Reign on Cloud Nine Ii

By Dean Monet

Reign on Cloud Nine II

Theyre back! The modern day family from the fictitious gay village of Londons docklands. Joan, Nana, Tye, Alf and of course the momma of the village, Drag Queen Trixie Lix, embark on yet another roller coaster ride through tales of Love, loss, warfare and all done with exquisite costume changes and the right shade of lippy.
This is the prequel, sequel to Reign on Cloud Nine, the first in the trilogy. Starting before Cloud Nine was built and ending in a new chapter of its history. We go back in time and discover how Joan met and fell in love with her kidnapper, Warrior Yogi. We discover the man that helped them escape to England, Bear. We learn that although the gangster Barry Ireland is dead, someone is still planning to take down Cloud Nine and the drag queens that worked there; but who is the secret assassin? Discover what happened to Lady Victoria, Why all the drag queens left home, and who is the new Mistress of ceremonies.

With nail biting drama and laugh out loud humour the gang are back and ready for action. So sit back and enjoy the novel with more plot than a vegetable garden. As we go back once again to...

Cloud Nine...The home of the misfit

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504946193

Dean Monet

Dean Monet was born in Birmingham in 1967. He attended the local comprehensive, where, at the age of sixteen, he wrote his first short play, “The Hospital Visitor,” the success of which was followed by two further plays, “To Be or Not to Be . . . an Actress” and “The Stuffing from the Pig.” Dean has also acted on television and onstage. In 1988, he relocated to London, where he worked as a residential child care worker and studied child protection at the University of East London. After meeting his husband, William John-James, Dean returned to Birmingham at the beginning of the nineties, where he studied counselling at the Solihull College. Having finished the trilogy Reign on Cloud Nine, Dean is now working on two further projects, one being a children’s book based in his hometown and the other a book of short stories with revenge as the theme.

Book preview

2015 Dean Monet. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/09/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4618-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4617-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4619-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

From Junbesi to Lukla

When the Ladies Maid, Met the Man-made

Determent Camp!

A Man Named Bear

Gloria and Tom

The Black Pansy

Slip of the Tongue.

Candy Floss, the Story of the Black Pansy

Its Opening time, Farewell

And mother makes four.

Happy Birthday, Little Cub.

Moving On. One Year On

Fame Can Be a Killer

Road Tripping

Road Tripping, Skinny Dipping

A Welcome Wagon and Farewell Flight

Out with the old…

…And in with the new!

Ferdinand and Cub’s

The Returning Dract’s

The Guilt Trip.

The Aftermath

Coming Clean

Paul’s Plan.

She’s gone.

Discovering Henry.

Should I feel that it’s over?

I know why the caged bird…Flees

Where have all the bodies gone?

Now that Bear is no more!

She’s gone 2.

In Plain View!

The Truth Will Out.

Christmas on Cloud Nine

Love on Cloud Nine

For Lynne Tooze

My enlightened witness, and my fellow traveller.

My cup overfloweth

Cover Art by:

Dawn ‘Patsy’ Sheldon

Author Photograph by:

Claire Seville At Cherrypop Pictures

Acknowledgements

Firstly I must pay homage to my dear husband and life partner William John-James, in you I have everything that money cannot buy, every day, and in every way I know that with you, I am truly blessed. I would also like to thank my dear friend and journey companion Dawn ‘Patsy’ Sheldon, I am totally honoured that you have given your time and talent to creating the most wonderful painting for this book, I hope you will do many more? You are the sunshine and I, your rain, together, we’re shitting rainbows!

I would like to send my love, respect and admiration to my American Sister Jennifer Lynn McKittrick, who came into my life by chance and remains in my heart by choice.

I owe a huge thanks to my friend and sister, Debbie Roberts Franklin, for taking the time to help with this project. I also owe a devoted thank you to my sister Wendy ‘Woo’ Conroy for being there whenever she is needed, I love ya honey!

And to those of you that inspire and delight my life with your presence; Millicent Franklin, Alice Tooze, Holly ‘Boo’ Sheldon Evans, Daisy Tooze, Maiya Sheldon Johnson, Kevin Franklin, Christopher Berry, Michael Franklin, Jiabin Franklin, Liam Franklin, Estelle Seymour, Sandra Collins, Robert Nightingale, Phil Collins, Jason Franklin, Pauline Franklin, Natalie Franklin Andrews, Dan Andrews, Emma Franklin, Andrew Franklin, Samantha Tongue, Ryan Conroy, Alfie Conroy, Rosaleen Fennell Shingler, Lisa Franklin.

For her love and companionship, love to our baby, Grace JJ Monet.

I would also like to pay tribute to a wonderful woman, sister, mother and grandmother who is so dearly missed. Maureen Franklin may you rest in peace.

From Junbesi to Lukla

Warrior Yogi, was over six feet tall and as menacing as one would expect for a Nepalese guerrilla. His associated group were a band of kidnappers; their speciality was kidnapping wealthy climbers who came to climb the great Mount Everest. It had been three years since he last performed his skills; he along with two others, broke into the base camp of a wealthy couple and had kidnapped, what they had thought was one of the family, disappearing into the night with the small woman, bound by her hands and feet. Since that night they had held her captive in a small hamlet near Warrior Yogi’s home district of Junbesi. In that time they had made several demands for a ransom, but the demands had seemed to fall on deaf ears. For three years at the request of the leader Yogi had held the woman expecting to receive a rich reward, as this family were distant cousins of the British royal family.

