Ivan sighed, the old bird’s not been the same since he mistook a road sign of a red squirrel for the real thing. “Grandpa!”
“What!” The greying owl shook his head and bits flew in all directions. Ivan reflexively placed a wing tip over his own glass; no one liked vole droppings in their 15 year old single malt. “Where was I?”
“Grandma’s story.”
“Ah, yes.” He leant back and sighed, glancing over at a photo of his wife on the mantelpiece. “Well, back then the Landed Lieutenant was…”
“Sir Tawny Hamish McTavish the second Madame, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Simone snorted; he must have made that up… surely. But she needed to stay, and stay without too many questions so she resisted and instead purred ingratiatingly. “Why the pleasure Sir”— damn, what was his name again—“is all mine.” She fluttered her large green eyes and curled demurely around his ugly talons. And, with a deep sensual gaze, honed to perfection over the years, “and it’s Mademoiselle… Sir Tawdry.”
The Lieutenant frowned, but put it down to her strange accent. He smiled, eyes roaming — I say, foreign or not, you’re a pretty filly. His mind flicked home to Lady McTavish, probably already on her third frosted dormouse of the morning. When he recalled the days they used to soar and hunt together, the moonlight glistening off her golden beak. He scoffed. It’d take one of Mad Mongoose’s rockets to get her airborne these days.
“Mademoiselle.” McTavish thrust out his chest and angled a leg in an attempt to look more sophisticated. Instead it made him look as if he was about to break wind. “How can I be of service to such a delightful visitor to our shore?”
“I’m staying for a few days, and I…I,” Simone swooned. “Oh, I’ve had the most awful time,” she airily wafted a paw. He took it and she gazed up into his eyes, hers misty with woe.
“Oh my dear, what —
“I need rest, there”—and she leant closer—“is a man.”
“A man!”
“A scoundrel?”
“A cad?”
“A brute.”
McTavish stood up straight and tall. “Mademoiselle you must stay at…” My giddy aunt, how he yearned for her to stay at the Chateau McTavish — in adjoining rooms (Lady McTavish slept on the ground floor since the winch broke) — but he had his reputation to consider. “…the Royale.” He swept a wing towards the large colonial building that dominated the waterfront.
“Oh.” Simone blushed — another handy talent since bashful, shy and easily flustered ain’t her. “But alas Sir, I made my escape in great urgency and am without means.” She buried her face between her front paws and sobbed until she’d almost convinced herself that she was broke.
McTavish reached down and gently lifted her head. “My dear sweet thing,” he said, “you shall be my guest.”
“But…”
“No, I insist.” He beamed. Simone shuddered. When an Owl looked this happy the instinct to spit and scarper was almost overwhelming. “And”—here it comes—“I would consider it an honour if you would dine with me tonight.”
Simone lay back on the most luxurious bed she’d ever not paid for. There was a light tap at the door. She sat bolt upright, her shackles rising. You can’t be serious.
Another tap.
She peeked through the eyepiece. All she could see were red roses. Opening the door she grabbed the proffered card.
‘From a secret admirer.’
Only then did she look up.
And what she saw took her breath away. Standing there, looking as self-conscious as the sole fancy-dresser at a black-tie event, was the most gorgeous, handsome, dashing, fidgety, blushing, snowy white sexy fella that Simone had ever laid her emerald eyes on. Why, her first instinct was to ravage him there and then. However, that wouldn’t have aided her plans; orgasmic screeching from one of the suites being the opposite of a low profile.
“Hellooo.”
A single low tweet was all the poor owlet could manage as he thrust the roses towards her, his eyes wide, a thin bead of sweat forming just above his beak.
“Bring them in,” Simone said, quivering. He placed the flowers on the vestibule table. “Do you work for the hotel?”
He opened his beak, closed it, opened it.
“A nod or shake of the head will suffice.” He shook his head. “Then where are you from?”
“Sir, Sir —
Simone lounged back on her sofa, a rear leg draped over the back. She had to smile, the poor thing looked about to spontaneously combust. “Ah, Sir Titty.” For a moment he looked horrified and then, noticing Simone’s smirk, broke into the cutest grin. “Do you work at his residence?”
