Keeper Of Secrets — an audio story

Keeper Of Secrets — Unseen 18:03

Susan, a bereaved daughter, stumbles upon her grandmother’s journals. Stories hidden from the family of adventures, spies, a mysterious discarded toy, lost loves and revenge flash before her eyes sparking a desire to escape her ordinary life.

In a dusty attic, Susan holds her sadness in check as she attempts to organise her mother’s stored memories. Boxes of journals written by her grandmother reveal a hidden secret life lived out during the modern world’s most dangerous conflict. Time slows down as the young woman relives her ancestor’s exciting life. The quiet dismissive old lady that she knew does not fit with the vibrant idealistic young woman she reads about in these journals. The identity of the mysterious ‘Keeper Of Secrets’ is ultimately revealed and this revelation leads Susan to a decision — she is going to escape from her ‘ordinary life’ and live a secret life of her own.
BOOK TRAILER: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2OHQd7X_Jo

New Book: BORIS and the Rising Sun Hotel

So BORIS has an official launch date, December 22nd 2018. This will be the cover for the audiobook and the middle bit is the book cover. It is available now for pre-order.

IMG_7275 (1)

Boris lives in the KEEPER OF SECRETS universe.
Susan encounters him in the first book of the series and in SECRETS KEPT we get to know a bit more about him.
He is always there when Susan meets with ‘Backdoor Barry’, silently doing his job. Sometimes lipreading the mute old TV set, sometimes tending to his bartender duties. A quiet observer of everything that goes on at the Rising Sun Hotel.
When I finished the second book in this series, I couldn’t help wondering what was happening in Boris’ life when we were not around. Has he been a part of Barry’s adventures? Was he around when that chair acquired its famous bullet hole? Does he have a romantic interest?
As you can see, these questions needed to be answered.
Boris is more than just a bit part player in Susan Smith’s adventurous life — Boris has a life of his own.

DECEMBER 22nd 2018

The Naked Botanist and a Feathered Conundrum

ba01c4ad8224dcc7c6ae5cd9b52a3eae

I emptied the contents of my hand onto the time-worn table.

We inhabited this pub during happier times, and I guess we never broke the habit.

“What is that?” asked Harry, my former workmate. Harry and I once were warriors in the halls of finance. We slashed and burned our way to enormous profits — profits we saw very little of. That sounds like sour grapes, and I guess it is. We were paid very well and on at least one occasion, our Christmas bonus equalled the deposit on an expensive flat overlooking the river — I loved that view.

We thought we were invincible.

“That, my dear Harry is a pile of thank you,” I said with an air of mystery — I do a good mystery.

“Come again, young Charles?” Everyone at the firm called me young Charles. It made it easier, and even when older Charles left the company, I continued to be young Charles.

“It’s a moderately long story, do you want another pint before I begin?”

“Nah, I’ll make this one last.”

“You know that big old RAF greatcoat I used to wear?”

“The one that is hanging on the coat stand over there?”

“That’s the one.”

“I think I will get that drink. I get the feeling that this is going to be epic — you want one?”

“No, save your money. I’m pleasantly toasted, and it should last until lunchtime.”

In the old days, we didn’t have to worry about such things — money was always there, and just like everything else in life, we expected it to stay that way.

I watched Harry make his way to the bar. The girl behind the counter was new, and Harry fancied his chances — their conversation continued for some minutes. As Harry turned to come back to our table, I watched the young lady flash her eyes and run her fingers through her hair.

“I think I’m in there,” said Harry as he sat down. From what I saw, I’d say he probably was.

“It must be your Scotish charm.”

“They all want to know what is under the kilt.”

“You’re not wearing a kilt, Harry.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, but one day I’m sure you will enlighten me.”

We had both travelled a long way to come to London and make our fortune, and now we could not imagine going home with our tails between our legs. My hometown is Melbourne — on the other side of the world.

“So, if you’re sitting comfortably, I’ll begin.”

“Extremely comfy, thank you.”

“You know the park across from my flat?”

“Your old flat or the new one?”

“There is only a railway line across from my current abode.” I glared at him for reminding me of how far I had come down.

“On my days off —“

“Which you have a large number of nowadays,” interrupted Harry.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. On my days off I would take my stale bread to the park and feed the birds. I wasn’t particular, anything with feathers got a fair share.”

