I Spy With My Little Eye-6

Everton Bentley stepped into the anteroom where he saw Julia Lovegood sitting at her tidy desk. She wore a two-piece outfit of a yellow jacket and mini skirt.

"Hello, darling."

That's Miss Lovegood in office hours, you brute."

"Hey, now what's all this?"

The young secretary's posture was upright, and her mood was frosty. It might have been hard to believe that they had slept together recently.

(See part five)

"I hear that you had quite a time over in Stockholm."

"You could say that. What did you hear exactly?"

"Oh, just that you were running around in the nude on a cruise ship with a raging hard-on, nothing out of the ordinary."

She pouted as she turned her eyes from him to her PC.

"Oh, that."

"And the other."

"The other? You'll have to be more specific."

"Everton, the subject is closed. You can go in now."

"We'll discuss this at a later date. Dinner on me?"

"Sod off, Everton. I'm engaged, remember?"

The British agent grinned and entered the inner sanctum of the Chief of Operations.

"Morning, Sir."

He greeted the man known only by his codename, M, warmly. The older fellow gestured to the chair opposite his large oak desk and then raised his head.

"I've read your report concerning Doctor Olenka, OO7. It's a little light, don't you agree? Hmm?"

"All of the necessary details are there, Sir."

"Hmm, is that so? Well, not to worry. In fact, I should be congratulating you, hmm?"

"How so?"

"Why, you're going to be a father, man. Dear boy, haven't you heard? Both Doctor Alex AND her sister Anastasia are pregnant. And according to the twin sisters, you were the only male they slept with in the last few months."

Bentley was shocked. He had omitted the saucy details of his sexual escapades in his report, but he was gobsmacked to learn of his siring children in the line of duty.

"But it can't be. I mean, I only slept with them twice."

"Twice, you say. Twice! So, you freely admit it. You were unable to contain yourself. Again, I might add. Whilst on active duty. I should strip you of your Double O status, hmm? If it were true."

"What?"

"Hah! Caught you. I was fibbing, OO7. The ladies in question are not in the family way. I just wanted to winkle out the truth."

Bastard, thought Everton. He saw right through me.

"Sorry, Sir."

"And so you should be. In future, I want every detail logged in your reports. Including any hanky-panky you normally get up to. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely."

"Now, let's get back to reality, hmm? Have you heard of Queen Victoria's personal journals?"

"Vaguely. It's a bit before my time."

"And mine. The revered Monarch ruled the Empire from 1819 until she died in 1901.

She was married to Albert, and they had nine children. Hers was a happy romance, and the young Queen made it no secret that she enjoyed sex."

M paused for effect, and looked at the strapping spy keenly. He was not the first black man to be licensed to kill, and he wouldn't be the last.

"Victoria maintained diaries and journals throughout her life, filling 122 volumes which were expurgated after her death by her daughter Princess Beatrice. Extracts were published during her life and sold well. The collection is stored in the Royal Archives.

"Expurgated?"

"Princess Beatrice was her literary executor. She went through all the journals and, as instructed by the Queen, removed anything which might upset the royal family and the Empire. It seems the romantic young Queen was so enamoured with the love life that she put pen to paper and spared no details. None. Some parts are so incendiary, they would have made Lady Chatterley blush. It's been brought to our attention that several unedited journals exist, and the current King has instructed his Government to recover and stash them away at Balmoral. He seems to think that the Royal Family has suffered enough scandal, what with the simpering Harry and the disreputable behaviour of Andrew."

"I see."

"No specific nation would gain any advantage from a Royal Family scandal these days, but instead, domestic republican movements might push for an elected head of state, thus bringing down our heritage. It's the one thing that has inspired millions of subjects."

"And where do I come in?"

"I want you to go to Scotland. Team up with this young historian who gave us the tip, find the journals, and take them to Balmoral."

"Young historian?"

"Yes. She goes by the name of Stephanie Hart-Rogers. You'll meet with her in Edinburgh. And keep an eye out for the Scottish Greens, and any other republican movements."

"Are they really a threat?"

"That's for you to find out, hmm?"

x

Bentley took a quick flight to Edinburgh with a light grip of personal effects early Monday morning. He had been told that Miss Hart-Rogers would meet him at the arrivals section. It was a nice, clear day when he emerged, and he was in a good mood. He had wondered during the flight what the so-called historian might look like. He had a vision of a frumpy woman with mousy hair, thick-lensed spectacles, and a chubby face. He looked around the small collection of waiting people in vain.

