The Apple by Noillyrag

[esercito sconfitto]

THE APPLE NEVER FALLS FAR FROM THE TREE

Rupert Deveraux selected a slice of toast from the rack and picked up the marmalade knife.

“Anything in the papers this morning, George?” he asked as he began to spread the orange jam.

“The usual tales of calamity, disaster and political chicanery: nothing out of the ordinary, sir” George replied as he flicked though the pages of the bundle of newspapers which lay on the sideboard. He paused. “Although there is a story here which might interest you, sir” he continued, picking up a copy of ‘The Daily Spot’ a tabloid noted for its obsession with scandal and total disregard for anything resembling the truth.

“Oh, what’s that?” asked Rupert, his interest mildly aroused.

“It appears that Miss Melody Thyghes – you will remember she’s the social columnist for the ‘Daily Sentinel’ - was robbed last night by a miscreant in the underground car park at her place of work.” George enlightened.

“Oh, dear!” interjected Rupert “Not injured, I trust?” mustering up as much contrived concerned as etiquette demanded on these occasions “I met her once, you know. Frightful woman. Pretentious, self opinionated, condescending. The sort of person one finds very easy to dislike. So now she’s been mugged has she? Huh! I wonder if she is still a liberal.” Rupert wondered aloud, scarcely able to conceal an air of distain.

“I understand there is a friendly rivalry between the ‘Spot’ and ‘The Sentinel’” George continued as he gazed at the front page of ‘The Spot’.

“Friendly rivalry?” Rupert snorted. “More like visceral hatred, I’d say. The ‘Spot’ is always having a go at Melody Thyghes. Can’t say as I blame them really, she usually writes a load of boll…er, balderdash “

“Quite so, sir.” George agreed. “It appears that the lady was accosted as she was opening the door of her car.” George continued as he read from the front page article “The robber produced a gun, threatened Miss Thyghes and demanded her valuables. The gunman then forced his victim to remove a certain item of underwear.”

“Good heavens! Whatever will robbers do next? Do continue, George: this sounds rather interesting.” encouraged Rupert.

George turned the newspaper so that Rupert could see the front page. Prominently displayed was a full page picture of an image which was probably taken from the security camera in the underground car park. The image was a little grainy but it clearly showed Melody Thyghes in the process of stepping out of her knickers. In bold type, blazoned across the page was the headline ‘From Smartass to Bareass’.

“Rather gloating don’t you think, sir?” suggested George, assuming a censorious tone.

“I see what you mean, George. Touch of schadenfreude there, I suspect.” suggested Rupert. “Um…I really must write to the editor to explain how to spell the word ’arse’.”

George continued reading aloud “…it is suspected that Miss Thyghes’s underwear will shortly be offered for sale on an internet auction site; if any reader has further information would he please contact us on bla, bla, bla. More images can be downloaded from our website at www., etcetera. Readers may also like to enter our free competition on page 33 where you can tell us what colour knickers you imagine Miss Thyghes was wearing last night. The entrant most closely describing Melody Thyghes underwear will win ten of the latest Japanese DVDs depicting scenes which we guarantee will appeal to the discerning tastes of our demanding readers. Should we enter, sir?”

“Yes, why not? Let’s have a closer look” Rupert said, taking the newspaper to cast a superficial glance at the evidence of Miss Thyghes’s embarrassment. “Floral midis, I would say. Mainly white with the design picked out in red. Probably scented with a gentle spray of ‘Allure’. What do you think, George?”

“I would concur entirely, sir. I shall complete the entry form forthwith” George replied and, opening the desk drawer to extract a pair of scissors, he began to cut out the entry form.

Rupert turned his head to look out the window. It was a cold morning and a few snow flakes had begun to drift across the lawn, blown by a light breeze which had set in from the north. A figure clad in a warm winter coat was making his way towards the house from the direction of the village, pausing from time to time to turn and enjoy the view across the rolling frozen fields.

