The Lady's Man - Catriona meets Lord Ochil and Rufus

In this chapter, our heroine is desperately trying to find a job with the help of her friend and her friend's mother. Irene and her mother were taking inventory up to Lord Ochil's castle and hoped that he would consider her as temporary help during the upcoming fair.

Chapter 26   Catriona

“You look very nice,” Irene’s mother said, glancing back at me in the rear view mirror.

“Thanks Mrs. Best,” I replied, “I wore flat shoes so that Lord Ochil would know that I’m not just a useless city girl. I wanted to wear jeans, but decided that a skirt and blouse might make a better first impression.”

 ”Catriona, feel free to call me Heather. Not you Irene, just Catriona.”

“You can’t go wrong with Royal Blue against white,” Heather continued, alluding to my skirt and top.

“Fashionably hemmed just above the knee,” said Irene, “I wish I had legs like yours.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said. “You’re just making fun of me.”

Heather said, “You both look very...”

“Posh,” I said.

“Elegant,” said Irene.

“Suave,” I added.

“Refined,” threw in Irene.

“Neat and tidy,” Mrs. Best concluded.

“That’s it?” Irene asked. “We’re neat and tidy. Not irresistible or divine. Just neat and tidy?”

“Trust me girls, you can’t beat neat and tidy when talking to a Lord, assuming that is, that you do get to speak with him,” said Mrs. Best. He is a very busy man as you might expect. Running an estate is not a job for a lazy person.”

“Doesn’t he own three such estates in Scotland?” asked Irene.

“Indeed he does, but Catriona’s Aunt Emily told me once that he has each of them managed by a separate land agent and only physically checks on them every four weeks or so,” Mrs.. Best said, as she maneuvered the van around a bend. Apparently, most of the time he is simply in telephone contact with the agents in charge.

We rounded a corner and without warning, the castle was in front of us, towering majestically toward the heavens. What an imposing sight. We parked in a spot reserved for guests and waited for the stable lads to carry Lord Ochil’s inventory inside. Agnes, his secretary came out to greet us, hugging Mrs.. Best and shaking our hands.

“Can either of you type, or use a computer to prepare spreadsheets?” Agnes asked in a joking sort of way.

She must have seen the puzzled look on Heather’s face.

“I’m retiring,” Agnes said. “It’s official this time. Twice I let Lord Ochil talk me out of retirement, but not this time. I turn sixty five the Monday after the Fair, and I will not be coerced into staying one day after that. My husband insists that he has me to himself from that day on.”

Agnes’ infectious smile grew ever wider as we all congratulated her. Agnes looked younger than her years, and spoke highly of her boss.

“I can’t let just anybody replace me though, “ Agnes went on. “I need to know I’ve left Lord Ochil in capable hands. I owe him that much.”

“How are your computer skills Catriona?” Heather asked, trying her best to get the ball rolling.

“I used to teach computer skills, but that was only for a year,” I replied.

A look of delight came over Agnes’ face. “You did?” she inquired.

“I was a secretary for a couple of years and took a part time job teaching computer skills at Aberdeen University, to make ends meet when my boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend that is, lost his job.”

“Heather,” Agnes announced, “you and Irene can escort the stable lads to the rooms. You know, the ones we always use to store inventory for the Fair.”

”Yes, yes, of course we do,” Irene said, winking at Catriona. Mrs.. Best squeezed my arm, and gave me a well disguised, thumbs up sign.

“What’s your name girl?” Agnes asked, as she watched the pair walk away.

“Catriona, ma’am,” I replied.

 “Catriona, you and I are heading straight to my office.” she said, before grabbing my arm and dragging me off towards the main entrance to the castle.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you Catriona. Agnes stopped to peer into my face. Darned if you don’t remind me of someone, but right now I’m so excited I can’t think straight.”

Once inside the castle, I was so overwhelmed by its immensity, that I didn’t even realize that I had stopped walking and was rooted to the spot, just staring at the huge open hall we had just entered.

Agnes continued walking and talking, unaware that it was to herself. She stopped, turned round and began looking around the great hall herself, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Beautiful, isn’t it. Strange to think that in a few weeks I’ll never gaze upon these walls again.”

“You won’t even visit?” I asked.

“Of course I will,” she said. “What was I thinking. I shall come here for the Fair every year. Some habits are hard to break.”

I admit it, I was a bit scared of getting lost in this... city was what came to mind. A city posing as a castle. Eventually Agnes stopped, took a left through a narrow archway and opened the door at the end of it.

“Here we are, dear,” she said as she ushered me in, “this, is my office.” She stood in the middle of the rather large room, spread her arms wide as if to hug all that was her domain, and had been for the past forty plus years.

I was impressed. The castle may have been hundreds of years old, but this office and its equipment were as modern as its furniture. Top of the line computers, three of them no less adorned three separate desks, each like a clone of the next.

“How many people work in here?” I asked.

“Just me,” Agnes laughed, “Lord Ochil never takes chances that a computer might break down and has to be out of commission until it gets repaired. Not Lord Ochil. He has two back-up computers, and as you can see, no need to set up another one, just switch desks.”

“Wow,” was all I could say.

“Do me a favour Catriona. There is a voice recorder, on the left hand side of that desk,” she pointed a crooked finger to the desk in the middle, “with ear buds sitting next to it.” She tapped her forehead, “I forgot to ask you dear, do you audio type?”

I smiled at Agnes, sat down and arranged the buds comfortably in my ears, and pressed the start button. The recorder had already been in operation and Agnes herself must have been typing out the audio report when we arrived. A man’s rich voice started talking. My fingers flew over the keys as I effortlessly kept up with the pace of his speech. I liked his voice from the start and hoped that it belonged to Lord Ochil.

Agnes clapped when I burst out laughing in the middle of a sentence. I paused the recording.

“I imagine I have to edit as I go?” I asked Agnes.

“Catriona dear, Lord Ochil’s choice of words can get colourful shall we say, and yes, you will indeed have to edit as you go.”

For the next twenty minutes, Agnes puts me through my paces, clapping excitedly as I passed all of her tests.