“That was very egalitarian of you,” said Harry.

“Thank you — one must maintain standards. So, this went on for many weeks when I discovered the substance you see before you, in the pocket of my greatcoat.”

Harry ran a cautious finger through the pile of what looked like very fine gravel lying on the well-worn table.

“I didn’t pay it any attention at first. I assumed that it had fallen out of a tree, or I had brushed up against something as I walked through the park.”

“A reasonable assumption.”

“Agreed — then the amount of gravel got progressively larger until it reached the proportion you see before you.”

“So, what is it? I know you are dying to tell me.”

“I took a sample to a girl I was penetrating at that time, and between bouts of passion, I asked her if she knew what it was. This girl loves a mystery, so she leapt out of bed, stark naked, and put a couple of grains under her microscope.”

“You have to love a naked woman who has a microscope.”

“My thoughts exactly. It turns out that she was not only good at all forms of coitus, but she was an excellent botanist as well.”

“Coitus beats Botanist though.”

“I agree, but on this occasion, she was both — result!”

“So?”

“Well, it turns out that they are the tops of tiny acorn like seeds — just the tops, and they are very sought after by the little birds that live in that park.”

“Little birds, is that their botanical name?”

“She did tell me, but in my defence, she was naked, and I imagined all the things I could do to her before I had to go to work. Smoothest thighs you have ever seen and spectacular breasts.”

“Fair enough. Any man could forget a Latin name under such circumstances — you’re forgiven.”

“Anyway, these little birds spend hours looking for the caps off the seeds. They use them to make a sort of paste. They mix it with mud and sticks and make a very sturdy nest — a bit like adding gravel to cement. These tiny nut caps are their most treasured possession — they will fight other birds who try to move in on their supply.”

“And, they give them to you?”

“Yes. I’m just as amazed as you are.”

“How do they manage to get them into your pocket without you noticing?”

“Good question. I guess it’s because I’m in a kind of meditative state — sitting by the lake, watching the birds. It was then, and still is, a kind of escape. But after the encounter with the naked Botanist, I watched them out of the corner of my eye. My coat pocket bends open just a bit as I sit and they come up from behind me and drop them in, one at a time.”

“Wow. It must take a while to deposit enough to make a pile like this.”

“I’m touched that they want to thank me. I guess they appreciate the food. Pickings must be very slim in the winter, especially if you have extra mouths to feed. Often, I would be the only one in the park, particularly on wet rainy days. That old greatcoat comes in handy. I turn up the collar and tuck in a scarf, and I’m warm as toast.”

“What about your head?”

“Large woollen fisherman’s hat.”

“Sorted.”

“I feel bad taking their most treasured possession, so I sneak back and sprinkle them under a nearby tree and hope that they don’t notice.”

“Boy, are you going to feel dumb if they turn out to be a cure for cancer.”

“I’ll risk it.”

We both went quiet for a while, the way that good friends can. We sat and drank our beer and thought back to those heady days when the world was ours for the taking.

Harry is the only friend I have left from those days. I remember the morning we turned up to work only to find the front doors chained and padlocked. I wondered how they were able to do that; then I remembered that our firm owned the whole building. The security guards were no help — I just wanted to get my stuff out of my desk — never happened — probably ended up in a skip.

As I remember, Harry and I walked to this pub and made a few calls before our work phones went silent. A couple of the directors had been fiddling the books. They knew that we were surviving on reputation and bugger all else. They packed a serious amount of cash into the company jet and headed for a warmer country. We should have seen it coming, but we were young, and thought we knew our worth — we were invincible.

The naked botanist stopped fucking me as soon as I could no longer squire her to important parties. The flat went after a few months — I wandered along in denial, thinking that the world needed my skill set, but whenever they read the name of the firm I had most recently been employed by, the answer was always the same — no room at the inn.

The blokes who came to throw me out of my flat were very good about it.

“Just take whatever you can carry mate, we’ll look the other way.”

Jolly decent of them really. It was the middle of the day, and they broke for lunch after changing the locks on my former flat.

“Can we buy you lunch young fella? Don’t take it too hard. We see a lot of this, especially nowadays. You can curl up and die, or you can come back stronger — it’s your choice.”