A plan was forming.
He nodded.
“Do Snowy Owls speak?”
He nodded, shook his head, cleared his throat. “Yes Madame.”
“Mademoiselle,” Simone purred. And feeling mischievous. “That means I’m… available.” Oh, bad bad idea, he was going to have a coronary. Quickly. “What’s your name?”
“Chalk.”
“Chalk?”
“Chalk.”
“Imaginative.” He smiled again. God he’s gorgeous. “Take a seat…Chalk.” Simone knew that in very quick time she would have him pecking out of her paw. “I want you to tell me all about yourself and what you do for Sir Trashy.”
Simone was delighted; Chalk had been a mine of information. In fact she leant everything she needed to know about our Sir Tatty in just thirty tantalisingly teasing minutes.
It turned out that Chalk hated his employer, as did many people in this sordid, pretentious little town. It turned out that Sir was in fact the terror of the ladies; a vulgar, manipulative, groping pervert. Simone wasn’t surprised; she’d seen his type in many small towns and settlements. The trick was to make the twats think they were important, their personalities interesting, their charms irresistible. However, despite all that, they did have a single overriding redeeming quality — their wallets.
“Did you get them?”
Chalk nodded, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder towards the chateaux. Simone didn’t think a Snowy could get any paler. They were down at the harbour, it was 2am and Simone had left Sir Twatty snoring drunkenly on his chaise longue. Even by her standards she’d put on quite a show tonight and by the end of the evening she’d had him using her to model his wife’s jewellery.
He had tried to be smart when getting the gem cases out of the safe by leaving only one sconce alight. But she was a cat for heaven’s sake! And when Chalk came to see if — ‘would there be anything else Sir’, she’d flicked him the combination.
“I’ve chartered that boat.”
“Which?”
“The green one.” Simone hated the colour, reminded her of the hovel she grew up in. Of her witless father and downtrodden mother, and the tasteless vile pea soup that was pretty much all she had to eat. “But we can’t leave for another three hours apparently, something to do with the tide.”
“What we gonna do for three hours?”
Simone raised her eyebrows and beckoned him below decks.
“What is the meaning of this?” Simone hissed and spat at the ferret soldiers who’d come aboard and were dragging her and Chalk out onto the pier. “How dare you manhandle a pussy. And what are you smirking at!” The ferret blushed such that Simone could almost smell the singeing of his grubby fur.
“Quite right, dismissed soldier.” The Landed Lieutenant turned to Simone and bowed. Clicking his beak he glared at the trembling Chalk. “I’m pleased to see that you are well Mademoiselle. I presume that this desperate rascal has abducted you, it’s the only explanation for your sudden departure. And for my missing jewellery and cash.”
“Oh Sir, it’s not like that at all.” Simone flung herself to the floor. “It’s Mama! I received an express pigeon in the early hours. She’s ill and I need to return tout suite. And your gallant and honourable servant, who you must have trained in your own image”—don’t overdo it—“volunteered to chaperone me.”
“Oh Mademoiselle, I’m so very sorry to hear that.” Simone smiled; this owl really was as thick as a fresh cow pat. He cleared his throat. “However, I am still going to have to search this vessel. There is the matter of the missing jewellery and cash.”
Simone and Chalk lay back on the divan below decks, a bottle of bubbles on ice and their glasses full. “To the get-away.” Simone sighed. Poor dear, nudging him, she’d quite worn him out.
“What! Again?”
“Relax.” Simone raised her glass. “To us.”
Chalk exhaled slowly. “To us.”
“Actually,” Simone said glancing around their unspacious cabin. “Where are the gems and the cash?”
Chalk grinned, reached across to the table and passed her a large jar of honey. “Look inside.”
“And the cash?”
“Look at the wrapping.”
Simone draped herself around him, purring like she’d never purred before. “What a clever fowl you are.” She kissed him. “Come, let us be married. And I know just the turkey to do it!”
No Comments