'Make that two,' said Miss Lawrence.
'Three,' added Mrs. Goldfinkel.
I put the issue of the Kohinoor diamond on the back burner. I would return to it in the privacy of our cabin where I could apply some moral 'suasion in peace.
The rum cocktails arrived. Not up to the lethality of St. Vincent, thank goodness, but a healthy belt nonetheless. I felt the hair of the dog start to do its work. Another cylinder kicked in.
Mrs. Goldfinkel knocked hers back appreciatively and waved her glass in the air.
'Rip my Panties!' She collapsed back on the rattan sofa in helpless mirth as the waiter organized a refill. I could see we might need a wheelbarrow to get her back to the ship.
I remembered the first mystery on my list, the hair-raising fetishes. I picked them off the table and examined them as well as my eyes could focus.
They seemed to have almost a soapstone texture, yet somehow they didn't feel like stone. Ebony? Seasoned mahogany? Bone? There seemed to be very faint striations under my fingers, but I couldn't see any variation in color under the dim indoor light.
I levered myself to my feet and took the fetishes out into the dappled sunlight of the courtyard. The light was best next to the fountain, where Dr. Dunnett and Loretta Swat were engaged in a quiet, fierce, heads together altercation. I ignored them and held the anatomical replicas up to the light.
'Harry, be careful!'
Jay's voice came from far away.
The light around me faded. The fetishes seemed to become even darker and more mysterious. They also seemed to be taking on a life of their own, as if they were absorbing energy from the disappearing sun's rays.
I felt as though I was back at school in a physics class, striving to hold two magnets apart as their opposite poles attracted. The hairs on my arms prickled and bristled. The parts tugged at my hands, willing me to join them. I saw no harm in that, so I relaxed my muscles and the dark shiny willy shot into dark shiny heaven.
'Mistah Neptune!'
Miss Swat's pseudo-shocked tones pulled me out of a reverie. There seemed to be violent action around my groin level. I looked down and stared in amazement.
A ferret was trying to fight its way out of my trousers and doing a lot of dribbling in the process.
I have heard of self-gratification, but this was ridiculous. Unaided by human hand, the Neptunian pride and joy was straining my trouser material in a pulsing rhythm and spreading Neptune seed as liberally as butter on breakfast toast.
'Mistah Neptune!' exclaimed Miss Swat again, leaning forward and resting her chin on one hand.
I resolved to retrieve the situation.
'A little trick I learned in the Antarctic, where it's too cold to take your gloves off,' I said airily.
'Mistah Neptune, honey, I surely would love to see that trick in the open air!'
'Och, indeed…' added a male voice in a tone that can only be described as 'dreamy.'
I looked to Miss Swat's right and saw Dr. Dunnett in identical Rodin pose, his gaze fixed on my ferret. I backed hastily away and pulled the ebony penis out of its girlfriend.
As I did so Miss Swat sat upright. Or rather, most of her did. While I am sure her breasts engaged in a perpetual battle with gravity, I imagined they always prevailed in unison. Not this time.
Her right boob thrust eagerly as ever against her sun dress, but its companion seemed to be on strike. The effect was decidedly lop-sided.
Miss Swat gave a scream and landed a roundhouse left on Dunnett's nose.
'I hope they hang you! And fry you! And boil you in oil!'
She leapt to her feet and fled through the restaurant to the street, clutching her chest in both hands.
I ignored Dunnett, flat on his back in a bed of cactus, and turned plaintively to my wife and Mrs. Goldfinkel.
'What did I do?'
'It's what you haven't done!' the Black Widow and I chorused in girlish glee, before collapsing in gales of rum-soaked laughter. Mrs. Goldfinkel was practically flat on her back on the little couch, clutching her ample tummy and drumming the heels of her espadrilles on the parquet floor. I looked at Harry and promptly spluttered out a large mouthful of Shredded Panties, neatly soaking the front of my dress. I stared at my wetted bosom with little regret.
'Oops! Oh well, that's the only panties I'll be wearing today!'
Instead of giving me a scandalized lecture on propriety, Mrs. G only snorted and slapped one sturdy thigh. Tears were running down her carefully powdered face.
My husband stood in the doorway to the courtyard, a noticeable damp patch spreading across his crotch. Hurriedly, he stuffed Biggin and Elvira into my shopping basket. I noticed with some interest that someone at the Watering Hole had slipped the economy-sized bottle of intimate lubricant into the basket as a parting gift. How kind. Behind Harry, Dunnett groaned loudly and eased himself up from the flattened plants. Somewhat shakily, he retrieved a small pewter hip flask from a Black Watch tartan bum bag. Presumably a sporran is too itchy in the tropics. Thankfully, he unscrewed the cap with a trembling hand and took a lengthy draught of the liquid within. The man had to have a liver built on the Clyde. Finally, his rather scrawny loins suitably girded with drink, he limped off through the restaurant in the Lush's wake. Rather pointedly, our waiter placed a small leather folder on the table and retreated with a disdainful glare. We were lowering the tone something nasty.
'My treat!' gasped the Black Widow, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief and reaching for a brand new Gucci purse.
Harry looked relieved and I made up my mind to put the old boy out of his misery and confess my little joke with the ring. I'd get the hiding of a lifetime. Oh dear, never mind.
We were just scooping up the remains of the crab cakes and polishing off the dregs of our drinks when I spotted a dog-eared pamphlet on the floor near our table.
'What is that?'
Curious, I picked up the creased brochure and smoothed it out upon the glass top of the table. It appeared to be a promotional booklet for a cosmetic surgeon, but judging by the outmoded style of the images and slightly yellowed pages, it was far from up to date.
'Good heavens!'
I couldn't help myself. Never having inquired about breast enlargement, I was ignorant regarding this cosmetic procedure. The booklet was essentially a style guide, with bosoms ranging in size from relatively petite to need-a-wheelbarrow proportions. Each page showed a tasteful line drawing of the projected final result and bore a charming name. One could select a 'Trixie', a modest 34B with a rather impish upward tilt, or go full-steam-ahead with 'Jezebel', mammoth melons, the dimensions of which read like a stifled expletive. I giggled and tried to pronounce the enormous cup size:
'FFFF!'
'Watch your mouth, Lawrence!'
I stuck my tongue out at my husband, and we gathered our belongings to make a dignified retreat. Naughtily, I held up the brochure for all to see, just as the waiter returned for his cash. The poor man's eyes almost popped out of his head and Harry let out a long whistle.
'Jezebel! I'd know those tits anywhere!'
I glanced down at my delightfully dampened chest.
'Why, thank you, darling. I dropped my Panties!'
The Black Widow began to wheeze with mirth. Just to put the cherry on the cupcake, a rather respectable looking middle-aged businessman at an adjoining table leaned over and inquired confidentially:
'Titty Boomboom?'
The waiter ground his dentures.
'I must ask you to vacate the premises. Sir. Madam.'
Blowing my fan a theatrical kiss, I marched out of the restaurant, arm in arm with my stained husband, a