“That’s enough, dear, that’s enough,” she said, hugging me as I got up out of the chair. “You are going to be my replacement, and I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to find one in such a short time. You do want the job don’t you? Please say yes, Catriona.”

“Doesn’t Lord Ochil get a say in the matter?” I asked.

“No, he doesn’t,” came back the reply. “Say yes and you are my replacement.”

“It’s yes, then,” I said hardly believing how fast fate had handed me this opportunity.

“Come with me,” said Agnes barely able to hide her excitement. “We are going to see Lord Ochil this very minute.”

We wandered out the same way we came in, but turned to the right when we got near to the main hall. As an elderly gentleman passed us, Agnes attempted to stop him.

“Have you seen his Lordship?” she asked.

“He’s feeding Rufus,” the man replied, without breaking stride.

“Rufus?” I asked.

“You’re going to love Rufus,” said Agnes as she stopped by a huge arched door and knocked.

“Come in,” said the rich voice that had been on the audio tape.

What confronted me was almost comical. The biggest Irish Wolfhound I had ever set eyes on, was standing on its hind legs. His massive front paws were perched on top of the shoulders of a man with his back to us, his large slender head looking down at his owner. It appeared to all intents and purposes as if he was smiling at his master. When Rufus barked, the man looked round. Rufus nonchalantly disengaged himself from the man who was indeed Lord Ochil. The huge dog walked over to me cocking his big head to one side. I was used to going down on one knee to pet dogs, but there was no need for that with Rufus. I took his massive, hairy head in my hands. As I scratched behind both ears, the huge animal groaned his appreciation.

“You’re looking at your new secretary your Lordship,” Agnes said, without further ado. “Although I hate to admit it, she may well be better than old Agnes, here.”

Lord Ochil smiled and extended his hand to me. I accepted his handshake and we stood there, staring at each other. No words were exchanged. His face looked confused for a second as he gazed at mine. His eyes started to blink rapidly, then mist up. He raised his hand as if to touch my face, then gently dropped it back to his side.

“She’ll do perfectly Agnes,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Without another word, he strode past me and out of the room. Rufus trailed behind his master, head down sensing his pain.

“Did I do something wrong, Agnes?”

“Not at all child... wait here a minute, dear, I’ll be right back.”

Agnes flew out of the room as if she was twenty and not almost sixty five. I was at a loss. Rufus seemed to like me, that couldn’t be all bad. Agnes spoke highly of me and yet... it looked like he wanted to... to weep. His eyes were full. Something about me had upset him, that much was obvious, but what?

I sat down in a huge armchair, my head hanging dejectedly, staring at my hands in my lap. I really wanted this job. I looked up as Agnes returned, followed by Lord Ochil.

I jumped to my feet. “I-I’m sorry, sir... if I upset you,” I said, wringing my hands together.

“Good heavens no, child,” he replied. “It was just the thought of losing Agnes, after all of the years that we have spent in each other’s company. To tell you the truth, I was rather hoping to persuade her to stay. I was successful twice before wasn’t I, Agnes?”

“Twice but not thrice your Lordship. I’ve suffered enough for one lifetime,” she joked. “I’m going to leave you in Catriona’s very capable hands.”

“If she meets your standards Agnes, she must be good. Welcome aboard Catriona. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Gone was the strange behavior his Lordship had exhibited not three minutes ago. His eyes were dry, if a little red, and they were smiling now.

“Th-Thank you, sir,” I stammered, relieved.

Agnes nudged me gently in the ribs. “It’s my lord,” she said under her breath.

“What’s my Lord?” I said, confused.

Agnes smiled at me and whispered, “It’s my lord, not sir.”

“Oh crud, ” I said, “I’m so sorry, sir... for calling you sir... my Lord.”

Lord Ochil’s chuckle came from deep inside his chest. “She’s perfect Agnes, as are you.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Agnes said, digging me in the ribs again.

 I could feel his eyes following our progress, as Agnes took me back to the main hall. Before joining the other’s, she informed me that she wanted me to start Monday morning, at seven a.m. sharp, as Lord Ochil was a very early riser.

“It will give me plenty of time to bring you up to speed. There are many things you need to know as assistant to Lord Ochil.

As we neared Irene and her mother, they were both staring at me, eyebrows raised. I gave a brief nod and flashed a grateful smile. Agnes said her goodbyes, and headed back into the castle.

“We finished offloading the stuff fifteen minutes ago Cat, so, what happened?” Irene asked, linking her arm through mine.

I pulled away and addressed Mrs. Best in a rather condescending voice. “You really must keep the peasants away from people of a loftier status. The personal secretary to Lord Ochil can’t be seen fraternizing with the local populace.”

“Aagh!” screamed Irene, “ no way, are you kidding me?”

Irene’s mother laughed at our antics. “You must have made one heck of an impression in what must have been less than half an hour.”

I will tell you both all about it on the way back to Aunt Em’s,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement.

For some reason I chose not to mention his reaction to me when he and I first shook hands. I probably misinterpreted the whole thing anyway. He had never set eyes on me before, of that I was almost certain. No, I have to believe that it was the imminent departure of his trusted assistant and possible confidant that was responsible for his behavior.

As Heather’s van started to put distance between us and the castle, I related every detail to my friend and her mother. I even mentioned the fact that it was Agnes that gave me the job and not Lord Ochil.

”So you never got to speak to Lord Ochil?” asked Irene.

“Actually, I did, but only after Agnes had given me the thumbs up,” I remarked casually.

“Really?” said Irene, her eyes wide.

“He’s a quite wonderful man, isn’t he?” said Heather.

“Wonderful," I agreed.

“I’m going to have to learn how to address nobility now,” I said, to nobody in particular. “We actually had to learn all of that at our high school, as a project. Talking about high school, there was this one boy, Daniel, a pale scrawny youth with a crew cut and a cheeky grin. I had a terrible crush on him, and he thought it was all rather cute. I was built like a twig, with a short hairstyle. I think he was three or four years older than me. The only reason we shared a classroom once a week was because there was an end of term school dance rehearsal involving all year groups. I remember there was one weekend, about midday, I was picking blackberries for my mother, and Daniel came limping past me pushing his bicycle. His bicycle tire had burst and he had fallen onto the road, taking the skin off his hands and knees, plus a few cuts.”

