Rewrite Part 1

At the first piercing sound of Augustus’ cry Sally woke. Blearily, eyes gummed with sticky sleep, Sally focussed her weary mind. Exhausted, she had drifted off in Gussie’s room, again, fully dressed in her sweaty old tracksuit. Sally’s knees creaked as she climbed groggily to her aching feet. “There, there, sh sh, Mummy’s here” she cooed. Baby Gus smiled and dribbled as Sally picked him up and cuddled him in the crook of her shoulder. She rocked him slowly in her arms, singing a soothing lullaby, until he fell back to sleep. How much longer would she be able to do this she wondered to herself? He was such a brave little boy, but Ewing’s sarcoma was painful and without the proper treatment Gussie would not grow. He would never run in the park, play on the swings, nor swim in the sea. If only he could have the Laziger treatment; but the Health Service would not provide this on grounds of cost. She had pleaded, but they were implacable. The only option was to take Gussie to New York, and that would cost, and cost big, and they didn’t even have the air fare. Gently, Sally put the sleeping Gussie into his cot and tiptoed into bed. She desperately did not want to wake her husband. Jack’s shift at the bar had ended at eleven and he needed to be up at six to get ready for his day job at Hazzard’s Engineering. And so she lay there, in the stillness of a May night unable to sleep, worrying about her son Augustus. She knew that if they had the money he could live a normal life. If only! But how? They’d done all they could, written to MPs, councillors, even the Prime Minister, but all had sent a perfectly polite reply, which, when you read between the lines said go away and don’t bother me again. Next she had tried charity, but there was no charity devoted to Ewing’s sarcoma; so they had started one. Fund raising was slow. It was dog eat dog in the charity world. It didn’t take long to find charity cake stalls were a thing of the past. Extreme stunts were the current vogue. So Sally had entered the local marathon, but sponsorship was as slow as her training. According to the schedule she had been sent with her acknowledgment of application she should be on twenty miles a week by now. Sally was barely on ten. Husband Jack had screwed his courage to the sticking post and performed a parachute jump. His bravery had raised a thousand - just. It had led, however, to a plug on the regional news bulletin who had sent a camera team around to film Sally and Gussie as they went about their normal day. She had thought they were making an hour long documentary given the amount of time they had spent filming. They had tracked her all day from waving Jack off to work, to the presentation of a cheque at his work for his brave parachute jump. It was finally aired last Thursday, a three-minute rush through her packed, mundane daily life culminating in her bent double in the park gasping for breath at the end of her marathon training. “I’ll do anything” she had panted. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of anything more they could do. It been a tidy fill up to her marathon sponsorship, meaning she felt obliged to run the thing. There was no point really, the money she would raise would still leave them short. A gap as wide as the broad Atlantic they wanted to cross to save Augustus. “I’ll do anything” she thought as she drifted off to sleep dreaming of rowing single headedly across the ocean. Words that were very soon to come back to haunt her. A bright May morning was the grim as any other in the Grenville household. Gus woke up crying from the pain in his stiff little legs. Sally spent a long hour massaging him before she could sit him down for his breakfast. She was stuffing the first of her son’s banana rice breakfast mush into his greedy little mouth when she heard the rasping sound of a key in the front door lock. “Morning dear” her mother greeted brightly, as she breezed into the kitchen. Her voice changed, all baby coochie-coo, as she greeted Gus “How’s nanny’s little soldier then?” He giggled as she tickled his foot. “There’s a letter for you Sal, looks important” “Leave it there, I’ll get around to it” Sally told her as she concentrated on shovelling baby gruel into her son. It wasn’t until they sat down for morning coffee while Gussie was having a fitful nap that Sally finally got around to the mystery letter. She looked carefully at the envelope trying to divine its contents. It was clearly expensive and had the name of a local firm of solicitors on the back. “From Bailiss and Peters, wonder what they want” “Oooh” her mother said, “Poshest firm in town” “Probably more bad news” “Look on the bright side why don’t you” Lily told her daughter who sighed. There was never a bright side in her life now, she thought to herself, slitting the envelope open. There had been no good news for so long; why should her luck change now? In the end, it turned out to be no news. “Dear Mrs Grenville. Please find enclosed a cheque for £300.” Sally read to her mother. She shook the envelope and the cheque fluttered to the floor. Her back ached as she stooped to pick it up. All that running she thought to herself. “This money is for you to appoint an independent solicitor to verify my credentials. Once you are satisfied please contact me. I assure you this will be to your very great advantage. Yours Trevor Bailiss.” “You can save the £300” her mother told her firmly, “I know Trevor Bailiss and he’s as straight as a die” “So what does he want then?” “Only one way to find out,” her mother told her, “phone him” “You look after Gus” Sally said. Ten minutes later she was back. Her mother looked at her daughter, her expression was unreadable. “Well?” “He has a proposition from a benefactor which should provide all we need for Gus’ treatment” “Proposition?” asked her mother suspiciously. Sally shrugged. “We have to see him in person to find out; Jack and me.” “No clues what the proposal is?” Sally shook her head. “Nope, but if we don’t like it at least we get to keep the £300” “So are you going?” “Tomorrow morning.” The next day at eleven o’clock Jack and Sally walked into the offices of Bailiss & Peters, the oldest and most respected firm of solicitors in Nelson. As befitted its status there was no shiny glass frontage, no chrome and brushed steel. Bailiss & Peters was no Johnny come lately, flash in the pan, style before substance concern. They were solid and respectable, they were sound, they had bottom. To emphasise solidity in a world of constant change, Bailiss and Peters were housed in an old brick Georgian town house that spoke of centuries gone by. Jack and Sally felt the silence of ages closing in as the solid oak door shut silently behind them cutting out the noise from the street. They stood in a wide reception area, where in days long passed the local squire and his wife would have welcomed distinguished visitors, and, at Christmas, listened patronisingly as a gaggle of local peasants sang a few out of tune carols. This morning the hall was occupied by a young female receptionist sitting primly behind what could only be described as an antique bureau. No knocked up DIY shop kitchen work surface here thought Sally. “We have an appointment with Mr Bailiss” Jack told her. Sally looked her up and down. Barely out of school she guessed, freshly washed long chestnut hair pulled back in a tight pony tail exposing a forehead that showed not a hint of a worry line. Those were the days she thought longingly. An embossed brass effect plaque on the polished desk bore the name K Fredrickson. “Mr and Mrs Grenville?” Sally told her, wondering how she looked to this perfectly made up slip of a thing. The waif’s impeccably manicured fingers tippy tapped on the keyboard. Tired, old and haggard Sally suspected. She had planned on tarting herself up before they left, but Gussie had refused to settle for her mother and, as it often did, time just slipped away. So here she was, sticking out like a sore thumb in this plush office where time seemed irrelevant; that was until the bill was calculated. Luckily they weren’t paying today. K Fredrickson looked up and smiled. “Please take a seat Mr and Mrs Grenville.” Sally and Jack shuffled over to a couple of armchairs, as K Fredrickson continued in a voice devoid of all accent. “Mr Bailiss’ secretary will be down shortly.” Sally sunk into a plush armchair and watched nervously as K Fredrickson went about her business. Idly, she speculated what the K stood for. Katherine was her bet, suitably posh. Some dim-witted daughter of an upper-middle class mate of one of the partners employed for her looks and ingratiating manners. She suspected that K Frederickson’s parents had conspired for her to study classics at Oxford but, when their daughter emerged from her expensive ivy coated private day school with a single A level in Media Studies, all she was fit for was a secretarial course for posh air brained haughties at a, naturally, exclusive college. Sally right about the K, well sort of. K Fredrickson called herself Kate and she would love that to be short for Katherine, but her mother, who she loved dearly, had chosen to call her daughter Cathleen. “But I wanted it to be unique, babe” she’d explained, “so I spelt it the Welsh way.” The price of having a unique spelling for her name proved to be more than a little annoying as pronouncing Cathleen spelt the Welsh way stumped everyone, including her Welsh roommate at Keeble College, Oxford who, when K Fredrickson had confessed that her name wasn’t really Kate, had gently explained to her that she had never heard the name Katllyn before, and more to the point there wasn’t a K in the Welsh language. Sally was wrong about just everything else about the receptionist. K Fredrickson was not posh, her mother worked on the checkpoint at the local budget supermarket while her father toiled on the council bins. And she was far from dim. From an early age her teachers found her to be ferociously intelligent and academically inclined. There was nothing exclusive about K Fredrickson’s school; nevertheless it coached her in interview techniques, and taught her well enough to gather a clutch of top examination grades, enabling her to sail easily into Oxford to study law. K Fredrickson worked at Bailiss & Peters as often as she could, gaining useful experience and using her wage as a part-time receptionist to top up her student loan. The calm silence of the reception area was broken by the appearance of a very prim and proper middle aged matron. “Mr and Mrs Grenville?” she purred. “I’m Marion Shaw, Mr Bailiss’ secretary” Jack and Sally rose slowly. Before either of them could say a word to confirm they were indeed, Jack and Sally Grenville, the desperate parents of a desperately ill child; and they were here to meet Mr Bailiss to discuss a mystery benefactor who might, just might be the solution to everything; the perfectly coiffured matriarch commanded “If you would follow me please.” Turning to K Fredrickson she clipped, “No calls for the next three quarters of an hour, Kate.” Sally smiled at the confirmation of her suspicions. “Yes Mrs Shaw” replied Kate returning Sally’s smile. As they followed Marion Shaw along an oak panelled passageway Sally reflected upon Kate Fredrickson’s smile. There are many types of smile, the happy smile you wear when a day cannot be bettered, the smile of triumph when a rival makes a mistake, and the false smile of welcome from a receptionist who you know will forget you the moment you passed. K Fredrickson’s smile should have been the last on that list, but it was more a smile of sorrow, with just a hint of reassurance. Did she know something that lay ahead? Sally had no more time to contemplate the portent of Kate’s parting glance for Marion Shaw was tapping peremptorily on a solid oak door bearing a shiny brass plaque embossed with the name Trevor Bailis LLB, BLL plus a few more meaningless letters. “Come” came a muffled voice. Marion Shaw opened and held the door as she announced. “Mr and Mrs Grenville for you Mr Bailiss.” Jack and Sally slipped quietly passed the secretary as Trevor Bailiss rose to his feet stretching out his right hand. “Good morning Mr and Mrs Grenville, I do hope you have not been waiting long”. Firm handshakes all round and then “Please sit, do” he said, gesturing to a couple of matching padded chairs set out before his antique desk. Urbane manners dictated that he waited for Sally and Jack to sit before he took his seat in a large red leather padded affair. Trever Bailiss favoured his visitors with a sympathetic smile as he waited for his secretary to take her seat at a far more modest table in the corner of the room. Then, steepling his fingers under his bony chin Trevor pondered how best to broach this delicate task. Sally watched the lawyer as he settled himself. She wished she’d dressed more conservatively now. His perfectly tailored dark grey pin-striped suit showed up her rusk stained t-shirt with AC-lighting stroke-DC stretched across her chest. Looking around the room she suddenly felt underdressed. The décor called out for smart, and the other occupants had obliged. Jack was going straight to work after this meeting, so he was suited and booted. Mrs Shaw, tucked away in her corner sported a crisp white blouse and a pleated dove grey skirt. Trevor Bailiss interrupted her remorseful discourse with a slight cough. “I expect you are wondering why you have been asked to come here?” he didn’t wait for the reply. “I must admit I almost refused this case when I heard of the conditions.” All thoughts of inappropriate clothing disappeared immediately. Sally’s heart missed a beat as he continued. “Let me assure I have checked the credentials of the solicitors I am dealing with and everything appears to be above board.” At this point Trevor Bailiss stalled and mopped his brow with a crisp white handkerchief. Too posh for paper thought Jack. “I’m sorry” he continued less