by Rick Kennett
A wealthy loser and his ethereal lady friend
Contact info for Rick Kennett
* Website – https://rickkennett.wordpress.com/
* Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/Rick-Kennett/e/B00G70GLBY
“The trouble with Tremaine,” said Douglas, watching through the big picture window as the black Mercedes shunted back and forth in the courtyard, then ran up onto the steps a third time, “is that he tries too hard. The man’s a pain.”
“Yes,” said Martin, taking a sip of wine. “As well as inept, gauche and often like a fawning dog – which is what I find so amusing about him.”
The Mercedes jerked to a stop. A crumpled figure tumbled out, glancing up at the window with a big gawky smile, his eyes flashing like red tail-lights.
“I hate when his eyes do that,” said Douglas and shivered. “So creepy.”
“Mirrored lens inserts,” said Martin. “A souvenir of one his more asinine schemes.”
“All his schemes are asinine. Was it his hunt for the Loch Ness Monster where he nearly drowned inside a homemade submarine or his search for the Fountain of Youth in South America where one of his guides was swallowed by an anaconda?”
Martin gave an unctuous chuckle. “He tried to develop a perpetual motion machine. It exploded in his face. So now he has artificial eyes.”
“Serves him right. The man’s a buffoon.”
“A rich buffoon.”
In the courtyard Tremaine scuttled around to the passenger side door and opened it. A woman emerged: tall, slender, clad in shimmering white, her beauty marred only by a few bald patches in her midnight hair and an indefinably uneasiness as the two men looked upon her.
“Is there no justice in the world?” said Douglas. “Where did a fool like Tremaine find such an exquisite woman?”
“On a Mediterranean island, he tells me.”
Tremaine and his companion climbed the marble stairs, entering the house.
“Despite those bald spots,” mused Martin, “she is truly beautiful. Maybe he has something this time. But if she’s hooked up with Tremaine she clearly lacks sophistication.”
“She clearly requires guidance,” said Douglas. “But how to separate the fool from his money?”
“We could suggest he leave on an expedition to seek for El Dorado. Or a voyage to the moon for green cheese.”
Douglas began to snicker, then stopped. An inner door was opening.
They stood. They were gentlemen in this at least.
Up close the woman appeared far more imposing. Statuesque and regal, her face one of antique beauty so that judging age was difficult – anywhere between twenty and timeless.
Her eyes, dark, bottomless pits of mystery, levelled on them.
“So, chaps, what do you think?” Tremaine gushed. “Isn’t she utter perfection? True, she looked a bit rough when I found her in that Mediterranean grotto, in need of make-up and deportment, and I had to get those snakes out of her hair …”
He turned to gauge his friends’ reaction, his mirrored eyes flashing. But all he got was a stony silence.