“Is this a true story?”

“Irene!” said her mother, “don’t be so quick to disbelieve everything. Carry on, Cat.”

“He looked so dejected that I offered to help him push his bike home. He said he could manage, but I grabbed the bike anyway. The two of us pushed it until I was close to my house. He thanked me, even though he hardly said a word for most of the journey.”

“Doesn’t sound too friendly to me.”

“Irene, give it a rest, please,” Heather said.

“Just saying.”

“He wasn’t unfriendly,” I said. “Just quiet. He knew I had a crush on him, but he never teased me about it.”

“That’s probably because you were the first girl who did.”

“Irene!” exclaimed Heather, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“Just saying.”

“The day of the school dance came and the boys and girls were paired off as dancing partners. There were about six of us left with no partner. I felt awful. Everybody else was having such fun. Everybody but me and a few others. I remember screwing my eyes shut. I just wanted to slink back home and away from those who could see my embarrassment.”

“Nobody could blame you for that,” said Irene. Her mother sighed and chewed on her bottom lip, but chose to say nothing.

“I had seen a couple of girls approach Daniel and felt sure he had already picked a partner. Imagine my surprise when I felt an unexpected tap on my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, Daniel was smiling down at me. Would you do me the honour of being my partner, he asked.” I paused as my throat started to tighten as I re-lived the moment.

Heather sniffed. “How sweet Catriona. I think I like this Daniel.”

“We danced all night. When the evening was over, little ol’ me was bold enough to kiss him quickly on the cheek before dashing off."

“Oh, you are the reckless one," laughed Irene. Heather couldn’t resist a giggle either.

”You didn‘t check to see how he reacted?” asked Irene. I smiled. “Out with it McCaffery. You checked, didn‘t you?”

”I might have stolen a glance,” I replied.

”And?”

”I‘ve never seen such a pale face turn so red,” I said, exploding into laughter. Heather and Irene burst out laughing simultaneously. The mood in the van was light and cheerful as we neared the coffee shop.   

"This Daniel,” said Irene, “does he really exist, and if he did, do you know where he is now?”

“Good heavens no,” I replied, “but I can tell you this, when he found out that he was moving away from Aberdeen, he wrote me a note. In it, he professed his love for me. Said he’d never forget me, and would love me forever.”

“And to what do you attribute that incredible show of devotion?” asked a skeptical Irene.

 “He had fallen under the McCaffery spell,” I pretended to brag as I fluttered my eyelashes.

“You are so full of it,” said Irene.

“I still have the note,” I said rather smugly.

“No way!” said Irene. “Oh, you can tell some whoppers, Catriona.”

“It’s inside a Valentine’s card he gave to me... along with a tear shaped Crystal pendant... in my room... if you must know.”

“Don’t listen to this deranged woman, mother. Getting this job has addled the poor girl’s brain.”

Heather looked over at me. “I believe her.”

“Thank you Mrs. Best, you are obviously a better judge of character than your jealous daughter.”

“Jealous... jealous you think, really? Okay, I’m jealous, but only if it’s true.”

“I’ll show you the note, and the Valentine’s card,” I said.

“Damn right you will,” she replied.

“Irene!” exclaimed her mother.

“Sorry mum, it slipped out,” said Irene glancing at me and raising her eyes heavenward.

Heather’s van pulled up outside Ye Coffee Shoppe.

“Thanks once again, Mrs. Best,” I said preparing to leave the van.

“Heather," she corrected.

“Thank you Heather."

I was quite aware that her idea to bring me along, was what gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. I stepped out of the van and hesitated. Irene was in the process of exiting out of the other door, when I heard her mother address her.

“And exactly where do you think you are going?”

“Cat’s imaginary love letter, I have to know mother, two minutes I promise.”

“Etta has been holding the fort on her own, for well over an hour. My shop can get really busy as you well know. We are going to relieve the poor girl, Irene.”

“Two minutes mother, please. Two measly minutes, I’m begging you,” said Irene wiggling two of her fingers in front of her mother’s face.”

Irene’s mother looked over at me as if requesting permission for her daughter’s two minutes.

“I think it might take me... three, or maybe even four minutes to locate it... if that’s okay.”

“No,” replied Mrs. Best, “that’s not fair to Etta. Get in the van Irene, you can do this another time.”

Irene looked over at me as if I had stolen the winning lottery ticket from her back pocket. I shrugged my shoulders and gave her one of my very best ‘what can I do’ looks.

“What! But the note.”

“Just not enough time right now, your mother is right, the shop and Etta come first.”

Irene just stood there with a look of total disbelief on her face.

“Get back in the van please, Irene,” her mother said.

“Bye,” I mouthed with a grin on my face.

“You had better find that letter, McCaffery. I’m coming back as soon as I finish work, you have my word on that. I’m bringing Etta with me, as a witness. Find it before I find you.”

“Irene, get in, ” her mother said, in a tone that would not brook disobedience.

I put my fingers to my mouth and blew her a kiss as she stared at me from the van’s rear window. She carried on shaking her fist at me as the van picked up speed and disappeared from view. I was still chuckling at her antics as I entered the coffee shop. I couldn’t wait to break the news to my Aunt.

Alex B.

Alex Bahscot of Scottish descent, has lived in the Bahamas for several years. It was in the sunny Caribbean climate that a forgotten passion for writing was reignited. Growing up, Alex had a passion for stories of the macabre and the occult. It was only in her late twenties that she took more of an interest in writing Romance.

Her first written work in this genre, was 'Love, Sex and My Ex' which (written in the first person) followed the unusual efforts of Robert Arden, desparately trying to win his ex-wife back. This novella was heavily into the topic of 'out of body' experiences. We briefly meet characters in this book who are destined to be the main characters in her second book.