They were right, and I worked for them part-time for a while, but that life was not for me.

I’ve got a tiny flat with a view of a railway line, a warm coat and a good friend. My bank account will see me right for a few more months.

After that, who knows.

Marcel

faff059654d2d62a06c9ebd29f2411a6

When I met Marcel, I was wearing a slinky gown that reached to the ground. It hugged me in all the right places, and every penny I had spent on my spectacular body was on display. My breasts aren’t large, but they are pretty. My dress caressed them and exposed just enough. I wasn’t wearing panties or a bra because it would have ruined the fall of the dress —the dress I purchased only for this occasion.

One of my husband’s friends was receiving an award so the banquet hall would be full of uncomfortably dressed men imitating penguins and fabulously dressed women, all trying to impress each other while comparing their husband’s incomes.

When I first saw him, the dining hall was receiving its finishing touches. None of the bustling staff paid me any attention — one more weepy woman — what did I have to be unhappy about? An observant person would say my life looked perfect. The girls, earning minimum wage, while arranging crystal wine glasses, probably wanted to be me.

My husband disappeared into his career a long time ago, but he still expected me to adore him even though he’s a stranger. If he had found a woman who was prepared to play his game I’m sure he would have left me, but instead, we occupy the same house, and our schedules mean that we occasionally bump into each other.

Marcel was dressed like a penguin also, but he wasn’t a guest he was working — a hired gun, so to speak — an experienced chef moonlighting as a head waiter — just for the night.

“You are unhappy, beautiful lady?”

“Just a bit — nothing to worry about,” I said.

“Why are you alone?”

“I’m not. My husband is in the other room — networking.”

The anteroom was full of well-dressed people exchanging business cards.

“If you were with me, I wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment.”

I lowered my eyes as I smiled demurely. I searched for something to say, but his words took me by surprise. I’ve had men say such things to me in the past, but there was always an edge to their voice that made me uncomfortable.

I sensed a gentle sincerity in Marcel — he meant what he said. That’s not to say that he wasn’t trying his luck — trying to get into the pants that I wasn’t wearing.

He moved closer, and I lowered my eyes a little more. He leaned into my personal space, and I could feel his breath on my bare shoulders.

“You are very forward for a waiter,” I said as I finally found my voice. I didn’t move away from him as a married woman should have while spurning an unwanted advance. Instead, I looked up into his eyes and my rebuke held no venom.

“I am many things and a waiter for only one night. I am also a man who recognises an unhappy woman. I can make you happy,” he said with a devilish smile.

“I doubt that my husband would like to hear you say those words.”

“You are a woman who should be cherished. Your every wish should be granted. Your man should put his hands on you and show you what heaven looks like.”

“And I suppose that you are a man who can achieve that for a woman?”

His attention was arousing me. I didn’t see the harm in encouraging him; I wouldn’t see him again after this night — we come from different worlds.

“I would take you anywhere you want to go,” he said with that same smile.

I had butterflies in my tummy, and I was moist. A trip to the ‘ladies’ would be necessary before we sat down for dinner.

I went to find my husband to tell him of my cheeky adventure, but he was deep in conversation with a couple of penguins — he ignored me, once again, so I stood by until we were called for dinner.

The banquet hall buzzed with conversation. The food was good, and the wine was better than expected. The hotel staff hovered around the table and made sure that we were well looked after. Marcel found any excuse to service my end of the table. He smiled at me constantly. He made funny faces and caught my eye. No one noticed his interest in me, but I loved the attention even though I did my best to look as though I was discouraging him — he saw through me.

Despite my beauty and position in society, no one had shown me this kind of blatant interest. I swear he would have made love to me there and then if I had let him.

~oOo~

“Hello, Elizabeth. Are you still sad?”

I was going through my notes for the lecture I was to give the next day — I was glad of the distraction. I recognised his voice, but I made him work for my attention.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know to whom I am speaking.”

“It’s Marcel, from last night’s banquet. Tall, dark, handsome in an irresistible way. Marcel, the head waiter,” he sounded cheeky, but a bit disappointed that I did not immediately know who he was.

“What can I do for you Marcel the head waiter?”

“You can meet me for coffee.”

“Will you be wearing your Tux? I meet so many handsome men. How will I recognise you out of uniform?”

