising this was not an offer to be refused, Mimi accepted, therein establishing a close and lasting friendship with this very sophisticated woman called Hope Honeybun.


The wedding was held a month later, The only people from France attending were Mimi’s cousin,  Brigitte Moreau and husband Chaney. Mimi’s own family had excommunicated her. Her bridesmaid was the unmarried sister of Drago’s wife Ana while Hope took the role of bride’s mother including totally organising the event in consultation with Mimi and the groom’s mother Natasa.  Cedric Honeybun, as stand-in father, gave her away and flower girl for the twenty-four year old bride was Maggie Tait’s beautiful thirty month old daughter, Alayna.

Before too long, the relationship between the Mimi and Hope cooled somewhat through Mimi having entered into a relationship with Hope’s father. 

Mimi had difficulty accepting that she’d allowed such a relationship to occur and it continued sporadically. She drew away from Hope a little, fearful that Hope would find out and Mimi was aware she’d be unable to justify her behaviour.

However, from the time of Cedric’s death the relationship between the two women soon  flourished as never before. Occasionally Mimi wondered that perhaps Hope knew about her adulterous relationship, but by then the maturing woman was aware that Hope herself was no lily-white: although lacking evidence she was convinced that Neven and Hope’s youthful romantic entanglement was continuing. She’d detected Hope’s favourite French perfume on Neven several times. An understandable kiss, perhaps? No, not in places on Neven where she’d thought she could detect it! Mimi was not devastated, however, as the French understand such things. Life goes on, at least unless the ultimate showdown occurs.

Seventeen years later, with Neven’s and Mimi’s two children approaching adulthood, a thin-faced and slightly tentative young man arrived at the Te Henui Winery which was producing mainly for the cellar-door and the supermarket/local wineshop trade, with its premium wines selling via agencies into niche markets stretching from Dubai to Tokyo. In good years, up to twenty-five percent of its output wass exported. Sales via the internet are also increasing, thanks to a web site, professionally designed and maintained by the son of one of Hope’s ‘gentlemen friends’.

“Good morning,” greeted Mimi, addressing the cellar door’s first call-in customer of the day. “Would you care to taste a small range of our product –  currently we’re offering tastings of our cabernet-merlot-franc blend, an off-dry reisling, a robust chardonnay and an upmarket merlot?”

“Not just now, thank you. What I’d rather much like is a strong cup of black coffee and perhaps two chocolate biscuits?”

The audacity of the man, Mimi thought with a shrug, finding she was captivated by the man’s gentle smile and his radiance. His radiance? She was not sure what she meant by that so hurried off to pour a mug of instant coffee and opened a pack of biscuits normally reserved for VIP visitors.

“You are around from here, I believe,” Mini said, returning with the tray. “I’ve seen you in the village walking a dog, Mrs Honeybun’s dog I think?” 

Automatically holding an arm across her chest to avoid the straining material of her dress revealing too much, she leaned forward and offers Nash a chocolate biscuit which was whipped off the plate with enthusiasm.

“Thanks,” he said. “I really didn’t expect these, I just had the urge to try you on.”

“Try me on?” Mimi gaped, a little startled. In her understanding of Kiwi idiom, that meant only one thing.

“Oh, sorry. You’re foreign, aren’t you?”

“Oui, I am French.”

“A lovely country and very interesting people from what I’ve seen on the big screen. What I was meaning is I had the urge to be cheeky. Dunno why – I guess you look kind of cute.”

“Me cute?”  Mimi said, unable to avoid looking pleased and displaying a slight blush; since Cedric’s death no casual male had murmured flirtatious remarks to her.

“Only young children are cute, no? You see me as a child?”

“Oh no, not a child,” he said, looking straight at her with almost a Cedric smile.

Mimi’s blush returned. 

What an interesting young man. He was Hope’s man; Hope had told her a young man was staying in her house and he would be writing a family history for her.

“I’m Nash, Nash Carson. I am a guest at the home of Mrs Honeybun. I am doing some work for her.”

“How do you do,”  Mimi said, shaking the offered hand. “I now know who you are as Hope has told me about you. I am Mimi Bronkovic.”

“How do you do. I now know who you are as Hope has told me about you,” Nash responded, to her astonishment mimicking her accent incredibly well.

Mimi giggled but recovered quickly, knowing that Neven was not far away in the office and Marko, Ana and Yela were also nearby, although on the noisy bottling line doing a run of two-year-old Te Henui Old Riverbank Carbenet/Merlot.

“You must not tease me like that,” she whispered, glancing towards the office.

The impudent man grinned.

“Are you able to show me around and explain the overall operation please Mimi, or am I required to make an appointment?”

The question unnerved Mimi slightly. The winery’s policy was no tours for members of the public, but this young man was not public – he was in the employment of Hope Honeybun, the winery’s largest shareholder.

Nash was quick to spot the change as the generous mouth of the pink-faced blue-eyed off-blonde puckered slightly. She slid  her hands up and down her thighs a little nervously.

“Neven doesn’t welcome visitors?”

Mimi gasped. Just how much had Hope been telling this Nash? She pushed the plate with the remaining biscuit towards him and said, “Excuse me, I’ll ask my husband to show you through the winery.”

She came back, smiling.

“Come and meet my husband, he knows about you.”

The mass of Neven didn’t surprise Nash, as he’d seen a photo in Hope’s lounge of Neven and Hope holding an inter-club mixed pairs championship cup they'd won two years earlier. In that photo Neven appeared to be a full head taller than Hope and very much wider across the chest. He prepared to wince from a mangling grip crushing his fingers, but the handshake was nothing more than firm, and the smile genuinely welcoming.

“Nice to meet you Nash, anyone meeting Hope’s approval is welcome here. I’m rushing to get documentation for an export order completed, so you must excuse me. Mimi will show you around.”

They toured the winery, with Mimi explaining that on average around sixty percent of their output came from Te Henui grapes and the remainder is white grape juice, crushed and settled and then brought in mainly from the Gisborne Region, while they also bought some reds from sunnier Hawkes Bay which were chilled and trucked in overnight as grapes. 

“In very good years, that occur every three to five years, we often can produce reserve label Sentinel Rock Chardonnay  and cabernet sauvignon that are one hundred percent Te Henui sourced grapes,” she told Nash emphatically. “Neven will want you to note that.”

“Montgomery cab/sav?”

Mimi looked at him with delight.

“Oh, you know. That’s the premier product of this winery. That terrier I have seen you with in the village, he’s Montgomery the Fifth I think.”

Nash can’t think of anything to say, so nodded.

“Ah, I thought so when the connection between you and Hope was established within me.”

Nash grinned at the cuteness of the second language phraseology, but did not tease her.

“You know the origins of the name, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t Mimi. But I have wondered about it,  meaning to ask.”

Nash looked at her deeply and she swallowed. This young man, he was much younger but a little like Cedric was, she thought. Mimi experienced a little flutter within her chest and stomach. How could that be? Although slightly diverted, she remembered to explain the origins of the name.

“Cedric – he was Hope’s father – was given a terrier pup by his neighbour. Cedric told me he could not decide upon a name so his neighbour, who’d fought in the Second World War suggested the name Montgomery after the odd-ball British warrior. The neighbour had served under General Montgomery, in North Africa I seem to remember, and was much admired by this neighbour who was giving Cedric the pup.”

“So, that explains it. Did you know Cedric intimately?”

“Intimately?” echoed Mimi, turning away quickly.

“Yes, did you know him well?”

“Oh, yes of course,” she returned to face him looking relieved. “Very well as he had lots to do with this family. In fact he gave me away at my wedding as my father was unable to come to New Zealand for my marriage.”

Mimi lead Nash through a doorway and said, “Here are my sisters. Nash Carson – this dark beauty nearest me is Yela, wife of Marko Bronkovic who’s down the far end of the bottling line, and over there is the vivacious Ana, wife of Neven’s other brother Drago.”

“Good morning, Mr Carson,” called the women in unison.

“You are the man living with Hope, we’ve heard about that,” Ana smiled.

“I’m living in her house, that’s all.” All three women titter at his seriousness. They heard a sharp whistle, and Marko called, “Quality control!” Yela and Ana immediately returned to checking  the bottles emerging from the labelling machine.

Nash was introduced to Marko who wass very busy. They moved on.

“If you are still staying with Hope in the autumn you must return as our first lot of grapes will be arriving – usually the first Te Henui Valley harvest comes off Hope’s C-block and it will be so this season because the brothers inspected the crop yesterday and Drago has set the harvesting date with the contractors.”

“Machine harvesting, I guess.”

“Yes,” Mimi, said obviously pleased to learn that Nash was not totally ignorant about the process. “Of course, with the exception of our reserve wines, which are hand-picked and get tender loving care all the way through. In wine-making, all sorts of processes and techniques are employed,” she said, beginning a summary.

“Basically the grapes arrive in containers on trucks and are dumped into a sump near where you entered the winery. They are carried to the destemmer/crusher on a continuous conveyer. The grape berries are crushed and fall through the perforated cylinders and most of the stems eject through the end of the cylinder. Often Neven and Marko decide to place red grapes whole into tanks for a while to begin a different process, depending on a number of variables. You need to talk to Marko about that. The juice from white grapes is separated from the skins and seeds immediately after crushing, although even then occasionally the skins are not separated for twelve hours or so to increase colour extraction. A basket press separates the juice from the main solids and the juice is stored in temperature controlled stainless steel tanks where the remaining solids called lees settle on the bottom. After one or two days the clear juice is removed from the lees and filtered, and is ready for fermentation.”

She paused as asked, “Are you with me?” Nash, taking notes, nodded.

“The white wine is warmed and then inoculated with a selected yeast strain to enhance flavour and remains in its temperature controlled tanks for about three weeks. Except for our lowest-priced chardonnay label, our chardonnays are inoculated again for a malolactic fermentation which softens the wine for a better taste on the palate.”

She greeted an elderly man in a language other than English, not French thought Nash.

“For red wine, it is easier to ferment the skins, seeds and juice together, making separation in the press much more efficient. Of course colouring from the skins infuses red colouring into the juice. When fermentation is completed the red wine is pressed off to tanks or barrels for malolactic fermentaion to soften the wine. Then it is later run to oak for aging in the maturation cellar. I emphasise again that quality control is essential throughout the entire process as micro-organisms such as bacteria, moulds and yeast arrive on grape skins. Our wine makers must also encourage the development of desirable yeasts and finesse in control of temperature is vital.”

“You understand all this?” Mimi asked, taking a breather.

“Yes, it’s very complicated isn’t it?”  Nash said as they passed rows of large stainless steel tanks. “I have a little knowledge, having made fruit wines with both success and also with disappointing results through excessive clouding, rampant yeast growth and development of unwanted odours.”

“Well, aren’t you an interesting young man? Here am I rattling on and you know all about it.”

“Er, no, Mimi. I’m a little boy lost in a winemaking venture on this scale.”

“That’s very honest of your to say that, Nash. But little boy, I think not.”

“Now, here we come to my favourite place of the whole operation. I call it the nursery, so walk quietly because our maturing wines are half asleep.”

She giggled, catching the surprised look on Nash’s face.

“I am joking,” she said, but out of habit I do walk into here quietly.”

The walls of the huge maturation cellar were lined with wine in casks of different sizes and a double width of stacked casks also ran through the centre of the cellar..

“What’s in these casks,” Nash whispered, pointing.

Mimi giggled but whispered in reply.

“These French oak barriques marked CH are chardonnay and further down you’ll see more marked RCH.”

“Reserve chardonnay,” Nash offered.

“Oooh, very good, and on our right are our reds. Right beside you is…”

Mimi tripped on a thick hose and lost her footing. She twisted and fell with a thump on to the concrete floor. Nash attempted to catch her but was only partly successful in reducing the impact of her fall. He pulled Mimi to her feet, and she leaned against him, catching her breath. She felt so soft and warm that Nash decided he’d better let go of her.

He stepped back a little, hands now on her shoulders and asked if she was all right.

“My right cheek, I’m going to have a big bruise,” she groaned.

Nash reached down,rubbing below her hip.

“It’s all right, I’ll do that,” Mimi said, stepping back and rubbing her behind. She was now breathing heavily and looking very intensely at Nash in the dimly lit cellar.

“I think you need a drink,” Nash said, taking Mimi by her other hand. She made no attempt to resist. “Look where you walk,” he chuckled.

Nash asked what was the current output of the winery.

“Last season we hit 52,000 cases for the first time but as we are a little over-stocked with some reds, the brothers will not buy in much Hawkes Bay red grapes this season.” 


As they left the dimly-lit cellar, Mimi slipped her hand from Nash’s light grasp.

Back in the tasting room she cleared away the coffee cup and empty plate, returning with a bottle of dry riesling and three glasses. “It’s still early morning, so this wine is best I think.”

Mimi went to the office to ask Neven to join them, but the office was empty. She looked out and noted his car has gone.

“Cheers,” she said to her new friend, smiling openly.

Nash raisesd his glass in salute and smiled back, a very friendly smile.

*  *  *

The regional centre had a catchment area of well over 100,000 people. Driving into the mall carpark Hope pointed to a stand-alone medical centre: “That’s the site of our former home and daddy’s veterinary clinic.”

They entered the busy mall and Nash was disappointed, saying he’d been expecting something more substantial than a buffet luncheon or coffee shop fare. Hope smiled and lead  him to an up-market restaurant on the top floor. Nash looked more at the the age-spreading ass in the dark business suit just head of him instead of watching his footing but managed the stairs without incident; Hope was wearing very high heeled black shoes and a plain gold shirt. Nash thought ‘stunning’ but when when he had seen her dressed before they left had offered the usual “You look nice,”




Valley of Sinners Ch. 06



Pausing to check her hair and lipstick in the wall mirror at the entrance, Hope said that Brewster, Brewster and Roberts regarded the Hausmen’s as corporate clients and conducted any of their business over lunch with that client.

Nash noticed Tremain Hausman seated at the bar but said nothing, knowing that sharp-eyed Hope probably saw him before he did. She walked to a table where a slightly over-weight, white-haired man jumped to his feet and gave her a wide smile and held out his hand which she ignored.

“Thomas, nice to see you again. How is Roberta?”

“Fine, and in her element expecting our third grandchild.”

“Please pass on my regards. Thomas, this is my business associate and financial adviser, Nash Carson. Nash, this is Thomas Brewster, managing partner of Brewster, Brewster and Roberts.”

“Hello, Nash. Welcome. Please take a seat Hope, sit over here Nash. Now what brings you to…”

“Thomas, go wheel him over here but warn him, any display of bombastic behaviour and I’m out of here; nderstand?”

“Absolutely, Hope. I shall pass on your message loud and clear. I, too, want a pleasant informal lunch with good, food, good wine and good conversation.”

Nash was impressed. The fellow had jumped and dangled like a puppet, not losing his smile or taking a step towards his client until she’d finished with him.

As the fellow hurried off to fetch his client, Nash asked: “Will the warning work?”

Hope grinned, saying Thomas liked his food so would be telling Tremain no business talk until their after-lunch coffee and liqueurs had arrived. 

Tremain and Hope exchanged straight-faced nods. Nash stood and was introduced by Thomas. Shaking Nash’s hands, Tremain said curtly that he’d met Nash a few days earlier.

“I don’t like people coming on to my property without an appointment,” Tremain scowled as they sat down.

That rudeness annoyed Nash, so he verbally spiked Tremain. “It’s not usual for country people to require non-commercial visitors to make appointments, indeed it would be almost unheard of. Anyway, my understanding is that property is not registered in your name.”

Nash felt two soft taps on his ankle from Hope  who was studying Tremain’s reaction. Tremain turned his darkening face to beckon the bargirl who hurried over with a fresh glass of whisky. The redness of Tre,ain's face was not altogether the imprint of nature’s weathering, Nash mused. 

The bar-girl took their drinks  order.

“A glass of local sparking wine as this table is perhaps on a budget,” Hope smiled.

“Make that French champagne,” growled Tremain defiantly.

Nash gave Hope two soft taps on her lower leg.

“I was hoping for a Loire Valley sancerre, but it’s not on the wine list,” Tremain said.

“This is our luncheon winelist, sir,” the bar-girl apologised.

“Can you do it?” Tremain, asked.

“Certainly Mr Hausman.”

“Then bring a bottle and three decent wine glasses.”

Two light taps hit Nash’s lower leg.

Hope ordered crayfish without enquiring about the price. The menu statee PTBA (price to be advised, meaning crayfish [lobster] was not always available and when it was the price could be atronomically).

“Serve her a whole one,”  Tremain said to the waitress, sounding almost indulgent.

“No thank you, just a half, cut laterally and still complete in its shell, dressed as how the chef would prepare it for himself. Nothing else with it, thank you.”

“Another glass of champagne, madam?”

Hope sat as if hasn’t heard that query.

“Bring her a full bottle,” Tremain said.

Nash tried to ankle tap Hope but her feet were out of range. He looked at her and was greeted by a wink. He hoped neither Tremain nor Thomas had seen that conspiratorial gesture. Tremain was partly obscured by the bar girl clearing away his collection of glasses. Nash glanced at Thomas who looked away but not before he winked at Nash!

Nash declined wine after three glasses. He knew he’d be driving home and had a date that evening. By home time Hope would have finished that full bottle of champagne unassisted.

Hope and Nash declined coffee and liqueurs, and when the men had their orders in front of them, Thomas cleared his throat.

“Well Hope, nothing stays the same forever, would not you agree?”

“True, very true, Thomas.”