"Mister Bentley?"

OO7 glanced to his left to see a tall, willowy figure in a light blue dress. The flimsy item left her bare-shouldered, and her ash-blonde hair just touched the nape of her elegant neck. Bentley especially noted her firm and pliant breasts that pushed out the front of the dress. This was a pleasant surprise, and no mistake.

"Miss Hart-Rogers?"

"Please. My friends call me Stevie. Is that all of your luggage?"

"I don't think this case will take that long."

He had a smallish black grip in his hand, which contained all of his essentials.

"Maybe just as well, considering where we might be headed."

"Explain."

"Later. Come on, I have two rooms reserved at the Balmoral Hotel on Princes Street. Call a cab, would you?"

The ride didn't take long, and Stevie booked them in. Bentley had a very spacious room with a view of the famous castle high up on the rugged hill. They agreed to meet in the Bar Prince, and once showered and scrubbed up, he saw the fair-haired lady at the bar in a rather fetching mini-length cocktail dress made of black satin. The strapping secret agent liked the way the dress outlined her subtle curves with a sleek, glossy finish. The daring plunge neckline highlighted her pert tits, and the short hem added another element of sophistication as it fluttered with her every step. She guided them to a table where they sat in comfy cornflower-blue leather chairs.

"What are we drinking?"

"I'll try to blend in with a scotch."

"Good shout."

The blonde caught the eye of a waiter and ordered two glasses of a seventeen-year-old Glenfiddich whisky.

"And two menus."

Bentley ordered the Balmoral Smoked Salmon, with Crème Fraîche and Capers. Stevie went with the thirty-day-aged beef, with Maris Piper mashed potatoes. An hour later, while they drank coffee, Stevie passed an A4-sized page across the tablecloth.

"Take a look at this."

Everton picked it up and read aloud.

"It was on the occasion of my 22nd birthday that I welcomed the tender love and affection of my dearest Albert. My dear Albert came in from the rain; he looked so handsome in his white cashmere britches, with nothing on underneath. He stripped out of his garments, and his mouth-watering appendage showed full and erect. We both went to bed; to lie by his side and in his arms, and on his dear bosom. He tore off my stockings, and called me by names of tenderness. I have never heard the like used to me in a long time. Those that took my breath away were tits, cunny, and prick. What bliss! Beyond belief!"

"And this."

"Oh, we spent such an evening! My dearest Albert sat on a footstool by my side, and his excessive love and affection showed as he caressed his hard prick. He gave me feelings of heavenly love and happiness I never could have hoped to have felt before. He clasped me in his arms, and we kissed each other again and again! He speared my cunny on his long sabre and flung my legs in the air. Oh! This was the happiest day of my life!"

Everton finished reading and sat back.

"The late Princess Beatrice was sitting on a powder keg. No wonder she took scissors to her mother's diaries. Are these real? AI?"

"I wrote these. Good, aren't they? I think they could stand the test of any proper scrutiny. These two pages are the bait we can use to catch our prey."

"You mean the Scottish Green Party?"

"At a lesser level. They certainly want independence from English rule, but they are poorly funded. It needs somebody with enough money and power to give them adequate support--someone like Sir Hilary MacTavish."

"Never heard of him."

"He is devoted to the study and collection of old coins, books and manuscripts. In particular those from the Victorian period. He's a Laird of what is left of Ravenscraig Castle in Kirkcaldy. King James II started to build it in 1460, but it was never finished. James III granted the still-unfinished castle to William Sinclair in 1470. And somewhere down the line the MacTavish Clan seized it. Sir Hilary lives close by and even has his own special recreational facility there."

"And he's all for an independent Scotland."

"Quite. He's always been suspect, and if he can raise enough loot, he plans to expose the already vulnerable Royals with the complete, unexpurgated diaries of Queen Victoria that he would make public. He's gambling that if he can blackmail King Charles with the threat of ruin and scandal, he will gain a sizeable ransom for him to remain silent. Even so, the mere fact that these diaries do exist, the damage will have been done."

"And Scotland would use this to call for another Independent Vote, which would no doubt succeed, bringing more woe on the Government."

"It's very probable. And after that..."

Stevie spread her hands, and Everton nodded. The potential divide would change Britain drastically.

"And Sir Hilary is aware of these fakes?"

