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Misadventures of Sweet Cynthia & nancy (George Arthur Green)


Misadventures of Sweet Cynthia & nancy by George Arthur Green

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A further romp by Cynthia & Nancy as they try being Private Investigators with the usual disastrous (for them) results

Product type: EBook    Published by:     Published: 3 / 2019

No. words: 106343

Style: Bondage/BDSM Fetishes

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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Excerpt

Chapter One

The autumn sun shone down on the peaks, of the Italian Alps, highlighting the wisps of snow, that hung in the air like a wedding veil. Down in the valley, an eagle lazily drifted on the up currents, studying the terrain below. A terrain, that had long been farmed out, through the previous centuries. Most of the fields lay fallow now, bordered by the trees, long ago planted as windbreakers, to slow down, the constant wind that blew down the canyons and rivulets, framing the village below. The eagle instinctively saw a flash of movement beside a castle wall. He turned sideways, tucking in his wings and began dropping out of the sky, like a stone, increasing his speed now, in a steady line, like some feathery missile ,until he covered the mouse running for cover, beneath the shadow of his giant wings. The mouse squealed as the talons closed about it, still running in place. The huge bird immediately fought for altitude, twisting his body, to avoid hitting the castle wall. His talons briefly scudded the brickwork as he thrashed his wings, fanning the weeds and wildflowers below and then slowly began to ascend. Catching an updraft, from the heat radiating from the brick, he began to soar up the castle turret, passing a window. For an instant his reflection merged with the profile of the man standing behind it.
For Baron Renaldo Leverone Poliofito, the third, resembled an eagle, as he watched it travel skyward in admiration. His beakish ancestral nose, dated back to the proud doges. His black deep set eyes, beneath a canopy of wild bushy eyebrows, looked as if they had been shot into his skull by cannons. He leaned back in his hand carved, black walnut chair, enjoying with satisfaction, the scene that had just played before him. The eagle was now a black speck in the sky. Once he had seen one of those magnificent birds take on almost more than it could handle. He had been skiing in the Alps and paused to watch a family of mountain goats, delicately picking their way around a mountain, in single file. When a black blur came out of nowhere and plucked the baby goat off the cliff's edge. The eagle had terribly misjudged the goat's weight and down and down they plummeted into the chasm below, in a frenzy of churning feathers. He had quickly skied over to the edge, to look down and see the eagle stubbornly refuse to drop his catch. It meant certain death for him, if he didn't. As if watching a slow motion picture, he watched the eagle finally level off, inches from the rocks below. He marvelled at the bird’s tenacity and courage. He was always impressed with strength and power. He looked out over the meadows and trees. They looked especially beautiful, this time of year, he thought. He must have Joseph organize a boar hunt, one of these weekends, before it got cold.
Although he owned several estates, this one had always been his favorite. He watched the sun dance across the leaves below, picking out the oranges and yellows, the deep red wine of the maples, as if spotlighting them for him, against the almost black green of the terrain, where mushrooms and toadstools grew beneath the fallen leaves, like minute, white pusillanimous eyes.
Perhaps it was the many corridors, he used to hide in, pony rides to the mountains for picnics. He didn't know, filled with fond memories. He chose a cigar from his humidor and lit it, sending a waft of smoke through the half opened window and turned his attention, to the letter on his desk. He'd been stalling, savoring the moment, when he would open it. He lifted the envelope to his nose, smelling the familiar expensive perfume and then took a silver letter opener and tore it open. He always enjoyed reading letters from Marquessa Mariano Merryweather and always chose to read it personally, she amused him.

Dear Goldy,
(it began. He smiled to himself. Where she had picked up that nickname he never knew, but he allowed her to get away with it. If anyone else dared use it, they would have quickly disappeared from his circle of acquaintances)

