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You're Worth Dying For Ch. 01

By: Egmont Grigor



THE STORY: A young and tragically widowed investment entrepreneur Maggie Roberts returns to work. She knows she needs a replacement lover and leads a management buy-out of an ailing publishing company she wants to restructure into new life. Lo -- at last the company's divorced chief executive catches Maggie's eye which doesn't give him much of a chance despite having a female companion of his choice. Maggie is compulsive like that and it's a wise move because Ryan will save Maggie from being taken away as a hostage and possibly executed. Such heroics costs Ryan a bullet through his chest but Maggie is hailed as a heroine for her part in the thwarted robbery and everyone knows heroines don't lose their man. A neighbor and a previously semi-indifferent mother and deep, unexpected association with a hospital teach Maggie the meaning of 'community'. Those contacts develop soft edging to her character even though she becomes -- er - naughtily involved with a wacky mobile radio disc jockey who calls himself Indiana Dick. 

*

Returning from England after the funeral with the ashes of her husband Stephen was yet another traumatic experience for Maggie Roberts, now sitting unloved within her home sanctuary. A child would have filled this gulf in her life; she was deeply conscious of a yearning for the comfort of a family anchor. 

A baby, had there been a baby: would she have loved her or him with Stephen now gone? Maggie, head bowed, concluded such a negative thought was unworthy of her but under the circumstances right-thinking women would understand her harboring such thoughts. 

Maggie slid that musing aside, accepting there were more pressing matters at hand, such as the imminent arrival of her neighbor from across the street, Mrs Marks, heading for the front door with a big sheath of flowers -- white, not cheerfully multi-colored flowers. Maggie's heart cried out she wanted to be left alone but her mind brought the pragmatic reminder life must go; the Marks's performed as dutiful although rather austere neighbors of the kind that strengthen community solidarity.

Solidarity -- was that what she wanted right now? The twenty-nine year old straightened her blonde curls in the hallway mirror then forming the correct smile and slivering her tongue tip between her rather dry lips opened the door as Mrs Marks pushed the button to activate the door chimes that played the opening bars of 'Three Blind Mice'. 

Stephen had always intended to call the serviceman to change that stupid tune, but always there were other priorities, and understandably Maggie was glad that the call to the serviceman remained low priority because gradually she'd become rather addicted to that tuneful piece of childlike frivolity, knowing that some guy with a weird sense of humor at the electronic door bell factory had probably placed the two opening bars of 'Three Blind Mice' as the company's signature tune as the staff cafeteria was infested with the little rodent. Maggie thought like that and somehow that gave her an edge.

"Good morning, Mrs Marks. It's lovely to see you again. How are Mr Marks and Fluffy?"

"We're all fine, but it's you I'm worried about -- you look do pale and lethargic. Have you been eating well?"

"I'm fine, what lovely flowers; would you like to come in?"

Mrs Marks held out the bouquet cradled in her plump arms. "They are the pick of the crop from the garden, welcome home. Unfortunately I am taking Mr Marks to the dentist so can't stay. Can we get anything for you at the supermarket or at the mall?" 

Maggie dragged out a warm smile and said no thanks, appreciating the offer. She didn't dare ask about Mr Marks' dental problem in fear of being kept on the doorstep all morning. Discussing medical ailments, health scares and crazy diets were her friendly neighbor's favorite soapbox topics and her ability to talk non-stop and with authority had at times threatened to stupefy Maggie. So on this occasion she spoke with wisdom gained from four years of living under the influence of her talkative neighbor who was inclined to panic needlessly: "Don't allow me to be responsible for Mr Marks being late for his appointment."

"Oh, thank God I have a young mind to keep me alert -- yes, I must be off; will talk later. Good-bye dear."

"Although your kind thoughts count for most, I think these flowers are a tribute to your gardening skills," Maggie said warmly. "They are prize specimens."

Mrs Marks beamed as said she had changed her mind and chosen the white chrysanthemums. She had began picking a colorful array but then thought it might be a little too early to introduce color into Maggie's life. She waved and was off, allowing Maggie to release a huge sigh. On the flight home she'd despaired at the thought of Mrs Marks calling and discussing in detail Stephen's tragic death, the funeral including who was and who wasn't there and how Maggie proposed to carry on life without her husband.

In excruciating mental anguish at the prospect of having to relive private thoughts with a chatterbox though kindly neighbor had filled Maggie with dread in the flight home, and for a few crazy moments she'd considered at not returning -- having a Realtor sell the home on her behalf, thus avoiding having to face Mrs Marks; and, of course, others. Reason then prevailed; an inner voice telling her she'd never been cowardly so there was no reason to find a yellow streak now. At that point the motherly flight attendant who'd been chatting to her earlier arrived with a second cocktail -- unordered but gratefully received and soon she felt revived, ready to deal with life in which Mrs Marks and clones meant well however misguided they were.

Mrs Marks was no slouch as a gardener as the stalks were long and already cut in a slight variation of lengths, so when Maggie dropped the chrysanthemums into a tall vase and fluffed them up and outwards with cupped hands they fell back almost perfectly into a rounded shape from the centre. They looked so beautiful and not at all like they had been delivered by the replica of a soulful looking undertaker's assistant.

Maggie sat at her dressing table she often used as a writing desk. Choosing a card featuring two attractively drawn cats looking expectantly at an unopened can of jelly-meat she wrote thanking Mrs Marks for the flowers and kindness and praised her for being such a warm-hearted neighbor. She then wrote a postscript that was as long as the thank you message.

PS: I would be most grateful, Mrs Marks if you and Mr Marks do not discuss in my presence my husband's death, the funeral in England and my life without him. I'm in no hurry to forget him but it will distress me to hear others talk to me about him or my life without him. I'm now ready to resume life without Stephen and it would please me to just live privately with my thoughts about him. It may distress you to be told this so early in the piece but my intention is to remarry and if possible to have children. I have no person in mind or a timetable.

Your friend, Maggie.

Maggie walked across and placed the envelope in the Marks' mailbox, thinking with that accomplished it was as if she'd taken a giant step forward in her new life. Fluffy Marks followed Maggie back to her house and the beautifully groomed Persian waited patiently by its saucer for milk. Fluffy's preference was to eat solids at home and to cross the street to the Roberts's home for liquids. On very hot days Stephen used to pour Fluffy chilled beer which she lapped up faster than milk.

Arriving home Maggie had been pleased to find little trace of Stephen's personal possessions in the house. Her mother Harriet and friends had removed all of his clothes and presumably disposed of them, without asking Maggie. That suited her fine. She checked in the garage -- his car had gone. It was a bigger than hers but she had no wish to swap as she loved her luxurious black Lexus two-door Sports Limited. She smiled; all the tools remained on the workbench or hanging on the wall behind it -- her mother obviously thinking the replacement husband would have his own car but possibly not tools. Good thinking, mother, thought Maggie, for the ten thousandth time wishing her mother had been more thoughtful in naming her Waverly (meadow of quivering aspens) after Harriet's former home in south-west England, an estate on which her father -- Maggie's grandfather -- still farmed as a country gentleman. Maggie had her name changed formerly the day she turned eighteen.

Her mother had not asked whether Maggie would remarry as it hadn't been necessary, knowing her daughter had been waiting to start a family and since her late teens had preferred being in the company of a male. This predilection for fringing into the world of men had influenced Maggie to qualify and to continue on to gain an MBA and then, with a hugely handsome advance from her grandfather screwed from him on the night after she graduated in London with her business administration degree. The wily graduate encouraged him to drink the champagne with a whisky chaser -- a combination he rather liked. That helped to loosen his tongue and soften his frugal ways with money, she reminding him she was his only granddaughter -- there were four grandsons -- and it would be a grand opportunity to divest some of his wealth outside of Britain.

Only fools part with their money readily but at least she had secured the loan money in principle. She returned to New Zealand where she developed a business plan, investigated some proposed investments, and then met her grandfather Otis in Malta where he was holidaying and won him over, completely. His current traveling companion (his wife hated leaving home) took an instant liking to Maggie and the friendship with Anna was reciprocated. Two days before Maggie left for home Anna's son, hurriedly summonsed by his mother with an eye for other things beside horseflesh and jewelry, arrived and pounced. 

Within hours of their meeting Stephen Roberts was in Maggie's bed -- not invited but nor was he kicked out. Hotel management threatened to have them leave the hotel unless they ceased making such a noise and running down to the pool together drunk and naked. Maggie would always remember her last 48 hours in Malta as the most exciting, stimulating and utterly outrageous time of her life to date. Anna Roberts and Otis Holbrow rather enjoyed being in the company of the licentiously compatible fun-loving couple and gave them every encouragement.

Sighing at reliving those memories, Maggie returned to the house and although she'd arrived home late the previous night and slept in her bed for the first time in a month she had failed to notice the new photograph on the bedside cabinet on her old side of the bed. It was of Stephen -- he'd been to the photographer's only days before his death; obviously her mother had been contacted and gone in to collect and pay for the photographs. It was very good and Maggie decided to leave it there for the time being as she did not feel compelled to jettison his every presence. 

She'd already noticed their wedding photographs had been left on the hallway wall -- really, her mother was so good. No, that wasn't correct, she was so much like Harriet they thought and acted similarly, almost like twins and both were aware of this. Usually it had produced little more than a laugh and the ability to like each other's purchases in clothing, furniture and cosmetics. But now her mother's ability to comb through the house and remove the remnants of a marriage that were no longer required was little short of amazing, and a great relief really.

Well, the decks had been cleared so where was the new husband; would her mother produce him or -- Maggie rolled her eyes -- would Mrs Marks manage to that?

The phone went, it was Mrs Marks.

"Thank you for your lovely card -- I adore the water-color," Mrs Marks said. "Your postscript makes absolute sense to me and I shall abide with your wishes. You are a very sensible young woman."

"Well thank you."

"Look, please call me Lillian. This Mrs Marks tag by someone your age makes me feel old."

"Okay, Lillian. Nice name."

"I've always disliked my first name."

"Join the club."

Lillian asked Maggie if she could come to dinner on Saturday.

The feeling of dread hit Maggie but she kept the smile in her voice. She knew she was available because she'd cleared her diary for a full month, which ended on Sunday.

"I am available but may I ask the reason for this invitation?"

"Yes, of course. Someone will be there I wish you to meet."

"A male, I assume."

"Yes, am I naughty?"

Resisting the urge to say yes, Maggie said, "In that case I'll come reluctantly."

"Is it too early for this?"

Maggie considered that. "No, but since the world is full of self-confident young women like me, match-making has gone the way of lace curtains."

"I have lace curtains."

"Hmm," Maggie sighed, resisting having a sly dig.

"His name is Peter, a divorcee, who is my nephew. I don't particularly like him which probably means you may, although I can't for the life of me explain that comment. At the very least it will present you with the chance of working up into some bedtime together if that is an interest of yours."

Maggie's eyes opened wide. "Lillian, are you being coached by someone? This doesn't sound at all like you; first a matchmaker and now a procurer of bedfellows. Whatever next?"

Lillian sounded a little less confident. "This conversation has rather taken off on us. In no way did I wish to offend you."

"No, you haven't but I must run. Look, I'll come to dinner on Saturday but for goodness sake don't even breathe a suggestion that I could be interested in him, even if limited to a one night romp -- it would result in a disastrous dinner for you. Remember also that blind-dating has a huge failure rate; one only hears about the successes. Thank you for thinking so kindly about a womanly need I might be feeling, though I doubt that I am. That of course could change in a flash if I say a guy in tight leather trousers were to bend down to tie a shoe lace."

"You want me to ask him to wear leather trousers?"

Horrified, Maggie urged Lillian to say no such thing, not even to think about it. She was relieved to be told two other couples would be at the dinner -- younger friends of the Marks's.

The previous evening Maggie had arrived home late by cab as Harriet had gone with girlfriends to the national hairdressing championships in Wellington so was not available to meet and deliver her home; Maggie's fourth-in-line stepfather, Max Lapp, a Realtor, was available; however, Harriet knew better than to send him as chauffeur as her daughter couldn't stand the swine -- Maggie's current name for him -- after he groped Maggie at Harriet's Christmas party. Eventually the also drunk Maggie had the presence of mind to wallop him, breaking his nose in two places. 

Harriet considered divorcing Max over that but Maggie talked her out of that suggesting Harriet wheedle a new car out of the swine for fouling up her Xmas party and attempting to be unfaithful to her. Max hated Maggie for costing him $65,000 less trade-in for the new car. But in this typical way of a super-salesman, he rotated his mind three-sixty degrees to decide he now worshipped Maggie for saving his marriage.

The car was available in seven different colors so Harriet phoned Maggie from the dealer's showroom unable to decide which color. "Choose white Harriet -- it's virginal, it's so you," Maggie said playfully, only to hear her mother say, "That's it; I can always rely on you darling," before terminating the call.

Maggie began calling her mother Harriet when she was almost twelve, at her mother's suggestion. They were both ground down by the never-ending comments -- usually from women -- that they couldn't possibly be mother and daughter. Thus behaving as if they were sisters seemed to be the right thing to do, and it worked, wonderfully. Rather late along the road they learned not to answer any question about their relationship and that brought further relief. Because there were only fifteen years and ten months difference between them, and they were reasonably close look-alikes, they accepted there was novelty about their relationship.

Driving the new car over to show Maggie -- a very expensive town car because Harriet rarely drove herself beyond city limits -- her mother divulged that Max would now do anything in the world for Maggie for saving his marriage.

Gratified to hear that, Maggie's response was: "Then tell the swine to stay away from me."

"Really dear," said he mother, checking her lipstick and eye makeup, "he was drunk when he fondled you. He explained to me, quite convincingly I thought, that he was interested in trying you out to see how we compared."

That shocked Maggie. "And you allowed the swine to get away with that or did you re-break his nose?"

Harriet did her best to look apologetic. "He did admit that he thought I would win the assessment because I have a little more flesh on my bones and waggle my ass more than you do."

"Mother, I can't believe I'm hearing this. That slimy toad has no right to be thinking about me like that. The man ought to be castrated."

"Oh darling," soothed Harriet. "Remember, he's only male and you know that Realtors have difficulty coping with ethics."

"He can't fucking well spell the word ethics so what hope is there of understanding ethical behavior!"

"Hush, dear. You know your mother becomes uncomfortable in the presence of bad language. Should I tell him you're still upset and he'll have to give you a beach-house to buy your off?"

Maggie looked at her mother steely-eyed, the cornflower blue eyes under her shaggy blonde hair appearing almost navy blue. "Go now mother before I go for your neck and if you dare mention just one word of what we've just discussed I really will attempt to throttle you. I don't want that swine thinking about me, do you understand?"

"Yes dear. Perhaps I should have divorced him but the trouble is if I looked for a replacement people would start counting and realizing just how many husbands I've had. Well, I'll be off now; have a nice day."

Maggie, waving her mother off, had reflected on a comparison -- she had either twenty-eight or twenty-nine pairs of shoes, plus slippers, boots and sneakers whereas her mother was breaking in husband number five. Her question was which one of them was the more excessive? Her mother, of course -- she also had something like eighty pairs of shoes. Was this line of thought relevant? It sure was, getting her mind off her latest stepfather, the creep.

On the way to the kitchen to pick up her car keys, Maggie wondered if her mother would be better at sexually pleasing men and extracting more personal enjoyment from such activity than she was capable of achieving in any other pursuit apart from shopping. One was unlikely to ever know the answer to that; it was such a private thing and too subjective for easy comparison. Her mother, however, was absolutely marvelous at attracting men to her honey pot or whatever she called it. 

Maggie's father Raymond now lived in South Africa and had remarried and was raising five children. The only contact they had with him was the annual exchange of Xmas cards. According to Harriet, Maggie's father, then a senior aircraft engineer in the Air Force, left them because he wanted to return to England where they'd first met but Harriet had refused to go; they began fighting and finally he divorced her. His successors -- Jack, Grayson and Douglas -- divorced Harriet as according to her she was too extravagant and too sexy for them, whatever that meant. It's not something you normally discuss in detail with your mother although Maggie knew she had only to ask as Harriet loved nattering with her about anything.


You're Worth Dying For Ch. 01



She reached for her car keys on the key hook and noticed a 'Things to Do' note from her mother. The entries -- Take S's personal stuff away; clean out his drawers, wardrobes; go through his study carefully; sell his golf gear, tennis gear and fishing gear; get in professional cleaners, asking them to put anything masculine out for me to inspect; pay bills keeping receipts; sell car; arrange thank you cards and send out; go through entire property one more time (ah, sell car trailer, cancel his magazine subs; cancel his Playboy channel sub; leave this record for DM).

Maggie's eyes softened at sighting her mother's pet name for her, DM stood for Darling Mine.

God, what a perfect mother. She'd ticked off everything including the bereavement thank you cards which had a little note above that entry 'All posted off'. Maggie had been about to drive off to arrange thank you cards, not at all looking forward to doing that and the morbid task of addressing the envelops to send off -- so, she was free for the rest of the afternoon, Friday. What should she do?

The phone went.

"Christ, you're home. Thank God for that."

"And good afternoon to you, Ryan. Yes, I'm fine, and how about you?"

"Maggie, listen to me. A strike meeting has been called for three this afternoon. That fat slimy bastard Kruger has called in union reps from Auckland. Kruger and three other union delegates plus the two union officials have just left my office after mouthing fire and brimstone. We're in the gun for paying over big money, Maggie; they are proposing to hold rolling strikes until we give into their demands, no matter how long that takes."

Maggie said calmly: "They always say that; those are union tactics to spread fear and panic to break resistance. What are you going to tell the assembly?"

"Tell them? Nothing; it's a close union meeting."

"Bullshit -- don't listen to bully boy Kruger. Here's what you do. Get Stan Meadows into your office right now and ask him as soon as the meeting starts to propose a motion that you and I be invited into the meeting to join the officials at the top table and after hearing the grievances we will give our decisions, thus short-circuiting the process in responding to demands."

"Okay, but what is our response?"

"Ryan, you are managing director. Do you really want me to takeover from you?"

There was a brief silence. "No, not quite, but as executive chairman you have more clout than me. I'd like you at my side, with us working as a team."

"Excellent -- a good decision. Get talking to Stan right now; I'm on my way." 

Actually, that wasn't true. Maggie showered, did her make-up and hair then dressed in a skirted business suit. She looked in the mirror and sighed, pulling out her combed up hair and changing into a black shirt, trousers and jerkin and poking around in the wardrobe found her black wool Fedora with narrow brim. She picked out a pair of black gloves but decided that might be a little bit over the top. Instead she redid her face, making it unusually white.

Maggie entered the executive parking lot slowly, timing it right. Ryan de Lacey rushed out, looking at his watch and, looking ever so handsome, she thought.

"Christ, hurry. They are about to start. We are to wait outside the press room where we will be called in if that's the wish of the meeting."

"Who's running this show, Ryan -- we or them?"

"Er, good point. Where should we wait?"

"In your office."

"Right -- but how will Stan find us?"

"He'll phone either you or me."

"Sorry about this -- it's got me all wound up. I've done a quick calc. of their demands. It comes close to $20,000 a month extra for us."

"Are you sure, that sounds awfully low."

"Low? Oh blast, I mean $200,000."

"That's more like our greedy union delegates."

That seemed to take a load off Ryan. He smiled and said, "You're looking awfully tragic. I guess that's intentional?"

"Good one. So what are our tactics?"

"To tell them to get stuffed and to boot the disruptive Kruger out of office."

"But you can't -- their union chief will have your balls...er...I mean you backside for supper, claiming employer stand-over tactics and interfering with union democratic rightsfully electing their delegates. You must..."

Maggie's phone went.

"Maggie."

"Hi, Stan. Thank you. We're on our way from Ryan's office. Give us two minutes."

Stan, the office workers' union delegate introduced Maggie and Ryan to the two visiting union officials. Joe Kruger, chairing the meeting, pointed to two chairs at the end of the table. Joe then thundered away for fifteen minutes and one of the union officials then addressed the meeting on the right of unionists to take strike action to defend their rights. Then Joe invited Ryan to speak. He expressed disappointment that employees were pushing for expensive improvements to their near-derelict premises after having agreed by mass vote only five months ago to tolerate existing conditions while new premises were being constructed. He appealed to the meeting to consider their options. From the employer's point of view, any money being spent unnecessary on the present premises would be at the expense of spending to fit-out the replacement premises.

"Right," said the chairman. "As soon as our guests leave we'll take a vote on this."

"Point of clarification, Mr Chairman," called Stan. "If Mrs Roberts was invited to attend this meeting as the principal player in these issues, why isn't she being invited to speak?"

Joe turned to Maggie and asked if she wanted to speak. She answered only if it was the wish of the meeting.

Before Joe could think on that one, a roar erupted, "Let her speak."

Maggie took two pieces of paper from her pocket.

"This email is from Logan Property Developers confirming their offer made two months ago which is fifty percent more that I paid for this rundown property. This second email is from Logan Property Developers offering me almost two hundred percent more for our new site where work on the new press room commenced four weeks ago. If this meeting decides to accept the recommendation and begin rolling strikes, or if any other restrictive industrial action is taken delaying our transfer of all operations to the new site, scheduled to be completed in eleven months from today, then I will simply take the money and walk, then ending my dream to convert our city newspaper into a much larger newspaper covering the entire South Auckland Region. Thank you."

There was complete silence as Maggie began walking to the door, Ryan hurrying after her. Maggie stopped abruptly with Ryan almost colliding with her.

"Oh, one more thing. It is not my wish to ever again have Mr Kruger to deal with my executive officers; his attitudes and tactics are too confrontational and antiquated for my liking. Thank you."

At first only coughs and scuffling of chairs and feet could be heard as the chairman and chief executive walked to the doors, but then a murmur began, with increasing volume.

"That's your lynching being discussed," Ryan whispered. He was ignored until the door closed behind them.

"So you are willing to put one hundred and twenty-six of us out of a job?"

"Yes, either that or drag you all into the 21st Century."

"Save your investment is more like it."

"Well, rolling stoppages could easily bring us to our knees, including losing advertising, some of which may never be regained."

Ryan rubbed his chin. "What now?"

"Come with me and get half drunk."

Ryan looked disappointed and said he had important work to do.

"You don't really know how to treat a lady, do you?"

Stopping in astonishment, Ryan said that was a very personal remark.

"Bullshit."

"I beg your pardon!" 

He was told he'd heard the comment and that if he wasn't broken in now it was unlikely he'd ever be suitable to be invited to drink with a lady.

Ryan began to pontificate and saying their definitions of the term 'lady' might possibly differ enormously but he was too much of a gentleman to punch below the belt. 

"Really, Ryan, you must be in the clutches of a woman who is suffocating you as a social being. I get better vibes from my neighbor's cat than I get from you."

"May we continue this conversation over a drink?" he said, rather stiffly. "I feel we are becoming much too personal."

Maggie flashed him a huge smile. "Oh Ryan, how simply dashing of you to enter the fray against all your internal warnings; that is a heroic quality that I'd like to see all men display, modestly."

"You car or mine?"

"Whichever is nearest to the exit gate, Ryan."

Ridiculous at it may seem, they stood by their cars, parked opposite to each other. Maggie thought well, this is a test for this man -- gentleman or dork? If he mentions fetching a tape measure I'll scream."

"A dead heat, it appears to me. But no arguing; you're coming with me."

Maggie virtually floated over to his car, thinking this guy is capable of being romantic. I think I'll not search for a suitable man for the moment as a possible candidate may be standing -- "Ouch!" right on my toe, opening the door for me.

"Oops, sorry. You have such tiny feet they were difficult to notice."

What a liar, and how can a man change so much within such a sort time? Ah, I know; he feels the pressure has come off him with me now here to share collective responsibility and he thinks we've won the day with our employees. Have we? Yes!

When their drinks arrived -- a low alcohol Rosé wine for Maggie and a beer for Ryan he raised his glass and toasted her: "Good health and thanks for your support today -- you handled it proactively whereas I was waiting for the decision -- I've learned a valuable lesson; thanks, Maggie."

"My pleasure but I concede you were not in a position to be too aggressive, lacking full authority to seize the moment. Why do you think it's taking so long for my phone to ring?"

"The attacking reformists are busy circling the wagons sheltering the defending traditionalists. Make no mistake, Kruger has built up a hardcore of supporters."

"You think the strike is a no-go?"

"Logically I'd have to say yes, but the officials may have pleaded for a deferment to allow the pro-strikers to apply pressure on their opponents."

Maggie's phone went and she stepped outside to take the call as the bar was beginning to fill. She returned beaming.

"The officials made no attempt to interfere and the vote to reject strike action and any subsequent pressure went through with a substantial majority. Joe Kruger is out and you can expect his resignation in the morning; Stan said he's off to Australia where he says unions have more power."

Ryan congratulated Maggie for having the courage to go for the dumping of Kruger. "I hate to imagine the fall-out had that initiative come unstuck and the hardcore demanded the union take you to the cleaners, alleging illegal interference in labor relations."

"Well, if we all worried about what might happen or use up energy on considering every option and every possible counter-action we'd end up being brilliant strategists ready to solve problems that in the meantime have either been solved by someone else or have blown up to threaten our business survival."

Ryan looked thoughtful. "I take it that's a gentle rebuke?"

"Sort of, and thanks for use of the word gentle. We are both on learning curves and just because I'm naturally a little more aggressive it doesn't mean I'll mature before you as a business person -- it takes all types. As I see it, the more we talk about these things and tune our minds the more effective we'll become in leading this company forward. I must ask you this: would you like to appoint an operations manager as pressures on you will increase with having to run the operation here as well as keeping an eye on developments at our new site and running meetings to plan the staged relocation with minimal disruption?"

A smile broke out over Ryan's face. "During the first week you were away I wrote a report to you recommending I be authorized to create a new position of operations manager but it remains sitting within my computer."

"Excellent -- good minds are in synch. Have it on my desk by first thing on Monday morning and I'll be ready to discuss it with you over coffee mid-morning."

Maggie stood ready to leave. Ryan finished his beer and joined her. On the short drive back to the office for her to collect her car Maggie asked: "Do you currently have a girl friend?"

"Yes and I'm two months away from my divorce finalizing. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, must an idea I had. I see a couple or so lonely months ahead of me until I get back into the social swing again. I want to suggest you knock around with me for a while."

"You mean drop Kate for you?"

"I only said consider."

"And if my answer is no?"

Maggie looked at him straight in the eye as he turned to glance at her. "I'd consider you a fool but as I don't know Kate that's a ridiculous thing for me to say."

They drove into the company's parking lot, and Ryan switched off the ignition and hunched over the steering wheel. "You mean just for sex?"

"Oh yes sex, probably as much as you can handle, but also to go for walks, the occasional weekend away, to accompany me when I'm invited out...you known the sort of thing."

Ryan grinned. "This almost amounts to an indecent proposal, especially with its implication that I give Kate the push."

"There is no pressure for you to make any change."

"Oh yeah," he grinned. "I've always fancied you."

"I know."

Ryan attempted to hide his surprise.

He made no comment so she said: "I've seen your eyes on me and read your expressions. Just think about it, huh? I'm off."

"Do I kiss you goodbye?"

"Heavens no, what would Kate think in that sort of news got back to her?"

"Are you serious?" Ryan asked, scratching behind his ear.

"Yes, definitely. I'm putting myself in her place -- I would be very upset."

"But not as upset at being told -- if that were to happen -- that it's all over Kate?"

Maggie sighed and stretched a little, just to remind him she had breasts -- nice ones, bordering on being voluptuous according to one of her girlfriends. "Oh no, that declaration may well devastate her, at least for a day or so.

"And yet you are prepared to let that happen?"

"Yes, Ryan. Relationships are severed all the time -- just look at what's happened to me, recently. It's just part of the cycle of life with some of us accepting it and others who don't; whatever happens, life usually goes on, occasionally for the better." 

"I'm sure Kate's views on this would be a lot different to yours."

"It's entirely your decision, Ryan. If you don't want to hurt her, then don't."

Looking a little agitated, Ryan said, "This sudden whim of yours..."

"Oh it's no sudden initiative, I assure you; I've thought about it extensively over the past three weeks. Good-bye."

She was gone. Ryan emerged from his mid-size Mercedes and watched Maggie walk to her sleek black car, her ass moving like he'd never seen it sway before -- or was that his imagination? She was one dangerous woman; he decided he'd be safer sticking with Kate.

"Oh, Ryan," called his PA from the open window immediately overhead. Jane waved to Maggie who returned the wave. "I've received a message for you from the printing press agents. Our new presses and associated equipment are aboard a container ship that left Germany yesterday -- ten days ahead of schedule. I thought you'd like the good news first."

"Oh, and what's the bad news."

"We've a virus -- my computer has been infected by your laptop. I need you to come to my rescue as I think the virus is deleting every file I open."

"Stay two yards away from our computers, Jane. I'll on my way to eliminate your distress."

Driving home, Maggie was confident this would be a bad weekend for Kate. She knew that Ryan was typically male and generally a large number of typical males had a desire to place themselves between Maggie's legs. Ryan had now received a offer that would consume his mind every waking minute, including after he and Kate did it tonight if indeed it was on their schedule which was likely as Ryan was not the kind of guy who should be left to his own devices,

She giggled, threw he head back in delight and only the blare of a car horn thumped by an irritated driver behind her made her aware she'd driven through a red light. Miraculously she was not in danger of hitting anyone because no-one had been fast out of the blocks. Checking in her mirror she could see the horn-blower waving her fist. She heard a siren and pulled over. A police car, lights flashing, went hurtling by, allowing her guilt to dissipate. She drove home exactly on the speed limit, which was very unusual for her and during that slow journey home wondered whether she'd have her first meal with Ryan at his home or hers and whether they would then do it and have dessert or perhaps have dessert but have the coffee later. She then began to worry that he might be the sort of gentlemen who didn't believe in doing it on the first date, which raised the question, how many dates did those gentlemen require before they succumbed to being normal lecherous males?

She squirmed in her seat and knew by her warming body what she needed right now. Maggie stopped to allow the Marks' cat cross the road to her property. Fluffy, tail in the air and queening along sedately instead of running as it normal did when vehicles approached...the damn cat recognized the car so knew she could be trusted to stop!

* * *

Maggie lived in Southgate, a city, founded twenty-one years ago as a bold plan to halt the sprawl of Auckland, which it did -- for a few years. The city was only twenty miles away from the urban boundary of metropolitan Auckland -- 'A day's ride on horseback from central Auckland including a stopover for a lunch and swim in the Waikato River' as a correspondent in the Letters to the Editor column in the New Zealand Herald so quaintly described it soon after the site of the new city was confirmed. Today anyone asking 'Where's Southgate City?' may be told, 'A day's ride on horseback south of Auckland City' and would be left wondering how far that was?

Speculating developers raced to erect buildings, the city authorities being rather lax about enforcing standards because they were bent on accelerating the establishment a city infrastructure to attract commerce and industry - which provided a more lucrative rating base than residential housing - to finance roads, bridges and other services the city council was responsible for providing and maintaining. 

When Maggie returned from England ready to begin her business career, her mother had moved to Southgate to live with her new husband and Maggie's second stepfather, Grayson; he was one of those rare breeds -- a 'lively' accountant whom Maggie came to adore. Like his predecessor and successors, he was handsome, exactly her mother's height, infatuated with Harriet, articulate, adventuresome, childless, wealthy and not overly intelligent; it was as if they were cloned to her mother's specifications.

Leasing a shoddy apartment, Maggie implemented her investment plan, with a kitty of just over $NZ536,000, courtesy of grandfather Otis. Quietly she bought out the seven largest lawn mowing contractors in the city and paying the penalties to cancel their franchise contracts, amalgamated them into the one company and appointed a retired businessman to run it after re-engaging all the former sub-contractors as paid employers. Ten months later she sold the business to a family of new immigrants looking to establish themselves in their new homeland, walking away with a net gain of 2.76 times her total outlay.

Similar forays were made into creating a monopoly of pizza home delivery services, three companies specializing in constructing residential drives, footpaths and fences and then she purchased six hair salons and opened three new ones and sold that integrated business also to rich new immigrants wanting to invest into a 'walk in' business.