"He is. I wrote to him acting as an historian from the University of Edinburgh. When he heard that I might be in possession of these pages, his ears pricked up. I told him I was prepared to part with them for ten grand."

"Doesn't sound like much."

"It's not about the money. It's just a lure to attract his interest. He wants to meet up at the castle tomorrow. Kirkcaldy isn't far, just twenty-eight miles away. We'll drive over the Forth of Fifth bridge."

"That'll be a first for me."

"We'll need false names. Do you have one?"

"I normally go by Nick Sterling."

"I chose to be Professor Anita Bush."

Everton said it in his head and frowned.

"Are you entirely sure about that?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." He looked up and saw that it was only eight. "Fancy another scotch in my room, Stevie?"

The girl stood up and smiled.

"I think not. I've heard some rather unsavoury things about you, and the way that you think can charm the knickers off of any woman in proximity to you. They call you the Black Hammer, apparently."

"That's all bollocks."

"Even so, I shall bid you goodnight."

He watched her leave, and he cursed at the loss of a quickie. Stevie was a ten on his personal scale. She moved with a slinky, seductive grace, and the short hem of her satin dress just covered her fabulous rear end, which rolled with the sexy gait of her supple legs. What a babe!

x

Upon arrival, a member of the castle staff guided their cab to the private driveway.

As they stepped out and collected their minimal luggage, the pair of intrepid spies were ushered to a side office at the rear by three heavy-built men in black suits.

"Steady on, pal," barked OO7 when he and the girl were unceremoniously shoved into two seats.

"If you want trouble, mister, you came to the right place," said the largest of the three.

He was a couple of inches taller than Bentley, with a shaven head and the ripped upper body of a weightlifter. The other two looked equally fit and menacing as they stood to attention behind him and Stevie.

"Who are you, anyway? The Professor's bodyguard?"

"If you like. The name's Stirling. Nick Sterling. Well, my friends call me Nick, but YOU can call me Mister."

"I'll call you whatever I want to. Take the piece."

An arm came down Everton's front and retrieved his Glock 17 automatic from his hidden holster. Thug Two handed it to Shaved Head.

"That's a pretty lethal-looking weapon you're carrying, MISTER Stirling. Why?"

"Protection."

"Protection from what?"

"Any wild haggis we might run into."

The brute ignored Everton's remark and turned to Stevie.

"The name's Caber. And you must be Professor Bush."

"I am," answered Stevie with her chin up.

"Do you have the diary pages?"

"I do."

"Would you be so kind as to hand them over?"

"SHE doesn't have them, Caber. I do. Care to take those off me as well?"

Although outnumbered by three to one, Everton's tone made the heavies think twice.

"I think we started on the wrong foot, folks. No one is looking to harm anybody. We're just here to represent Sir Hilary. He's indisposed at the moment, but he promises to be here this evening. You'll be taken to your rooms now, and we'll fetch you later."

"Fair enough. Now you're talking sense. We agree. May I have my gun back? "

Caber nodded, and he and Bentley stared each other out for a good ten seconds, and then he and Stevie were taken to their separate rooms.

x

The castle was uninhabitable, and the Laird lived in Kirckaldy Court, a more luxurious abode with ten bedrooms, located in the Eastern section of the Estate. Even this was just over one hundred years old, and it had the appearance of a Tudor house. Since then, MacTavish had modernised it to a level of comfort that was quite outstanding.

The James III Suite was given to Stevie, and the big window flooded the room with natural daylight and offered a fine view of the big maze. Everton settled in the Margaret of Denmark Suite, which had panelled walls, a deep sofa, and a four-poster bed. Laid out on top of the covers, he saw some attire chosen for him to wear. Once he was showered and shaved, he put on the traditional Scottish garments.

The MacTavish tartan has a pattern featuring a bright red, orange, brown, and blue colour palette. He tried on the provided kilt and smiled at the hilariously short length of about sixteen inches. Together with this, he donned the linen long-sleeved shirt with the lace-up neckline. Stevie arrived at the door, and when he let her in, she laughed out loud.

"Oh, lord! They gave you a mini kilt!"

Everton huffed as she leaned forward to get a good look at his toned thighs, hazarding a guess at what he might be wearing beneath it.

"It seems I wasn't expected."

"Maybe we should swap."

In contrast, Stevie's kilt, finished below-the-knee length, resembled a midi skirt. Her top was more suitable, and the long-sleeved plaid shirt fit her perfectly.