There was a moment of silence. Maybe he was trying to work out if I was kidding him or not.

“The Tasty Cafe at about three tomorrow. I know you will recognise me because I remember the way you looked at me.”

“I might be able to drag myself away — we’ll see.”

I hung up the phone before he had time to answer. I felt like a naughty school girl planning to cut classes for the day.

 

An excerpt from DOT, DOT, DOT …

Untitled (2)

DOT, DOT, DOT … 4 days to release

January 31st, 2018 marks the release date for my latest book (number eleven). More than a year in the making (I know you are happy to wait as long as the end product is as good as it can be). Good erotic prose is difficult to achieve, so a lot of work went into making the stories about real people having meaningful encounters. This book includes two novellas (actually one novella and a novelette). Read all about it sees a newspaper columnist fall in love with a mysterious widow. His life will never be the same after he meets her at a glitzy reception — not his normal habitat. Will he make it out with his sanity intact? Unexpected sees a mature woman reaching for her chance at happiness. Her life had been comfortable and devoid of passion. Now, she must choose — a life of privilege or an adventure. Her lover shows her attention and reintroduces her to passion. Her lover has also to choose — will they end up together?

A string of short stories trace the awakening of a love affair between a newly married couple. Sam and Scarlett (the characters from my first novel The Long Weekend) are confronted with the difficulties of Sam’s recovery from a suspicious car accident. Sam’s head injury requires a long convalescence. His memories are returning slowly, but the most important memory is but a fog. Sam does not remember meeting and marrying Scarlett. Over a series of stories, they rediscover their intimate relationship.

In other stories, an old woman remembers an encounter with her lover and a particular piece of furniture — an adventurous modern woman uses her body to obtain secrets — a woman writes a letter to her lover — a gambler reflects on his lucky escape and his possibility of carnal delights.

The paperback version of DOT, DOT, DOT … and the eBook, and the AUDIOBOOK are all released on the same day. It took a bit of organising, but they all lined up nicely.

The paperback (Amazon and Blurb) the ebook (iTunes, Amazon and Smashwords) and the audiobook (Amazon, iTunes, Audiobooks.com and a bunch of others) are all available for preorder. Please take the time to write a review on Amazon or Goodreads — it really helps.

Untitled 10 (10)

Emma and Moonlight

J853x1024-05579

It has to be said that Moonlight was easier to see at night.

She was still there during the day, but she was harder to see.

Emma wondered about this, but only for a moment. Considering all the strange things that had happened around her over the past year, not being able to see her dog clearly during the day seemed like a small concern.

Emma’s second favourite part of her day was sitting on the old leather couch in her aunty and uncle’s lounge room watching a movie. She could have gone to her room and watched it on her computer — been alone with Moonlight, but she sensed that Moonlight enjoyed being with the grownups — hanging out. Considering Moonlight had defended her when she needed it most, Emma felt it was the least she could do.

Moonlight didn’t watch the screen, she watched Emma — head on her lap, sitting at her feet. Emma stroked her head and scratched behind her ears — Moonlight liked having her ears scratched, not because they were itchy, but because she knew this touch was full of love.

“Why do you do that Emma?” asked her aunty.

“No reason,” said Emma as she stopped stroking Moonlight.

Mrs Brown had been told not to make Emma feel like she was doing anything unusual. “Try not to notice when she does things — strange things. It’s all part of her healing process.”

Emma was slightly ashamed that she took advantage of the advice she overheard her psychologist give. Nevertheless, she took full advantage when it suited her, particularly around bedtime. Unfortunately, this only worked for a few weeks, and she learned not to overdo it — too precious an advantage to waste.

After a few months, the police stopped ‘dropping in for a chat’. They were hoping that Emma could remember more of that night, but there wasn’t any more to add to what she had already told them. Her mother told her to hide, and Emma was very good at hiding — she knew all the best places. She remembered the adults shouting — strange voices she didn’t recognise — Moonlight barking and growling, then silence. Emma stayed hidden until the policewoman in the white overalls found her. Two men were arrested at the Emergency department of the local hospital. Moonlight had inflicted severe wounds on them both — had driven them off before they could search the house — before they could hurt Emma.