“The valley is now a significant wine producer and as you know from the latest figures released ten days ago, twenty-six percent of wine production from Te Henui Valley last season came out of the Hausman’s Winery. My client wants to take that figure to one hundred percent and is willing to pay for that privilege very generously, as least in acquiring your total interests.”

“I know that desire, Thomas but…”

“Let the man finish,” Tremain said, smiling.

Hope raised her glass to Thomas and drained it.

Thomas continued his preamble. “Business is business these days Hope and you must be penalising yourself financially by continuing to take a benevolent interest in those people in the valley who have clung to you all these years to reap a share of the foresight and resourcefulness of both you and your late father. The days of patronage have long passed, it is time to all must move on, don’t you think?”

Thomas adjusted his tie and looked at Hope expectantly. 

“Thank you, Thomas. What do you think, Nash?”

Like the other men, Nash was not wearing a jacket. He poured himself a glass of water, sipped and looked at the ceiling while speaking.

“Well, Hope, it’s a proposal that could be exceedingly attractive to you. Understandably, it’s very short on detail at this stage. Your advantage is that if you do consider selling you have the choice of selling down or selling out completely. A selling down option could include retaining your home, orchard and the pony paddock.”

Nash sipped more water. The tension at the table was apparent, and Hope’s foot gently stroked the back of his right leg. 

“What the interested parties are prepared to pay – presuming they are Mrs Hausman and her husband (the pressure of the stroking foot dug into his leg), is of no consequence to our side at the moment. As from this moment you have the choice of deciding what exactly what you have to sell, and what portion of that, if any, do you want to sell.”

Hope thanked Nash and said, “Well, gentlemen, that’s it until a definite offer is tabled.”

Tremain poured himself a glass of water and sipped it with apparent distaste, flicking the back of his fat hand over his protruding lips. His lower face carried the so-called five o’clock shadow although it was only early afternoon. Nash looked at the opportunist who obviously eat and drank too much too often and probably did little to work it off, presumably managing to control his weight through excessive smoking. Tremain could not be accurately described as ugly, mused Nash, searching for a more appropriate word and it came to him – thuggish!

“What do you mean ‘exactly what she has to sell’?”  Tremain asked evenly, looking at Hope. “Are you so indifferent that you don’t know what you own?”

Hope stared right back and Thomas interjected with skilful timing.

“As you were about to say, Nash?”

“The answer to Tremain’s question is elementary – it is illegal to try to sell anything that you don’t own and my client is simply having that impediment pointed out.” 

The stroking on the back of his leg resumed.

“Such is her status and investment in this valley that perhaps it can be too readily assumed that much of this valley is owned by either Mrs Honeybun or Mrs Hausman.” 

Nash winced as Hope’s shoe rakesd down his leg and dug into his ankle.

“My client has various financial arrangements and contracts with lessees, not only with growers and graziers but also with the winery itself.”

Thomas looked quite surprised while Tremain’s face darkened. He asked, “What is your position in respect of the winery operation both financially and in terms of ultimate ownership, Hope?” 

“I’ll let Nash answer that; he’s doing very well don’t you think Thomas?”

“Very well,” Thomas replied smoothly.

Nash glanced at Hope and then at her glass. It was empty. He looked for the bottle but it and the ice bucket had been taken away. He thought it was a wonder Hope was not giggling her head off but she looked remarkably in control, except for this distracting foot scrubbing. He continued his response.

“From our position, we would consider it inappropriate to declare Hope’s exact financial and legal positions until we have a solid offer on the table. The parties could then commence due diligence and either withdraw their offer or mark it up and down accordingly.”

“What!” thunders Tremain. “You want me to put a cash offer on the table for something for which I cannot have valued because the information is being withheld? That’s insane!”

Nash observed that Tremain’s bellow had startled nearby people in the well-filled and beautifully presented dining room, and were looking at Tremain curiously.

“Oh no it isn’t, Tremain,” responded Nash, swinging on to attack. “How much of Hausman’s Winery do you personally own?”

“That’s none of your business, you impudent interloper.”

“Tremain!”

“Oh, all right Thomas. I withdraw the last part of my last comment and apologize.”

Scarcely aware that Hope’s hand had slid under the table and wass now stroking his upper thigh, Nash countered: “Oh yes it is to my client, Tremain, particularly if she wishes to offer to buy Mrs Hausman’s winery and grape growing operation.”

“Tremain!” called hid minder. 

Thomas looked fixedly at Nash and asked the young man if he has any idea of what he was saying.

Nash replied coolly that he and his client had not discussed the possibility of making such an offer in detail (actually they had not even discussed it).

“It’s not for sale!”

“There was no for sale notice on Te Henui Winery, nor any rumour of a possible sale, yet you’ve shown up here today to present a preliminary purchase proposal,” Hope said sweetly. “I came half expecting this might be the reason for my invitation to lunch and is the reason why – like you Tremain – I have a negotiator in my corner. Nash has presented my position flawlessly. If you want ownership and contractual details involving our winery, I invite you to go directly to the Bronkovic brothers. It’s fine with me if they wish to divulge their personal financial affairs in our company to a competitor. Thomas here can search title records, registered mortgages and company office records and get almost everything you need, apart from details of the contract I have with the brothers concerning the ultimate ownership of the winery and its block of land and some other parcels of grape-growing land in my name. Perhaps the Bronkovics will be happy to sit down with you and let you read such documents?”

To his credit, Tremain struggled to control his temper. “Hope, you know bloody well those hot-heads hate my guts for trying to win their suppliers through fair and commercially competitive means. The fact that none came across is because they all have Croat family links. So where does this leave me?”

“Up the creek, I would think,”  Hope giggled. “On the other hand, it’s a great professional challenge for Thomas and his team.”

Looking at her watch Hope stood up. “Well gentlemen, regrettably I must depart. I estimate that I’ve got half an hour before I become legless.”

She giggled. “Come on, Nash. Let’s go. It was a lovely lunch and I enjoyed the table talk and lovely wine. We must do this again – our shout next time.”

Hope smiled at both men who smiled at her, Thomas gently shaking his head. Nash bid them farewell and only Thomas replied but neither man smiled at him.

Hope bumped into two tables on the way to the door.

“You better take my arm, Nash,” she said out in the mall. “For some reason I feel a little flaky.”

Hope entered the Rover unaided but within a couple of minutes was asleep.

Once home Nash struggled and managed to remove her from the car. He called to her loudly and gave her a couple of gentle slaps on the face.

“What-is-it? Time to get up?”

“No, Hope. Listen to me. All I want you to do is to walk inside the house. We have two flights of stairs to climb. Help me by just walking, okay?”

“Yes, okay. I like it when you tell me what to do. Do you REALLY like me? I don’t REALLY know because you never tell me.”

“You’re a wonderful woman, Hope. Everyone but Tremain likes you.”

“Likes me? Is that good?”

“Yes.”

“Likes me, huh? That’s good.”

With difficulty they reached her bedroom.

Nash lifted her on to the bed, realizing she was no light-weight as she was big boned. Hope was breathing heavily but evenly as he unbuttoned her jacket and lifted her to remove it. The shirt followed and he became very aware of a mass of flesh being held in place by a sturdy bra. He rolled her on to her side to undo the back button of her skirt and then the zip; he found removing the skirt easier than the struggle with the jacket and then the shirt.

“Well sleep tight lovely lady,” Nash whispered, kissing her fully on the lips. It was hot so thyere was no need to cover her. He was almost to the door when he heared Hope yawn and slap the headboard.

“I want a nightie – my blue one, top left drawer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure; I’m the one who wears it, aren’t I?”

Nash fetched it.

“Put it on me. Oh manners – please.”

“No, not over my underwear you idiot. Take them off. You’ve seen titties before haven’t you? You naughty boy, of course you have, and my daughter’s as well no doubt and Alayna’s and Maggies’s and Mimi’s naughty boy. I bet I have missed out many but that’s enough to prove you’ve seen titties – and more.”

“Hope, I don’t think…”

“You have been lovely today so don’t spoil it.”

“I don’t think…”

“I want you to see me. I have been under pressure wanting you to see me. Once you see me I know I can walk around without having to cover up if I undress in the laundry and walk nudie rudie.”

Well, if that was all there was to it nothing much would change, Nash thought. He lifted her legs up high and bent them towards her head, surprized at her flexibility.

“Wheeeeee!,” she giggled.

Thrusting a shoulder under her legs Nash pulled Hope’s panties down over her hips to mid-thigh and lowered her back down, pulling the panties off and pulling away his shoulder all in one movement. As her legs hit the bed she opened her legs, exposing an impressive pinkie through light growth of fair hair. Nash looked up to fine Hope staring at him.

Without a word or change in expression Nash removed her bra and the released flesh fell to the sides; the small dark pink nipples centered in the rather large apricot-colored areola were not even aroused.

“Don’t bother with the nightdress. I’ll sleep nude. Kiss me on the lips again and go; have a lovely evening with Alayna.”

So she hadn’t been asleep when he kissed her ealier, he grinned inwardly. He kissed her and she put some effort into her response.

“Nice body…for an older woman,” he smiled, pushing her hair away from her face.

“So all my men tell me,” she sniggered – yes, sniggered; he kissed her again and left.


Nash had a quick shower, set his alarm to 8:30 pm and almost immediately dropped into a three and a half hour sleep. 

Stirred by the alarm he shaved, dressed and checked on Hope. She was curled up asleep, breathing heavily with a soft smile. He fed the neglected Monty and hurried down the driveway, reaching the cattle-stop just as Alayna pulled up.

She raced around the car and hugped him. They kissed and she said, “My, don’t you look great, smell great.”

Nash was pleased. She was positive and happy. He really felt like a great night out and was going to get one, it seemed.

“You drive, Nash; I want to cuddle you – go back to the old quarry where we’ll have the lovely supper I’ve brought with me. I’ve made you a beautiful chicken pie.”

After some heavy petting Nash pulled off Alayna’s sundress while she continued sitting on the rug and she then lifted on to her hands and knees after undoing her bra but not removing it. In doggy position she liked having her breasts mangled in heavy squeezing, but not cruelly so.

Nash dropped his trousers.

“Naughty boy, no undies?”

“Pay attention – here it comes.”

“I’ll guide it in. Wow, it’s a strong boner tonight.”

“The moonlight on your white ass is responsible for that.”

“You are so sweet to me. Are you fucking Hope yet?”

“No!”

“My mother?”

“No!”

“Mimi?”

“No!”

“Ohmigod, then I’m in for a drenching tonight,” she cooed, squeezing her thighs together and almost sending Nash into premature ejaculation.

“Squeeze my breasts darling – hard.”


Two hours after midnight Nash walked up the driveway kicking stones when passing the slowly ripening grapes of the Home Block. The rattle of a chain announced  Monty was on to him, aware of who Nash was so did not bark.

Patting the dog Nash unchained him, and Monty was away like a shot to roam the perimeter for the rest of the night, doing his best to annihilate the rabbit population. 

After a quick shower Nash pulled on a pair of underpants – expecting a visit from a bewildered Hope after dawn – and hit  the mattress. He was asleep before recalling much of his evening with Alayna.  

Nash dimly heard the patter of Hope’s feet then her hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. She leaned over him, looking VERY sexy in a baby doll frilly top and briefs far more suitable for a young teenager.

“Good, you’re awake. Here’s your coffee. Pray tell me, how did I end up in bed totally nude? My mind is blank, although I can remember walking out into the mall after talking with those two creeps.”

“Oh, come on, Hope. Thomas was okay, just doing what he’s paid to do for his client. He caught that wink you gave me as when I looked at him he winked back at me, enjoying the moment.”

“Well, that’s beside the point right now. How did I end up nude?”

“Well, after we had sex…”

Nash paused, waiting for the onslaught and was not disappointed.

“What – we had sex? You filthy brat. taking advantage of me…”

Hope stopped, catching the stupid look on Nash’s face.

“Oh, another of your childish wind-ups, I see. Well, please answer me properly.”

Nash told her the truth.

“So I don’t have to hide myself from you anymore?”

“That’s what you said.”

“And you said I have a nice body for a woman of my age.”

“Yes.”

“Christ, and that’s how I’m rewarded for allowing you to undress it.”

“Yes.

“Well, you were due out last night to do naughty things to Alaynam if I remember correctly. Didn’t you have an entertaining twelve hours?.” 

“Yes, quite memorable, really. I gather from your leg messages I did all right?”

“I have to say you were quite magnificent. You seemed to have picked up quite a bit of knowledge about my affairs?”

“Many of the things I said were just common sense. But I know a lot more than I think you know. I have found four rather good informants, one being particularly helpful.”

Hope looked at him, shocked. “Damn Mimi. The French have such big mouths.”

“Most women break confidences under astute interrogation,” Nash grinned. “The trick is not having them become aware that they are being interrogated. I learned that from my mother – pretty sharp is Rose.”


*  *  *

Hope was angry with herself as she walked back to her bedroom. Fancy allowing him to see her full throttle like that; she’d planned… She cut that thought in confusion. She’d planned nothing, it was just a thought in the back of her mind that sooner or later they would rumble in bed.

Yesterday she’d received a phone call from Lisa, completely out of the blue as she’d just received a letter from her youngest daughter the previous day. She began to panic, thinking something was gravely wrong, but oh no; his lordship had simply phoned Lisa on a whim and had managed to get the poor girl uptight and unsure of herself.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 06



Lisa obviously had been crying, and Hope worked at getting her back on to an even keel. That’s why she hadn’t been alerted to the significance of the question through Lisa’s burblings: “Where is he sleeping?”

“It’s hot, so I’ve shifted him into your room.”

It was only then realised the potency of the question; she’d been shafted!

Lisa wailed and said, “The next step is your bed, isn’t it mother!”

“Of course not, don’t be absurd,” Hope had countered, but immediately knew she was in damage control. What was Lisa on about? Lisa herself joked about ‘Hope’s gentlemen’. There were few secrets between them and Lisa encouraged her mother, as Lisa had become a little outspoken one night when they were sipping wine in the orchard as the moon rose, confession that she found it necessary to have gentlement friends ‘To preserve her spirit by remaining sexually active.’

Hope had been aware there were other more profound ways of preserving and strengthening one’s spirit, which was one reason why she attended church most Sundays. But who was she to argue against her daughter being supportive of her romps between the sheets?

Oh God, Lisa has developed a thing about young Mr Carson that returning to her lover and her comfortable life in Sydney has not erased. This was serious – having mis-matches and highly sexual affairs on the other side of the Tasman was one thing, but thinking one had a more appealing male on home territory, a male that didn’t seem to measure up from most angles, was quite a different proposition. She was aware Lisa has to be brought to her senses.

Hope was clear-headed despite over-indulging in quality French champagne yesterday. She was determined to control this emerging situation: either Lisa has to be dissuaded from shifting back from Australia to her home in West Auckland, or the work-shy Mr Carson had to be given the push. Perhaps she could compromise and have him operate out of his mother’s home in Ponsonby until he completed her project?

The outside temperature was a full degree warmer than yesterday, a fact that Hope choose to ignore. So after the call from Sydney she called to Nash that it was cooler so why didn’t he shift back into his basement bedroom.

“All right, Hope. Whatever you say,” he called cheerfully.

Hope fumed, ‘Whatever you say’, I say get out of my daughter’s mind; I don’t want you screwing her life up. And why are your screwing my half-sister, you cad? I bet you’ve already had your thing into Mimi; She’s almost my age, dammit, so why haven’t I been propositioned by you, Nash? I too may have obliged however unlikely as that might seem.

This kaleidoscope of thoughts upset  Hope, who normally had a very tidy mind. She accepted she was being irrational. Without a doubt the so-called loser Nash had brightened her life, in fact had enriched her life and he was beginning to reveal a competency she suspects even he might be astonished to find emerging.

How on earth he’d managed to impress Lisa was beyond belief. The poor girl had probably become cock-happy seeing him strutting around the place, shooting rabbits by the barrow-load, seeing sexpot Alayna all over him, seeing the supposedly discriminatory Monty virtually besotted with him and people waving to him in the village as if he was a Somebody. Little wonder the poor girl had lost her senses.

Hope groaned and pressed her knuckles into her temples. She as aware she’d just fabricated a complete lie. The boy was quite a charmer, sensitive, interesting and bent on making himself personable. Lisa will have seen Alayna’s reaction to him, knowing that Alayna – like Monty – was rather choosy when cohabitating socially on her own patch. Furthermore, his sphere of influence appeared undeniably in ascendancy; who in their right mind would reject being associated with such a person? Obvious Lisa’s instincts are more reliable than her mother’s!

Hope slunk  to the bathroom to brush  her teeth.

She then connected her laptop to the Internet and sent Lisa a message:


‘Darling
How lovely to hear your voice yesterday. I miss you terribly. Pressure is on me to sell out of my holdings in this valley, with or without the Home property. I’ve been thinking it’s about time I had a change as I’m not getting any younger. I’ll keep you informed as I edge towards making a decision; I am seeking help from expert consultants. So, in the meantime I believe you should stay put in Sydney and get on with your own life. Find a man that you truly belief is your soul-mate.
Oh, Nash is sleeping downstairs again as he makes too much noise when he comes home after a night on the tiles with Alayna. I’ve also heard a rumor that he’s taken more than a passing fancy to Mimi who now wants him to pose for him – nude I gather – for a painting of a Croat immigrant from the Austrian-Hungary Empire of the 1890’s arriving to earn money to set up his own vineyard.
The weather has turned humid – becoming uncomfortably sweaty – and I have field mice invading the house. Apart from them, everything is pretty staid and boring.
Have a good life.
Your loving mother, Hope.’