“I see Dad is back from his walk” Rupert said, casually.

“Yes, sir. Mr Deveraux left about an hour ago. He apologises for not joining you for breakfast” said George.

“Oh, no matter. Dad likes to make the most of his time here. It was good of him to spend Christmas with us.”

“I’ll open the door for Mr. Deveraux, sir.”

“Thank you, George” Rupert replied. He heard the heavy front door open, then close as the walker returned and then the laboured tread as his father climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom. Rupert returned to the teapot and poured another cup of Lady Gray.

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“Hello, son” A figure appeared in the doorway. Slightly shorter than Rupert, but with identical blue eyes, the grey haired figure was clearly from the same mould as Rupert.

“Hi, Dad! Did you enjoy your walk? Sorry I didn’t join you. What’s that you’ve got under your arm?” he asked, looking at a large volume which his father was clasping.

“Oh, it’s a sort of scrap book I’ve built up over the years. Thought I ought to give it to you while I’ve still got strength…”

“Wait a minute, I’ll get out the violins” retorted Rupert, teasing his father.

“Well, you never know…”

“Oh, nuts” Rupert scorned, belittling his father’s attempt to be serious. But this was their way of dismissing any discussion of mortality. “So what’s in the scrapbook?”

Rupert’s father sat down on the settee, made himself comfortable and placed the book on his knees. He opened its cover to the frontispiece on which were scrawled the words ‘My Life’.

“What an imaginative title” teased Rupert in mock appreciation. His father ignored the sarcasm and turned the first page to reveal a series of black and white photographs.


The first few pages of the scrapbook contained images of a childhood and adolescence: photographs, achievement certificates from the Boy Scouts, odd mementoes and keepsakes from early years which, although they had been tough, were clearly character forming. Then the pages began to reveal a blossoming maturity and the photographs changed from black and white to colour. A picture of his father in jungle greens with his arms around two pretty girls caught Rupert’s attention.

“Looks as though you are having a nice time there” he commented.

“Yup. That’s me when I was serving in Malaya. That’s Helen and that’s Julia” he explained, identifying each with a jab of his finger nail. “They were working at the hospital at the time. After we were demobbed we, er, went into business together as it were” explained Pop.

Rupert smiled, guessing what ‘business’ meant. His father turned over another page to reveal several yellowing newspaper cuttings which detailed various robberies which had taken place. One in particular caught his eye.

“Y-Fronts bandit flees jewellery heist” Rupert read aloud. “What on earth is that all about?” he exclaimed.

“Er…Well, a bit embarrassing that” his father began “We were carrying out a job on a jewellers when I thought I’d show off a bit and vaulted over the counter to help myself to the till: you know, like they do in the films. Unfortunately, I missed my aim and caught my trousers on something. The next thing I knew, I was standing there in my underpants with my trousers around my ankles. Well, let’s face it, son, you can’t carry out a robbery with your trousers around your ankles; can you? You’ve sort of lost the drama of the moment as it were. So I couldn’t do anything other than just give it up and make a run for it, which was just as well as it turned out, because at that moment I heard a police siren coming down the road: the manager must have pressed an alarm without us knowing about it. So there we were, Helen and I, running down the road as fast as we could to where Julia had parked the car. I must have looked a right sight running along in my underpants, clutching my trousers in my hand. Well, we jumped in the car and just got away by the skin of our teeth. A real close call, that one, I’ll tell you!”

Rupert laughed “That must have been quite a sight! I see the newspapers got hold of the story” he said, pointing to the cutting.

“Yes” replied his father “and you can imagine the reception I got next time I went into my favourite watering hole – ‘Here comes the Y-Fronts Kid!’ someone shouted ‘Is that how you get them to hand over the money – you just drop your strides? You must have a fearsome weapon! And that was the kindest remark, I’ll tell you. Quite frankly, I got quite P’d off. I had hoped, when I became a ‘Face’ I’d have a title that people would respect, like ‘Scarface’ or ‘Mangler’, you know: a name which would strike fear into people’s hearts. But ‘Y-Fronts’!? Who wants to be called ‘Y-Fronts’? Nobody takes any notice of you!”