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 01



Next Maggie purchased three apartment blocks that were attracting adverse publicity. The newspaper articles, supported by letter writers, described the jerry-built apartment blocks as degenerating into unwanted slums. Maggie then drew adverse publicity for giving all tenants of the ninety-six apartments six week's notice to leave their buildings which were to be reconstructed. She entered partnerships with three small building firms to redevelop the buildings -- principally re-cladding the leaking structures and upgrading interiors.

The ninety-six apartments were then sold on unit titles -- many of them to former tenants -- at rather high prices, with the development consortium of each building providing low-interest loans to approved purchasers for one year or at a higher rate of interest for three years. The mortgages of course were advanced by a company totally owned by Maggie. 

In an about-face, the local newspaper publicly praised Maggie for her innovative approach and this resulted in the city council awarding her a 'Good Citizen's Plaque' -- a small version to take home, the larger version being screwed into the wall along with others in the foyer of the Town Hall. Almost overwhelmed by this formal presentation in front of one hundred and fifty council staff and invited citizens, mostly business and professional people, Maggie make a courtesy call on the editor to thank him for reversing criticism into praise. In making that visit Maggie found she was looking at a failing business located in totally unsuitable and second-rate premises -- a ripe plum for the picking.

Editor-in-chief Clive Boys had an eye for a good woman; those eyes almost popped when Maggie arrived to sit in front of his desk. As she was ushered it, ever curve and nuance of her ripening twenty-nine year old body was creatively depicted by the tight blue and white mottled silk dress. Clive jumped to his feet, sending his half-filled coffee cup flying off the saucer.

"Damn -- oh, clean up my mess please Cathie while I attend to my visitor."

With the accent on 'attend' Maggie mused about what part of her body he had in mind to attend; his eyes were everywhere, almost turning him cross-eyed. What a creep.

She thanked him. He said charmed and produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses. Maggie looked around for the sofa but there wasn't one. Well, if he though he was going to rumble her on the carpet, he better have another think coming. In fact unless he backed off he'd bettered by prepared for a nut-cracker kick. Fortunately his assistant Cathie popped in to announced, "Excuse me but there's a call for you Clive, Mrs Boys -- she says it's urgent." The accent had definitely been on Mrs Boys and Maggie smiled at Cathie, acknowledging the forty-something's half wink. 

"A roast, not more than $20; yes dear."

Clive returned to his whisky as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. They chatted and he asked Maggie what her next project would be and she said she was thinking about building the proposed stadium.

"Look, don't touch it," advised Clive. "My information is a Maori iwi is waiting for construction to start and then they will slap a claim on the land as part of their Treaty of Waitangi settlement application, which will delay construction a year, possible up to five."

"Can they do that?"

"Yes, because the site is State-leased farmland just outside the 18 by 16 mile block vested in the city council for development of the City of Southgate by Act of Parliament.

"But the act forbids the city to expand beyond its gazetted boundaries."

"That's true, but the stadium is passing through the planning and consent processes because it's exempt as it's clearly a regional amenity."

"Oh yes, I do believe I am aware of that exception. Bugger, I'll have to look for new options."

Clive sat up straight, fingering his ginger mustache. "Perhaps you'll need not look any further -- redevelop this ailing business."

"What, I know nothing about producing newspapers."

Looking pained, Clive said his emphasis was on the word business. The newspaper was billed as the company's flagship but it really was small cheese; in the last financial year commercial printing accounted for eight-seven percent of the company's net profit.

"These buildings of ours and the printing presses acquired third-hand are millstones, dragging the company down. Our founder Chas. White was driving us forward but then dropped dead and that gave us Widow White as our new millstone as she knows nothing about business, but excels as senior women's golf and Bridge and bringing us flowers from her garden."

The solution seemed so obvious to Maggie. "Why doesn't she inject more capital and sort out the problems?"

"Because she's resolved not to spend another cent on the business."

"Then why doesn't she sell?"

"We've tried but she refused to sell off the newspaper and the commercial division separately because it was the dream of her husband to develop such an integrated business for the new city to create wealth for his son and two daughters, but they have no interest and all three live overseas."

"So stalemale, unless she drops dead."

"Exactly."

Sitting with her legs crossed, Maggie adjusted the way her bra was sitting to give Clive something to concentrate on for half a minute. She bent up her fingers, apparently studying her nail polish. Thirty seconds later she pulled her skirt down and asked for another whisky and water. As Clive was attending to that Maggie requested he call the chief executive, commercial manager and accountant in for a preliminary meeting. To another question Clive confirmed that he controlled the entire editorial operation.

Clive opened the door and asked Cathie to call those officers Maggie named to a meeting PDQ.

"They won't come as they are busy people, not unless you wave a carrot," Maggie heard his PA say.

"Tell them I have a possible buyer for the business -- the whole fucking lot?"

"You mean that young woman in there with you?" was the response thick with disbelief.

"Yes, and bring in a bottle of white wine for Dana and another bottle of whisky."

"What about your guest?"

"She drinks whisky,"

"Ohmigod -- a real woman."

Maggie decided she really liked Mrs Cathie Whatshername.

Pierce Muggeridge the commercial manager arrived first and smiled charmingly at Maggie, saying had it know he was to meet a beautiful young woman he would have combed his hair and put on a jacket.

The accountant Dana Sorensen was courteous and cautious and then the big chief arrived. Oh he was tall -- about six-three, with unruly hair in multiple browns but what surprised Maggie was Ryan de Lacey age -- he looked around 30, so young for someone in his position of responsibility. She saw Ryan looking at her and flushed, realizing he was probably thinking the same thing about her young age for a serious investor.

Clive then gave a résumé of Maggie's connections with the city and her background, even knowing her mother was the socialite (his description) Harriet Holbrow (Harriet never used the name of her husbands). Maggie couldn't fault the presentation then realized he'd been at his laptop while she'd been talking to Dana and Pierce; obviously the newspaper had her profile on its database.

All executives were now taking a real interest in Maggie and she was invited by Clive to outline her interest. He explained to the others her interest had simply emerged during a casual chat.

"I know what the condition of your admin building and factory are in without the benefit of an inspection -- massive problems with permeation of rainwater that are almost impossible to stem, rotting of timber that was not adequately treated, deflection due to the trimming back of safety margins on loadings and..."

"Are you sure you haven't inspected our premises?" interrupted Ryan, grinning.

"Clive told me the names of the architects, engineers, quantity surveyors and the developer -- all of whom I know are no longer residents of this country. I have already redeveloped three properties in which that syndicate was involved; it's a shameful legacy."

"And you aim to fix the building problems?" asked Dana.

"No."

"Then what are we doing here listening to you?" queried Ryan, an edge to his voice.

"If I become involved, I would imagine a total relocation to new purpose-built premises leased from the reputable developer would be our best option; but I would have to get advice on that."

Mouths opened in astonishment.

"No-one else has suggested that," Clive ventured.

"So, it sounds crazy to you Clive?"

"Not at all, bloody brilliant in fact. Allow me to top up your glass."

Ryan's smile was back. "It's not revolutionary; it's just it was not considered an option. May I ask, have you any idea how much buying the company and relocating the entire operation would cost, and remember it would be idiotic not to replace the printing presses?"

"I haven't a clue; I engage consultants to provide that information for me. My first step is to focus on company acquisition, so hang on to your drinks and seats as I am about to be my shocking self: what is the lowest possible price do you think Mrs White and co-investors would accept to give me total acquisition?"

Dana was shocked, clutching the table with both hands. "We couldn't possibly be party to manipulating price for you."

"A fair enough comment, Dana but what if it was our venture?"

"Our?" Pierce said, curling an eyebrow.

"Yes, what if I was to invite you and your under-managers to mortgage/borrow yourselves to the hilt and join me in a management buyout. In completing the purchases and becoming executive chairman, I would inject the most substantial amount, of course, as all up it could cost upwards of $10 to $15 million before the spending of capital ends."

The executives looked at each other and looked at Ryan as if authorizing him to speak on their behalf.

"Why would we want to do that?"

"For you people, to feel you were part of the reconstruction process. As the company prospers I would be prepared to buy back your shares at valuation. For my part I would know I had a committed management team to give me confidence in taking the plunge, though I have a great deal of investigation to do before that stage is reached. This will be a very expensive project, which is why we mustn't pay any more for the company than what it's worth as an ailing business."

Clive scratched an ear. "Would you envisage ditching the newspaper or continue on with it as a loss-making division?"

"Losses in any division are not healthy for any company, Clive. This would need careful consideration but my feeling is that we would strengthen marketing and promotion and widen the circulation area of the New City Echo to 30 miles of the city boundaries, turning it into a regional daily newspaper and taking the New Zealand Herald and Waikato Times head-on."

The executives looked at Maggie silently until Dana said softly, "God, aren't you something." That broke the tension and everyone lifted their whiskey or wine.

Pierce turned to the editor-in-chief. "What do you think of that idea, Clive -- crazy or brilliant or will you fence-sit?"

"Gutsy is how I'd term it. Advertisers always want an increasing circulation and greater frequency. We would be giving them both, big time, and picking up national advertising as well. We would go from publishing Monday-Wednesday-Friday newspaper to Monday to Friday and, on Friday as well, publishing a weekend magazine edition that would be distributed on Saturday morning -- at least that's how I see it. I reckon we could notch up 30,000 sales a day to casuals and subscribers, plus probably 60,000 for the weekender edition. The Herald and Times would try to slay us, of course but they'll learn money doesn't buy loyalty -- readers will love us because they know we pamper them exclusively and are part of them, owned locally, not like those other two newspapers."

"Well, time's hurrying on Maggie, so what now?" Ryan asked.

"We meet here same time the day after tomorrow when you'll tell me what you think of my proposal and your commitment to it, if any."

"We'll meet in the boardroom," Ryan said.

"I'd prefer here, Ryan. Let's keep this low key. No sense in stirring up the natives."

"She's right, Ryan," Dana said.

"Here is fine," Ryan said, holding out his hand to shake. Maggie obliged and cheekily squeezed his hand, seeing his eyes widen. She dipped her eyes and smiled.

"I'll walk you out to your car, Maggie," Clive said gallantly.

"You'll be safer with me, come on Maggie," Dana said, taking Maggie's arm.

"Goodbye Mrs Roberts," Cathie called, flashing a warm smile. 

What a wonderful Friday, thought Maggie, with a skin full of whisky that perhaps put her over the borderline of being a safe driver, so she concentrated on driving the straight and narrow with due attention to the idiosyncrasies of other motorists who clearly identified themselves as either incompetent or drunk drivers. 

She arrived home safely and immediately thought, "I should be out tonight drinking in a bar with a handsome companion -- a new companion she hastened to correct herself, knowing that Stephen was with her no more. A cry of anguish touched her breastbone but was gone in an instant, vaporized as had the body of her husband when he was cremated according to his previously revealed wish.

But a moment later Maggie was staggered with the vision of the drinking companion her mind conjured up -- it was that fellow Ryan -- absolutely crystal clear in her mind right down to his 5 o'clock shadow. Caught in a panic she didn't know what to do so shut herself in the toilet to think. Maggie quickly came to a decision over the purchase and reconstruction of the publishing/printing company -- do it, dictate the terms and jettison anyone opposing her vision or was half-hearted about it.

That left her mind free until...Stephen. "Sorry, darling; I'll never forget you but it's time you retreated as a past memory. I have my new life to live.

The truth was the marriage had been failing. It was all full-on sex, just like it had been in Malta, and Stephen truly had been what's she'd call the consummate organic lover. She knew what that meant and if she had to explain what they meant then it was a waste of time.

Stephen had been an aviator, piloting freight aircraft around the world -- cargoes of fine foods, exotic cars, arms, thoroughbred horses, foodstuffs for refugees, the lighting and sound gear for musicians on tour, the paraphernalia for live fashion shows and even the households of Sheiks. Maggie had assumed that on such charters, far away from home, Stephen had not necessarily slept alone at nights.

She sighed, recalling those magic two days and two tumultuous nights with him in Malta. She then returned home and miraculously he followed her, changing his base from an airfield out of Paris to Auckland International Airport which, surprisingly, turned out advantageously for him being so close to Australia to service the needs of the clients of the international consortium he and his crew worked for. His English speaking crew and ground support team reveled at being in a culturally compliant environment even though in a distant land. But, regrettably, the marriage between Maggie and Stephen began to falter.

Being licked, stroked and kissed to unbelievably exquisite heights in sexual liaison is one thing, and for a time it seems easy to think that's the beginning and the end. But gradually the lights dim and other more mundane things being to filter in, such as companionship, muttering sweet nothings, doing simple things together such as sitting on a rock wall and enjoying the sunset or rolling out of the bed in the morning to walk along the beach, hand in hand, watching the dawn color the sky and sea.

Eventually Maggie ceased ignoring the warning signs; she recognized that the robust or even gentle pre-sex administrations from Stephen, igniting harmonious responses from her, were becoming a thing of their past. Hiding her desperation she tried to recapture those delicate subtleties of young love, to no avail -- the subtleties of their whole being together seemed to remain only with her.

At times he had eight to ten days off flying. They'd go away in that first week to resorts and he'd be tremendous in bed again but then spoiling it by getting drunk and then boasting about the women he'd known, pretending they lay in his past, but he'd make errors about timing that allowed her to know some of them belonged to current times.

Did she want this? Was it worth putting up with? Maggie decided no, that this was not the man she'd fallen into bed with and then thinking he was the man she was prepared to spend the rest of her life with. He was, by all accounts, an excellent pilot, and she knew first hand he could ram the daylights out of her, having her in a screaming, quivering mass than no man before him had managed to achieve. But beyond that, what did he offer? At that Maggie struggled to produce answers.

On night when he was drunk they had a tiff, ending up with him hitting her across the mouth, cutting her lip and causing her mouth to swell grotesquely. She retaliated, smacking her first into his eye and within half an hour the eye had closed completely; he missed out on an assignment as he was unfit to fly, which riled him no end and he behaved abominably.

At that point Maggie knew the marriage was over and began thinking about seeking a divorce.

A few days later Stephen flew a cargo of tinned foodstuff from Budapest to Baghdad and then went on to a destination in Turkey where they took aboard 'rural community supplies' in wooden crates to a location in Afghanistan. Documentation was in order and they were cleared to fly across borders but unfortunately an over-exorbitant air force pilot disregarded conventions and fired a missile into Stephen's plane without attempting to identify the aircraft or attempt to force it to land, killing all aboard in the crash. No weapons were found amongst the debris of the payload at the crash sight, only water pumps.

Stephen's body, or what was left of it, was returned home to his wife and six months later a sum of $NZ2.7 million dollars in compensation from an unnamed source was paid into Maggie's bank account. There was no explanation apart from the bank manager confirming it was "a legitimate payment to her, approved by the New Zealand Government" and she received a further payment of $NZ50,000 from Stephen's employers and his insurance company paid out $840,000.

She cried, of course, at the news of Stephen's death, believing it to be so unfair. Not unexpectedly, she missed him and in the final analysis decided she'd prefer him to the money as nobody should die as horribly as did he and his crew. But since he was no longer around, she'd accept the money.

Going off for a month to be in recluse and after exorcising those dreary thoughts -- well, unless you were firm, they could remain with you forever -- Maggie thought that perhaps Ryan was a suitable replacement for her. The compelling thought she had was he was a lot less aggressive than Stephen and that raised the question, did he have backbone. For that she'd have to wait and see. 

* * *

Maggie purchased the publishing and printing business. A meeting of managers was called and the details of purchase and relocation within eighteen months was explained to them, plus news presses for the newspaper and its expansion into a regional Monday to Friday daily newspaper plus a weekend magazine edition.

The response was overwhelming. Only one manager failed to participate; pledges from the others ranging from $10,000 to $350,000 (Ryan), which pleased Maggie enormously. Once she had the purchase of the company finalized she and her advisers calculated they were $2.6 million short but the Midland Bank was sure to advance that amount. However, Maggie decided to try elsewhere.




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 01



Grandfather Otis said $NZ2.6 million was a considerable amount to invest, sight unseen, on top of what he'd already advanced. He would leave his snow covered estate which rose up and beyond of the river valley near Chew Magna (10 miles from Bristol and a little farther from Bath)and come to inspect Maggie's proposal for its robustness as it would mean he'd have to cash up from some other investments.

"But for you, my dear, anything -- at present your activities are proving to be my second best investment. I'll see you next week."

"That's splendid of you, granddad. Please bring Anna with you."

"Well, what a grand idea but the truth is I haven't seen your former mother for months and months. But I'll give her a tingle and find what's up. She's not a fuss-pot so despite the short notice she'll come is she's available. If she can accompany me she and I..."

"Hey granddad!" Maggie interrupted. I'm your innocent young granddaughter, remember."

He chuckled and said he'd see her next week -- it had been almost twenty years since he was last in the Antipodes.

The next Thursday Maggie was at the airport to meet Granddad Otis but before hugging him she was enveloped in the arms of the wailing Anna. "I am so sorry I didn't come to the funeral," she said, but I was stricken with grief. I was very embarrassed sending you that $50,000 back but I really have no need for more money than I have now; I tried to explain that to you in my letter. You are a wonderful girl."

"Hush, keep calm. We must move on but I'll take you to the place where his ashes were scattered into the wind tomorrow, if that's you wish."

"Yes dear; I'd love to do that."

Maggie turned to her grandfather who was wearing tweeds and looking rather uncomfortable in them. He held out his arms and she sank into them, he raining gentle kisses on her forehead.

"Your grandmother sends her love, many times over."

A car hire man approached and said, "All the luggage is safely aboard the car, Sir Otis. Whenever you are ready."

"Be a good chap and take Mrs Roberts to the hotel. Anna, I'm going with Maggie to look over this proposed acquisition of hers."

Obviously Otis, who was a young grandfather, being only thirty-eight and immensely surprised when his granddaughter was born, was not fatigued by the long flight with the one short stopover in Los Angeles; it also helped having traveled first-class.

"Grandfather, you should rest after your long trip," Maggie told the sixty-seven year old.

"Balderdash -- I need to take my first look now as I'm booked to fly to Taupo tomorrow afternoon for three days of lake and river trout-fishing. Can you join us? We are traveling by chartered aircraft and the lodge will find you a bed."

"Yes, of course, I'd love to accompany you."

The tour of the newspaper and commercial printing premises was a success, everyone impressed that Maggie's grandfather was titled (Cathie having discovered that) but he insisted everyone call him Otis.

Otis Anna and Maggie went to the cliffs overlooking a desolate part of Piha Beach where Maggie, accompanied only by her mother (at present on a tour of South Africa game parks) had scattered the ashes during an offshore wind. The three of them huddled together, arms bound and remaining silent for a few minutes, Anna wracked with sobs, the other two wiping their eyes.

At the end of Otis's week-long stay he told Maggie he would pick up the tab using Euros to pay for the new presses, their shipping and installation by the German supplier -- a total of $3,150,000 in New Zealand dollars and take up the equivalent value in shares in the Pukekura Publishing Company Ltd for that equivalent amount.

"Grandfather, you are wonderful -- the company is already a legal entity and I shall call a meeting tomorrow to elect the board and ratify the constitution and action other requirements including the articles of association and completing registration of shareholding. I shall arrange for all documentation, including notification of your shareholding from the registrar to be sent to your solicitors ASAP."

"Good girl. I am really impressed how you are going to haul this company back from the near-dead, Maggie. My lifetime in business tells me we're on to a winner here, providing you reach your circulation targets outside of the city; that's the key."

"I know, and defending ourselves against the onslaught by our two rival newspapers. Other than that, I see this whole thing as a walk in the park."

They laughed, shook on the deal and went out to dinner. Maggie had invited Ryan to accompany her but he'd already accepted his lady friend's invitation to dine out with Kate's parents.

Maggie wondered if that were a casual friend or perhaps a more than casual friend who was attempting to prepare Ryan to put a ring around her finger. 

The weeks flew by. Maggie and her managers formally took over the business under the new company structure and Maggie was introduced to all employees as a meeting where she went on to explain the relocation plan. That was greeted with applause and further applause when it was disclosed that the present printing presses for the newspaper would be replaced by the latest machines from Germany with much higher capacity to allow for future growth.

"Mrs Robertshaw -- why waste money on higher capacity presses when the growth of our newspaper is limited because this city is designed to flatten out in growth when the population reaches 30,000 which is not far away?"

"An excellent question," Maggie beamed, and said vaguely, "Growth is where one finds it; we have no intention of wasting money."

Surprise was a common reaction from the body of employees but no elaboration was forthcoming, diverted by Cathie Hudson, Clive's PA, who invited Maggie to inform everyone about her academic qualifications, experience in business and her aspirations.

At the end of the meeting the executive chairman took Cathie aside and invited her to take up the new position as executive secretary attached to the office of the executive chairman.

"You mean as your PA?"

"Yes."

"I'd love to but..."

"But what?"

"I am already working as Mr Boys's chief assistant."

"I'll put it in such a way that Mr Boys will readily agree."

"Thank you, Mrs Roberts. I accept."

"Right, my first request is for you to notify everyone that I am to be called Maggie by everyone and that includes you."

"Very well, Maggie."

The threatened disruption to production came, driven by a small group of hard-nosed unionists, but good sense prevailed and the threat was dissipated. The board and management could now completely focus on company development.

Maggie climbed out of her lonely bed the next Saturday morning feeling fit, lucky and on top of everything. Then she remembered: tonight she was expected to dine with her neighbors, the Marks's, friends and their nephew Lillian had organized as a dinner companion for Maggie. She refused to allow negative thoughts about that upcoming encounter ruin her day.

Maggie dressed in a stretched t-shirt last used when painting, so big that she felt like King Kong on steroids, and a pair of old shorts she must have put away when leaving her teenage years -- they were so tight that she felt both crevices were disgustingly defined. However, they were the best clothes for the dirty job of de-griming the oven, black with fat spills burnt into charcoal.

She turned up the radio loud and went to work, and had her head in the oven -- not a self-cleaning model -- and was almost finished when she yelped as she received a sharp slap on the tail causing her to jerk forward in surprise, banging her head on the back of the oven.

She emerged enraged, ready to tear a strip off the person for that cowardly attack, a person she knew wouldn't be her mother because Harriet didn't engage in acts of stupidly -- that is, excluding sex. Real tears were dripping from her eyes as her butt was stinging and she felt she had an oven groove imprinted on her forehead. Backing out she jumped to her feet and baring her teeth -- at least that's what it felt -- she went to launch her attack only to be confronted by the inane grin of Ryan, the grin faltering as soon as he saw her apparent distress.

She couldn't believe it was HIM! Her vision turned red totally and a great welling came over her and her brain commanded attack. Maggie head-butted Ryan high on his chest and instinctively she pushed out her foot, bringing him down with a crash on to his back. She leaped on to him, ripping his shirt open, sending buttons flying and sank her mouth on to his left nipple while her right hand snaked downwards between his tummy and top of his shorts. Only when her hand skidded under his briefs and she had her fingers wrapped around something soft and warm did she slow the pace of her attack.

She licked his engorged nipple. Stroking her hair Ryan puffed out some very memorable words: "Jesus, you dazed and winded me. Isn't it polite to ask before you start wanking me off?"

"Don't be crude -- kiss me."

Displaying strength he tucked his hands into her armpits and hauled her up along him to be kissed. She retained him grip on him lower down, pleased to feel some stiffening, They kissed, very gently -- so gently Maggie opened her eyes to check that their lips were meeting and looked straight into his opened eyes. "Oh God," she said, almost mewing.

With one heave he pulled her t-shirt up to her neck and his fingers unerringly found her very erect nipple.

"Oh God," said Lillian, walking in through the door. "Am I interrupting something?"

Maggie had the feeling of being in an aircraft doing down, at lease she imagined that's how it would feel. She swam through her panic to attempt to make it appear nothing untoward was happening.

"No, I was just saying good morning to a friend who arrived quite unexpectedly," Maggie said calmly, not moving except to remove her hand from his shorts as if what she was holding had turned into a red hot piece of pipe. "Ryan, this is Mrs Marks. Lillian, this is a business associate, Ryan de Lacey."

"Hello Ryan -- are you Tabatha's son?"

"Close but not quite -- she's my aunt. My mum is Teresa."

"Oh, I've not met her."

Pulling her top back down, Maggie said, "I had my head in the oven and the bastard whacked me."

"Ah, yes. Men get playful when they think a woman's on heat?"

Maggie boggled; surely Lillian was confusing women with farm animals? The moment then hit her and she could feel her very tightly constrained vulva beginning to pulsate. "Excuse me for half a minute, Lillian. Ryan behave." She climbed to her feet and fled to the bedroom to put on a bra and change into shorts that didn't make her feel like a whore. 

Maggie's lipstick was a mess and so was her hair. By the time she returned to the kitchen Lillian and Ryan were sitting down eating the buttered hot scones Lillian had bought with her.

"Hope you don't mind," Lillian said. "I fetched a bottle of beer from your fridge for Ryan and I've fixed myself a gin, also one for you -- I think we need it."

"Yes, that's fine," Maggie squeaked, still acutely embarrassed, being even more aware that Lillian would have seen where she'd had her hand.

Maggie gulped down the weak gin and poured three fingers of gin and three fingers of tonic and downing half of that in a single gulp she felt better.

"Don't be embarrassed Maggie. I have an idea how you feel -- once my mother caught Harry and me doing it on the kitchen table and another time on the stairs. She walked very softly did my mum."

Maggie managed a titter and then mused she'd never thought of Lillian having sex and as for Harry, he had difficulty pushing the lawnmower. Obviously she'd meant in her courting days.

"She also caught us last summer when Harry was in the bath -- I had this sudden urge and jumped in with my clothes on. He was ripping them off me when mum walked in with Mrs Chapman -- she said there was so much noise she'd thought Harry was having a heart attack. With Harry seeing her and Mrs Chapman he almost had a coronary."

That was just too much. Maggie rolled off her chair, screaming with laughter. Ryan helped her up and said he'd be off -- he was now free of all socials ties and had called to see if Maggie wanted to have lunch with him tomorrow -- a picnic at the river.

Maggie said yes and to her dismay he invited Lillian to join them, Harry as well..."as long as you two promise not to misbehave."

Lillian shrieked with laughter and said perhaps some other time -- she expected that they'd have hangovers in the morning.

Ryan started to leave but Maggie called him back, asking hadn't he forgotten something. He tapped his pocket and said he had his keys but got the message when she puckered her lips. He kissed her, chastely. She thought that would do for a start.

"Nice ass," Lillian whispered very softly. Maggie agreed with that but didn't say so; there was no need to encourage her neighbor any further.

Maggie decided to be late for dinner, for no particular reason except perhaps to have meeting this guy Peter offset by being introduced to everyone else as well. She applied eye-liner feeling pleased with her strategy. She was nervous, but understandably so; she had no idea what Peter would be like -- she'd not been a component of anyone's blind date since...since...Maggie's shoulders slumped. Of course, not since Anna Robert called her son to Malta to have his way with her lover's granddaughter. Maggie sighed and thought that blind date had been a hoot and a holler -- they only staggered out of each other's arms in short periods of exhaustion during their whirlwind whatever one could call such a thing over forty-eight hours of holiday bliss. To suggest it was virtual non-stop sex was a fabrication of course but she did loose count; one does tend to exaggerate such wondrous encounters.

She'd been starved of sex on that occasion as well until Stephen appeared on the scene.

As well?

Maggie looked at her mirror image sternly: "You sly bitch -- you're going to fuck this Peter Whoever should he be half-acceptable to you, aren't you?" She denied it, but the dishonest expression of denial she saw on her face said it all.

"You slut," she grinned. "What about tomorrow?" Tomorrow's another day, she mouthed at herself, smiled and finishing left for her evening of uncertainty.

TO BE CONTINUED... 



You're Worth Dying For Ch. 02



SO FAR: Recently widowed Maggie Roberts resumes her business career while looking for a new husband - and her endeavours look fruitful. 

Fifteen minutes wasn't as late as Maggie Roberts had planned to arrive at the Marks's dinner party but as it happened it was perfect; she trailed two couples to the front door of Number 27. The men turned, their eyes popped and they greeted her, one purring "Oh hello?" while the other with a greater sense of daring said, "My God, what do we have here?" 

The two females just thinned down their lips into bitchy hard-eyed smiles and said nothing.

About par for the course, thought Maggie, resorting to an old hockey term or was that golf; she couldn't remember? But no longer did she have to distract herself from being tempted to think badly of those two women because Fluffy emerged through the open front door, regally ignored the baby talk of the two half-crouching women and went straight to Maggie, dragging its body round her as if Maggie was her favorite possession.

One of the men muttered 'Bloody cats' and Maggie heard the two women muttering but if they were verbal barbs meant for her she didn't hear them. Give her five minutes in just their company and she would have them won over; she was that confident. Both were festooned with jewelry and commenting authoritatively on that was always a good icebreaker and she identified the drifting fragrance of one of the perfumes.

Lillian came to the door, seemingly floating on air, and looked quite stunning in lilac silk and matching headband. The hostess kissed the two female guests and through the babble Maggie learned that the obviously dyed blonde in her early forties was Beth and the graying plumper woman of similar age was Pru.

"After you, baby," whispered the more forward of the two males and Maggie hoped he didn't choke on all that saliva: quite obviously he was a man looking for someone to partner in adultery. That suggested he belonged to the fake blonde -- she sounded like a bit of a control freak.

"Tony, stand aside and allow this lady through," commanded Beth, confirming she liked being in control. Maggie in her LBD minced forward on her very high heels knowing by the deathly silence behind her it hadn't been a waste of time wearing seamed stockings with Cuban heels.

"Stop gawking, you two," Beth almost snarled. "Haven't you seen a young lady before?"

That putdown was perfect and Maggie, wondering how Lillian would greet her, deciding already she was rather fond of Beth who, like her, was prepared to treat men like dirt if they deserved it.

"Ohmigod, just look at you, my sexy darling; never have I seen a little black dress look so stunning when off the shop mannequins. Girls this is Maggie -- Maggie this is Beth Trotter my Bridge partner; her bark is to be ignore as she'd all soft and interesting beneath that façade and this is Pru King, who's the epitome of a Pru and a dear friend of ours."

Then came the kissing, Lillian asserting hostess's right. Maggie said,"You look adorable, edible in fact, wrapped in silk."

Busty Pru pursed her lips and Maggie just touched them with hers, whispering "Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds" without any question mark; Pru's eyes widened.

In the better lighting of the foyer Maggie gained a fleeting but adequate glance of the very attractive Beth just before she kissed the older woman, who was holding back a little, on both cheeks. Then pausing to eye the choker, Maggie said wow and that she admired the deep ruby red color. "Venetian vintage glass -- 40's retro?"

"Yes, how clever of you," Beth smiled, establishing the bonding. Taking Maggie by the arm she said, "Come and let's grab a drink. I notice you're not wearing jewelry, not even ear-rings."

"Perhaps I regard my belly bar and lower piercing sufficient for this evening?"

"Oh God, you haven't had that lovely body of yours pierced, have you?"

"God no."

"Oh you tease; I feel I'm really going to like you."

The dinner party was a great success.

Peter didn't look a dork, left the other two men sounding simple-minded when it came to intelligent conversation and later in the evening when Maggie purposely brushed his knee with her hand under the table he moved away as if she'd shot him. Well, no extras for you this evening after coffee my dear, she sighed. She looked up into intense gaze of Beth and with a start realized extras might be available in that direction if she were interested, which she wasn't. She hoped Philip, Beth's husband, would get what he wanted from his wife this evening if only to keep the marriage alive; Beth had entered that difficult age span when it would be difficult for her to find a suitable man to keep up appearances and to be a satisfactory stepfather for her two youngsters.

Peter left first, kissing the other women and lumping Maggie in with the three men for a handshake.

Maggie left next and was kissed by everyone including Harry who was almost out to it through concentrating on drinking rather than the conversations.

Beth Watkins walked Maggie to the gate. "I think you've guessed I'm more than just attracted to you."

"Yes."

"Do you mind?"

"No, but don't ruin your marriage, Beth."

"I won't -- we've reached an understanding. Philip is happily balling his younger sister's best friend."

Maggie pressed Beth's arm and said she was sorry.

