“What was all that about?” says Dawn when Gruntscomb has padded away. “You’ve really got it in for poor old Cronky, haven’t you?”
She doesn’t seem that worried and when Sharp starts mauling her again she soon forgets all about it.
“What are we going to do?” she pants, when they come up for air.
“Have you ever made love in a Rolls Royce?” says Sharp, “It’s unforgettable.”
Oh no!!! I think.
“What do you mean?” says Dawn beginning to sound excited.
“I drove Minto here tonight and I’ve still got the keys. Come on, I love screwing you in cars.”
“You’ve only done it once.”
“That was enough to know I liked it.”
“Where’s the car?”
“Over there.”
“It’s a bit near the golf club, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t mind last time.”
“I didn’t have any alternative last time. You practically raped me.”
“You didn’t mind that, either.”
“I don’t want to do it here, that’s final! Come on—” she squeezes his arm enticingly—”take me for a spin, and then we’ll make love.” Sharp thinks about it and I pray that he is going to say no but of course his twisted, cock-happy little mind reacts in exactly the same way that mine would have done.
“O.K.” he says. “A quick spin along that road that goes out to the fourteenth. We can’t be away too long. Valerie will start getting neurotic.”
And as I hold my breath, they walk towards the Rolls and climb into the front seat. Sad as it is from my point of view, I can’t help feeling a bit amused. The naked Mrs. D. squatting in the back, no doubt hearing voices and wondering what the hell has happened to me. Sharp and his lady love purring off into the countryside, little knowing what awaits them when they eventually fumble towards the rear seat. I wish I could have a photograph of it all. It would be almost enough to make up for my disappointment.
Wait a minute. Photograph! A scheme of monstrous brilliance suddenly occurs to me. Majors are always trying to drop the E.C.D.S. in the brown stuff. Why shouldn’t they have a taste of their own medicine?
I race inside and as luck would have it bump straight into Gruntscomb.
“Quick,” I shout, “where’s a telephone? I’ve just seen a couple of roughs driving off in Major Minto’s Rolls.”
“Really!” Gruntscomb swallows it hook, line and sinker. “which way did they go?”
“That road that goes out towards the links. They’re probably taking a shortcut to Aylsham.”
“Hello. Good evening. I’d like to report the theft of a car. A Rolls Royce. I saw it being driven away from Cromingham Golf Club on the links road. About five minutes ago—yes, I’m quite sure. Major Minto … Look officer, I know this sounds stupid, but I was certain I saw a naked girl on the back seat. I thought it might be some of those hippies going to have an orgy. It would be like them to steal the best car they could get their hands on, wouldn’t it? Yes, I’ll be here. My name’s Roger Carpenter, didn’t I tell you? I am sorry.”
I ring off and pass the good news on to the night desks of the Sun, Express and Mirror and by the time I have finished the Rolls was loaded to the roof with naked hippies, many of them bearing a striking resemblance to members of the royal family.
It would be nice to do more but it is now eleven fifteen and I barely have time to catch my train. A shame I won’t be able to see the meeting between Sharp, Mrs. D., Dawn, Gruntscomb and the police, but luckily I have a vivid imagination and it will give me something to think about on the way to London.
I dig out my last 2p bit and start dialling for a taxi.
About the Author
Christopher Wood is a British screenwriter and novelist best known for the erotic ‘Confessions’ series of novels and films written under the pseudonyms ‘Timothy Lea’ and ‘Rosie Dixon’. Under his own name, he adapted two James Bond novels for the screen: ‘The Spy Who Loved Me’ and ‘Moonraker’.
Also by Timothy Lea:
CONFESSIONS OF AN ICE CREAM MAN
CONFESSIONS OF A DRIVING INSTRUCTOR
CONFESSIONS OF A PLUMBER’S MATE
CONFESSIONS FROM A NUDIST COLONY
CONFESSIONS OF A LONG DISTANCE LORRY DRIVER
CONFESSIONS OF A WINDOW CLEANER
CONFESSIONS FROM A HOLIDAY CAMP
CONFESSIONS OF A MILKMAN
CONFESSIONS OF A TRAVELLING SALESMAN
CONFESSIONS FROM A HAUNTED HOUSE
Also by Rosie Dixon:
CONFESSIONS OF A NIGHT NURSE
CONFESSIONS OF A PERSONAL SECRETARY
CONFESSIONS FROM AN ESCORT AGENCY
CONFESSIONS OF A GYM MISTRESS
Copyright
The Friday Project
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This ebook first published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Copyright © Timothy Lea 2013
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Timothy Lea asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007530182
Version 1
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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