“I see what you mean” commiserated Rupert.

“But you, my son” said Pop, slapping Rupert on the back “are ‘The Count’. Now that’s got style and prestige; it shouts ‘status’. It’s got gravitas! Nobody messes with a ‘Count’. You’ve made your dad proud!”

Rupert had to confess a moment of deep pride at this demonstration of paternal approval. He almost blushed.

Rupert turned another page of the scrap book and gave a startled gasp “Jeepers, what’s this?!” he cried.

He stared at the photograph pasted to the page alongside a yellowed newspaper cutting describing a take-over bank robbery from the mid 1960s. The photograph showed three young women – presumably customers or employees of the bank – sitting on the floor of the bank with their hands clasped behind their heads. They were attractive, but clearly very unhappy with the situation in which had been placed, which was understandable as they were stripped down to their underwear.

Pop leaned forward and tapped the page with his index finger. “That, my boy, was the best heist we ever carried out. It was perfect in every respect, which is unusual in itself because you can always expect something to go wrong with a robbery, but in this case it didn’t. Sure, we had some anxious moments during the hold-up, but in the end everything turned out fine. We got quite a lot of money out of that one, too.”

“Looks like you had some fun, too” said Rupert, peering at the photograph closely.

“Ah, didn’t we just! Let me tell you about it. As you know yourself, planning and preparation are everything in a robbery and we chose this particular bank because we knew it would have a lot of money on site. But most important of all was the fact that we could gain access quite easily. Remember this was forty odd years ago and things were rather different in those days – none of this modern electronic security, cameras, listening devices and what have you – no, they had a big safe, they trusted people who shouldn’t have been trusted, and they didn’t believe it could happen to them – well, it did: we saw to that!”

Rupert interjected. “You said you could gain access quite easily; how did you get in? Most robbers at that time just went in brandishing guns, thumped a few people, grabbed the money and ran.”

“Nah, we were more intellectual than that.” claimed Pop “We soon worked out that the bank, although it was hot on security during the day, didn’t give the night cleaning ladies a second glance. I suppose they thought as there was nothing valuable laying around to be pinched aside from a few paper clips – after all, all the money was locked away in the safe – there was no risk.” Pop gave a chuckle. “They hadn’t reckoned about us!”

“So what did you do?” Rupert asked; keen to find out how three pretty girls ended up in their underwear sitting on the floor of the bank.

“I was just coming to that…Er; do you have a refill by any chance?” Pop pleaded, proffering an empty whisky glass.

“Yes, of course: I’ll get you one” replied Rupert, hiding his impatience to hear the rest of the story and walked across to the drinks cabinet and poured generous measures of single malt into two tumblers. He walked back to his father and handed him one of the glasses before resuming his own place on the settee.

“Where was I now…?” wondered Pop.

“About to break into the bank?” suggested Rupert.

“Ah, yes. Well, we didn’t actually break into the bank as such, we just walked in. You see, Helen and Julia managed to pass themselves off as the night cleaners – it’s a rather complicated story how they did it, so I’ll gloss over that bit – and gained access to the bank that way. Nobody gave them a second glance and so when they hid away, no one noticed that two more individuals had come into the bank than had actually left. It really was as simple as that. And when it was all quiet in the early hours of the morning, they opened the side door and let me in.”

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Rupert.

“Well, as I said, this was the middle sixties; things were rather different in those days.” Pop reminded.

“You’re telling me!”