I've met a gentleman at the Henley Regatta, that might fit into our plans, rather nicely. Recently divorced, he appears slightly shell shocked, but I do think he's rather taken a fancy to me. (He smiled again, was the Marquessa pretending to be coy. All men took a fancy to the Marquessa. She was exquisitely put together. He wondered how many times, he had watched men choke on their drinks, as she swayed past them, in one of those tight white satin gowns of hers. He suspected she wore white so often, not only to contrast her blue black hair; but to dazzle the eye, as the light reflected off her white gowns, immediately making her the center of attention, detailing her figure so explicitly, that he knew she wore nothing beneath). His name is Terence Harrison and he has a quite adequate estate in Henley. A pleasant enough place, but since his wife left, he's fired the help and closed off a good portion of the house. Sits brooding in the parlour, mostly. There's a dim witted secretary flitting about, trying to cheer him up. A poor, little wretched thing, I suspect out for his money. But I can't see her as any sort of competition. (Hear, hear, he thought). I'm afraid for the moment though, the poor dear is turned off to women on general principle. (You'll soon have him coming around, he thought amused. The Marquessa had five previous marriages, under her belt. The poor fools had never known what hit them. She would soon have him collared and leashed like the others had been).
I did notice him staring at me, rather often. We were finally introduced and I've been more or less his constant companion of late.
What mostly piqued my interest, is the business left to him, in the family name. It seems they make large steam boilers, that are shipped to industries all over the world. Does that suggest something to you? It seems management bumped junior upstairs, as soon as his father died, to keep him from underfoot. Like most chairmen, he has access but no real duties. Quite content to remain at home, in his Heathcliff role, prefers his privacy, no living relatives, quite detached from friends and society.
In all modesty, I do think he's rather perfect for our plans. And we can thank the long arm of fate, for bringing us together.
I was wondering if I might have an advance of one hundred thousand pounds, to speed things along, as it were.
As always, Merryweather

Interesting, how the Marquessa worded that. As if it were petty cash. Never the less, he was curious. He tossed the letter on the desk and rang for his secretary. A man with a pinched face entered.
“Riggordo.”
“Yes Sir?”
“Would you find out about a Terence Harrison. Chairman of the board, of Harrison Industries Ltd. in Henley, England and get back to me?”
“Yes Sir!”
The little man clicked his heels and turned to leave the room. “And Riggordo?”
“Yes Sir?”
“Wire the Marquessa Merryweather, fifty thousand pounds. You have her address.”
“Yes Sir!” He leaned back in his chair and gazed once again, at the fall foliage.

Marquessa Marion, (she had dropped the Italian 0 from her name, when she had become an English citizen) Rathbone Merryweather, peered out the white lace curtains. It was raining leaves. A wind was rushing from the north, across the Thames and through her front garden. She watched the black cab glide through the shower of leaves, crossing her driveway and went to the front door to greet her mother and aunts. She peered through the door's glass, as three buxom women disembarked and paid off the driver. She marvelled at their appearance. So well preserved for their ages. She hoped she carried enough of their genes. She was amused how young they dressed. Her mother wore black stockings, no less. How chic, they looked in their tailored tweed suits and coats, doubtless all purchased with her money. Well that was all going to end today. Every one was going to start earning a living.
“Hello darlings!” she exclaimed as she opened the door and gave each a kiss on their cold cheeks.
“You've redone the hallway!” her mother said with distaste, as she shrugged off her coat and handed it to her daughter.
“How observant, mother. Do you like it?”
“If one likes pale salmon!”
“Actually the painters tell me it's coral pink!”
“Whatever!” her mother snorted.
“I rather like it, Felicity!” her sister Prudence smiled at Marion. She was the shorter of the three and Marion's favorite aunt.
“Thank you dear!” Marion answered and glanced at her aunt Victoria to register her reaction.
“Quite...um...warm looking!” Victoria seemed to agree with Prudence. “Quite nice!” she confirmed.
“Oh, everything is quite nice to you Victoria!” Felicity sniffed as she looked at the repainted walls. “If I had my way, it should have been Hunter green...but then, no one bothered to ask me.” Daughter and mother exchanged glances.
“Why don't we all go into the parlour? I've hot tea to warm everyone up,” Marion suggested. “In fact why don't you go ahead. I'll wait for Noel and David. They should be here, shortly.”
“It's a family pow-wow, is it dear?” Prudence asked coyly.
“What is all the mystery dear?” Victoria added.
“Something, I think we will all find rewarding,” Marion smiled back.
“By rewarding...I assume you mean money?” her mother asked.
Marion shook her head.
“Well we always enjoy hearing something along those lines,” Prudence grinned meaningfully at Marion, as she handed her coat to her.
“Yes, we always enjoy those types of conversations,” Victoria echoed, opening the door to the hall closet, choosing to hang up her own coat.
“Well, go and enjoy your tea, as soon as the rest arrive, we'll have a nice long chat!” Marion watched them retreat down the hall, her mother still frowning at the walls.