"Philip and I still do it."

"Really?"

"Yes, he's rather good at it but completely lacks emotion when on the job."

"Really?"

"Maggie, I'm not predatory but when you were talking to me in the foyer I knew you were just perfect for me."

"Really?"

"Oh God, those really response mean I disgust you, don't they?"

"Not at all. I find you attractive and interesting. If you want we can have lunch together next week -- I would welcome your friendship if you can accept it has to be without any add-ons."

Beth's mouth opened in surprise. "Really?"

They both laughed and Maggie gave Beth her email address.

As Beth leaned over to write down address, Maggie gained a faint smell of the fading fragrance of her new friend's perfume and stared at the beautiful line of Beth's outstretched neck.

"Beth -- don't write Philip off. According to my mum, men are like puppies and the good ones are perfectly trainable. I see emotions within Philip. I think I should introduce you to my mother."

"I'd like that; do you think she'd really want to talk to me about such a thing; older women regard sex as their private business and consider everyone should be the same."

"My mother is not yet forty-six."

"God, only a couple of years older than me. What were you -- a Love Child?"

"I guess so, but they married before I was born -- that was just on thirty years ago but he'd well gone now."

"Look, I'll lunch with you next week of course but I think your mother and you should join me at a girl's only weekend at our beach house soon. Perhaps I should add Pru, as although she's a friend-only, we've been together since we entered pre-school within a day of each other."

"That sounds perfect -- what about adding Lillian."

"Lillian, what would she know about sex?"

"Initially I was of the same view, but just recently she'd proven to be a real eye-opener with an attitude towards sex that will crack you up. Consider this, where do you have sex?"

"Now that I'm older, on the bed and occasionally on the sofa."

"Oh, you conservative woman. Wait until you hear from Lillian about her contemporary adventures with Harry."

"Harry? But he shuffles instead of walking; I'd be amazed to be told he's still capable of getting it stiff."

"I'll leave it to Lillian to enlighten you."

Fluffy ran ahead of Maggie but just inside the gate froze, looking into the shadows to the right of the front door.

"Is someone there?"

"Gee, Maggie, you have great eyesight. I parked around the corner."

"Why are you here, Peter?" Maggie bleated stupidly amid her rising lust stimulated by alcohol and engaging conversations throughout the evening.

Peter remained cautious. "You rather gave me the impression you were interested."

"Passionately interested and you just happen to be the lucky guy. Do you think we could do it, out her, under the stars?"

"On the lawn?"

"If you wish -- or there's a stepladder and a sturdy wheelbarrow at the back of the house."

"Huh?"

"The grass is fine."

Maggie gave him half a chance, saying, "This can be only a oncer Peter. Walk away if you wish. But in fact it wasn't anywhere near half a chance, with her waiting until he had unzipped before delivering that message."

"Once, providing it includes successive bouts is fine by me," he said bravely.

"What's wrong lover-boy," Maggie asked dreamily, already worked up with his fingering and slobbering, on her back, legs held high and stretched apart like a gymnast, her panties dangle from her big toe of her right foot.

"Um, Maggie...bad news I'm afraid. Too much wine I guess."

"Good-bye, Peter."

"But Maggie, listen to me."

"Be a good boy and run along," she said sweetly,

She watched Peter look forlornly at the half hard thingy in his hand before stuffing it through his zip. She assumed she now had the answer why his wife had departed, sensible girl.

Waving to Peter as he trudged off, head down looking as it he'd lost a winning Lotto ticket, Maggie grinned at the baleful stare of the exceedingly patient Fluffy and took her inside for her milk. Fluffy then jumped on to the white pillow case on the living room sofa, obviously receiving the unspoken message she was welcome to stay the night.

Maggie looked at the wardrobe where her box of toys was virtually buried in the far corner but decided to have a cold shower instead. 

Maggie awoke and checked the bedside clock. It was 12:15.

"Oh fuck, she wailed. I'm late." She and Ryan had arranged to meet at the prime picnic spot of Barge Landing when self-propelled barges carrying freight upriver early last century used to be run-aground for the night.

Maggie cleaned her teeth, slapped on some make-up, put on a sexy sundress over her bra and panties, grabbed a bottle of French champagne and two flutes and ran for the car, grabbing her blue sandals as she went through the back doorway, followed by Fluffy. She gunned the motor and reversed, only to brake heavily and return; she raced to the back door, set the alarm and locked the door.

Vehicles were prohibited from driving into the rambling picnic area. Parking beside Ryan's vehicle Maggie began searching for him, having to return to lock her vehicle. She made a very attractive sight, being blonde, beautiful with the blue checked sundress doing little to conceal a great body and carrying two flutes and a bottle of champagne.

"Over here darling," called a rough looking man with two mates, drinking from beer bottles while gathered around their barbecue.

"Yeah, babe," said one of his companions, "We won't disappoint you."

"May the Good Lord have mercy on your souls locked in your depraved bodies which are waiting to be diseased," Maggie called devoutly.

"Jesus is she for real?" as the lout who'd just made the boast. He turned to find his bearded companion who'd made the initial comment crossing himself."

Maggie grinned. Men could be such babies.

Ryan emerged from a grove of young trees and waved cheerfully to her, crooking his arm but then having the decency not to look at his watch. He'd said he would provide everything and Maggie could see it all set out neatly behind him. He looked undecided about how to greet her so she held out the bottle in one hand, flutes in the other and as he took them she stepped up to him and on tip-toes kissed him hungrily.

She could see, when breaking away, he'd rather enjoyed that.

"What now -- a drink, food, food and drink or a walk through this parkland?"

"Make love to me, Ryan, Maggie replied huskily. She wanted him so badly -- her breasts were swollen, threatening to burst out of her bra and her lower stomach was churning a riot.

"What here?" he asked, looking about nervously.

"Yes. It's largely private and I can keep my dress on -- the top is front opening."

"You'll take off your bra and panties?"

"No," Maggie said, allowing a pause. "You can do that."

She looked down and smiled, noting his shorts were having difficulty accommodating him. He led her into a slighter more dense part of the thicket, kissed her and pulled out her breasts and began attending to them. Maggie was fingering herself; it had been so long and after her verbal adventures last night she was aroused, ready to explode. She raised a finger higher to touch her clit for the first time and immediately shuddered into an orgasm.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asked, looking at her with concern.

"I'm on a ride to the moon," she replied dreamily, wondering whether he'd be surprised to find her so wet down there. "Nip my nipples if you like, I rather like that and it turns me on." That might explain her wetness to him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, as if being given a bag of sweets.

"For the moment, they're all yours. In fact everything of me is yours to enjoy."

She unzipped him and reached for what she wanted.

They ended up having a very late lunch but did take time out to drink champagne.

On Friday morning three weeks later Ryan and Maggie were married at a small service in Auckland City, attended only by the wedding celebrant, Ryan's parents and his younger brother James as his attendant, Harriet and Maggie's dear friend Barbara who flew up from Christchurch for the day to be her attendant.

Ryan had warned there could be problems from some people close to them who'd not been invited to the function but Maggie just shrugged. "This is a second time round for both of us; one such big event in a lifetime is enough -- you agreed when I first raised this. And remember -- your parents are not even keen about us marrying, saying they haven't had time to get to know me. I've tried, but your mother just doesn't accept me; it appears to me she wants you to marry a quiet nobody from the suburbs who just wants to churn out children."

"My mother told you that?"

"Not in so many words, but I've put the looks, casual comments and her sighs together to build the picture."

"You're wrong about that."

"Why don't you ask her?"

The next day Ryan said to Maggie: "She was absolutely flabbergasted. She said you were right but how you knew that is beyond her understanding as she's never breathed a word to anyone, not even to dad or Janet her best friend. 

The wedding breakfast was scheduled for Sunday week after the wedding in the new press-room, a lift-slab construction due to be structurally completed two days before the event, allowing Maggie and her team of Harriet, her new mother Molly, Lillian, Beth and Pru to begin decorating the interior of the massive area and arrange the seating for 318 guests who'd include the company's entire workforce of 128 plus partners. Caterers looked after the food and refreshments and a space was set aside for dancing on a portable dance floor.

The building had to be handed back to the contractors on the following day to prepare for interior partitions, mezzanine floors and then the installation of the new presses and applied equipment.

* * *

The new Mrs de Lacy was pleased to be married again and this time it felt like a real marriage and while they did the holding hands, sex and blowing kisses as one would expect, in this marriage Maggie found they washed the dinner dishes and laughed as they chatted, took turns at preparing meals and they went shopping together and incidentally bathed together, something Stephen never would do because he preferred to only shower.

They also had sex in the shower too and lovingly washed each other's back but in Maggie's book bathing together was just so yum-yum. They would lie facing each other, more often than not with a glass of wine and it was really easy to shut eyes and drift with the conversation and then one or the other would start it, with a wandering toe. It was unbelievably erotic. Maggie soon found she had her noisiest encounters and biggest orgasms when heated by the warm bathwater and being softly stroke or hard-pounded -- it really didn't seem whether it was soft of hard - laying uncomfortably over the side of the bath or alternatively on her back stretched up over the bench with the two hand-basins, being rubbed in places rarely touched in other locations -- one exception being bent over the end of the sofa.

Oh, it was just so good having a sex life again but it would be untrue to claim life was a dream. For instance, they squabble a bit and many of those tiffs related to space and possessions. Ryan complained that she'd stolen his hairbrush when he awoke grumpy one morning; she said bullshit it was in his drawer. He said he preferred that she didn't talk uncouthly as that made her seem common and she argued she was too unique to be considered common and anyway other people expect rich people to be stylishly uncouth and that shut him up, making her realize he was sensitive about her money. She'd agreed to sell her apartment and move into his smaller apartment, signaling that she had largess in spirit but that seemed to count for nothing. He really loved driving her car which he said matched her sportiness. 

She moved to fix the thing about money, though seemed to receive little credit for that -- not the thanks but in removing money as an unspoken division between them. Maggie said to Ryan, two nights after their first sexual union, "How much do you think I'm worth?" His handsome face turned but then the sigh announced defeat: "I haven't a clue really."

She told him, and he boggled. Fetching her computer she said of course that was only on paper. She then set it all out for him -- the two cash injections from her grandfather that theoretically had to be paid back, her bank loans and her current account presently in overdraft although that would change when the company began paying her dividends.

"Jesus," he said, looking at the figures. "You were on your way to creating yourself into a multi-millionaire until you became bogged down getting involved with our company."

"True, but fast money means little satisfaction really. Here I have increased my indebtedness to exploit the lure of potential. It will either send me down or elevate me into a high flyer."

"We should be paying you a real salary -- what you requested for contributing as executive chairman was chicken shit; most of our go-forward momentum is attributed solely to you."

"It's what I requested."

"It's chicken shit."

"Watch your mouth, you common fellow."

Ryan had the grace to grin.

"Everyone around here thinks you are a millionaire," he said. "If only they knew your huge exposure to failure, these enormous risks you have been taken."

"They don't need to know, buddy."

"True; I couldn't do what you do."

"I know but aren't you lucky in deciding to marry me -- I can carry you along with me and enrich you."

By sheer luck at that moment Ryan's phone went; it was one of those 'trouble at mill' calls -- the CBD power was down and the company's bank of three emergency generators had failed to cut in. He told the night engineer to disconnect them from system, start each one manually and then switch each one back in, starting with the largest generator first.

"Yes, it's that simple, Roger. Larry (the chief engineer) obviously has slipped up with training. File your report and I'll sort it at tomorrow's exe meeting. Tell it how it was; Larry will be the first to congratulate you for identifying the problem and then hauling us out of the crap. Call back if the procedure I've given you fails. If it works in your report simply mention you called me to confirm what you proposed doing was correct procedure. We don't want the day engineers thinking you lack competence."




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 02



Maggie snuggled up to Ryan. "Darling, do you realize that's the first time I've actually witnessed you in real action -- I've always seen you in action at meetings. You sounded so masterful and that poor Roger -- he must have been peeing himself. Oops, sorry. And there you were telling him to give the impression he saved the day."

"Well, if the boss doesn't support the team, who does?"

"Exactly -- go clean your teeth and dress -- I'm taking you out to a late movie and then supper."

Maggie was sure just as that phone call came Ryan was thinking she could stick her money. Instead, because of her comment after he dealt with that call he seemed to bask that evening in her praise of him acting decisively and effectively (Roger called back but only to report the power supply to the CBD was still out but the newspaper presses and the commercial printing presses were up and running, the downtime being fourteen minutes, thirty-one seconds). After the movie they each had a steak sandwich and shared a triple chocolate dessert, with Ryan feeding her. It was her turn to bask: if that as not love, what was it?

They had returned to work after lunch following their wedding -- something they'd agreed to do and called a meeting of all staff at 3:00 in the courtyard. Maggie had told Ryan how she wanted to handle this and he agreed to do it her way, saying he couldn't think of a better way.

"Hi everyone, thanks for coming out at short notice; nothing serious. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you all to meet my new husband: we were married this morning."

The executives were gathered around the executive chairman and no stranger was in sight. Then Ryan stepped forward and took Maggie's hand, looking very boyish, she thought. There was a gasp then someone from the bindery staff called out "Go Maggie" and Maggie's PA Cathie bounced forward amid an increasing volume of murmurs, pecked Ryan on the cheek and then kissed and hugged Maggie.

"Sorry everyone," called Maggie. "We decided keep this event to ourselves to reduce our embarrassment-- some of your may know we've both had a previous marriage and this romance has blasted off like a rocket. But you are not being excluded -- invitations will be in today's mail inviting every member of staff and their partner to our wedding breakfast which we have delayed until Sunday week because the venue is not quite ready yet."

When the cheering died, Maggie continued, "Note the invitation will state 'No presents please'. That's all, and thank you for turning up to hear this little piece of news. Ryan, do you wish to say anything?"

"Just that I'm taking Maggie and our executive officers to Al's Bar at 5:00 tonight and those of you wishing to have a drink on me are welcome to join us. The bar is limited to fifty-five patrons so I'd be obliged if you don't all turn up together otherwise we'll create bedlam. We'll be there till at least 7:00 so perhaps you could turn up in shifts. That's all."

After accepting congratulations from executive staff, and personally inviting them to the bar, Maggie drove off for a meeting with her wedding breakfast organizing committee at Harriet's apartment. 

* * *

Ryan still found it difficult to accept that Maggie had wanted to marry him. But he became caught up in her enthusiasm and rationalized no harm could come of it apart from him losing his job if their marriage failed. But that sole negative thought was pushed aside when he began thinking of Maggie's thighs and her amazing personality. In truth he thought she'd be good for him, perhaps changing him into a risk-taker.

His mother had greeted his news that he was going to remarry -- and quickly -- in disbelief.

"But you broke up with that young women Kate who I know I could have loved."

"True, but now I have met the dream woman."

"Impossible, it's been such a short time since you broke off with Carol."

"Kate."

"Well, Kate then."

"Have you been having it off on the sly with this other woman, you two-timer?"

"No."

"Then how many times have you dated her?"

"Twice."

"What!"

"Sorry, I thought you heard," grinned Ryan watching his father shake his head and continue reading his newspaper. "I said twice."

"Oh lordy -- you've got her pregnant, haven't you?"

"I think it takes longer than three days after the event, if there was one, to detect a pregnancy."

"This I cannot believe. So what is this hold she has over you?"

"She is beautiful with glorious tits..."

"Ryan!"

"They are the things on a woman's chest," he said straight-faced. His father, now all ears, winked at him.]

His mother stuck out her jaw; this was serious. "Ryan, I forbid you to marry this money-grubbing wench."

"It's the women who owns most of our printing company and newspaper, mother."

Molly staggered to her favorite chair. "Rupert, I need a very strong gin."

Revived by alcohol infusion, Molly said: "I'm telling you this, Ryan. I shall never like this woman if you marry her."

Rupert's head jerked up from his newspaper, waiting to hear how his nimble son would handle that barb.

"You really have no choice in this, mother. She will have you under her spell before you can say Molly Agnes de Lacey."

"Huh -- for a moment she almost smiled. But then she was back with the barbs: You'll rue the day if you proceed with this ridiculous proposal and in doing so will disgrace the name of de Lacey, bestowing it on this strumpet of a woman. Girls have always been sex-mad on you since you lost your facial spots; it's disgusting that she'd no different, despite her great wealth."

Ryan thought it time to leave. "Dad, you'll love her. Unlike most women she treats men as her equal and is so sensuous, beautiful, highly intelligent and a consummate business planner and risk-taker."

"She sounds like Wonder Woman; try her out before you think of marriage, that's my advice."

"Rupert."

"Keep out of this woman; it's men's talk."

Molly, dabbing her eyes, held out her glass for another gin, which Ryan fetched for her.

"Work on her dad; it will be a tiny wedding and I want you both there, with cheerful faces."

Well, like a good script for a movie it failed to work out, his mother spurned Maggie despite the bride-to-be arriving bearing gifts. The first she went with Ryan who made the introductions. His mother accepted the chocolates and huge bouquet of flowers from Maggie; Molly's manner could be best described as indifference with scarcely concealed hostility.

Maggie had chosen to wear one of those dresses which, when we bent over, her upper chest superstructure threatened to pop out. 

Big mistake. 

Her next error was to respond to the friendliness of his father and sit on the arm of his chair, one arm all but curled around him, just above his head. 

Ryan could hear her mother's teeth clicking as she gnashed them together in suppressed fury -- well, perhaps mild agitation might be more accurate. Ryan had not given any background about Maggie. 

Big mistake.

"Why did your previous husband divorce you?" Molly asked.

The anxious Ryan had to give Maggie credit for letting his mother off the hook lightly.

"It was one of those marriages that dissolved itself and I could do nothing about it," Maggie said vaguely, earning an encouraging smile from her new lover.

"I see; then you weren't involved in an adulterous affair."

"Not that I was aware of."

Ryan's father snorted in laughter, diverting his mother who told Rupert to behave himself and be respectful to his guest. "Now where was it?"

"You were probing to find if I were sexually active outside of wedlock," Maggie said.

"I was not."

"You were so which was totally disrespectful to our guest," Rupert snorted.

Molly gave Rupert an I'll-deal-with-you-later frown and said, "What do your parents do, child?"

"My mother has remarried and is involved in charities and that sort of thing and my stepfather operates a real estate agency."

"Huh, one of those," Molly said dismissively. "Does your mother have any particular claim to fame?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I'm tired, I think I should go and rest."

"Then I'll leave now, goodbye Mrs de Lacey, Mr de Lacey."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Maggie. You must visit again; it was so lovely meeting you," Rupert said, beaming.

Ryan glared at his mother, said good-bye to his father and hurried Maggie away.

His mother could be a prize bitch at times, Ryan had thought and she was proving tough to move, but he'd put his money on Maggie any day. Two days later Maggie asked Ryan to take his father out to see the new press room, editorial offices and the commercial printing factory.

"Oh no, you're not intending going in alone, are you?" Ryan asked despite already knowing the answer.

"It has to be done," she said primly. "I don't want conflict evident at our wee wedding."

Ryan returned his father home two hours later and saw no sign of broken crockery, which was good, and her mother was doing her needlework.

"You willfully avoided telling me your woman's mother is the socialite Harriet Holbrow ."

"I didn't think you would know of Mrs Holbrow and the name of my woman, as you call her, is Maggie."

"I was disappointed she was gone before we returned," said Rupert. "Taking me to view the new construction was a ruse to give her a free go at Molly, wasn't it?"

"Yes, dad."

"Smart move; your idea or hers?"

"Mine."

"Liar," snapped Molly. "For your information Harriet Holbrow was guest speaker at our last monthly meeting when we hosted twelve visitors from the Hamilton Needlework Club and thirty-two from the Auckland club. She was brilliant and we presented her with two exquisitely worked linen pillow cases done by old Mrs Monk. As you know I'm treasurer. After Sheryl our president reported we'd need to embark on fundraising as our current account was in overdraft, Harriet Holbrow quietly handed me a check for $500 just as she was leaving. It's far the largest donation we're ever received from an individual."

"Maggie has her mother's generosity," Ryan said, seizing the opportunity to put in a good word.

"Huh."

When he arrived at Maggie's apartment for dinner -- he and Maggie were not living together -- she reported having made some progress in softening up Molly although the hostility still appeared to be just below the surface.

The next day Maggie was over the moon and dashed to Ryan's office with the good news. "Last night I was on the phone for two hours, mainly listening to my mother, as Tuesday night is a poor night for TV. I told her about my problem with your mother. Well, she called on Mrs de Lacey this morning to invite her to sit with her at the wedding. Your mother accepted and was ever so pleased and my mother said she'd drive them to Auckland for the ceremony. Your mother apparently said I was ever such a pretty young woman -- and, now listen to this -- who possesses confidence and charm to burn."

Leaving the office after Maggie's announcement to staff that she and Ryan had been married that morning, Ryan went to see Albert Brown at Al's bar to inform him about the marriage and that employees would be descending on the bar from 5 o'clock that evening.

"Right mate," Al said. "You and your executives are good supporters of this bar. I'll place a closed for private function from 4:45 today at both doors and we'll fetch in plenty of finger food."

"Great Al, zap my card now as all the drinks are on me till 7:00, but only beer, wine, gin and whisky, right?"

"I'll inform my people. But put away your card," grinned the burly bar licensee -- I'll send the bill to your office which means you'll get the commercial customer discount and won't have to pay the tax content when you reimburse your office. We have to look after our newly married customers -- who's the lucky woman?"

"Our executive chairman."

"Oh boy, Maggie. You lucky skunk. Half the males in the city would like to...er...sorry, she's your wife now. Let's toast to a wonderful marriage, buddy."

Ryan's second call was to personally visit Jill Oakley, a real estate saleswoman with the exclusive listing of Maggie's apartment. He'd known Jill for years.

"I'm sorry Ryan but I'm with another client and we're just about to go out."

"Flick that client on to a colleague and you won't regret it."

She hesitated, probably thinking about doing the right thing ethically. Ryan decided to hit here emotion button: "Maggie and I were married this morning."

Jill, a friend of Maggie's, squealed and rushed forward and kissed Ryan. "I won't be a moment. "Mary, she called; help me out here will you -- come into the interview room and I'll introduce you to a client -- he's all yours now."

Fifteen minutes later Jill and Ryan had toured his apartment with Jill confirming the money he wanted was perhaps a little high, but could be obtainable. I have someone interested in Maggie's apartment but told them to find another 10k. I think they'll do that. So you and Maggie are newly married and potentially homeless, so where do we buy?"

"I don't need to inspect -- tell Sam Hunt if he drops the price of the penthouse on Blue Horizon by 50k we'll take it; Maggie and I went through the whole building two weekends ago during the open day and we thought the penthouse was great, but a bit over-priced."

"Sam won't drop that amount on it."

"It's up to you to convince him, Jill. He can have the cash in his pocket on, um, Friday week. Money in the pocket is better than waiting for the right offer that may never come -- I know that, you know that and being a developer he'll know that."

"What about 30k off? I feel I might be able to swing that."

"No, 50k, Jill. Tell him our newspaper will make a splash about the sale because even dropping 50k off his cheeky asking price it easily sets a new high for a residential sale in this city."

Ryan signed an exclusive marketing agreement for his property with Jill who then said she probably had someone who'd buy it almost at the asking price.

"It's up to you Jill, if you sell it tonight or tomorrow you better have our offer for the penthouse accepted at the same time."

"Well, that's a challenge. Do I get a kiss?"

"Sure," Ryan said easily, kissing the lush lips of the married woman. "Listen, we're having drinks from 5:00 tonight at Al's -- your know some of our employers -- you and Rex are invited to join us."

"We'll be there. Oh, by the way, be really kind to Maggie and she's not had the easiest time with men ever since I've know her." 

As arranged, Maggie arrived at 3:30 to collect Ryan to take him to introduce him to her neighbors. "Lillian Marks was that woman who walked in on us when you were attempting to screw me on the floor."

"Oh dear, is that your recollection of who was the aggressor?"

Maggie blushed and accelerated, pushing them back into their seats. 

The Marks's were out on the back deck having drinks several hours ahead of sunset.

Coming around the corner of the house, Maggie said, "Lillian and Harry -- I'd like you to meet my new husband."

"Hello Ryan, you look less flushed than when I last saw you," Lillian said dryly. She knew about the marriage because she was on the wedding breakfast organizing committee and had only met Mark once...with his shirt ripped open and sporting a noticeable bulge in his trousers.

"Come here and be kissed, young man," she said. "Harry, congratulate the clever couple and then get them a drink."

Harry put his shirt on and did as he was told.

Ryan told about the arrangements at Al's Bar and invited Lillian and Harry to pop in but they declined.

After the one drink the couple raced off to Ryan's apartment where they'd shifted in some of Maggie's possessions.

"Do you want a quickie now or should we save it for a slow and gentle consummation late tonight or in the morning if we've had too much to drink?"

"Hell, that is a toughie to answer," Ryan leered.

"Right, quick showers and you pour me a drink as I'll take longer dressing, but I'm not really dolling up because it's Friday night and I want everyone to relax and have a ball. Many will stay on you know after your shout runs out at 7:00."

"Yes, I figured that might happen. Let's apply good management and save our consummation till the morning."

"Agreed."

They went back into the CBD by taxi, arriving at 4:30. Al congratulated Maggie who pushed her lips forward to be kissed, which rather pleased him. He rushed off and returned with a bottle of French champagne and two glasses. "My shout -- enjoy."

After Maggie had downed a glass of bubbly and started her second, Ryan opened very gently, telling her he'd been to see Jill.

"I've invited her and Rex to join us here."

"Good, why did you go to see her?"

"Um, this is what I want to tell you. As you are selling your apartment, I decided to sell mine and thought we could pool an equal amount of the proceeds and buy a new home for ourselves to begin our new life together."

"That's very romantic of you and there was no need to be hesitant as your apartment is yours to do with as you wish."

"I know that, but in general we should share our intentions before acting."

"Agreed. As it happens Jill phoned to congratulate me and to say she has a buyer for my apartment -- I could be signing the sale agreement as early as tomorrow."

Ryan topped up his glass. "That's excellent."

Maggie said it would be exciting looking for their new home. "Where would you like to live?"

"Ladies first."

Maggie bit her bottom lip. "Really, this is extremely extravagant and you probably wouldn't wear it but I rather fancy the penthouse on Sam Hunt's new tower block. Would you consider it if we could knock him down, say $30,000."

"Yes."

"Oh darling would you. I don't want you to feel pressured."

"I had the same thought about you."

"What do you mean?"

"I've asked Jill to put an offer on it."

"You haven't -- Jill would have told me."

"Did she tell you we kissed?"

"No, but you told her about the wedding; it would have been a natural thing for her to do in congratulating you. The sly toady -- she should have told me about the penthouse offer."

"I don't think so -- client confidentiality."

"But you're my husband."

"But still her client -- you'll become the co-client if we sign a formal offer which we'll do just prior to settling as it will be a commercial sale dealing direct with Sam."

"Hmmm -- that raises a point -- what if the company makes the purchase as an investment and leases it to its two most senior executives?"

"It has merit -- we'd need the support of fellow directors," he said.

"That shouldn't be difficult but first we need to get legal and investment advice opinions. We ought to have that information by tomorrow midday if I get on the phone early, but Sam will probably procrastinate so there mightn't be a hurry to resolve these issues."

Ryan smiled. "I think Sam's bank manager would welcome a big pile of money coming back in from Sam. If Jill is as good as I think she is she'll already have worked that one on Sam, though of course he's been through this sort of play many times."

"I agree. We'll it's all sorted then, I'll get on to our legal and financial consultants in the morning as soon as you allow me out of bed."

Jill drove up, flashing her lights. Ryan pointed to his chest to indicate was it him she wished to talk to but she shook her head. "Jill's just driven up and she wants to talk to you."

Maggie, who'd been greeting Al's wife Lucy, asked how he could know that.

"Men have their acute powers of sensitive intercommunication over distances."

"Bullshit," Maggie laughed. "The only time men are capable of showing sensitivity is when they have their dick in their hand."

"She smiled happily at her joke and walked out waving to Jill while Lucy went away to the bar cackling as if she'd just heard the Joke of the Year.




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 02



* * * *

Left alone briefly, Ryan thought that Maggie's non-critical attitude over his initiative in hiring Jill as agent to negotiate their acquisition of the penthouse had been a real eye-opener. Their romance had burst above them like a star-shell once it was triggered. He loved her, at least he adored her -- and was aware of the difference -- but nonetheless he'd felt an element of unease: was he good enough for her and was there a slight touch of incompatibility between them that would be impossible to bridge?

Everyone has self-doubts but those two misgivings gnawing at Ryan were of the dangerous kind that could ultimately undermine a marriage. He'd not discussed his misgivings as how could he? They were tantamount to a declaration: I don't completely trust you. In a way, marriage is like handing your spouse-to-be your life, for them to slash and burn and reform or, at the other extreme, if a fully mature love and sense of mutual profound respect existed, any adjustment was likely to be handled sensitively and positively. 

Initially they hadn't been particularly aware of one another's emotional being and compatibility apart from the usual readings primates of the opposite sex automatically register when coming into contact. Oh, he's run the usual checks, admittedly with more interest than usual because she was so damn attractive and powered up beyond her years -- looking at the eyes, checking the expressions, breasts, butt and legs and trying to assess humor, emotional evenness and brainpower. It followed that through their growing business association the examination of such attributes produced findings of greater depth, but in the case of imminent marriage. Particularly in their case when that prospect seized them so unexpectedly, they denied themselves the benefits that arise through a much longer courtship where the final assessments and decisions to commit are processed not unlike the efficient action of a dishwasher where the end result is everything emerges as familiar shapes - sanitized. He grinned at that rambling thought ending like that; at least he understood it. 

Actually, the suddenness of their short relationship climaxing was all her making; it was as if she was desperate for marriage and he was targeted simply because he was there. But now with Maggie's demonstrative congeniality in mutually settling their accommodation needs, devoid of any emotional flutter or the I-know-best superiority of the senior high-powered business executive might easily due to a positional mindset -- she was in control of herself. In concluding that Ryan felt a great deal of that uncertainty had lifted from him; the relief he felt was immense.

Ryan realized Maggie had little option but to express delight that acquiring the penthouse was a possibility as when they're inspected it she's said at least three times she'd like to live there. Clearly she could have made an issue about not being consulted before he'd acted; the fact they she hadn't had made a big impact on him. Of course they'd acknowledged at the time of agreeing to live in the smaller apartment. which was in a premier location with superior views, would not be long term but "Pow!" on their wedding day he'd announced out of the blue that long term actually meant very short term as he'd put that apartment on the market and had made an offer on a new home for them. Her reaction proved she was a pretty cool lady.

Ryan's remaining doubts concerned their ultimate compatibility: he was jealous of her because of her money and position of power as at work she was his boss. He knew it was unfair to be jealous; in reality she had to be admired. He believed he could live with this provided she treated him fairly in respect of her wealth and her power through being top dog. He'd identified those issues to be examined before proposing they live together or even marry.

Well, that wasn't true. They'd just climaxed together in bed after Sunday lunch, both in a sweat and panting. Then she said calmly, "God, we're good at doing this -- let's get married."

That's what triggered it; he'd said "I rather like the thought of that," without really thinking about it and assuming such an event would be at least months away as this had been the first seduction -- she embarrassed him by calling it their first fuck.

Grow up you fool and learn to live with it; just look at what you've got. He was looking at the back of Maggie, who was leaning into the car talking to Jill. Boy, did Maggie look a hot number! He felt a sense of pride when he looked around and saw Al standing midway to the doorway, arms folded above his beer belly, eyes fixed on Maggie's butt. Ryan's delight plunged when he read the expression on Al's face, the bastard.

At that moment a group of commercial printers arrived, and some of the men -- no doubt recognizing Maggie's butt -- dragged her away from Jill's car and carried her shoulder high into the bar and being told "Line them up darling" by one of the guys mauling her out of necessity to keep her from falling.

At hour of so later Ryan, having lost all sense of time as right now time was unimportant, grinned as Maggie forced her way through a group of young women who were asking Ryan about his sexual preferences. Maggie handed Ryan her phone and promptly began telling the young women that all men are babies so it's up to them to school their guys how to behave. They gathered round Maggie as if she was some sort of guru.