The police said Moonlight was badly injured when they found her. She didn’t know who these people were so she tried to drive them away as well, but she was too wounded to put up much of a fight.

The policewoman in the white overalls told Emma that Moonlight had been taken to a Vet.

Moonlight was fine now. She came to Emma that first night — the night Emma rode in the police car to her uncle’s house. They turned the flashing blue lights on for her, but said they couldn’t turn the siren on, “It tends to wake people up, and people need their sleep.”

Emma didn’t sleep much this days.

In the beginning, it was strange to sleep in a new bed in a new house, but then she got used to the all the new things. Moonlight kept her company on those sleepless nights.

Emma didn’t have to go to school for several weeks, and when she did, it was a new school, and she had to start all over again — find new friends.

No one at her new school knew what had happened, although Emma sensed that her teacher knew something — they never talked about it.

Emma was the only girl at that school who was allowed to have her dog with her during the day. No one said why and she didn’t ask — she didn’t want them to send Moonlight away, so she didn’t bring it up.

Sometimes, Emma lost sight of Moonlight at school, but soon she would turn up with an old tennis ball or a bone and lay it at Emma’s feet.

“Not now Moonlight, I’ve got an essay to finish.”

Emma’s best friend, Josie, knew Moonlight, but sometimes the other girls would ask Emma who she was talking to.

“Don’t you talk to your dog?” Emma would ask.

Josie would usually change the subject and suggest that they all play a different game.

Emma didn’t catch the bus when it was time to go home from school because the long walk home with Moonlight was a highlight of her day.

Their usual route took them past Maccas, and if Emma had any pocket money left, she would buy a small ice cream cone and share it with Moonlight.

Moonlight loved ice cream almost as much as she loved Emma.

“You wait here Moonlight while I go and get an ice cream. Be a good girl.”

Sometimes Emma didn’t say why she was going into the shop because Moonlight would get very excited and spin around in circles at the thought of ice cream. It took her a long time to settle down and even when she was sitting, her bottom wiggled with delight. Even when she didn’t say the words, Moonlight knew what was about to happen — Moonlight was a bright dog — she knew stuff — what she didn’t know she could sense. She knew when Emma was happy or sad. She tried to lick away her tears, but Emma scolded her when she did. She wasn’t really mad at her and Moonlight knew it.

Mostly, Moonlight knew that her job was to stay close by because Emma needed her.

Moonlight knew that something was different after that night, but she didn’t waste time thinking about it — she had a job to do and a girl to whom she could give all her love — that was enough for her.

After ice cream, they would cut through the park and sometimes there were other dogs to play with. Some were hard to see in the daylight, and some weren’t, but dogs don’t worry about such things — they live in the moment.

After the park, there was Mrs Jenkins.

Mrs Jenkins was ancient, and she smelled like eucalyptus lollies. Moonlight liked lollies, and so did Emma.

Mrs Jenkins would be waiting for them, every day, standing at her front gate. When the weather was warm, they would all sit on her front verandah and drink milky tea. Moonlight would rest her head on Mrs Jenkins’ lap — she knew that Mrs Jenkins had a cat, but the warmth of a dog is unique. Moonlight knew that Mrs Jenkins was coming near to the end of her life. It had been a good life — full of wonder, but all of her friends were gone, and she was looking forward to seeing them again.

When Emma and Moonlight said their goodbyes, they walked the rest of the distance to their house, but they did it very slowly, not because they didn’t want to go home — they liked being there, but because they didn’t want the experience to end.

The days rolled into weeks and the weeks rolled into months, and as they did, Emma and moonlight settled into their new life — far away from their old home.

Emma’s aunty and uncle were kind, and their house was warm and comfortable, but it wasn’t their home — not really.

“You miss your mum and dad don’t you, Emma?” said her aunty. They had been watching a movie together, and the movie had gone into an annoying bit.

“I miss them every minute of every day, but Moonlight is still with me, and I don’t get too sad when she is around.”

“You do know that Moonlight died that night — defending you?”

“I know she was hurt, but she got better and came to me. I know she is a bit hard to see in the daylight, but she is always with me.”

Emma patted Moonlight and Moonlight licked her hand and went back to dreaming about walking home from Emma’s school and ice cream and playing in the park and Mrs Jenkins and her eucalypts lollies — life was good.