She turned back in time, to see a second cab arrive. She recognized the shock of blonde hair emerging from the Cab, as her son. He stood his full six feet and paid off the driver, as if he were doing him a favor. He wore a hand tailored, Italian cut, wool coat, nipped in at his slender waist, and carried a gold tipped cane and grey suede gloves. As the cab pulled away, Marion saw her daughter, Noel, in view on the opposite side. She was staring hatefully at her brother. Marion sighed. As usual, her David had made his sister pay for her own fare.
Where did I go wrong? she thought, looking at her two only children, from her first marriage. She remembered her daughter running pell mell across the fields, whipping her stallion into a froth. Always mad about something, she could never figure out what. Her older brother spent most of his time, pulling the wings off flies in the backyard. Content to be alone.
Noel had always been a tomboy - always competing with the boys. Always trying to best them in sports. But as she grew, her body rebelled against her. Opposing her every step of the way. She had one of those small faces that seemed to belong to another body. For her body seemed to expand and grow, as it progressed downhill, like beans in a bag. She had narrow shoulders, small breasts, but then as one's eyes travelled downward it seemed everything had spilled into her hips and haunches and when she turned, her enormous buttocks mocked her. She had tragically inherited her father's build. A short, fat pear-shaped man, that Marion had detested. But what was a poor, beautiful girl to do? A lowly secretary that worked in the main office. But she had managed to catch the president's eye and he considerately died of a heart attack at an early age, leaving her a foundation of money to build on and a place in society to mingle.
She watched her daughter, adjust her tight leather jeans and pull down her short leather jacket, still scowling at her brother. David ignored her and walked to the front door, blessed with the good looks of his mother and the tall willowy build of her Corsican grandfather, offset by that strange shock of blonde hair, that had belonged to his father. Possessing everything his sister lacked. Neither spoke to each other, as his sister followed behind, as if stalking him.