confidently now “but this is the most extraordinary case. I admit I have struggled with my conscience, but finally I felt I had to put this to you for the sake of your son.” Sally and Jack sat silently and stared at the vacillating lawyer. The silence was complete and would have remained so if Sally hadn’t broken in. “Please go on” she said quietly. Trevor Bailiss took a deep breath and visibly calmed. “First things first. I must ascertain you are Sally Grenville. Have you brought some form of identification?” Sally rummaged in her handbag for her passport. She placed it on the polished desk. Jack proffered his but the solicitor waved it away. “No need Mr Grenville, this er matter,” he paused briefly, “perhaps offer is a better word, or opportunity, well nevertheless, it’s only for your wife” Sally shifted uncomfortably on the red velvet of her cushioned antique chair and reached for her husband’s hand as Jack muttered under his breath. He was tired she knew, and his fuse was cut short today. “It’s Ok sweetie,” she reassured him as Trevor Bailiss scrutinised her passport, “we’re just here to listen. “Quite correct, Mrs Grenville” the lawyer said as he handed back her documents, “before I begin I am instructed to tell you that you cannot decide to accept, nor decline the offer today. If you wish to accept then you may contact me any time within the next week, I have been instructed to contact the client’s representatives one week from first contact. If you haven’t responded by that time the offer will have lapsed” Jack was becoming clearly agitated. Not the most patient of men under normal circumstances the stress of Augustus’ illness and the lack of sleep had taken its toll. A posh stuck up lawyer beating about the bush was the final straw. “Just get on with it will you, what do we have to do?” “Well er you, Mr Grenville, nothing really.” “So what’s the problem?” Sally squeezed her husband’s hand. What was she to do? “Please Mr Bailiss, just put me out of my misery,” she asked trying to hide her increasing concern. They watched as Trevor Bailiss took a few deep breaths. He’s not happy with this at all thought Sally. He pursed his lips, looked down at his hands, sighed before in a soft voice, the professional lawyer once more, saying. “Two weeks ago you appeared on a short television news report outlining your son’s illness. I am to replay it to you there is any confusion.” “No, there is no need, we know it well” Sally replied, her final words ‘I’ll do anything’ rumbling through her mind like distant thunder. She felt the storm coming. The grip on her husband’s hand tightened as they waited for the lightning. The lawyer sucked air through his teeth. “The legal firm representing your benefactor or benefactors will pay all of your son’s hospital fees and travelling expenses for all three of you if you provide them with a copy of this news report.” “What!” Jack spat the word out, anger dissipated into relief “Is that it? I’ll send him one, it’s saved on my computer” “No, that is not all of it” replied Bailiss, sadness in his eyes as held Sally’s gaze “Firstly let me assure you our firm has checked and the money is already deposited and is ring fenced until the end of the week. If Mrs Grenville signs the contract, then it will remain on deposit until the contract is completed. If you fulfil the terms of the contract as verified by me then the money is yours” “Right where do we sign” replied Jack, who had not heard the not all of it part, “I’ll upload a copy for you as soon as I get home, or would you prefer it on DVD?” “You are forgetting Mr Grenville, the earliest you can sign the contract is tomorrow.” “Fine, first thing tomorrow morning then” “I’m afraid it is not quite as simple as that. When they say they want a copy, the mysterious benefactor means is they would like you to record the report again, scene for scene.” “And how are we supposed to do that” replied Jack testily. “more to the point, what the point of doing it again?” Jack was confused, this whole thing was taking a bizarre turn. He looked at Sally, “I don’t understand, this makes no sense.” “Please, Mr Grenville, hear me out. It will all make sense eventually” He became flustered again, “well as much of any of this proposal can” Sally pounced on the word, proposal. She’d seen a film of the same name, a devil’s dilemma for high stakes where a rich man offered to pay off a man’s debt if a young attractive wife …….. Sally shivered at the thought, and they were playing for higher stakes – the life of their son! Trevor Bailiss picked up the thread of his discourse in a ‘why me’ tone of voice. “The client will appoint another company to do the filming; indeed, they already have them on retainer.” “OK, OK, but like I said I can’t see the point, but OK, if that’s what they want we’ll do it again” Jack was almost shouting now. “There is however to be one significant difference.” Trevor Bailiss could feel the beating of his heart as he steeled himself, Jack Grenville was not going to take this well. The lawyer swallowed hard and said “In every scene Mrs Grenville must be naked.” There was utter silence in the room. Trevor Bailiss concentrated on the pen on his desk, Mrs Shaw pursed her lips and shook her head slightly as Jack’s face reddened on its way towards purple. Sally knew her husband was ranting, she could see his mouth moving, face contorted with rage, finger jabbing towards a wincing Trevor Bailiss, but she heard nothing, her mind had turned in on itself. As Jack’s storm raged Sally’s mind sailed calmly through what had just been presented to her. In a way she was relieved, at least she wasn’t going to have to sleep with a lascivious millionaire, or, considering the monies needed, a string of them. No unspeakable sexual favours to bestow. She’d dodged the role of the (very highly paid) prostitute and exchanged it for the expensive stripper, they could look, but, no touching involved. She glanced at her husband, muttering vague obscenities with an outrage born of disappointment. Sally understood, there he had been, half way to the New World and salvation, and now his speeding liner had struck the iceberg. He was in the freezing ocean gasping for breath, legs and arms gyrating wildly, fighting in vein against the undertow. Mr Bailiss sat motionless, the broken captain on his bridge staring sadly at the shipwreck he just brought about. Gently she took her husband’s hand. All passion spent Jack’s shoulders drooped in defeat. “I’m sorry for my outburst, Mr Bailiss, Mrs Shaw.” He mumbled like a schoolboy who’d forgotten his homework. “Quite, understandable” the solicitor replied, relieved that it was over. Sally broke her silence. “I think we’d better leave now Mr Bailiss. Thank you for your time.” And taking Jack firmly by the hand she led him away from the dream that had become a nightmare. The drive home was tense to say the least. Three pedestrians and two cyclists nearly joined the heavenly chorus; and if you ignored all the four letter words Jack’s conversation would have lasted three seconds. His wife gripped her seat in silent terror throughout the short, but eventful journey. As soon as they were home Sally’s mother greeted them with Gus in arms. One look at Jack’s face told her things had not gone well. Sally took Gus from his grandmother’s arms and passed him to her husband, full in the knowledge that his would sooth his ire. “I take it things didn’t go too well?” enquired Lily, tentatively. “That would be understatement” Jack growled. His mother-in-law winced at the venom in his voice “Just a hoax?” she ventured Sally spoke for the first time since arriving back. “No. They’ll pay for everything” “So that’s good,” she paused, sensing it wasn’t “isn’t it?” “Ha” spat Jack “Just tell them what they want you to do” Sally took a deep breath and calmly related the conditions. “Pervert!” said her mother “It’s not Mr Bailiss” she replied “he’s acting on behalf a firm who is acting on behalf….. it’s like one of those Russian dolls” “What if I do it?” her mother said. “Oh no” interrupted Jack, “it has to be Sally. Anyway there’s no point in talking about it, it’s not going to happen.” “Hadn’t you be off to work?” Sally asked her husband. “Too angry” he told her through gritted teeth. “I know babe.” She said. Jack wasn’t sure if she was addressing her or the child in her arms. An hour later with Gussie fed and her mother gone Sally slipped upstairs to change. “Where are you off to?” asked Jack. “I’d better get some training in for that marathon” she told him as she planted a kiss on his forehead. Sally hit the park at a hundred miles an hour. She knew she was running too fast, but she couldn’t slow down, her legs pumped and her chest heaved, but she just kept going, replacing oxygen with anger and adrenalin. The pain of the meeting, the shame of what she was being asked to perform were gradually all washed from her mind until all that was left was the road beneath her feet. An hour later, blood filled with lactic acid, she stood bent double gasping for breath. Just as she had on that fateful day when the television cameras followed her before uttering those fateful words. “I’ll do anything” And of course she would, there was no alternative. Head clear she walked the last hundred yards. Jack was slumped in front of the television. He looked up and smiled sheepishly at his wife “good run?” “Oh yes, cleared it all away. I’ll have a quick shower and pop to the shops to get something for supper.” There really was no choice Sally reflected as she stepped out of the shower. She known it all along. The rough towel scraped along her skin as her mind adjusted itself to her fate. Decision made, she did something she hadn’t done for a long, long time. Dropping the towel to the floor she looked at herself in the mirror. ‘Let’s see what they’re getting’ she thought to herself. The woman that stared back was a stranger to her. The last time she had looked at her bare body was the day after Augustus had been confirmed as the country’s only case of Ewing’s sarcoma. That morning she had seen an overweight mother with milk swollen breasts sagging towards a large wedge of fat wrapped across her stomach. She had been a lump, with podgy legs that wobbled as she moved and a lifeless saggy bottom. Where was that woman now? The girl in the mirror had shapely legs that were trim and firm. When she smacked her buttocks they were rock hard. Sally looked in wonder at the flat stomach and the pert breasts of a stranger that had stolen unseen into the bathroom. The only feature she recognised as her own were the tired bags under the eyes and the lines of care etched deep into her face. Suddenly the answer hit her like an ocean wave. How could she have been so stupid? All those tedious miles training for that stupid marathon had done the job that they promised. She was fit and toned and fully prepared. Lingering doubts swept away all that was left was to convince her husband. To that end Sally hit the supermarket. The smell of cooking drifted into the television room. There is nothing like a good steak thought Jack to himself. He sat up with a jerk, since when could they afford steak? It must be budget beef burgers again, but just to be absolutely certain he decided to check. The kitchen was alive as Sally moved from hob to chopping board, not only was there steak, there was a starter and a dessert. An opened bottle of red wine stood breathing on the table. He picked it up and looked at the label. “I thought we were saving this for the day we raised the money” he said with a sudden suspicion creeping into his mind. “Oh let’s face it Jack; we are never going to get enough cash, so we might as well enjoy it now” Sally took the bottle from him and filled two large glasses. She held hers out. “Come on darling, cheers” she said. He chinked his glass on hers and gave a wan smile “Cheers. I’ll just go and change if we are dining posh” “Oh don’t bother about that, we need to eat the first course now” They chattered aimlessly, discussing everything but the biggest topic of the day which lay hanging in the air, like a ripe peach, just waiting for someone to reach out and pluck it. Sally finished her avocado and bacon salad and started on the metaphorical fruit. “If they had asked you Jack, would you do it?” He knew immediately what ‘it’ was. What could he answer? He couldn’t tell her the truth, because of course he’d do it. But he definitely didn’t want her doing it so how could he tell her he’d do it in a heartbeat. “I wasn’t asked to do it” he replied evenly and held his breath. “That’s not what I asked. Would you do it?” “That’s not the point, I can’t let you wander around, do, do all of those things nude, my work, the bus, the park, I won’t have it, do you hear.” “Why, don’t you think I have got the body for it?” “Don’t be stupid, it’s nothing to do with how you look, it’s that people will see you” Jack was getting agitated again. Sally went for the throat, “So you have another option then?” She watched as Jack swallowed hard. “If only it was me” Sally began to collect the plates “well it’s not” she said as she opened the oven door to bring out the boeuf bourguignon. The rich dark smell of the thick sauce filled the kitchen. Jack watched Sally as she spooned it out onto the little used large Wedgewood dishes that had been a wedding present. He sighed, a memory of a time when they had conspired for a happy future. He heard her swear quietly under her breath as some of the heavy sauce splashed onto her white summer dress. “That’ll stain if I don’t get it into the washing machine straight away” “You go up and take it off, while I finish putting this out” he suggested “No time for that” said Sally grabbing the thin straps. With one fluid movement she pulled them down over her shoulders and let the dress fall. Jack’s jaw fell with it. His wife stood there naked in the kitchen. “Stop gawking Jack, it’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before” he was