Families at War - Pt. 01

This story is set in 1939 Britain, and some of the attitudes and language reflect that. Always remember, the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. The references to cars and planes are meant to be at least plausible unless someone wants to do obsessively detailed research.

In this set of stories, it should be remembered that many of the characters do not take for granted that they will live for more than a few years.

This is a Butterfly wings story. The decisions made in this story impact on people for the rest of their lives, especially the most innocent.

All characters depicted as involved in sexual activity are over 18.

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Andrew Augustus Earnshaw (Gus or Gussie to his closest friends, Earnshaw to his good acquaintances) had found the ultimate aphrodisiac in 1938. He had persuaded Pater to pay for flying lessons and buy him a Miles Hawk Major for his twenty-first birthday. The advantage of the type was that it was a two-seater. Over the last year, he found that women were more likely to allow his thrusting member between their legs if they had been warmed up by a throbbing aircraft. Even if they didn't give it all up, he'd certainly got further with them than he might otherwise have done.

This was his final day in Cambridge. His father had finally called him home. Both of them knew that war was inevitable and that Gus would join the RAF. He'd already sent his luggage home on the train.

This also meant that it did not matter about his word-of-mouth reputation amongst women at Cambridge. Today, Genevieve, a second-year student from Girton, would be taught that women were better being obscene and not heard and that actions have consequences. She was wearing a sensible skirt with a jumper, but not for much longer.

She had just broken off her engagement with one of his friends in an unnecessarily humiliating manner. She had commented disparagingly on the few occasions when Gus's northern roots betrayed themselves when talking. He had behaved like a gentleman to her while she had been engaged to his friend, so he wasn't surprised when she agreed to be taken up for a flight.

He'd driven her out to the airfield he kept the plane at, given her a few drinks for Dutch courage, talked about the likelihood that he would be called up at the outbreak of war, and then gave her the works in a forty-minute-long flight. He'd learned a few trick manoeuvres which made things both exciting and scary for his passenger.

She'd landed flushed and exhilarated and had not demurred when he took her to the pub by the airfield where he had reserved a private room with a sofa and a table. The landlord bought in a bottle of champagne plus some bread and butter. He left after Gus had tipped him and confirmed his earlier instructions.

The earlier whiskies, the excitement of flying, plus a few glasses of champagne, had loosened her inhibitions. She wasn't used to drinking at lunchtime and on an empty stomach, so soon his arm was around her, and she had snuggled up to him. The throbbing of the engine had softened her up for accepting something throbbing between her legs.

He said, "This is my final full day at Cambridge. I'm glad you agreed to spend it with me."

"Perhaps I can see you in London next week at Nigel's."

"Sorry, but I'm off home tomorrow. The Pater wants me to spend the summer with him and the family."

"I didn't think you'd been home since Christmas."

"We had a row then, but with war coming, he wants to bury the hatchet before it's too late. After all, I will be called up to the RAF, and I will be one of those who try to prove that the doomsayers are wrong to say that the bomber will always get through. He lost three brothers in the Great War, after all."

She took the bait and kissed him while his grip on her got tighter.

"It's not that I'm afraid of dying, but my uncles missed out on so much of life's rich pageant."

His hand moved under her jumper and played with her breasts. She moaned and soon her jumper was off, the buttons on her dress were undone, and she was on her back.

She moaned, "Let me be your first."

Well, a bit late for that honour, Genevieve. More like number thirty, although admittedly most of those had been townies or older women. Still, if she wanted to be his first time for something, he had an idea.

He knew that she wasn't virgo intacta from her ex-fiancé, but Roland had persuaded himself that it was because she was a horse rider.

He double checked whether the door to the room was locked or not before taking his braces off his shoulders and his trousers off.

The silly cow didn't even ask if he was wearing protection, but he had enough practice to reduce the risk of getting her up the duff, even if he really didn't care that much for her.

Actually, there was one thing better than a girl being obscene and not heard, and that was being obscene and heard everywhere. The people in the pub knew the score and would be chortling rather than worried. The barmaids liked to know that the blue stockings were the same south of the equator as they were. Well, with luck in Genevieve's case, they could believe that she was more of a goer than they were

He stopped before he ejaculated. "Genny, I don't want to risk getting you pregnant."

"I don't mind."

Hell, she really couldn't take her drink.

"Well, there is a safe alternative." He gave her more champagne as he bent her over the table and lubricated her with the butter while fingering her with his other hand.