“Anyway, all we had to do then was to sit and wait till morning. We knew the safe was timed to open at nine fifteen and the staff would start arriving at about half past eight. There would be about nine or ten people to worry about, but we thought the three of us would be able to handle it, particularly as we were armed” Pop explained. “Well, just before half past eight we heard the sound of someone opening the main door and shutting it behind them. In fact there were two people, the assistant manager and a woman who turned out to be some sort of office manager. We waited until they had gone into the back of the bank to take off their coats and do whatever they had to and then we pounced. We took them completely by surprise and made it quite clear to them that they should do exactly what they were told or else. We made them sit on the floor and tied their hands behind their backs. Well the assistant manager didn’t take too kindly to this and started kicking up such a fuss – you know the sort of thing: ‘you won’t get away with this; the police will be on to you, etc’ that he managed to get right up the girls’ noses, so just to show him who was in charge, they did no more than took his trousers off. That shut him up.”

Rupert laughed. “In front of the woman manager, too.”

“Well, yes, but that was just for starters. It seemed that taking off the manager’s trousers had put ideas into Helen’s and Julia’s head because the next thing I knew they were stripping down the office manager, too. They couldn’t take all her clothes off because she was tied up, so they took off her skirt, then unbuttoned her blouse, pulled down the top of her slip and snipped the front of her bra with a pair of scissors they found lying around. She had a lovely pair of boobs, as I remember.”

“Yes, Dad” Rupert teased.

“Well, over the next half hour three more men arrived. They were promptly debagged by the girls and tied up on the floor alongside the assistant manager. Then finally, we heard giggling as three young ladies came in and closed the door behind them – they are the three in the photograph.”

“But they weren’t dressed like this though when they walked through the door?” Rupert joked.

“Nah. Remember this was during that golden age just after the introduction of the mini skirt and before the advent of tights. Girls tended to wear stockings and suspender belts and beautiful lacy slips in those days: a lovely time! The local lads used to spend their lunch hours at the bottom of escalators or knicker spotting in the park. You try getting up off the grass wearing a miniskirt without showing your knickers: can’t be done. And then there was that lovely gap between the top of the stocking and the leg of the knickers: warm, soft and sensual, just begging to be stroked. Ah, those were the days…”

“Yes, Dad” assured Rupert, now slightly concerned that his father’s reminiscences might lead to a heart attack. “So what happened next?”

“Where was I?”

“Three girls had just come into the bank” Rupert refreshed his father’s memory.

“Ah, yes. Well, naturally they were startled when Julia and Helen produced their guns and told them to walk quietly to the back of the bank, but they were even more startled when they saw their colleagues and it dawned on them that they were soon to join them. The three girls were absolute stunners and I think Helen in particular was a bit – you know – ‘that way inclined’ and she really relished taunting her victims. Put a pretty girl in front of her and she really got excited. I noticed it on other jobs: she just loved forcing a pretty girl to strip down in front of her colleagues. She used to get off on it. Well, so did I, to be honest. There is something really sexy watching a pretty bank executive stripping off her skirt and scuttling across the floor of the bank, hands behind her head, with her undies peeping out from under her jacket. They look so flustered and embarrassed and utterly humiliated. Just the sort of tonic you need when you have been refused a loan. Helen’s speciality was to whisper in her victims’ ears as they stood there cringing, awaiting their fate. She never did tell me what she said to them, but it must have been good, because you could see the poor girls’ faces go as red as a beetroot and their eyes open wide. Then she would pick up the discarded skirts and taunt her victims as she put the garments in her bag. ”Hope you like walking home in your knickers, ladies” she’d say. Anyway, to get back to where we were - the three girls were standing there absolutely petrified as Helen and Julia circled around looking them up and down. Then Julia said, very quietly, ‘Take your coats off, girls’

“They must have been pooping themselves by this time” suggested Rupert.

“No doubt they were. Julia could be very controlling. As I said, the girls were stunning. I can still remember it to this day: the blond girl wore a sweater, a wrap around tartan skirt – you know, the type of skirt which you are just dying to unwrap - and a pair of the ‘kinky boots’ they wore in those days. The other two girls wore smart blue business suits which was probably the bank’s uniform. So I suppose the blonde must have been a secretary and the other two were cashiers.