told as Sally bent over, picked up the dress and pushed it into the washing machine. Jack watched her firm rounded behind as she added the powder and set the controls. His hands were on automatic pilot as he ladled out the rest of the stew, his eyes following every move of his bare wife. This was indeed a treat, for although he had seen his wife naked before it had been sometime ago, and he seemed to remember then he had viewed a much saggier body. It was as if somebody had grabbed her behind her waist and pulled all the loose bits tight. Jack drunk it all in because he knew it wouldn’t last. “Shall I put these back in the oven while put you something else on?” In place of a reply his wife sat down at the dinner table. “Don’t want it to spoil it do we?” Somehow Jack didn’t think she was talking about the dinner. They ate in silence at first, as Jack surreptitiously eyed Sally’s pert breasts. The only sounds were the quiet scrape of the cutlery and gurgle of thick gravy. For the second time that evening Sally spilt gravy on her dress. She giggled “Well it won’t leave a stain this time!” and smiled as Jack shot her a dark look. She had planned this as she wandered around the supermarket and was pleased with the outcome. Jack had not uttered a word of reproval to his naked wife. “So you plan to go through with it,” he finally said in complete surrender. Sally smiled and reached across the table for his hand. “You know there is no other choice. Do you think for one moment I would prance about your office starkers if I thought we could raise the money any other way?” She watched as Jack winced as he recalled the final scenes of the news report. “No” he said finally, “I just wish we could do it together.” “I know sweetheart but the old pervert is only interested in my naked flesh. “ Jack winked in what he thought was a seductive manner before starting to unbutton his shirt. “No” said his wife as she drunk noisily from her wine glass “I need to get used to being the only one naked” He watched her wipe a dribble of red from her chin, “but when we have finished……….” She left the sentence hanging like dandelion seeds floating a fragrant summer breeze. The next hour was one of the best Jack could remember as his naked wife, ate, drank, and served the dessert. His libido was certainly rising to the challenge and he was unable to move from his seat when Sally got rather shakily to her feet, did a quick twirl before winking in an unsubtle seductive manner before telling him she would be waiting upstairs with his reward when he had finished the washing up. Jack broke all records filling the dishwasher and, almost bent double, bounded up the stairs two at time, tearing off his shirt, only to be greeted by the thoroughly libido killing sound of snoring from their room. True to her word Sally lay sprawled on the marital bed, naked with legs apart, ready for action. All that was missing was consciousness. Gently Jack covered her body with the duvet before resignedly trudging back down stairs to entertain himself with an hour of cricket. The familiar batting collapse of the England team on the brink of victory seemed to him to be a metaphor for his evening. Gussie had woken twice during the night. Jack had seen to him first, sometime after midnight. The piecing cries of their son’s second distressful awakening failed to break though Jack’s deep sleep. He only realised that Gussie had stirred when his wife, still naked, had climbed back into bed beside him. Half asleep her reached out to hold her. She curved her back into him as he began to stroke her stomach before slowly moving his right hand nipple wards as his left slid stealthily down her back. Within moments his tender ministrations were rewarded with a delightfully drawn out snore. Thwarted once more, Jack’s thoughts turned to Sally’s challenge. How the hell could they replicate the news report. Alright, he could see how the scene in Lily’s tea shop could work. Stick up a closed sign and get his mother-in-law and GayJay to act as if everything was normal. But the park, the bus? Jack stopped himself, if he was thinking of practicalities then he had lost; he’d accepted Sally was going do this and all that was left for him was to support her every inch of the way. His tired, defeated mind surrendered to this thought as a dreamless sleep closed his mind down. Jack woke with a jar. One look at the clock told him he was running late. He turned to his wife only to find a fast asleep Gus between them. Slipping silently from the room Jack tiptoed into the bathroom where he broke all records for his morning routine. He was just about to leave, sandwiches packed in his rucksack, dayglow yellow jacket at the ready for his half hour cycle ride across Nelson to Hazzard when he heard footsteps on the landing. Sally drifted down the stairs to the open front door where Jack stood, keys jingling in his hand, ready to lock it behind him. “Come and say goodbye to Daddy sweetie, he’s off to work.” Jack took his son, and gave him a quick cuddle before handing him back to his wife. “Have a good day sweetheart” she told him giving him a peck on the cheek, before whispering, “I’ll phone another lawyer and check it’s all above board.” Her husband sighed, “Yes, we don’t want to find this is all a hoax.” She pointed to the clock on the wall, “better be on your way, or you’ll be late. I won’t come out to see you off, not in this rain.” “Er- no - probably for the best” he told her as she stepped away from the door. Once he was sure his naked wife had not been visible to anyone on the street outside Jack strapped on his cycle helmet and headed out into the thick drizzle collect his bike from the community store across the road. Following an uneventful ride across town, a thoroughly sodden Jack arrived at work low in spirits. He wheeled his bike into the almost empty Perspex covered shed next to the main entrance. Genial Harry Cromarty, sole proprietor, managing director and master of all he surveyed at Hazzard Engineering was immensely proud of his bike shed, which needless to say had been provided free of charge by the local council keen to promote all things green. As Jack knew all to well Harry was all front, so that’s where the bike park was, right by the main entrance for all passers-by to see. The staff car park to the rear had three times the capacity and was always full even on sunny days. Jack contemplated his employer’s morals as he squelched his way to the front entrance carrying his rucksack stuffed with dry clothes. Harry never missed an opportunity for self-promotion, hence the news report on Gussie’s affliction that now loomed large and grim, a portentous storm on the horizon. The manipulative entrepreneur had used all his persuasive wiles to twist the arm of some golfing buddies to record a report to camera about one of his highly valued employees who had fallen on hard times. Just as Harry had planned, half of the hard luck story thrust upon a sympathetic early evening audience was a crude advertisement for Hazzard engineering. This fact may well have escaped the casual viewer slumped on a couch enjoying a take away pizza with the first glass of wine of the evening; but Harry’s hard working staff got the message aright. It had been as plain as the metre-high bright yellow jazzy company sign in front of the perfectly manicured flower bed by the front door. Harry had greeted Jack and Sally with an outstretched hand and beaming smile as the camera panned across the company’s name. That had been on a bright spring morning when the daffodils glowed as vividly as the words Hazzard Engineering. How could they recreate that? The daffodils were long gone, replaced by blood red geraniums that glistened in the dripping morning rain on this late May day. Oh he could see the three of them standing there, genial Harry pumping his hand as Sally stood at his side wearing nothing but a warm smile. But how could the silvery spring sunshine and the glaring garish yellow of the daffodils be reproduced? He shook his head and chastised himself for thinking of practicalities again. Sally’s predicament should be his only concern. “Morning Jack.” The security guard greeted him as he made his way into the small entrance hall. “Morning Tom” he replied. Tom was new, would he be acceptable in the revamped report or would they have to dig old Steve Meadon out of retirement for one last hurrah? And what a hurrah it would be for Steve. It came to Jack that these details did matter, what if Sally fulfilled all of the conditions and recreated every scene completely naked only for the hidden benefactor to renege on the deal because it wasn’t a true copy of the original? Another question for Trevor Bailiiss to feed into the labyrinth that led to the hidden lair where the twisted devil was hiding. Jack looked at his watch, he’d enough time to emulate his wife and get naked in Hazzard Engineering. So, passing the prominent sign “Cyclists’ Showers”, he squelched along the small corridor to what had once been the staff smoking lounge. Jack happily removed his sodden biking gear and hung it in the drying area beneath a plaque boasting proudly of the contribution of the Nelson Eagles. A charitable association with an exclusive membership. Needless to say Harry Cromarty was a member, as was every other prominent small business owner in the town. Jack couldn’t complain too much; they had offered a substantial donation towards Sally’s marathon. Not enough, sadly, for his wife to spurn the naked demands of their new mysterious backer. Dry, warm, and dressed in his office uniform Jack headed upstairs to the spacious airy office he shared with his colleague Tommy Hughes. “Morning Jack” “Morning Tom, anything new” Tommy waved a piece of paper in the air, “New order from Kropper’s. All hands to the pump” Two solid hours of work later they stopped for a coffee. Tommy leaned back in his chair and dunked a digestive. “You look knackered mate, rough night?” “You could say that” Jack replied. “How many times?” “Twice, that I know of. I think Sal picked up a couple more.” Tommy shook his head sympathetically. “Hard on you both.” Jack was grateful for Tommy’s support. He knew Sally didn’t like him but he’d had his back for so long now. Jack knew he hadn’t been pulling his weight since Gussie had been born and Tommy had covered some glaring lapses in Jack’s workload. And it wasn’t just at Hazzard that Tommy had proved himself. He’d joined Jack for the parachute jump, adding a sizeable contribution to Gussie’s fund. He’d tried to convince his wife that Tommy was one of the good guys, but Sally was had him labelled as a creep. He could see why, the roll neck jumpers, the heavy black rimmed glasses, and the fact that Tommy still lived with his widowed mother. He was just shy around women, that was all. Jack knew what had really tipped Sally’s scales against Tommy. The Visit. The crew had wanted some shots of Jack working in the office, which brought Tommy into the picture. “The three of you together.” The director had called, “Mrs Grenville in the middle.” They’d perched on the edge of Jack’s workstation desk, Sally snuggling into Jack’s side, as far from Tommy as she could get. But as it was for all cameramen, so it was for this; the shot was all that mattered, “Squeeze closer, Mr Hughes.” And Tommy had. “Smile” he said, and they had, all three of them. For Jack it had been a grin of a man convinced this would be his salvation, and, in a very roundabout way, it was about to become just that. Sally’s was the forced smile of a woman who would rather been anywhere else other than in close bodily contact with the grinning Tommy Hughes. “See,” she told Jack accusingly when they watched the final cut, “look at that evil leer, he’s a predator!” Jack couldn’t see it himself. “He’s just shy around women” he tried to explain, “he was happy to stay the other side of the desk, it was the director who made us sit that close.” “No. Look at that smirk!” “Oh for God’s sake Sally, that’s just put on for the camera, you know how hard it is to look natural” But Sally could not be persuaded, and now she would have to play that close encounter on his desk all over again. And knowing Tommy and how shy he was, it wouldn’t be just Sally who would be embarrassed. Of course, Tommy was the least of his worries. That fateful day they’d taken the full tour of the building. Happy Harry had insisted that as everyone working for Hazzard had chipped into Jack and Tommy’s parachute fund they should all get their fifteen seconds of fame. So there were shots of Sally walking along every grimy corridor, shaking hands in cheery gratitude with all the various technicians and assistants – even the cleaning staff had turned in for their brief brush with fame. As predictable as ever, the lugubrious proprietor, genial Harry Cromerty hogged the limelight accompanying them on their tour before handing over a large fake cheque. Jack remember the clicking of the cameras as he held up the oversized piece of cardboard while Sally landed a peck on Harry’s ruddy cheek. That was how it had been two months ago. He had watched the men eying her, dressed in tight pale blue jeans that emphasised her taut buttocks and a close-fitting red jumper that showed off her small bust. It gnawed at his guts, an uncomfortable feeling that would soon become fact. They would play that scene again with one minor costume change. Worse of all would be having to pretend his wife was fully dressed as he cheerfully pumped hands with his workmates and ignored the patently obvious fact that Sally was as naked as the day she was born. He could have coped if he could share her mortification but that was forbidden, the requirement was for him was to be fully dressed, chatting amiably to one and all. If only, if only he could find this pervert. But the pervert was safely hidden behind walls of lawyers, who in their turn were hidden by another wall of lawyers, and, for all Jack knew he or they