"Well, time to meet the bastard."

Upon opening the door to his room, the same goons and Caber were already waiting for them.

"Follow me," commanded the big brute who looked at OO7's very short kilt with a raised brow.

Bentley and Stevie traipsed behind him as they were led down a hallway and through a set of double doors. Both spies looked around in wonder once inside. All of the wall space was covered in priceless paintings, rare prints, and framed postage stamps, all from the Victorian era. Standing alone at the other end of the room was Sir Hilary.

He was what one might describe as rotund, with greying hair that hinted at the fact that he once had ginger locks. The middle-aged man was also stark bollock naked!

Everton did a double take and turned to the girl alongside him, who looked back at him with a smirk.

"I haven't mentioned it yet, but the man is a naturist."

"I noticed."

"Quite the collection, is it not? Pretty handsome, if I say so myself. I have two passions in life. The era of Queen Victoria, and naturism. I feel so liberated without clothing. It gives me a better understanding of the environment and living in harmony with nature. Feel free to undress. Your kilt looks as if it's been too long in the wash, Mister Sterling." Everton gave the man a weak smile as MacTavish held out a pudgy hand. "The diary page, if you please."

Stevie handed him the first page she had shown Bentley in the diner.

"I was led to believe you had possession of two pages."

"Well," interrupted the tall black fellow. "We've been introduced to your man, Caber, and we're just a bit nervous about any underhanded activity. We'll keep one page for security."

"I see."

He took the page to a desk and swivelled a large magnifier over the page.

"Remarkable. This is rich and no mistake. It sounds just like the Queen, the saucy mare. And the paper appears to correspond with the time period. I must have them."

"Have what, dearest?"

"Ah, Sheena. Professor Bush has brought Victoria's unexpurgated diary pages. This is my wife, Sheena. As you can see, she shares my views on naturism."

Both Everton and Stevie were unprepared for the man's spouse. Firstly, because she looked much younger than her husband, and secondly, she was drop-dead gorgeous. She paused in the doorway of the room, just as the rays of the sun shone through the great window to highlight her exceptionally fine naked figure.

"And this is her companion, Nick Sterling."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said the nude woman. "Is anything worn under the kilt?"

"No, madam. Everything under this is in perfect working order."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Sheena had made an historic reference, which was that only real, masculine men wore no underwear. As she joined her spouse, Everton had to focus on the job at hand rather than be mesmerised by the dark-haired vixen. She was tall, almost matching his height, mostly due to her gazelle-like pins. The striking female had that certain poise that came naturally. The woman was all subtle curves and moved as gracefully as a panther. When she passed OO7, he inhaled her essence, and his dick threatened to move under his ridiculous Scottish attire.

"Get me a scotch, Caber."

"Aye, Mistress."

"How did you come by such a rare treasure, Professor Bush?"

"When I was researching at the Metropolitan London Archives. It was sheer luck that I discovered them. I managed to smuggle them away, and the staff was completely unaware even of the significance of the pages."

"Simplicity itself."

The Scottish couple seated themselves as Sir Hilary proceeded to bare his soul, rabbiting on about Scottish independence.

"So many Scots believe in the right of Scotland to become a sovereign state independent from the United Kingdom. Our two kingdoms were only united in 1603 when, upon the death of Queen Elizabeth I of England, King James VI of Scotland also became James I of England. The current Royals are a pathetic joke. The King is a prat of the first order, in my opinion, and his sons are nothing more than simpering brats. Edward is a nine-stone weakling, and Andrew is a pervert of outrageous proportions."

As he spoke, Everton and Stevie sat close by, and as the chubby MacTavish rattled on, both visitors could not fail to notice the way Sheena mentally undressed the ripped black fellow as she sipped her whisky.

"And as for William and Harry, do I need to say more? The American bitch has her man under her thumb as she tries so hard to fill her pockets with loot. No, we Scots will never rest until we break away from the hated English. And I might have one or two ideas on how to achieve that goal."

Right, thought OO7, by bringing down the Royals by blackmail and coercion. Well, not on my watch.

"Anyway, we shall discuss the purchase of the diary pages on the morrow. We are having a little get-together outside by the maze. I will see you both there."

"And I look forward to seeing you," added Sheena with an unsubtle wink at Bentley.