Mimi! Hope had difficulty believing that Neven’s wife had spilt the beans over the pillow. It was incredible to believe Mimi would commit adultery knowing that the enraged Neven would almost likely half-beat her to death and would mangle her lover. One couldn’t keep a secret like that in the valley – sooner or later it would leak.

Pouring herself a cool drink, Hope sat on the balcony, catching just the softest of breezes from the south-west. She relaxed a bit and then conceded that Nash had been the only one suggesting a relationship with Mimi, but even then had not given the slightest hint they’d become lovers. The man would be a fool not to, of course, as Mimi remained quite attractive and seemed to burn with sensuality. She was the kind of woman who seems to need more than one lover.

Apart from herself and Maggie, only Mimi knew the deep secrets of the Honeybun family. She wondered if big-mouth Mimi has got it right in briefing Nash, thereby breaking her promise to tell no-one of the secrets.

The three choicest six-acre blocks fully planted in vines named Cart-wheel, Black Stump and Springwater, like the six other blocks Hope inherited from her father, were leased out on 15-year contracts, but with no right of extension of contract on those particular three blocks, the ownership of which were now held in trust. 

Legal agreements provide that when Anton – son of Neven’s brother Drago’s formerly wayward wife Ana – and Eloise – daughter of Mimi’s cousin Brigette, attain the age of twenty-five, the title of two of those designated properties held in trust would transfer, unencumbered, into their names.

Twenty-three year old Anton, in his last year studying for a food technology degree, and 16-year-old Eloise, who’s father Chaney was now chief winemaker at Hausman’s Winery where Brigette is sales manager, was still attending high school.

Socially, Mimi, Brigette and Eloise were very close, as all are French-speaking. 

That land transfer arrangement meant that Alton would take  possession of the Cartwheel Block in November 2006, Alanya would acquire the Black Stump block in June 2010 and Eloise the Black Stump block late in 2014. Hope smiled thinly, thinking about those complications.

The winery itself, as she suspected Nash was aware thanks to big mouth Mimi, couldnot be sold without the consent of other shareholders. Locals simply assumed that the winery land and buildings were owned by Hope, that the Bronkovic brothers owned the machinery and operated the business at their expense.

Hope wondered if Mimi had given Nash the details correctly. Hope's agreement with the Bronkovic brothers required them to progressively purchase a total of 100,000 shares in Hope’s Te Henui Holdings Ltd. The acquisition was staged so they could meet payments out of expected profits, so that by 2008 they’ll own the winery and the land on which it was actually sited. In a separate agreement, four-fifths of the land in forestry would remain leased to Hope at a peppercorn rental to the year 2015 when the pine trees should be mature enough to be harvested. 

Hope’s deepest secret was that Neven was one of her ‘gentlemen’. In fact he was her original lover. Lover? As far as Neven could demonstrate tenderness, he qualified to be called Hope’s lover; he didn’t slap her about and often stayed with her after the act talking which qualified as ‘lover’ in her book. 

Hope sighed, recalling the time they commenced bonking. Since then there had not been the slightest whisper about it; that meant Nash wouldn’t find out about it because Mimi was unaware of it and sure as hell Neven wouldn’t be the informant!

Now she and Neven have another secret, a very new secret. They recently formed a partnership to purchase a one hundred and forty acre block of land formerly part of the land holdings of the late Trevor Hopkins. Hope had learned through casual conversation with the wife of the owner that she and her husband were thinking of leaving to live near their daughter in Adelaide. Hope asked Janet if Hope and her associate could walk the property with the possible view of purchasing it.

A very excited Janet phoned that evening saying the husband John had said there were going to the Bay of Islands for a couple of days. She told Hope where to find the keys in the farm shed for the two quad bikes. They could go anywhere they wished. John would leave them a map showing the farm boundaries.

Initially Neven was tentative, saying it was cattle country, poor cattle country at that over most of it. 

“Don’t be stubborn, I’ll meet you at 2:00 at the crossing,”  Hope had said firmly. “Leave your 4WD behind the trees where it won’t be noticed.” She disconnected before he could argue.

Next afternoon they rode up the farm road. They’d just exchanged a greeting of ‘Hi’ when they met, with no touching. That was normal with Neven, a good Catholic who knew that he should not be having extramarital relations and especially not with Hope – she was Protestant.

“This is a wasted trip, unless you feel like a bit of nookie,” he said.

“I’m convinced it will be a stunning discovery and yes, I will really like some tender loving.”

“Right, let’s get on with it. This track needs metalling.”

At the farmhouse he was equally disparaging.

“This home is a wreck.”

“Agreed, not painted in twenty years probably, the farm manager’s old home. But we’re buying land, not clapped out buildings.”

“You and who else?”

“You, butthead.”

“Watch your lip, lady,” he grinned. No other woman dared talk to him like Hope did, and he was proud of her for having the guts to do that.

They went down on to the flats and rode up and down, Neven looking particularly closely at the north-facing slopes.

Stopping under the shade of a clump of willows on the side of the stream, Hope dismounted and pulled out the map from her saddleback together with another one she’d brought with her.

“What do you think?”

The grazing land was semi-dried by the summer sun but the valley floor was still reasonably green. Neven shaded his eyes and looked up into the clear blue sky looking for two skylarks they heard singing.

“At a guess, I’d say this is grape-growing country. Perhaps marginal, but I think perhaps better than that.”

Hope expressed satisfaction and opened the farm map.

“These are the boundaries – see, over there, the ridge of the hill to our right and approximately over to the rock face on the left, then I’d say up the valley as far as we can see.”

“A very interesting possibility.”

“Well, my old mate. Focus your failing eyesight on this.”

It was  two A4 sheets taped together.

“I downloaded it from a geology website. What you are looking at on this map is this valley, a former tributary of the Te Henui that carved itself new channels across the landscape in front of us. I contacted the fellow who did the soil testing for daddy in the mid-1970s. He’s retired now, but came out and had a look at this with me yesterday in return for a couple of cases of Home Block red. He’d confident it will test out little or no different to the main valley – no guarantees, but he’s confident.”

“Oh my God!” said Neven.

He grabbed her and danced in circles.

“What do you want to do?” he grunted, looking at her intensely.

“Fuck.”

Within ten minutes Hope was screaming in release.


That was several weeks ago and her solicitor had phoned the previous afternoon saying that title was through. The new owners were Duo Estates Ltd, a name suggested by Hope’s forty-nine percent partner, Neven Bronkovic.

“Eat your heart out, Tremain -  within five years Te Henui Winery will have three times the output of your wife’s winery,”  Hope smiled. She phoned Neven to confirm that title was through.

Hope then composed an email:


‘Dear Thomas
I trust you are enjoying these lovely summer evenings after you drag yourself homewards from work. Thank you for the lovely lunch recently. I now wish to reciprocate – same venue, same time on Thursday week. 
The business I wish to discuss via my adviser Nash Carson with Mrs Hausman’s agent Tremain is this: I suggest that the Hausman’s Winery be closed at the end of this season and staff and all suitable plant and equipment be integrated with the Te Henuis Winery. The Bronkovic’s now own sixty-three per cent of that facility and the six acre of land on which it is sited – although the forestry is on long-term sublease.
We have taken steps to increase our supply to this winery substantially and would welcome the injection of new capital to process our secured suppliers who are expected to begin planting shortly.
Surely the skill of yourself and Tremain as negotiators ought to come up with a new ownership scheme that is acceptable to all parties.
Please confirm acceptance of this invitation.

Hope Honeybun, 
Vigneron’


Hope knew that the invitation would be refused. All she was doing was to reciprocate the luncheon invitation – Hope Honeybun was not a freeloader.

From the bedroom window she called to Nash. She still could not get over him having seen her completely naked – everything exposed – without being in the position to cover herself up. God, she was a slut.

“That’s enough work for today, come up and have a cool drink then I’m taking you out to dinner. I’ll do you a favour – I’ll phone Neven to see if he and Mimi wish to join us. The better you get to know Neven the more likely he is to be cooperative when you begin to talk to him about history.”

She phoned and Neven said he’d call back after he checked with Mimi. He called back just as Nash reached the top of the stairs.

Hope told Nash: “We’re not going to a café, Neven has invited us around to try superb French cooking, which means Mimi will be slaving away instead of eating out like a lady. Well, if you marry a thick-skull like Neven, what else can you expect?”

“You’re taking a risk,” grinned Nash. “You’ll be dog meat if he catches you fat-lipping him like that.”

“Oh Neven? Never, he just a pussy cat.”

“Not according what I’ve heard, almost straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“Oh yes, Nash. The garrulous Mimi. Sit down beside me, huh? I’m just dying to hear about you bonking Mimi. I’d imagine once Neven finds out about that he’ll commence his revenge with a very inexpert act of castration.”

Nash looked wild-eyed.

“Hope, for goodness sake don’t joke like that. Mimi and I are only casual friends. I’ve never discussed having sex with her, or tried to, and I can’t imagine I ever will.”

“Well then, if I’m to believe that I better be told who supplies you with the necessary receptacle for your hot penis. Let’s see… Me?”

“No, you know that. I told you we did not have sex.”

“Well I guess that confirms the non-event the other night.”

“Alayna?”

“Of course, you know that. She’s my regular fit.”

“Maggie?”

Nash looked aghast.

“Maggie?”

Nash nodded, holding up one finger.

“You swine, she’s my best friend. Oh dear, the sight of you over Maggie screwing her, I’ve just got to see that.”

Nash turned white.

“Lisa?”

Nash shook his head.

“Did you want to?”

His face turned beetroot red, and he squirmed in his seat.

“You swine. She’s my daughter.”

“I know, but what a body, what a mind, what a personality. I also believe she has or at least had the hots for me.”

“So that’s justification for wanting to knobble my daughter?”

“If the feeling is mutual, yes.”

“Right, let’s leave aside Lisa and finish this up. I really need to know the answer to this one: Have you been plowing any of the Bronkovic women?”

“No, of course not.”

“Have you spoken to Ana about Anton yet?”

“No, I’ve delayed talking to her, taking your advice to get to know Neven better before digging into Bronkovic family matters.”

“Very good. You do have brains. I am surprised that you let Mimi through your fingers.”

“She’s your vintage,” Nash sighed, looking at Hope coolly.

“Well, I must say that you are a cool one. I guess it’s one of the reasons why these women like you.”

“Perhaps, but really as most of my mother’s relations and friends are women I grew up in a women’s world. I sort of know how to handle them, you know.”

“Yes, I will concede that doesn’t sound like an extravagant statement.”

“Maggie, eh? I wonder if she will ever tell me?”

“For goodness sake, Hope. Don’t breath a hint that you know. She’d then end up telling Alayna and Alayna would kill me for bonking her mother.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before putting that thing of yours about, Nash. “It’s virtually the same as using a loaded weapon.”

They looked at each other, grinned and burst out laughing.

“Right,” said Nash. “Could we end this embarrassing conversation. You wanted to say more about Lisa.”

“Yes, minutes after you phoned her the other day she phoned me. We had a long talk. She is adamant she wants to come home for good, but I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea. I think she’s got herself focused on you as a sex object. I don’t know what to do about it.”

Nash sat tight-lipped.

“Well?”

“She might also be attracted to my brain and my personality as well as my body.”

Hope looked at him open-mouthed.

Looking at her steadily, Nash shrugged.

“Are you saying she’d gone soft on you?”

“Yeah, and vice-versa. I think.”

“I can’t believe this! And what do you mean you think?”

“We didn’t have enough time to reach any conclusions.”

“Nash, this is serious – do you really mean what you are saying?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall send you over to Sydney where you both can get this thing out of your systems.”

“No, I’m too busy with the book. You’ve bought all of this land and…”

“Nash, that’s confidential information. Who told you? Oh no, Mimi doesn’t only have big backside, she has a big mouth.”

“I’m powerless to stop her telling me things. I won’t spread it around.”

“Look, let’s forget that. You would have found out tonight, anyway. I’ll get Lisa to come back here for a week.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“Let her decide what to do. She’ll make a better decision without pressure. At present it sounds that her hormones are rather a problem for her.”

“You sometimes say the most sensible things, Nash. Now go down and check for mail, I forget to do it earlier and feed Monty when he comes up with you. I’ve got to make apple crumble for tonight and dig out a couple of bottles from daddy’s cellar.

“Ah, the cellar. I haven’t been into the dugout.”

“Would you like to see it? It’s rather a treat.”

“Yeah, why not. You make pudding and I’ll check the mail, feed Monty and dig some clothes out. Is it formal?”

“Black trousers, black socks and black shoes and then just a white long-sleeved shirt. That’s formal wear in that family. I have to wear black flat shoes, a wide floral skirt and blouse, but I refused to wear a scarf over my head or alternatively round my neck. There will be only the four of us for dinner, but the others will come in later to socialise – about twenty of them. Not many outsiders get an invitation to dine with Neven – you ought to feel privileged.”




Valley of Sinners Ch. 06



“Just going out with you is a privilege, Hope.”

“That’s enough of that, Nash. Nice men don’t try it on with their girlfriend’s mothers.”

“Oh, it’s girlfriend already, is it?”

“Just a figure of speech, smart-ass. Go do your jobs.”


Nash followed Hope through the orchard into the old horse paddock, which was a rough piece of land, scarcely being able to even grow grass. She unlocked the door of the old hay shed and took  two torches from a shelf, passing one to Nash. Hope then walked the short distance to the end of the shed which was build right into the rockface behind it. She unlocked the steel door and entered the cellar  she said was dynamited and hewn by workmen on the instructions of her father.

In the dim light Nash looked at row upon row of tilted shelves, seven rows high.

“Crickey,” he breathed.

“Formed out of solid rock, no water seepage, remarkably constant low temperature and capacity for three thousand bottles, and it’s still two-thirds full. Collecting notable New Zealand wines and wines from abroad was daddy’s hobby. I just dip into it on special occasions. Some wines may turn to vinegar, so so what? Others won’t. You may get your hands on to this collection if you’re lucky with Lisa, as it will be inherited by her when what I drink no longer matters to me.”

“Crickey,” said Nash.

“I take it you are impressed.”

He nodded.

“Good boy.”


Later that afternoon Hope was lying awake after trying unsuccessfully to take a nap. The weather was hot and dry, wonderful conditions for the lead in to grape harvesting. In a month to five week her premium Montgomery block would be stripped by handpickers of its Carbenet Sauvignon grapes for the latest vintage of Montgomery Home Paddock Cab/Sav. Only yesterday Marko Bronkovic had phoned saying the assessment of the crop was very promising: providing the weather held through to harvesting it was likely Montgomery Home Paddock would merit ‘Reserve’ status labeling.

Hope rolled on to her side and looked though the open windows of her bedroom on to the Home Paddock block.  As to be expected, her mind drifted back to her father’s last days – autumn of 1993.



To Be Continued.



Valley of Sinners Ch. 07



SO FAR: Divorcee Hope Honeybun's interest in young Mr Carson is that Nash writes a little and seems to have a worldly attitude so she commissions him to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley. Nash hears with interest about the development of the valley and about her lusty father and his women and reasons he must probe to find out about Hope's sex life. It appears this is a Valley of Sinners. He has indulged himself in one sinner and Hope's daughter Lisa arrives home and her interest in Nash appears heading for a lusty coupling but she returns to Sydney without that happening. Author Nash learns about illegitimate children and that Hope has made provision to compensate for these sins of her late father. There are two dangerous men as Hope terms them in the valley and she becomes increasingly concerned as she finds Nash is beginning to learn too much and the passing interest her youngest daughter had in Nash appears to be turning into a fixation.

*

 In drifting off to sleep Hope Honeybun had been thinking of her long dead father. She'd brought him to mind because this novel she had commissioned, now changing form to become Hope's autobiography. Talking about the project kept reviving his influence -- good and bad; after all, he was one of the original sinners of the valley.

Her mind slipped back to 1993.In mid-March of that year, two months after his seventy-second birthday, Cedric Honeybun watched the last of the hand-picked grapes in the Home Paddock being trucked off to the winery with Hope leaning on the rail of the balcony beside him.

"Neven is expecting this vintage will be our best Montgomery Cab/Sav and optimistically has ordered labels to be worded Montgomery's Reserve Home Paddock Cabernet Sauvignon," Hope said. "This is surprising because the prediction for the whole district is for an average vintage."

"Averages don't automatically apply to micro-climates and localized weather patterns," retorted her father. "It looks as if I'll be achieving my high hopes for that block at last. The vines are getting some age on them now and we've had a wonderful run of weather this season -- actually the fewest days of high humidity that I can recall. Drago's stepped up supervision also has resulted in improved vine management. I am very pleased. By the way, how's Marko getting on with his studies?"

"Very well, according to Neven, but he would be expected to say that, with Marko being the baby of the family," Hope said. "Marko's home at present and is sharing wine-making duties with Neven. According to Neven he's a pain in the ass to work with as he's insisting old equipment be replaced, which is costing them a packet, and is fastidious about winery hygiene." "Good for Marko, as that's the way it has to be even for low-cost wines they output," Cedric nodded. "The days of making wine commercially by doing what daddy did are over, well and truly, and even Neven accepts that."

"Yes daddy. They begin their new executive structure this next season. Neven remains managing director of course, but removes himself from wine-making duties. He'll switch completely to winery management and director of marketing. Drago will continue to be director of field operations and takes on Neven's responsibilities for building maintenance, while Marko becomes chief winemaker with responsibility for production line operations and equipment maintenance and replacement. Dog's body Mimi will continue to run the day to day operation will be conferred with the new title of sales manager."

"Yes, I saw the write up about her appointment in the local newspaper. I guess you left that page open for me to spot?"