were half a world away. Never had a day at work dragged so much, every moment was agony, every time the door opened he could picture his wife striding confidently into his office, shoulders held back, breasts bouncing with each footfall. He pictured his fellow workers, who would also have to act as if they were oblivious to her nudity as all the while their furtive eyes scanned every inch of her bare flesh. Sally greeted him home with a smile. She and her mother had visited a solicitor in down town Nelson and he had been thorough. The money was there, in trust for a week, with an option to remain until completion of the deal. He had checked the contract and, should Sally fulfil, what he described in a masterful understatement, its most unusual terms, young Gussie would be saved. “So what happens now” he asked. “We see Mr Bailiss the day after tomorrow at five o’clock” she replied. “Your mum will look after Gussie, I’ll meet you at Hazzard” “Oh” he said. “Give me a chance to size up one of the tasks ahead!” she replied bravely. . Next The following day Jack set off extra early for work. They had an appointment booked at Bailiss and Peters late that afternoon and the last thing he needed now was for Harry Crom to think he wasn’t putting in the hours. Needless to say his boss would have other things on his mind following his request to allow Sally to visit Hazzard Engineering in the buff - with a camera crew in tow. Having put the finishing touches to the Kropper order by tenish that morning, Jack and Tommy had nothing to do but wait for an outcome. Would it be a yes; an outright no; or more work required to brush up the order. From bitter experience they both expected more work to be coming their way, so it came as some surprise when Harry called them into his palatial office to inform them Kropper’s were very pleased and congratulated them both on a job well done. Happy Harry was so delighted he gave them both the afternoon off. “Pub?” asked Tommy as he cleared his desk and locked his filing cabinet. So tempting thought Jack. He could feel the comforting quiet embrace of their local, the Princess Alice. His dry mouth salivated at the thought of the cold amber liquid foaming in a long tall glass. “Afraid not, much as I’d love to, we’ve a meeting at some solicitors” Tommy raised an eyebrow. “New funds. We hope.” Tommy gave him a double thumbs up. “Hope it works out. You both deserve a break.” Jack and Sally’s second visit to Bailiss and Peters was more muted than the first. This time Sally decided to dress the part of a client of the most exclusive firm of solicitors in Nelson. There was no waiting, Marion Shaw greeted them at the door and whisked them both quickly past a curious Kate into the inner sanctum of Trevor Bailiss’ urbane office. “Good afternoon Mr and Mrs Grenville.” Trevor Bailiss greeted them somewhat nervously. He doesn’t like this just as much as I don’t thought Sally. Grasping her husband’s hand for courage she took a deep breath and quickly blurted. “To business, Mr Bailiss. I accept the proposal.” Sally felt Jack stiffen in his chair as Mr Bailiss’ face contorted into a mixture shock, sadness and sympathy. Marion Shaw filled in the silence. “I have the contract here,” she said gently as she crossed the room with a single piece of paper in hand. “It’s fairly straightforward” Trevor Bailiss told them, “if one can describe such an extraordinary demand in those terms.” Sally let Jack read the wording, “perhaps you could summarize Mr Bailiss” “Yes, er, of course, umm well.” He stroked his reddening cheeks in a very visible attempt to regain self-control. He’s as far out of his depth as I am Sally thought. “Very simply, it’s an agreement to extend the length of time the money currently held in trust to two months. When the firm representing the mysterious benefactor…. Or maybe benefactors….. it’s not clear how many are involved…. receive a copy of the television news clip where you, Mrs Grenville have re-enacted every scene” Trevor Bailiss paused, closed his eyes briefly as he summoned all his courage to utter the word. “Naked.” Sally could feel his relief as the solicitor cleared that personal hurdle. Now he was on the finishing straight. “Then the money will be transferred to the charity you have set up for your son.” Jack spoke for the first time, quiet and controlled, “I have some questions on the practicalities of this enterprise. Firstly, who will replace the team from Nelson News?” Trevor Bailiss brightened, “Ah well yes, I’ve been informed that an independent film maker is to be employed, er her name is…” he shuffled a few papers, “Maisie Moscow. Mrs Shaw has telephoned her to test the water so to speak” Marion Shaw piped up from her spot in the corner of the room. “She was very blasé about the whole enterprise. Told me to let her know when we get the go ahead. She’ll plan everything, all Mrs Greville will need to do is turn up.” “And do my thing” sighed Sally. “Yes er quite.” The vacillating solicitor replied. “Who’ll pay her?” queried Jack. “Oh we will.” Trevor Bialiss. “We?” Jack asked sharply. “Bailiss and Peters, it will be included in our expenses which we’ll pass on to your benefactors.” “And what about security?” asked Jack, who, now that his wife had agreed to parade around nude in public, felt the least he could do is take care of her safety. “Ms Moscow has some experience of public nudity, well a lot from her film company’s resume, so I’m assuming she’ll look after you.” “And secrecy. What will happen to the recording?” “Oh, er, yes, I’m to send it to a firm of attorneys in New Orleans.” “So the perverts are Americans.” Jack spat out. “I don’t think so.” Trevor Bailiss wiped his sweating brow with a freshly ironed handkerchief, “I had a discrete word and they intimated they were acting as a front.” “So we’ll have no idea who will get to see a film of my stark naked wife going about her daily business?” “No.” admitted a flustered Trevor Bailiss. Sally knew her husband well, he was getting well and truly wound up about the thought of Sally’s forthcoming exposure. “I think,” she said squeezing his hand for reassurance, “we need to set those worries aside, Jack. Let’s face it I’m going to be naked all over town.” “Yes, about that” Jack began. “Not now Jack.” Sally pleaded. “No, it’s a serious point.” “Please Jack, if I’m arrested then it will be in a worthy cause.” Trevor Bailiss cut in. “I’ve been brushing up on the current law. There’s no law against being naked in public, unless you’re behaving in a lewd manner. Which won’t be the case. So if the police intervene all they will do is ask you to get dressed.” Sally took her husband’s hand, and looked him in the eye. “We both know I have to do this.” She turned towards Marion Shaw, “where do I sign?” “No, wait.” Jack exclaimed. Sally sighed, “No more please Jack, don’t make this harder than it already is for me.” “No, no, Sally I have another serious practical point to make” His wife let out a slow breath. “Go on, then, if you must.” “Over half of the report is set in Hazzard Engineering, which means we’re going to need Mr Cromerty’s permission to film there. So what happens if he refuses to allow it, especially with the new, err, conditions.” Sally snorted. “What; Happy Harry, saying no to me spending half a day wandering around his works in the nud!” she exclaimed. “he’ll think it’s Christmas come early. “Not all publicity is good publicity, Sally.” Jack replied in a reasonable tone of voice, “and keeping this second filming a secret would be unlikely, to say the least.” “It is a fair point, and one I have already considered.” Trevor Bailiss told them. “Excluding for Mr Grenville’s workplace, most of the report could be redone again clandestinely.” Sally shot him a puzzled look. What sort of world did Trevor Bailiss live in if he thought a naked woman running through the park would go unnoticed? Her reply was more measured, “I don’t expect to get through this without a few startled looks.” The lawyer favoured her with a sad look. “Well no, I’m afraid once you start on this all dignity will be gone. But scenes of you walking along the street and such can be performed much like a streaker at a sports event. Everyone’s attention is on the game and suddenly, hey presto there’s someone on the field in the nude. That’s not going to work at Hazzard. And also as Mr Cromerty had a prominent role in the first production you will certainly need to have a long conversation with him.” Jack noisily sucked air through his teeth. He’d known this all along, and wasn’t looking forward to it. “As a prominent businessman with a reputation in the town, Mr Cromerty may well require some assurance that everything is above board and I have been authorised by the benefactors to reply to any requests for confirmation. My advice would be to sign the contract before talking to him. Then I’d be in a position not just to reassure Mr Cromerty the of the conditions forced upon you, but also that you were committed to following them.” “And if he says no?” Asked Sally, although she could see the devil ice skating to the office before Happy Harry turned down an offer to spend half a day in her naked company. “Then you won’t be able to fulfil the terms of the agreement so the contract will be null and void.” “So asking Harry is the top of the list” Sally said reaching for the pen. “Just one more technicalty!” Jack said. Sally huffed and glared. “I was looking around Hazzard today and it’s not the same as it was when we filmed the news report.” “What do you mean?” Sally demanded suspiciously. She’d made up her mind and just wanted to get on with the whole thing now. “Well they want the original report replicated, yes?” “Correct” replied Trevor Bailiss. “Ok, so old Steve, the security guard at Hazzard has retired, so he won’t be there. And Harry’s had his office redecorated, and the flowers outside are different. So the final report won’t look the same.” Sally favoured him with a dirty look and shrugged, “Minor details, whoever is behind this is only interested in in what I’ll be wearing.” “I know that, but, what if we do the whole shoot, send off the video to whoever, and then they refuse to pay because we haven’t replicated the original.” “Oh come on Jack , you’re just clutching at straws now, you never wanted me to do this…..” Trevor Bailiss cut in. “No, no Mrs Grenville, not all, Mr Grenville has a very valid point. We certainly don’t want you going through all of this only to find the… I hesitate to use the word benefactors but I suppose that what they could be called…” He stopped, gathered his thread and continued. “The last thing we want is for them to be in possession of a video of Mrs Grenville’s naked excursions and then refuse to pay for young Augustus’ procedure on a technicality.” Sally suddenly went all cold as she swallowed that uncomfortable little morsel. Quietly she put the pen down and handed the contract back to the solicitor’s clerk. “I think I need to make some enquiries before I allow Mrs Grenville to sign this contract.” He checked his watch, “it will be mid-morning in New Orleans, I’ll phone them now and get them to forward our concerns. It’s unlikely there’ll be a response until tomorrow.” Trevor Bailiss stood abruptly, hand stretched out to shake. “I’ll contact you as soon as I hear.” Sally had left Gussie in the care of her sister while they visited the law firm. “Well” Rachael demanded as soon as Jack had closed the door. “A few problems to iron out.” “Let me guess, it was all a hoax, or have the deviants found more ways to humiliate you?” she said angrily Rachael had not taken the news of the offer to save her nephew well to say the least. She had ranted and raved for at least ten minutes about some rich sadistic pervert with a small penis who wanted to fulfil his empty sex life by forcing her sister to display her bare body in public. “You’ll never be able to walk the streets of Nelson again,” she warned. “Every man you pass will know exactly what you look like beneath your clothes!” With barely a pause for breath Rachael had ploughed on, “and every woman would be thinking there goes that hussy.” “But at least I’d be a hussy with a living son.” Sally had countered, almost in tears. And that was all it took. Rachael crossed the room, hugged her sister and asked how she could help. But, like Jack, she still held a nagging suspicion that there was some trick being played and as soon as Sally’s little video was uploaded to who know where the money would vanish into the ether with it. “The delay has nothing to do with their demands.” Sally told her. “Jack had a sound query, and Mr Bailiss was adamant that he needed clarity of this issue before he would allow me to sign the contract.” Rachael glared at her brother-in-law. “Well!” “Well,” Jack began patiently, “in the original there’s a scene of you and Sally walking through the park.” “Yes” “At that time it was early spring. Now it’s summer and all the trees are in leaf and the bushes have grown.” Rachael snorted her derision, “So what; the bushes have grown, do you seriously think the slimy men who will sitting in front of their monitors watching my sister stroll along the path towards the playground are going to be looking at the shrubbery, all they’ll be eyeing will be Sally’s lady bits shooting the breeze.” Rachael abruptly turned to her sister and headed off at a tangent, “Speaking of bushes, I hope you haven’t trimmed yours, you want all the cover you can get.” “Oh come on Rachael” Sally snapped back, “I can barely find the time to train for this stupid marathon. So, no I haven’t popped to Mandy’s beauticians for a Brazilian, and yes there’s plenty of fuzz on my fanny!” Jack nodded empathically in confirmation as he waited for the two sisters to exhaust the topic of pubic topiary. “So why the delay.” demanded Rachael getting back on track. Jack carefully outlined his suspicions and why Trevor Bailiss had paused Sally’s signing pending further clarification. He