"Hi Jill, why aren't you here?"

"Because I'm working you dope. I have Sam beside me. He says a reduction of 30k is tops -- that or nothing."

"No deal, tell him to sign the offer at 50k off and bring him down here with you; better tell him to phone Stella to meet him here as this is going to be one hell of a night."

"I'm on speaker phone, Ryan; we can hear you and all the background noise. Sam is not looking a happy man."

"Okay, withdraw my offer but still bring him done and don't let him grope you."

"Ryan!"

"Sorry Jill, I forgot you were in professional mode, but it's still good advice."

"You filthy pervert," Sam laughed. "Sounds a good party is building up. Have you really withdrawn your offer?"

"Not if you sign in the next hour. See you soon guys. Bye."

Ryan pushed his way through towards Maggie. The phone in his hand went.

"Hello."

"He's signed."

"Great. You're brilliant. See you soon."

"Wait."

"What?"

"I have an offer and back-up offer on your apartment. The offer is above your asking price."

"Oh that's great; it's my lucky day, isn't it. Is Sam listening?"

"No, I'm phoning on the street. I couldn't discuss your apartment sale within his hearing."

"Right, well you can expect a bonus from me for your efforts."

There was a pause -- despite the noise around him Ryan could hear Jill's breathing. "You know what I want from you."

Maggie was only a couple of yards away, so Ryan turned his back and replied, "Jill, you know the answer -- you are a married woman: regrettably my answer remains the same, no, and remember I'm now married."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that -- I've no desire to do the dirty on Maggie."

"Right -- that issue is now buried!"

"I suppose so."

"Jill!"

"Yes."

"Good, come on down and I'll hug and kiss you, but only in front of Maggie."

Ryan looked at his new wife; she was tipsy and radiant. He handed her phone back. "Jill has good news for you?"

"Yes, but you first."

"Maggie said I'll know in the morning -- the prospective buyers have agreed to pay the asking price subject to a building inspection that is booked for 9.00."

"That's great, wonderful. And there's more wonderful news: Jill is on her way here with an agreement for me to counter-sign -- it's above asking price because there was a rival purchaser but she didn't say how much and we now own the penthouse."

Maggie floated into her arms and began raining kisses on to Ryan's face. People around then laughed and then everyone began clapping and there was a call for a proper floor show; that call was taken up.

Everyone was so happy. 

The convivial atmosphere was repeated nine days later at the wedding breakfast despite a fight involving three of tele-ad women over their male supervisor. It was his wife who broke up the fight, knocking two of the women to the ground; the third fled to safety on the other side of the room. The man's wife appeared pleased that he was so popular.

An awkward almost a silence followed but the band began beating out 'Rock Around the Clock' to get dancing underway and it became a pleasant post-wedding celebration again. 

Ryan and Maggie left that night for five night's honeymoon at a luxury resort in Fiji, knowing they would come back to the grind of Ryan supervising activities at the new site as editorial would be shifting into its news offices the following Saturday while Maggie would be chairing an executive subcommittee preparing for the launching of the thrice weekly city newspaper into a six-day regional newspaper. 

Editorial department personnel were being doubled in numbers. Maggie and Ryan also had the prospect of shifting out of their apartments at the end of the month into their penthouse which was already being furnished principally to Maggie's tastes but she was careful to consult, Ryan had noticed.

Everything seemed to be going along so well is almost seemed too good to be true.

TO BE CONTINUED... 



You're Worth Dying For Ch. 03



SO FAR: Ryan and Maggie decide on a near-instant wedding in a private ceremony and honeymoon five nights in Fiji before returning to supervise the transformation of the publishing company into a much larger enterprise.

General manager Angus McCrum was called into the boardroom of the Melbourne-based South Pacific Magazine and Provincial Newspaper Publishing Company to be told by the company chairman he would be sent to New Zealand to investigate a possible acquisitions – the Pukekura Printing Company, based in Southgate just south of Auckland City.

"Why that company, Sir Gerald?"

Gerald looked at the chief executive Ross Abbott, who answered.

"We're looking for a toehold to develop a New Zealand presence in publishing and that company looks the most promising target. The company is innovative, having just relocated all of its facilities to new premises with new presses and had expanded its thrice weekly Echo into a regional newspaper and despite toe-to-toe battling by its two big city dailies on either side of its territorial is building circulation at their expense. We intend closing the newspaper down and printing New Zealand editions of our magazines on those presses. Its commercial printing operation has just won a national award as Commercial Printer of the Year in the top division of turnover of $10 million-plus – that's Kiwi dollars. But before we move in on them we want you to check out the company."

"I see, knock on the door and say 'Hi, I'm a business spy from Australia who wants all your secrets before my bosses roll your company over."

"Very droll, McCrum," said Sir Gerald Ashton-Forbes. "Your wife was a Holbrow."

"Yes," Angus said in surprise."

"It says that on you personal file. We've had Gillian in HR do some research, and find that Midge is a distant cousin of a Mrs Harriet Holbrow, whose daughter just happens to be executive chairman of our target company. Enough said?"

"Yes Sir Gerald. I've never hear Midge mention a relative in New Zealand named Harriet so I guess they're 'lost relatives'. So Midge writes to her revealing this and saying she and her husband, who is a newspaper executive, are intending to visit Auckland for a week and would like to meet this Harriet. Enough said."

Sir Gerald said to his CEO, "You were correct in saying there are no flies on Angus. Brief Midge and tell her to keep her trap closed, Angus, and have her get that letter rather than an email away, tonight if possible. Gillian has already sent her file including address and family history through to your computer. Unlock the booze cupboard Ross – join us for a drink, Angus."

Angus and Midge (Michelle) were met at Auckland Airport by the excited Harriet and a younger friend who, astonishingly, was introduced as her daughter Maggie. Angus (39) realized this slip of a woman was the executive chairman of the target company. He licked his lips: he'd have her in bed and she'd be spilling all the information he required before she could say what a wonderful lover he was.

"Great to meet you, Maggie," he oozed. "Are you a professional model?"

"I don't think so although I'm not sure what I really am," was the confusing reply.

"Angus means do you model clothes or pose nude for arts students," Midge entered the exchanged, attempting to mediate.

"Pardon me, Midge," smiled Maggie. "You'll find some Kiwis have a weird sense of humor."

In correspondence the arrangements were Harriet would host them but to Angus's delight Harriet said they it had been decided they would be more comfortable staying with Maggie in her huge penthouse along with husband Ryan. Angus knew from the file on Harriet that Harriet's daughter had recently married a Ryan de Lacey.

Angus almost wet himself when Harriet remarked, "Ryan is chief executive at the company Maggie works with. Angus excused himself and hurried off to a quiet corner and phoned his boss Ross Abbott.

"Ross, you're going to be blown away by this. This Maggie woman looks like a Barbie doll, blonde, soft and cuddle and rather perforated in the head I'd say. But the sensational news is her husband is chief executive of the company and Midge and I will be staying in their home for at least three nights. Imagine what the conversations are doing to be when Midge tells them at the appropriate time that before she married me she was editor of a country newspaper and I work for her grandfather who controls a newspaper and magazine empire."

"They'll be gob smacked?"

"Yes, and..."

"They'll be excited and invited you two to tour their entire operation."

"Right. Dead easy, huh?"

"It certainly looks like it Angus but don't over-step your brief. If you conclude the business is a ripe plum ready for the picking and these two influential officers say anything to hint they are thinking of moving on or the company is starved of capital then phone me. Gerald and I will rush to your side and commence negotiations."

"My side? You mean I'll be in the negotiating team."

"Hell yes; you'll have their confidence pal. Keep up the good work and keep in touch."

Angus felt he was seven feet tall as he rejoined the others to find Harriet and Midge talking about their mutual relatives in England.

* * * *

At the penthouse Harriet was making coffee while Maggie was helping Angus with the luggage and invited him to choose any one of the four guest bedrooms.

Midge was standing beside Ryan thinking Angus had instructed her to really befriend Ryan. She grasped Ryan's arm and cooed, "Gosh you are so tall and so handsome."

"It runs in the family."

They were looking out at the view. "You can't be speaking about the women – handsome doesn't apply to women."

"Oh yes it does. You'll find it referred detailed in dictionaries as a woman who looks dignified and it is splattered through literature, thought not so much these days. J B Priestley used it."

"Oh, Ryan – you are so knowledgeable. Those things in the distant – are they cows? I'm not sure if we have them in Australia as I rarely get out of the cities."

"Yes, they are Friesian milking cows and you do have dairy cattle in Australia. I believe you have more than two million of them."

"Really? Um, Ryan, could you take me out for a walk in the woods tomorrow – alone?"

"If you want to be alone then I can't accompany you."

"I mean just you and me."

"Whatever for?"

"Just so I can get to know you better?"

"You mean carnally?"

Midge flushed deeply. "I wasn't thinking about THAT, but I'll think about that if you wish."

"I think I shouldn't think about that. Ah, here comes coffee. Harriet, Midge wants to go for a walk in the woods tomorrow. Do we have any woods?"

"She'll mean the bush or a forest darling. Why don't you take her across the river to Shepherd's Bush – it's much more isolated so she'll have the chance of seeing a lot more birdlife."

"That sounds lovely, Harriet. Thank you for suggesting that to Ryan."

"Ah, it may rain tomorrow."

"Nonsense, Ryan. The forecast for the next three days is for fine weather. I suggest you take a refreshments and a rug and have a picnic with heaps of birdlife all around you. Midge, if you let go of Ryan's arm you can take this coffee I've made for you."


Unpacking in the bedroom, Angus asked, "Any joy with Ryan?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk business. He seemed intent on taking me somewhere tomorrow."

"Oh really, that's promising. Where, shopping?"

Midge told him not to be an idiot; he wanted to show her the local countryside. "Any opportunity of achieving a breakthrough will be spoiled if you and the others come with us."

Angus said her heard Maggie telling her mother they should take the visitors to Hamilton City in the morning – she needed to collect from cushions she'd ordered and the mirrors that had arrived from Italy.

"God this apartment is glorious," Midge said. "I thought Maggie must have had consultants in from Melbourne or Sydney but she'd done it all herself with help from the proprietress of a local furnishings shop who until five years ago worked on her husband's farm."

"So what's great about that – anyone can slap a bit of paint around and spend thousands prettying up the place."

Midge sighed and rolled her eyes.

"All right, I guess it takes some flair, like in car design. Listen, I'll suggest to the other two I'll go with them to Hamilton but you don't want to go because you have other plans. Do you think they'll buy that?"

"Yes, if you say it casually, without any sense of drama. Look, we'll be visiting a park I think. What say he comes on to me?"

"Go all the way of course, and then pump him to find out if he's happy working there and if he sounds doubtful suggest I could get him an equitable job in Melbourne."

"What kind of job is that?"

"Equitable means...oh never mind. Anyway, Ryan's not likely to look at you, not considering what he's banging away at home."

"Don't be nasty. You say I do better blow jobs that any other women you know. Are you having an affair, Angus?"

"Of course not, I promised to be true to you, remember. Our agreement is we'll indulge only in one-off casual bangs."

"I love you Angus."

"Oh, that's handy Midge. Give me a kiss."

* * * *

In bed that night Ryan asked what Maggie thought of her cousin.

"She's lovely, a touch naïve and obviously she deeply attached to Angus although they're been married several years."

Ryan earned a dig in the ribs for suggesting Midge knew how to look after her master. They then discussed Angus.

"I don't really fancy men who undress me but he knows how to turn on the charm. He's asked if he could tour our establishment and perhaps learn something of our methods; I thought that was rather rude."

"Rude? He's in publishing."

"I know, but he could have waited to be asked."

"Oh, I see what you mean. Yeah, he is a touch aggressive; a brash Australians, eh?"

"Well, I'm just delighted to have one more relative on this side of the world and you heard her over dinner last night she can't wait to take me shopping in Melbourne. I've shopped there before with mother but as Midge says we would not have found where people in the know go to shop. Really, she is very sweet."

"Hmmm."

"What does that mean?"

Ryan said he'd rather not say at the moment. Something was nagging at him, that's all.

He was told to pull his head in; that it was just jealousy as she'd found a lost relative and he hadn't. Ryan muttered something she didn't catch and didn't bother asking him to repeat. It was "Take more care in judging character." 

Next morning dawned fine and over breakfast Maggie said her mother would arrive around nine to take her to Hamilton in her larger car to pick up some furnishings for Maggie. "Please come with us; it's worth a visit."

"Right, thanks," said Angus. "What about you, Midge?"

"Oh, I think I'll have a bath and do my hair."

Maggie worried that Midge would be all alone. "Ryan, you come home at midday and take Midge somewhere lovely for lunch."

"I guess I can do that," Ryan said almost unhappily.

He arrived home at midday to find Midge looking sexy and excited with a picnic hamper packed."

"I bought goodies at your local shops – they're really good. But I couldn't find a rug."

"What do we need a rug for?"

"To avoid grass-stains when we sit eating our lunch, silly," she laughed, adjusting her gaping top, closing it actually, knowing she was being watched.

Ryan went off to fetch the rug in the hall cupboard where she'd found it an hour earlier.

At Shepherd's Bush Midge handed Ryan a bottle of sparkling Australian wine to open.

"It's cheap but does the trick."

He asked what trick was that, but she didn't reply, turning to hide her blush.

After lunch she undid the two higher buttons of her top and lay back beside him, looking up into the tree tops at two wood pigeons. Her hand came into his but rather than wait for half a second and casually draw away he squeezed her fingers.

"This is so romantic here," she sighed. "Do you like me, Ryan; I mean really like me?"

He held his breath in dismay, realizing this wasn't a bird watching expedition, that he'd been expertly compromised.

Apparently taking his silence as male inadequacy at emoting, she fumbled for his zip.

Ryan jumped his feet as if she'd screamed rape – he was red-faced and looking a little terrorized.

"I-I must get back to work."

"Oh well, some other time them," she said airily, poking her breasts back into her dress; for the first time Ryan was aware she was bra-less.

"I'll take all of these things and the rubbish," he said, stuffing everything into the chilly-bin and basket. "You grab the rug."

As they drove off Midge sat forward in her seat and turning looked at him with her bottom lip poking out. "Tell me you're not interested in me and I'll cry."

Back in emotional control after being ambushed, he smiled kindly and said, "Oh you're a very interesting woman, Midge."

That seemed to satisfy her

She settled back into her seat and said, "I know this sounds a mite personal, but how often do you and Maggie have sex?"

Ryan grinned, not at all in danger of steering off the road and crashing. Now he knew she was a descendant of Australian bushrangers, he'd enjoy this conversation and fanaticize a bit.

"Well, this conversation is just between you and me, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, I can tell you whenever I see her bending over dusting or hosing my car in those cute cut-offs of hers, she's not safe and usually gets it."

"Oooh," breathed Midge. "Tell me more."

While Midge failed in her mission Angus's mission resulted in a gusher. As soon as Harriet powered the vehicle away he said, "Tell me a bit about your company, Maggie."

"I thought you'd be interested," she said. "I bought this for your – is our company profile that I produced recently. Everything is current except you must add twelve and a half percent increase to circulation figures for weekday sales of the Echo and twenty-three percent increase to the Saturday weekender sales."

"But I imagined you would be struggling, with the two city dailies throwing everything at you to send you under."

"A pertinent observation, Angus but they're thrown money and other resources into their extermination campaign but, I would think, without working up any strategies."

"But you did?"

"Yes, apart from our editor driving to produce superior local news I devised a marketing plan aimed at saturating the outlying districts with information about our plans and aspirations, with heavy emphasis on winning the hearts and minds of local people to support a newspaper that was as locally based as they were."

"Well I never; so it's working. In our view the village mentality of communities has gone; people recognize the whole world is now a village."

"Pretty philosophy, Angus, but it should be flushed down the toilet if your aim is to make money. Most people are small thinkers so our underpinning philosophy is simply, Think Local, Think Small."

"Jesus."

Harriet laughed. "No, it's just my daughter, Angus. She began life as a gifted child building a working community with her dolls rather than simply dressing them and sitting them in rows."

At the first opportunity Angus phoned Melbourne.

"Hi, Angus," said the CEO Ross Abbott. "I have Sir Gerald with me – just a tick while I switch to speaker phone. Okay, shoot."

"I've gathered a goldmine of information. Midge is down at a computer bureau scanning the pages of the company profile now, so you should have the file downloading to you within the next fifteen minutes, Ross. But then I hit the jackpot. Over lunch the little innocent just open and shut her mouth to answer every question I tossed at her – completely confidential information of corporate earnings, expenses and bottom line results after tax. She has everything in her head, though the figures are rounded, of course. Then late this afternoon she took me through their facilities. You guys, it's a model for the publishing industry, unbelievable."

"Excellent work, Angus," said Sir Gerald. "I was confident you'd do well but the speed in which you have achieved your goals is quite astonishing. The one thing you haven't mentioned is company indebtedness."

"She was a little vague on that because with so much activity going on, bridging finance being paid off, claims against the contractors, bonuses earned by contractors and disputed accounts on either side the financial situation is rather fluid at the moment but she said that total liabilities were well within the margins for astute business practice and a percentage of increased revenues was already reducing substantially the bridging loans taken out to cover the cost of fitting out the new buildings and relocation expenses. The new premises have been sold to the investment arm of an Australasian insurance company, effective at the end of this month, with lease-back arrangements for twenty-one years."

"This really sounds like that over-ripe plum we spoke about."

"It certainly is, Sir Gerald." 

"Keep on the case, my boy. I shall call her shortly asking for a meeting. We may be over there with you as early as tomorrow. That is all."

* * * 

Maggie was delighted that their Australian guest was so interested in her business enterprise. She beamed over his praise for her company profile that she'd designed, cover to cover and wrote without anyone's direct input. She'd regarded that project as her baby.

Harriet excused herself as soon as she's finished her lunch at the restaurant and went off to visit a friend. Maggie asked Angus if he'd like another glass of wine and he suggested they get a bottle as the Central Otago pinot noir was a great drop. She giggled and ordered.

They were sitting under an umbrella, looking out over the river. It was a seductive spot. Maggie was conscious she was being undressed again and automatically lifted her chest a little to give him a better view; she was in that kind of mind and feeling safe as nothing could happen because Harriet was with them.

She looked down, feeling slightly embarrassed that her nipples had firmed and were looking...er...rather prominent. His eyes fixed on them and he began asking questions about the company's finances. It was a private company so the information was not published, but he was interested and he being in possession of that information would do no harm; in fact if it leaked to the opposition it might rock their confidence as she'd been told that the Herald and Times both assumed the Echo was in a shaky position financially because building and relocation costs had ballooned. 

Maggie had smiled saying that was good old journalists' gossip. The truth was thanks to Ryan's management pressures the construction firm's had come in under budget and ahead of schedule thereby earning bonuses and through detailed planning and hard bargaining with contract prices Ryan was confident they'd shave forty percent off the consultants' estimates for the costs of relocation.

She lost interest as Angus droned on about his company. Feeling sexy she recalled reading somewhere that the size of a man's thingy was proportionate to his nose and noted Angus had a big nose. She wondered if Midge found him satisfactory in bed and then thought about that ridiculous penis to nose comparison – female journalists' gossip, no doubt. No doubt it was hypothetical twaddle – either that or perhaps the female journalists had gone to bed with a ruler and pooled their findings. She became aware Angus was rubbing his nose and curbed a violet urge to giggle; gawd, she was half-inebriated! No doubt wine from last night was still sloshing about in her blood stream, waiting to be processed into waste for output. 

She giggled. Angus drew a thumb and forefinger down his nose and then did it again; the word hysterics leaped into her mind and she cried, "Oh Angus, I'm sorry, what were you saying – I wasn't laughing at you it was just something I'd read about once."




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 03



"What was that?"

Oh no, why did you have to ask that? "I don't think you'd be particularly interested; it concerns menstruation."

His eyes rolled up and his hand grabbed his wineglass. "I noticed in the company profile you and your bank each hold twenty-seven percent of the stock and between them Ryan and your mother hold fifteen percent, making a total of six-nine percent. In boardroom voting on major financial decisions, changes to the constitution and the like, what voting majority is required to carry the day."

"Seventy-five percent," Maggie replied, suddenly conscious of being mentally seduced.

"Who are those other shareholders?"

"Company executives; you'll find that information in the profile when you have time to read it properly. It was a management buyout and our bank came to the party to bridge the gap to complete the purchase. It gave us the option of advancing a loan or buying shares – we chose the later to avoid increasing debt. Are you a business spy?"

Angus attempted to look shocked but really didn't have to try; she was on to him but how the fuck had she managed that? "No, not at all," he lied. "When I was in the restroom I took a call from my CEO who wanted some important information. He then asked me how was the holiday going and I told him about my surprise at finding how you and Ryan were running a top-line operation with everything new except for the commercial printing division which already had been modernized."

Angus topped up their glasses. "Out of the blue he asked me what your presses were like. I told Ross the details and he said the board had decided yesterday to look for a partner in New Zealand to print local-content editions of our top-line magazines and had decided to look at a firm in Christchurch and one in Napier. He then suggested they also look at your set-up and asked me to find if your company was financially sound."

"Is that all, Angus?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me your reason for asking me for information?"

"Because until I knew whether you had press capacity and were financially sound it didn't seem any point of suggesting you were in line to get contract work until you company emerged as a good prospect."

"Well, I don't agree with that. I think it was sneaky."

"That's how business is done, Maggie; you play your aces last."

Maggie sighed, now thinking his nose looked long because he was a liar. "I suppose you're right." She signaled the waitress to bring the bill. "I'll pay, Maggie," Angus said, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I can put it on expenses as I suspect my boss will be phoning you any time soon."

"Okay, Angus. I'm sorry I snapped at you. As a businesswoman I ought not to allow my personal feelings to interfere with business opportunities."

Angus felt deflated, knowing she'd now semi-distrusted him. How was he to know she was a lot smarter than he thought she'd be? It was possible Ross would have a tough time ripping off Maggie and Ryan.

"A kiss would make me feel forgiven," Angus suggested; it was the wine talking.

Her familiar smile was back. "You rotten sod, your great Australian white shark. I'm not allowing you near me."

How does one answer that? "Oh come on, Maggie, I was only asking for a kiss, not to paw that great body of yours."

"Ah yes, may I ask you to mentally undress me a little less; it is rather embarrassing being declothed because you do it so intently."

"Oh gawd, I'm that obvious, am I."

"Very. But here, come and kiss but don't paw me; if you do I'll knee you."

Angus paid the bill and they walked to the parking lot to find Harriet waiting, reading a magazine. "I've been back here quite a while as Nancy was hosting a fund-raising lunch so could only spare me a few minutes. I decided to leave you two talking as you appear to be getting along so well."

"She called me a great white Australian shark."

"Good gracious, what have you being doing to my daughter to raise that kind of remark from her young man?"

"Nothing, just business talk really. You should have rejoined us; I find you rather interesting."

"Really," was all Harriet said, but it was her tone that caused Maggie, standing a little behind Angus to raise her eyebrows hugely. Harriet spotted that and blushed.

Maggie said, "You sit in the front, Angus. I think I'll stretch out in the back. You two have so much in common that I must encourage a closer union."

"What do we have in common expect being nice persons, Maggie?"

"If you try hard enough Angus you'll find out. Mother loves talking about sex."

"In another life my daughter was a female assassin," Harriet laughed, not at all put out. "You sit beside me and talk about anything that takes your fancy Angus."

Ten minutes later Ross Abbott phoned. The call ended with Maggie offering to pick them up at Auckland International Airport at 10:00 in the morning.

"No, Hamilton Airport please. We'll arrive on a small jet charter."

Putting her phone away Maggie said, "Angus you snake, you haven't be straight with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Your company already has you, its general manager, here on the spot so I ask myself why would your CEO speak to me so suavely and be taking the expensive option of flying in by charter jet and accompanied by his company chairman?"

"Er, it's the way they do business, time being a value commodity."

"Angus, you are a dingo. The name of your chairman is Sir Gerald Ashton-Forbes; I happen to know the magazines I read consistently refer to Sir Gerald as a media mogul. He's coming here to gobble us up, isn't he, you snake?"

"Maggie, believe me, this thing has grown out of all proportion. The company truly does want to establish a printing operation in this country, but it can do that by way of a simple business contact."

"Hmmm. That could be true and they're racked up the concept since you came over here. Whatever, you can stay with us because Midge truly is my cousin; I called my father and he knows her parents well as he's hosted them a couple of times. Everything he told me about Midge stacks up except for one thing."

Maggie paused and the tension grew.

"What was that darling?" asked Harriet.

"That Midge married a snake."

"Gawd, Maggie, I don't know how my bosses are going to cope with you."

"Huh, not only her Angus; if Ryan doesn't like your bosses or worst of all, dislikes what they propose, be prepared for hard counter-punching."

"What are you talking about Harriet? Ryan will do what is best for me."

"Oh yeah," laughed Harriet. "Darling, you've always had difficulty reading the character of males. Some of them have wider interests than just sex and sports; you have chosen to marry one of those exceptions."

"Mother, you scarcely know Ryan – I work and live with him."

"Whatever you say dear, but don't blindly count on his support if any proposal gets to the boardroom as a result of this visit by these Australians. Talking of snakes, do you have a snake in your trousers Angus? That remark shocked Angus and Maggie but Harriet reacted with great hilarity.

"Please excuse my mother, Angus – she had a difficult childhood and remains in that stage of human development."

Angus remained too embarrassed to comment.

When Ryan arrived home Maggie took him to their bedroom for a quiet talk.

"Did you have sex?"

"No, did you?"

"No, but was it offered?"

Ryan grinned. "Yes, she fancies herself as a seductress. How about you?"

"He was powered up, ready to jump me as soon as I winked at him or raised my hem."

"Sexy guy."

"Indeed, a snake and Harriet actually asked him if he had a snake in his trousers."

"What!"

"You know Harriet."

Maggie retrieved the two cocktails she had waiting on the dresser, and handed one to Ryan. "I have a story about today to tell you, so fasten your seatbelt and listen."

Ryan listened and when she'd finished had one word to say, "Jesus."

"It's not nice using that work like that, Ryan."

"Agreed but why the fuck are they still in this apartment?"

"Please cool down – here, let me massage your neck. Cor, it's all knotted. I'll work on it; I promise it's not a prelude to sex...unless you want to."

"No I don't – why didn't you kick them out, the yellow-bellied slippery dingoes."

"Come on darling, don't be cross. Midge is my cousin."

"I bet you she's not, I bet you..."

"I phoned father; he knows about her and knows her parents. He told me I also have cousins in South Africa and several in American."

"I see, that sounds better. I'm just going to kiss your shoulders – they really are loosening up. But this doesn't mean sex...not unless you want to."

"Listen Mrs Chairman – I promise not to take a position until all the washing is hung out."

"What?"

"It's a business term."

"I've never hear of it."

"Are we arguing?"

"Not unless you want to."

"I'd rather have sex than argue."

"What a refreshing thought, allow me to unfasten your buckle."

"Sorry dear, we have guests and you did invite Harriet to stay on for dinner."

* * *

Quite a crowd had gathered at Hamilton Airport as the sleek jet of Digger Airlines of Australia landed. 

Ryan received permission to drive on to the tarmac to offload what the security officer called "Our distinguished visitors from Melbourne" and greetings were exchanged quickly, the two chairmen sitting in the back seat, Ross seated alongside Ryan.

Maggie said, "My father has met you a few times at cricket and official functions, Sir Gerald."

"Yes, dear, but please call me Gerald. As your father knows once you step outside of Europe, titles count for nothing except in India of course."

"Yes, I've heard him say that. Gerald, I guess you are running to a timetable. So let's get down to it; are you here to negotiate a joint venture or is your visit predatory?"

"My dear, for one so young and so pretty you have rather a sharp tongue."

"Gerald, answer the question."

Sir Gerald looked uncomfortable. "Ross?"

"Maggie," Ross smoothed. "We'd like to tour the facilities to check of what we've been told then over lunch we'd like to commence discussions, outlining our requirements and you outlining your company's hopes and aspirations to see whether or not we have a mutually acceptable fit."

"We'll show you through, Ross," Maggie said, but in the boardroom we expect straight-talking – not the mealy-mouth crap you just uttered."

"Yes ma'am," he said.

"Right, thank you. We will tour the divisions then move to the boardroom for lunch. We have thirteen stockholders of whom seven comprise the elected board. I've invited all thirteen to the lunch because any substantial change to the company requires seventy-five percent approval of stockholders weighed to the number of shares they hold. Is that clear to you?"

"Very clear, Maggie, and how thoughtful of you to arrange this to expedite a decision," said Sir Gerald. "We are delighted to have the opportunity to put any tentative proposals to your stockholders. We also ask that Angus be permitted to sit alongside us as our on-site adviser together with our legal representative who should be at your offices now."

"Of course," Maggie said. 

* * *

Sir Gerald was applauded as he entered the boardroom beside Maggie.

"My word, the natives are receptive," he whispered.

Maggie smiled as although she knew he was an arrogant, single-focused businessman out to dominate, he'd been courteous to her and had a great sense of humor.

After lunch served with beer and top Hawkes Bay wines the business session commenced. The only stockholder missing was Mrs White, who'd sold the business but held a four percent stockholding to maintain an interest. 

The meeting was underway when she arrived and in a loud voice told the catering staff to halt clearing away until she filled her plate and secured a glass of red wine. She appeared not to have shaven straggly hair on her face, combed her hair or changed into her best clothes. Nevertheless Ryan shifted everyone down one seat on his side of the table to provide her a seat next to him and warmly introduced her to the visiting delegation.

"Should we wait until you finish eating, Mrs White?" Maggie enquired.

"No, I can hear while I'm chewing – these new dentures don't click like the old ones." 

Maggie opened the meeting and explained the business operations of the Australians and said Sir Gerald had asked her to table two proposals on their behalf.

The first was the two media companies enter a join venture to have the New Zealand editions of its magazines printed on the Echopresses. "This could be very lucrative for our company," Maggie said, bringing smiles to faces.

"The other proposal is our Australian cousins may consider buying you all out, discontinuing publication of the Echo and directly controlling the growth of its operations in New Zealand through this acquisition. I have been advised that all jobs in commercial printing will be retained but approximately sixty percent of editorial jobs will be axed."

People in the room looked uneasy as if wondering what was in it for them.

"I shall now ask Sir Gerald to address you, detailing proposals and which one he favors. Sir Gerald."

"Good afternoon everyone. I'll simply give you our proposal for an outright acquisition to debate and arrive at your decision. We are offering $NZ4.00 for each share with a face value of 50c which places a value on your company of $NZ 28,000,000. Take it or leave it. Thank you."

As they say, his audience sat momentarily stunned.

A robust debate followed. Maggie did not participate, reserving her position until last. The meeting appeared roughly divided by a faction led by Ryan calling for a rejection of the offer and any other offer except a printing contract of New Zealand editions of the Australian magazines.

"It such a contract is not forthcoming, so be it," he said.

The opposing faction led by the eloquent chief reader, a retired headmaster aged seventy-five, supported acceptance of the offer "which is forty percent above the valuation of our company presented six months ago."

A comfort stop was called at 3:30 and Maggie drew Ryan aside. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked brightly. "This sale would set Harriet up for life and give you and me an impressive war chest to revive another but bigger company and continue on our way to becoming multi-millionaires."

"I hear you Maggie, but now you listen. I quote, page two of your company profile distributed to every postal address in the city and throughout are targeted circulation area:

"The company has a dream: to support its community of subscribers to the Echo through thick and thin; to help in the generation of wealth to businesses and individual through dynamic advertising and providing up to 250 jobs, many of which will support families. The aim of the Echo is to give this region of hours an independent and local voice that will echo over the city and environs from the hills."

"Yes, I wrote that, but circumstances have changed."

"They may have changed for we stockholders, Maggie, but not to everyone out there. Acceptance of this enormously attractive offer for the Australians will turn the dream expressed for the community via the Echo will turn into a lie. In accepting this offer to knee-cap the Echo will be an act of treachery far greater than you can imagine."