"Yes, daddy. I'm a good girl, aren't I?"

"Only the best, love," Cedric said, placing an arm over her shoulder and hugging her affectionately. "Come on, jump into the Chevy and take me to town and shout me lunch to celebrate our end to harvest. Mimi says the big party will be held Saturday week when all crushing and pressing will have been completed and the juice from contract growers in Poverty Bay will have arrived and gone into fermentation tanks. The red grapes will come later from Hawkes Bay."

"Poverty Bay is now generic Gisborne, daddy. Poverty Bay does not fit with modern day marketing imagining."

"It was Poverty Bay when I went to school, and will remain Poverty Bay geographically to me," Cedric growled.

"Yes, a little like an official geographical authority change that turned Mt Egmont back to Mt Taranaki."

"Mt Taranaki? Never heard of it," Cedric said slyly but was ignored.

On the Monday after the fabulous Saturday night dinner-dance at the winery, Cedric was home alone. Hope had left the previous day to spend two days with friends in Hamilton. The phone went -- it was Mimi. Neven had gone sailing for a couple of days, so Mimi wondered if Cedric would like to go out for lunch. Cedric knew of course, she was letting him know that Neven was out of town and that she could manage to evade the rest of the extended family, so he invited Mimi to come over and wear something sexy.

After Cedric's death Mimi told Hope about this occasion as Cedric had discussed it with her. He put down the phone thoughtfully: Hope away for two days and Neven away for two days; was that's a coincidence or not? One or both could be lying about their whereabouts. Cedric didn't worry about Mimi making the possible connection of adultery between her husband and Hope -- those two were at it long before Neven came across Mimi in France and she chased after him to snare him as her husband. What will be, will be. Instead, he had something far more serious occupying his mind.

On Friday at lunch in Henderson with his old schoolmate, Toby Smith, Toby had given him bad news. Tests results confirmed that Cedric had advanced prostrate cancer. Toby had urged Cedric to enter hospital immediately as there was a chance that surgery could prolong his life with relatively modest discomfort.

"I'll let you known my decision in a few days, 'Dickhead'," 'Spunky' Honeybun had grinned. "Now finish your claret and I'll get us another couple of glasses. Not a word to Hope, do you hear?"

'Dickhead' sighed and nodded. That request of non-disclosure had been expected, as he was also Hope's medical practitioner.

Mimi arrived looking ripe for the plucking. Physically she was shorter and a little plumper than Hope and was two years younger. Rather than greet her with a kiss, Cedric nuzzled between her half exposed breasts. Mimi closed her eyes and partly melted with a groan, pressing into him.

"Lunch first, or after," Cedric offered. Although they were standing outside the front door, in view of the roadway below, Mimi unzipped and dropped her dress, leaving her dressed only in a sexy bra and high-heel shoes.

Cedric growled, seized the front of her bra with hands strengthen by almost four decades of veterinary practice -- dealing mainly with horses -- and ripped it apart. Mimi squealing unrestrainedly and had her first orgasm. Cedric picked her up and carried her indoors, leaving the dress and ruined bra behind them. He also knew his condition was making it more difficult to perform but had taken pain-killers to avoid extreme discomfort.

Their age difference of thirty-three years could seem a barrier to sex by some people on age alone but not to Mimi or Cedric. He was unable to recall ever shafting a woman older than himself and the age difference between himself and the rural mail delivery woman who occasionally arrived at his door with a parcel and received more than a thank you if Hope was away from home was forty-two years.

Cedric had almost missed Neven and Mimi's wedding ceremony -- which marked the occasion when he signaled his sexual desire to entertain Mimi after marriage -- because he'd been out to humanely dispose of a pony that had broken a leg at the local pony club gymkhana. The eight-year-old rider was inconsolable, screaming hysterically at her parents when Cedric returned from supervising the removal of the pony by volunteers who lifted the body into a horse float.

Cedric simply went down on one knee, held out his arms and the child ran to him and within a minute was reduced to quietly sobbing. The parents and friends were astonished.

"What's your name, love?" Cedric had asked.

"Carol."

"Well, Carol. I'll talk to your dad. I know of a lively young pony just broken in. It is a pony just made for you. If you and your dad are agreeable, I'll deliver it to your paddock before you get home from school on Monday."

"Please -- yes, we accept," interjected the girl's mother.

Cedric looked at the father, who nodded and the girl left Cedric's arms, nodding vigorously at him while walking backwards into her mother's embrace.

"Just do it, no matter at what cost," the father whispered to Cedric.

Cedric looked surprised. "Oh, I'm buying the pony for Carol. I'm not going to half ruin her young life by destroying her beloved pony without providing its replacement, a quite superior replacement."

The vet then strode off to his vehicle, leaving Carol's parents looking stunned.

"How will he know where to bring my new pony?" asked Carol.

"I gave him my card," said her father.

Neven, looking very spic in a beautifully fitting grey morning suit was about to enter the church with his attendants and parents when Cedric completed his dash to the church.

"Ah, Cedric. I was told you were called out to an emergency at the pony club. I was hoping you would arrive in time for the best part of the day -- my speech."

The two men playfully punched each other on the arm and Josip then led his wife, son and attendants into the church.

A few minutes later the bridal party arrived. Cedric came up behind Mimi in her short white lace wedding gown and wide-brimmed lace hat that already had given Hope and her attendants attempting to kiss her, all sorts of problems.

Cedric, a tall man, looked down into the startled blue-grey eyes as he said "May I?" Without waiting for a reply, pulled out the hat pin, removed the hat and kissed Mimi on both cheeks. He then replaced the hat at a more rakish angle, thereby improving her kissability, and with the delicate hands of a long-practicing surgeon replaced the hat pin.

"You look lovely, adorable in fact Mimi. May you have a happy life with your likable rogue."

Walking away to talk to Hope, Cedric once again thought about looking into Mimi's grey-blue eyes. Since he'd first gazed into them some three months earlier he'd fondly thought that it was likely Mimi would come to him when she was ready. She might not, of course, but did that really matter? It didn't.

Almost a year after the wedding, Cedric received a late-night phone call from Neven, who sounded grumpy. 

"Hi, Mimi's cat is sick. She wants you to come quickly."

"Sorry Neven, you know I only administer to large animals."

"That's okay. I'd told her that. Bye."

Cedric had resumed reading a dopey book about girl's love for her champion equestrian horse when the phone went again.

"Sorry, Cedric. It's Mimi. Please come," she sobbed.

The sobbing got to Cedric.

"I'm on my way."

The phone clicked without Mimi saying anything, but Cedric caught the beginning of a great wailing of relief.

"Damn cats," he muttered.

Mimi met him at the door, wearing a floral robe. Her hair was messed up, her eyes red-rimmed. Cedric thought she looked marvelous -- ready for a ravaging.

"Sorry, Neven's gone back to bed. He's been out drinking with his brothers so is almost out on his feet."

"Never mind Neven, where's this cat?"

"She's in her basket."

Mimi had class, as Cedric well-knew, having had her living in his home before the wedding and seeing her many times since, so expected to be shown a white Persian or something similar. Instead it was a common tabby.

"Her name is Riva."

"Haven't heard that one before."

"It's French for river bank. I found her straying on the river bank."

Cedric conducted a quick examination, and opened his bag.

"What's wrong with her?"

"A virus, I believe, or cat flu to you. I'll give her a shot and then run a drip into her -- she's very dehydrated."

"An injection? Will that hurt?"

Cedric looked into the alarmed blue-grey eyes and his heart throbbed.

"I'll be as gentle as I can. Perhaps you would like to hold Riva?"

Mimi nodded and picked up the feline lovingly.

The animal barely reacted as the needle went in, leading Cedric to believe her survival was touch and go. He increased the dose of antibiotic but accepted the best bet was to increase Riva's level of body fluids and allow her own body to fight the hostile invasion.

"Mimi, if you wish to continue holding Riva I want you to kneel down on the floor and hold her in your lap. Then I want you to hold this bottle up high while I insert the needle."

Without hesitation Mimi was sitting back on her legs, holding Riva in her lap and holding up her other arm to take the saline container. Cedric inserted the needle and when adjusting the drip flow noticed that Mimi's left breast had popped out between the cross-over fold of her gown.

"Here, let my put this back," he offered. Mimi lifted the saline bottle outwards to facilitate Cedric's task. She didn't jump when his calloused hands gently cupped the breast to lift it back."

"A lovely shape and obviously you sunbath topless."

Mimi nodded without displaying embarrassment.

Cedric remained talking, talking the bottle from her, and as soon as the bottle emptied removed the needle and packed up.

"Stay with her for a while if you wish, but I would suggest go to your own bed soon and put her basked near your side of the bed. She'll know you're close by urging for her recovery."

"You're a wonderful man, Cedric. Thank you for coming to Riva's rescue."

Cedric had no intention of communicating his grim prognosis on Riva's chances, so left, saying he'd see himself out.

Next morning Hope called him to the phone just after seven.

"It's Mimi."

As soon as he placed the receiver to his ear, Cedric guessed the news, as he heard heavy breathing, but breathing without despondency.

"She's better, quite a lot better, and has just drank a little water. That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"A very good sign. I'll call about eight-thirty and give Riva another injection."

"Thank you, Cedric. How can I repay you?"

Artfully Cedric let that question hang for a moment. Then pretending to clear his throat said, "You will take care of it in your own way. I will be instructing Hope not to bill you."

A few minutes later Neven watched the needle go into Riva but suddenly had to sit down.

"Give him a glass of water," advised Cedric. He packed up and left the room.

Mimi accompanied him to the door. Cedric turned to say goodbye but as he turned Mimi circled his neck with her arm, pulled his head down and kissed him fully on the lips. Then, without a word she nodded to him unsmilingly and went back into the house. That really gave Cedric something to think about until arriving at his next job.

Five days later Mimi phoned Cedric.

"Neven has gone into the city for lunch. Are you able to have lunch with me?"

"Yes," Cedric had replied. "I can adjust my schedule accordingly."

"Good, let's have a picnic over on Te Henui River bank at 12:30. There's a dirt track on the northern side of Johnson's bridge."

"Yes, I know it."

"Drive along it for a couple of hundred yards where it widens with enough room to turn and park. Walk forward for another twenty or thirty yards and you'll see a narrow track going down to the river bank. That's where I found Riva, who is now back to her old self. I'll see you any time after 12:30, no problem if you are running late."

"Good. Wear something sexy."

Excepting to hear an astonished gasp, Cedric instead heard Mimi practically purr: "I already had that in mind."

That's how they got together. Mimi only allowed him to finger her that day but on the next occasion there were no restraints.

Those wonderful days had occurred fourteen years ago and the relationship continued reasonably regularly over the years, with Mimi insisting there was too much sex in her for only one man. Cedric's reply was they seemed to have that in common.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Cedric went outside and returned with Mimi's dress and burned her bra on the barbecue. Hunting through Hope's dresser he found one of her old, smaller bras and handed it to Mimi as she emerged from the shower.

"Thanks -- I'll put it on later. We'll be into it again after lunch, won't we?"

"How could I possibly refuse such a charming offer," Cedric leered, happy to feel wanted.

Less than a week later Cedric was dead, struck down in the village by a truck delivering grape juice to Hausman's Winery. Three witnesses saw Cedric step off the pavement without looking, straight into the path of the heavy truck. The police and the coroner determined it was an accidental death.

A week after the funeral Hope was preparing to send out accounts for work performed by her father before his death. Checking through the concertina invoice file under 'H' she found a sealed letter addressed to 'My Darling Hope'. It was in her father's handwriting.

 'I am sorry to be saying goodbye this way, my darling Hope, but I can think of no better way. You see I have been diagnosed with advanced prostrate cancer and I'm not in with a chance as it has begun to spread. Doc Smith advised me to have surgery but admitted the end is only a matter of time, and it would be a painful ending for me and a distressing ending for you. This way I shorten the distress for you. Throughout your life you have made me a happy man, darling. You have been the most devoted offspring any man could wish for. My only regret was I foreshortened the time we had together with your mother. These things happen. My will was updated last year so there is no reason why anyone -- apart from Doc Smith -- should suspect my death was anything but accidental. Never let on to him that you now know about my medical condition. This is the best outcome, darling. Believe me. It's my choice so please go and burn this letter now and get on with your life. I know you love me darling. 

Your Daddy for always.'

 Being a sensible woman, Hope had emerged from a short grieving period to be an even stronger person. Within a few days she'd accepted her father's decision to end his life. Mimi had been the most grief-stricken person of all. During one of their nights away from the valley, Hope and Neven had discussed whether Mimi and Cedric had possibly had an affair, but neither felt confident about believing such an assumption. 

"You ask her if you like, but I don't have the guts to ask her," said big brave Neven. Well, it's a closed book so why try to open it, thought Hope guiltily. She'd gone through her father's diaries and had found appointment times with 'M' but then there were other appointment times with only the first letter of someone's name and no helpful clues. It had been embarrassing, however, to find five entries in which her father noted his suspicions that Hope and Neven were continuing to have an affair. Hope had already decided never to raise those notations with Neven, which was a pity; she would have loved to have seen his face change! She'd never seen the looks of horror and deep guilt on Neven's face.

Hope awoke aware she'd been revisiting the past, a mix of what she'd observed and what he and after his death Mimi had told her one glorious summer afternoon when they were already half intoxicated by drinking French wine from the cellar. Her father's memory would never leave her and memories of him and the valley were inextricably bound.

Aware that Nash was pacing around, ready to go, Hope took her time dressing down for the evening as well as removing her bright nail polish and applying a modest amount of make-up. A matriarch, even a somewhat youngish person for that role, was expected to look the part of a matriarch.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 07



They went to Neven's residences in the Rover. The three houses of the Bronkovic brothers are adjacent at the end of a cul-del-sac lined with trees, a most attractive avenue. Although Neven's is the larger home, they all were relatively modest though well-presented.

"The boys worked at nights and weekends and built all three homes," Hope said. "They are extremely good with their hands."

"Especially Neven," whispered Nash but Hope missed its significance, not realizing it was a smart crack

"Welcome, welcome," boomed Neven, opening the door.

"Hope, you look beautiful as even. Please come in."

"Neven, this is a researcher, Nash Carson, who is doing some important research for me. He's staying at my home."

"Hullo, Nash. Yes, we've met before down at the winery and you're playing golf in our foursome this Sunday."

"Good evening, Neven. Nice to meet you again."

Hope could see why people feared Neven -- he was much taller than and twice as thick through the chest as Nash and half as wide again across the shoulder. His strength was ever so apparent.

"Welcome, Nash and Hope," Mimi said arriving at the door. She kissed Hope warmly and kissed Nash lightly on the cheek -- just a quick, no-fuss tap. She was dressed very similar to Hope.

"You two know each other?" Neven frowned, causing Hope to catch her breath.

"Yes, I first met her when Mimi showed my through the winery -- you were too busy to see me, remember?" Nash said smoothly. "I picked up the Tait's wine order from the winery yesterday and Mimi served me, and I often chat with her in the coffee shop early mornings when I pop into see my friend Alayna."

"You know Alayna?"

"Yes, I date her from time to time."

Neven smiled. "She's one hot chick, that one."

"Neven!" Mimi chided, and he opened his hands expressively asking, "What?"

In the kitchen Hope handed across the apple crumble and the bottle of cream they'd picked up in the village, and Nash put on the table two bottles of French red Hope had asked him to carry.

"Oh, oh," Neven said. "Very nice, Hope. Look Mimi."

She looked at the label and became quite excited, kissing Hope. 

"This wine, Nash, comes barely a dozen kilometers from where my mother was born. It is famous in France but not really know in New Zealand. Hope's father heard me say one day that this was my favorite wine and he imported a case of it. These are the last two bottles, I think."

"Yes, the last two bottles," Hope smiled. "You keep them, Mimi. Nash and I drink almost anything."

"We'll try this, huh? And this one?"

"Oh Neven," Hope said touching his arm. "One is the top wine of the valley, so far, in our opinion Nash --  the 1993 Montgomery Reserve Home Paddock Cab/Sav. The other one is a much acclaimed wine -- at least by the media -- of the Hausman Winery, the 1996 Trevor Reserve. As it says on the label, a memorial wine to the pioneering grape grower in Te Henui Valley, the late Trevor Hopkins."

"But that's not true," Nash spluttered. "Even I know that."

"Our friend Tremain in action, Nash," Hope laughed. "Attempting to change history, but we've got used to his skullduggery and don't take much notice any more. We laid a complaint and Tremain was censured by the Wine Society for bringing the industry in disrepute and he managed to mount a legal challenge strong enough to wriggle out of a mislabeling action by the Commerce Commission."

"That man is an ass," Neven snorted. "Right, Mimi wants us to start on one of her favorites -- a French Chablis. We shall taste the reds against each other over the beef and after dinner, when the other folk arrive, we shall fall back on to quaffing reds."

The consensus on the reds was 4-nil in favor of Montgomery's Reserve with Mimi, demonstrating her competence with New Zealand idiom saying, "Even a bloke who is half a moron and his one-eyed three-legged dog would know the difference between a thoroughbred and a gelded hack."

Nash, noting Mimi delivering that comment in concentrated seriousness cracked up, Hope and Neven join him, leaving Mimi confused and saying, "What did I say? What did I say that was so funny?"

At 9:00 members of the extended family arrived, and Neven introduced Nash to his second brother Drago, wife Ana and son Anton and his younger brother Marko, wife Yela and their children Peter, Theresa and Mary and then introduced is and Mimi's children, Stefan and Frances.