watched Rachael’s eyes flicker from side to side as she pondered the possible ramifications. The very idea of her sister doing all that was asked of her, totally naked, and then being tricked out of her due reward heightened her hatred of the men who were making this offer. And Rachael was very firm that it was a man, or more likely a group of “seedy little men” behind this. Jack mostly agreed with her. Contrarily, Sally had an idea that the purpose was to publicly humiliate her, and if that was the case some catty woman could well be at the bottom of this. Either way it mattered not to her, as long as Gussie could be saved Sally couldn’t care less. Rachael, on the other hand, was fuming. “And did the sanctimonious Reverend Bailiss give some clue as to who was behind this,” she demanded. “He’s dealing with a firm in New Orleans.” “Americans, I should have known!” “No, they report to another firm, who report to another, who……” Jack let the sentence drop off. “And does he know where the trail ends?” Jack shrugged. “I’ll prod him on Sunday.” Rachael said, for as well as being the town’s most expensive lawyer, Trevor Bailiss was an unpaid priest at St. Claire’s, Rachael’s local conduit to the Almighty. “Leave it, Rachael,” her sister commanded, “the last thing I want is for Gussie’s benefactor to pull out because we’re getting too close.” “And what about my offer?” “No Rachael, Mr Bailiss has made it clear, it’s me they want, only me.” “What offer?” Jack asked. “Big sis here offered to chaperone me throughout the filming, wearing the same outfit.” Jack was stunned. Mouth open he stared at his sister-in-law. Looking at their faces nobody would doubt that Rachael and Sally were sisters. The same wide set dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, the broad smiles. But that was it, Sally was slim, lithe and petite, whereas Racheal, well if anyone wanted a dictionary definition of the term statuesque applied to the female form, then Racheal was your girl. And the very thought of seeing her naked…….. “But you’ve no idea how much your offer meant to me, I really appreciated it.” Sally said, closing that door forever. Another day, another visit to Bailiss and Peters. Trevor Bailiss had telephoned Sally midmorning to tell her he was in a position to recommend her signing the contract. Wary of taking more time off work, Jack had prevailed upon the sympathetic lawyer’s good nature and arranged a brief meeting during what would have been his lunch break. Assuming the ink would be well and truly dry on the contract by late afternoon Jack had then telephoned Happy Harry’s secretary, the very prim and proper Peggy, to ask for an emergency appointment with the owner, CEO, major and only shareholder of Hazzard engineering, one Harry Cromerty. “May I inform Mr Cormerty what it’s about.” She demanded haughtily. “Er, it’s another fund raising opportunity for my son’s treatment” he told her thanking all his lucky stars that Peggy hadn’t featured in the original TV report. Persuading happy Harry to let Sally shake his hand in the altogether would be a steep ask. Talking Peggy around to the idea would be akin to scaling the North Face of the Eiger. “Mr Cromerty is a very busy man you know, Jack.” “Yes, Peggy, but if you could just slip us in.” “Us?” “My wife will accompany me.” There was pause and Jack could just make out the tapping of keys. “Four thirty.” “Thanks.” Jack replied. “I’ve had further clarification in writing.” Trevor Baillis told them. He sipped the coffee that an unobtrusive K Fredrickson had brought them earlier. Bone china cups and saucers with silver teaspoons. (No greasy engineers mugs with risqué slogans here.) “The parties gifting the money have conceded that replicating the setting of each scene identically will be impossible. They also understand there’s no way you can identify and find any passers-by that appear in the original report. They would, however, find it suspicious, however if there was nobody around at all.” “Okay, but let’s face it, take the three people waiting at the bus stop for example.” Jack interrupted, Sally grimaced as she felt another piece of pedantry was coming. It was a brief scene, the director had called it a filler, linking her morning routine with a visit to her mothers’ café, the cheesily named T-Pot. “When my wife strolls up to the bus stop pushing our son in his buggy how are you going to stop anyone in the queue reacting to the very obvious fact she’s not wearing any clothes!” Sally gulped; the whole enterprise suddenly very real to her. “Yes, well….” Trevor Bailiss blushed, “This had crossed my mind too. When I put this point to them I was told this was the reason they suggested Ms Moscow’s company and if I watched some of her output I’d understand.” Having recovered from the shock Sally asked, “and did you?” “Well, er, um, no I decided a better option would be to contact Ms Moscow herself. She convinced me there were ways – tricks of the trade so to speak. Needless to say everyone who took an active part, relatives, people you obviously know and staff still employed at Hazzard are expected to take part and to behave in the same way as the first time around. This means they must ignore Mrs Grenville’s nudity.” “Anymore?” asked Jack. “One last addition.” “And extra scene?” asked Sally. “No, not exactly.” Trevor Bailiss was squirming in his seat again. “Hit me,” she said “Well, now the possibility of subterfuge in the finished product has been brought to the donors’ attention they have asked me to verify that it is Mrs Grenville in the video and not a body double. “How are you supposed to do that?” she replied slowly, sensing a trap. “When complete you must attend a viewing of the video in these offices Mrs Grenville” He paused, “To ensure that it is actually you, someone from this office must affirm that the, er, well um, body in the film is yours. They stipulate, therefore, you must be naked throughout the viewing. I will then have to sign an affidavit to confirm that it was you. I will ask Mrs Shaw to undertake this task on my behalf. I trust her implicitly.” He caught the feral look on Jack’s face and blurted. “Naturally your husband will be here to support you.” Sally sighed as she looked at her lap. Mentally she stripped away her green patterned dress to reveal the very sensible pair of knickers she had chosen to wear today. Her imagination whipped these away to expose the curly brown bush her sister had advised her to keep as a small vestige of modesty. Sally pursed her lips and nodded before raising her eyes to see Trevor Bailiss’ face glowing tomato red. He was so shaken at the thought of Sally’s bare bottom gracing one of his office chairs he had forgotten why he had advised her to delay signing the agreement that lay on the desk in front of him. If it ever came to light that he hadn’t personally checked her naked form the donors’ could well declare the contract null and void. “I think we’d best keep to what they say. We don’t want any last minute hitches we?” “Oh, er yes, I see your point.” he muttered. “Anyway, by the end of the filming I suspect sitting here in the nude drinking tea with a nice digestive on the side will be a piece of cake.” Trevor Bailiss sat back in his seat, lips pursed firmly together. He had the demeanour of a Christian who’d just been told he was off to meet his lion. Sally was astonished, could he really be that straight-laced? She couldn’t think of many men who would pass up the offer to entertain a naked young woman. “Oh er well, I suppose, if that’s your decision, I’ll have to grin and bear it” He gulped involuntarily and started to cough as he realised the full portent of his reply. Sally smiled at the old man’s embarrassment as Jack ground his teeth. “Time to sign.” She announced. Marion Shaw crossed the room and handed the contract and a pen to Sally who passed them straight to her husband. “Just check that darling” she told him imperiously. “So the next time I’ll be in this room I’ll be starkers” she said convivially. Marion Shaw answered “No, we have one more meeting scheduled for tomorrow at five.” Jack interrupted “This seems all in order,” handing Sally the document and pen. Her hand hovered over the line next to her printed name. Now or never she thought. “To meet the film director” Marion Shaw explained. “I see” replied Sally as she signed away her dignity with a flourish before handing the document to the legal secretary to witness. Standing abruptly Sally shook her and Mr Bailiss’ by the hand. “Right Jack, on to see Happy Harry and if all goes well we’ll be back tomorrow.” “Good luck” Marion Shaw said as she ushered them out past an increasingly curious K Fredrickson who was manning the outer office. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll need luck.” Sally replied as she watched K Fredrickson’s perfectly manicured eyebrows shoot rapidly upwards. K Fredrickson wasn’t the only administrative assistant to wonder about a meeting attended by Sally and Jack that afternoon. Peggy Ashcromb, Harry Cromerty’s long serving PA who had booked in the meeting earlier ushered them both into the inner sanctum. She’d half hoped that Harry would need her to stay and take some notes and hovered hopefully near the door. A peremptory “Thank you, Peggy,” put paid to those hopes; sending her back to her filing. She’d just finished when Harry came in and told to her to find the phone number for Bailiss and Peters. “Ask for Trevor Bailiss personally. When he’s on the line patch it through to the phone on my desk.” “Sure thing, Harry.” Peggy replied with a question in her voice. “Oh and Peggy….” “Yes” she said looking for some sort of explanation. “I’m busy, no visitors or phone calls until further notice.” Peggy raised her questioning eyes to meet his. “Except for the one from Trevor Bailiss of course.” Kate Fredrickson answered. “Mr Bailiss told me to expect your call” she told Peggy, “putting you through now.” “Hello” “Hold the line please, transferring you now.” Peggy said robotically. There was click as Kate Fredrickson cut her connection. She was itching to know why Sally and Jack had visited twice this week, and had another appointment booked for tomorrow. Normally there was some indication, a dropped comment here, a misplaced word there, a document file left open on the desk, or a screen not switched off. But not with the Grenvilles, security for them was tighter than a duck’s rear end. It would have been so easy to plug in her earphones and find out, and as she alone was manning the main switchboard nobody would be able to tell. But K Fredrickson was an Oxford law student with aspirations. Client confidentiality was sacrosanct and paramount to her. Peggy Ashcromb felt the same way. Once. A very long time ago. Now she had no compunction about snooping on her boss. She didn’t do it often as she had found from bitter experience most of Harry’s phone calls were dull. There’s only so many conversations about the nuts and bolts of engineering a gossip of Peggy’s standing could take. Peggy justified her spying on a need to know basis. She needed to know what Harry was up to so wouldn’t be caught on the hop. This call didn’t fit into that category but Sally and Jack’s fund raising antics were well known throughout Nelson and something told her that this conversation would give her some premium tittle-tattle to share at tonight’s whist drive. Five minutes later her eyes were bursting out of their sockets as the full portent of the Grenville’s next challenge hit home. Abruptly the door to Harry’s office opened and he strode purposefully into her office. At this point a lesser sneak might have been caught. But Peggy had been spying on Harry for a long time now, and she had developed a cast iron set of defences. She already had a half completed memo loaded and a quick click of the mouse resumed the voice recording Harry had sent to be typed up before lunch. Coolly Peggy removed her headphones allowing her boss to hear the sound of his own voice before she paused the playback. Resisting the urge to smile as the suspicious expression was wiped from her boss’ face she enquired, “Yes, Harry?” Foiled again in his attempt to catch Peggy out Harry Cromerty swallowed the rebuke he had been planning to deliver and said instead, “Bailiss and Peters have just sent a document to the company account. Can you print me enough copies for every employee?” Peggy turned to her computer and tippy tapped away. “Oh,” she exclaimed as she read the wording, “a non-disclosure document.” “We’re recording another news report about Jack and Sally’s fundraising,” Harry told her, hoping Peggy would utter some discretion that would give her away. Not a chance! “Would you like me to mail merge it?” Peggy asked innocently. “What?” queried Harry, who had been expecting her to grill him on what she had just read. Inwardly chuckling at wrong footing Harry yet again, Peggy went on to explain. “I can individualize each copy,” she told him Harry still looked puzzled. “It would start ‘I Harry Cromerty agree not to…..’ and so on.” “You can do that?” “Yes Harry.” “How long will it take.” Normally Peggy would have told him the rest of the afternoon, but eager to find out more she told him the truth, “ten minutes.” “Good, but there’s no need for me to sign one, nor Jack” Harry told her. Knowing she had been on holiday when the film crew had descended on Hazzard engineering for the original report Peggy didn’t see a reason for her to sign a document agreeing not to talk about being filmed talking to a stark naked Sally Grenville. Pointing this out to Harry, of course, would have been an admission of listening in to the telephone call where Trevor Bailiss had confirmed that the whole project was above board; (if prancing around Nelson in the nicky nacky noo could ever be considered to be allowable), and that on completion of the video to the satisfaction of some mystery donor, Augustus Granville would receive his life saving treatment. Peggy’s thoughts turned to Sally Grenville as she watched the documents rolling out the printer. Never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. And in this case it would be just her shoes. How desperate must the poor girl be if she was prepared to do this? With a sad sounding whir the last page floated into the printer tray. Peggy picked up the warm pile of freshly printed NDAs and carried them into Harry’s office. Sally was still shaking from the full, frank conversation she and Jack had just had with Harry Cromerty. No, Happy harry wasn’t keen on Sally recreating her previous performance in front of the camera sans couture. Yes, he understood their predicament and would love to help, but should the video creep out on to the internet, “And creep is the word that comes to mind, Jack!” He admonished wagging his finger vigorously. “I’m thinking of the company’s reputation here.” Jack refrained from pointing out that it would be small fry compared to the humiliation his wife would experience if the footage became public. “Hell,” stormed Harry, “look at the workforce, you expect them to keep their mouths shut about this!” “Please, Mr Cromerty.” Sally couldn’t believe she was begging her husband’s to boss to allow her to be nude in his office. “We have assurances that the video is for private consumption only,” Well, that was what she hoped, and on reflection there was no evidence to the contrary. “Perhaps if you rang Trevor Bailiss, he’s handling this from our end.” Harry had looked up sharply, “Trevor Bailiss? Really? You do surprise me, he’s a very pillar of respectability, how did you rope him into this?” Jack answered “We didn’t, the benefactors contacted us through him.” Harry closed one eye and wrinkled his nose. Jack tapped his wife’s knee, a signal to say nothing. Over his years at Hazzard Engineering Jack had come to recognise this as a sure sign that his boss was considering something. Suddenly both eyes were staring directly at the two of them, “He’s prepared to confirm this?” “Mr Bailiss is expecting a call from you.” Sally told him, spying just a chink of light. Harry Cromerty rose quickly, emitted a short huff, and left the room. Jack and Sally held each other’s hand in silent prayer as they heard Harry telling Peggy to get hold of Trevor Bailiss. The next quarter of an hour was agony for Sally. She and Jack sat tentatively, waiting for some sign. Sally was resigned to doing it, as she referred to her commitment to baring all, all over town. But a no from Happy Harry would dash all her hopes and Gussie would be condemned to a lingering, painful childhood with no prospect of an adult life. For a whole quarter of an hour silence reigned, as Harry Cromerty sat listening to Trevor Bialiss. Jack could hear the buzz of his voice but, unlike a wide eyed Peggy in the adjoining room, had no idea what he was saying. Occasionally Harry would grunt, or whistle slowly through his teeth. The most he said was “I see.” Then the tide turned, now Harry did all the talking, his only concern, the reputation of his firm. “If, and I mean if, I let this go ahead.” He began as Sally’s heart leaped with joy, “I don’t want it spread around Nelson.” “I can assure you Mr Cromerty, neither do we.” Jack interrupted. Harry held up his hand to silence him. “Well Mr Bailiss.” The lawyer’s voice buzzed in the earpiece of Harry’s desk phone. Eventually there was acquiescence of a sort as with a deep breath Harry said, “If all those conditions can be met, then I’ll agree.” He hung up and turned to Jack and Sally. “I’m prepared for you to do this providing it remains a secret.” “Oh don’t worry, Mr Cromerty” Sally replied, “the last thing I want is my exposure to become public.” “Well, I don’t know how you’ll get away with running round the park starkers, but I don’t want a word about you visiting here with nothing on to escape.” “Like Sally said, the last thing we want……” Harry cut him off with a raised hand, “I understand that, it’s the rest of the staff that worries me.” “I’m sure if I asked……..” Sally began. Harry cut her off. “I’m not prepared to take that chance, Trevor Bailiss has come up with a non-disclosure agreement which they’ll have to sign. If they all do, then I’ll let this go ahead.” Jack was just about to volunteer to speak to his co-workers when his boss, leapt to his feet and abruptly opened the door that lead to the outer office. Jack and Sally heard Peggy calmly saying “Yes Harry?” before the door closed behind him. Sally squeezed her husband’s hand, “so far so good,” she whispered. And then Harry was back, “one day I’ll catch her out.” he muttered disgruntledly. “Who?” asked Sally. “Oh, just speaking to myself.” He replied gruffly before continuing, “Right, I’ll see all the staff about this matter and get back to you if I get an agreement. Mind you, if just one of them refuses to sign, that’s it I’m afraid.” “We understand; you will reinforce what this means to us won’t you?” Sally asked. “Don’t worry on that score.” Harry paused, tapped his desk, “Sally, would you mind talking to Peggy about this, I think it might be better coming from another woman.” “But she wasn’t in the report, she was away.” Jack said. “She’s signing an NDA come what may.” Harry told them emphatically. Moments later, Peggy breezed in with the documents. “Sit down for a moment Peggy, Mrs Grenville wants to explain about her new charity challenge.” Conscious she would need to provide an Oscar winning performance to hide she already knew what Sally was going to say, Peggy sat primly on her usual chair to the right of Harry Cromerty’s desk. “But first I’d like you to sign the PDA.” “I don’t know, I’m not keen…. What’s it for anyway?” “It’s to try and keep Jack and Sally’s charity challenge secret.” “I don’t understand” blurted Peggy (who understood only too well why Harry wanted to keep it under wraps), “surely they need all the publicity they can get?” “Not this time, Peggy, this challenge will pay off all the bills. There’s no need for anyone else to get involved.” “Wow” she exclaimed looking at Sally, “you must be thrilled!” Sally proffered the PA a weak smile, “Sort of.” Peggy stopped talking. She had plenty to say but anything she did say could have been taken town and used in evidence against her on the charge of spying. Finally, she ventured an un-self-incriminating “Oh.” “I know you don’t want to sign” Harry told Peggy comfortingly, “It’s not the Official Secrets Act, it just a promise not to speak to anyone who isn’t involved about this charity …well…er thing.” They’d backed her into a corner and Peggy knew it. “I still don’t see why?” “Oh you will when you hear the conditions.” Harry told her. “Okay, I’ll just have to trust that’s all I’m signing away.” “Well, um, you see Peggy.” Sally began as Peggy handed her completed NDA to Harry Cromerty. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his oak desk, rested his chin on his hands and fixed his eyes firmly on his PA. Sally Grenville was about to explain the incredible proposal she had received and Harry was going to watch Peggy’s face for the slightest tell of prior knowledge. Having run the full gamut of emotions eavesdropping Harry’s telephone call, Peggy decided to begin with a neutral expression and then gradually rise her eyebrows while forming an O with her mouth. She had just got to the point when her eyes were so wide that blinking became a challenge when a sudden inspiration hit her and she broke into Sally’s stumbling tale of woe and self-justification. “Sorry, Mrs Grenville, but did you just say naked?” It was a masterstroke. Harry just held up his hands in surrender and sat back in his expensive executive swivel chair as Peggy and the Grenvilles played out the remainder of the tale of woe and absurdity. “Are you sure this isn’t some practical joke?” Peggy asked. She knew the answer, of course, but missing out such an obvious query would set alarm bells ringing in Harry’s suspicious head. Jack provided the expected reply allowing Peggy to exclaim in astonishment, “The Reverend Trevor Bailiss, surely there must be some mistake.” It was a masterful performance; a delicate balance of astonishment, sadness, empathy and outrage which almost wiped away all of Harry’s suspicions that Peggy had eavesdropped on his phone call. “I see,” Peggy said, when Jack and Sally had finished. She turned to her boss to ask the question she already knew the answer to, “but why the NDAs Mr Cromerty?” “Good God, woman, the good name of the company of course. If one of the staff blabs about Mrs Grenville being naked all over the place, who knows what people will think.” “I understand, but why bring me into this, I wasn’t here on the day of the filming, you could have just given me the day off. I wouldn’t be any the wiser.” Harry wanted to say, “Because you’re a nosy bitch who listens to my phone calls and there’s nothing that happens here you don’t know about.” What he said was, “It’s a big ask to try and stop knowledge of this affair leaking outside the company. I know there’s no way I can stop any staff involved talking amongst themselves, you would have found out sooner or later.” “I see.” Peggy replied, knowing full well Happy Harry suspected she’d been a silent participant in his discussions with Trevor Bailiss. “Did I really need to sign the NDA? I wouldn’t have dreamt of telling anyone else.” Harry looked at her. Of course she would blab, there wasn’t a hope in hell a professional tittle tattle like Peggy could have kept her mouth shut. “I know that Peggy,” Harry began urbanely, “but you signing first…… you know what a role model you are to the rest of the workforce.” Peggy sniffed her disapproval. She’d been mentally drawing up a list of her acquaintances to tell, and in which order, as she listened to Harry on the phone to Trevor Bailiss. By him forcing her to sign the NDA immediately he’d stymied her. “Still. You could have trusted me,” she lied, trying to sound aggrieved. “Mmmm,” Harry muttered, “Anyway, to business. I think I’ll tackle the staff one by one rather than call a general meeting, make them sign the NDA first and then tell them of the unusual stipulations attached to Sally’s latest task” Sally winced at Harry Cromerty’s description of the undertaking ahead. “Peggy, set up a schedule.” he ordered as he looked at his chunky and expensive wrist watch, “Bit late now, start tomorrow morning. Don’t tell them what it’s about, make them sweat a bit.” “Any particular order Mr Cromerty?” she asked. “Most prominent role first.” Peggy looked at Jack, “I wasn’t here when they did the recoding. Any rough ideas?” “Well, after Mr Cormerty, Tommy Hughes had the biggest part.” Jack said. “Ah!” said Peggy. “That might be a stumbling block.” “Indeed” agreed Harry. “I can’t see him agreeing, not with his religious convictions. Very big in the church, and his mother. Very God fearing family.” Peggy informed them in a exceedingly serious tone. Sally took in a deep breath and was about to express her contrary opinion of Tommy morals. Jack beat her to it. “We’ll speak to him, if I could take his NDA I’m sure I can convince him.” “OK” Harry said, nodding to Peggy who fished out Tommy’s NDA and handed it to Jack. “Back in fifteen. Come on Sally!” Harry and Peggy watched them scurry out of the door. “And the rest of the workforce?” Peggy asked as they heard the outer door click shut “As it comes, just see if we can get them all done tomorrow.” She gathered up the papers, “Rum do this, Harry.” “You can say that again.” “Want me to make you a coffee?” Harry Cromerty climbed to his feet and strolled over to his filing cabinet. “I think this calls for something stronger.” He told her, pulling out a bottle of single malt and two glasses, “Care to join me.” “Don’t mind if I do.” Peggy replied putting the pile of NDAs to one side. “Do you think they’ll get Tommy Hughes to sign?” Harry asked. “I they can’t convince him, then I will.” Harry laughed, “Appeal to his Christian principles, the sanctity of little children?” “No” Peggy told him as she sipped her whisky, “I’ll tell him that if he doesn’t go through with this I’ll pay his mother a visit and inform her that her holier than though choirboy of a son goes to the pub after work every day.” Harry laughed, “Is she really that fearsome.” “Take it from me, Harry, hellfire will reign down on poor Tommy’s balding head if Maureen Hughes finds out that a single drop of alcohol has passed his lips.” “Apart from communion wine.” Harry quipped, raising his glass. “That’s covered by transubstantiation.” Peggy replied with a wicked smile. Harry stared at his drink. “Hard to imagine, that poor girl sitting there with nothing on, pretending to act normal.” “Hard to imagine the warped mind that came up with this idea.” Peggy shook her head, “they have any idea who’s behind it?” “No, Trevor Bailiss is acting on instruction from some firm in America.” “Oh, I’d assumed it was someone local.” Peggy shrugged, “given the report went out on the local news.” “You could be right, Jack said the firm in New Orleans was acting on behalf of someone else.” “So they haven’t an inkling?” “No, they set up a fundraising website and the video takes pride of place. Anyone, anywhere in the world could have picked up on it. They’ve given up speculating.” “They’re not being scammed are they?” Harry shrugged, “Trevor Bailiss assured them the money’s secure.” A silence fell between them as they contemplated the immediate future. “A tough choice for Sally.” Harry commented. “Oh, I don’t know,” Peggy said dreamily, “you’ll do anything for your children.” “So you’d……” Harry began. “Sit here stark naked thanking you for supporting my charity?” Peggy looked up from her glass as she finished Harry’s sentence. Harry Cromerty looked over the rim of his cut glass tumbler at Peggy, not as his long suffering, busy body PA, but as a woman. Yes, she’d look good naked. She might be carrying a bit of weight, but the way she sat, leaning back legs crosses with just