Everton and Stevie excused themselves, and the pair of them retired to their suites to unwind and relax. OO7 reported to SIS HQ in London, informing his superiors of how contact had been made with MacTavish.

x

Everton wasn't surprised when Sheena slinked into the Margaret of Denmark suite and slipped under the covers of the four-poster bed occupied by the naked bulk of the dark-skinned secret agent. The sweet, overpowering scent of her assailed his nostrils.

"I knew you would come."

The moonlight shone through the uncovered window as he raised his head from the pillow. He turned back the sheet and gazed upon the pale flesh of his limber hostess. Sheena propped herself up on her left elbow, and her brown hair fell across her cheek.

"I could tell," she said with a smile, as the silhouette of his superb erection poked out from his wiry-haired groin at a jaunty angle.

The Scottish vixen sighed contentedly as he tore the sheet from the bed and cast it onto the carpet underfoot. He sat on one side and looked down as she spread her legs out, giving him a full view of her trimmed back snatch. He cupped her right breast, and kissed her long and hard on the mouth. She murmured in delight at the physical touch and flicked her tongue to greet his. Everton then bent over her and took her left nipple between his white teeth, nibbling on the erect nub with an increasing ardour. As she snapped her head back, he moved back and forth between her perky tits, attending to each equally.

"I've never had a black man before. I want you to fuck me with that big weapon of yours, you devil. Hilary is hung like a chipolata, poor lamb. I feel nothing when we make love."

"Don't worry. You may feel a slight discomfort at first."

No shit, she thought as the man held up the largest cock she had ever seen. He moved up on top of her, kneeling between her outspread legs. Using both hands, she ran his engorged helmet through her wet gash to the mouth of her pussy. Everton flexed his narrow hips and pushed thrust slowly into her. As he did, she pulled her legs back and pressed her calves along his flanks. With this movement, Sheena aligned her cunt with his massive staff, and he slid right in. Her cunt sheathed his dark log so tightly that the needy woman climaxed immediately.

"Nick! Nick!" she whimpered as she clung to him with her arms and legs.

He carried on fucking her, and without breaking his rhythm, he shifted his elbows so that his full weight was pressing Sheena into the soft mattress. She was ecstatic.

The climaxes came again and again, flooding her pussy with juices and making her

head swim. Everton rocked steadily back and forth, loving his first shag in a month. His thrusts took on a fresh urgency, and Sheena realised he was close to climax himself. Her dark brown eyes blinked in the unlit room as they came nose to nose. They kissed again as the seductive beauty writhed under him. Even if she wished to protest against his forceful thrusts, she was loving the fuck too much to bother.

"Nick! Oh, Nick! You're the best! Fuck me, fuck me!"

Sheena wondered how long he had been in her, banging away, but in her lustful state there was no way for her to guess. Sweat dripped from his face and soaked the skin of her slender frame as he moved to and fro over her. She ran her hands over his cropped head as she begged him to cum inside her.

"Do it, do it. Cum in me!"

He huffed and puffed and exploded inside her. The only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, although Sheena fancied she could hear the gush, gush, gush of his cum flooding her cunt. For minutes, they remained locked together, glued at the groin. Finally, she left in silence, leaving a rather ragged-looking Everton staring up at the roof of the four-poster ceiling.

x

"So, you fucked the bitch? I'm not at all surprised. She was staring at the hem of your stupid kilt the whole time, probably trying to catch a glimpse of your black hammer."

"It's all in the line of duty, Stevie."

"And did she cum?"

"Not sure," he replied with a wicked grin. "I did."

"You smug bastard."

As he told her of his midnight visitor, they were having a full Scottish breakfast of bacon, black pudding, potato scones, square sausage, eggs, beans and toast. Neither of them was impressed by the meal, and they toyed with their plates rather than eat. Bentley was particularly uninterested as he prided himself on his refined palate.

"Do you think MacTavish knows?"

"No. She's just sex starved is all. It won't interfere with the assignment."

"I hope not. Watch out, here comes Caber."

The shaven-headed heavy towered over them as he told them that the gathering was underway.

"And the master wishes that you both appear in the altogether."

"What? Sod off! I'm not taking my kit off for anyone," said an alarmed Stevie.

"It's in your best interests, lass. The purchase of the diary pages may depend on your cooperation."

"Well, I'm game. Come on, Anita. What harm will it do?"

"I'll inform the master then."

"You must be mad! Baring your all in front of strangers."