"Bullshit, Ryan, get real. I want you to back me; I'm all for the sale. When the vote is taken you better support me."

They returned to the meeting to be confronted by a mix of grim and elated faces. Clearly there was a split.

The debate dragged on. In wrapping it up, Sir Gerald recapped then Ryan was invited to say a few words.

"I'll be brief. Don't sell out on the community and remember our ideals when we went into this. Vote no."

"Guys and girls," said Maggie. "Most of us worked our guts out to turn this company around. Our reward now confronts us. If the new owners see the need to provide the city with a community newspaper they'll do it if they see it as a profitable venture. The time has come to walk away with a fat profit in reward for your hard work and the risks you took in investing to turning an ailing operation around. Vote yes."

The vote was taken as a show of hands and the 'yes' faction had seventy-three percent of the vote, just two from the target. 

"We seem to be one vote short," Maggie said. "I've recorded sixteen votes." She looked down the list and said smiling, Mrs White, you haven't voted. Are you abstaining?"

"On no, I had a piece of walnut under my dental plate and missed the opportunity to vote. Am I too late?"

"No, I hadn't declared the result; which way do you vote?"

"I'm vote against."

Maggie looked devastated. "Do you understand what you are doing, Mrs White. A vote Yes supports the takeover proposal; a vote no from you scuttles it."

"Yes, I understand clearly Maggie. I have no desire for a bunch of Australians to own our community business; it wasn't established and built up for them. I'm surprised you didn't see it that way when you voted yes."

Maggie looked pained when she announced, "Well thank you everyone. The status quo remains."

Maggie said to Sir Gerald, "I'm ready to run you back to the airport."

"No thank you Maggie. "Ross already has called a hire car we already had on standby in case this unlikely result occurred. We realized we're never going to win them all. Come and see me in Melbourne in the next week or so – I would like to talk to you about heading our acquisition team."

Maggie arrived home late and announced bitterly to Ryan she'd sleep in one of the guest rooms. She cried herself to sleep and awoke a couple of hours later feeling a little better. She went to wake Ryan to see if he wanted a snack but he was not in bed. The wardrobe was partly open and checking she found three of his suits and some casual clothes had gone. In the kitchen she found a letter.

Dear Maggie I'm moving out. I suggest you resign as company chairman as the majority of us feel you have let us down tremendously. Most of those who supported the sale proposal would have surely done so out of greed. You did it as an act of abandonment, using your time with the company purely as a stepping stone. However, appreciation of your huge effort to turn the company around and back into impressive profitability will long be remembered. If you can't accept my stance on this, then divorce me.

Ryan

Maggie tore the note to shreds, screaming, "The bastard, the bastard – how could he do this to me." She was too angry to cry.

It was 10:45 but she phoned Harriet.

"He's left you."

Maggie couldn't believe her ears. "How on earth could you know that?"

"One, because he had good reason and two, because you don't call me at this time of night to talk about mundane matters. I thought the trouble with you was your immaturity when it came to reading people; but you don't even have the faintest idea what community is about."

"I do so, Maggie said defiantly."

"Oh, let us put that to test: You are a member of how many local organizations?"

"None, I don't have the time."

"What is your regular restaurant?"

"Mother, I didn't phone you to play games."

"Come on, answer me."

"I tend to drift around."

"Why do you have your meat couriered from Ponsonby?"

"Because our local butchers' meat is not always prime."

"Then why don't you tell your butcher you'll pay a premium if he provides you with prime cuts?"

"Because it's easier not to bother and get it from a butcher who only sells prime meat. What's the point, mum?"

"I've made my point gently, darling. You are not really involved in your community and you don't understand the need for that. Ivan Cook, your local butcher, is struggling to make ends meet because his parents are both cot cases but refuse to go into a nursing home, so he's paying for twenty-four hour care for them as well as paying for the running of their household while struggling to ensure his two daughters can remain at boarding school in Auckland; they seek high quality education because one wants to be a doctor, the other a lawyer."




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 03



Harriet waited for a response; it came a little slower and without aggression this time.

"What a hero he is," Maggie said in a small voice. "I've been so self-centered mum; have I always been like this?"

"I think the first signs showed before you turned two."

"Oh mum, I'm ever so sorry. I was just being me and you never gave me any bother."

"True, but I guess now we both think I should have being more of a guiding parent."

"Mum?"

"He'll be in a motel. You could go looking until you see his car, then go in and say you're so sorry."

Maggie fought back the tears. "But you think I shouldn't do that?"

"Think hard, Maggie. "Try to listen to your inner-self."

Maggie tried and didn't like the thoughts rattling her mind. "I should rant and rave and try to emerge as a more thoughtful person. I should leave him alone to get on with running the company, not go near the place. I should wait here until he comes for me."

"Darling, that brain of yours works beautiful in which ever direction you point it; I'm so proud of you. Yes, that's more or less what I would do. I'll bring lunch for us tomorrow. You stay in bed and have a mental holiday."

"You said that's more of less what you'd do. What would you do?"

"I'd prefer not telling you darling; we're all different and people expect us to act differently. Just do what your instinct tells you – not everything is driven by applied intelligence."

"I'm feeling better, mum. You've rarely talked with me like this."

"That's because I've usually been expected to listen. Consider yourself on a new learning curve darling. Rule number one: listen to other people, really listen. Go to bed now with a smile on your face."

Maggie laughed. "You used to say that to me when I was sad. There's not too much difference between being a little girl or a big girl when things go wrong, is it?"

"Indeed. Goodnight darling. Max is groaning to me to shut up."

"Tell Max I'll try to love him." 

Maggie hastily switched off her phone, wondering what on earth had made her say that; her stepfather was little short of being a beast. Then she recalled in that split second after she said that, hearing her mother's sharp intake of breath: that wasn't an unhappy sound, no way.

"I'm trying to be community," Maggie half-sung as she went lightly to the kitchen to make a sandwich to take to eat in her lonely bed.

Early next morning Maggie phoned her PA and advised Cathie she wouldn't be showing up at work for a while until things settled down. She briefed Cathie about the shareholder's meeting and told her to refer any matters of importance to Ryan. She could phone Maggie for information if necessary but not to explain her non-appearance to anyone; all she should say was Mrs de Lacey was not available this week. Cathie asked could she call in on the way home some evenings and Maggie said she'd welcome that.

Ryan had gone to a motel on the far side of the city feeling very unhappy; Maggie had attempted to shaft him and the company and its clientele without good reason. It was just a power thing with her; an opportunity had presented itself and she attempted to seize it and to move on to a bigger challenge. To hell with people; that was her attitude. 

The Australian Ross Abbott had said if the takeover proceeded he'd invite Ryan to join the corporate office team to be groomed as management trouble shooter as the success of turning around Maggie's company revealed his finger-prints everywhere. If that posting came about and Maggie was appointed acquisitions director, Ryan would probably take over each acquisition and adapt it to the group's culture. Ryan had made polite noises but he had no intention of working with Australians, at least not people like this mob; he wouldn't be a good fit.

At the apartment he suddenly felt he no longer had the desire to be in the company of Maggie. He suspected it would be a temporary thing but it would be sensible to clear out for a few days instead of rowing with her. He thought of resigning from his job but then decided he was needed as the split over the vote had indicated a split in company loyalty so he'd be needed to help mend fences. Or was that rebuild bridges?

When Maggie didn't appear at work he checked on her schedule with Cathie. He pushed hard but all Cathie would say was Maggie wouldn't be in this week and had asked her to refer any important matter to Ryan. He was impressed at the woman's sense of loyalty and wondered if Maggie appreciated that? Probably not; trust Maggie to have recognized the best PA in the establishment and taking her for herself. That was a bitchy thought, wasn't it? He sighed hoping no-one picked a fight with him as there'd be blood on the floor.

Michelle the graphic artist handed Ryan here new design of the masthead for the Echo – something that incredibly was overlooked in the push to expand its circulation. The updated artwork was excellent but he told her to scrap the new slogan: 'We Service Our Region'.

"Replace it with this, Michelle," he said, scribbling the motto he wanted, 'We Think Small; We Think Local'.

"Are you sure, Ryan," she said uncertainly. "Isn't everyone in power these days attempting to think big?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean they're right."

"Fine, I'll bring back a proof for you to authorize."

Ryan knew that Michelle lived at home; she's just gained her advance diploma in graphical arts. "Michelle – how many of your family live at home?"

"There are four of us."

"If it were possible, would you double the size of that number?"

"Oh goodness no, we like being a small unit, at least I do. We only have the one bath, so imagine lining up for a bath if there were eight of us." 

"Many of us have reason to think small, Michelle."

She looked at the motto. "You're a clever guy, Ryan."

That was a pleasing incident, but Ryan had an uncomfortable day and knew it painfully well; he missed his darling.

During a coffee break Ryan thought about her smile – the special smile she had for him; at least he'd not seen her smile with that soft intensity to anyone else. Their offices were next to each other so they should shout to one another or come together for a quiet chat over coffee, or leave to go to business meetings together. Those times were not always quite because she was rather a rowdy person – full if life, rich in personality. A cardboard cut-out she was not – that was him. He missed hearing her laugh and she was probably missing him. Why the hell had she brought this black cloud over them!

Well, she was to blame and when she was ready to apologize he'd listen and make up his mind when he'd go back to her. He couldn't help grinning; she'd only have to say 'Come' and he'd rush her like a dog called to eat. He loved her, he was so lucky to have her. Then the phone went and his mind was torn away from her; it was back to business.

* * * 

At first Maggie suffered horribly, racked with guilt and feeling imprisoned being up so high in the penthouse and alone. She tried watching TV but it was so banal with an intrusive ad about buying a set of kitchen knives that went on forever. It was only 9:30, too early to open the bar she thought and then scolded herself about blatantly intending to break her rule about never drinking alcohol alone. The rule was to help reduce her alcohol intake but the truth was she knew other people had a better sense of when to drink so she was riding on their back, so to speak.

As time dragged on she look at the time and remembered that the two commercial cleaners would arrive in another hour. Enthused about her idea she phoned their office and cancelled them, saying she was not requiring a refund as the cancellation was give late; it was only for this week. Maggie changed into her old gardening shorts – she no longer had a garden but used them to clean her car looking for scratches – and removed her top. Admiring her working woman in the mirror, in barefoot and clad only in shorts and bra – oh, panties of course – she tied a scarf around her hair and dragged out the hose, fitted it into one of the built-in suction outlets, and went to work; soon she was humming.

Harriet came with lunch and left early – a blessing really because she knew when to drink and arrived with a half bottle of divine light-alcohol French wine. Then Maggie was trapped in another depressing vacuum so tried TV again. The only half-decent thing to watch was a cartoon-type program for toddlers, about Mrs Frog telling Mr Frog he couldn't go to the frog games because he had to look after the baby as she was going to mother's club. "Puerile rubbish but beautifully drawn and great facial expressions," Maggie the armchair critic decided. But then realized she was watching an adult-conceived cartoon for young kiddies who were being unknowing immersed in moral teachings hidden under the entertaining story being screened. Mr Frog was loyal but he ended up going to watch the games, taking baby frog with him. A typical male solution, thought Maggie. Oh, they could use their brain when it suited them and she noted with a smile the credits revealed the program had been conceived, written and directed by a woman.

Dinner was hours away. What could she do? She decided to call Lillian Marks for a girl-to-girl chat but switched and phone Beth Trotter instead. She'd lunched a couple of times with Beth whom she met at the blind-date-for-Maggie dinner at Lillian's home and on the second occasion she'd taken her mother along and over the months Harriet and Beth had become friends.

Smart Beth caught the quaver in Maggie's voice and asked if she was all right.

"Not really, but I'll survive."

"Are you not at the office; the background seems awfully quiet."

"No, I'm at home. I was wondering if you had time to talk."

"Um, I'm off to the Pilates studio – I can give you five minutes."

"No, I need longer."

"I'm coming over."

"No you go to that thingy of yours; call here on the way home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well bye then, I'll see you in just over an hour."

Five minutes later the door bell went. Through the peep hole Maggie saw it was Beth and opened the door.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"I was doing the cleaning this morning and thought I would redo it again."

"Look, I have a visitors pass. Put on a T, tracksuit pants and sneakers – I'm taking you to Pilates."

"But..."

"Get dressed please, and hurry. They don't like you being late as it disrupts the rhythm of the class."

In the car Maggie said, "Thanks Beth, I needed saving."

"My God, Maggie, is this you talking, perhaps the most self-contained and assured woman I've ever met? Oh God, it's man trouble isn't it. But have faith; I understand more than eighty percent of them who run off with another woman..."

"It's not like that."

Beth reached for Maggie's hand. "Well leave that until we are sitting in front of the gin bottle, right?"

"What's Pilates?"

"Nice to have you back, Maggie. This afternoon I shall be doing floor-mat routines but the studio offers everything from weights to yoga. Midday through the session the instructress will invite you to go beside me and join in."

"Oh really?"

Beth laughed. "There's no other person I know who can say "Oh really?" with the variations of nuances you can put into saying those two words. Have you trained in theatre?"

"No, and I've never done exercise training before either."

"My girl, I see a whole new world opening up for you. Now this is very, very confidential – you are not to breathe a word, not even in your sleep."

"Okay."

"Promise."

"I promise," said Maggie feeling the anticipation sweeping through her and acknowledged her emotions had returned to her.

"With my total consent, Harriet took Philip away to a resort hotel for three nights and she brought him back a changed man."

"You didn't...you didn't allow your husband to be seduced by my mother. Beth, how could you?"

"Oh they had sex and Philip said she'd amazingly good and he'd been upgrading me on my techniques. But it's what she did to him mentally – she loosely called it 'reprogramming' but told me over lunch when reporting back to me she found very little to reprogram, that my husband's understanding of women was abysmal. For instance, he had no idea I was faking my orgasms just to make him feel better about myself and he had just assumed when he'd finished so had everyone else – I mean so had I."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, and she found he really had no sense of community, that he was just an island to himself."

"My mother said that?"

"Yes but primarily she taught him about how to react to me when I had mood swings – he'd always assumed a clip over the ear or at the very least a growling were needed to sort out that problem. As your mother put it to me, he assumed that women were basically like men but with enlarged breasts and no lower appendage and they didn't much like sport and regarded compulsive talking as an assert rather than being in need of a lobotomy.

"Lobotomy – my mother knows that word."

"Well, I'm not sure she did use it; I was just giving you the gist of what she said."

Maggie digested this and said, "How did you feel when you first met my mother again knowing she'd been repeatedly banging your husband?"

"Well, she was tight on the actual details about that, not even mentioning how many times they did it. But I guess I felt no more upset than when he'd return home smelling of another woman and I guess he felt the same knowing I'd been with another woman. But that's not correct, I felt more at ease, knowing he'd been receiving instruction."

Beth then confessed she appeared no longer interested in woman and had severed the bedtime relationship with her current new friend thought they still lunched together. "I seem satisfied at home now there's sex plus emotion plus tenderness," she said. "Philip's been a good boy and is allowing me to complete his education."

Pilates were an eye-opener for Maggie. She really hadn't been within a bunch of friendly, similar aged women – give or take ten years – since university days and had forgotten how it felt. Everyone greeted Beth with hand waves, huge smiles and a couple kissed her. Everyone seemed so friendly and they all gathered round to be introduced to Maggie, most of them knowing who she was through photographs of her in the social pages of the Echo and two of them had told her they knew she 'owned' the Echo. It astonished Maggie that none of them mentioned the much larger and very profitable commercial printing division.

Opening a new bottle of gin at the apartment, Maggie told Beth the afternoon had been a real bonus for her. She told Beth about the events leading up to the problem, and about the problem herself, but she no longer was desperate for advice. Her mother had already given her guidance and now she really realized she'd been pushed in the direction of finding her own solution. "My mother is really gifted," she said in awe.

"Bottoms up," Beth said lifting her glass.

"Oh really?

They rolled about cackling, trying desperately not to spill their drinks.

TO BE CONTINUED 



You're Worth Dying For Ch. 04



SO FAR: Maggie marries to become Mrs de Lacey but the honeymoon is scarcely over before she and Ryan are split over a major business decision with Ryan taking the moral high ground; he goes off to sleep at a motel. Gradually Maggie through the support of her mom realizes she has put self before community. In fact she accepts she has little knowledge of what community is all about so take times off to learn and to reflect. 

"Good morning Mrs de Lacey," greeted Ivan Cook the butcher brightly, his assistants eyeing the stunning blonde dress in black with her hair piled in a beehive, dark glasses hiding her blue eyes but highlighting the soft wide-mouth smile around the cherry-red lips.

"It's MM," said an older butcher's assistant, not bothering to lower his voice.

"You mean the candies?" queried a trainee.

"No you know-nothing idiot. Marilyn Monroe."

"Marilyn who?"

"Oh, go back to your Buffy the Vampire comics."

Maggie had been startled at being addressed by her name by Rex Cook.

"Call me Maggie, Rex. How is it that you know my name?"

"You saved our newspaper -- I'm a regular advertiser."

"Of course you are. But I'm also guilty of almost allowing it to fall into foreign hands. How are your parents?"

It was Rex's turn to look startled. "As well as expected, Maggie. They remain grateful that they still live in their own home."

"You deserve a medal, Rex. Look, I've been buying my meet from Prime Cuts in Auckland but would prefer to buy locally. Are you able to supply premium cuts -- I'm sorry to be a bother but as I only eat a small amount I do like quality; I'll happily pay a premium price."

"Of course Maggie; come through to the office and I'll introduce you to my wife Elaine. She'll assist identifying your requirements and you'll need only phone your order through two days before you need it. Six weeks ago I began buying in premium grade meats, mainly for women who have been caught up in this healthier living craze where eating right has become like possession of the Holy Grail, it seems to me."

They walked into the office. "Elaine, please meet Maggie de Lacey who wishes to become a premium grade customer. Maggie..."

"Hello Maggie -- I met you with your friend Beth yesterday. You're joining our Pilates class, aren't you? Run along Rex -- Maggie and I wish to chat."

Maggie left the butcher's shop feeling elated. She was on her way to the bank which would open in a few minutes. She ducked into a sports shop to purchase a Lycra body suit, with matching hair tie if she could get it.

"I'll serve Mrs de Lacey thank you Rebecca," said a plump unsporting looking woman who pushed forward.

"Do I know you?" Maggie asked. 

"No, but I know who you are, You own the Echo and I own this shop and the Chic Hairdressing Salon and Bette's Bakery so advertise in the Echo and have do so since the first issue. I'm Bette Zimmerman."

"Greetings, how nice to meet you."

Unaware of the trauma that awaited her, Maggie inspected body suits and was disappointed that the one she really liked didn't come with a head scarf.

"Take a look at this brochure, Maggie" said Bette as by now they'd exchanged names. "The importers are in Auckland and deal direct with us. If you find what you'd like I'll order it now."

"This one please. Could you ask for overnight delivery, I'll pay the courier cost?"

"Fine, but we don't charge for courier delivery on urgent orders. My Susan told me you were joining her Pilate's class."

"The instructress Susan, she's your daughter? Oh obviously."

"Yes, she's my youngest. She's just been made redundant but won't work for me as she wants to further her career in marketing."

Maggie reached into her handbag. "Here's my business card. Please ask Susan to arrange to call my husband..."

"Oh Ryan. I know him quite well. Do you think there may be an opening for at the newspaper? We recently discussed the need to strengthening marketing resources as we're intending to go into events sponsorship."

"Oh glory -- that's an area she loves. I'll phone her now to make the appointment and collect your card from me."

The doors to the bank were just closing after the last of a small group who'd been waiting outside entered.

"Hold the door for me," called Maggie happily, darting forward and just made it. The door closed behind her and she heard a bolt being rammed home. 

"On the floor lady," called a voice gruffly. 

Maggie turned and saw a fat man wearing a Mickey Mouse mask holding a shotgun pointing to the floor.

"Do what I ask bitch or I'll whack you with this."

Maggie sank to her knees, not feeling unduly fearful, muttering "You bastard."

"No, not there -- join those other morons. Are you stupid or something?"

Maggie climbed to her feet and walked around the corner where she saw a large group of people on their knees on the floor, hands on their heads. Two of the three women closest to Maggie were sobbing; the third, an elderly woman, smiled at Maggie. The man, a typically looking father of three -- what an absurd thought mused Maggie -- had his eyes shut and his mouth moved as if he were praying.

There was a crash in a side office and a skinny man holding a pistol came running out. He looked ridiculous in his Pluto mask.

"The bastard in there phoned the cops; I heard him talking to them. I clubbed him."

"Good work. Take over from Donald Duck in the manager's office; make sure everyone there lies face down on the floor."

Maggie knelt down between the two sobbing younger women. "Don't cry and don't be afraid," she soothed. "Just do exactly what they ask and it's unlikely you'll be hurt."

"I'm a mother, my baby is not yet six months old," sobbed one of them. 

"Crying won't get you home to your baby and it will make these robbers nervous. Be brave and calm; just don't look at them."

"Shut up bitch. I'm warning you Blondie -- open your mouth again and I'll whack you across that pretty face of yours."

"Why are we being held?" Maggie asked defiantly.

"Because the main safe is on a time lock that releases in another ten minutes, but didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"Yes sir."

Maggie placed her arms around the two women and felt their shaking begin to ease. 

"Hands on your head, Blondie."

Maggie defied the order.

"Well fuck you, be a lesbian show off if you want, but I'm keeping my eye on you; you're trouble."

A powerful looking man wearing a Donald Duck mask emerged from the manager's office. Was Donald the boss? But Mickey Mouse called to him, "Bring the guy Ba...I mean the guy Pluto slugged in the accountants' office to where I can keep an eye on him; he's trouble."

Donald dragged the accountant out of the office, leaving a trail of blood from a head wound. He dumped him in front of the kneeling customers and Maggie felt the young women she was comforting began to shake again. "It's all right; he looks okay." She hadn't a clue, really."

"What's his condition -- is he dead?" asked Mickey Mouse.

"No, but he'll having a fucking great headache to remember this day at the office," laughed Donald Duck. "Have the cops arrived."

"Yes, but a bit slow aren't they. They are probably bringing in Special Services guys by chopper."

"This means we switch to Plan B, eh?"

"It does."

There was a long silence, both robbers looking repeatedly at the wall clock. Maggie realized she and all the others around her were also clock watching.

At last Donald Duck was ordered to haul out the manager and hold he might have to soften him up a bit.

Donald frog-marched the manager to the safe. "Do I have to soften you up Mr Reynolds?

Mr Reynolds shook his head and said it was bank policy to cooperate fully in emergencies of this nature.

"Okay then Rennie -- if you hesitate you'll get a bullet through your foot and the barrel of this pistol will be stuck down your throat; understand?"

Mr Reynolds moved forward at the appropriate moment and unlocked the safe. He pulled the door back and Donald Duck went inside. He returned quickly. "It's all in tin boxes with handles, Mickey."

"You're on security camera Donald, you should have done your hair. The cops will be watching this and following our every movement. We must perform Plan B with precision. We mustn't be greedy -- only bring out enough boxes we can carry comfortably."

Donald fetched out six of the metal boxes, taking two trips.

"Right bring Pluto here and tell those bastards in that office if they make any move it may be their last, that we're leaving the door open so we can see them."

Pluto arrived back with Donald and said gleefully, "Oh, goodie, goodie. Are we about to make major withdrawals from our accounts? Heh-heh-heh."

"Shut up, Pluto. We are ready to go and everything we do or say is being filmed on security cameras so no names and keep your mask on. We're operating on Plan B, understand.

"Yes Mr Mouse."

"Right -- we need a hostage. The police probably think bank staff are expendable so will take a customer. One of you volunteer."

There was no movement. "Come on guys, we don't bite but on the other hand we are in a bit of a hurry," Mickey Mouse said. "We are trying to be democratic, asking for a volunteer. Perhaps if Donald shoots someone's finger off that might persuade someone to step forward.

Maggie released the two young women and stood up.

"No" they both screamed, clutching her legs.

"Yes," Maggie said gently, freeing herself and walking forward.

"Ah, Blondie," Mickey Mouse grinned. "You were my choice -- no cop or Special Services marksman with a working dick is going to risk shooting at us, not with that lovely body of yours shielding us."

Mickey Mouse stood looking up at the camera aimed directly at the door of the safe. "Cops, listen and listen carefully -- big strong Donald Duck here will have his meaty arm around Blondie, gun behind the back of her ear hole. If any move is made to apprehend us or to shoot at anyone of us it's curtains for Blondie. Tell them Blondie.

"Go to Hell; I love you Ryan."

"Whack her Donald Duck."

"No!" screamed the two young women, scrambling to their feet.

Mickey Mouse pointed his shotgun to the ceiling and pulled one of the triggers. The blast send plastering and dust over the kneeling customers. "Okay, settle down everyone; we're off."

Two of them grabbed a box in each hand, Donald holding two in one hand, and placed the barrel of his pistol behind Maggie's right ear. "Mr Mouse, it's going to be tough going for me holding up these containers," he said as he wrapped that arm under Maggie's breasts."

"Come on Donald -- you're strong and it's only a short walk to our vehicle." Mickey Mouse unbolted the entry doors, picked up his two boxes and joined Pluto in tight formation behind Donald Duck.

They walked out on to the street.

* * *

Ryan was chewing the end of a pencil when Cathie burst into his office. "Mum's just called. Some guys are robbing one of the banks in town and she says Maggie's one of the hostages."

"Jesus!" Ryan said grabbing the TV remote. "What channel?"

"It's so dramatic all channels I'd think."

They watched a body being dragged out of an office by a big man in a mask.

"I'm going down there."

"Wait, I'll drive you in my car," Cathie yelled -- the police will have the streets cordoned off. I'll get you as far as I can and you can jump out and negotiate to get through. Here, take this photo of Maggie with you."

Ryan was raced through to the office in charge.

"Hi there, I understand your wife is one of the hostages."

"Yes, that's her Maggie -- with the blonde hair," Ryan cried.

"Good," keep calm young man. "Can you identify any of those others people. The guy with his eyes shut is a member of my gym, Noel Sampson and that young woman on Maggie's left is the daughter of our accountant, Lizzy Meiklejohn, who's a new mother." 

"Where's the baby?"

"We don't know Ryan," said the police superintendent, looking at his list of names. "Lizzy's husband is a copper."

Superintendent Joll turned to a subordinate. Where's constable Meiklejohn?"

"Meiklejohn is in court today on training observation.  

"Get him here, but don't allow him to be armed. He may be useful in negotiations if this bogs down in a long affair."

A senior-sergeant hurried in. "Super, the security firm is giving a feed of this live to TV; it's on at least three channels and is beaming overseas. Do we charge in and cut the feed?"

The superintendent paused for a moment.

"It could be good police PR," Ryan suggested, "and if you cut the feed we won't have it on screen here to follow every move."

"My thoughts exactly, Superintendent Joll grunted. "Bruce, go through the lines telling everyone they're on TV so to do everything by the book and look serious and professional. Anyone fouling up will have me to deal with."

"Right Gov."

"Bruce, I'll accept Super but never Gov. I've told you that before. Stop watching those British TV cop shows. Now get to work!"

A TV outside broadcasting van rumbled down the street.

"Who the hell let them in here," the Super shouted.

"We did," crackled a reply on radio. Your standing orders are to be co-operative to the news media at all times. Should I haul them out, sir?"

"No, but have Inspector Collins keep them safe -- firearms are involved here."

"Aye, aye sir. Over and out."

"Aye, aye? Are we in the Navy now?" the Superintendent muttered. He allowed a TV camera to be set-up behind his command post. "If shooting starts you people hit the deck, got that?"

"Yes Jack," acknowledged the 20-year-old with a clip-board, sun glasses perched in her hair and hemline almost up to her hips.

One of the superintendent's aids bristled. "Miss, the correct form of address is..."

"Leave it Polly, they're only civilians and she's not long out of nappies."

"There movement sir," yelled another aide.

Everyone packed around the superintendent watching events unfold.

"What denominations are in those boxes, Miss Mellows?"

The teenager who'd been collecting the bank's mail from the Post Shop and found herself locked out of the bank said, "They're smart cookies, sir. There're all green -- common twenty dollar notes. They've ignored the five dollar orange cases and the fifty dollar red cases."

"How would that know to do that, Miss Mellows?"

"The denominations are written on the cases, superintendent."

"How convenient for them; thank you Miss Mellows.

Onlookers jumped when the shotgun blast was heard.

"It's harmless Gov, fired at the ceiling," called Senior-Sergeant Bruce Henshaw. "At least that's woken up everyone; key personnel including the sharp-shooters are in position."

"Standby everyone," Superintendent Joll called into his lapel microphone.

Two tense moments passed. Ryan shouted "What's she doing," watching Maggie stand up and two women pulling her back until she brushed them off. 

"I'd say she's volunteered to be the getaway hostage," Senior-Sergeant Henshaw said calmly. "Everyone hold your fire; they've taken a blonde civilian as the getaway hostage. Unit three, you're directly in line with the doors -- you are authorized to fire if and when necessary. All other units fire only if the gang splits and citizens are in danger. Fire only at clean targets. Acknowledge."

"Unit one acknowledging; hold fire."

"Unit two acknowledging; hold fire."

"Unit three acknowledging: fire if and when necessary."

"Unit four acknowledging: they're bound to come our way -- do we shoot out the tires?"

"No, Dixon; if we disable the vehicle that endangers the life of their hostage. It's back to training school for you."

"Understand Senior -- clean headshots if they start shooting at the public. What about if they fire at us?"

"Yes Janet, if they start shooting at us shoot right back -- but body mass shots, not head shots, and don't shoot the hostage."

"Understood Senior. Over and out."

"Inspector Manu -- get down there and supervise Janet and her team. This is her first big event and she sounds a little trigger happy but she's right, they're probably will go over the river bridge and into forest land and then in any of three directions. They'll know on the motorway we'll block traffic, catch them on a desolate strip and call on them to surrender."

The inspector hurried off.

Ryan was appalled. "What happens to Maggie in a surrender ultimatum?

The crusty superintendent smiled weakly and said, "Young man, don't even think about it."

Dread filled Ryan's mind.

"There's on their way Guv," said Senior-Sergeant Henshaw, listening through a surveillance device pointed at the bank doors. The bolts are sliding open."

"Standby everyone," called Superintendent Joll.

The bank doors opened and Maggie emerged in her pretty short white dress with gatherings under the bust line, now half hidden by a meaty arm.

"Shoot at us and Blondie here dies," Mickey Mouse repeated his earlier call made from inside the bank only moments earlier. 

Ryan lurched out on to the roadway and advanced towards Maggie and the guy in the stupid mask threatening her life. He held his hands above his head calling out that he wasn't armed; he just wanted his wife back.

"Fuck off dopey or you'll get a shot up your ass," Pluto called.

Maggie eyed Ryan in terror as he continued his advance, loping.

"Shoot dopey," called Donald Duck.

The echo of the gunfire between the two rows of shops was enormous.

Blood spurted from Ryan's chest onto Maggie as he fell; she screamed and leaned over the arm cruelly gripping her. Donald Duck's action -- obviously a reflex action -- was to aim the pistol at her head again. A single rifle shot rang out and blood spurted from the masked forehead of Donald Duck, on to Maggie. Donald Duck's lifeless body fell, his pistol clattering to the ground.

Pluto dropped his pistol and two cases of banks notes, raising his hands skywards. At the same time Mickey Mouse dropped his money cases and swung his shotgun towards the back of Maggie's head. Two shots rang out and Mickey Mouse was flung backwards as bullets smashed into both shoulders, the shotgun spinning away along the roadway.

Almost simultaneously Superintendent Joll raced to Maggie as she was climbing to her feet and holding her blood-stained body against his chest told her not to touch her husband. That image, his peaked cap askew and the anguished look on Maggie's face staring at the body on her husband within minutes would be on its way around the world to international news agencies. Meanwhile it was showing live on television in both New Zealand and parts of Australia.

While this was happening an ambulance that had been parked at the front of the blockade, sped forward. Two hospital doctors - one a surgeon jumped out -- ambulance men lifted Ryan on to a cream groundsheet, an oxygen mask was attached and surgery was performed on the roadway to clamp a severed artery.