Her editor tore the book to shreds and suggested a total rewrite, but not because the story wasn't a good one. She loved it, BUT as her editor mentioned, the female protagonist is unlikeable and Alex's use of tenses were better suited to a time traveler (present to past and back in a manner described as effortless) Therefore... a total rewrite it will be.

The Lady's Man, (also written in the first person) is a romance book in excess of 70,000 words touches every emotion felt by men and women, on its way to its conclusion. Humour not being the least of them. A scarred but tenacious Scottish lass (Catriona) leaves a broken relationship to live with her Aunt in a small Scottish village. There she meets Caleb Carter, an up and coming professional golfer, who is the wayward son of a Presbyterian minister. Caleb has broken the hearts of Catriona's childhood friends, and must be made to pay for his sins. Catriona is roped into the plot to exact revenge... but finds herself drawn to the man she is to help punish. Who will she betray? The friends who begged for her help, or the charismatic heart-breaker they have targeted. Catriona finds a job working from a castle in the Scottish Highlands. It is here that tragic secrets are brought to light, by her Aunt, who has more than a few of her own. This tale needs a thorough editing, but Alex has been too busy. When time permits, this book will see the light of day.

Alex decided at this point, that she enjoyed writing novellas more than lengthy books, and chose to write a romantic comedy trilogy, which soon turned into four books and then five, as a prequel was added. Romantic comedy quickly became a favourite.

Dear Roz, (book 1 - Chapter 2) opened with Sue Peoples (a vicious magazine critic) taking square aim at our protagonist, Rozlyn Rook. As well as being the author of a newspaper's 'Agony Aunt' column, Roz runs several two-day workshops. These clinics are designed to teach women how to catch and keep the men of their dreams. Sue joins one of Roz's clinics, for two reasons. Roz must be punished for stealing Sue's boyfriend, and her career must be destroyed in the process. Thrown into the mix, is an English upstart (Nathan Knight) who writes a similar column for a rival newspaper. His advice column is geared towards helping men understand, and deal with women. Roz has never met Nathan, but loathes him as a matter of principle.

When Nathan's friend and chief editor conspired to seat these two columnists together at a charity function, his aim is to see sparks fly between these two. The sparks turn into a firework display. Roz can't believe that she could be attracted to a man she despises. Now she has to deal not only with a woman who wants her professional career cut short, but with an annoying Englishman, who is handing Roz a beating in the one-upmanship game. This is a totally unacceptable situation to Roz. She must deal with both entities, and deal with them, she will.

Dear Roz (book 2) deals with the ever changing relationship between Roz and Nathan. She is incensed that he is stealing her idea, and intends to run similar workshops to herself, only targeting men, looking for their perfect mate. Rozlyn's assistant, Maxine, and Nathan's assistant, Betty, see what their bosses cannot. The two are in love. Between them, Betty and Maxine engineer a test for the two headstrong columnists. Betty's 'Lesbian List of Love' must be completed (unwittingly) by both Roz and Nathan. What happens next? Read the book for yourself, and see.


Dear Roz (book 3) is where the action escalates. Both of our protagonists enjoy playing pranks, and the flair each brings to the table is exposed time and time again. I dare you to keep a straight face as each 'up the anti' in the prank playing stakes. Disaster strikes, however, during one of their workshops. Is their romance nothing more than a shattered dream, or can Maxine and Betty find a way to bring clarity to a situation nobody could possibly have seen coming?

If this book doesn't make you both laugh and cry, ask for a refund. I don't want your money. If however, you fell in love with the characters, and the story itself, please consider leaving a review. Here is the link  The Dear Roz Series Review   and thank you.


Next, Alex had the urge to write a story that has a strange thread of romance running through it.

The Emergency Hotline, is the first novella in what promises to be an interesting series. Steve works as an intermediary between people calling up his  online 'Emergency Hotline' and the professionals who will actually deal with whatever situation is presented. His mother is vacationing in Hungary, and has gone missing. Steve asks his friend Calvin (a bit of a likely lad) to cover for him while he tries to find his mother. Steve explains that the business basically runs itself. He has a Rolodex and a cell phone with all the numbers Calvin needs in order to run the business during his absence. What could possibly go wrong?

Calvin manages to lose both to unusual circumstances, in short order, and now has to answer the calls himself. He conscripts a friend and his friend's girlfriend, to help him in his hour of need. Talk about the inmates taking over the asylum. The first two calls that come into the office phone are from persons contemplating suicide by jumping from tall buildings. How do people with zero professional training cope with such dilemmas? Next comes a call from a seriously wealthy individual, whose mother needs a companion for a few hours while he conducts business which can't be put off. It is only after coming face to face with the gent in question, that the truth is revealed. His mother suffers from multiple personality disorder. Her condition is sparked by whichever room she enters.

Let the fun begin, as Calvin navigates his way through Sylvia's reality. His sense of humor is put to the test on a regular basis. Meanwhile, a stripper (whom he persuaded not to jump to her death) has decided that Calvin is in love with her and is preparing him for marriage. All the while, Calvin has to find a way to earn enough money to replace Steve's expensive cell phone and Rolodex. It's a rollercoaster of a ride with characters that shouldn't be left on their own.



A series of Short Stories in the making, by Alex Bahscot

Out 4 Revenge

Book 1 - A Wife's Revenge
Book 2 - He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
Book 3 - Sister Sister
Book 4 - Two of Everything

The Love Triangle Trilogy

Book 1 - Odd Man Out
Book 2 - Odd Woman Out
Book 3 - Best of Both Worlds

Unfaithful 5

Book 1 - When the Music Stops
Book 2 - Til Death Do Us Part
Book 3 - Seeing is Believing
Book 4 - Unfaithfully Yours
Book 5 - Maid for Each Other

The Emotion Series

Short Story 1  Love
Short Story 2  Hate
Short Story 3  Betrayal
Short Story 4  Revenge
Short Story 5  Ambition
Short Story 6  Jealousy
Short Story 7  Obsession
Short Story 8  Injustice


Standalone books (in the works)


I can Write Romance, I Swear
The Idiot Savant of Dating
Stealing Romance

The Lady's Man - Irene's Story. Cat's friend and ex-girlfriend of Caleb. Did not make it into the book as shown here.