He pushed himself into her arse. Initially, he was gentle and took care. He wanted her to be totally committed before he revealed his true plans for her. Finally, he was ready to use her like she deserved and, holding her by her hips, thrust hard into her. She squealed with pain but was impaled, and that, combined with spanking her and the knowledge of what was to come next, allowed him to come quickly inside her.

He had deliberated earlier about telling her what a stupid cow she was, but had come up with a better plan, which also allowed him some spending money and meant two people would owe him a favour if he survived the forthcoming war. He said loudly, "That's the way to do it," and Nigel and the landlord took their cue.

The landlord opened the door using the master key. Nigel said, "Oh. I'm sorry, but I thought someone was being murdered in here."

Genevieve looked up and saw a man she knew seeing her stark naked being fucked in the arse over a table. She burst into tears as she realised that her reputation was now in the hands of a man who was the best friend of her ex-fiancé.

Gus made his excuses and said that he would deal with the landlord to ensure his silence. He left Genevieve with Nigel. Nigel would no doubt be negotiating the price of his own silence.

Outside the door stood Roland, who handed him an envelope containing the cash in return for the keys to the car. A premium had been paid for the humiliation of Genevieve.

"Bon voyage, Earnshaw. I still haven't made up my mind whether to marry her or make her my whore. Either way, I will join Nigel in fifteen minutes."

From behind the door, it became clear that Genevieve had decided her negotiating position with Nigel was weak and the best option was to lie back and think of England. When Roland walked through the door, unless she was incredibly stupid, she would realise that she had been set up, despite the cover story the three of them had devised, which claimed Roland had agreed to meet Nigel there and the landlord had merely told Roland where Nigel had last been seen. Still, by then she would have consented to being done by two men, and so why not a third? In any event, she wouldn't dare tell anyone what had happened. Even if she did, she doubted her father would bother coming to Southpool to horsewhip Gus.

"Why not promise the former and make her the latter?"

Roland shook Gus's hand and then gave him a manly bear hug. "Thanks, old man. I'll never forget it."

Gus walked back to the airfield and made the necessary arrangements to ensure the plane was ready to fly the next day, as well as to settle the outstanding bills he had at the airfield. At around seven, a call came through from the pub that Genevieve had finally left with Nigel and Roland. Clearly, she had come to a mutually enjoyable arrangement with them, but he had no desire to see her again when she realised how many ways she had been had that day.

That night, one of the barmaids came to his room for a farewell tumble and to gloat about the downfall of the posh girl. The idea that she had been had by three men in the same room, and one of them had taken her up the arse, she found hilarious. He used protection with her and enjoyed the romp. Lying awake afterwards, he realised that humiliating Genevieve had been the best sexual experience of his life. He really didn't like intellectual women who didn't know their place.

The next morning, he sent two telegrams home, walked to the airport and started the flight back to Southpool. While it would involve an honest discussion with the Pater, Southpool had a weekly turnover of Grockles and a seasonal supply of showgirls who would be easily persuaded to give it up to him.

He arrived at Southpool airfield on time. Prescott, his father's chauffeur, was waiting with his father's car. Not as fast as the one back in Cambridge, but plenty of room in the back seat. To Gus's annoyance, the engine was up and Prescott and another man were looking intently at it. As he approached, the second man rose from it and said, "That should be fine now. Just needed a few nuts tightening." The man turned out to be a young woman with blonde hair wearing overalls, a cap, and horn-rimmed glasses. She looked attractive, all things considered.

"Hello, Prescott. Is all well with the old jalopy?"

The young woman smiled at him and he realised that she had good legs. "It is now. Call me Angela."

"I'm Andrew. Do you work here?" Augustus was not a name which he could get away with in Southpool.

"Just a visitor. Well. I'd better clean up. It's a fair ride back to Southpool on my bike."

"Good to meet you, Angela."

Prescott coughed after the girl had left. "The car is fine, sir, but when she heard that I was waiting for a man with his own plane, she was very interested in the make. I manufactured a small problem to give you the opportunity of meeting a charming young lady with an interest in engines. By the way, her bicycle is over there." Prescott winked at Gus and handed him a nail. "I picked this up earlier. Wouldn't like her to get a puncture."

"Is there any chance that you can make your own way back?"

"I'd already made some provisional arrangements."

Gus tipped Prescott, used the nail as God intended, and waited for the young woman. Soon she had returned wearing trousers and a jumper. He assumed the overalls were in the bag she had. He decided to give her ten minutes' start and then catch up with her.