"If it means expediting the matter, then so be it. Come on, get upstairs and undress."

x

Everton knew he would be enthralled to see Stephanie Hart-Rogers unclothed, and he was not wrong. When he saw her next, he saw that the young woman had a body any man would worship, even the ones who preferred other men. Her medium-length hair just touched her shoulders, falling in natural curls in a blonde wave. Her B-cup-sized breasts were pliant and milky white, and were perfect for her slim figure. But it was her derriere that impressed him the most, especially the way her firm buttocks flexed with her every step. With all those taut muscles, Stevie had the right form to be a fantastic lover.

"A neater bush!" he quipped as he noted the woman's small thatch of downy pubic hair.

The girl covered her mons and smiled weakly at the buffed-up stud. He was not embarrassed in the least about strutting around au naturel. He was proud of his body, and the fact that others might appreciate his buff image was acceptable. As was Stevie. She had seen her share of men in the nude, but this bad boy was something else.

Bentley was well-muscled, with washboard abs and strong thighs. She let her gaze travel down his ebony body, starting with the corded muscles under his hairy chest, his arms, and down to his groin. To say that he was well-endowed would be an understatement. His prick, although it hung slack and soft, proved no less impressive for its lack of arousal. The veins stood out in relief along its length, though the black looked otherwise smooth.

"Are you ready to greet the others?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm ready."

They ventured outside, and both were glad that the inclement Scottish weather had taken a turn for the better, and there were blue skies and sunshine. They saw the Water Maze, situated on a man-made island. It consisted of a series of concentric stepping stone walkways sitting over water, and at intervals the stones tilted when stood on and hidden water jets sprang into action to soak the unwary visitor. The aim was to refresh the naked bodies and thereby enhance the state of nature.

"There they are! So pleased that you chose to join us. You both look healthy and fit. Super! Haven't either of you ever wanted to ditch your clothes and bask in nature freely? That is what naturism is all about! Fancy feeling the sun on your body and the grass under your toes? There is no better way to embrace nature and feel right at home with yourself and your body. And not only does being surrounded by nature promise mental and health benefits, but you will meet like-minded naturists seeking fun and friendship."

"Sounds like fun," agreed Bentley as all eyes turned in his direction.

"Our grounds are completely secluded from the outside world, so your privacy is assured. From the looks of you two, you have nothing to feel embarrassed about."

"Right," said Stevie with a frozen smile on her lips.

As they looked around, they saw other guests roaming around and chatting to each other. All of them unclothed. There were thin bodies and fat bodies, handsome men and some not so handsome. There were older people too, but mostly the adults were in their thirties and forties.

"This is Callum, and his wife Fiona. He's something big in the Green Party. A lot of them are, actually."

MacTavish introduced several others to Everton and Stevie as they all drank Whisky Macs, a traditional warmer made with equal parts Scotch whisky and green ginger wine.

"May we join you?" asked a five-foot-six brunette with a trim figure and a hefty bosom. "I'm Dorothy, and this is my husband, Hamish. I must say that I've never seen a black laddy before. You're so rugged and... well, you know."

"I think you mean hung, my dear lassie."

"Quite. And so much hair on his chest. Does it itch?"

More guests overcame their shyness to check out Everton's compact and muscular physique.

Harold looked the same age as his wife Maisie, about forty, guessed Stevie, as they too approached. He was overweight with no body hair, and his unfettered dick was at half-mast as he openly leered at Stevie's beatific form.

"I'm Nick, and this is Anita. You come here often?" he asked, ignorant of any pun.

"We do. Every time we attend. Ahah, hah! Yes, we just love being as nature intended, and meeting those who feel the same. It's the only time we can relax and make new chums, right, Anita? Hah, har, har!"

"I get the feeling that we're in the middle of a swingers party," Stevie whispered to the dark-skinned spy.

"I get that impression as well. We'd best beat a hasty retreat. Do excuse us, Harold. We must mingle."

"Oh, er, yes. We must put it about a bit. Ahar! Bottoms up, my dear Anita!"

As he downed his drink, Harold brazenly pinched Stevie's bare bottom. Everton steered a fuming Stevie away before she could protest. Just as they reached the sanctity of the interior of the Kirckaldy Court, MacTavish yelled at them.

"I'll expect you both out here tonight. We're celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday. As it's a special occasion, we're having a special party."

"What do you think? Should we attend?"

"I don't think that we have much choice. We'll go."

"Balls!"

To be continued.