The door opened to a knock and in came a dark-hair, white-faced woman wearing very bright red lipstick and obviously rouged cheeks. She and Mimi hugged and she and Neven kissed.

"This is..."

"Hullo, Nash," she said, hugging him fondly, much to the surprise of Neven and Hope. Both were unaware that Mimi's cousin Brigitte, whose husband is winemaker at the Hausman's Winery, had previously met this male stranger to the valley. Neven was still looking thoughtfully at Nash when Brigitte completed her round of greetings.

Neven asked Brigitte and Ant to entertain the children outside. "Just for fifteen minutes while we have a business meeting."

A business meeting? Nash looked puzzled why he hasn't been asked to leave the room and Hope looked surprised that a business meeting is being held during a family gathering. After all, there's a time and place for everything.

Once everyone had a glass of 'easy drinking' red in front of them, Neven spoke. "This was an uninhabited valley when the first Hopkins came and began clearing the bush and commenced cattle farming and later sheep were introduced. As initial pioneers they had the valley to themselves until a Mr Ralph Curnow persuaded Trevor Hopkins, grandson of the pioneering couple, to peel off 800 acres of his estate. Trevor wanted to deplete his holdings even further so began subdividing his hill country and the council agreed to put a proper road through the valley to replace the original horse and cart track that had been called boundary road. The first of the new wave of arrivals was my father Josip who with our mother Natasa, erected a little tin cottage of their one hundred and fifty acres of gentle rolling hills. My two brothers and I were born and raised in that cottage. We all feel strongly that we belong to this valley."

"Hear, hear," said his brothers.

"Then in 1969 Cedric Honeybun arrived and persuaded Trevor to sell him 200 acres of prime valley land, and as they say, the rest is history. Cedric saw what none of us others visualized, and that was the apparent potential of this valley to be turned into viticulture."

Neven stopped, and tops up glasses with more wine. That gave Nash the opportunity to look at the rimu paneled walls of the spacious dining room lined with family photos, many of them very old family photos. He looked at a map of Croatia and noticed an area of Plesivica circled in green and a red dot was evident inside that circle.

"That red mark indicates Brdovec, where my father left the vineyard of his parents to come to New Zealand," Neven said proudly, filling Nash's glass. "Until the end of the First World War Croatia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire when it then became part of the formation of Yugoslavia. It sought independence form Yugoslavia in 1991 with some very heart-wrenching results. But today things there are much improved."

Nash asks what the population of Croatia was and is told about the same of New Zealand with approximate 4.5 million people.

The informal meeting resumed with Drago speaking.

"Neven has put a proposition to Marko and me, and we now present this to you for your consideration, Hope. We are aware that you have commissioned Nash to write a book about your and your father and your life in this valley. We accept that such an enterprise is your business. But we find that our family is becoming meshed into this enterprises, that your writer Nash is talking more and more to members of our family and already has knowledge of things private to our family and even in the associations, Hope, between you and me and my brothers and is even aware, Hope, of the latest transaction between you and Neven. It is our view that your book must also contain a full account of the history of the Bronkovic family and its involvement in this valley."

Drago sat down. An uneasy silence followed.

Finally it was broken.

"Hope?" Neven called. She rose and smiled, looking at every face and nodding. "When I'm here, I feel that I am family," Hope said. "But the suggestion just raised seems to exceed the bounds of normal family matters. I had the idea of attempting to immortalize my father, at least in print, because he was such a many facet character -- a personality who to me was larger than life, or seemed that way until I perceived that many other close acquaintances saw him in similar fashion. Nash's book as he and I have discussed over many hours, is a story about me in which the significant influence of my father comes shining through. It seemed to me the best way to present his story -- beginning in today's time and going back and forth and to indicate throughout his lasting presence. I think, dear friends you can understand that to some extent. The red from the Bronkovic Winery some of us tasted tonight -- the 1993 Montgomery's Reserve Home Paddock Cab/Sav. Significantly, that was my father's last vintage before his death, the wine resting in oak just days before he expired. Some of those vines in Montgomery Block were the 200 vines he planted in his initial trial -- a trial that led to the establishment of the industry of this valley as we know it today. Forgive me, but I am unable to visualize how inclusion of the worthy Bronkovic family is going to enhance my literary memorial to my father."

A deep silence followed. The Bronkovic brothers looked decidedly nervous and after a brief whispered discussion, Drago and Marko jump up and filled near empty glasses.

Neven rose to speak.

"Neven, allow me." Mimi said the family had seized the opportunity to present their feelings to Hope, and that Hope should not feel offended. The family was merely making its representations and it was for Hope alone to decide the outcome. Her decision would be accepted as she was, in effect, the matriarch of the family.

Hope appeared overwhelmed to hear her status expressed as it never had been stated before; she'd simply assumed that was the role she'd slipped into from being called to serve in it on numerous occasions.

"This is the family's decision, not necessarily mine, Hope," said Mimi. "The family will not agree to any controversial or private matters affecting them to be published in the book unless the Bronkovic family history in this valley receives similar treatment to the Honeybun family history so everything is in context. Such a demand is unfortunate because it would deny readers of really interesting passages in the history of the valley, the scandals and whatever. This family suggests this: the book should include all the families in the valley -- past and present -- if they have contributed significantly to the valley history. In fact the feeling is the book should be the history of Te Henui Valley. I feel the significant contribution of your father will shine though and suggest that the book be dedicated to him."

Murmurs of approval sounded as Mimi finished, and Neven complimented her on behalf of the family, saying she'd expressed their feelings very accurately.

"Hope?" he invited.

"My mind is in turmoil, so may we hear from Nash?"

"Of course," Neven said. "You have our attention, Nash."

Nash was surprised to be asked to speak. But his head was clear and his mind set on his publishing mission. He did not want to see the project founder.

"Hope is my employer, so what she says, goes. But what you have stated here this evening has come with unbelievable timing, as I had been thinking for some days now about broaching the identical concept with Hope. I've gathered an enormous amount of material already and feel that I really know her father, yet never met him. At the same time much of the material interweaves what I call the founding families of the valley. I have no need to say more except that I must confess that I am a two-bit writer, not an author, nor a researcher nor trained as an interviewer. But my strength is that I am addicted to films -- that I can visualize the screen writing in thinking about a film after I have seen it, and if the film appeals I return to see it twice more, perhaps several times time and after that can fluently describe scenes, who said what and quote strings of dialogue. That's how my mind works and I believe this is beginning to influence my writing. I won't beat around the bush. Hope mischievously uses me as her business adviser. Well then, my recommendation Hope is to negotiate a satisfactory outcome that will allow us to produce a damn fine book -- whether or not I am the one who actually writes it -- that will do Te Henui Valley and its people proud."

Mimi led the applause as Nash finished and Hope smiled at him as she joined in the clapping.

As the applause died, Hope said she would keep it short -- if the Bronkovic's wanted equal status to the Honeybuns they would have to share the costs which to post-editing stage could amount to $30,000. That figure was low as Nash was receiving free board and keep and a modest weekly payment, He was working to a sixteen month schedule but with extra work that would perhaps extend to around twenty months.

Neven looked at his brothers, both nodding consent. "The family is good for $15,000," he declared smiling. But that smile disappeared when Nash said he would approach Catherine Hausman to see if she would underwrite the cost of taking the publication to print if he and Hope fail to interest a commercial publishing house.

Neven threatened that family support would not be forthcoming if the Hausman Winery and Tremain Hausman were mentioned in the book.

"Then we revert to a book just about the Honeybun family and its influence on this valley," Nash said calmly. "We can't have a history which includes only aspects accepted to those involved in the publication."

Neven stared at him belligerently.

"It's what he calls warts and all, Neven," Hope explained.

Neven still looked menacing.

"It's how it is done to achieve credibility, said Nash. "There will be things in the book that will displease you, perhaps immensely."

"Neven, you make wine -- you don't write books," Mini said diplomatically while trying to pull him back on to his chair. "You can always shoot him if you are still unhappy after reading everything in context."

A grin spread from the corners of Neven's mouth. "Now you're talking sense, woman."

Hope walked to an empty chair at the far end of the long table. Taking that seat as matriarch, she said that the decision of the family is to enjoin in the publication of a book describing the history of the valley and its people in a modern, racy form and the family will pay half of the production of project, estimated at $30,000, to final draft form on presentation of invoices. "Is anyone in agreement with that?"

The three brothers and their wives each signify agreement.

Anton's mother Ana asked, "Will it include details of Ant?" 

Hope looked at Nash, who said it would, as well as details about Eloise.

The Bronkovic women and Brigitte sigh.

"Finally," Hope said firmly, "there is to be no interference by the family except to seek corrections in the case of errors or misrepresentation. Is that agreed?

Agreement confirmed and the brothers and their wives promised to fully cooperate with Nash in his search for information. Everyone looked pleased.

The young adults and children were called in and supper was served. Then the singing started, with some group sessions and individual performances on piano, violin, accordion and guitar.

Well into the night Mimi called, "Nash, you told me that your mother used to be quite a famous country and western singer. Surely some of that passed on to you?"

"Yes, strut you stuff," calls Marko.

Nash picked up the guitar which he strummed gently and sang two ballads very nicely.

It was midnight, on the way home, when Hope sighed and said it had not been the evening she'd anticipated. "Usually the gatherings are so hospitable, a night of story-telling and laughter where I seem to become one of them. Tonight it was so different that I felt as if I was an outsider, going against the family."

Nash stretched under his seatbelt in the passenger's seat and said, "Business was on their mind. I guess their thinking was it would be just a quick meeting. Anyway, you cannot win them all."

"Win? I don't see a winner emerging. It was a compromise. In that room my heart told me to say yes, but my head said no. It was not until hearing your comments that I decided to back down."

"Good for you, Hope. I feel it's a decision that you won't regret. It won't water down your intention, I am sure. Your father will now be painted in perspective, rather than being the main act. Actually had full focus been I him I now argue that could have led some people concluding that it was rather an excessive way of paying tribute to one's father. Your modified project will expand interest and credibility and as a result gain far greater readership, at least that how I see it."

"Well, put like that it that sounds plausible and I accept it. I'll ask you to not write excessively on the background of individuals and their families' pre-1969. That eliminates the risk of shifting focus from the viticulture heritage of the valley. Restrict earlier back grounding to hundreds of words, rather than thousands if you would, please -- I mean if you can manage to do that."

"What is the real reason behind that request?" Nash asked, looking at Hope's face outlined in relief on the dark night by lighting from the Rover's instrument panel.

"I'll give you the diaries of Cedric's father to read. He was a vet in the British Army in the First World War, and his descriptions of injuries and death to people and animals are horrific, as are the descriptions of injuries to him. The descriptions of hardship and tyranny affecting generations of the Bronkovic family which I have been told and read about are also a story in itself. Neither of those backgrounds are relevant to valley history other than explaining how new generations of both families came to our valley and found peace and security."

"That's fair enough," says Nash. "As ye more layers are to be revealed. I must say that I agree with you."

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Include the Tait family in full," Hope sighed. "They have even more right that the Bronkovic's to be included. Their farm curves around the ridge beyond the winery to enter the valley and that's where their woolshed was when the property ran sheep. You won't know this otherwise you would have told me -- Basil Tait's father was the illegitimate son of Trevor Hopkins."

"Jesus!" Nash said softly. "Another sin; any more surprises?"

"Not that I know about, although you may managed to scrape up a few more. For instance, I've often wondered why the soft and artistic Catherine Hopkins would leave the valley for a few years and returned married to such a beast like Tremain. And here's another one; the first time I visited the home of the manager of our golf club, Cyril Wells, I immediately noticed three painting as I knew the style of the artist -- Natasa Bronkovic. I said nothing but have wondered about the connection between Natasa and Cyril, if indeed there was one. Many of the affairs between people in this valley and adjacent areas commenced with a clubhouse drink, a drawn pairing to play golf or a golfing lesson at our golf club."

Hope dropped into silence again, thinking of something Alayna had told her -- that her mother Maggie had conducted a hot affair with the golf club professional. The valley was quite a sex pit, she mused. I trust that Nash won't over-emphasis that part of valley history.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 07



Monty greeted them at the cattle-stop and raced ahead of them to the house.

"He's hungry," Hope said.

"You go to bed; I'll feed him and give him some company, sitting on the deck while I think. My mind is struggling to take in the vision of my extended task."

It was 1:35 when Hope lay down on her bed and reached for the phone; she'd come to another decision. 

She phoned Lisa and after the flurry of greetings Hope said: "Come home as soon as you wish, Lisa. You'll probably need to live in the city but you might like to be home with me here some weekends. 

"Are you all right mum -- there's nothing wrong is there?"

"No, I'm fine. Nash and I went to dinner with Neven and Mimi this evening and a full family meeting followed. There was concern about me having a book written principally about my father and me; it was agreed it would be a book about the modern history of the valley and the principal personalities involved in establishing and advancing its wine industry. Nash saw sense in that but insisted it still should be warts and all and after some quick soul-searching I accepted that and now feel happy about it. I would like you to return here for a while to see if you feel your ultimate future is here in this valley. It you decided it is I shall be ever so happy; it you decide to link your future with Nash I shall have no objection."

"Well, what do I say mother?"

"Saying you'll try to be home within three months would be lovely."

"Is Nash committed to staying on to write your book?"

"Yes dear; he seems totally involved and I sense enjoys feeling a connection with this valley."

"That's good. Is he still sleeping in my room?"

"No, he returned to the basement as soon as the heat wave passed."

"Are you or have you had an affair with him?"

"No, I do not have a romantic attachment for him -- that's your department, darling."

"I'm returning to Auckland as soon as possible, mother."

"That makes me very happy."

"Me too."

* * *

The truth was Lisa had been committed to returning soon after arriving back in Sydney but it seemed unnecessary to tell her mother that; better he mother felt Lisa was responding to her call.

She'd enjoyed her short visit to Auckland and had moped for a few days, readjusting to Sydney life without her mother and almost missing her yawing emotions stimulated by being around Nash. She suspected she was interested in more than a one-off sexual encounter with Nash but partly succeeded in blocking such thoughts. After Tim had left her, an advertising executive called Ralph had taken Tim's place. He'd come to Sydney on transfer and Lisa had been assigned by her boss Al to work with him on a multi-station radio advertising promotion for her company. Ralph's partner was still back in Perth finishing her degree in sports medicine.

Ralph had turned out to be better company than Tim, and even assisted in keeping the apartment clean and tidy. But on her return from Auckland Lisa had decided it was time to send him on his way. The opportunity came when she managed to escalate a small tiff into a real shouting match. Ralph had shouted that he felt like clearing out, and she screamed, 'Then don't let me stop you.' And she didn't; later when he attempted to negotiate a return she told him no way, that they'd grown apart. 

Then there was Al; it was time to sever that union of convenience. To her relief Al was completely willing to cut out their liaisons in bed, saying that he was beginning to suspect that his wife had suspicions about Lisa. Al said that he and Lisa would remain good mates and that he'd find someone a little less conspicuous to ease his frustrations of being on a drip-fed ration of sex at home (his very words). It didn't take him long; within a week Lisa learned that Al had gone to a seminar in the Blue Mountains in the company of a young woman from his research team -- a nondescript woman with mousy hair whose only attribute seemed to be she moved rather athletic way and had what Lisa would term very succulent lips.

Initially she'd thought about Nash frequently and after ten days realized that she was still thinking of him. Lisa accepted that she was hooked. It seemed so incongruous. Lisa had long held a romantic notion that she'd meet a famous personality, that she'd been swept along in passion and would have a wedding in a crowed cathedral and probably a honeymoon on a luxury launch off the French Riviera. At the very least he'd be the handsome son of a rich and caring couple whose lives she would make complete.

Incredibly, Nash Carson was a Nobody and yet she was neither surprised nor disappointed that his number had come up. Her only concern was would he reciprocate her feelings? What feelings those were she had avoided examining just too closely at present. She stepped up her intensity at work and filled in the big social vacuum by joining a women's tennis group. Most of the group was adrift women like her, which was reassuring. She also enrolled for a course on creative writing.

After three sessions she found the course more satisfying than expected. She simply had thought she'd like to know more about what interested Nash. She was sure he would be very interested in sex, but she was aiming beyond that. Old vehicle restoration was another known interest, but she did not fancy studying that. So she chose writing, not to become a competitor, but simply to expand a common interest between them. She decided to develop a greater interest in cinema when in his company. It did not concern her that such a study to connect might be in vain in nothing eventuated between then; Lisa had long accepted that in life one could not always be a winner.

Lisa composed two letters and several emails to Nash, but sent none of them. She decided he'd have to make the first move, to place a stake in the ground. The two films she's taken with her camera while in New Zealand were developed and she chose one taking early one morning of Nash, shotgun cradled in an arm and Monty with his front feet propped against Nash's hip, looking right at the camera as Lisa. Rows of green grape vines filled the background.

Lisa took that transparency to Simon in the company's office specializing in placing people into advertising vacancies, which was part of a sub-section under her management.

"Who's this lucky bastard," Simon had chuckled when Lisa asked him if he could get someone to run out a six foot high wall poster (for her bedroom).

"Oh, just a fellow I came across when in New Zealand recently."

"You shagged him half to death, I would imagine?"

"Simon, it's unhealthy for you having an imagination like that," said Lisa, slapping him on the butt. "If we get billed for it, send the invoice to me. Thanks pal."

Later she received that casual phone call from Nash, One moment he had her fluttering like a boy-crazy teenager and the next she was crying like a jilted lover. It astounded her that he was sleeping in her room, only an invitation away from her mother's bed. Her mother knew she had feelings for Nash though not yet having been described as love.