He watched her drive out of the gate and turn towards Southpool. Good, she was going his way. When he set off after her, after half a mile, he saw by the side of the road, in the course of mending a puncture.

He stopped and offered to give her and her bike a lift into Southpool. The woman accepted and got into the front seat of the car next to him. He didn't check on the puncture. If need be, telling her down the line that he thought she had been faking it with a view to leading him on could help deal with any unpleasantness. The woman whom he had enjoyed without taking precautions last September had easily been made to feel at Christmas that she had no option but to take a vacation and give the child up for adoption.

He discovered that she had stopped in at the airport after a morning working at a nearby garage, which her father had arranged for her. She wanted to do something useful in the war and hoped that learning to be a mechanic might improve her chances of being a driver when the war broke out.

Ideally, she wanted to be a pilot and so had taken to hanging around the airfield and trying to learn about aeroplanes. She quickly added that she knew she couldn't fight, but there would surely be jobs for someone to fly planes from the factory to the airfield, and it made sense to her if women could do that.

He decided to encourage her. What she said wasn't total nonsense after all, and the jumper suggested that her tits would be worth getting out. He offered to take her up tomorrow afternoon and then take her out for a drink at the nearest roadhouse.

She accepted and made no objection when he put a hand on his knee between gear changes. Finally, she asked him to drop her off in a part of town he considered semi-respectable lower class. He was encouraged by this to take the opportunity when lifting the bicycle out of the car to kiss her on the cheek and gently squeeze her buttocks. She giggled and thanked him for the lift. They arranged to meet at the same spot. She explained that she didn't want to worry her parents and would tell them that she was meeting up with a friend.

He was confident that his first conquest of the holiday would be accomplished quickly. A practical rather than intellectual girl would suit him, especially one who probably knew the score that women like her couldn't expect to marry a man like him. He would take precautions with her because she promised to be good fun and would probably be good for several rides. He also knew the game with girls like her. Her accent was a soft Lancashire accent, rather than posh or Liverpudlian. She'd probably got into the Girls' High School but had been forced to go to work at fourteen.

At home, his mother kissed him. She asked if Andrew wouldn't mind saying hello to his younger brother, Anthony, and three friends of his. Clearly, Anthony wanted to show him off to them. "I've had a long flight, Mater."

"It'll help with your father, Augustus."

"Sorry?"

"Anthony's best friend is Bernard Cockburn." She pronounced it Coburn, even though the senior Cockburn insisted that the "ck" was not silent.

"Right?"

"Cockburn's are your father's most important customer and have been refitting for war since 1936. Bernard is now working full time for them, and Anthony started at our works in June."

He knew that his mother was giving him ammunition for his debate with Father. "So, Anthony isn't joining up and has left Oxford after only a year?"

"He says he can do more good for the war effort by working in the factory. Arnold and Bernard have been very helpful to Father in convincing Anthony that it was the right thing to do. Actually, if you could agree with Anthony or Bernard, if they start talking about the value of precision engineering and proper oversight, I would appreciate it."

"Message received." Mother wasn't happy that either of her sons would be fighting, but she didn't want both of them at risk. No doubt the Pater wanted someone to carry on the business after him, and Anthony was more dutiful and more likely to obey orders than he was.

He went and did his duty. At the end of an hour, he thought that if the Pater and Anthony's livelihood depended on pleasing Bernard Cockburn, then they were braver men than he was. He didn't think he'd ever met such a pompous, humourless, god bothering, sanctimonious virgin. Still, he had kept his temper just enough to confirm that a manufacturer who ensured that bombsights were accurate, that machine guns didn't jam, and that bomb bays opened would play a crucial role in the war to come.

Anyway, it prepared him for the discussion with the Pater. He'd learnt from last Christmas that pure defiance didn't work. Mother had given him ammunition, whether she realised it or not. He'd started off by saying that they should each say their piece and then go away and think about it. Pater had agreed.

It had basically worked. They hadn't lost their tempers with each other, and both of them had agreed to give each other's requests due thought and talk again on Sunday. Without responding in anger, he'd already worked out ways of half taking on most of Pater's concerns. At the end of the discussion, Pater said, "I would appreciate it if you could attend a tennis party here on Saturday afternoon. The Cockburns, Cavendishs, Grants and Huntleys will be coming. If it's any incentive, Daphne Cockburn has turned out to be a very attractive and pleasant young woman and plays an excellent game of tennis."