Irene Best - Three months ago  

The shade of the chestnut tree was heavenly and the two of us leaned against its thick trunk.
       "I think I'm pregnant," I said to Caleb never taking my eyes off my tired looking shoes as I did so.
My name is Irene Best, and I am dating the twenty five year old son of a Scottish minister. I am not pregnant. In my own childish way, I am testing my boyfriend to find out if he thinks enough of me to stick around, should I accidentally become pregnant. You don't have to tell me, it's shallow and deceptive at the same time. The truth is, I don't think I'm good enough for him. I have terrible insecurities. Throw in the fact that I've always wanted a large family when I get married, if I get married, and what do you have? A potential recipe for disaster that's what. He told me right from the start that he didn't want kids. Did I listen? Like all women 'hell bent' on being the only one who can change a man from the proverbial 'bad boy' into a doting husband with three or four kids, I chose to put him to the test.              
       "I'm going to wait one more week, then make an appointment with our family doctor," I said, running my fingers idly through a deep crease in the trunk of the chestnut tree.
Still no response from the man of my dreams.   Is he pondering the idea of marriage? More likely is the possibility that he is toying with the idea of giving me the boot. I wish he would just say something. Anything.
       "Of course I'll have to tell my parents, and I would appreciate it if you were there for support."
I want to make eye contact, but I can't afford to. For one thing, it should be guilt that keeps my head looking down. Looking up would be like having a 'tell' in poker, signaling the fact that I am bluffing. I desperately want to see his face and gauge how the news is affecting him, but I manage to fight the urge.
       "They're going to be terribly disappointed in me," I said, still looking at my feet.

I know what you're probably thinking. If he decides to stand by me, then I will go ahead and try to really get pregnant. This I won't do. If he commits and then finds out that I'm not pregnant, chances are he will still be one step closer to thinking about marriage having already considered it, am I right? That's the hand I'm betting on right now. Why doesn't he say something?
       "I would imagine your father will be equally devastated, what with him being a minister."
       "You know what?" he said, "you're absolutely right."
       "I am?" I said, taken aback at his sudden willingness to join in the conversation.
       "Absolutely," he confirmed, "let's go straight to your parents house and break the news together, just like you suggested."
       "I think it's probably best if we leave it for another week, just to make sure, don't you?"
       "Nonsense," he said, grabbing my hand and dragging me away from the shade of the chestnut tree.
       "Now that I think about it, I can't believe how excited I am at the prospect," he said with that tone of finality in his voice.

I should have been elated at his last remark. Why then was my stomach churning. What if I couldn't persuade him to wait another week just in case my 'fake overdue' period showed up? The chestnut tree was perhaps three hundred yards from my father's front door and at our current pace, no more than three minutes away from either me coming clean or him addressing my father. I had three minutes to persuade him to wait just long enough for me to 'find out' that I'm not pregnant.
       "I really, really think we should wait another week," I said, trying my best to keep the fear out of my voice, "my period has been known to be a month late. Really, it has."
       "Irene," he said, "I know your dad is going to be really pissed when I give him the news, but please don't try to dissuade me. As the man involved, it is my duty to give him the news, not yours."
       "That's okay," I begged, my voice close to breaking now, "you go home. Knowing my dad, that kind of news would probably be best coming from me, anyway."

He stopped in his tracks, my father's front door a mere hundred yards from where we stood.
       "What kind of man would I be if I let you do that Irene? He must be home, his car is parked outside, come on."
       "Okay, okay! I'm not pregnant, I was just... testing you." The world stopped turning right about then. At least my world did.
       "What!" he gasped, the sheer horror of the enormity of my betrayal etched all over his features. You would do that to me?"

Shakily I sat down on the warm pavement, my legs buckling from underneath me. I felt sick, and my oxygen supply seemed to have run out. I could hardly breathe. My eyes are darting everywhere as I search for a solution and try my best to salvage something from the nightmare I alone created.
       "I'm sorry," I  kept repeating, "it was only a bit of fun..."
       "Fun? This is your idea of fun? I'm sorry Irene, this changes everything. I would never have believed that a woman would put a man that she had any real respect for, through such an ordeal. I'm sorry, I can't handle this, it's just too... cruel."

There was nothing false about the tears that were coursing down my pale cheeks though. I begged. He stood his ground. I pleaded, and for a second it looked as if he was  reconsidering, then he shook his head. It was over, my bluff had been called. I ran the last hundred yards to my house and burst through the front door, leaving it swinging in my wake. It would be three weeks  and one overheard conversation later that made me realize that he had made up his mind to dump me long before I concocted up my idiotic plan. Now I felt doubly stupid. He had played me perfectly, letting me believe that my silly test had been my downfall. He must have had a good old laugh at my expense. I was wrong to do what I did, but I was in love. Clearly he never was.

The Lady's Man - Our heroine, Catriona McCaffery, staying with her aunt after the break-up.

Chapter 3 - Forgotten Friends - Catriona McCaffery

            My suitcase landed on the pavement with a heavy thud. The bus moved off, leaving me staring at the village church across the street from me. I had been in there a couple of times with my mother many years ago. The minister had been ancient. I doubt if he would still be there. I'm going to call my aunt in a minute and ask her for directions, but before I do, I think a cup of coffee might be in order. I wheeled my suitcase down the steep hill to a building opposite Carnock Primary School. Ye Coffee Shoppe, the sign above the large glass window boasted.

            With my head down, I dragged my suitcase over to one of the booths and collapsed into a seat, resting my head on my arms, crossed in front of me on the table. I was barely aware of the bell that had announced my arrival finally stop ringing.

            "I'll be there in a minute!" I heard a woman’s voice call out. The voice seemed familiar somehow, but I was too tired to think any more about it. I only wanted to rest right now. My head was empty of thought, perfect. Not for long though. The sound of two girls talking in the next booth invaded my peace and quiet. Their voices were very animated and the object of their ire was somebody called Caleb. I tried my best to tune them out, but it was nigh on impossible.

