other. I waved imperiously to my subjects to carry on and turned to face the interruption.
'Harry Neptune! What the hell have you done this time?'
My decision to take the trip with Kismet Hardy proved fairly pointless. We had barely traveled half a mile before he glanced sharply in his rear-view mirror and started shouting and swearing about 'that roody Neptune' having taken a wrong turn. There was a sudden slamming on of well-worn squeaky brakes, accompanied by a rather impressive skidding U-turn, which I wouldn't have thought achievable in a large and cumbersome vehicle like Hardy's bus. There was a chorus of screeching from the Texans, who had been nervously clutching their seats, baseball caps and camcorders during the rattling ride through the center of town. I was beginning to get used to transport, Caribbean-style, and just giggled every time I got bounced out of my seat. At one point, my sun-hat flew off and slid away down the aisle but I knew better than to attempt to rescue it until the bus had come to a halt.
'Land sakes! Y'all need to take some driving lessons, Mister Hardy!'
Kismet muttered something blue under his breath and we took off in the same direction we had come from, then made a turning onto a road sign-posted 'Darkwood Beach.'
'Oi should've known better! What was oi thinkin' of? Oi must've been temporarily insane!'
I reached out to pat the little chap's arm.
'It'll be all right, Mr. Hardy. Harry's a dreadful mischief-maker but he wouldn't do anything really nasty. I don't think. Unless he's got it in for Texans or something. He never did like Dallas, come to think of it.'
After much bumping, vociferous complaints from the Southerners and a steady stream of grumbling expletives from the driver, we arrived at an absolutely gorgeous beach. Spotting the other bus parked beside a waterfront bar, Kismet's expression relaxed a little.
'Oi could do with a nice cold glass of Guinness.'
Without another word, he hopped out of the driver's seat and disappeared inside the building, which was, apparently, called OJ's Beach Bar.
'Well, that's just wunnerful! Highly educational, ah'm sure!'
I decided to make some attempt to save the day and, picking up my rather dusty hat, I struck a tour-guide pose at the helm of the bus.
'Ladies and gentlemen, it would appear that we have made an impromptu stop for refreshment. Hopefully, Mr. Simpson is not at home, but if he is, just keep your heads down and don't mention speeding violations. I would like to add that all drinks are courtesy of Mr. Harry Neptune, who will be the large gentleman in the Panama hat, propping up the bar. Have fun and please avoid putting ice in your drinks unless your hepatitis shots are up to date. Thank you.'
There was a general fussing, the gist of which was related to the early hour of the day, so I left them to it. The bar was pulsing with reggae music, cranked up to full volume, and I ducked through the strangely giggly crowd to a large deck overlooking the bright blue sea. My beloved sat on a makeshift throne, in splendid isolation, looking every bit like his namesake, old man Neptune. All he needed was a trident and a team of horses.
'Harry Neptune! What the hell have you done this time?'
My husband grinned and I noticed that the pupils of his eyes were somewhat dilated. He had a can of beer in one hand and a large shell in the other. I wanted to laugh but I put my hands on my hips and pretended to be the outraged wife.
'Come here and sit on my knee, little girl. Santa has something special in his stocking for you.'
I looked at the bulge in his shorts and smiled sweetly, hitching my sun dress up to my waist, then letting it fall.
'So I see, Santa baby. Well, now. I'd love to sit on your knee but I don't think this is quite the place for it. What a perfect view, my darling, quite sublime.'
Harry squinted at the glittering water. He definitely seemed to be under the influence. Odd. I wouldn't have thought he'd had time to imbibe enough Red Stripe to make his eyes go funny. Suddenly suspicious, I leaned forward and sniffed at his breath.
'You've been smoking pot! You naughty boy!'
'Merely indulging in an intrinsic ritual of Caribbean culture, old girl. Get your knickers off, I want you.'
Two large hands reached up my flimsy skirt and began to tug at my thin cotton panties. I took a quick step backwards and bumped into someone.
'Buenos dias, senora!'
'Clara! Good heavens!'
I turned to see the Colombian tour-guide, her slim, tight body rather deliciously presented in a deep blue sarong and a burnt orange bikini top. Harry leered and I pinched his thigh, but he wasn't to be silenced.
'Ah yes, the latest conquest in Mrs. Neptune's endless entourage of hapless victims! Am I to join the queue, old girl? Or does your dear old man come top of the list? Hmm?'
I planted a loving kiss on my pouting spouse's forehead.
'You know very well I wouldn't trade you in for anyone. God only knows why but that's just the way it is. Now, shut up. Clara understands me. That's all. Now, is there time to have a drink here or do you have a packed program in store for this crowd?'
I looked at the Texan historians, who seemed to be having a wonderful time in a most un-academic manner. Harry smiled, enigmatically.
'I know just the place. Fuck Nelson. He can wait for another day. I'm going to take you to Henryk's brothel and get you naked. Your understanding girlfriend can come too. I'll call ahead and get them to rustle up one of their infamous buffet lunches.'
My husband eased himself up from his throne and staggered off into the shady bar in search of a telephone. Clara slipped one arm about my waist and I wondered how accepting the Caribbean was when it came to single-sex relationships. Her nipples were hard and clearly defined against the thin orange cloth of her bikini top and she still wore her glasses. I turned to face the bright blue expanse of sea and leaned over the deck rail, enjoying the warmth of her skin against my thinly clothed body.
'Of all the gin joints in the Caribbean, you had to walk into this one. What are you doing here, Clara?'
Clara laughed.
'Actually, I live in Antigua, my dear Jay. I help out at OJ's when I'm not doing island tours. You could say I have fingers in many tarts. Talking of which, I had better warn you that Henryk's is something of a den of iniquity.'
'Perfect!'
Ignoring the crowd, I kissed her softly on the mouth.
'Come to lunch with us, Clara.'
'Oh all right, Jay, you talked me into it.'
Her dark eyes were hungry again and I surreptitiously reached up to fondle her breasts. I knew what I was having for lunch and it wasn't fish cakes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: GOING OUT WITH A BANG
It took Harry quite a few attempts to extricate the Texans from the cozy conviviality of OJ's Beach Bar. He eventually managed it, finally having to borrow a megaphone from mein host, Oliver, and clambering up onto the bar to make a Very Important Announcement involving a Tsunami warning and the delights of Henryk's (which apparently included the talents of two young ladies called The Boobsy Twins). To our surprise, we bumped into the Black Widow, freshly arrived on a shocking pink Vespa, with bimbo toy boys in tow, while herding the historians back onto the buses, and Gigi decided to join the tour.