Marion glanced about the room and put down her cup of tea. It's now or never she thought. She had patiently waited until everyone had become settled and finished their tea.
“I have a proposition, to put to you!” Marion announced David looked at her beneath heavy slothful eyes. Noel squirmed in her chair. Her mother seemed to be glancing about the room, counting the silverware. Only her aunts leaned forward in attention. “Well.. .we all have to admit, we're not getting any younger,” she started.
“Speak for yourself, Mumsy!” David said sardonically.
“Oh! Don't be so smug, David. Your con game is wearing a little thin. How much longer do you think you can pass for twenty nine. I happen to know, you've been selling your precious paintings to pay off your gambling debts. How much longer do you think your pretty boy act, will last?”
“Hah!” Noel retorted, from across the room.
David narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh and how is the leather bar business and your pathetic friends?”
“Why you bloody closet queen! Don't you call my friends pathetic!”
“Stop it! Stop it, this instant. We didn't come here to argue, we came here to make money!” Marion snapped.
“Yes, go on dear,” Prudence prompted, giving a dirty look to David and Noel.
“I've been in touch with Baron Poliofito.” Marion said softly. That seemed to quiet the room.
“Jesus! Mother, you and your Mafia friend!” Noel uttered.
“Now we don't know that, Noel. He's just a good family friend!”
“Yeah FAMILY! Regardless, mother, that guy does not fool around. Do we have to get involved with this man?” David whined.
“Yes, he's rather in the big leagues, Marion!” her mother agreed.
“All tight. ..all right, so what? Isn't it about time, we were too? LOOK at yourselves.” Marion stared at her mother and aunts. “You and your phony antique store, in Marlow. Trying to pawn off doctored furniture as Louis the XVI. Someday, you’re going to get caught.”
“Yes my dears.. .I'd hate to come visit you all.. .incarcerated. All knitting together, in the same cell.”
“And you!” Marion interrupted her son. “You and your love of expensive things. How much longer are your rich men friends going to pay for your...ah...?”
“Escort service, Mumsy dear.” David idly looked out the window, trimming his finger nails.
“Huh!” Noel sneered.
“Well dear, at least I have better taste than your kinky friends. How many times has your filthy little bar, been raided now?” David raised his eyebrows at his sister.
“God damn you! Don't you call my bar filthy...you flaming faggot!”
“Look enough...enough! I've called you all here, because I cannot lend you another pence. It stops NOW!” Marion almost shouted. Heads snapped in her direction.
“Wait a minute, Mumsy. I thought five marriages, really this time, you really hit pay dirt. I mean where does it all go?” David scoffed, but his face was serious.
“Where does it all go? Where does it all go? It goes to pay off your son's gambling debts! It goes to pay off your daughter's dubious business enterprises! It goes to support your mother's phony antique store. It goes to keep you all in the style, that you are accustomed to. It goes into expenses to keep this estate alive. It goes into taxes. It just goes David. And it ends here today!”
“Mumsy surely you jest?” David looked about him at all the startled faces. “I was just about to ask you, if you could advance me several hun...”
“It ends today David!” Marion shut him off. She looked at the room, full of shocked, resentful faces.
“But Marion dear, how will we...?” Felicity began to ask.
“Oh take those worried expressions off your faces. I shan’t cast you out!” Marion smiled. “I've made provisions for all of us to get rich”
“What type of provisions?” Noel warily asked.
“The Baron has advanced me money, with more to come...for our efforts on his behalf. He has been most generous. We are going into the import-export business!” Marion announced brightly. “Mostly export!”
David pulled a cigarette from a gold case and snapped it shut. The only sound in the room. The aunts leaned forward, her mother stopped her knitting. “Exporting what mother...drugs?” Noel queried.
“No! Heavens no.. .nothing like that!”
“Then what dear? Surely you don't expect us to use our shop for...” Marion's mother paused, “for whatever you're going to export...or import.?
“No...but your shop will be a drop off, though. In fact mother dear you and aunt Victoria and Prudence are perfect for the role, you'll play! Just perfect!”
“Mumsy, can we dispense with all the mystery?” David asked, growing bored
“We are going into... I don't know how else to put it... the body business!”
“Wait a minute.. .what body business?” Noel stammered, her eyes wide.
“Kidnapping people!” David yawned. “Haven't you heard... it's all the rage now!” He looked at his mother scornfully. “Oh Mumsy, how gross, how banal. Really! I gave you much more credit than that.”
“I rather like to call it exporting bodies, David.” Marion poured herself a second cup of tea. “And wipe that sneer off your face. It pays quite well!”
“Oh I don't know dear. That's terribly difficult, isn't it?” Prudence said, confused. “I mean...how does one go about it?”
“I'm afraid that's way over our heads!” Victoria said, “Yes dear, I think you've gone off the deep end, shaking her head. “It's all terribly risky!”
“It's just not our style, Mumsy!” David agreed.
“Oh mother, can't you just marry some money again?” Noel complained.
“I intend to...and I intend to use my future husband's home, as a safe house and his factory for shipping.” Marion leaned forward and clasped her hands. “And NO, I have not been reading too many detective novels. I've given this a great deal of thought. There is a bundle of money to be made.”
“How large a bundle, dear?” Felicity asked, resuming her knitting.
“Let's say three hundred thousand pounds for one body!” Marion smiled.
“Wait a minute, mother. I read somewhere that the I.R.A. just got a million, to release an industrialist's wife and daughter?” Noel countered.
“I wonder how much Duarte paid to get his daughter back?” David sardonically answered. “Surely, more than that!”
“Yes my dears, but that was a one-time thing and extremely risky. We're contracted to do it over and over again, without the risk. Think of it this way David, after six bodies are delivered, without conflict.. .it works out to three hundred thousand a piece. And we have the Baron's network behind us. Full protection.. .with very little fuss for us!”
“I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use fifty thousand, right now!” Noel was warming to the subject.
“Yes if we shared the money,” Felicity looked at her sisters, thoughtfully. “That would be one hundred fifty thousand for the shop.”
“Yes dears, you could actually begin to sell, real antiques!” Marion could see the wheels turning in her mother's and aunt's heads.
“What's Poliofito's cut?” David queried.
“Does it matter? We have his full protection. He supplies the information and we make the pickup and delivery! Simple!” Marion smiled.
“Will that be Air Express?” Noel asked wryly.
“Sometimes, perhaps,” Marion took a sip of tea and let it sink in.
“Well it does seem to pay well,” Prudence ventured.
“And if no risk, is guaranteed,” Felicity added.
“Does seem to be quite popular these days,” Victoria mused.
“You read about kidnappings all over the world, almost every day!” Prudence agreed, nodding her head.
“What? I don't believe I’m hearing, this! We are going to kidnap people, because it's the IN thing to do, right now?” Noel looked about the room, incredulously.
“No. . . we're going to kidnap people, because Mumsy has us over a barrel, as usual.” David stated flatly.
Marion smiled to herself. When David came around, the others followed.


Author Information

George Arhur Green or GAG was first published in the Harmony mags in the 1980's.
His settings of Mansion Houses, Aristocracy, Spies, Baddies & victims immediately hit an audience.

 

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