            "I honestly thought he was serious about me," one girl said.

            " I had marriage on my mind the whole time," came the reply.

            "He has it all," the first girl went on, "looks, physique, sense of humour, nice dad. Not rich but not poor either. His mother left Caleb and his dad when Caleb was only eight. He told me about it once, but when I tried to find out more, he got all bent out of shape."

            "Really?"

            "He was more than just angry, if you had seen the look on his face... I really believe he hates his mother for leaving them."

Are there any women who don't have men problems. My life has just been turned upside down and now I can't block out the problems of these two.

            "Even after all this time?” continued the second girl, "It must be close to sixteen or seventeen years ago."

            "From that point on, our relationship went steeply downhill,” said the first. “I think that's why he dumped me. Just because I asked about his mother."

            "When his mother left, his conscience disappeared with her," came the reply. "It's as if he is scared to get too close to anyone.”

            “How many girls has he dated… that you know of, Irene?"

            "Dated or bedded?"

            "Has he ever done one without the other?" the first girl asked.

            Men cheating on women, I thought. Same problem the world over. Why couldn't I be the focal point of a man's love. How wonderful it would be to experience naught but devotion from the man of my dreams. To know that he desired no other woman, but me. I sighed, a sudden feeling of heaviness spreading through my body. My number one fantasy, no closer to realization.

            "I still love him," admitted the girl called Irene.

            "Handsomest man I've ever seen," said the other. "Almost made me feel ugly standing beside him,"

            "There was no almost about it," the girl called Irene shot back.

I admit it, I almost giggled at this last comment. I barely managed to control myself. Good job they couldn't see the grin spread across my face. It turned out that the comment made them burst out laughing anyway, so I allowed myself a quick chuckle. It was wrong of me to feel better, but what is that saying? How can feeling so wrong feel so right. Something like that.

            "Is everything okay?" came the same voice that sounded familiar a short while ago.

            "Everything’s fine, Mrs. Robson, thanks for asking," coughed the first girl.

I recognized the symptoms of a person caught laughing whilst trying to swallow a mouthful of liquid. Been there, done that. I raised my head up from the table. My spirits rose immediately. Emily Robson, my Aunt. She hadn't noticed me.

            "Aunt Em!" I said, standing up and holding my arms out. Emily Robson spun around and let her gaze fall upon me. She pitched forward and grabbed me in what could best be described as a bear-hug.

            "Catriona, my wee darlin' how you've grown, you were about seven years old when last I set eyes on you. I live upstairs," she said, "that is we live upstairs. Yours will be the first door on the right once you’ve reached the landing. When you're ready I'll take you there. I'm afraid it looks out over the street to the bus stop, but there is another window which has a view out over a small park and beyond that, our village minister's manse."

My aunt was looking me up and down, her smile increasing with every pass.

            “My but you look wonderful,” she said.

One of the girls with severe love problems eased her way out of the booth and stepped into view.

            "What! You don't recognize me? Catriona McCaffery, am I right? We used to play together as kids."

            "Etta, is that really you?"

            “Ta-da!" Etta laughed, stepped forward and hugged me. "What brings you back here after so many years?"

            "I guess you don't recognize me then," interrupted the other girl, "now that I no longer wear braces on my teeth and sport contacts rather than glasses. Now that I am awesomely gorgeous, with big boobs."

            "And a butt to match," Etta whispered, a comment that Irene totally ignored.

            "Irene, of course. I heard you being called by name, but it never clicked." We hugged each other.

            "I am so sorry you two," I said, taking each of their hands in mine.

            "I'll bring some coffee," said my aunt, "while you three get re-acquainted."

I watched as she disappeared into what must be the kitchen.

            "Your aunt moved here years ago and has been running this coffee shop ever since," said Etta, anticipating my question correctly. "She's a wonderful cook, but I expect you already know that."

I nodded. We sat down at the table, Irene and Etta opposite me.

            "Men trouble, right?" inquired Etta.

            "Just one," I replied, glancing down at my naked ring finger. "The one I was going to marry."

            "Was," acknowledged Irene with an understanding nod. "No more needs to be said, I guess."

            "Nope," I replied.

            "Cheated on you?" Irene asked, her eyes narrowing.

            "Yup," I said, my eyes refusing to meet hers.

Irene just shook her head.

            "I can't see a man cheating on you," stated Etta, "I mean look at you. You look fabulous. There has to be a catch. Own up, what prompted this madman to cheat on the beautiful girl sitting in front of us?"

            "My desire to be a virgin bride," I said simply, but felt a little stupid at my admittance to such an old fashioned concept.

            "Too late for us," said Etta, looking directly at Irene, "but not as daft a desire as it might seem, I don't think."

            "Good for you," added Irene.

Aunt Em returned with three cups of coffee and an assortment of biscuits splashed onto a large plate.

            "Tuck in girls, it's on the house. Let me just go and check on my niece's room."

            "Thanks, aunt Em," I called out after her retreating body.

            "Apparently I'm not the only one with a mess of a love life," I said. "I apologize, but I couldn't help but hear your conversation. I overheard the name Caleb, am I right?"

            "You are," said Irene with a sigh. Etta gaze fell to the plateful of biscuits as she nodded in agreement.

            "So, which one of you dated this Caleb?" I asked.

            "I did," they replied in unison.

            "And he’s a movie star," I prompted.

            "He has movie star looks," corrected Etta, her gaze still fixed on the plate.

A bus passing the shop temporarily drowned out our conversation. Irene glanced at her watch.

            "Right on time," she said. "Exactly half an hour after the bus that you must have been on."

Less than a minute later, the bell sounded, announcing another patron. My back was to the door, but the look on the faces of my two childhood friends was a sight to behold. Neither said anything, but simply stared over my shoulder, their faces devoid of expression. To all intents and purposes, in a state of trance. I fought the urge to look. I felt it might be rude of me to do so. A man's rich, deep voice cut through the air.