“What happened next?” asked Rupert.

“Well, I might remember better if I had a full glass” complained Pop, twiddling the empty tumbler.

“Yes, of course. Same again?”

“That’ll do nicely”.

Suitably replenished, Pop continued his story. “Well, the three girls were standing there, shuffling with embarrassment, when Helen broke the silence. Remember, she could be a bit of a minx and she was determined to have some fun with these girls who realised by now they were going to be stripped down, so she starts by taunting them. It went something like this.”

“I’m sure the guys would like to see what colour knickers you’re wearing, wouldn’t you fellows?” Helen began, turning to the men lying on the floor. “Yes, I’m sure you would” she continued without waiting for an answer. “O.K. ladies, lift your skirts so we can all see your credentials.”

“I remember at this point, one of the cashiers started to protest that she didn’t want to lift up her skirt” explained Pop. Helen had been unimpressed and made it clear that the cashier’s knickers were going to be put on display, like it or not.

“That’s all right. You don’t have to want to do it. Just do it. Otherwise I’ll do it for you” Helen threatened.

“So, realising there was really no alternative, the cashier began to hitch up her skirt.” Pop continued “Then Helen turned to the other girls”

“You two as well” Helen had insisted, waving her gun at them.”

“Higher! We can only see your suspender belts: We want to see your knickers, don’t we, boys?” Julia joined in at this stage. “There you are lads, what do you think? Blondie here is wearing a nice lacy black pair and over here we have a pair in light blue, I think it is, and finally a very sexy full cut pair in white cotton. Very nice, don’t you agree, boys? Do admire their slips, too. You will be able to see them better in a minute when they take off their skirts.”

At the reference to taking off skirts, the three girls shuffled with acute embarrassment and turned bright red. The cashier opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and responded to Helen’s gun point gesture by reaching to the back of her skirt and sliding down the zip. She thumbed the waistband of her skirt and pushed it down around her ankles. She stood in a lovely, white, lacy mini slip which reached down to a few inches above her knees. She looked to her left to see the secretary unwrapping her skirt and her fellow cashier stepping out of hers.

“O.K. ladies, that was well done.” complimented Helen. “Now I want you to sit down here facing your colleagues. But before you do that, I want you to take off your jackets and sweaters, O.K.?” She waited until the girls had removed their clothing and had sat down on the floor opposite their colleagues. “Now, I want you to sit with your knees wide apart and your hands behind your head” Helen instructed. “Oh, and take off your bras, too: you will feel more comfortable that way.”

“Well, what do you think now, lads?” asked Julia “Here we have Blondie in a very fetching black ensemble with matching suspender belt and stockings. On her left we have Miss A who is wearing a white lacy mini slip with matching knickers and bra, which she has kindly removed for you, and on her right we have Miss B also wearing a white slip but with a matching blue pants and bra set. Enjoy.” And with that, she reached into her pocket and produced a camera and took a picture of the three girls.

“And that’s the picture you are looking at now, son” said Pop proudly “Nice eh?”

Rupert had to agree with his father; it was indeed a very nice picture.

“What happened next?” asked Rupert.

“Ah, well – I walked over to the safe but there were still a few minutes left on the clock, so I sat down to wait. Just then the phone rang. I thought ‘blow it’. It’s just the sort of incidental thing which can throw the whole job: I hadn’t given a moment’s thought to the probability of someone phoning the bank. So I did some quick thinking and went back to where the others were, grabbed the blonde girl and dragged her over to the phone and told her to answer it and carry on as if nothing was wrong – or else. Give her her due, she was as good as gold and gave a convincing performance – in more ways than one, I’ll have you know. Just imagine the scene, Son: there was this gorgeous girl stripped down to her undies bending over to open a file drawer, black lacy knickers stretched tightly across her butt; suspender belt; stocking tops. It was out of this world! Then she went and sat on the desk and crossed her legs to answer the phone and began slowly rubbing one leg against the other. Have you ever listened to the sound a nylon stocking makes, Son? It’s pure erotic heaven: it oozes the promise of warm, scented flesh, hot lips, soft hair and…Yes, a sound that is now as rare as the mating call of the dodo bird, I’m afraid. Such is progress.” Pop could be quite poetic when the occasion arose.