"If she is anything like her brother."

"I agree that he's hard work, but he looks like he will be a good businessman and a friend to Anthony. No, she takes after her father."

Augustus raised an eyebrow. Arnold Cockburn was, by all accounts, a man who enjoyed the company of women. His father realised the implication, "All I mean is that she's good company and puts people at ease. Even makes me feel younger. I know you don't want to get married yet, but it would be a comfort to your mother if you flirted with her and took her out occasionally. She's good friends with Alice Cockburn"

"I'll be there. Let's see how I get on with Daphne."

Pater said, "I'll talk to Arnold about the idea of you having a flat in town. I'm certain that he'll appreciate the implications more than I do."

That was good news. He hadn't had to play his trump card yet, and Pater was already weakening. He'd also agreed that Augustus could use the cash he had received from the sale of the car in Cambridge to buy a more flamboyant car than the one which Pater had in Southpool.

The next morning, he picked up the Morgan 4/4 from Allsop's. The previous owner had gone bankrupt, and Allsop had let him know about its availability. It had made his mind up about how he would teach Genevieve a lesson and fix the price with Roland.

The next afternoon, he picked Angela up from the same corner he'd dropped her off at. She was wearing the same clothes and glasses as yesterday, but had a small bag with her. She explained that she had a change of clothes for the visit to the roadhouse so she would neither be an embarrassment to him there nor overdressed for flying. She also admired the two-seater Morgan as a fine piece of engineering.

They drove to the airfield by a scenic route. If the vibrations of the engine had the same effect on her as it did on him, she would be gagging for it tonight. He then showed her the plane. She took a keen interest in the plane and asked thoughtful, if practical, questions. If she had been a man and well off, he would have encouraged her to buy a plane herself.

As it was, he decided that he would have to locate the nearest pub with a private room and a landlord who asked no questions to take her and others like her back for a good rogering. Still, he would use a Durex with her. She didn't deserve to play Russian roulette, and she would be more useful in the war as a mechanic than as a mother of a bastard.

He took her up in the air for an hour, allowing both of them to admire the local coastline and golf courses. He repeated the antics he had used for Genevieve, and afterwards she seemed to appreciate them as much, if not in the same way. She had admired his technique and asked about how he had achieved the tricks.

If she had been a man, she could have become a good friend with whom he would have had drunken arguments on technical issues. But she wasn't so a regular fuck in return for giving her a ride would be the way to go. Actually, could he afford to have regular passengers? If he got her up the duff, there would no doubt be someone at the airfield who would be ready to tell her father about him. Well, maybe one or two more flights with her.

She changed into a skirt and jumper which were weirdly reminiscent of the outfit Genevieve had worn, only with cheaper material. Actually, they also reminded him of what Agnes had worn last September, the night he had taken her on the beach.

"Is this OK? If you're ashamed to be seen with me, I'll understand."

He'd have to be stupid to tell her it wasn't. He did change his choice of roadhouse, but that was mainly because he'd realised that he couldn't count on going all the way on the first date.

They'd flirted in the roadhouse, but he only realised when he got to the car that he had drunk more than her. Still, that gave him an excuse to stop the car after ten minutes.

"Angela, I think it may be for the best if I sober up for thirty minutes."

She laughed, "I've no doubt I'm expected to help in the process."

He kissed her and she responded enthusiastically. Just then, it started to rain, and he swiftly ensured that the roof covered the car. He then returned to kissing her, and soon her tits were in his hands.

She laughed and said, "I'm not saying no, full stop, but I'm not saying yes to losing my virginity in the front seat of a two-seater. Besides, you wouldn't want to risk staining the leather."

He laughed. She was right about that.

A pause, "There would be the same problem if I showed that I was ambidextrous or allowed you to come on my tits."

He nearly asked that she use her mouth and swallow, but he knew that for girls of her class, that was worse than intercourse.

He laughed and said, "I understand. Any chance of meeting up at 7.30 tomorrow evening? I know the forecast is better and I'll have a blanket in the boot."

"Works for me. Same place?"

"Agreed."

"I would appreciate more trips in your kite."

Well, if she was suggesting a fuck for a flight deal, he was willing to listen.

The next day, he made certain that there was a blanket in the small boot of the Morgan, not to mention a thermos full of alcoholic coffee. He just had to survive the afternoon and be pleasant to the family friends. There was a chance that Angela could be a tart with a heart of silver; she knew the score and didn't expect matrimony. He would use protection with her to avoid any risk of being hustled. Hell, after Genevieve, he might insist that she just take it up the arse. He had enjoyed humiliating Genevieve that way, and explaining that it was for Angela's safety would only make his triumph sweeter.