            "Have you baked any of those wonderful raspberry tarts, Mrs Robson? You have? Excellent. I'll take two please. This should cover it. Thanks again."

I won't deny, I was more than a little curious to see the man to whom this richly erotic voice belonged, when it suddenly dawned on me. Who could possibly manifest such an effect on my two friends other than the man they called Caleb. I almost broke my neck turning around to check. Too late, he had already left the shop and disappeared from view. Good manners had prevented me from seeing the beast that had caused my two friends such grief. I turned back to face them again. Etta had her head down and her eyes shut, but Irene was still staring past me to where this Caleb had been standing.

            "I honestly thought he was serious about me, but all he wanted was to screw me senseless,” Etta said, her voice wobbling. “It's been four months, and I’m still pining away.”

            “We were both misled,” Irene piped in. “I had marriage on my mind the whole time. His mind was obviously full of hot torrid depraved sex. Oh, the things he made me do, the positions I was forced into. I blush now at the thought.”

Her words said one thing, but her face exuded a radiant glow as she spoke of this man and his heinous activities. Then she buried her face in her hands.

            "I hear he is chasing Shona Mathews," said Etta.

            "The widow? I thought he was after Adele what’s-her-name," said Irene from behind her hands.

            "Gillespie," Etta said providing the last name, "Adele Gillespie."

            "Not really his type I wouldn't have thought," said Irene.

I looked across the table at the two girls before fixing my gaze upon Etta.

            "Would you date this Caleb if he ever asked you out again?"

            "Never, no way, not a chance," she replied.

            "I would too," Irene admitted, staring into her almost empty cup. "As if that is ever going to happen again," she added wistfully. "It's a pity that he will never know the feeling of having his heart ground under the heel of his lover's boot."

            “Now that would be justice of the highest order," Etta agreed. "That, I would pay to see."

            "As daydreams go, it's the best," admitted Irene, "I can see the title of the movie now, 'Revenge of the Jilted Village Beauties.’"

            "You call that a movie title?” replied Etta, unimpressed. “I prefer a major magazine headline. Something like… 'Callous Golf Pro Steals Heart of Village Beauty Before Tossing the Woman's Major Organ Into the Garbage'."

            "Why would a golf pro remove a perfectly good twat and throw it away?" returned Irene, trying her best to look confused.

            "So that it could keep company with your unused brain," Etta chided. “We need to come up with a plan to avenge our shattered hearts.”

            "Caleb needs to be brought to heel, to grovel before both of us and beg our forgiveness," said Irene, warming to the idea.

            Apparently, this notion was to be savoured at every opportunity. Revenge was in order, my two friends both agreed, but how and when, were the questions still to be answered. I had nothing to add to the conversation, but let them vent without interruption.

            "Here's to revenge," said Etta.

            "Revenge!" Irene echoed, tapping her cup gently against Etta’s.

            “That takes care of the who and the what,” said Etta. “Now we need to work on the other details. Any ideas?”

            “I’ve an idea you will be leaving the tip for the tea and biscuits,” Irene said. “My purse is missing in action. I hope I left it at home and didn’t lose it.”

            “Really? What is that beside your left elbow. It sure as heck looks like your purse to me,” replied Etta.

            “My goodness! How could I have missed that?” a perplexed frown appeared on Irene‘s face.

            “Well, it clears up one issue,” said Etta.

            “And what might that be?”

            “Caleb wasn’t after you for your looks. He simply has a soft spot for the blind.

            “Evens?” Irene asked.

Etta grinned. “Okay, now we’re even.”

Satisfied, they both surrendered their full attention to finishing their beverage.

            "I don't know what to say girls," was my only comment after their latest banter.

            "There's nothing to be said, other than, I will have my revenge, either in this life or the next," said Etta.

            "Gladiator… the movie… Russell Crowe," I stated.

            "Great movie," said Irene.

            "The bad guy gets his in the end." This from Etta.

            "The good guy dies too, don't forget," I said.

            "How romantic." Irene sighed.

The three of us lowered our eyes to the plate, devoid of all biscuits bar one. Our heads raised simultaneously, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

            "You have it, Catriona," said Etta. It's your first day here, it's your aunt's coffee shop and it's our way of saying welcome back."

            "Well, thank you Etta," I said, as I reached for the biscuit in question.

Like a snakes tongue, Etta's arm shot out and snatched the biscuit from the plate and deposited it into her mouth in one smooth motion. Irene and I watched as she chewed for a brief second then swallowed.

            "Oh!" said Etta raising her eyebrows, “did you want it?"

            "Not at all," I replied. "Everybody knows that the last biscuit is the one which puts on the most weight."

            "Irene must have had a lot of last biscuits," suggested Etta, exactly one second before the sound of a hand smacking an arm disturbed the conversation.

My aunt reappeared at the foot of the stairs.

            "Feeling a little peckish after your long journey, Catriona?" she asked.

            "The poor girl was starving," said Etta. "Watching her eat was embarrassing, Mrs Robson."

            "Would you like some more, dear?" Aunt Em asked me.

            "Would I like some more, girls?"

            "I think she has room for a couple more," suggested Etta.

            "More coffee?" asked my aunt.

            "That would be lovely Mrs. Robson. Thanks," said Irene.

            "You two haven't changed," I said.

            "And yet it took you forever to recognize us," replied Etta in a miffed tone.

The three of us exchanged grins.

            "Nice to meet up with you again, Cat," said Irene. "You don't mind me calling you Cat, do you?"

            "Knock yourself out," I replied.

            "Cat it is, then."

            Half an hour later we had all caught up with each other’s news, and I was forced to bid them adieu. I felt drained. The only thing I wanted to do was lay down and sleep. They were still tucking into the biscuits when I went upstairs.

            "Going to rest for a bit aunt Em," I said climbing the stairs slowly. “I'll pick up my suitcase later if you don't mind."

            "Let me show you to your room then," she replied.

I don't remember much after that conversation. I was drifting quietly off to sleep, when a handsome man’s face outside a bus window drifted through my mind. A gentle fluttering in my stomach brought a warm glow deep inside of me. After that, nothing.

