“Um, is that Lady Fiona Hardwicke?”
“Yes, that’s right. I flew in yesterday.”
“Um, I guess this is the first time I’ve met a real-life lady, how do I call you?”
“Lady Fiona is fine.”
“Right, okay, um, Lady Fiona, you’re in chalet six, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a few moments, I’ll page someone to show you the way.”
She rang down and arranged for a golf cart to be sent up to convey the tall English lady and her copious, expensive matching luggage to her chalet. While they waited, she entered the Lady’s details into the computer, taking down the numbers from her British Passport.
She was just concluding when Matt Hastings, one of the security team leaders, came into the reception area with another guy in uniform. Matt was obviously showing the other man around, as he introduced him to her as Ryan Hobbs, an ex-cop and a new member of staff. Both men stared in semi-wonder at the tall English girl as she managed to ignore them completely while she read a leaflet that advised her of the facilities the club offered. They watched as the buggy arrived and the stocky driver loaded her six cases onto the back and drove her off to her chalet.
“Who in the hell was that?” Matt asked.
“That was a Lady Fiona Hardwicke, a real English Lady.”
“Man, she’s gorgeous, hey Ryan?”
“Yeah, gorgeous,” said Ryan, wistfully, as he watched his girl disappear.
He had found it easy to fit in with the security team, as virtually all were ex-cops. They accepted his story without question, as many others had similar tales of injuries that had meant taking a forced early retirement from their chosen professions. Some had left due to personal reasons, which Ryan understood to mean a myriad of different things, from alcoholism, to gambling and indiscretions of either the legal or sexual nature. Others had just failed to make the grade, and were wannabe cops. The uniform was similar, the gun just as deadly, yet the hand that often held it was less well trained or reliable.
He actually liked Matt, one of the few ex-cops who had retired after twenty-two years on a pension, but having met another woman before retiring; he left his wife and had to work to support a new young family in his forties.
“I was a city cop in Detroit and just felt like a change of scene.”
“Is your ex still up there?”
“As far as I know. We split up about three years ago, and I remarried almost immediately. It was tough on Judy, because Maryanne made her life hell. So when I retired, I came down here and worked as a security guard at one of the big Miami hotels for a while. Judy had the twins, so when this job came up, I snapped at it. They pay almost as good as the cops in this state.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I was in Buffalo, but when I got shot in the knee, I’ve had to take all kinds of desk jobs.”
“How come you don’t limp?”
Ryan pulled up his pant’s leg, displaying a large and livid scar.
“I saw a good doctor and had an operation. But when I tried to rejoin the force, they told me it was a liability. So, here I am.”
Matt nodded, knowing the system was stacked against those with injuries such as this.
Matt showed him round the large estate. Ryan couldn’t help being struck by the luxury available to those who could afford it. He was aware that so many Americans were living in almost third world poverty conditions, yet the few very rich lived a completely different life. The fact that some of these individuals attained their wealth by dishonest or dubious means made him feel pleased to be doing what he was. A little social justice was always a welcome commodity.
He ached to check on Michelle, but knew he couldn’t. He wondered how she was getting on.
Michelle was doing something she loved, - swimming.
Her powerful, yet elegant strokes had caused many heads to turn as the tall girl powered up and down the Olympic sized pool. There were two pools, one for those who simply wanted to swim lengths as Michelle was doing, and the other was a large pseudo-lagoon, complete with sandy beaches, islands and palm trees. The tall English girl preferred the former, as she displayed no great desire to flop about in the fake lagoon. Many questions were asked of the staff, resulting in most people being aware of the identity, albeit fictitious, of the beautiful young woman.
One man, Maxwell Huntercombe, was particularly taken with her. Max was in oil. To most people, this would mean he was in some way connected to the petroleum industry. Max had literally been covered in oil.
Born in Arkansas into a poor white family, he’d struggled in the family firm until he was in his late twenties. His mother died when he was a child, and his three older sisters married and moved away. His father ran an auto-repair shop and gas station, so it was an expected progression that he become a mechanic and carry on the family tradition. His father died of cancer in the 1970s, at which point Max realised that the bank owned most of both the house and business.
Colgrave Winton, his mother’s younger brother, owned a ranch in Texas. He had two daughters, both of whom had married city men and moved to Austin. Uncle Col constantly nagged Max to go work for him. Wanting a change in his life, in 1975 he left Arkansas and arrived in Texas with the clothes on his back, a small suitcase and two hundred dollars. That was all he had left of his father’s legacy.
Uncle Col and Aunt Betty were in their late seventies. The cattle ranch was not a large one, by Texan standards, but they had several hundred head of cattle grazing on the open pastures. Never having ridden a horse, Max found he liked the life, much to his uncle’s relief.
However, they weren’t getting any younger, and wanted to retire closer to the girls and their grandchildren. Max wasn’t keen to run the whole ranch on his own, besides, all their money was tied to the ranch. In an attempt to manage the family affairs, Uncle Col sold off two thirds of the land to competitors, using some of the proceeds to purchase a retirement condo, and giving the remainder to his two daughters and their families.
Just before they left, Uncle Col had taken him aside and placed an avuncular hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Boy, you done me proud. We’re giving you the house and the remaining land. It’s not so much, but you can keep maybe a hundred head, so you’ll be able to get a fine living from it,”
His aunt and uncle left, leaving him the king of a very small domain. However, his uncle had been right, as he was able to manage the much reduced land and retain a reasonable living. The solitary life suited him for a while.
All was to change, for one day, while checking his boundaries he discovered a dark substance seeping trough the soil in the southern pasture.
After trying to get it off his boots, he had it checked out and ended up with his own oil field and associated industry. Huntercombe Oil was not a big company, but it was sufficient to make him a multi-millionaire and enabled him to retire at the age of forty-five. The company still existed, but he was seeking a merger with one of the big companies, which would make him even richer. Every time he saw trouble in the Middle-East, he’d grin and rub his hands together.
He’d been married three times to three beautiful women. Each had provided him with a daughter, but each had divorced him after learning of his sexual predilections. Each had taken him for several mullion dollars, and retained custody of his daughters.
For Maxwell was a transvestite.
At five foot eight and of medium build, he had perfected his art so he could almost pass in public. However, his taste in clothes rendered that immaterial, for the leather, rubber and revealing silky accessories were not appropriate for public display.
He was a hundred percent heterosexual, but he adored dressing as a woman when making love. Also, he liked pain. His father had been a very strict Presbyterian and had beaten his children soundly for every misdemeanour. It was no wonder that the girls had sought husbands and escape at the earliest opportunity.