Climbing to his feet, the surgeon wiping his brow before ripping off his surgical gloves. As he turned to Maggie she uttered just two words, "Is he?" 

"She's his wife," said Superintendent Joll.

"I know, was watching TV. "Ma'am, he should be OK. Luckily it was a small caliber bullet. It went through two ribs, missing the heart and I think it's probably lodged against his ribs on the way out. Must go -- surgeons are on standby at the hospital. Jump in and come with us."

"Me too."

"Okay, superintendent."

It was an hour's anxious wait at the hospital. A policeman arrived with a replacement jacket and white shirt for the superintendent; Maggie was already dressed in a white nurse's uniform, the superintendent sending away her blood-stained dress with the woman constable who'd brought his replacement uniform.

"Those poor terrified people in the bank -- what happened to then?"




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 04



"While you were on the ground three policewomen had already gone in to calm everyone and make them cups of tea. The accountant with the head wound is here in this hospital having a sleep. He'll be fine. The only other injury was to our hero."

"Our fool, you mean."

"Maggie, I don't believe you understand. It was suicidal I know but in stopping them in their tracks head-on he probably prevented a lot of blood spilling. We knew this was our best bet at stopping them, where we had maximized our resources. He'd heard us discussing this -- he obviously thought he'd give you your best chance."

"But they would have let me go."

"Did they tell you that?"

"No."

"Maggie, they would have been desperate men on the run and if they had managed to break clear for a while they would have relaxed, taken off their masks and started calling each other by their first names. At some point they would have realized you knew too much so before they re-emerged from the forest they may have decided to solve that little problem. Alternatively had they stupidly chosen the motorway option they may have attempted to ram our blockage; no way would we have allowed that vehicle with three gunmen get past us."

"So I was doomed, either way."

"Maybe, who knows Maggie -- so is your husband still a fool?"

Maggie burst into tears and buried her face into the fatherly arms of the sixty-three year old policeman, a grandfather.

The senior hospital surgeon came out to them, smiling.

"Baring infection, which is unlikely, or one or two possible side issues, he should be fine but will be very sore for quite some time. I performed a thoractomy to insert a chest tube into the pleural cavity to provide your husband with relief in breathing and to aid recovery, then had to go in and removed bone shards and the bullet. Now he just stays on his back, doesn't move and breathes softly, softly."

"That great news," said Superintendent Joll. "Maggie, I'm off. I had no business being here as I should have been supervising the debriefings and taking of statements but as we've got so much on camera and you looked so alone I put my senior assistant in charge and accompanied you. Bye now."

"Thank you for your kindness, Mr Joll. Excellent police PR," Maggie smiled, kissing him.

"Maggie -- may I call you that? I'm Geoff," said the surgeon. "We were watching here on TV of you in the bank chambers and then out on the street. You were marvelous. So it's just a quick look at your husband, who's asleep in post-recovery, and then it's 'Meet the Press'. There's a mob of them and we need to do this quickly as they are threatening to riot."

"They should wait and talk to Ryan."

"No they want you, Maggie. Heroines today are as scarce as sixpences in Christmas pudding. The Aussie media people are screaming for words and footage of you because that young woman on your right in the bank chamber has been identified as Caroline Goldfinch, youngest daughter of the billionaire Australian industrialist Charles B. Goldfinch. She's already been on TV exclaiming her admiration for you, as has been that other young woman. The media love making instant heroes so be prepared for the onslaught. Well, here he is, our very, very lucky man. Look after him well Maggie, they don't make many like that these days. Try not to wake him, I'll give you one minute -- please come out with me, nurses." 

Maggie trembled as she looked at her man and with the lightness of a butterfly stroked his cheek with her fingers. Ryan had this large tube coming from his chest, was still on a drip and wearing an oxygen mask. 

"You saved my life, you foolish man," she smiled.

Geoff returned and took her in to face almost fifty media representatives including TV camera crews.

The distinguished cardiovascular and thoracic surgeon Geoffrey Smith introduced Maggie and said Maggie's heroic husband was a very, very lucky man, the small caliber bullet smashed two ribs, ruptured an artery, collapsed his right lung and punctured through to lodge in his back. "He'll be fine and please be gentle with this wonderful woman; she's been through a huge ordeal and this session is part of that."

A barrage of questions was flung at Maggie. She pointed to a thin woman with her lackluster hair in a severe bun.

"Liz Mackie, Courier Newspapers. "What was your worst moment?"

"Out on the roadway, believing I was looking at my husband's body."

"Paul James, representing the Sydney Morning Herald. Miss Goldfinch, daughter of one of the richest men in Australia, was the young woman on your right in the bank kneeling beside you. She's been on TV expressing huge gratitude for you and then feared you were risking your life for them. She's called you a heroine. What do you say to that?"

"If we weren't live on TV I'd say bullshit, although without any offence to Miss Goldfinch. They were scared whereas I'm used to the rough and tumble of business life -- it was just like a bad day at the office with men trying to pulp me in negotiations, the only difference being these three looked stupid and had guns." 

"Mavis Yarrow, Maggie,  Active Women's Fortnightly."

"Oh, are modern women having them fortnightly now?

The room erupted into laughter and Mavis cringed in her seat.

"Mavis, that was a stupid remark. My mouth gets me into trouble at times. Hush everyone while Mavis asks her question."

"Maggie, what did you think as you rose from your knees and walked forward as volunteer hostage?"

Maggie blanched. "Oh Mavis, you don't really want me to answer that truthfully. Wouldn't it do if I just said I was wetting my pants?"

"Please answer the question Maggie, Mavis said sternly.

"I thought, given the chance Donald Duck I'm going to knee you in the nuts, catch one of the tins he drops and smash it against Mickey Mouse's head and catch his shotgun and try to get shorty Pluto before he pumps a second shot into me. It's terribly embarrassing answering you, Mavis."

The room erupted into a new volley of questions before Geoff assisted the hospital's PR woman to hush them up.

"Wendy Ash, representing The Australian Maggie. Remember me -- we were at Auckland University together. "Why did you think like a man in dealing with these desperadoes in an attempt doomed for failure?"

"I said given the chance; I was not in suicidal mode like my husband. The truth was I was thinking like a woman, one of my favorite characters."

Wendy Ash asked who was that?

"Lara Croft of Tomb Raider fame."

The women journalists cheered Maggie.

Maggie -- oops, Luke McSkimming, NZ Herald. "We've been told you and your husband are currently living apart -- is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"Ryan and I live together and work together. I'm chairman of the Echo newspaper and commercial printing company in this city and Ryan is chief executive. I took a big gamble to buy that ailing business with the support of executives and the bank that was robbed today who joined Ryan and me as stockholders. Then in come these Aussies from Melbourne offering us a huge amount of money and I just fell short by two percent of the seventy-five percent voting support I needed to reap the sale. Greatly upset by what he called my treachery, Ryan walked out on me three nights ago. My mother, who's one of these amazing women knows everything, told me his walking out was my fault that I should have been thinking community instead of money; I'd told her the Australians intended closing down the Echo and using the presses to print New Zealand editions of their magazines. I thought about it and realized I'd been greedy, too ambitious to get on to my next big thing. So for the next two days I walked around, seeing my community really for the first time; I liked what I saw and liked the people I met -- business people who support the Echo to the hilt, albeit for their own benefit. I no longer cringed at my folly, knowing I was going to make amends for my treachery. Unfortunately, my intention to meet Ryan and sob out my deep feeling of shame and apologize for letting him down was foiled by me visiting me bank. You know the rest. I'm sorry my answer was so long."

She stood at the rostrum, a lonely figure, wiping the corner of one eye, then the other. Someone clapped and most of the media clapped her.

"Mrs de Lacey. Thelma Johns, New Zealand Life. "What will you say to your husband when he comes around?

"What I told him when I saw him a few minutes ago when he was under the affects of anesthetic. "You saved my life, you foolish man." 

"Fiona Gibson, Southgate Regional Echo. Maggie, you are the head of our publishing company and I know you are not stupid. But why risk everything you had -- you had no reason to be a heroine?"

"A good question, Fiona; little wonder we employ you. In tight situations I tend to experience an adrenalin rush that makes me feel bullet proof, my movements seem to slow while my mind races as if I'm on some sort of drug. I don't know it you heard the warning that they'd start shooting the fingers of one of us off one by one until one of us stepped forward. The guy making that warning in the Mickey Mouse mask appeared to be looking at that elderly woman to the right of me. She was calm and dignified and I thought it would upset everyone to see her maimed like that. My mind reacted and I thought it was better to move the crisis outside away from those good people and into an area cleared by the police where anything could happen. Somehow my mind shielded me from any thought that I might be harmed, perhaps fatally. I've heard myself being called a heroine, but I'm saying when your mind goes into overdrive like that, looking more for positives than negatives, it's so easy to be a hero. Bullets can't hurt you if you feel bullet-proof. It's perhaps a childlike explanation, Fiona, but there you go."

Another five minutes of questioned followed before Maggie called for the last question, picking Anthony Sims of  Dominion. Maggie, you said earlier, quote: 'You saved my life, you foolish man', unquote in reference to your husband. Exactly what did you mean by that?"

"You best ask Superintendent Joll, director of operations, for the answer. But briefly, he told me had those men managed to get out of the city, cross the river and disappear into the forests, they would have began talking loosely, taking off their masks and eventually would have realized I knew too much. Alternatively, had they reached the motorway there were road blockages in either direction and he said to me if the robbers with me in their vehicle and had attempted to ram their way through there was no way the police would have allowed them to continue their journey. I'll let you read between on lines on those two scenarios."

Maggie cleared her throat. "That's all, except for these acknowledgements. Members of the news media, thank you for being so gentle with me. I wish to praise Superintendent Joll and his team for assisting to save my life; those of who saw the shotgun swinging towards my head will know what I'm saying. I am so pleased that only two persons were hurt -- the bank accountant who I'm told is fine and my husband. I am so pleased I managed to push my way into the bank and help thwart the robbery as the Northern Town & Country Bank has been such a strong supporter of me in my business dealings. Finally, my thanks to medical emergency services who helped my husband, including surgeon Geoffrey Smith and above all that quick-acting surgeon whose name I have yet to learn who operated on the road where my husband fell to stem the severe blood flow -- without that medic I would not have a husband to watch over tonight. Thank you."

Geoff the smiling surgeon led Maggie out to standing applause.

The surgeon was holding a sobbing Maggie in his arms when some of the media burst through the doors chasing Maggie for exclusive interviews.

"I'm sorry -- Maggie is exhausted and will be staying here for the next twenty-four hours alongside her husband," said Geoff. "Please leave now and see Jenny our public relations officer at the front desk and she'll allocate interviews from 9:00 in the morning. If any of you are from TV, Maggie has told me she'll be available tomorrow evening at the time of your choice for one live interview, that going to the highest bidder. That fee should come as a donation to the Children's Wing Renovations Appeal Fund. Now go."

"Geoff, we'd like to present Maggie live tomorrow night wearing that blood-stained dress she wore to this hospital. Can you find it for us?"

"Bugger off Carol and learn to be more sensitive. People like you give the news media a bad name." 

"Fiona," Maggie called to the Echo reporter. Come with us."

Quickly confirming that Ryan was in a drugged sleep and there was no concern about his current condition, Maggie sat and was interviewed for over an hour by Fiona who had to shake Maggie awake at times.

"Thanks Maggie, you've given me a great insight to how those bastards behaved inside the bank. I now realize the cameras didn't show everything and those quotes from you about your whispering exchanges with those two women alongside you are awesome. I phoned the office telling you I have an exclusive with you, so we're letting the final edition run as in but will re-plate this as a Special Edition. Circulation is alerting all delivery personnel now."

"That's great. One more thing Fiona, find out who was that elderly woman was with me in the bank -- she remained so calm throughout but her eyes showed hate. My senses tell me there's a great story in her -- I think she looks East European; we didn't exchange a word and she spoke to no-one in my hearing."

* * *

At 12:11 as recorded in medical notes Maggie was awakened by a nurse saying softly to Ryan, "Hullo you lovely man; you're awake."

"Where's Maggie; am I going to live?"

"Yes you're going to live and ah, there's Maggie climbing out of bed now. She's been waiting for this moment; it's so exciting. I watched her on TV earlier today at the media conference and I know what's she'll say to you."

"They bother with that drippy stuff at media conferences?"

Maggie loomed over Ryan and kissed his lips softly, then said, "You saved my life, you foolish man."

"You told the media that?"

"Yes."

"Little wonder they used it on TV -- woman will cry hearing that, it is so...so..."

"Romantic?"

"Thanks nurse -- yes, so romantic my lovely darling. I did it because you've worth dying for."

"Oooh," cried the nurse, wiping her eyes. 

A different nurse shook Maggie awake just before 2:00 am.

"May I call you Maggie?"

"Yes."

"I'm so delighted to meet you. You are the new Lara Croft."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, we can't believe we have you both in this hospital; it's so amazing."

"And you awoke me to tell me that?"

"On no, sorry. We are about to wake Mr de Lacey. The duty doctor authorized us to allow direct family members to visit him briefly. You mother and father and Mr de Lacey's parents are waiting outside. I thought you might like to see them outside and all the excitement over you made out there, lessening the stress on Mr de Lacey."

"He'll want you to call him Ryan, er..."

"Suzie."

"Call him Ryan, Suzie and be sexy, he likes his women being sexy."

"You're kidding me aren't you Maggie."

"Perhaps, but I bet I'm on to something there. Just be ever so feminine then. I authorize that."

Maggie went into the visitor's room and he mother rushed her, smothering her with kisses. "Calm down Harriet, mys want a piece of me."

"Hello daddy," she said, kissing the surprised Max who probably wasn't too surprised to grope, but didn't.

"Oh, isn't that nice," cooed Harriet.

"Hello Mrs de Lacey," Maggie said, kissing her cheek. "Thank you for giving birth to such a tremendously brave son; I'll never forget what he did for me."

"Call me Molly," wept Mrs de Lacey, hugging her step-daughter. "My phone's been running red hot and so many people have been calling on us that I've had to send Harry out several times for more tea, milk and biscuits. I haven't known whether I'm coming or going."

"Keep calm, Molly. He's fine -- they'll call you in within a few minutes. Then after you come out I'll suggest mum and dad just pop in for two minutes."

She turned to Harry, who held out his arms.

"Hello Harry; is this an invitation to dance?"

"I couldn't put my body against yours, darling. If I did I might forget myself."

"Harry!"

"He's harmless, you know that," Maggie laughed.

"Don't you believe that..." Molly clamped a hand over her mouth.

"So who's the naughty boy then," Maggie whispered to him, Harry's eyes indicating he worshipped her. 

"I was ever so proud of Ryan when I saw him go to rescue you and cried for you both when I saw his blood disfigure you then the camera on the roof showed a back shot of you with that swine's blood spilling on to you." Harry lifted up his glasses, sniffed and wiped his eyes.

"You're such a natural on TV Maggie," Max said. "You had us laughing and crying and your sincerity shone through. I couldn't believe you had the guts to tell the world that you and Regan had split, but then I knew everyone would recognize it as a lover's spat; young marrieds only every quarrel over two things -- sex and money."

"We didn't even know Regan had walked out on you, Maggie. I called Harriet and she put me straight I would think the enormity of finding that you both weren't on the same side was just too much for him and he over-loaded. But in the end he more than made up for that little weakness."

The night doctor came out of the room, nodding at everyone and giving Maggie a huge smile, almost of adoration.

"He's young, just puppy love," Harriet said dryly, and Molly agreed. The two men wondered what the women were talking about -- the doc hadn't said a word.

"Suzie came to the door and said, "He's awake and fine. Doctor Charles said no more than two visitors at a time."

Harriet hugged Maggie again and kept on holding her. "Darling, I phoned but your phone was only taking messages. I think I left thirteen of them. When I saw you get into the ambulance I rushed down here and tried to gain admittance to the media conference but because I couldn't show press accreditation as they called it they wouldn't allow me in. The security guard laughed when I said I was your mother and said I should make an appointment to see you. He wouldn't say with whom, the ape."

"Then why didn't you come up here after dark?"

"This wing is under full security alert. They showed footage on late night TV of media crews who'd flown in from Australia, and some of our own media, being ejected by security guards. There were fist-fights and when a film crew from Sydney came in with a cherry-picker and were about to step off on to a second floor balcony to go looking for your two, grinning security guards came on to the balcony and hosed them with a fire hose. The language was simply awful but the studio did warn language might offend some people but as it was after 11:00 pm the decided to let the filming run unedited as it caught the atmosphere.

"See -- we have our passports for ID -- we were told we'd not be admitted without proper ID. Earlier the surgeon who was at your media conference phoned me to tell me what a delightful and terribly brave person you were. If you want community involvement then he's your man -- he hinted to me he wants you to replace him as chairman of the fund-raising committee that is $3.2 million short of its target to renovate the existing ward and enhance the facilities in the Government-funded extension."

"But our newspaper ran an appeal for a month and raised from memory almost one and a quarter million dollars and our company donated $50,000 of that amount."




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 04



"I know dear, but the appeal target is $7.5 million -- this appeal is for the extras that make good hospital better for patients, visitors and medical staff."

"I'll phone Geoff in the morning -- if security will put my call through."

"Talk to him live -- he'll be in to see Ryan anytime between 6:00-8:00 am as all good surgeons do before going to theatre."

"How is it you know everything, Harriet?"

"I keep my ears open and thank you for that similar comment you made to the media. You still can surprise me at times. We've also had non-stop visitors and phone calls including some of your old school and varsity friends I haven't heard from in years. It was exciting at first but now has become a bit tiresome. Many of them say you'll get a Government award for bravery."

"Ryan is the deserving one, he was incredibly brave."

Harriet gave Maggie a mother's smile. "Don't kid yourself darling. We all saw you on TV remember?"

"You made us very proud of you, Maggie," Max said. "The astonishing caliber of the man you chose for a husband shone through. You two are on the way to becoming our most distinguished citizens, certainly our most distinguished couple."

Maggie laughed and told Max he was losing it. "I've told our entire community that I attempted to shaft them. I'll be lucky that I'm not run out of town."

"Turn on the Sky News Australia, Max, this story has been running on the hour -- we may have missed some of it."

They had -- the film was showing the end of the media conference, with Maggie out in the hallway, crying in the arms of the surgeon while he was telling media representatives wanting exclusive interviews to arrange times for tomorrow with the hospital's PR officer.

The newsreader came back on screen. "This has been an amazing story and has been running all day. I shall never forget the sight of Maggie de Lacey covered  her heroic husband's blood and then immediately by her hostage-taker's blood as he was blown away from her by a high-powered rifle bullets through the shoulders. Now for something different: remember this -- earlier yesterday at the media conference at the hospital where Maggie's husband Ryan lay, recovering from a bullet that passed within a couple of inches of his heart..."

The film clip showed Maggie describing how she had came within an ace of selling her publishing company over the strong resistance of husband Ryan.

The newsreader came back on screen. "Well, you'd think that confession would have angered people, wouldn't you, calling for Maggie's head. But take a look at this. This clip shows Maggie's personal assistant Cathie Banks holding one end of a banner and at the other end is newspaper editor-in-chief Clive Boys who almost had his Echo closed by board dealings that almost succeeded. Maggie is now being forgiven because she chose her moment to publicly come clean. The words on this banner say, 'Come Back To Us Maggie, We Love You'. Obviously a woman wrote that, probably Maggie's PA but that crowd of people standing behind the banner waving hands in the air are most of the company's staff who support that call. Now listen to this man, a radio-head on KM-FM on the top rating radio station in Maggie's city."

"Hi you Australians. Boy haven't we had a big day over here today. After our midday news today I made one of those off-the-cuff remarks that often get us radio-heads into trouble. I simply said after yesterday's events of Maggie and Ryan de Lacey's heroism the Council should rename our main street where all the drama occurred de Lacey Avenue. Well we received an avalanche of phone calls, text messages, emails and people calling in -- I'd say 1000 in favor for every one against. People are now jamming the council's switchboard attempting to get through to the mayor to tell her to change the name soonest. I tell you folk, I'm attempting to get through to Maggie but it's tighter than Fort Knox at that hospital. Our station wants to buy the rights to Maggie's dress -- showing the blood of her husband, and we have commissioned a songwriter to write a song I think should be called, 'Maggie, You're Worth Dying For'. A hospital nurse said she heard Maggie's husband say those words to her after midnight when she demanded him to explain why he'd acted so stupidly. The T-shirt will carry the words 'Damn, This T-Shirt Needs Washing' and carrying Maggie's signature. Well, that is a wrap on this hour, folk. Thinking about Maggie and Ryan I can simply say this: Do you know any other family that has two genuine heroes. You de Lacey's are inspirational."

Max shook his head. "That guy was right about de Lacey Avenue but then became so sick. It's a good example how to change from ideas man to asshole in two minutes flat."

His wife and Maggie's mother said, "Just wait to hear what Maggie says Max."

"Well, at first I was aghast at the idea of a replica of my bloody dress front being mass produced as t-shirts. But then I thought that young people today rather like cult movements. I'll listen to that radio-head who calls himself Indiana Dick -- if he's smart he's already booked in for an interview. I figure his station should pay for the t-shirts and screen printing using its promotional money, incorporating its name and call sign in the design. Then the station and the Echo will enter an agreement to jointly sell them for thirty bucks plus postage with all proceeds going to the Children's Wing Appeal."

Harriet smiled and told Maggie, "Brilliant darling." 

"Think about your personal and business reputation getting into a bad taste production like that," Max growled.

"I have and am prepared to ride with it; for a while folk around here are likely to forgive me for anything."

Earlier Maggie had been woken by the morning nursing staff coming on duty at 6:00 am and turning on the lights.

"Hi, I'm Mia and this is Rae and we know you are the fabulous Maggie de Lacey. We have to wake this other hero up and give him a bed bath. If you don't mind we'll have to pull to curtains to give him his privacy."

"Well, just make sure behind those screens you don't have your way with him."

"Mrs de Lacey!" Rae the younger nurse cried, pushing her beetroot face through the gap she opened in the curtains. "It's all right Mia; she'd laughing her head off."

"Hi, you're looking beautifully tousled this morning," Geoff said taking Maggie's arm to check her pulse. 

"Yes, and with sleepers in my eyes. Why are you talking my pulse -- I'm not your patient."

"I know and rarely do I check pulses and other critical signs and most of my patients survive my operations."

"Well, why are you taking mine?"

"You are very attractive."

"Good God, you're one of those doctors who has his way with his patients."

"But you've just said you're not my patient."

Maggie had to agree with that. "Then unhand me, you naughty man."

"Maggie, I want you to feel the good vibes running through me because I have a huge request to ask you."

"Yes, I'll do it."

"Do what."

"Replace you on the funding raising committee."

"But how..."

Maggie explained her mother had visited at 2:00 am and told her about his intentions.

"My honorable intentions."

"Yes, you flirt."

"Maggie we need this money for a project that doesn't have top priority with this hospital administration. I have many patients passing through the Children's Wing, Maggie; regrettably some don't make it. Upgraded facilities won't necessarily save any more young lives but who really knows. It is my belief that children of the 21st century should have hospital amenities befitting the 21st century; we get those in order and then move on to birthing units and then along the chain as fast as resources will allow."

"I understand and I'll assist on one condition."

"Fine."

"I'm a start-up person by nature -- so I'll be with you until we reach our fundraising target for the Children's Wing then I'm gone and don't wish to be pestered to stick around."

"Agreed, you have my promise."

"You know Geoff, I'm one of those flashy, five-minute heroes. You are one of those every day heroes working right under our noses and we never recognize them for what they are."

"Maggie, you're for it, you're embarrassing me. Nurse, please give Mrs de Lacey a bed enema."

"Sorry, can't do Mr Smith -- she's not your patient," Mia said. "Isn't she lovely, are you attempting to have your way with her?"

The two nurses giggled and Ryan called out, "Unhand my wife, you cad."

"Good morning darling," Maggie called brightly. "Your surgeon has lovely hands and a real great touch."

Mia looked through the curtains. "He's not even here."

"No, he left saying he'd be back in five; he's gone away to log you two for disciplinary action for insubordination."

"She's joking isn't she Mr de Lacey?" Rae whispered. Maggie caught the comment. 

"Oh no, she never jokes; not Maggie."

The surgeon re-emerged, smiled at Maggie and said, "He's fine apart from the pain of sudden movement or heavier breathing, which is to be expected. He ought to be in a general ward but we're keeping him here for security."

"What, is he in danger," Maggie asked, fear clawing to her throat.

Geoff grinned and came over and took her pulse again, raising his eyebrows as if finding it was thumping.

"He's better up here in tight confinement where we can protect him from the public and mobile patients -- you are not the only hero -- remember. Women's magazine journalists in particular will be crazy about getting through to snap him up -- er, for an interview I mean."

Maggie pretended to become putty in his hands. Although Geoff was in his late forties and married, her heart had softened towards him. "Thank you my protector, I mean our protector," she murmured, fluttering her eyelids, something she never did.

"You're extraordinarily sexy," he whispered.

She closed her eyes to maximize enjoyment of a moment of sheer ecstasy and opened them, expecting to find him gone. He was. The quiet heroes could be expected to do that honorable retreat.

The nurses pulled back the curtains from around Ryan.

One of the young nurses said, "The charge nurse came in to give him his medication against infection and to help with the pain -- he's drifting off to sleep so you better hop across if you want a kiss. He kisses so beautifully," she teased. By now Maggie was on to these nurses -- they knew how to brighten their day by being proactive with patients. Maggie had also become aware those working this intensive care unit regarded her as an honorary patient.

Maggie slipped across to kiss her husband. "Who are you?" he murmured sleepily. "Someone else to service?"

Maggie closed his lips with a finger and smiled her broadest to let him know she was on to him. The only infection detectable in this unit was rampant teasing.

An older woman in civilian clothes wearing a serious face that lightened to produce a soft smile for Maggie said with a matching soft voice, "Good morning, Mrs de Lacey, I'm Margaret Jones, unit manager. "Your presence here is highly irregular but owing to the circumstances I must say I approve."

Maggie felt sure that she wasn't been rebuked, but it sounded a close call. 

Margaret produced a proper looking smile. "Forgive me but my youngest daughter knows you're in my ward. She's asked me to try to get your autograph which she intends to sell to help raise funds for her touch rugby team to go to the national finals in Wellington."

The women's honesty almost shocked Maggie. Anyone giving an autograph would expect it to be treasured, not commercialized.

"Certainly, what is your daughter's name?"

"Kismet Smith."

"What a wonderful name."

"Smith is rather a common name," Mrs Smith said absolutely straight-faced. Maggie now really liked this hospital and its staff -- she resolved to put everything into achieving that $7.5 million target for the Children's Wing makeover.

Margaret handed Maggie a paper and pen when Maggie had finished putting on her lipstick. Maggie signed her name after kissing the imprint of her lips on to the paper. She pulled out a fifty dollar note and handed both items to Margaret and then wrote a note which she also handed across together with her business card.

"The money is a donation for the football trip; I now support worthy community causes. I suggest you take that note and my business card and call on radio station KM-FM and have the radio-head Indiana Dick call for the highest bid for my genuine personalized autograph -- the one and only of its kind which I promise will not be repeated."

"I couldn't do that -- he's so terrible, bordering on being vile."

"Does Kismet listen to him?"

"Yes, much to our disgust; she and her friends appear to be addicted."

"Listen to me Margaret, I'm positive that beneath it all that radio-head is only just short of being a normal guy and his real name is probably Richard Smith or Jones. His behavior is purely a marketing tool -- I should know as self-marketing is how I do business. If Kismet gets swamped with money, suggest she donates any surplus to the Children's Wing fund."

"She'd probably be happy to do that -- she'd already organized her friends into running two stalls to raise money for the fund."

"How old is Kismet?"

"Just turned sixteen."

"Hmmm. I'd like to meet her in a week or two to find if she's suitable to be my young persons' consultant on my action committee."

"I'm sure she'd do anything for you, Maggie. She's been rabiting on about you being our very own Lara Somebody."

"Croft?"

"Yes, that's it."

"Don't young people go overboard with vivid imaginations," Maggie laughed drawing a thoughtful smile from Margaret.

"I saw from one of the stories in yesterday's Late Late edition of the Echo that your mother allowed you to change your given name to Maggie. I wish my mother had called me Maggie."

"Then why don't you ask if she'd mind if you changed your name?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

Margaret screwed up her nose. "She wouldn't like it."

"You don't know that until you ask her."

Margaret dug deeper and said she knew her mother, Maggie asked where did her mother live and was told Hamilton.

"Then I suggest you rush to your mother's side, act like an excited schoolgirl and tell her what you want.

"Why do that?"

"The name Maggie seems to be on the lips of many people at the moment; Kismet is romanticizing about me; don't think that older people, especially women, have forgotten how to romanticize."

Pausing for a moment, Margaret said, "It's worth a try, nothing to lose really."

Right, said Maggie, and told Margaret what to do. "Sit down with her tonight in front of TV to watch The News -- there is bound to be a follow-up on the bank robbery as Pluto is to appear in Court this morning and then a special sitting of the Court will be held in the orthopedic ward of this hospital where Mickey Mouse will be charged with aggravated robbery as a holding charge."

"How do you know this -- we've kept the newspapers away from you two?"

"Superintendent Joll phoned late last night to check on how we were. He told me and said a whole raft of charged including grievous bodily harm and attempted kidnapping will be laid against those clowns. So, if the name Maggie is mentioned during the broadcast, you just say, "How do you feel about the name Maggie, mother? Make sure no-one else is in the room as that could be a distraction. You mother will reply and you'll know how to work it so she ends up saying what a wonderful idea to change your name to Maggie."

"You are truly brilliant Maggie; we have lots of important people through here because they are disproportionately represented in the type of patients we get, but your brilliance just oozes from you."

"Come on, you Wannabe Maggie; you're piling it on so thick you'll drown in it. I bet your mother is immensely proud of what you do."

"She is," Margaret said modestly, returning to her more pragmatic way of viewing herself and life around her. 

Margaret pulled up her watch pinned over his breast. "Oh heavens look at the time. You must shower, breakfast in our staffroom and get ready for your very big day. I have been advised that your first appointment is earlier than expected, 8:30. Some big shot has flown in from Sydney to pick up his daughter who was in the bank with you yesterday. I saw her on TV last night and there's a whole page in the Echo about her and her friend saying kind things about you and describing their fears. They are also on Page 4 of the Herald -- it's first six pages this morning are all about the bank robbery including a huge front page photo of you in...er..of you."

"In my blood soaked white dress?"

"Oh God, I didn't want you to know."

"It's fine, such things happen in a day's work. I want to see those newspapers."

"There're in the left bottom cupboard beside the stove, I must fly. Have a nice day."

"You too -- I bet you're another unsung heroine."

Margaret cast an almost incomprehensible look at Maggie as she hurried from the room. 

Maggie felt sickened as she looked at the photograph of the blood beginning to spurt from the left-hand side of Ryan's chest "tearing through flesh and bone and partly severing an artery as it slammed to a halt emerging partly through the rear of the victim's ribcage, missing his heart by 43 millimeters, according to the surgeon who operated." It was miraculous he'd not been shot straight through the heart at such close range when Pluto waited to fire at very close range.

"Police arms experts believe two things saved hero Ryan de Lacey's life -- the inexperience of man who shot him and the slight deflection of the bullet hitting the metal button of Ryan's jeans shirt pocket. Of course, the police having a surgeon in the team of standby medics completed the life-saving miracle as the picture (left) shows, the surgeon cutting open the victim's chest where he fell to reach the artery to stem the blood flow. Maggie, his plucky wife, watched horrified, clasped in the grip of Superintendent Erasmus Joll -- known to fellow senior officers as Sleepy Joll -- but not attempting to break free -- we think to avoid interfering with the surgeon working at near blinding speed." 

Maggie rushed across the hallway and vomited into the toilet. For the first time she felt the fear she'd known lay buried deep within her, and was relieved. She'd really be back to her old self now.

Maggie's mother had couriered clothes to her so Maggie dressed elegantly in dark green for her morning interviews. She decided on a similar simple dress in violet for the afternoon interviews and her favorite of her little black dresses for the TV interview.