a touch of cleavage on display. Peggy didn’t radiate beauty, but there was something alluring about her. She met his eyes over her glass with a look of amusement and…….. Further conversation upon the lines of a nude Peggy was rudely interrupted by rap on the outer door. Peggy downed the remains of her drink and hastily gathered up the glasses and hid them along with bottle in the filing cabinet. “Come.” Harry called, and in swept the woman who had committed to chat with Harry wearing nothing but a smile. “He’s signed.” Jack handed the NDA to Peggy. “Two down, thirty to go.” she said. Jack had never had such a bad day at work. There was a worst one to come he knew, but if today was a foretaste, then the day of Sally’s exposure would he would the equivalent of walking on the burning coals of hell. Tommy Hughes was already at his desk when Jack slipped into the office fresh from his cycle ride and shower. “Morning Jack” he mumbled without looking up. And that was the script for the day. Harry was getting on with the business of forcing the workforce, one by one, to sign his NDA. Once Harry had committed them to secrecy, he would inform them of Jack’s wife’s forthcoming visit, her dress code, and the part they were to play. With the stroke of a pen and a quick chat, once cheerful colleagues became monosyllabic introverts, hurrying past him in the corridor with the briefest of greetings. When he entered the staff canteen to pick up his morning coffee he was greeted by a hush that spread through the room. No one would meet his eyes as he crossed to the counter and ordered his morning mocha from Ingrid, the amateur barista and sandwich maker Harry had employed to stop his staff sloping off to the pub for lunch. “Why’s everyone so tense?” asked Ingrid. Because they’ve seen Harry and you haven’t Jack thought. “Is it to do with the meetings with happy Harry?” she asked. “Probably.” Jack replied. “He’s seen you then. Everyone who’s been in so far has refused to say anything about it. Not redundancies, is it?” Jack was about to assure her on that score but Ingrid forestalled him, “I know, you can’t say.” “You’ll understand when you see him.” Jack assured her, taking his drink before leaving. As he climbed the stairs to his ominously quiet office Jack wondered if Ingrid would meet his gaze later in the day. That she did, at the next coffee break she laid her hand on top of his, gave him a reassuring smile before whispering, “you poor thing, I can’t imagine the turmoil in your mind; and as for your wife.” She paused, shook her head and then nodded, “tell her she has nothing but my admiration.” “Thanks, Ingrid.” Jack replied heartfeltedly. “In her shoes, I’d have done the same. Or not, if you get my drift.” Jack didn’t, so Ingrid clarified her position, “unless shoes are allowed.” Tommy wasn’t in their workroom when Jack returned somewhat buoyed up by his chat with Ingrid. Look on the bright side he told himself as he sat down at his desk, at least they aren’t leering and making snide sexual comments, “looking forward to seeing Sally, wink wink, all of Sally, tee hee hee.” Jack was considering the stress patterns in a small folding aluminium handyman’s ladder when Tommy shuffled in, steaming mug in hand. Usually they coffeed together, but not today. Eyes down he made his way to his desk. Jack decided he’d had enough, and it was time to talk about the naked woman haunting the room. There was no point in beating around the bush so he went straight for the nitty gritty. “Look Tommy, I know it’s uncomfortable. Heaven knows I’m dreading the idea of Sally placing her bare bottom on my desk.” Tommy looked up and swallowed hard, mumbled something incomprehensible before returning to his work. Jack drew confidence from his non committed response and ploughed on, “We just have no other choice, we’re miles away from getting the money and Gussie’s illness is fast approaching the point of no return.” “I know, I know.” Tommy murmured, head still down, eyes on the document on his desk. “If there were another way, do you think I wouldn’t take it?” Tommy looked up, facing Jack for the first time that day. “If it got out, if my mother found out, and the church……” Ah, so that was it. The shame of disclosure. Well Tommy’s indignity was small beer compared to the humiliation his wife would have endure. “Believe me, there’s nothing that Sally and I want more than to keep this whole thing under wraps.” “But where will the video go?” Jack sighed, “I’ll be honest with you, Tom, I don’t know. Trevor Bailiss.” Jack stopped abruptly and winced, a slip of the tongue, he hadn’t meant to mention the lawyer by name. Trying to recover he quickly uttered, “The solicitor acting as an intermediator” hoping Tommy had missed his mistake. Fat chance. Tommy pounced on the name, “Reverend Trevor is in on this?” Now he’d let the cat out of the bag Jack felt he had no option other than to explain. “Bailiss and Peters were contacted by a firm in New Orleans, who may, or may not be acting as a front for another firm – you know what lawyers are like for confidentiality.” Tommy snorted. “Let’s kill all the lawyers.” Before adding by way of explanation “Henry IV, Part 2” Jack favoured Tommy with a weak smile, “Well Trevor Bailiss has verified that our mysterious benefactors are above board.” Jack held up his hand to forestall another Shakespearian outburst. “By that I mean the money is there, not that I consider these individuals to be in any way reputable.” Tommy glowered through his thick spectacles. “And Mr Bailiss has assured us that the benefactors want the video for their own private viewing and have no intention of broadcasting its contents to rest of the world” Jack lied smoothly. Tommy rubbed the stubble on his chin. He was trying to grow a beard, Jack suspected it was to compensate for the rapidly thinning hair on the top of his head. Fortunately, he wouldn’t be asked to shave it off for the video as it would be viewed as an acceptable aberration. “If the Reverend has given this his blessing….” Tommy said thoughtfully. Jack wouldn’t go as far as to say that himself, but felt that in this case silence was golden. “And if news did slip out, he could explain to your mother.” Jack told him brightly. “Mmmmmm” Tommy was doubtful. It was beyond Jack, the hold Maureen Hughes held over her son. He guessed Tommy had always been mummy’s boy. An only child whose father had died when he was two. His mother had smothered the boy. Jack knew they were well off, living in a large detached house in the suburbs. But, by over protecting him she’d done him no favours. Somehow he’d never been able to break away, even to go to college. Tommy had gained his degree in Engineering from Nelson University without ever leaving home. Now he was trapped, he had a good, well paid job, but in his late thirties, stooped, with the beginnings of a beer belly and losing his hair; all chances of a happy family life seemed to have passed him by. These days Tommy’s life was reduced to work, church and his hobby, model railways. An engineer himself, Jack had to admit he was envious of Tommy’s trains. He’d commandeered the attic of the house and had built a huge layout. He’d been working at it for three years that Jack knew of, and it was still some way from completion. Tommy broke into Jack’s thoughts, “I’m done for Jack, if mater ever finds out.” “She won’t.” Jack reassured him with false confidence; in reality he’d no idea what would happen to the completed film. And, of course, he had no idea how Sally’s public appearances would be received around Nelson. There was no doubt in his mind that Sally would be seen, but there was a good chance she would not be identified, for although Jack and Sally were relatively well known for their fund raising activities Jack reasoned it was him who turned a corner and came face to face with a naked woman the last thing he’d be paying any attention to would be her face. But, of course nowadays everyone had a phone and everyone’s phone had a camera and once the hastily taken photographs hit the internet there was a very real chance of Sally being identified. If so, she, and by extension the whole family would just have to bear the humiliation for her exhibitionism. Jack was sure the public would understand if they knew the true reason for Sally’s state of undress, but that had to suppressed at all cost. On balance, Jack considered it was very possible that news of Sally Grenville streaking through Greenmeadows Park might come to Maureen Hughes’ attention, but he couldn’t see his mother’s enlightenment casting a shadow on Tommy. Sure, she may make holier than thou comments condemning that naked harlot married to his friend at work. But her righteous ire would be directed towards Jack who would be forever tainted as the spouse of a veritable Jezebel, a citizen of both Sodom and Gomorrah who flaunted her bare body for all to see. One thing was sure, there’d be no welcome for the husband of such a disciple of Beelzebub in the large rambling house in Valley Gardens ever again. He’d have like to seen Tommy’s finished layout, but, well, hey ho that’s the way things go. Her name was Maisie Moscow, or at least, that was what she called herself. To Jack’s wary eyes she looked every inch the alternative film maker, from the top of her short, purple streaked, spiky hair to her ruby slippers. They had spent the previous evening looking her up on the internet. Her film company, Moscow Mools specialised in the truly bizarre. It was evident in an instant why she had been asked to direct the revamped news bulletin. Every one of the short films in her catalogue claimed to be filled with lashings of nudity. Sally had balked at the price so they settled down to watch the free excerpts designed to entice you into parting with your hard earned cash. Each sample was a short excerpt, carefully edited to leave the viewer in no doubt as to the actors’ state of undress, without revealing their naughty bits. Although no genitals were on view, it was very evident to Sally and Jack was that Maisie specialised in lashings of very, very public nudity. “Have they answered yet?” Maisie asked in the matter-of-fact way she seemed to deal with everything. To Jack’s mind this little venture, as she called it, was obscenely strange, a wild venture of nightmare set in a land of make-believe. Maisie took that all in her stride, effortlessly passing over each incredible hurdle with the ease of an Olympic champion. “Er yes.” Trevor Bailiss replied scratching a point on his forehead that was already bright red. Maisie unsettled him, that was abundantly clear, his left eye had developed a nervous tic; he continually shifted in his chair, like a boy scout who had just discovered he had sat on an ants’ nest. When he wasn’t scratching his head he was constantly touching the fancy grey phone on his desk, willing it to ring and rescue him from the relentless flood of detail Maisie requested. She knew Trevor Bailiss was nervous and there was no chance she wouldn’t press home this advantage. “These are important points and they must be addressed” Maisie told him. Jack was reminded of his old school headmistress talking to his mother when she had been dragged in for some misdemeanour so minor he could not now remember what it was. Nonetheless, Miss Proberts’ scolding was burnt into his memory like a cattle brand. “I do have some answers, yes indeed” Trevor Bailiss shuffled nervously through the papers on his desk trying to find the one he needed. Eventually he found the relevant file at the very top of the large pile he had been looking through. With a wan smile he continued, “Er right Miss Moscow” “It’s Maisie, Trev” she told him. Trevor Bailiss winced, Jack guessed the last time he’d been called Trev was by the bullies at his expensive boarding school just before they stuffed his head down the toilet and flushed. “What did they say about the shoes?” Maisie demanded. “Yes, they accept that Mrs Grenville can wear shoes, preferably the same as in the film” “Good, that’s important.” Before Sally could point out that covering her feet was at the bottom of her priority list Maise turned to her to explain. “I am perfectly happy to walk stark naked through any street or park, but I will not go barefoot. When you go outside have a good look at the pavement, and you’ll see what I mean” Having got the state of the country’s streets off her considerable chest Maisie picked up the thread. “What did they say about the nurse?” Trevor Bailiss consulted his papers. “The clients are unfamiliar with NHS practice but accept your statement that the Health Authority will not allow one of its employees to take part in such a film. You may substitute an actress.” “And Jack’s firm?” “That has been sorted, Mr Comerty has seen all the staff involved and they have agreed to take part.” “So we have a date?” Trevor Bailiss shuffled his papers again. “Not as yet.” “What about the park? The bus-stop?” Sally winced, how could she stand waiting calmly by the road, naked and exposed to passing traffic? She could almost hear the honking of the cars and the lewd comments shouted from hastily opened windows. Mr Bailiss let out a long sigh, “they have already accepted that this is a valid point, the original was shot in early spring and this will be high summer so many of the outside locations will appear to be different. Leaves on trees and so forth” “Sal’s mum’s café?” “They agree the same customers may not be present, but they did say something about the same faces cropping up in different scenes.” “As if I would” Maisie protested indignantly, a look of blissful innocence on her face. “The way I see it, Trev” Maisie continued, invoking another involuntary wince from the urbane solicitor, “is that the only people who must be the same as in the original are Jack here.” She patted him on the shoulder, “Sally’s sister and mother, and the café owner Jay.” “And the staff at Hazzard Engineering” Trevor Bailiss added