The Lady's Man - Caleb Carter. Bad boy son of the Reverend Byron Carter.

Caleb's mother walked out on him and his father when Caleb was just a lad. Since then, his distrust of women ensured that any relationship he entered--now that he was a man--was both brief and superficial. He made no apologies for that and sought no sympathy. He was a man detached from strong emotion. Impenetrable armour as cold as steel surrounded his heart. Never again would any woman make him feel that pain again. He swore it.

Chapter 8 – Where am I? – Caleb Carter

            Monday morning found me in Ye Coffee Shoppe nursing a cup of tea and a hangover. The preceding night’s entertainment was thankfully hazy in parts, unfortunately clear in others. One of my high school chums, and golfing buddy, was getting married and had his bachelor party last night in the upstairs of a two story building in Dunfermline. The party that ensued was probably like most bachelor parties. Bored looking strippers trying not too convincingly to look like they were actually enjoying themselves. Old school chums trying to reconnect with their former friends. Everybody 'doing justice' to the full bar stocked with every alcoholic drink you could imagine, and a few you couldn't.

            All twelve participants that turned up had arrived in either a taxi or by bus or had been dropped off by a friend, and would leave the same way.

The memory of a conversation about horses being unable to walk down stairs seemed relevant somehow, but such relevance escaped me for the moment. I'm not a drinker by nature, which is probably why I am suffering so badly with my own hangover this morning. A glass of white wine and a few beers a week is my normal limit. I'm pretty sure I passed that benchmark within the first half hour.

            The lights in Mrs. Robson's coffee shop were trying their best to fry my dilated pupils. I should have brought my sunglasses.

            "Some vegetable soup perhaps, Caleb?" Mrs. Robson asked, as she approached my table. "Great for soaking up alcohol," she whispered.

            "You're an angel Mrs. Robson. I'll take the soup and more tea please."

            "Hang in there, Mr. Carter, I'll be back in two minutes."

A lovely woman, Mrs. Robson and perfect as an owner/operator of the coffee shop, I thought. Concerned about everybody, but never nosy, she had the knack of being there when you needed her and absent when you didn't. A trait that I wish she shared with Grace Wilson's mother.

            "Here's your soup and tea Caleb," said Mrs. Robson setting them both down on the table before easing the thick vegetable soup in front of me and disappearing with the empty teacup. Steam rose from the soup plate, bringing with it the heavenly aroma of carrots, potatoes turnips and several other wholesome ingredients. I inhaled deeply and felt better almost immediately.

            Simple sentences didn't seem to aggravate my hangover, but using words of more than five letters threatened to make my head explode. Bearing this in mind, I even tried to think in small words. It was useless. Trying to piece together what had happened in the last hour that I was at the party seemed futile. I vaguely remember getting into a taxi. Somebody in the back seat just wouldn't shut up, but I don't remember sharing the cab. It pulled up outside a house that I was quietly confident I had seen somewhere before.

I remember a woman's voice saying, "Caleb, are you okay, are you hurt or just drunk?"

The taxi door had magically opened, and now that fresh air had entered my system, my sole desire was to throw up. Disgusting I know, but there it is.

            "Come inside, Caleb," said the woman's voice as I was pulled out of the taxi.

            "Who's taking care of my cab fare?" I heard a voice ask, followed by the same voice thanking somebody called ma'am.

This ma’am then led me somewhere that ended up with me in a bathroom that I did not recognize. Then she asked me if I would be kind enough to not puke on the floor. At the time it seemed a bit unreasonable, but I pushed my own inclinations aside and obliged the kind lady. My clothes were taken from me. No easy task in my state, and the last thing I remembered after that was thinking that somebody had repainted my bedroom ceiling.

            When I awoke there was a woman's arm across my chest and the sound of heavy breathing. Beside me on the bed under the single sheet was a woman with blonde hair. Her face was hidden from me and her breathing was shallow but regular. The sound of a yawn caught my attention. Was she no longer asleep?

            It must still be early morning, I thought, since the room was still half dark despite a small side window that was not covered by a curtain. A groan and the arm that was across my chest was now sliding down, under the sheet, searching for and finding my penis. The woman's head followed her hand, disappearing under the sheet. I still didn't know who this young woman was. My stomach muscles jumped, sending my throbbing head straight to Defcon 3. My cock was now in her mouth and was rising fast. I threw the sheet off the bed, leaving us both naked.

            "Good morning, Caleb," said the woman.

            "Good morning, Mrs. Mathews," I replied, staring at the young widow who was moving my cock back and forward over her mouth.

            "After last night, I think you can call me Shona."

            "Good morning Shona," I said simply. "About last night. Did we?"

            "I tried to fight you off Caleb, at first, that is, but when you told me how you felt about me… well."

            So there you have it. I left Shona’s house shortly thereafter, went home, bathed and changed. Despite my delicate condition, I still made a cup of tea and took it into my father’s bedroom, who in turn asked about the bachelor party.

            “Was it any different from the others you have attended?”

            “Yes and no,” I offered.

            “The usual shenanigans?”

My father preferred shenanigans over strippers as a word choice.

            “No, nothing like that,” I said. “Well, yes, sort of.” I hated lying to my father and tried my best to avoid the practice.

            “When did you get back?” he asked, looking directly at me.

            “About two,” I said.

            “In the morning?” he asked.

            “Minutes ago,” I responded.

            “I don’t want to know Caleb. Please don’t tell me.” A chuckle escaped his.

            “As you wish father,” I said, and disappeared out of the room before he could change his mind.

            So here I am, in Mrs. Robson’s coffee shop, nursing a hangover and eating my soup. Two ex-girlfriends of mine were in the next booth. Etta and Irene. Shona Mathews slipped in through the coffee shop door, walked over to my table, nodded to the two girls in the next booth and sat down opposite me.

            “So where is my soup and tea, Mr. Carter?”

I could hear all conversation at the next table stop dead. The sound of silence was deafening. Three women, all waiting for my answer.

            “You look almost as good fully clothed,” I said, taking another sip of Mrs. Robson’s excellent tea.