Jenny Silver, the hospital's public relations officer rushed in to give her the interview schedule, even time slot being taken.

"A heavy schedule darling," said the PR specialist with the usual familiarity of their profession. "But you should cope easily -- I read you are into Pilates."

"And I suppose read how I pee?"

"Oh, come on, Maggie -- the media believes in the public's right to know."

"Even about the way I pee?"

"Maggie, I have not read a word about that."

"Well, that's encouraging."

Jenny said instead of using the training room where the press conferences were held, they'd decided to set up in the public foyer, providing a real hospital atmosphere for still and TV cameras.

"Prime has paid $50,000 for a thirty-minute live interview tonight at 7:00 that will run for forty-five minutes including advertisements."

"Fifty thousand?" Maggie queried.

"Yes, stations in Sydney and Melbourne are taking it live and they'll market extracts elsewhere but the clever bastards realized they're the only TV network that hasn't made a donation to the Children's Wing makeover so loaded that on top of the commercially-sensible fee they were prepared to offer. The slow thinkers at TV1 are considering buying re-screening rights to show the interview at 9:30 tonight as the Minister of Broadcasting has reminded everyone that not everyone in the country receives Prime TV."




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 04



"Well, that's not my concern. But fifty thou into kitty, that's great."

Jenny looked at her watch and smiled. "That's not all, darling. Last night Geoffrey told me that you are to replace him shortly as chairman of the kiddies' makeover fund. We all are so delighted as having you aboard will bring in a flood of donations, reviving fund-raising momentum. So I've informed all of those booked in for interviews to bring a donation check of at least 1k if they want you to be extra vivacious in answering their questions, which I believe frees me of the tag of being an extortionist." 

"My God, Jenny, have you been to bed."

"I managed to sleep for a couple of hours on the sofa in my office."

"Hours -- hours, oh yeah?"

"You're smart enough to know how it is Maggie".

Maggie hit Jenny with an idea. "How long is my time with moneybags from Sydney?

"He's rushing -- only requested kiss and hug time and to allow his grateful daughter to do the same. Ten maximum."

"Right, that gives you almost twenty minutes to rush me on a tour through the kiddies' facilities -- I've never been in their part of the hospital and need to know before I start these interviews: I could learn something to my advantage. It's asking a lot but I'll push you in a wheelchair if required."

"Yes, I'll do that but forget about the wheelchair, girl. Like you I do Pilates but for me add on weights, yoga and swimming."

Mr Charles B Goldfinch swept in to the foyer with his entourage including a PR team with still and a TV style handheld camera with sound and lighting support.

He hugged and kissed Maggie, tears streaming down his face in a real Hollywood performance.

"You saved my baby, thank you Maggie, you wonderful woman."

"Come off it Mr Goldfinch, someone had to do it."

"Why you, then?"

"Because I was there. I stupidly thought I would be in no danger."

"That's not what I've been told. Caroline told my you whispered 'I'm not going to let these bastards shoot you."

Flashlights were off en masse, members of the public and hospital staff had gathered around with their cameras.

Mr Goldfinch took Maggie by the shoulder and turned her to face his camera team.

"Maggie, in appreciation of what you did for the Goldfinch family I present you with this check for $50,000 Australian dollars; that ought to keep you in shoes for quite some time."

People around them applauded and Maggie thanked him and asked if he could counter-sign it, making it payable to the Southgate Hospital Children's Wing Upgrade Appeal.

"Certainly Maggie, I'll find a desk."

Just use my back, Mr Goldfinch.

Cameras flashed and Mr Goldfinch beamed, expecting this picture to be used around Australia and Maggie was wearing a dress with a low-cut front.

Caroline stepped forward and kissed Maggie. "Thank you for my life, Maggie. I must say you are even better than Lara Croft -- you show emotion."

They both burst into tears. Wiping her eyes, Caroline asked how she could reward Maggie.

"Just be my friend, emailing me occasionally. Here's my card and when I'm next in Sydney take me out shopping and buy me a dress with a higher neckline than this one -- I've just been caught on camera showing rather a lot."

"Yes, gladly. Goodbye dear friend. Daddy is giving me the hurry up signs."

As soon as the Goldfinch party was out the doors Jenny took Maggie by the hand and they went through a side door and into a golf cart to the nearby Children's Wing.

"This is quicker than walking," said Jenny and then calling into her phone said, "We're on our way."

That showed her class as a PR professional. Staff who were available, including cleaners and kitchen workers, had lined the entrance and clapped softly as Jenny led Maggie up the steps to introduce her to the medical superintendent Dr Milly Carruthers and chief administrator Sara Wynn.

They toured rapidly, Maggie pausing to speak to some of the pint-sized patients. They finished on schedule and she thanked the two principals, saying, "I've got the picture. Thank you. We'll meet again."

Pointing to the noon slot Maggie asked, "Why has the NZ Herald been allocated one hour, all others half an hour?"

"Don't be cross with me, Maggie, but the Herald is the most influential newspaper in the region. I gather you saw newspapers this morning -- you would have seen their dynamic presentation of the attempted robbery, they threw all resources at that coverage."

"I'm not cross, Jenny. I thought you'd have your reasons and was interested in hearing them. Now, here's what I'd like you to do, speaking as a dedicated fund-raiser."

Maggie told her what she wanted.

"Oh gawd, Maggie -- Carruthers requires appointments. She's really a hard-nosed bitch, a true Scot. Both she and her husband came to us from Dumfries three years ago.

"Don't worry, just ask; she likes me as I saw it in here eyes."

The visit including lunch was arranged.

Rita Cousins, who appeared to Maggie to be of Maori descent came up smiling broadly and holding a rose which she gave to Maggie, introducing herself and her photographer.

"Rita, I wish to take you and Kevin on a tour of the Children's Wing, you interviewing me as we go. Is that acceptable?"

"Certainly -- I came expecting the unexpected from you. Are we at war, coming from a rival newspaper?"

Maggie drew on her Number Two smile. "Certainly not, our respective companies are hard-nosed commercial rivals attempting to screw out extra bucks at each other's expense."

"May I quote you on that?"

Rita was told that nothing Maggie said was off the record.

Dr Carruthers met them on the steps.

"Ah, the south of Scotland perhaps?"

"Yes Rita. Have you visited?"

"Aye, I was contracted to the Tourist Board for six months during a working holiday."

"I'm from Dumfries and Galloway."

"I spent a couple of days there with a photographer doing a big feature on the Mull of Galloway for one of the board's American clients. I loved the wild and spectacular landscapes and the memory of that memorable entry drive to Castle Kennedy Garden."

"Well you three, walk where you wish but no photographs of any patient to be published without my consent -- go where you wish and be at cubicle 11 at 12:30 to join some little ones for lunch."

The tour/interview was delightfully interrupted by lunch with four bed-bound children with mild spinal problems who liked the two pretty visitors and wondered if Kevin the bearded 20-something photographer was Dr Carruther's father. 

Maggie talked about how she suspected yesterday's dramatic experience and realization earlier that she'd almost sold out on the community, colleagues and indeed her own beloved husband in selfishly being focused in fuelling her own ambitions was launching her into a new direction, though she was cautious about jumping to definite conclusions.

"Like many of my generation, I have no real sense of community. Why is this so? I suspect we were reared to become takers because our parents were mostly amid a new era of national prosperity that began way back in the l950s and continues to this day. The two generations before us suffered at least one World War and hardship as a result of national economic depression. For a time even after the Second World War there was the threat generated by the so-called Cold War. The tragedy is many of us are unable to recognize we were blessed; we remain takers and the children of my generation are unwittingly being encouraged to continue the trend, though there will be exceptions of course." After lunch Maggie spoke positively about becoming a giver and a taker, not just a taker. She was beginning to look at her community with new eyes and marveled at the way opportunities were beginning to present themselves. She then discussed at length with Rita being gifted the chairmanship of the Children's Wing fundraising trust. 

"I don't have children yet; this is going to be my baby and I intend devoting every afternoon of my working week, where possible, pumping up the effort of our fund-raising machine. We may not get there in my term as chairman but who cares, so long as during my term we've generated real momentum. Auckland can expect to see innovation and seductive hard-selling but not without fun and the acquisition of feel-good. Just watch this space, as they say. Really watch it, I say."

"That's it guys, Jenny said. "We have other people waiting."

Early evening Jenny rushed Maggie to a shower room and went two levels up to collect Maggie's make-up kit and little black dress, black shoes and change of underwear that was waiting on Maggie's bed.

They raced to the foyer, Maggie cutting time by not bothering with her make-up, saying they'd have their own make-up woman. They did, or rather a make-up man -- fat and a little smelly as he was a smoker but his fingers danced around her face and in combing and fixing her hair with the skill of a top professional. They scarcely spoke and the director was standing over him saying, "Hurry, hurry."

Jenny hurried up to Maggie and whispered, "A bit of a problem -- the interviewer is not Rosalind Weir -- she's been replaced by her head of production, Ross Clancy, who used to be front man five or six years ago. He fancies himself so watch him.

The interview began with Ross asking how Maggie's husband's condition was after his gunshot.

"Slowly improving thank you; he is expected to make a full recovery but understandably with a collapsed lung and a bullet hole right through his chest he's not in a comfortable state right now."

"Then why are you here instead of being up with him?"

"I have seen him four times today and not five minutes ago was told he was peacefully asleep. Is there some problem with that?"

"Of course not, Maggie. You performed so wonderfully yesterday and now you have spent all day bending to the wishes of the news media, including mine. Are you a compulsive attention seeker?"

"I should think not, at least no more than you are but I hope I'm not missing something here?"

"You could have been summarily executed in the woods yesterday, according to what the police are saying today. Do you believe that?"

"We have more than one time-frame here -- knowing what I do now I believe it was a possibility and the thought horrifies me. But yesterday right to the point of the shooting I had no fear. I became frightened from the moment I saw blood spurt from my husband's upper chest but then when I looked down to see blood all over my dress for a moment I was confused and thought I was shot."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Rather him than you, I would suspect."

Maggie's smile had been dimming and now it faded altogether. "I had no such thought."

"Are you sure?"

"If decency has deserted you and you have some spiteful barrow to push over your inadequacies Mr Clancy then I guess that completes this interview unless your director wishes to take over from you."

"I accept you had no such thought about whose name was on that bullet, Maggie."

"Do you love your husband?"

"Yes."

"You became married at very short notice I understand; were you pregnant?"

"No more that you are."

"What sort of answer is that, Maggie?"

"Impertinent, like yours, only yours was both impertinent and unprofessional. One's pregnancy, if there was a pregnancy or is likely to be a pregnancy is irrelevant to this interview."

"Oh, then what is the purpose of this interview?"

"I wasn't informed."

"Oh come, Maggie, you seem a very intelligent woman; what do you think is the purpose of this interview.

"I am tempted to say for you to exhibit your skills as an interviewer, but that would be impertinent. So I'd say it's a vehicle for you to examine me publicly to see whether I'm worthy of the name someone pinned on me of heroine."

"Very good, Maggie; that places you top of the class. Tell our viewers, why did you seek to become a heroine?"

"I don't believe volunteering to be a hostage which today some people are calling a foolish action is a clever way of attempting to become a hero or heroine. Further, I'm not sure one premeditates becoming a hero or heroine."

"Why's that?"

"Because when the outcomes are not known in desperate situations it is only after the event people can be classified in the range from coward to hero if anyone finds it necessary to make such an analysis."

"An excellent answer Maggie; it displays your higher than average intelligence I would think. But here you are in the safety of a bank with security cameras operating and probably by now knowing that police and sharp-shooters were lining up outside that those three clowns in Disney masks had no chance of making a get-away."

"You're quite right, no chance at all -- unless they walked out with hostages, knowing police are reluctant to shoot innocent citizens."

"The truth is no one in there was really scared, just a little anxious perhaps."

"Did you see the two women in black beside me in the bank captured in security camera and broadcast on TV?"

"I did."

"The woman on one side of me was fearful she'd never she her young baby again; her teeth were chattering and she was shaking. The other young woman I was also trying to comfort was just shaking a little but clearly was scared."

"Oh come, just young nervy women. What about that elderly woman -- calm as if kneeling in church, I thought."

"Yes, I wondered about that too. If our reporter is as good as I think she is you'll find the answer to that question of that woman's apparently serenity but murderous look in her eyes in this afternoon's edition of the Southgate Regional Echo . I have been too busy doing thirteen interviews throughout today to go looking for a copy of the Echo and no-one handed me one."

"But really, Maggie, you were itching to display your stuff, to show you were up there with Tomb Raider Lara Croft, as I've heard it described, you jumped up expecting nothing more than walking out in the street and three goons surrounding you dropping their weapons and everyone watching declaring what a plucky person you were. Isn't that so, Maggie de Lacey, wannabe heroine?"

Fury showed on Maggie's face and viewers could see her lips moving as she counted to ten while she eyed the taunting fact opposite her.

"Listen smart-ass. Those two young women I was holding had heard the accountant clubbed with a gun-butt, and probably hear the crash of him hitting the ground. That was no picnic for them. Then we'd watched him being dragged towards us, not knowing if he were badly injured or dying in the pool of blood forming around his head. Then the Mickey Mouse guy lets of a blast of his shotgun, granted aiming at the ceiling, but we were showered with plaster debris and the noise with all doors and windows closed, was deafening. I bet you in that situation would have come close to crapping yourself. Then when they threatened to shoot the fingers off of the elderly woman no way was I going to allow those young woman see that happen."

"But one is only two years younger than you and the young mother only five years younger."

"I rather believe I didn't have time to make mathematical calculations and I didn't want that elderly woman unsettled -- I figured her courage would be rattling them and that's why they picked on her fingers."

"Well, perhaps I understand the situation a little better now. But what about that guy behind you; wasn't he cowardly not gathering you four women under his protective arms."

"The thought went through my head but I figured he had his reasons."

"Maggie, I learned the reason listening to Radio KM-FM on the way here; the guy who was on the floor with you is virtually blind through chronic diabetes."

"Poor guy, what stress he must have gone through."

"Indeed, you guys went through a tough time. What now, Maggie?"

"It's back to my office in a couple of days and this hospital has invited me to join its fund-raising campaign for a makeover of the Children's Wing -- the surgeon who operated on my husband took rather a fancy to me -- my toughness and sense of enterprise, I hasten to say."

"Well, good luck with that and I'd think you now have rather a soft spot for the police and emergency medical services."

"Yes Ross, and believe me there were real heroes amongst those people. Only now am I realizing the guts it must have taken to fire that shot over innocent me to knock out the guy who shot my husband. I've yet to thank that that guy or women and those two who whacked the guy moving to pump his shotgun into me. Then there's the surgeon who operated on my husband where he fell and the surgeon here Mr Geoffrey Smith. This evening Jenny Silver, the hospital's public relations officer, is arranging a wee dinner at my expense in my husband's room here at the hospital for those two surgeons, Jenny and me. Ryan will mostly be watching and listening as he's still mostly on liquids and it's painful for him to talk but I'm told he'll be improving day by day. You know, it's rather remarkable being called a heroine and I'm glad Ryan is gradually being recognized as the true hero; that will become very much clearer when the full story comes out in Court when those bastards appear to hear their fate which unfortunately these days will not mean a hanging. You know Ross, the Midland Bank that technically was robbed -- the money was removed from the building -- is not only my personal bank and our business bank but along with me is our company's largest shareholder. I'm probably regarded as their best customer right now and I'm a little chuffed about that."

"There were are folk, we're out of time. Thank you Maggie de Lacey, heroine. This is Ross Clancy of Prime TV signing off from Southgate City, New Zealand."

"Maggie, sorry I was a bit confrontational but I was aiming to get the best out of you."

"That's fine, Maggie said frostily. "You did what you thought you had to do."

"Maggie, that's a misquotation. "You meant to say, I did what I had to do."

"No unintentional misquotation, Ross. Good night. Jenny Silver has an early supper with wine awaiting you and your crew."

She left, hearing Ross mutter, "Bitch."

Maggie went to Ryan's room -- he was asleep. She pulled out her phone and went to the staffroom and spent the next half hour talking in short bites to her mother, mother, Lillian Marks, her sexy new friend Beth Trotter, Elaine Cook the butcher's wife who after a short chat called her daughter Susan on the phone.

"Susan, could you lunch with me tomorrow? I'd like to casually interview you about a job in events management -- but it's a bit complicated -- it would be working mornings for my company and afternoons for me when you'll be on my personal payroll; are you interested?"

"Yes, that's brilliant."

"It would mean giving up your role as a day time Pilate's instructress."

"Good, I was finding it boring. I want something to get my teeth into."

"Red meat?"

"You are funny, Maggie."

Maggie gave her the place and time to meet.

Finally she phoned Cathie, her PA.

"Sorry, Cathie, I've virtually abandoned you."

"No problem, I've been following your trauma. Everything's fine here -- the business is being run by an executive committee. You won't believe the number of calls we've been receiving -- invitations to address I think from memory forty clubs and special interest groups, the principal Rotary club and you have an invitation to attend a Police Parade, whatever that means. Your personal calls are just so overwhelming that I decided to dump the lot, except one."

"Brilliant Cathie, you are an angel; smart work. I will return to work on Friday -- cleanup to do tomorrow and then a day away from everything to crash. What was the call you didn't delete?"

"Sir Gerald Ashton-Forbes -- this is his restricted personal mobile number which he says call anytime, night or day."




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 04



"Thanks sweetie, see you Friday."

"Gerald Ashton-Forbes -- is that you Maggie?"

"You know it is."

"Quite. Look, let's forget about our attempt to shaft you, metaphorically speaking, and start anew. We've analyzed your press capacity which is sixty-percent above your current requirements. We'd like to do a deal, taking what we estimate is sixty-five percent of that surplus capacity -- three magazines. We have an option on premises near your plant for an editorial and production team to insert twenty-percent local content in three of our magazines we wish you to print and distribute nationally on contract as rates which even we Australians think are astonishingly fair. What do you say, pretty one?"

"Well, you old flirt. Courier me a proposal, with every 'I' dotted and 't' crossed and I'll take it to my board. It sounds a compatible partnership to me providing the figures stack up."

"You mean that, after what we put you through?"

"Gerald, don't be a wet; this is business."

"Maggie, you should be on my team. I've never met anyone like you -- a female I mean."

"Good night, your old flirt."

"Wait -- how's Ryan? We've been following your saga on TV."

"He's okay' the surgeon expects he'll be back in the office doing light work, part time, in six weeks from now. Knowing Ryan, I suspect it will be four weeks. Good night."

"Goodnight Maggie. I wish my two daughters were like you."

Maggie was elated. Although she didn't have the figures the Australian contracts, unless cancelled or wrangles occurred, would be big money in the back for the company, probably representing up to fifty percent of net revenues of the company. She thought if in time the Australians came back with a friendly offer to acquire the company she'd talk at length to fellow shareholders without the Australians present and suggest she take the Echo and start up a new company, those not wanting part of that would have the choice of negotiating a personal employment contract with the Australians or accepting a fat check and walking. That way the impact on employees would be minimal and the community would scarcely notice any change.

She yawned, accepting she was bone weary but exceedingly happy.

TO BE CONTINUED... 



You're Worth Dying For Ch. 05



THE FINAL: Business woman Maggie de Lacey is taken hostage in a bank robbery and when her new husband rushes in and attempts to free her Ryan is shot through the chest, but survives. Marksmen kill one of the armed robbers holding Maggie and save Maggie again by immobilizing another robber attempting to shoot her with a shotgun. All this drama is being shown live on TV. Maggie is hailed as a heroine but insists for her the real hero is Ryan because had he not placed the robbers in disarray as they were leaving the bank more lives could have been lost in the pursuit of them – including her own. A nurse reveals to a reporter she heard Ryan say to his new wife that she was worth dying for. 


A month after being shot at the scene of the robber Ryan de Lacey was back at home with Maggie in their penthouse apartment, dividing his time between physiotherapy aimed at getting his left shoulder working properly again, doing light company work from his home office and slowly re-entering social life.

Maggie of course had returned to work, almost everyone welcomed her back and she handled the return of the Australians to the negotiating table with aplomb; lucrative contracts for the Southgate publishing company printing three Australian magazines were signed.

Maggie also negotiated the approval of the board to reduce her working hours from 7:00 to noon, except for meetings or urgent appearances, to allow her to work on raising donations to fund improvements to the structurally refurbished and extended Children’s Wing at Southgate Hospital. Her offer to accept a proportionate reduction in salary was rejected as unwarranted by fellow directors. At her suggestion management under the control of the executive committee would continue until Ryan returned to his desk fulltime.

By now Maggie felt a need and tried to ignore, it but it persisted. She’d trained herself to more or less ignore her sexual desires after Stephen’s death but sex had become excessively rampant when Ryan entered her life and, with that activity severely cut back she once again felt greatly frustrated and accepted she must do something about it.

* *  *

Afternoons began to consume Maggie’s life, as she hoped they would, because she was eager to new business adventure. She met with the hospital board which approved her strategic and business plans with little comment, the two-tier organization for the reformed fund-raising structure attracting nothing but support. Maggie’s positional paper that suggested the administration/management structure be headed by her as chairman was agreed to with acclaim.

The second recommendation that the executive committee comprise herself as chairman with the six other members being appointed was also approved. The two opponents to that recommendation capitulated when Maggie referred them to Article 3:1 which stated ‘Expenditure on any fund-raising initiative be capped at $10,000 unless any higher figure for any project received board approval prior to the committee resolving to commit to such expenditure’.

“That puts the lid on any wacky expenditure,” said one of the earlier critics, the board’s deputy chairman and the other board member with misgivings agreed.

Maggie’s first appointment to the fund-raising executive committee was its youngest member, the butcher’s daughter, Susan Cook, a marketing graduate aspiring to become an events organizer after having had work experience in that field.

Her next appointment was the radio-head Indiana Dick, real name Freddie Payne. He’d already met Maggie and signed a mutual contract with her for the production of the blood-stained ‘dress front’ on T-shirts which were selling enormously well, particularly since Maggie had sales available through a website. The associated song commissioned by Indiana Dick’s radio station  ‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’ was currently a hit charts single in New Zealand, Australia, Germany, the UK and on both coasts of the US and estimated royalties to the Children’s Wing makeover fund  from those two projects were now expected to exceed $1,250,000.

At the time of being approached Indiana Dick had said, “Maggie, are you sure you want me on your committee? Older folk hate me, mothers of teenage daughters call me Satan and when I’m on the streets alone the cops pick me up for questioning and drug testing. What’s more, never in my life have I been invited to join anything.”

“That’s your uniqueness Freddie and that’s why I want you – I need at least one other person capable of thinking outside the square.”

Indiana Dick agreed and departed, shaking his head. 

To her astonishment Maggie found herself drawn to Freddie – rotund Indiana Dick with a moustache and gravel voice who walked with a limp. Absolutely not her type at all and besides, she was married and had no intention of experiencing adultery for the first time in two marriages. She and Ryan had recommenced sexual activity but did so very tentatively whereas, although fighting it, she felt the pull of Freddie’s underlying sexuality which she accepted was part of the reason for his cult appeal.

This attraction interested her because it was so one-sided; the guy rarely looked at her beyond quick glances – initially she’d had described them as shifty looks and NEVER had he make the slightest advance towards her. Well, if he had, it passed unnoticed. Indeed, he did his best to repel her without apparently trying. He occasionally passed wind for goodness sake without embarrassment or attempted apology or looking around for the ‘culprit’. Once when about to sneeze he held out his hand for Maggie’s handkerchief and then handed it back, wet, for goodness sake. She later dropped it into a street bin. He swore and drank too much and loved talking about himself. Maggie had tried to distance herself, appalled by this man and his social behavior but gradually was making excuses for him to herself to ensure he remained marginally acceptable.

Their affair lasted not quite six months – the bastard (Maggie’s word used when telling Harriet and Beth) jilted her, announcing he’d found another woman as he preferred his companions to be in their very late teens. His behavior didn’t change towards her – he’d never revealed his sexual interest in her publicly – so with great maturity she decided to keep him on the committee to continue mining his expertise in motivating the public.

Two weeks later Beth called her to say she’d met Freddie. He’d appeared almost revolting and he hadn’t interested her. She phoned two nights later saying Freddie had asked her to meet him so would Maggie mind.

 “He’ll fuck you.”

“I know, I have this feeling I’d think I would have in going to the guillotine.”

“Ah, I know the feeling. Beware darling, he’ll dump you like a rag.”

“Like you, I’m strong enough to shed only one tear and get on with it.”

“Good luck and enjoy.”

“Thank you sweet Maggie; there’s something about men, isn’t there?”

The call terminated, leaving Maggie reflecting on her friend’s final comment. Yes, she agreed but what was it about Freddie? She hadn’t a clue and sighed – it would be a revelation if Beth came away from Freddie knowing that answer.

It was Freddie who’d started it, saying: “Maggie, we’ve had a couple of meetings over coffee recently for discussions that to me seem rather spurious; are you wanted sex with me?”

She’d spilt coffee down her front; he jumped to her aid and began wiping it with the coffee shop’s damask table cloth. Feeling his hands thumping over her breasts, raising her nipples to bullet-like hardness, she opened her mouth to tell him to shove off, she’d do it; he was making a scene. Then he kissed her – in full public view.

She pulled away, threw a twenty dollar note on the table – he always left her to pay – and said, “Let’s get out of here.” She meant let’s get out of here you clown, you have publicly embarrassed me whereas he appeared to be thinking she’s meant let’s get out of here and get it off.  He hurried her away and once on the footpath he slapped a hand on to the right cheek of her ass and grunted, “Are you wearing panties?”

She was horrified at her reaction. Almost panting she answered, “You won’t feel elastic edge there – the thingy I’m wearing is almost a thong but let’s not behave like this where people can see us.”

“Rex Plate’s hotel is just up ahead – I can get a room and we can fix you up.”

She assumed he meant the coffee spill and nodded, feeling the surge of excitement that he probably also had something else in mind. Would she let him have her? She wasn’t sure but knew she often lied to herself.

The room was on the next level so they went up the stairs after on the landing, out of sight from below, they slammed into each other, kissing hungrily. It was only at that point that Maggie decided there was no turning back, that she wanted hard-on sex. She felt no shame and thought she was unlikely to suffer remorse afterwards because she was a self-made, tough and self-centered woman and the only surprising thing was she’d never cheated on her man of the moment or a husband before this. She didn’t know if Freddie was cheating on anyone and really didn’t care she thought as he dragged her through the door; she squealed like a piglet going to the slaughter as he picked her up roughly and tossed her on to the bed.

Maggie jumped off immediately. He was unbuckling his belt and she drew off the pretty bedspread saying, “Hotel management will appreciate this beautiful cover not being soiled.”

“Do you also want to brush your teeth and douche,” he muttered. Riled as such insensitivity she lost it and went to slap him although she’d never slapped anyone in her life.

For such a lazy guy he surprised her, ducking under her swing grinning and with both hands pulled off her skirt, not ripping it but the back holding button went flying off behind her.

He backed off and they eyed one another, both panting. “I’ll ease back; don’t want to be accused of anything serious,” he said.

“You are doing this by consent – do what you wish, though not quite anything.”

“I understand. What would you like me to do?”

“Finger me a bit and then do it.”

“That’s a clear instruction.”

“We seem to be having a committee meeting.”

“Funny woman; you have amazing legs.”

“Well, do something with them you procrastinating clown.”

He went “Grrrrrrrr!” and his charge landed them on the bed in an inelegant waving of arms and legs and very wet kisses commenced with wildly rotating tongue. 

Maggie felt her narrow crutch panties being ripped off but didn’t care, groaned as he slid in two rough fingers and one-handed pulled off her shirt and undid her front-opening bra. His slobbering mouth slid down to attack a nipple and she groaned, wetting his fingers even more as she convulsed while attempting to apparently push his head through her chest,

“Whoa, whoa,” he cried, lifting his face to get air.” Slow down or else I’ll also ejaculate prematurely.”

“That wasn’t main course – that was your entrée. Why do you think they call this intercourse, big boy?”

He grinned and pulled down his track pants and waggled a rather big thing at her, making her eyes pop.

“You’re funny,” he said lifting and spreading her lips with fingers that entered her; Maggie closed her eyes, moaned and then grunted as he slammed the remaining piece of him home.

She wasn’t going to make comparisons – it felt improper to think of one’s husband at such a time, but he was okay; he had the enthusiasm she’d been missing and bit his shoulder and then urged him to pound her.

“I won’t last if I hit full pace.”

“I don’t care. I just want a good bang.”

“Sorry, Mags but I’m only good for two shots.”

“Fine, we’re not in an endurance contest.”

“How can you…ooops, I’ve slipped out…how can you talk so rationally at a time like this?”

“Could it be I lack passion?” she asked, squeezing his testicles, causing him to blast away.

They rested, sweating, until she rolled him away and removed the condom. “Do you have another of these? Usually I’m not into this sort of thing so don’t carry any.”

“Yes, in my wallet – one plain one, one tickler; your choice.”

Maggie rolled the tickler on him thinking at least he smelled as if he bathed. In the meantime he moaned about not having a full shot left as she’d made him explode.

“Come on, being a one-shot man will be devastating to your ego. I’ll turn facing the dresser mirror – they design these rooms to allow for this.”

“Why do I have to look in the mirror?”

“We’ll do it doggy; you thrust away and look at my breasts – you’ll get the motivation to shoot again, believe me.”

Freddie wanted a much longer rest but she would not allow this, saying she had arranged to meet her mother for late lunch. Freddie began though not greatly enthused but nothing much was happening.

“Faster.”

“Gawd you’re a hard woman.”

He picked up the pace and she began thrusting back in rhythm, moving her shoulders from side to side slightly.

“Oh bravo, look at your tits swinging,” he cried, and she felt him thicken a little more. She squeezed, applying greater friction until noticing her eyes beginning to bulge she really clamped him. He bleated like a billygoat and grinned, knowing he’d got a good shot away and was feeling her convulsing around him.

“That was expertly done,” he said. “You shower and go and I’ll stay on here for a nap; you’ve absolutely stuffed me.”

The skirt stayed up okay so along the street Maggie purchased new panties and a new shirt and discarded the items being replaced. She did her make-up in the changing room and went to meet her mother.

“You’re looking beautiful, almost glowing,” Harriet said. “Have you just had sex?”
The know-all, what on earth could she say.

“Ryan must be getting better,” Harriet said, not quite being the perfect know-all.

As she predicted, Maggie felt no remorse as the post-coital haze left her during lunch and afterwards went she went home and was kissing Ryan, he fondling her breasts over her shirt, and still felt invincible. “Take them out if you’d like to play,” she whispered wanting a real test.

At no time then, or thereafter, did she feel villainess for becoming an adulteress. And why should it be anything else, she thought? In her view it had been simple expedient sex. It had been as if she’d coupled with a…um…newt. She’d given away her body for a short while, but not her love. She didn’t expect other people with higher standards of beliefs, faith and their version of morality to agree with her view; no matter, to her it was her view that counted. What Ryan would think if he knew the truth was better left aside as it was an issue with the potential to have a huge downside.

This means is I’m not a particularly moral person, Maggie sighed.

It was only two days after she’d learned Freddie had found someone else that Ryan was allowed home. Geoff Smith had said he was making more than a satisfactory recovery and gave him a letter to the physiotherapist to gradually work up Ryan into more vigorous exercising. 

“That also applies to sex darling,” Ryan grinned. “Geoff didn’t say that but the implication clearly is there.”

“I’m coming to fetch you home darling, right now,” Maggie said, switching off her phone and racing to her car.

They first had sex in the pool on their huge deck; Maggie suggested it would take any strain off his muscles, allowing him to be a little more active knowing he’d have little chance of hurting himself.

“Try getting me pregnant,” she whispered. “I stopped taking my pills last week, knowing you’d be home soon – is that’s okay with you?”

Ryan beamed and said, “Let’s make all the spare rooms into nurseries.”

“Nothing will happen for a while because of the residue of contraceptives in me.”

“Who cares, if it’s a long road to hoe, let’s start hoeing.”