Within a few minutes of terminating the call with Nash she was talking to her mother, asking why Nash was sleeping in her room. The answer was plausible, they were experiencing a hot spell and her room with its air flow was much cooler that the basement with its concrete walls at night radiating stored heat from the day's sunshine in its concrete walls for hours.

Lisa had cried and said she thought she had fallen in love with Nash. Rather that expressed dismay, her mother had been comforting to her, saying that it was all right to feel beholden to someone who'd practically saved her life. It would pass, her mother had said, and then she'd find a new man worthy of her affection.

"I don't want a new man, I want Nash."

"That feeling will pass, dear; believe me. Your task is to find a suitable male of the marrying kind."

Lisa had cried she wanted to come home but her mother had cautioned her against acting too quickly and perhaps irrationally. Give it a few more weeks to settle, she advised.

Three weeks later Lisa went to see Al, asking, "How's the post-natal depression at home?"

"Actually easing, my ration has increased in the past month."

"Good for you. I want a good posting back in the Auckland office. Can you fix it?"

"Yes, but you should stay here. Your chances of promotion are excellent, even on an international basis if that's your desire."

"No, but a promotion to Auckland would be great. A reward for me being so loving to you."

Al grinned. "You were, very loving. But Lisa I'll try to get you a good job back in the Auckland office based on your business merit. I foresee no problem as vacancies occur frequently."

"Right, thanks pal," she said, blowing him a kiss.

Two hours later, she received an email from Al. It read: 'Barrie my old mate says he remembers you. The manager of their retail division wants a London postings and Barrie had been deferring that until lining up a replacement. The job is yours if you want it. He's offering 15k more in Kiwi dollars than you receive now plus a 1.5 grading increase. You'd be a fool to turn him down. Contact details for Barrie follow.'

Lisa immediately sent her request to be considered for the position along with electronic copies of her photo, CV and resume of her work experience in Sydney. The next morning she received the formal job offer and accepted. Al said she could leave in three weeks. 

Incredibly, an hour later her mother phoned inviting her to return home. Lisa played it cool, not saying that she'd already made her decision to evacuate Sydney; she had no wish to deflate her mother's loving overture of seeking her daughter's return home.

Emerging from Customs at Auckland International Airport Lisa pushed her loaded trolley scanning the small crowd looking for her mother and Nash. A familiar shriek turned her gaze in the right direction and she saw her mother, but no Nash. Lisa hid her disappointment and provided the big emotional greeting she knew her mother expected.

Hope was wearing a mottled blue dress and had her blonde hair in a French roll. She wept copiously, and Lisa was not left dry-eyed herself. Her mother looked gorgeous, so she told her, Hope's tears turning to huge smiles.

"Is this everything?" Hope asked in surprise, looking at half-loaded trolley.

"Good gracious no, the rest of my things are coming on a freight flight. They will come to your place by delivery truck."

"Well then, are you ready to go?"

"Yes mum."

Hope pulled out her phone, dialed and said that they are walking out to pick up zone. 

"Is he here," Lisa asked excitedly.

"Yes, being a brilliant day we came in the Chevy. This way we get picked up just outside the door rather than having to walk through acres of car park. Take it slowly, Lisa -- he doesn't know why you have come home."

Although burning with desire, Lisa kept in check. Nash raced around the tray of the pick-up, hugging her and then kissing her on the cheek just like a long separated brother would. But he read her body language -- probably feeling her trembling -- because he pushed her back in his arms, looked into her eyes and then gently pulled her closer and kissed her, long and deeply.

"Come on you two," Hope laughed easily. "This is a restricted stopping zone. Let's go."

It was a ride home Lisa would long remember, seated tightly between her loving mother and her loving man. She'd only attended three night sessions of her creative writing course but she knew she could write the ending herself -- a very happy ending to her homecoming. 

Regrettably, that was not to be.

* * *

Nash was grateful that Hope had yielded, allowing a more expansive history to be written. It would mean a longer and probably more intensive involvement for him -- the promise of being longer in paid work as well. But those factors were not dominating his mind. He felt the shackles had been removed; he now had a complete story to relate.

Confident that he possessed the ability to do the required level of research and that his interviewing technique had improved markedly, Nash's only doubt was in his own ability as an author. Aware that some people had been one-publication best-seller authors, he accepted there was some hope for him. He'd written two trial chapters, and was pleased with the results. He was tempted to show them to Hope but for sure she'd want him to output more, bending him from the present mission which was to build his database of information.

After lunch on Sunday, Hope and Nash went to golf in the Rover, with Nash's borrowed set of clubs in the boot; Hope kept her equipment at the clubhouse. Nash squirmed, recalling what had happened when he went to pick up the clubs he would use two weeks ago as he'd wanted to practice on the driving range.

He'd called to ensure that Maggie would be home and she was in the pool when he arrived at 11:00.

"Come join me!"

"Haven't any swimming shorts."

"Wear your underpants -- you do wear them?"

Hesitation for two seconds, Nash complied: he knew Alayna was at work and Basil was at the back of the farm supervising haymaking.

Maggie kept her distance for almost five minutes after the greeting kiss. Just when he was starting to relax she moved behind him, thrust her hand into the front of his underpants and said huskily, "Oh my, what have we here?"

"Go away Maggie."

Of course she turned deaf and what she had in her hand grew and she pushed his underpants to his ankles. Well he sighed, just the once, knowing he'd been thinking about that cunt of hers ever since Alanya has said her mother had a reputation for being a great lay. That's something one doesn't expect to hear from a daughter.

Maggie towed him to the shallow end of the pool and he jumped up on to the side, sitting with his feet dangling in the water. He didn't have the courage to run. She went to work enthusiastically, licking and sucking and not worried about the disgusting noise she was making, swishing her dark hair back over her shoulders so she could keep an eye on the job. Eventually Nash sighed and kept her air under control, allowing Maggie to fondle him with both hands and also to stare at him intently at times. Finally she fired him and they watched the splatter streak and spot her left breast -- a very sizeable rounded mass that was surprisingly firm highlighted by fat very pink nipples.

Maggie then sucked up some of the deposit and opening her mouth to show him her coated tongue deliberately swallowed, staring at him while she massaged what was left over both breasts.

"How was that?"

"Lovely," he said.

"Have you wondered about fucking me?"

He shrugged and knew be her triumphant smile she knew he was lying.

"Come on, out of the pool. I'm ready as I had release when you did -- I go off rather easily but am a multiple lady."

She proved that she was. They just had a continuous rut in Missionary with Maggie groaning into orgasm five times to his one and then four times to his tumultuous second when she was bellowing and squeezing him to distraction until he came, feeling his eyes were about to pop. He felt, as they say, completely fucked. She'd brought him to a peak more times than he could remember and then would ease off and as his ragged breathing eased would gently begin pushing back at him all over again.

It hadn't been a class act because there'd been little emotion between them; in fact she only kissed him when he kissed her. She acted as if she were in the kitchen cooking. But she was a fine cook. He staggered off to shower with Maggie returning to the pool and shouting, "Nice ass!" That was the encounter Nash had indicated with one finger in the air recently when Hope had been asking in an easy, relaxed manner, which of the women she knew had he seduced,.

Before collecting the clubs from the garage, Nash had returned to the pool to say goodbye. Maggie swam to the side actually seeking a kiss.

"How was I?" she asked.

"A great shag -- very noisy, but great."

"Part two when you return the clubs?"

He'd smiled but didn't answer. She looked a little disappointed.

"You're quiet, what are you thinking?" Hope asked they neared the village and turned into Sparrow Road to head for the golf course less than a half a mile away.

"What causes a woman to wander?"

"Oh yes, and what's brought this one."

"Er -- I was thinking about Ana Bronkovic.

"Well that one's easy -- at that stage Drago was working two shifts, six days a week and he was a rather arrogant cuss, expected to be waited on hand and foot. Next?"

"Next what?"

"The next wandering woman you wished to know about. I will probably have a fair idea if she is local."

"No, I was only thinking about, um, Ana."

"Oh, you disappoint me. Never mind, we're almost at the course. We should have a very enjoyable day as this thick overcast will keep out the sun until it lifts at the end of the day."

"Yeah, right." 

It was the sort of partnered match that Nash enjoyed -- he and Maggie won the first, lost the second, lost the third, squared the fourth and won the fifth. And so it continued.

The foursome arrived on seventeenth, a par five, all square. Nash wanted Neven and Hope to win the match to allow Neven to feel slightly superior for the possibly benefit of Nash when interviewing Neven about history, but he's undecided about whether to throw the game. 

Neven's drive went of bounds and playing out of the greenside bunker very slowly and carefully Hope caught the ball again with her sand iron in the follow through -- that counted as two shots as she'd hit the ball twice. Nash was less than seven feet from the hole for two, thanks to an accurate second with a three-wood off the fairway which got a huge amount of summer run. Nash knew he must sink the putt for one or two strokes to avoid being ridiculed and did so for two, scoring his fourth birdie of the day.

They reached the short final hole and were the last players to finish in the competition. Most of the field was already in the clubhouse with its fine view over the par-3 eighteenth. Nash spotted Alayna and Basil, who were joining them for drinks and dinner, waiting by the green with Mimi and Eloise. 

Hope teed off first, just making the green, the centre of which was 157 yards away, but the ball rolled back off the sloping green into a small grass depression -- perhaps for an uphill chip and hopefully one putt to finish. Big Neven played a crisp and towering 9-iron that finished some four feet above the hole. Maggie fell off her five-wood and her ball finished 20-plus yards to the left of the green, with the deepest bunker between her and the pin. So she appeared out of it Nash whacked an 8-iron to land six feet beyond Neven, exactly where he'd targeted his ball to stop.

It was possible Hope would get down in three, and Neven almost certainly would get his three. Nash sighed, thinking it had been a good match -- they'll finish tied for a perfect result. Maggie had played very well, so she and he had a chance taking a minor placing. But it turned out much more exciting than that. Maggie won the women's best net by a stroke, because her pitch shot hot near the base of the pin and jammed between the slightly leaning pin and the edge of the cup. As soon as the pin was touched the ball fell into the hole for a two, which earned her six golf balls in the women's division. She and Nash won the competition trophy by returning the lowest combined net score.

After striking the pin had Maggie raised her club in the air to acknowledge members inside the clubhouse thumping on the windows, the piercing whistle from Basil and the shrieked "Good one, mum" from Alayna. Neven looked browned off but kissed Maggie and gave her a big smile when removing her ball from the cup as Maggie said to him, "I really wasn't all that surprised as I said to myself, Girl -- you can do it!" 




Valley of Sinners Ch. 07



She kissed Hope and when Nash attempted to shake her hand she grabbed and hugged him but did not give him a sexy kiss, much to Nash's relief, as her husband, daughter and Hope were watching. He did feel her hand cup him, but was aware her grope was well concealed by their bodies.

In the clubhouse, Neven and Hope revealed details of their recent purchase when Hope returns to the table with the two bottles of champagne ordered earlier in the week. There was great excitement and Neven suggests Basil might like to take up a grazing lease as there was only the roadway between their two properties north-west of the village. Basil was very pleased. 

In turn Nash grinned when Neven thumped the table and said the land purchase will make a great little addition for his book. That confirmed that Neven was taking a proprietorial interest in the publication.

A few days later, when Hope announced that Lisa would be home in about two weeks' time, Nash felt his heart thumping. It would be lovely to get lush Lisa in his arms. Last time she'd wanted him, desperately wanted him. This time he'd arrange that to happen without maternal interference. 

Damn, she'd only be here a fortnight before Hope went overseas with Sue Whitehead. It was unlikely Hope would cancel that trip or tell his mother not to come to cook and care for him as there was now another cook in the house. Ten days with just Lisa in the house would have been F-A-N-T-A-S-T-I-C -- that is, if she wanted to be that intimate with him.

Nash chided himself for being selfish, conceding that his mother would be really looking forward to her visit. 

On arrival day Nash accompanied Hope to the airport -- at her request, which delighted him. Something has changed; she was not exhibiting her former possessiveness. Has she accepted that her daughter was an adult, capable of making her own decisions? It seemed like that. Right now he was incredibly pleased he and Hope had not succumbed to lust, as it would have been difficult for her to see any sort of relationship with Lisa and he may have had reservations himself.

Nash breathed heavily through his nose -- almost a snort -- where he saw Lisa with Hope as he drove in to the loading/unloading passenger bay towards them. Lisa was wearing a navy and white-rimmed hat and a navy pin-striped jacket and matching skirt with a white shirt and a navy and white scarf held by a metal toggle. She looked lovely -- no, adorable and her chestnut hair swayed as she walked.

Leaping from the pick-up Nash raced around, thinking a direct assault was the best tactic -- grab, press and kiss. But with the close presence of Hope he lost his nerve, so he just took Lisa by the arms and kissed her on the cheek. She smelt lovely and he feels her trembling and was aware she was breathing rather heavily. Still holding her he looked into her soft and very liquid eyes. Lisa's lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue appeared and seems to be beckoning. Nash pulled her back in against him and kissed those full red lips gently and incrementally applying more pressure as her lips yielded. 

Opening his eyes briefly, Nash saw her long false eyelashes were together; he closed his eyes again, feeling her softness against his chest, and remained in that position until he heard Hope call good naturedly, "Come on you two...." 

During the drive home when Hope was talking non-stop on bringing Lisa up to date with local news and information about acquaintances, Nash had changed into top gear after turning on to the north-western motorway at the interchange. Taking his hand off the manual gear shift, he rested his left-hand on the small gap on the seat between himself and Lisa. He glanced at Lisa as her soft warm hand slipped over his. She smiled, shyly he thought while without thinking he grinned, baring teeth. Slow down boy, he cautioned; she will want to be romanced.

As the Chevy went over the cattle-stop Nash interrupted the conversation between the women saying, "That's funny -- Monty is not here to greet us."

Hope stopped mid-sentence: "This is most usual; something is wrong!"

The three of them peered anxiously ahead and to the sides of the track as the Chevy climbed the rise. As they drove on to the concrete apron Hope said, "There he is, lying on the ground. He looks unconscious."

"Mum, look at the front door. It's been kicked in. We've been burgled!"

"Monty!" yelled Hope. She almost fell as she left the still moving vehicle, jumping off the running board while still unwisely holding on to the door.

As Nash braked to a stop Hope was already on her knees over Monty, screaming, "He's dead, he's dead!"

Lisa raced to her mother's side and had her arm around her, sobbing.

"Don't lift him," Nash shouted. He'd stopped to look at three of his back-up CDs -- they and their cases had been shattered, apparently run over by a heavy vehicle as the faint rubber marks were apparent as if the vehicle had been under heavy acceleration. 

"He's dead, he's dead," Hope sobbed.

"You don't know, he's a tough little bugger," Nash said encouragingly. "You're only looking at the blood. Here, let me take a good look at him." 

Monty looked done for. Blood was leaking from the corner of his mouth and skin had been ripped along the side of his face. Nash felt for a heart-beat and thought he found signs of one, very faint.

"I think he's alive," Nash declared. "For how long, I don't know. Lisa, go grab that piece of plywood in the garage on the side of the workbench. Hope, call the vet in the village saying we're bringing Monty in." 

 To Be Continued...



Valley of Sinners Ch. 08



SO FAR: Divorcee Hope Honeybun has commissioned Nash Carson  to write a novel based on her colorful and turbulent life, much of which spans the time she has lived in the valley But as Nash learns more about the development of the valley and about her lusty father and his three illigitimate children. He confirms through his research that this indeed is a Valley of Sinners and becomes entangled in that himself. This interloper and sinner also has the prospect of finding real love as  Hope’s youngstest daughter Lisa comes home to be near him. Just when he accepts the novel is becoming Hope’s biography, the extended Bronkovic family applies pressure successfully to have the book cover a history of winemaking in the valley and dwell on all prominent personalities involved. Hope’s house has been burgled and it appears the break-in was to secure all of  Nash’s work so far including write-ups of interviews, notebooks and work save to computer disks and  the back-up CDs. The intruder or intruders also seriously injured Hope’s beloved dog Monty.


*


Lisa Honeybun who’d just arrived home from Australia rushed from the garage with a piece of heavy plywood and she held it up as Nash gently slid the unconscious terrier Monty on to it. Lisa’s mother Hope came running  with a blanket to place over her constant companion. The improvised plywood stretcher was too wide to go into the cab of the pick-up so Hope clambered into the tray and helped with the lift as Monty was placed down beside her.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Nash shouted. “I want to check to make sure no one is in the house. Lisa we’ll leave you here with a loaded shotgun but I doubt  anyone will return. I want you to phone the police and when they arrive tell them what’s happened.”

Nash was back within a couple of minutes. “It’s been a specific raid; the intruder or intruders were after my research material so Lisa, come with us as I now prefer you to be with us supporting your mother; leave the door unlocked and phone the police as we go. Come on, run.” 

On the way to the village Lisa leaned out the window and shouted back to Hope that Nash believed the house had been raided to everything connected to the book project.

“Who’d do that,” Hope yelled.

“We have no idea – we were expecting you to have your suspicion.”

“I’m sure it won’t be the Bronkovic’s,” Hope shouted. “I’m thinking Tremain Hausman but what would be his motive? There’s no change in Monty.”

The vet confirmed Monty was still alive; it appeared the Jack Russell had been kicked a glancing blow to the head and kicked heavily in the chest. Being such a light dog  probably meant the force lifted threw him some distance which would have soften the blows to save Monty from having his ribs caved in to probably puncture his lungs and other organs.