officiously. “We’ve talked about them Trev” Maisie told him dismissively, as she consulted her thick pad of notes. “Next: clothing.” “Clothing?” squeaked Sally- she had tried to bury her feelings of utter dread of the task ahead- “I won’t be wearing any!” “Not you, Sal,” Maisie said briskly, with little thought for Sally’s sensitivities, “just make sure you have the right shoes.” “Do they want the rest of the principal players to wear the same clothing as in the original?” Trevor Bailiss consulted his notes, “Er, yes.” Maisie winced, “Thing is see, Trev, in the original. Let me give you an example, at the bus-stop, Sal’s sister.” She broke of and turned to Sally, “What’s her name?” “Rachael.” “Well in the original Rach is wearing a coat and jeans. Not surprising, it was a cold day. The other two people at the bus stop were tucked up too, but now, well, if Rach has to wear the same clothes she will be standing there sweating in her thick winter jacket while all the passers-by are wearing summer dresses, T-shirts and shorts. See the problem, Trev?” He sighed, made a note on his pad. “I’ll get on to them and see what they have to say.” “Obviously don’t know much about the weather in this country” Jack said. “Maybe.” Maisie shrugged her broad shoulders. “What I don’t understand is how you’re going to do the bus-stop scene,” Sally exclaimed, “with me standing there starkers and all.” “Oh, I’ll just explain we’re making a piece of performance art and ask anyone waiting for a bus to pretend your clothed,” Maisie breezed, waving her left hand dismissively, “you’d be amazed how easy going most people can be.” Sally raised her eyebrows as Maisie explained further. “In my last production I had to get out of a car in the car park behind a restaurant and sneak up to the front door. There were a couple of old, well fiftyish I’d say, women who had just finished lunch and were heading for their cars to drive home. I explained what we were doing, and asked them if they objected to public nudity.” “And what were you filming?” asked Jack incredulously. “It’s about a woman who decides to spend her birthday appropriately dressed. We called it Birthday Girl, Birthday Suit. In fact, you must watch it, it will give you an idea of how we’ll do your naked bits.” Before either Jack or Sally could ask more Maisie was off and running, “So I explained to the women the plot and that I was there for my birthday lunch and did they fancy a bit part. They told me it was fine by them, as long as I didn’t want them to join me in the nude. Let me tell you from long experience, Sal, you’ve got a treat coming. There’s nothing quite like being the only one in the buff, especially when all those around you are ignoring the fact.” Maisie savoured the memory, “Delicious!” Conversely, Sally couldn’t think of anything worse. Trevor Bailiss took the opportunity of Maisie’s reverie to finally get a word in edgewise. “How are we with the shooting schedule?” Sally mentally prepared herself for the timetable of her exposure. “Can’t say yet, Trev, waiting for Hazzard to get back to me.” Trevor Bailiss explained to Sally and Jack. “I don’t know why, but your mysterious benefactors want to a detailed timescale of when we’re planning to film each scene.” “As soon as I know the date of the visit to Jack’s work.” Maisie promised. “Can’t be very specific even then. All the outdoor shots depend on the weather,” she explained. “I think that’s all then. Just a few points to clarify with New Orleans.” Trevor Bailiss told them as he tidied up the papers on his desk. “Hold your horses, Trev,” Maisie said, “before you get on the blower to The Big Easy we need to discuss the bus.” The lawyer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, gathered his composure before saying “go on.” “We’ll have to stage it.” “I’m not sure the benefactors….” Maisie cut in. “It’s irrelevant what they think, Trev. I have to hire a bus and fill it with my team.” “I’m not sure it’s in the spirit.” Maisie raised her hand, “it’s not up for discussion Trev, I can’t put Sal on a number twenty-two bus in the buff. There’ll be an uproar, and that’s if she gets past the driver. Ninety-nine times out a hundred they wouldn’t even let her on.” Sally and Jack looked at each other. Maisie was right, and they knew it. They could see the whole enterprise spiralling down the plughole. Trever Bailiss had reopened his notes and started to scribble. “You must have been on a bus at least once in your life Trev,” Maisie continued. Jack raised an eyebrow that suggested otherwise; he couldn’t see the refined lawyer on any form of public transport, well, first class rail at a push. Masie started to hammer home her point “imagine the furore if a stark naked woman got on, it just won’t work, I have to hire a bus and stage it if you want the finished product to match the original.” And then, unexpectedly, Maisie fell abruptly silent. A blissful hush filled the room. Eyes wide, her face broke into an astonished smile, metamorphosing from intense concentration to divine wonder. The expression of a lifelong agnostic, who trudging along a dismal city street on drab rainy day looks across a car choked street and sees an angel standing in the sun. “My next project” she whispered incredulously as the remaining occupants of the room stared at her in astonishment. Maisie smiled, “I know you may think me mad.” The look on Trevor Bailiss’ was that of a man receiving confirmation of something he had suspected for some time. “I remember seeing a program on the universe, long time back. I was still in school. All about big bangs making sub-atomic particles that whizzed through space. Most of them are so small they pass straight through us without touching. But every now and then, very, very rarely one will collide with a cell in your body and change something. Well I read somewhere there are special particles called Inspirons that carry ideas across time and space. Well one of these has just collided with one of my creative neurones.” she announced eagerly. The room fell silent as they all pondered the same question. What in the name of all creation was this barking mad woman talking about? Jack was debating telling her he’d read the same book, a highly amusing work of fiction loosely based on Macbeth. Trevor Bailiss forestalled him. “Ms Moscow, can we get back to the matter in hand?” he asked almost pleadingly. But Maisie was still lost in the moment of insight. “Picture an inverted world, the opposite of ours,” she said spreading her arms wide for emphasis. “What, like the upside down, filled with monsters?” Sally asked. “No, no. I don’t do stuff like that.” “Oh, of course,” Sally replied, remembering the reason for their meeting, “you do nudity.” “Right Sal. Here’s what I have in mind. Now we live in a society where everyone is clothed. In my inverted world.” She paused to consider, “let’s call it the inside out, no,” she squealed and clapped her hands with jubilation,” I’ve got it, The Backside Out.” Somehow Jack knew what was coming next. “In the Backside Out, nudity is the norm. Everybody walks around starkers and thinks nothing of it. And just like we have nudists here then they have, er let’s call them clothesists. Wearing clothes is not illegal, just frowned upon, so clothesists go to special clubs where they can do normal things, only dressed. Like nudists do here. Or they walk around the house fully clothed with the curtains closed so no one can see them in their shameful state.” “The whole world nude! Bit unworkable” Sally put in, “what about the winter?” Jack just stared at his wife, why was she bringing practicalities into an idea that was well beyond bonkers. “Coats are allowed for cold days, but nobody wears anything underneath them.” “And indoors, the heating bills?” “Every room in every building has microwave emitters in the ceiling. They heat the body from the inside. Low power of course. Clothing blocks the waves so you have to be naked for them to work.” Maisie took a brief pause from her reverie, “Good input, Sal.” As an engineer Jack could see several flaws in this idea and was tempted to introduce a cold douche of reality. On balance he opted to keep his mouth shut as it was evident that Maisie had left planet normal some time ago. And she was off again, heading towards the negative zone at light speed. “So one day, this woman, a staid, solid a pillar of society; is walking home from work and she passes a clothes shop, and something draws her in. Before she knows it she’s in a booth trying on a dress. Bit of smooth talk from a saleswoman and she’s bought a full outfit and she’s racing home to sneak them into the house before her husband gets back from work. He’s straight as a rod, would never dream of ever covering up,” Maisie explained. She drew breath and opened her mouth to continue. “No” she exclaimed vigorously, shaking her head, “no, no. Other way round, we’ll make it a man buying a shirt and trousers, that way I can play the wife and be all over naked.” Sally looked at Jack, and Jack looked at Sally. Neither of them expressed any surprise at Maisie’s reason for the role reversal. “So this man, starts wearing his clothes when his wife is out of the house. Stripping them off and stuffing them in a cupboard when he hears the key in the front door. We need a name for him, something really normal, speaks of respectability, you know, someone who, in this world you would never think of being a nudist. I know; Brian.” Marion Shaw, Trevor Bailiss’ ever present, ever silent -until this moment- PA gave a little chortle. “That’s my husband’s name.” “Oh sorry,” Maisie said, “let’s call him Arnold.” “No, no keep it to Brian, he’s an old fuddy duddy, the very idea of him wandering around the house starkers.” “Ok, Brian it is then.” Caught up in the fanciful web Maisie had spun, Sally felt she had to intervene. “You do realise, Mrs Shaw, that if your husband is the clothesist in the Backside Out, then you will be a secret nudist in this world.” “Ah, well, mmm.” Marion blushed, lapsing into silence. Detecting enthusiasm for her new idea Maisie turned to Sally, “Plenty of extras needed, fancy a part Sal. It will be a walk in the park after we’ve completed your little task.” “Why not,” she said with a wicked smile, “Jack has repeatedly said he wanted to support me; this will give him his chance.” Jack knew a trap when he saw one, “Sure count us in.” Sally winced. She’d expected him to refuse, allowing her to adopt the moral high ground and accuse him of being unsupportive. Now she was outfoxed, and unless Jack chickened out she was going to be naked in two productions. Marion Shaw’s odd response to Sally’s offhand remark about her being the one who walked around naked at home had not gone unnoticed by Maisie. “How about you Marion? Fancy being an extra? Bring your husband along. A chance for him come out of his shell.” “I’ll have to think about it.” Trevor Bailiss’ PA said evenly, brushing past the fact that Maisie had only included her husband in the coming out the shell comment. “Trev?” Maisie said, Trevor Bailiss was silent as all eyes turned on him. Jack was stunned, he’d been expecting an embarrassed fluster followed by a swift refusal. And this would have been the outcome had Trevor Bailiss not been busy digesting Marion Shaw’s calmly considered “I’ll think about it”. Much like Maisie moments ago, a new world had opened before him. He’d been surprised by Marion’s approval of Maisie using her husband’s name. No that wasn’t the right word, his PA had more or less encouraged Maisie to call her fictional husband Brian. Then there was Marion’s reaction to Sally pointing out that she, Marion, was the naked protagonist. Marion Shaw had worked for him for several years now, and not once had she given an inkling that she was any other than the persona she projected to the world. A middle class, middle aged woman with values to match. He’d expected Marion to answer Maisie’s suggestion of being a naked extra in a bizarre film with a flat refusal. But she hadn’t; and the phrase ‘I’ll have to think about it’ had shaken his beliefs to the core. As the room turned to him with enquiring eyes Trevor Bialiss was contemplating his own version of the Backside Out. Here, his PA worked bare. His imagination was flooded with the surreal image of Marion, stripped of her crisp white blouse, prim grey skirt and the reinforced underwear he assumed she wore. He could almost picture her, sitting to the side of his desk, pen in hand poised to make notes on the pad on her lap. In his mind’s eye he could see her heavy bare breasts lying still against her chest, the small tufts of curly brown pubic hair peaking from the top of her firmly crossed thighs. Suddenly he realised he had become the centre of attention. Dismissing the vision of a naked Marion, he shivered as he recovered his composure, “As a lay preacher,” he began. “I’ll take that as a no.” Maisie said cheerfully, before he could continue, “let me know if you change your mind.” Once again Temptation nibbled at Trevor Bailiss imagination, what if Marion were to take part? He could visit Maisie’s, website, pay the entrance fee and……….Get thee behind me Satan he prayed. “Anyway” continued Maisie breezily, “I don’t think we’ll take up any more of Trev’s highly paid time, I have a website to update with details of my new project. I do have some practicalities to discuss with these two here,” she remarked as she packed her notebook away in her leather shoulder bag. “Let me know about the bus, Trev” she said peremptorily. “Now Sal, I will need you to show me around your house. Tomorrow at three?” “Bit early for me,” Jack piped up. Maisie favoured him with a condescending ‘not required on voyage look’. “Four?” she suggested grudgingly. “I can try and be back by then.” “Four it is then” Maisie said tapping her phone, “address?” A piqued Jack told her, and then condescendingly started to mansplain directions only to be cut off severely with a curt, “got satnav Jack.”