In the afternoon, he sat at home while the guests arrived. Gradually, they all arrived. He registered his brother's friends, their older and younger sisters, and Dr. Cavendish's beautiful 30-year-old wife. Now she looked like he would be good beneath the sheets. Finally, the Cockburns (not pronounced Coburn) arrived.

Th wife was attractive, Arnold was charming, Bernard looked awkward, and the daughter....

Hell, the daughter looked like a posher version of Angela. No glasses and she had a short hair cut, but about the same height. She was full of self-confidence, and when she opened her mouth, she sounded like Genevieve. His brother (and his friends, other than her brother) were enthralled. Well, all the men present were attracted to her.

If it wasn't for the fact that Pater had made it clear that the Cockburns had to be indulged, he would have gone all in for knocking her down a notch or two. He listened to her speaking to the boys and girls of around her age, and it was clear that they were her slaves--especially his younger brother. The only one who showed signs of dissent was her older brother Bernard. Probably jealousy, as he had no social skills and she had them in trumps. But interesting nevertheless.

She also had Genevieve's accent. Well, maybe not quite. If you listened long enough, she had the same giveaways as he did that she came from the north.

Alice Cockburn was talking to his mother, "I'm glad that Daphne has accepted that going to Girton was a waste of time. She will be needed on the home front, and going to Cambridge would only have scared men off."

He watched his brother admiring Daphne's arse, and then the young woman turned round and registered him. "Father, how about you and I play Anthony and Andrew next?"

The older man looked at his daughter and said, "If you think it's an equal match..., why not?"

There was no way Gus/Andrew could say no after that, and besides, he knew that whatever brother Anthony's weaknesses were as a human being, he could play tennis. Playing with an 18-year-old girl and a man aged more or less forty should not be a problem for them.

Thirty minutes later, he knew he had made a bad call. The old man had kept close to the net and knew how to finish rallies decisively without moving that much. The girl had sped around the court and crucially had a vicious drop shot, which she knew how to hide. The father-daughter team had won 6-3, and it could easily have been 6-2. He really hated the daughter, especially when she heard that she had turned down a place at Girton because she believed that war was coming.

It did not help when Anthony tried to take all the blame for the defeat on himself. Still, Arnold Cockburn had told him afterwards, while shaking his hand, that he would encourage his father to allow him to have a flat in town. "After all, if a Grockle or an artiste accepts an invitation to your flat after 10 PM, it will be bloody obvious to any Southpool copper or jury that they knew what they were letting themselves in for."

Well, he couldn't say fairer than that, and if his Father insisted on a time before which he wouldn't take girls back to the flat, then that was an acceptable compromise.

Daphne left the house at around 7, saying that she had a previous engagement. He left thirty minutes later and drove to the usual meeting point.

He saw a recognisable figure waiting, wearing a coat. He stopped, and the woman got in. He looked at her and realised that Angela and Daphne were the same woman. She was wearing Angela's clothes but had Daphne's haircut. She took off the glasses as she got in the car.

"I hope you don't mind, Andrew, but there was no way you would have taken me up if you'd known whose daughter I was."

"You said your name was Angela."

"You said you were Andrew. Those of us with multiple names should be allowed to choose which one suits us best in appropriate situations."

He knew that was a point that he didn't want to argue at this moment.

"Point taken." He would take his revenge tonight, but he would wait for the right time and tide to take her at the flood.

"Don't worry. I'm at least as much against the idea of the two of us settling down together as you are."

"Get lost."

"So you want to marry me? Our mothers would be delighted."

"And you?"

"80/20, you'll be dead before or shortly after our first child is born."

What a cold bitch. She wasn't wrong either.

"Augustus, think about it for the next few hours. You and I can do a deal which suits both of us and makes our families happy. I'll only sleep with you and won't care if you sleep around, provided you are as discreet as my father."

"What?"

"Use contraception and you don't sleep with friends of the family or maul your lovers in public. There are other deals we can do which don't require matrimony."

He nearly went for the deal before he realised that Daphne expected him to die, but not before he had knocked her up. As soon as he did that, both sets of parents would insist on matrimony. All she needed to do was claim she was knocked up, and everyone knew that Doc Cavendish would back her and Arnold up on that point.