“These terriers are tough little sods,” the vet said cheerfully. “I’ll stitch him up and if we can stop any spread of infection my opinion is he’ll pull through. Hullo, what’s this?”

The vet reached into Monty’s mouth and pulled out a little piece of fawn material.

“I think your plucky guard dog has taken a piece out of the intruder’s pants ,” said the vet.

Nash whispered something to Hope, who looked shocked and said, “Well I insist you take Neven: don’t you dare go there alone.”

“Good thinking, you two go back to the house – call Mimi to give you a lift. Bye.”

He waved and was gone after asking Hope call and brief Neven and ask him to be waiting outside the winery.

Three minutes later Nash arrived at the winery –  Neven and Drago were waiting on the roadside. The climbed aboard looking exciterd as Nash planted his foot and the V8 engine propelled the pick-up forward, burning rubber.

“Wow, has this ugly sod of a vehicle has real power,” said the impressed Drago. Nash had long being aware of many unused ‘horses’ under the bonnet – a term used by Hope; now was the opportunity to use them.

“So, if we find Tremain with a dog bite on his leg we know he is our man.”

“We’ll sure will Neven,” Nash said grimly, concentrating on the road ahead.

Arriving at the Hausman Winery they turned beside it in a power broadside, with Drago yelling ‘yippee!’ They rattled over the cattle stop and up the metal track to the Hausman homestead. Nash slowed to a crawl to avoid announcing their arrival.

The charged up Nash led the race around the house and was first through the backdoor by several yards. He saw Tremain sitting on a chair with his ripped moleskin trouser leg pulled up. Catherine was tying off a bandage.

With a roar, Tremain hobbled over to a gap between the dresser and the wall to pick up a small calibre rifle and aimed at Nash. There was no way of knowing if it was loaded. 

Neven and Drago burst into the room, Neven turning left and charged Tremain, Drago racing around the other side of the table. Momentarily confused by the suddenness of this second wave of home invasion, Tremain waggled the rifle from left to right and back again.

Neven simply reached out and with his huge meaty hand ripped the rifle from Tremain’s hand, breaking Tremain’s index finger that had been inside the trigger guard. Neven ejected a cartridge from the chamber and pulled out the loaded clip.

Nash and Drago lifted Catherine to her feet; she’d been thrown to the ground by her husband’s charge to get the rifle.

Taking one look at the blood from Catherine’s nose which had run on to her tee-shirt and the angry welt where she’d been savagely slapped earlier over both cheeks, Neven shouted, “You cowardly bastard!” Tremain anticipated what Neven had in mind and threw the first punch, catching Neven hard on the chest.  Neven didn’t seem to notice the heavy blow. He hooked his right fist into Tremain’s soft midriff and as Tremain sank gasping towards the floor Neven hit him with his left fist on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious. 

Catherine fell sobbing into Nash’s arms, saying that she never should have given Nash that long lists of grievances and allegations against her husband.

“The villain has been keeping Catherine virtually a prisoner in her own home,” Nash told the Bronkovic’s. “He rarely let her out of his sight and had her so brain-washed and terrorized that she even refused to go out with him. The guard dog was to keep her in her studio when he was away from the property.” 

They sat down with Drago pouring Catherine a brandy and the three men decided to have one too.

Nash continued, “Catherine had given me two long interviews making all kinds of allegations, including Tremain forcing her to sign across assets to him. He could deny all that, of course, alleging that she’d become an embittered woman and was now seeking to destroy his good character. However, the evil get greedy and she gave me copies of three documents which she had managed to photocopy. She also handed across to me two A4 original sheets on which he’d practised copying her signature and unwisely made some incriminating – at least I think they are incriminating – dates and notations between batches of those trial signatures.  He also has boasted that he has a wife in Melbourne which requires investigation, as perhaps she is his first wife, never been divorced. But what he really came after today were a folder of copies of pages from his diary Catherine sent me yesterday via a washing machine repair man who’d been called her to fix a fault in the machine. He found a man’s sock jammed in the water outlet pipe by clever-thinking Catherine.”

“This man’s truly evil,” Drago said. 

Catherine sobbed and she said, “He told me he dropped everything into a so-called bottomless pit in the limestone quarry – there are scores of them in a fault going through the limestone. He says they all have water in them. So Nash’s laptop and papers will be ruined already and he said he smashed every CD he’d found. He reckons they include all back-up disks.”

“Oh Christ,” said Neven. “That’s all your work gone for naught, Nash.”

Nash grinned, saying that he backs-up all of his computer’s working files nightly, writing first to CD and then e-mailing a copy to his home computer. 

“All I have lost are my laptop on which I do most of my transcribing plus all of my original material. But all original material was scanned, including the diary pages I received yesterday evening before I did my back-ups. So in effect I can retrieve a copy of everything I have written or scanned. I’d had two hard disks crashes in the past and lost everything. Those  bad experiences encouraged me to be meticulous about back-ups, For this project I added off-site back-up storage, knowing my dependence of stored electronic data when I ultimately commence writing many months later.”

“You’re a bright boy,” Neven said. “What now?”

“Let’s tie Tremain up and get him to Hope’s home to the police,” Nash said. “You better come with us, Catherine, as they’ll need a preliminary statement from you. Bring his diary.”

Neven and Drago rode in the back with the tied and gagged and now conscious Tremain propped between them. They arrived at the Hope’s home to find two police vehicles outside plus a home repairs contractor who was measuring up for a replacement front door.

A police constable strode over to the pick-up and was startled to see a trussed up man in the tray.
“Get your boss man, sonny,” Neven said to the young constable. “We’ve captured the villain for you.”

“I’ll get the sergeant,” said the constable hurrying off, looking back twice as if checking to make sure it wasn’t a hoax.

An attractive but no-nonsense female sergeant emerged looking at them curiously. “And who are you  and what do we have here?” she asked. “I am Sergeant Elizabeth Norris, of the Henderson Police.

“This man beside me, Tremain Hausman is the guy who kicked the dog almost to death, kicked the door down and made off with computers and private documents either owned by the owner of this house, Mrs Hope Honeybun, or her writer, Nash Carson who is standing beside you. I am Neven Bronkovic, of the Te Henui Winery, and the distressed lady sitting in the front seat of this vehicle, the crook’s wife, Catherine Hausman, will corroborate what I have just told you as well as supply further incriminating evidence against her evil husband.”

“Thank you Neven, I am Mary Stitchberry’s married daughter, a friend of your wife’s.”

“Oh Elizabeth, of course. I did not recognise you in clothes, I mean in uniform.”

The sergeant grinned at Neven and asked Catherine to accompany her inside for a cup of coffee and to make a formal statement.

“Constable, bring in the suspect for questioning please.”

Without speaking and working as a well-drilled unit, Neven and Drago lifted up Tremain and dropped him face down on to the grass.

“Tsk, tsk, boys,” the sergeant smiled. “We have no wish to charge you with the unnecessary assault of your prisoner.”

“He just slipped, ma’am,” Drago said impassively, “just as his boot slipped when it thudded twice into Hope’s lovely little dog.”

Hope and Lisa, who’d been told to wait inside, came running out, Hope rushing to help Catherine get out of the Chevy and Lisa going Nash to make sure he was all right.

“Yes, yes; don’t fuss,” he grinned.

“Nash, good news and bad news,” called Hope. “Monty has come around and has taken in some liquid. He’ll have to stay at the veterinary clinic for a couple of days to ensure there is no infection. Charles says Monty should be back to his usual self in a month, perhaps sooner.”

“That’s great,” replied Nash.

“Yeah,” Drago added. “Cute dog like his owner.”

“That’s really great news, he’s a tough little dog,” Neven said, sounding quite emotional.

“Okay, what’s the bad news?”

“Terrible new actually, Nash,” Hope aid, beginning to sob. “Everything connected with the book has gone as far as I can see – even my computer. It’s a total cleanout; this is devastating.”

Nash took her by the shoulders and pressed her head sideways against his chest.

“My computer is insured and I guess yours will be too. So we’ll get new ones. I’ve got an electronic backup of everything I’ve written and transcribed or scanned. Everything and it’s all in a safe place.”

“Oh,”  Hope wailed, “you wonderful boy. You definitely are the right man for my daughter.”

“Mother! Do you have to be so embarrassing; we’re not even an item, yet.”

“Come on, everyone, upstairs,” Sergeant Norris grinned. ‘It’s well past lunchtime and everyone will be hungry. Constable Perkins, here’s a chit that I’ve just signed. Go into the village and get $50 dollars of fish and $20 of chips, and make sure you’re not short-measured or short-changed.”

“Yes, Serg. I’m on my way.”


*  *  *

It was almost 4:00 when Tremain’s solicitor, Thomas Brewster arrived.  He greeted Lisa warmly; when a teenager she’d occasionally stayed at his home, being a pony club friend of Shona, his youngest daughter, and Lisa had been one of Shona’s  bridesmaids.

Eve Livingston, the barrister mother of one of Lisa’s old school friends, had arrived almost an hour earlier to represent Catherine Hausman and others. Tremain had warned that he would be lodging a complaint of assault and home invasion against Neven, Drago and Nash and possibly a complaint of attempted grievous bodily harm against Neven. For most of the past hour Eve had been shut away in the upstairs office with Neven, Drago, Hope and Nash trying to determine exactly what had happened, why it had happened and what part each of them had played.

Thomas spent less than ten minutes with Tremain before he came charging out and complained, “Where are these assailants. Sergeant, I want them charged and taken into custody.”

“I’m sorry Mr Brewster but the only person at the moment to be taken into custody will be your client.”

Thomas bristled. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have had the benefit of taken statements from all those involved, and your client will be facing more serious charges than breaking and entering. Mrs Hausman had collaborated most of the charges being made against her husband. I suggest that you take her into the downstairs bedroom and question her. In particular ask her about Mr Hausman’s diary which is now in my custody.”

Lisa was most impressed with the patient and demeanour of the sergeant when a simple breaking and entering incident turning into something much more serious.

With evidence mounting against Tremain, including his ripped trouser leg, an obvious dog bite to that leg and three witnesses saying they had seen the vet remove the missing piece of moleskin from the mouth of Monty, Sergeant Norris issued a new order. She instructed Constable Perkins to go the veterinary clinic and take a statement from the vet and return with the piece of material from the dog’s mouth that remained in his possession.


*  *  *

Tremain, you’re done for, though Lisa. What a stupid twit keeping a diary of your mental, physical and financial victories over your wife. 

Lisa now greatly admired Catherine who’d lived partly in terror of her husband and had been mentally abused by him, yet the swine had still had failed to break her spirit. Indeed, it seemed that she was now in the process of ensuring that his future cell door would be his home for quite a number of years.

Thomas came up the stairs with Catherine, looking quite shaken although he wore a smile of sorts.

Lisa heard him tell the sergeant that Catherine had told a completely different story to her husband, and it seemed she had some hard evidence to back up her allegations. No doubt the police in Victoria would be asked to enquire into the allegation his client was suspected of having committed bigamy.

“All that notwitshstanding, when I am at the police station with my client we will lay charges of assault against Neven and Drago Bronkovic and Nash Carson and my client wants a dangerous dog order being taken out on the terrier that was on this property and for it to be put down.”

Lisa couldn’t believe her ears. Catherine had told her that her husband had pointed a loaded gun at Nash and Neven had managed to disarm him and knock him to the ground when Tremain turned ugly. Later, when unloading the trussed up Tremain from the pick-up he’d resisted the start of the transfer into police custody and had slipped from their grasp, falling on to grass rather than concrete as he was being lifted from the tray.

Lawyer Eve came into the room with the people she’d been questioning. Before going off to talk alone with Catherine, she told Lisa not to worry. Charges of assault against a man with a reputation for being pugnacious, who was accused of a number of felonies, were unlikely to stick unless it could be proven conclusively that undue force was used in his apprehension.

“We’ll get a better idea down at the police station,” she said, smiling confidently.

There was quite a procession to the police station. The first police car with the sergeant and two constables and the suspected felon left first closely followed by the two legal representatives, with Catherine traveling with Eve. After them followed Lisa and Hope in the Rover, followed by Nash in the Chevy with Neven and Drago, who had called Mimi to let her know what was happening.

At the police station a chief inspector asked each of the witnesses taken before him separately, to read and confirm that statements taken by Sergeant Norris, as being true and accurate account of their involvement. The statements were then signed.

The chief inspector  questioned Tremain Hausman in the presence of Sergeant Norris, a constable operating the recording equipment and solicitor Thomas Brewster. After forty minutes Chief Inspector Tawa re-entered the waiting room with Thomas; Lisa saw that Thomas was not a happy man.

“You all can leave as soon as the sergeant has confirmed your contact details,” Mr Tawa said. “Tremain Wilson Hausman has just been charged with breaking and entering and further charges against him are likely. Hausman’s complaints alleging home invasion and assault against various individuals have carefully considered, along with the statements of individuals involved. In my considered opinion there is no case to answer in respect of any individual or individuals collectively so no further action is contemplated by the police unless further substantial evidence is brought to our attention. It is Mrs Hausman’s contention that the three men who entered the home did so with her consent and they went to her assistance using reasonable force to restrain her enraged husband who already had beaten her and was waving a loaded gun around in a most dangerous matter. If Mr Hausman wishes to pursue his complaints alleging assault and home invasion he may do so, of course, by way of private prosecution.”

Lisa saw Drago and Neven shrug  but was unable to catch Nash’s reaction because he was hugging  the still distraught Catherine Hausman.

“You may see your husband now, if you wish, said the chief inspector.

“No thank you, I’m going home with my friends,” replied Catherine, now being held by Hope.

Lisa waved to Nash as he drove off with Neven and Drago in the Chevy. She sat in the back of the Rover, holding Catherine who was almost asleep. 

“Take her to our house, mum,” Lisa urged. “The new door should be on by now and she’ll sleep better in our environment.”

“An excellent idea. Catherine can have your bed and you can sleep with me.”

“I’ll think about that,” Lisa said softly, knowing that he mother – although driving – would turn quickly to look at her, so she set her face in the stubborn, impenetrable expression that Hope knew so well. In Lisa’s teenager years her mother used to say in anger, ‘You’ve got that look on your face – you’re not giving in are you, you little bitch!’

Checking the road ahead, Hope swung round, but saw the look. She frowned and turned back to concentrate on  driving. 




Valley of Sinners Ch. 08



Leaning a little more to her left to improve her view, Lisa saw the smile at her mother’s mouth. Straightening up she looked into the rear vision mirror and locked eyes with Hope.

“Little bitch,” Hope murmured.

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your lovely daughter who’s just came back to you,” Catherine murmered.

“Oh, Catherine. I thought you were asleep. I guess you heard what we were saying – please come to our house and stay the night. This has been a traumatic day for you and we wish to look after you.”

“That will be lovely; I’ve been so lonely being a prisoner in my own home.”

“It’s all behind you now, Catherine,” Lisa said, stroking Catherine’s hair. Eve whispered to me after hearing the statements being taken that providing there is solid evidence to back up the statements, particularly yours, Tremain will be convicted of serious criminal charges and will go to jail. You should divorce him, and quickly, Catherine.”

“That’s already in motion, Lisa. But thank you for your advice, and thank you for finding Eve for me. She’s a lovely lady and ever so competent. She says she will begin consulting legal experts tomorrow about getting all of Tremain’s assets and Tremain’s and my remaining joint assets frozen. Eve says proceedings through the courts to get my rightful assets returned to me will commence after Tremain has been dealt with, including any appeals over sentencing. I have asked her to nominate the winery manager, Brian Loft, as statutory manager of our frozen assets as both the farm and winery must continue to operate otherwise we shall be in breach of contracts. I rather fancy Brian; he and I were having, um, having an affair before Tremain arrived on the scene. Now Brian’s wife left him because she’s found someone else. He’s a qualified accountant so Eve thinks he would be eminently suitable to the court as overall manager and I would like him asking for my advice.”

“I bet,” laughed Hope. “He’d be an ideal subject for you to paint – body paint I mean.”

“You haven’t changed, have you? You’ve always been a creative thinker.”


When Catherine was in the bath and Hope and Lisa were sorting out clothes for her, including nightwear, Hope suggested that Lisa and Nash should eat out somewhere to give time to get Catherine settled down.

“I’m making her have dinner in bed as she’s so tired. But she’ll want to talk and perhaps to cry and receive comfort. She’s been through hell.”

“Good idea, mum. I am on Sydney time so don’t fancy an early night. Where are my small suitcase, make-up pack and satchel?”

“I saw one of the constables put them in the garage. Where will you be sleeping?”

“I haven’t decided yet; there’s no rush.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just hmmmmm. It’s quite a useful expression, keeps one out of trouble.”

“You’re quite a trick, mum. Do you know that?”

 “I’m glad someone has something nice to say about me. Welcome home, darling. Thank you for coming back home to fill a gap in my life. Bring your bags up to my room in the meantime and get ready to go out; there’s something I wish to discuss with you, something really nice.”

“Really nice? What is it?” asked the chestnut-head, green eyes dancing.

“Go have your shower while I’ll attend to Catherine. Then I’ll tell you.”

God, mum’s got a bloke and they’re thinking about getting married, thought Lisa. Excellent, she’s need attentive company as she gets older and she loses her sex drive. What a sensible mother I have!

Lisa sat at the dressing table, towel tucked over the top of her breasts. Eve stroked Lisa’s shoulders – “Wonderful, soft skin. It’s almost flawless.”

“I wonder who I inherited the skin from, we know about the hair.”

“Yes, the hair. I like it better in its natural red. You are almost chestnut now.”