Six weeks later Ryan drove to work. Although he’d called in during his convalescence on this occasion he really received a hero’s welcome as it was his real return to work. That afternoon Maggie attended a meeting she’d organized attended by representatives of health insurers, medical and pharmaceutical firms, Government Health Department officials, the Film Commission and the funding organization New Zealand on Air. As a result of the four-hour meeting a working party under the chairmanship of Southgate Hospital’s Dr Milly Carruthers, an internationally known pediatrician, to investigate the production of an hour-long film for public television and possible international sales on behalf of the Southgate Children’s Wing Appeal Trust about latest trends in the medical treatment of children, including surgery in the womb through to extending the quality of life for children with terminal conditions.

Maggie’s opening presentation was applauded for its brilliance as was Dr Carruther’s very dry but riveting presentation which ended with her promise to secure cooperation of colleagues in Edinburgh and in research hospitals in the United States describing breath-taking breakthroughs – on film, in operating theatre and diagrammatically – of new treatments in hospital as they work to improve the health of children. She was confident she could secure international support, including contributions to funding, simply by emailing a précis of the proposed project to a half-dozen people worth targeting.

She was applauded. 

“As those who know me will understand, I’m not in the habit of making promises – but this time it’s different because our Maggie is suggesting to us a brilliant way of advancing medical knowledge publicly to a small section of patients who grab our hearts because of their wee size and vulnerability. My hospital will, of course, gain a few pennies as a result of close involvement in this project but so be it. Those of you without blinkers will see immense value in becoming involved in this project.”

“Well, I think everyone went away in a positive frame of mine,” said Maggie to the two women drinking coffee with her – Dr Carruthers and a woman Maggie had introduced right at the end of the meeting, Melbourne based Iona McDougall. Iona was an award-winning producer of documentaries and had lost a child to induced abortion because of severe spinal deformations but was now proud mother of two very bright young teenagers in perfect health.

“To me they looked interested in getting their cronies to the nearest pub,” Milly said.

“And what do you think they will be talking about there?” Maggie prodded.

“You, standing up there and looking so scrumptious.”

“Milly!”

“Aye, I sometimes have a wee breakout.”

“Ignore her, Iona.”

“But why, Milly is the perfect specimen of what a feisty woman should act like. I think she’s adorable. My impression at the end of the meeting was nothing but favorable. I anticipate the working party will recommend we proceed, the only potential stumbling block being money.”

“Don’t worry your pretty hair over that Iona – we’ll milk Government funding as hard as we can but the real money will come from pharmaceutical companies from here and abroad and American philanthropy will fund totally their involvement as well as the cost of Iona and her production team going there to film it. It’s the Edinburgh financing I’m worried about.”

“Let’s seek it from Scots in America – they began going their in numbers from three centuries ago so out to have minted some real wealth by now.”

“My God, Maggie that’s it!” Milly cried.

Maggie had the advertising agency produce a project proposal document to her specifications and with Milly’s cooperation sending in a photographer to take appealing shots at the Children’s Wing to illustrate it. The 20-page document was then published, without charge, by the commercial print division at Maggie’s company and she had three copies sent to everyone who’d attended her presentation meeting with a personally written covering note.




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 05



The photo on the front cover showed a hurdler in New Zealand colors completing at the Olympic Games. The photo was repeated inside the cover along with another photo of the hurdler, as a child, in a heavy plaster cast with a metal bar between the lower legs, being the treatment in those days to remedy a condition in those growing bones that which have left the child partly disabled had it been left untreated. The caption was short, but the message was immensely moving.

*  *  *

Ryan de Lacey’s recollection of acting heroically would forever remain a hazy memory though he possessed a film record of the shooting and events before and after it. A bullet smacking through your chest is not a memorable moment, though he still woke up at night, less frequently now, with the vision of a Pluto mask in his mind.

The prospect of appearing the District Court for the preliminary hearings and then to the High Court for more weeks of presentation of evidence, including his own, but at least Maggie would be at his side. He understood the defense had advised the two defendants to plead not guilty but quite sensationally George Arthur Bates (Mickey Mouse) and Bryce Ian Cox (Pluto) dismissed their State-funded legal team and pleaded guilty, speeding up the process considerably and easing the distress for Ryan and Maggie who to their relief were no longer being dubbed hero and heroine.

Bates turned out to have a brain, having negotiated beforehand with the prosecution to have the charges of kidnapping dropped and attempted murder changed to accidental shooting but accepted a charge of attempted manslaughter. They both were sentenced on several charges to which they pleaded guilty; Bates who fired the shot received a total of eleven years imprisonment and Cox nine years.

Maggie and Ryan walked from the Court feeling free and straight into a barrage of Press and TV cameras. Ryan read a short statement Maggie had prepared for him and then she was asked if she had anything to say.

“Only this, I thank my husband Ryan for extending my life. That’s all.”

Spectators clapped and a van came down the roadway to the Courthouse, speakers mounted on the roof booming out, ‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’.

The crowd cheered and unaware they were being filmed by TV cameras Ryan said, “Oh shyte, here comes that greasy friend of yours.”

“Oh darling,” Maggie now deeply in guilt hearing that song and seeing both men at the same moment, as Indiana Dick was walking towards them with a microphone, “He’s a real character, the younger folk adore him. Please be nice to him and let him interview us. He’ll allow me to make a free plug for our Children’s Wing appeal.”

“Okay, but you be especially nice to me in bed tonight.”

“It will be my pleasure, big boy.”

“Hi guys, this is Indiana Dick outside the Courthouse, only one street away from the bank shooting four months ago. I’m talking to Maggie and husband Ryan who took a bullet through the chest walking to deal with that bastard who had his wife as a hostage, holding a gun ready to shoot her brains out her other ear.”

“Hi, Indiana. Nice day.”

“That’s Maggie, folk, as usually talking as if it’s all just a walk in the park.”

“Ryan, my old hero, do you like the song we had written for you feat?”

“No I fucking well don’t. Maggie plays it every night and every morning; it’s driving me bonkers.”

“Watch your language mate, we’re live on air.”

“Oh Christ. I’m sorry.”

“Do you use profanity a lot, Ryan?”

“No he doesn’t Dickhead,” flared Maggie. “He’s a real gentleman and because of him people who see us together assume I’m a sweet lady. He rarely swears or utters profanities. The rare occasions are when he’d provoked.”

“Heh-heh-heh, Indiana Dickhead, that’s a new one.”

“Oh God, I did say that, didn’t I.”

“You did baby, but not to worry; I still think you are terribly, terribly cute. Tell me, why don’t you think you’re a lady?”

“Oh God, we’re on air, aren’t we? Yeah, and on TV by the looks.”

Maggie and Ryan swung around on their jaws dropped. Ryan placed a hand over his eyes and groaned, smiled and waved weakly at the cameras.

“Hey, back to me guys; not a great moment for you, huh.”

“If I have children and they learn about this day I’ll be a little embarrassed.”

“Only a little embarrassed?”

“Yes Indiana, as you suggested, I’m no lady. I swear a bit, I talk with my mouth full, I wear tight clothes and I’m making it very clear I don’t like men being rude to women – any woman.”

“So you rather like women; sexually?”

“Do you wish to be kicked where it hurts?”

“Great answer, I’ll take that as a no Maggie. Currently who’s your favorite woman? Our Prime Minister – heh-heh-heh.”

“No, I don’t like her but you are on dangerous ground, boyo; you are being rude about her laughing in that mocking way.”

“Sorry. Then who is your current favorite?”

“Maria Pilpovic, former freedom fighter from Bosnia who was kneeling by me in the bank during the robbery. I knew she was somebody. I had rather fancied somebody dubbing me a Lara Croft. Well, we were unaware we were looking at a real life Lara Croft that day, only her age and arthritic state denying her the chance of taking those bank robbers on. And don’t you dare bad-mouth her.”

“I won’t, promise. I read that story, awesome. But why did you write it for your newspaper, you’re not a journalist?”

“Because she wouldn’t talk to anyone from the media but me.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re on air, Indiana Dickhead.”

“Ryan, I’ll remove myself from danger and talk to you. Is your wife really not a refined lady?”

“Correct, but on the other hand she’s the most complete feminine package I’ve ever met but could we move on from this personal stuff?”

“Okay, you’re right – taking so long here we’re building up on ads. You’re come away from Court with those two…er…Dickheads sent down on long stretches. How do you feel about that right now, Maggie?”

“Free.”

“Ryan?”

“Free and this is my last…er…damn interview about the robbery and Maggie’s also.”

“Maggie?”

“Yeah, right.”

“What’s your favorite tune Maggie?”

“Just hit the button you lovely man. People who buy this single are donating a large proportion of their payment to the Southgate Children’s Wing appeal. Doesn’t that give you a lovely feeling? Have a nice day everyone.”

‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’ boomed out through the speakers. Maggie turning to wipe her eyes was caught full on by the TV cameras. She told Ryan when watching it on TV that night she planned that move. 

Horrified, he turned her over on the sofa and paddled her ass. She squealed and that excited him... 


Later, over dinner on the deck, looking across the city at the lights Maggie said, “It’s great isn’t it – the best view at evening is this way and during the day the superior view is on the other side out to the west across the river and to the rolling forest lands.”

“That’s pretty mundane conversation for you. Is there a vacuum?”

“You’re sharp tonight; usually after sex you are sleepy.”

“Look, you’re not born to sit on your ass and you’re not having much luck trying to have a kid…”

Maggie burst into tears. Ryan jumped up to comfort her, pulling her close and she buried her head into the right hand side of his chest, instinctively knowing it was still his strongest side.

“I’m doing my best honey,” she sobbed in a childlike voice.

“Look,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s not your fault. Milly and Alex will be here with the McCallums on Saturday night – you duck away with Milly and discuss your problem; ask her to refer you to a specialist at the main hospital – you are more or less an honorary staff member.”

“I think I should ask my own doctor – go through property channels.”

“Am I hearing right; is that Maggie de Lacey speaking?”

“Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not; I want my positive thinking risk-taker back.”

Maggie hesitated and Ryan waited patiently. “I’m a little worried. These are just suspicions but over the past three months I’ve had a couple of usual things happen – just bleeds but not periods if you know what I mean. I wondered if they were tiny abortions then thought about cancer but after a couple of days I was my usual self so didn’t think any more of it.”

“Maggie, if you tell me after our dinner visitors go on Saturday night you didn’t discuss this matter with Milly Carruthers I will haul you along to her on Monday, understand.”

“Yes; I’d like to finish my dinner now.”

Ryan said she needed a new challenge. “Why don’t you sell out of the company and use that released capital to do something else.”

“Funny you should suggest that. I’ve chatted to one of the consultants we’re using for our fund-raising preparations – it’s far cheaper doing it with consultants than employing a professional fund-raiser. Don’t get mad it I tell you his opinion.”

“No, of course not.”

“Instead of me attempting to sell my shares as a single parcel it was be far better for us to appoint a new chairman – he suggested Ron Talbot, president of our bank – and with the agreement of all stockholders to restructure the company, have the company valued by three different firms, issue double or even treble the number of shares and turn the company into a public listed company on the Stock Exchange. We then use the capital raised to buy out our largest competitor in commercial printing and merge that operation by expanding our new printing works – we have plenty of land there.”

“This sounds interesting,” Ryan said. “That acquisition would almost double the size of our commercial printing division.”

The next day Ryan and Maggie engaged a firm of business brokers to open negotiations on behalf of unnamed clients with the directors of Alphas Print Limited.

*  *  *

It looked just another day at the office when a TV film crew arrived in the foyer demanding to see Ryan.

“It looks like trouble Ryan, a job for the chairman?”  Cathie asked.

“Could be – where is she?”

“In com-print chatting to Pierce Muggeridge.”

“You get the media coffee Cathie, and I’ll fetch Maggie.”

The reporter Sharon Street asked, “Which one of you will talk on-camera to me?

“I will – Maggie de Lacey, company chairman.”

“Right, the crap has had the fan over the council’s proposal to change the name Main Street to de Lacey Avenue. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

“That’s fine, set up out here and have me called when you’re ready; I’ll be in my office.”

“That’s very cooperative of you Maggie. I’m dreadfully sorry about doing this to you.”

“Sharon, be polite by all means. But don’t bow and scrape to people. Do your job professionally focused.”

“Yes, Mrs de Lacey.”

“Sharon!”

“I agree with you, Maggie.”

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Sharon Street, talking to Maggie de Lacey, heroine of the recent Southgate City bank robbery along with her heroic husband Ryan who combined to thwart three armed robbers, one of whom was shot dead and the other two are now in prison. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Maggie but Main Street professional and business people are up in arms about the council voting to investigate renaming Main Street de Lacey Avenue. A petition against the change is being circulated. What are your comments?”

“How many professionals have offices along Main Street and how many retailers trade on that thoroughfare Sharon?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Allow me to assist; the latest annual report of our association numbers them at 349.”

“How many have signed the petition, Sharon?”

“Twenty-three, including some very prominent people.”

“Very interesting Sharon. But the truth is my husband Ryan and I haven’t asked for the name of Main Street to be changed and you Sharon are the first person to ever discuss it with us, so please take credit for that. If the majority of people doing business on that street oppose the name change that so be it; if the majority decide otherwise then who are we to oppose a majority view. Frankly, Sharon, Ryan and I have other things to worry about. That’s all.”

“But…”

“Interview over, Sharon. Have a nice day.”

After Sharon performed her wrap-up and the film unit began packing up, Sharon said: “You were awesome, Maggie. I’ve had advanced training but you didn’t give me a chance.”

“It happens sometimes, always be prepared for the unexpected. You’re doing fine, showing some real class but you don’t quite believe in yourself, Sharon. I know nothing about being a front-line interviewer but I image the keys are self-belief, absolute poise and being absolutely familiar about the person you are about to interview and the subject to be discussed.”

“Maggie, you should be training us.”

“I have read the handbook they give to you reporters,” Maggie grinned. “Don’t worry, when you see that clip run you’ll see me appearing as an aggressive know-all and you graciously standing aside and allowing me to run the show, smiling with dignity.”

“You’re rather exaggerating, Maggie.”

“I was there; that’s how I saw it Sharon.”

Ryan asked Maggie, “Why didn’t you support the name change to de Lacey subject to my parent’s approval?”

“Darling, silly me forget to ask your opinion so I had to ad lib.”

“If you radio-head broadcasts outside the store of Foxy and Rock Music on Main Street he’d drag in support for you.”

“Us dear; if he disagrees with that petition move when he sees it on TV tonight he’ll know what to do.”

Indiana Dick began a special broadcast outside the premises of Foxy and Rock Music on Main Street at 7:00 next morning and had to teams of young women going down both sides of the street wearing blood covered t-shirts collecting signatures for a name change to de Lacey Street. Three hours later Indiana was packing up, a triumphant look on his face as the speakers on his OB van blared out ‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’, calls to the local police by some irate shopkeepers opposing the name change from Main Street about a public nuisance failing to produce any action until Indiana’s van passed the stationary police car with two grinning policemen at the entrance to Main Street.

Maggie had her gynecological examination and the hospital specialist told here she could be admitted for a through examination but in his opinion that was unwarranted; that she appeared to be perfectly normal. He advised Maggie to eat well, sleep more and keep relaxed and rest with her feet up after sexual intercourse. He wondered if perhaps she should ease back in activity but the specialist then said if her husband was as young and fit as Maggie he’s suggest an increase in activity would be in order. Maggie’s stunned reply was perhaps they lift the frequency.

“When is the best time?”

“Anytime when you feel relaxed and interested,” said the specialist who then double-checked about Maggie’s knowledge on assessing her optimum time for conception.

Maggie rushed home with the good news, taking the surgeon’s advice to heart.

The weekend Maggie (and Ryan) became pregnant appeared to be when they went with Alex and Milly to a beach house on a wild part of the West Coast on a cliff top near Piha. The Carruther’s called it their Retreat.

They had a lovely meal, great conviviality because although the there was a 10-year age gap between the couples the intelligent, wit and common consent that age was immaterial in social discourse meant they bonded as how it should be when people free themselves of social inhibitions.

At 10:00 Milly looked at her watch and said they would be off, to just set the latch on lock and leave the key inside when the left on Sunday. “We thought you two having been through so much ought to live free for a couple of days.”

An hour or so later Maggie went to bed after cleaning up to find Ryan asleep, or so she thought. In the morning when she awoke and sleepily reached for him he jumped out of bed and said he’d fetch her a cup of tea and be off for a run.

His behavior perplexed Maggie; she could never recall Ryan having turned down an opportunity and he’d done it twice in a row. Very strange; she had the half-thought that perhaps he’d met someone but had not allowed that thought to worm into her brain. He arrived home near exhausted, showered and came out and gave her a most passionate kiss and then said he would take a nap, This environment and Ryan’s behavior was so strange that Maggie was almost beside herself. She walked into the kitchen to do something she didn’t know what and ten minutes later began to make a batch of scones – something she’s not since her mid-teens. So much for my romantic weekend, she grumbled.

Ryan reappeared just before 1:00 to a greeting, “Hello stranger” but he redeemed himself by sniffing and asking, “Have you been baking?” 

“Oh, I fiddled around and produced some date scones.”

“Date scones, I love them,” he enthused, a trifle over the top she thought and then he suggested they pack a picnic and tramp along the cliff top to the track down to the beach.

Maggie dressed in old underwear she’d bought in case they went tramping or boating, old khaki shorts that were about as sexy as a Nun’s bloomers and an overly large shirt; he was not interested in sex so why bother. While she dressed he filled the basket and found a large rug.

On the beach, Maggie stretched, enjoying the slap-crash of the surf and the sun warming her bones.

“Darling, I’m ready for wine.”

“Only cranberry juice I’m afraid, but just the best.”

The best for what? Maggie gave up; she was being treated like the neighbor’s dog. Why, she had no idea; perhaps she was being punished for a misdemeanor she’d not been told about; that figured when he was in a spaced out session like this: was it the heavily salted air getting to him or was he on drugs other than aspirin? She wished she was back in the city, downing Margaritas with Beth and friends.  

The beach was, well, adequate. The sand was black, rising up steeply towards the cliffs and peppered with shells but the rug gave them comfort. She knew he’d packed bread rolls, spread, ham, mustard, tomatoes and her scones and strawberry jam. But what did he do – hand her a glass of undiluted orange juice and when finished, taking the glass from her and beginning to grope her, not offering any food.

Maggie felt this was very strange’ normally she had food when she was hungry, sex when she felt sexy. Now she felt not the least bit sexy and was hungry and he appeared to be after sex. She decided it was a holiday weekend so should not groan or be critical of his behavior; she should just go along with the ride and obviously he was working up to that. He sank his teeth into her nipple – how the hell he managed to get her breast out into the open like that without her noticing was a mystery. But the pain and him cupping both breasts and puffing up between them well, she rather lost it. Suddenly sex was of interest to her.

Ryan’s idea of foreplay usually was two-minute play but this time he worried at her like a terrier; she felt as if her breasts were ballooning and when he ran a finger over her clit – she actually had noticed his pawing to get to it – she yelped like a stuck pig. She was now so horny, grabbed him and they were away grabbing and licking at everything in reach.

When both were puffing and panting, Ryan pulled away, grabbing her by the ankles and turning her so that she was now spread-eagled down the slope, head pointing towards the water and from nowhere he produced a small pillow which he placed under her lower back. This was weird, very weird; he must be after the ultimate in friction, she mused, cooperating fully.

Ryan worked on sexually exciting her until she was almost crying tears, urging him to enter her which he did, in Missionary position which they tended only to use when tired.

He was so gentle and talking or at least murmuring to her instead of the usual silence broken for the occasional groan and grunt and ultimately a triumphant bellow. On this occasion when she groaned when she was coming there were bellows from both of them actually.




You're Worth Dying For Ch. 05



“Was the timing right,” he worried, helping her to clean up.

“Yes – we need to draw into the station both roughly on time to best achieve pregnancy; we’re discussed that. I want a pee.”

“No, no. Stay still, exactly where you are. I’ve a surprise.”

Ryan buried into the kit and pulled out a paper bag and began feeding her grapes, one by one, kissing her cheeks in soft pecks after dropping a grape into her mouth, opening like a baby bird wanting to be fed.

It was so romantic. Maggie couldn’t help herself and began crying. But instead of Mr Bozo asking in astonishment, “Why are you weeping?” he licked and kissed her tears away. /Deep warmth spread through her and she sighed: If she hadn’t known better she would have thought he was making a super-human attempt at getting her pregnant.

Oh really?

That was as likely as seeing a big red double-deck bus driving along the sands. Maggie watched the big red bus drive on to the beach and waited for it to bog down in the soft sand. No, just kidding she smiled.

“Why are you smiling?”

She stroked his face and said she was just fantasizing – she’d pretended she’d seen a big red bus drive along the beach.

“Don’t be daft – it would bog in the sand.”

Ever so seriously she said that bus didn’t and announced she simply must have a pee.

“Okay,” Ryan said. “Do it there – I’d like to watch.”

Maggie turned brick red. They engaged in all sorts of body intimacies but NEVER had he asked to watch her pee. Was he turning into a pervert? She decided to let him have his thrill but nothing was forthcoming. She closed her eyes and strained and with a big grin felt the release. She opened her eyes expecting to see him crouched down examining the high pressure flow, ready to praise her for producing such a torrent, if that was his reaction. Instead he had his back to her, watching out to sea.

“Are you ignoring my premier performance,” she complained. She often tinkled when he was in the bathroom but when he looked at her in the mirror he seemed only to be looking at her face, or her breasts if she were nude. There wasn’t really anything to see down-under anyway because of the bowl effect created by the toilet set.

“Oh, I’ll look if you really want,” he said airily. “One of the guys was talking about how excited he gets watching his wife pee, so I thought I shouldn’t miss out. But ten seconds was enough, it did nothing for me.”

“Perhaps I performed inadequately,” Maggie frowned.

“No, I wouldn’t think so. I saw your pussy lips part and it began flowing like a torrent. But nothing more than I expected. Perhaps I should ask Stan to take a look and give his assessment of you; he appears to be expert as he also said his sister put on a show for him.”

“Oh gawd, no thanks you perverts.”

“Just kidding,” he grinned.

“Oh really,” Maggie said, with a touch of venom but hearing herself began to grin.
He’d dressed so she told him to undress.

“Why.”

“Let’s wade into the water. It’s the romantic thing to do.”

“It’s freezing and anyway Milly said not to swim here because there are rips, that we should walk a couple of hundred yards to the south; there’s a safe cove there.”

“No, come on you girl – take a risk.”

They walked down, hand-in-hand under she was waist-high in the freezing water. He’d been the one doing the moaning, especially when the water reached his nuts.

“I love you,” he said kissing her and she murmured acknowledgement into his mouth. Maggie had the crazy though she was pregnant.

After their picnic they returned to the beach house and sat in the chairs watching the surf and seagulls until it was time to go to bed. 

*  *  *

The restaurant wasn’t even half-full, it being Monday lunchtime whereas on a Thursday and Friday it would be impossible to get into Vicenza’s without a booking.

Maggie looked at the woman opposite her – aged 41 according to her file; dark hair with ends in need of attention, cute freckles and a pretty smile that suited the open face.

“It’s lovely of you to invite me here for lunch Maggie,” said Brenda McCallum. “Am I correct in thinking this is a business lunch.”

Maggie nodded. “Wine?”

“Please – a light white.”

“Orchard Paddock Riesling please, Rollo.”

As the wine waiter walked away Maggie said, “We want to buy your family business.”

Brenda gathered herself and replied, “Wow!”

“Is that a good or an unfavorable reaction, Brenda?”

Brenda breathed in deeply and laughed, asking Maggie to give her a break.

The wine arrived and Maggie tasted it and watched Brenda watching the golden fluid flow into her glass. Brenda wasn’t showing any sign of hostility; that was promising, or was it?

“My father would die if we sold the business.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“What about you?”

“You want the truth?”

Maggie smiled encouragingly and Brenda said if Maggie paid enough for the business she’d be able to move her family to Australia – she fancied Queensland. Perhaps they might purchase a motel or a profitable home-stay business – “That’s it, a home-stay with a bit of land and the kids could still have horses.”

“Yes, a change of lifestyle is better than a holiday, I guess. Do you think I’m an evil woman doing this to you?

“Not at all; it’s business. How much would you pay us for our golden egg?”

Maggie asked was it a golden egg and watched Brenda’s face turn pink.

“Definitely.”

So Brenda lied which was not unexpected as Maggie’s file showed Brenda cheated on her husband – three men’s names were on that page.  

“Well, before talking money…”

There were interrupted by people looking at the TV set.

“Let’s take a look,” said Brenda. “Something’s up”

They walked over to the group gathered at the bar watching.

“What’s up Larry?” Brenda asked.

“Hi, Bren: a big stink. The council voted on changing the name of Main Street to de Lacey Avenue and deadlocked 8-8 but the motion was passed on the Mayor’s casting vote. That crazy bastard radio-head drove his van down the street blasting out that hit tune “Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’. The announcer said the principal campaigner against the name change, Bert Twizel, came out of his hardware shop with an axe and attacked the van. The radio-head jumped out, knocked Bert into tomorrow and then three cops arrived to arrest the radio-head who flattened two of them before the policewoman got him with her baton.”

“Oh Freddie, I must go to bail him,” Maggie cried.

“Don’t bother for another couple of hours,” Brenda advised. “The cops won’t let him out until he cools down. Let’s go back to the table.”

“No Bren, wait,” said the guy she knew. “The announcer said some American tourist captured it all on video camera and it’s been rushed to the studio and they’ll play it – she said in a few minutes.”

Maggie ordered iced water for herself, as her limit was one glass of wine, a high octane cocktail for Brenda and a beer for their informant Larry.

“We now will play film captured at the scene of the dramatic scene on Main Street, Southgate City, little over an hour ago,” said the continuity announcer.”

The film showed Indiana Dick driving along slowly and then grinning and waving at the camera-man. The camera jerked around to catch a man in glasses and brandishing an axe chop at the front of the van, bringing it to a stop. He then slashed at the windscreen, shattering it but creating only a hole where the axe hit.

Indiana Dick jumped from the van, his face bleeding from glass fragments. He seized the axe from the attacker and hurled it on to the roof of the hardware shop and then with an almighty roar hit the shopkeeper with his fist, knocking the man back at least a yard; he fell, not moving.

“The bastard, look what he did to my van,” cried the upset driver. He turned to the camera, grinned and said, “Hi, this is Indiana Dick of radio KM-FM on a typical shopping day on de Lacey Avenue, Southgate City where citizens sometime forget their manners and have to be taught a lesson. Oh, here are my friends the cops.”

“Arrest that man – he criminally assaulted my husband,” shouted the woman, administering to the groggy man on the pavement.

“Please come with me to the station for questioning Freddie.”

“Fuck off – arrest that guy for axing my van and his missus for lying to the police.”

“Freddie, you’re under arrest for swearing in a public place. Resist and you’ll regret it.”

The policeman attempted to twist Freddie’s arm up his back but Freddie broke free and crashed his first into the policeman’s face, blood spurting and he sank to the ground.

“Our policeman tend to bleed,” Freddie said into the camera.

Everyone in the restaurant was now crowding the bar looked at the TV set. A great roar of laughter erupted.

A fist smack against Freddie’s right ear. He shook his head, stepped back and the second policeman charge him. Freddie grabbed his shoulders, pulled him down a bit and then kneed him, that officer dropping into a groaning heap.

Turning to the camera, Freddie grinned, “I’m having plenty of variety in my day at the office today.”

Maggie looked at Brenda who was squeezing her left breast muttering, “Oh my, the power of that man” when two other women watching the TV set screamed, “Duck, Freddie.”

The camera had caught the policeman rushing up behind Freddie; she raised her baton and thudded it on to his head and he dropped out of sight of the camera.

“Oooh,” groaned the onlookers as the cameraman focused on Freddie, face down in the gutter, the policewoman kneeling on him putting handcuffs on him.

The announcer reappeared. “We are now crossing over to Ryan de Lacey, who with his wife Maggie thwarted a bank robbery in Southgate some months ago. He talks to our reporter Tammy Taunt.

“Frankly, it did not bother Maggie or me whether the name of Main Street was changed or not. But now that it has been, albeit on a casting vote, I’m very proud to have the actions of Maggie and I commemorated in this manner.”

“Mr de Lacey, don’t you feel for those people who didn’t want the name of their main street changed?”

“No, and I don’t apologize for being unsympathetic. Some citizens always resist change because it makes them feel more comfortable to stay with what they know. What an exciting way to go through life.”

“But they were probably proud of the name of their main thoroughfare.”

“Come on Tammy, it must have been a moron who named the main street of this city Main Street. Sorry, I meant to say person without imagination. In my view de Lacey Avenue is an improvement and I’ll walk up the avenue with Maggie with pride. I thank those citizens who had the imagination and nous to support this change.”

“Thank you Mr de Lacey. We…”

“Oh Tammy, to show our respect for our city, Maggie and I will each donate $30,000 to go towards the beautification of de Lacey Avenue. I’m off now to bail a great supporter of de Lacey Avenue, Indiana Dick, from police custody.”

At the bar a very well dressed American woman said, “God, isn’t that Ryan de Luca a really good guy,”

“And so is his wife – this woman under this black hat is Maggie de Luca.” Brenda said

“Oh, so it is,” said the woman who tossed a wad of money on to the bar – Rollo, break out the champagne to celebrate the birthday of de Lacey Avenue.”

Fifty minutes later Brenda and Maggie returned to their table and ordered lunch. “You must be feeling very proud,” beamed Brenda with three glasses of champagne added to her consumption.

“Very proud, very happy and feeling $30,000 dollars lighter; Ryan hadn’t discussed the beautification donation with me; it obviously entered his mind after being interviewed.”

“He’s a generous person, Maggie. You are lucky to have him. Look, I’ll talk to my brothers. We thought you’d be the mystery client those business brokers were acting for; we’re at the  crossroads, big money needs to be spend on our plant.” 


At home that evening Maggie thanked Ryan for announcing her generous donation. He blushed boyishly and she said it was a very appropriate announcement and would make his parents very happy as well. “One must do these things for one’s community,” Maggie yawned.

She told Ryan she’d lunched with Brenda McCallum and Brenda had agreed to discuss the possible sale of the business with fellow directors; if there was majority interest two consultants would be allowed to complete due diligence to allow Pukekura Publishing to offer to purchase the entire business as a going concern.

As Ryan helped her undress Maggie yawned again and said, “What was it I was going to tell you; I’ve forgotten. As Ryan walked out to cook his dinner she called, “Darling, I may have had my last wine for a long while. I’m sure I’m pregnant.” 

Ryan came charging back into the bedroom.

*  *  *

The New Zealand-inspired documentary ‘Children With Faith In Us’ had its world premier on TV1 in New Zealand and received rave reviews. It screened in many countries and was expected to collect numerous international film awards. 

On the day after that TV1 screening, the heavily pregnant Maggie commenced a number of mind-boggling fund-raising endeavors, designed by her committee and consultants, costing $155,700, that expenditure having been approved by the Southgate Hospital Board. 

Julius Stephen de Lacey was born on the very day beautifications to de Lucy Avenue were declared completed by the baby’s paternal grandfather Rupert de Lacey unveiling a naming plaque at a ceremony presided over by the Mayor. It ended with a new van driven through the avenue by Indiana Dick booming out ‘Maggie, You’re Worth Dying For’, song of the year in both New Zealand and Australia. 

When the Julius was four months old Maggie stepped down as chairman with her successor aware the committee was only $72,000 short of its $7.5 million target. The first three of the five-stage makeover were unready underway. On that same week the directors of Alphas Print Limited accepted the increased offer from Pukekura Publishing Company for the sale of their company as a going concern. The next day Maggie and her planning committee began fine-tuning arrangements for the progressive merger of Alphas Print operations into their commercial print division. To help finance the purchase Pukekura Publishing had sold their newspaper Southgate Regional Echo  to Maggie who was moving it to a new site where she planned to establish a ultra-modern design-print facility specializing in the needs of small businesses that virtually placed her beyond being in direct competition with Pukekura Publishing. Pukekura Publishing had secured the contract to print all editions of the Echo for the next three years.

Everyone was happy with Maggie.


THE END