Manipulative bitch. He smiled and said, "Let's go to the roadhouse and get to know each other better before we choose which deal to do. You have rather taken me by surprise."

At the roadhouse, he knew that she was trying to be charming, but he couldn't help hating her. She'd played him from the start. He was prepared to believe that Prescott hadn't recognised her in mufti, and it would be a giveaway if he got Prescott sacked. Now, telling him that he was going to forget the blonde girl- no problem. But who else had seen him at the airfield? What was his best bet?

He relaxed. Mater and Pater would be delighted if he married Daphne, even if he knocked her up beforehand. The only important thing was that she knew he was the boss in the relationship. Well, he knew how to achieve that.

He was the epitome of charm in the roadhouse. It also helped that he had driven far enough that no one recognised either of them, but the staff would remember how much they spent and how happy she had looked. He'd even gone out of his way to speak to three people he had never met before and memorise their names and addresses.

She also explained why she had deceived him, stressing that Prescott didn't know who she was. If he had known that she was the daughter of one of his father's business contacts, he would never have taken her on a flight without parental permission.

He pretended to accept this, but inwardly seethed. The bitch had played him.

He carried on smiling until they were halfway home, when he stopped the car in a place he knew, which was off the main road and a long way from anywhere.

He leant over and kissed her, and she responded enthusiastically.

He took the blanket out of the boot and spread it on the floor. Soon they were kissing, and he was ready for action.

She reached over and started stroking the front of his trousers. "If you carry on taking me for flights, I will happily pleasure you with my hands or my breasts."

Part of his brain told him to take the deal. His emotions told him no way. The bitch was playing him as he had played Genevieve. She must have seen something in his eyes as she made to run. He grabbed her ankle, and she fell. Soon he was on top of her, had ripped her blouse, and had her tits out. He slapped her face to make her realise that she had no chance.

Well, that was one thing he had got wrong. She found a stone on the ground and hit him on his head with it. He only took a few seconds to recover, but by then she had found her purse and retrieved a switchblade knife from it. When he approached her, she threatened him with it in a manner which suggested that she was willing to use it.

She backed herself behind the car. "Think about it, Gussie. I've told the servants that I was with you this evening, and scores of people saw us in the roadhouse. If you kill me, then you will hang and your family will be disgraced. Fine, there's a ninety per cent chance that you will win a fight, but do you want to bet that I can't give you a scar? My word against yours in court, and I'm your social equal. I'm also a virgin."

"I'm not going to kill you, but I'm going to treat you like the whore you are."

"I'm not a no-name like Agnes. If you rape me, then our mothers will insist on you doing the honourable thing."

"Well, there are worse fates. Your father is a rich man."

He moved towards her. She responded with the knife.

"Ok, so you think you will be dead this time next year. Remember who my father is. If I tell him that you raped me, he has plenty of friends in Southpool who will be happy to do him a favour and geld both you and your brother."

"So what's my incentive for not raping and killing you?"

"If I get home alive and intact, what incentive do I have for calling you out? Currently, I only have a blouse that I can never wear again. We can both pretend that this was just a date where we both misread the signals."

He was almost convinced. "Go on."

"Look, we both know that war is inevitable and that you are an excellent flyer. It is for the good of the nation that you get to serve your country. Let's face it, it is likely that you will be dead in 18 months' time."

What a bitch. Even though that was what he was saying to manipulate his parents, he knew that he was a survivor.

She looked at him and said, "If you'd only stopped to negotiate, we could have eventually become lovers. I was prepared tonight to use my hands or my breasts to pleasure you and to repeat that after every flight."

He knew when he was beaten and said, "I understand. I just felt you wanted to humiliate me. You were laughing at me on the tennis court."

"I was teasing you, and you couldn't take the joke. I assumed you were like my father."

"What, the most immoral man in Southpool?"

"A man who likes women and can take a joke."

It took some time, but eventually they both got in the car and he drove her to her real home. She never moved the knife from his balls. She explained that she had previously got him to stop a 100 yards from where the butler, the cook and the housemaid at the Cockburn family home lived.

He seethed inwardly but knew that he must forget about seeking revenge on Daphne directly. He also wouldn't mess with the father. The brother was perhaps a target. From what he had seen, Bernard would never ask his sister or father for help.

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If you enjoyed this story, a significantly older version of Daphne is a major supporting character in Grampa's Last Hurrah and Losing Inhibitions.

Frankly, this is the first part of a backstory to those stories, which I realised was (at least to me) more interesting than the original stories.