“You all right, Dad?” asked Rupert, slightly concerned now that his father had stopped talking and had closed his eyes. The contented smile on his father’s face reassured him.

“’Cause I’m alright. Just reminiscing, that’s all” Pop replied. “Anyway, there I was, studying Blondie’s assets when Julia came over and started rummaging in the desk drawer.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“It’s all right, I found one” Julia replied, waving a ruler in the air.

“What do you want that for?” I could see Julia had a mischievous look on her face.

“We’re having a competition” Julia replied by way of explanation.

“Well, overcome with curiosity I swivelled around in my chair to see what was going on. There was Helen pulling down the manager’s underpants. He was struggling like mad and didn’t seem at all keen on the idea of having his assets audited, particularly by a mischievous looking girl with dangerously sharp finger nails.”

“Who won the competition?” asked Rupert.

“Oh, I think it was the deputy manager, by a short head. Or should that be a long head? Can’t remember now” explained Pop.

“Soon after, I heard the click as the timer released the safe. I opened the door and honest! It was just like looking in Aladdin’s cave. Notes stacked floor to ceiling. There was a fortune. Helped pay for your education, that did, Son. So we grabbed the two cashiers and made them stuff as much money in the bags as they could. That was another lovely scene, Son. You imagine it: these two gorgeous girls bending over and stretching in their undies. That’s something else you don’t often see these days, a pretty girl bending over with her knickers and suspenders showing through a lacy slip stretched tightly across her butt. Great! I blame these feminists, you know. Women didn’t used to have a problem being sexy. They knew what a man liked to see and made sure he saw it.”

“Well, that’s progress, I guess” Rupert commiserated.

“Not what I call progress” Pop retorted.

“So you made your getaway alright them?” asked Rupert

“Sure. We just tied up the three girls again and walked out the back door. Simple as that.”

“Unbelievable” exclaimed Rupert “What happened to Julia and Helen after that?”

“Oh, we pulled a few more heists but nothing as good as the bank job. Then – it must have been the late sixties, I guess – we had planned this raid on a jewellery store when I unfortunately went down with the ‘flu, a really bad bout. I told the girls we would have to postpone the job for a week or two but they were impatient and went ahead anyway and tried to pull the job on their own. It didn’t work and they were caught red handed. Got ten years apiece.” explained Pop.

“Bit of bad luck” observed Rupert “for them if not for you. Ill wind and all that.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Did you pull any more jobs after you recovered?” Rupert asked.

“No. I was sorely tempted, I can tell you. But I realised that the fate of Julia and Helen was a sort of warning. You can get too cocky sometimes and push your luck so far. I didn’t want to go down so I thought I’d retire: after all I’d made quite a lot of money over the years and I was never a big spender.”

“So I’d noticed” confirmed Rupert.

“Hrumm” George had opened the door and politely cleared his throat. “Dinner is served, sir.”

“Thank you George” replied Rupert “Shall we go in, Dad?”

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Rupert Deveraux parted the curtains of his bedroom and peered outside. The snow now covered the ground to a depth of several inches. The moonlight gave fairy tale lustre to the scene. It was silent; a silence which made one feel comfortable and at peace with the world.

Rupert returned to his bedside and drained the last of the glass of whisky which George had brought earlier. He peeled back the quilt and slid his legs under the cover. He reached to his left hand side and picked up the laptop which he had been studying for the past hour. The screen had been paused and showed a dark image of an underground parking lot. A figure of a woman dressed in a smart business suit was approaching one of the vehicles.