“Men tend to fuck redheads and marry brunettes so I decided to make myself into a compromise.”

“You get rather crude at times.”

“Something else I’ve inherited from my mother as well as her quality skin. Anyway, let’s have this mother-daughter conversation. Tell me about him?”

“Who’s him?”

“Ah, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Hope sat on the  stool beside Lisa, looking at her daughter in the mirror as she put on her night lashes, which were longer than day ones. Hope had long natural eyelashes, but there were half the length of Lisa’s modified lashes which Lisa often thought could work as wipers for her sunglasses in the rain but unfortunately were fixed on the wrong side to perform that role.

“Lisa, it’s wonderful having you come back home, even to be back in Auckland is a blessing for me. I realise with early starts and late finishes at work it will be too much of a drag for you to live here, at least Sunday to Thursday nights. You mentioned on the phone that you’ll be given a company vehicle, which takes care of transport. I want to help take care of your city accommodation. This is my proposal: We find an apartment that we both like for up to 300 grand and own it jointly. I will lend you up to $150,000 for as long as you like. If later you decide you want something else I’ll buy you out – it will be an investment for me. What do you think?”

“It’s a great idea, mum. I’d like a partnership with you,”  Lisa said. She beamed in the mirror at Hope, saying that she could come up with $150,000 cash right now by reorganising her investments.“I’d like to find an older unit, as they tend to be more spacious and we could have fun doing it up and choosing new décor and furnishings. I’d love to do that with you, mum.”

“That’s lovely. Listen, I can hear the Chevy. Obviously the Bronkovic’s invited Nash in for a drink or two. Where will you go to eat?”

“I would prefer to eat locally – the Country Retreat perhaps?”

“Good idea, usually it’s only necessary to book at weekends, so just roll up. There’s always the tavern as a last resort.”

“Yuk,” grimaced Lisa.


*  *  *

Nash was astounded by the ambience of the Country Retreat, and how the lighting and piped music was soft and the tables were well separated, some with screening between them. He expressed surprise that Hope had not brought him to this venue when she was home last time – he would have chosen it over most other establishments.

“It specialises in discreet dining,” giggled Lisa, and when Nash looked at her questioning, she explained, “It’s a place where lovers meet.”

“Oh,” said Nash, looking quickly around the room and saw some diners almost head to head over candles on their table obviously holding hands. “Are we lovers?”

“Coming here we have commenced the process.”

“Oh my,” he said, reaching for her hand.

They had a wonderful time, helped along by splendid food.

As they drove up the drive Nash commented unnecessarily, “No Monty.”

Lisa, leaning against him belted up in the middle seat, replied, “No Monty. I’ll have to sleep in your bed tonight  as Catherine is in my bed.”

“Oh, what a pity! I guess I can tolerate that,” Nash leered, as he drove into the garage.

They arrived at the door to Nash’s bedroom which now had a notice taped to it:

‘Keep Out! I’ve decided to sleep in this room. You guys find your own bed. Love Hope.’

“She wants us to sleep in her big bed; isn’t she romantic?”

“How do you know she wants us to do that?”

“I know it doesn’t say that but what other bed is there? Catherine is in my room and the guest room bed has been turned into an office, with the bed stored in the garage.”

“Oh.”

Lisa bright with excitement led the uncharacteristic slow thinker up the stairs to Hope’s bedroom. She gasped. There was a line of lit candles on the two dressers and the dressing table, an ice bucket on the bedside cabinet with a bottle of champagne, two flutes and a tiny box of chocolates were on the other bedside cabinet and on the bed were items that caused Lisa to clap her hands in glee.

“What is it?”

“Some of mum’s naughty-wear she purchased years ago in France. They have never been worn until tonight – well, unless you want me to come to bed nude?”

“No, dress up. They look very sexy. What are they?”

“Oh, just your everyday frightfully expensive silk panties – crotchless of course, being French.  And the long nightdress has short sleeves and an open bra with under support which forces up the wearer’s breast in very lewd fashion. That’s about all.”

“Heh-heh-heh, I’ve take a leak and clean my teeth and then you take over the bathroom and get into your gear. Then come to bed and have your way with me. Okay?”

“Very okay,” replied Lisa, kissing Nash deeply and sliding her hand along his zip until emitting a satisfied-sounding, “Oh, my!”

She disappeared into the dressing room after he emerged, nude, at half-mast and baring his sweet-smelling teeth. He fell on to the bed, heading resting in his hands as he stared at the ceiling, attempting to make the minutes and seconds speed by.

Lisa swept into the room, singing. ‘Bom, bom, tiddly-bom-bom’.“How do I look?”

“Fantastically gorgeous, oh my, oh my!” Nash groaned. 

The comment that Lisa craved for may have been something like ‘You look like a virgin Greek goodness, my sweet one,’ but his outburst had satisfied her and frankly seeing him bouncing up and down on the bed in excitement turned her legs to jelly.

Even in the dim candlelight Nash focused on her jutting breasts with the intensity of a hungry monkey spotting a half-peeled banana. 

Lisa’s hair cascaded down over her shoulders, framing her pointed breasts with their bright pink and very stiff nipples. She seemed to stagger towards the bed so he quickly sat up and held out his hands. Her hands found his and he pulled her on to him and sunk back into the pillows.

Lisa crashed her lips and to his and their tongues entwined. His hands struggled to cup her exposed breasts in their basically open bra and she lifted using her elbows to give him freer access. Their long kisses continued until grabbing both sides of her waist, with a grunt Nash dragged her forward until his mouth found her breast, his tongue circling the nipple.

“Oh yes, oh yes!” Lisa until his assault began to wane. 

Then the flickering of the candles seemed to synchronise into a mass outburst of soundless applause as she drew her knees forward then reaching between her legs found his erection and began inserting it into her vagina. There was no need for saliva as she was already dripping. She looked down and guided the thick, purple head to its destination, sinking down slowly as she did so, her eyes rolling up into their sockets until only the whites were visible to her already panting lover – panting with lust as he’d not been required to exert himself so far.

When their pubic bones came together Lisa let out a groan that easily could be interpreted as a victorious acclamation. Her eyes refocused and she looked down at Nash affectionately, a submissive act that was lost on him as he had his eyes closed and was  groaning in pleasure.

Nash’s hardness thrilled Lisa: the perfect fit, she thought, wriggling to feel its presence even more apparent. Reaching down she lifted Nash’s hands on to her breasts and then slowly lifted herself up for quiet some distance, then allowed her hips to sink down again. 

Mouth wide open, head flung back she repeated this process again and again, gradually increasing the tempo.

Lisa felt the heat of their loins increasing as was the moisture seeping out of her as she lifted. She reached under her butt to cup his balls. Her lower belly tightened and her thighs clamped against his. She increased her tempo and at last he began thrusting back – away when she lifted, upwards and she sank down on to him.

“I’m about to cum!” she cried, perspiration beginning to run down her face.

“Do you need to pull out?” he grunted and was told it was safe.

Nash’s hands left her breasts and began slapping her butt.

“Oh, oh, oh, y-e-e-e-e-e-s,” she screamed and Nash shouted “I’m right behind you baby!” Lisa felt him pulsating deep inside her, time and time again.

She collapsed on to him, breathing into his ear, “I love you, Nash. I truly love you.”

“Love you too, baby, and I don’t think it’s lust doing the talking. You’re the sweetest babe I’ve ever known.” 

That sent tears flowing from Lisa. Would he think the same in the morning, she wondered.


There was more of the same in the morning – twice in fact. 

They bathed together and went down for late breakfast to find Hope and Catherine patiently waiting for them and looking as if nothing untoward had happened between the youngsters.

“Did you have a nice sleep, darling?” asked Hope.

“Yes thank you mother,” replied Lisa demurely. “The restaurant was lovely, rather chic in fact for a country eatery.”

“And you, Nash, did you sleep well?” asked Catherine.

Buttering a piece of toast, Nash looked at her straight in the eye and said, “Actually, not particularly. We came in late and then went at it like rabbits. I’m having difficulty walking this morning.”

Time momentarily stood still. Catherine blushed, began to giggle and Hope closed and opened her mouth and followed suit, finally joined by the flushed Lisa. Nash looked at the three of them and calmly ate his toast.

“Did you go out rabbiting this morning?” he asked Hope. She looked at him astounded and began laughing almost hysterically.

When everyone settled down, Hope said: “You and I better go out this morning Nash. We need to buy replacement computers and CDs. Lisa could you take Catherine home for her to get some of her things – she’s agreed to stay with us for the next week. You two can relocate in the basement bedroom where perhaps your yells and screams will not be so noticeable.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”



*  *  *

The next day Hope and Lisa went apartment hunting, taking Catherine with them to keep her mind off the upcoming court appearance of her husband. On the third visit to the city their real estate agency salesman finally produced the apartment that was totally the right fit for Lisa and Hope’s expectations. The deal was finalised that evening.

The next day Hope and Lisa accompanied Catherine to court where Tremain was asked to plead. He denied all eight charges ranging from alleged breaking and entering to extortion and falsifying signatures to fraudulently securing monetary gains. After his initial appearance he was stood down until early that afternoon for a preliminary hearing. The District Court Judge found there was a case to answer and   remanded Tremain in custody, Investigations into possibly bigamy were continuing and Eve successfully submitted that preventive custody was appropriate because his aggrieved wife was fearful of a continuation of her mistreatment.

That evening Catherine returned home, having arranged for her widowed aunt to stay with her. At home that same evening over dinner Hope sensed an excitement was building between Lisa and Nash. Perhaps they had decided to live together in the city?

“Mum, you head off overseas with Sue Whitehead on Sunday night – are you free on Saturday evening?”

“Of course, dear, I’ll need my beauty sleep before heading off to fashion houses.”

“Nash and I have booked out the Country Retreat for Saturday night and have been phoning around to fill the seventy-two seats. We thought we’d give you an exciting send off,” smiled Lisa, holding up her ring finger.

“A diamond ring, you’re engaged!” Hope shrieked, flushing in excitement. She leapt up and kissed Lisa and went to the other side of the table and gave Nash an enormous hug as well as kissing him all over his face. “Good boy, you very good boy,” she crooned.

“It was pretty well inevitable, mum,” grinned Lisa. “It’s really no big deal.”

“It’s not, and we need a much bigger venue. There are so many people to ask.”

“The venue is our choice, mother, the seating is limited to seventy-two and we have invited most of your closest friends. Those who we have missed or were unable to come on such short notice can be invited to the wedding in October which can be as large as you wish to organise and fund.”

Hope was unable to stop herself, making sure that the Tait’s and the Bronkovic’s adults and Catherine and her aunt had been invited, among others, and of course old Mr Maurice Agnew who’s rebuilt the Chevy and his wife, and barrister Eve Livingston and her husband Richard. The barrage continued until Hope’s mind was no longer unable to come up with more names for the moment.

“Well,” said Hope, “you’ve done very well. Oh, what about Rose?”

“Yes, mother, she’s invited along with a partner. We’re popping in to give her the good news immediately after finishing dinner.”

“Oh, she’ll be ever so excited. I wish to could phone her right now. Perhaps I shall cancel my trip, as there are so many things to do, so many people to confer with.”

“You’re going on Sunday, mum, and that’s final. I have designs on your bed for the next ten nights from Sunday!”

“Oh,” said Hope, beaming. “Fancy me not anticipating that!”


The sit-down dinner for the seventy-two people proceeded beautifully. Mimi, Ana, Yela and Eloise had decorated and filled the restaurant with flowers. Everyone arrived with gifts and when Hope rose to toast the health of the now officially engaged couple, there was interest in what her present would be.

“First, some interesting news for you all, as most of you either reside in this valley and-or are friends of myself or Lisa or Nash. Catherine, please join me?” 

Catherine stood beside Hope and they held hands.

“For the few of you who may not know Catherine, she is the daughter of the late Trevor Hopkins. Trevor and two generations of his family before him, farmed the entire Te Henui Valley and the rolling hills on either side of it. Before his death Trevor began subdividing his land and my father purchased the first block to be cut off the original holding. It becomes fairly obvious what happens next – more people arrived to buy blocks, a proper road went through, the valley found its future lay in grape growing and in the early 1970s the village was founded, appropriately by Trevor Hopkins.

“This afternoon after Catherine received legal opinion about her future possession of her rightful assets – an opinion dependent on a Court decision and possible legal challenge, although Catherine has been told the opinion is very robust – she took me to the village coffee shop – for a chat, she said.. At the end of that conversation lasting almost two hours we had agreed in principal to combine our grape-growing and winery operations into a company with two other partners – Neven Bronkovic and Brian Loft, manager of the Hausman winery. Under this scheme the Hausman winery will be closed and all production and sales will be carried out as the expanded Bronkovic Brothers’  Te Henui Winery.

“Well, that’s all we can say right now, as we face temporary legal impediments, but I feel it in my bones – as does Catherine after considering the legal opinion – that this merger will occur, sooner rather than later. All current jobs and supply contracts under any new arrangement will be protected.”

The room erupted into applause and whistling.

“What will happen to the Hausman winery building?” shouted someone.

“I will be turning it into an arts and craft workshop and sales outlet and the day care centre, at present cramped it its present premises, is eager to relocate there,” Catherine said. She and Hope hugged and Catherine returned to her seat.

Hope then said before proposing the toast, she wanted to give away two sets of keys to the newly engaged couple. “Lisa, here are my keys to the apartment. In the morning we shall sign the legal transfer of my half ownership to you.”

Smiling, Lisa rose and hugged her mother.

“Nash,” said Hope. “Here are the keys to the Chevy. Lisa picks up her company car in the morning so you now have the Chevy that will be transferred to you jointly, as I promised my father it will remain in the family. Any progeny you two have will, of course, have Honeybun lineage.




Valley of Sinners Ch. 08



“Well, everyone, here’s to the happy couple. May they complete their lifetime together.” 

“Speech, speech Nash,” called Mimi and Eloise.

“Tell us about the book!” shouted Drago.

Nash rose, pulling Rose to her feet.

“Not everyone here knows me, and very few of you know this woman beside me – my mother Rose Carson. But you will hear more from her in October because Lisa has asked her to sing at our wedding, and for me and the Bronkovic brothers and wives to join her in a bracket of songs at the wedding reception. Mum was a well-known country and western singer in her youth, and still pounds out a good tune. Thanks mum.

“Ah yes, the book, the reason why I was drawn into this valley community. I was drifting along towards oblivion as a deadbeat when by chance I noticed a brilliant red pre-war Chevy and a damsel in need of rescue. Mum had always taught me to be kind to older women, so I reacted instinctively.  Hope recognised something in me – my gift for the gab and ability to draw vivid word pictures. She took a punt and asked me to write a book for her. Initially it was to be her recollections of her father who pioneered grape-growing in this valley. But other larger than life characters began to emerge – including Neven Bronkovic who has become a sort of father figure to me and Hope agreed to allow me to expand my research, which is now nearing completion. I haven’t told Hope this yet, but I wrote a couple of trial chapters a couple of months ago, and rather liked what I read. Strangers driving through this valley can be excused for thinking they’re in sleepy hollow, but boy – will their eyes boggle as will yours when they read what I found when I came to Te Henui Valley.

He asked was anyone interested to hear some of the topics?

“Yes!” came the chorus.

“Right – for starters, sex, drugs and echoes of rock ‘n’ roll, sheep stealing, wife-swapping, corruption, feudalism, redemption over illegitimacy, individual courage and conviction, gritty women and people with extra-ordinary vision. Then there’s the story of great natural wealth that lay unappreciated for generations, the rehabilitation of an American-made half-tonner, what a difference a road can make, a golf course where all the playmaking is not golf and industrious people. Then there’s an exceptionally artistic person who resides in this valley – you wait until the art critics and re-sellers discover what Catherine Hausman created in her garden shed prison, and on it goes. Hell, some of that is enough to get a fellow tarred and feathered and run out of town. But it’s nothing but the truth and shall be presented without too much artful window-dressing and apart from Tremain Hausman, I have not found any other valley sinner without some redeeming features of character and community adhesiveness.”

“Will there be much about wine-making?” someone called.

Nash said of course and continued.

“I accept that all of us are sinner in some way or other and I had no compunction about writing about sinners and the good that they do. Actually, the way that secrets fly around this valley I suspect I’ll not reveal overly much that has not winged its way through the grape vine. Even so, be prepared for some surprises. Be prepared, also, for the possibility of a film being based on this book. A heroine like Hope Honeybun, who fails to see merit in herself, believing she lives under the considerable shadow of her late father, are a rare breed these days outside of fiction. Hope is rather flamboyant and, as well, in recent weeks a quiet woman of perhaps equal merit has been emerging, Catherine Hausman or should I say Catherine Hopkins as she is about to revert. However, even they are flawed characters. It’s going to be a ton of fun pulling all of this together acceptably so to ensure my mother doesn’t put both barrels of buckshot into my backside and the Bronkovic brothers don’t come calling to invited me to a lynching.”

“Lisa,” shouted Neven Bronkovic. “Take him home, bonk him and get him writing. We can’t wait to read about the sins of this valley.”

“Oh my, to think I thought daughters of heroines were supposed to be good girls,” cracked Hope, raising her glass. “Take him home and do what Neven suggests, Lisa.”

Nash had everything worked out. The wedding day will be in late October when his book should be with a publisher, timed to catch the Christmas market. Catherine had guaranteed to underwrite a private printing if he failed to find a commercial publisher, allowing him and Lisa to be away on their honeymoon at the time the book was released. 

Nash wanted to be well clear of Te Henui Valley in case someone really was provoked enough to consider a tarring and feathering.



THE END