The Gilded Madonna, Garrick Jones [best fiction novels txt] 📗

it hung open at the front, dangling over the sides of his chair. I couldn’t take my eyes off his chest. I’d bitten him in the throes of our lovemaking and there was a dark bruise just above his right nipple.

“What you looking at, Smith?” he said, before shovelling a large forkful of frittata into his mouth.

“You.”

“And …”

“How can we do this every day?”

“What, me cook breakfast for you and us sit around in our next-to-nothings while we do it?”

“You know what I mean.”

He sighed and then pushed back his chair, beckoning me to come around the table to sit on his knee. I wound one arm around his neck and kissed him, after which I helped myself to more of the omelette he hadn’t eaten yet. “Ready for sausage, Smith?” he asked, running his hand down the front of my new, nylon swimmers.

He’d bought them for me after I’d told him how sexy they looked on the young lifesavers at the beach. Bright yellow and tight, they left little to the imagination, and I was only allowed to wear them when he was around. I liked it that he was a little jealous. I’d come home from my run wearing his pale-blue cotton American-style trunks under my shorts. I’d stolen them from him earlier in the year on Australia Day, when we’d been on a “family” picnic at Parsley Bay. I loved wearing them, they made me feel as sexy as he obviously did when I was wearing the canary-coloured Speedos I’d changed into after our earlier lovemaking.

“Ready for sausage? I can’t believe you didn’t say that on purpose … you and your insuazioni sottili,” I whispered into his ear.

“What’s that mean? Is it something I’d like?”

I bit him gently on the tip of his nose. “It means ‘subtle innuendos’ in Italian.”

“I wasn’t being subtle, I was asking if you wanted more to eat.”

I kissed the side of his neck and then stood, allowing him to get to the oven.

The sausages were delicious, unlike anything I’d eaten before, and I asked him where he’d bought them. He told me his mother had found a new artisan butchery in Dover Heights, not far from where they lived, which specialised in continental goods. I put the name on my list of priorities. Even now it was still fairly tricky sourcing anything other than regular British or Australian foodstuffs. I wasn’t unused to driving all over Sydney to get ingredients that were nigh on impossible to buy unless you knew where to go.

“So, you didn’t get around to telling me why you’re here so early.”

“We’re trying out one of Shirley Watson’s nurse friends to see how that works. My sister’s room is empty and it was Mother’s idea to get someone to help her and Dad while I’m so busy. It’s to give me a break every so often, and if it works out, it will be cheaper to get someone to come to look after them than taking them to a health resort when I’m away with my adventuring groups.”

“Shirley Watson? The nurse from the hospital who looked after me?”

“Don’t you remember, Clyde? We purloined the nurses’ rest station for a private meeting, and Mother arranged for me to get the most enormous box of chocolates for you to give to them as a thank you present for stealing the only room they could put their feet up in and a have a cuppa.”

“Of course I remember. But what’s the connection with Shirley and your mother?”

“At the time, Shirley twisted my arm, and I told her it was Mother who’d phoned her friend, whose husband is the manager of the city Darrell Lea shop, and who’d managed to get those chocolates, and on a Sunday too! Shirley wrote to Mother to thank her, and they’ve kept up a correspondence. Don’t forget Mother used to be a nurse herself.”

“It’s a wonderful idea,” I said.

“It also means that if …”

“If you get too tired and have had a few too many drinks at my place or we’re at the office needing to work late …”

“On our joint business venture,” Harry said with a wink.

“Wait … what joint business venture?”

“Well, I’m putting some brainwork into your private investi­gations. And you? Well, let’s say I’m thinking of maybe running a few weekends of bush survival for young fellas, with a few hours of instruction on self-defence as part of the course.”

“Uh huh, and I’m going to be the instructor? Maybe I’ll be busy?”

He smiled; already he knew the teasing tone in my voice. “We’ll have Tom to man the fort on weekends if need be …”

“Guess I could come along and help out.”

“What time are you due at work?”

I looked at my watch. “We have a meeting of the investigation team at ten. Before that, I’ll have to call into the office and sort Tom out for the morning. Maybe I’ve got an hour before I have to leave?”

“Come with me,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me behind him.

“Where we going?”

“Where do you think?”

“But I still haven’t showered.”

“All the better, Smith. I like smelly, crusty men. Now get your arse into our bed.”

“I thought you said smelly and salty before?”

“Same thing, Clyde. Now do as I said.”

I smiled at the “our bed”. I knew it had slipped out, but somewhere inside it made me feel very good indeed.

*****

Although it was odd for four people who’d been close friends to sit together on such an important investigation, the atmosphere was always businesslike whenever we met.

Someone who knew us well would pick up on the closeness between Sam and Billy and me and Harry. They’d also probably notice my cool treatment of Sam. For, despite how angry I was with Billy, I owed him my life. It was he who’d saved me from the P.O.W. camp in Italy.

However, it was a different kettle of fish with Sam. Billy had simply avoided telling me about their relationship, but Sam had lied to me, and not only