Rupert rested the laptop on his knees and released the pause button. The figure on the screen continued to approach the car and flicked a sensor to release the door mechanism. She reached for the handle, but before she could open the door, a dark image emerged from the shadows, spun the woman around and placed a gloved hand over her mouth. In the image’s other hand was a gun.

After a few seconds, the gunman pulled back. He was now speaking to his victim. It was impossible to hear what was being said, but it was clear that the woman was being given clear instructions as to what she should do. She appeared to resist and made an attempt to turn away, but the sight of the gun deterred any determined opposition. The woman handed over her handbag and then she began to remove her jewellery and watch. She handed these to the gunman, too. There was a pause; another command from the gunman; the woman’s face displayed surprise and apprehension; the gun was placed more threateningly under her nose; the victim, cowering, reached behind her back and unzipped her skirt; she pushed the garment down, stepped out of it and handed it to the gunman. He examined the skirt and then, screwing the garment into a ball, hurled it into the air and watched it land on a service pipe which crossed the car park just under the roof. The woman watched in horror.

The gunman studied his victim, then, clearly relishing the moment, he ordered her to pose for him with her hands behind her head, then to turn round and bend over, then to walk around her car. He was obviously playing with her. Finally, he made her stand in front of him. Another curt instruction was given. The victim squirmed, then reluctantly and very slowly removed her knickers and handed them to the gunman. He took them, sniffed them, and then placed them in his pocket. His victim was then ordered to turn around and place her hands on the roof of her car and to stand with her feet wide apart.

At this point, the image of the gunman disappears from the screen as he apparently makes his escape while his victim is distracted wondering what other embarrassing indignities are to be inflicted on her. The woman remains leaning against the car for a couple of minutes before she realises that she is alone. Alone that is, except for the security guard operating the surveillance camera and, later, the viewers of the website on which the camera images were posted, which, according to the counter underneath the video, now ran well into seven figures.

Miss Melody Thyghes (for it was she) looked around for salvation. There was none to be had; Batman was not in sight, nor was Catwoman, which, perhaps, was just as well. She tugged her jacket down to hide her embarrassment but this was rather a fruitless exercise as the security camera, which had now been zoomed it, confirmed. Miss Thyghes looked forlornly up at her skirt, then realised that she might –just might – be able to retrieve it. She took off her shoes and climbed onto the roof of her 4x4. She bent her knees and jumped. At the third attempt she was able to grab the hem of her skirt and release it from its position on the pipe.

“What a lovely pair of cheeks you have, Miss Thyghes” muttered Rupert to himself; “I should like to see more of them.”

Miss Thyghes clambered down from the roof of her vehicle clutching her skirt in her hand, her legs splaying every which way, the camera closely following her every move, the whole scene now illuminated by the headlights of a car which had just arrived in the car park..

“I am sure, Miss Melody Thyghes, the next time I key the word ‘bush’ into an search engine, the image which comes top of the pile will not be political in nature, but will show you in your finest moment. I must congratulate the security camera operator for his initiative and dedication to duty.” mused Rupert.

Rupert cleared the image from the screen and switched off the laptop. Clearly his was a sound idea to telephone the news desk of the ‘Daily Spot’ with the tip-off that it might be a good idea to get in touch with the security camera operator at ‘The Sentinel’ and to make him an offer which would undoubtedly be to his financial advantage. The reporter who dashed round to the car park clearly thought so, too.

“I can see fame awaits you on a certain Friday night chat show, Miss Thyghes. If you play your cards right, you could do well out of this…” Rupert muttered. He turned to switch off the light, but before he did so, he opened a black bag which George had earlier warmed in the toaster. Rupert extracted a pair of lady’s knickers, white midis with a red floral pattern. He sniffed them and the aroma of ‘Allure’ filled his nostrils.

“Delightful” cooed Rupert. He turned and switched off the light “God bless us, everyone” he sighed as he put his hands under the quilt.

THE END (for now)

Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental – unless you know differently, of course…