At first the tiny woman with the long black hair and piercing blue eyes had hardly spoken to her captives. There had been a language barrier, the main kidnapper as she saw him was a real bear of a man, whose grunting made her feel uneasy at first. When he wanted her to do something he would just point and grunt, at that time she had been relieved he couldn’t speak English, because the velocity of his grunt was scary enough, when she thought of what that would translate into words she became terrified of him. She was equally terrified, that if they were to discover the truth about who she really was, then they would kill her. As the time dragged on the militia were becoming more and more impatient; they realised the longer they held the woman the chance that the British government would send in a rescue squad was increased.

One day, near the latter time of her capture Warrior Yogi decided that he would take the woman on a short hike to view the great mountain; he had begun to feel for the captive and knew it would be only a matter of time before the order would come to kill her. They had been away from the shack for just under four hours when Warrior Yogi lost his footing on the steep embankment and fell; releasing the chains she had been manacled to. Apart from the sliding rock Warrior Yogi had made no sound as he disappeared from view. The young woman stood frozen to the spot; then she realised this was her chance to escape; she gathered up the long chain and began to run. Her heart pounding in her chest, she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. Her eyes darted around looking for a safe direction in which to run, as her breathing regulated and her adrenaline calmed, her thoughts drifted from her dramatic escape and she thought of the man that had held her all this time. She wondered whether the fall would have killed him; she told herself that her mind should have been on her escape but all she could think of was how nice he had been to her; he had taught her how to cook, how to live off the fat of the land as it were, and she had begun to teach him English. She remembered his hearty laugh when she had eventually begun to talk and tell him jokes. She broke into a smile and stopped running. The chains, although were small, were beginning to chafe. She made her choice and returned to the embankment. Warrior Yogi was lying motionless where he had fallen. The woman hoisted the chains into her arms and began to descend the great slope. As she approached she spoke softly; Ere…are you okay? There was no movement. She moved in closer; Yogi, are you alive or dead? She shouted at the vast man.

Alive, I thinks! he answered.

Good, where are the facking keys to these chains?

Warrior Yogi tilted his head towards her and smiled; I thought you gone…left Yogi…me?

I did think about it, but we have that ram stew cooking, it’ll only spoil.

His smile widened, he reached into the pouch attached to his fur coat and threw the keys to her. Soon enough she was unchained and helping the great Hit-man back to the shack. She bound his sprained ankle and finished off the cooking. That night as they tucked into the mountain delicacy she chatted openly and at length; she told him about how the guerrilla’s had got it wrong, she may have been with the wealthy family but she in fact only worked for them, as a Ladies maid. They had thought she was one of the family’s teenage daughters as she was so small, in fact she was over thirty years of age. Yogi roared with laughter. I don’t know your name is? He finally said; all this time I be calling you, woman. I did not ask of you, your real name!

My name is Joan…Joan Spencer!

It is nice to meeting you Joan Spencer! he attempted to stand, but fell forward; Joan leapt to his side to steady him but his great frame caught her off guard and they both crashed to the floor, Joan landing on top of her captive. They lay there motionless, just gazing into each other’s eyes until Yogi broke the awkward silence; I think you are beautiful!

When will you be sure?

About a year ago! Joan felt her heart racing as she moved her face closer and kissed him full on the mouth.

For the next three weeks the couple behaved like newlyweds; they took walks together hand in hand, they cooked together practically hand in hand. Warrior also began teaching Joan Martial arts; he taught her how to extract the venom from killer snakes, and how to handle the Kalashnikov RPK light machine gun with 40-round box magazine, he even taught her the best way to use the AT Hand Grenades, used to throw at armored vehicles. Using the wild life around them, Warrior Yogi also taught her how to stalk and kill in practical silence.

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Warrior Yogi had slept in; and it had been the first time in three years he had awoken without Joan at his side. He jumped up from the cot and ran straight outside and Joan was nowhere to be seen. He went back into his shack and saw the huge cauldron bubbling over the open fire, and then the sound of grunting turned him back to the door. The wooden door creaked open to reveal Joan with a small deer strapped to her back. She dropped the beast to the floor; I got lunch, are you proud of your pupil? Yogi guffawed. The little woman dragged the beast to the log fire and the drainage hole in the floor, where the blood would trickle away after she had gutted and cleaned the meat. You can go for the vegetables this time! She panted.

It will be pleasure, comrade He answered; As soon as I have been for bathed, down at crack!

"Its creek, not crack and its bath not bathed! then turning back to her kill, she mumbled under breath; Dozy cant."

Warrior Yogi had just got down to the creek and was about to disrobe when he heard a rustle in the undergrowth; he knew every sound in these desolate parts and that was the sound of a clumsy human; Is that you, my love? There was no reply. He placed his hand on the dagger tucked into the top of his combats and stepped closer to the undergrowth; suddenly the bush parted and out sprung a large muscular guerrilla, screaming! Before Yogi had time to draw his weapon the man had landed on Yogi’s head knocking him to the floor, as he tried to right his stance the Guerrilla had a small hand gun at his temple.

Get me off! Yogi shouted.

Warrior, you are speaking in the English, when did you learn this?

Get me off! Yogi blasted again.

"No my friend, it is being; Get off me! The large man corrected as he rolled off his comrade. Yogi scrambled to his feet; What you doing here?"

We have come to told you, you have to go to Kathmandu, the principle is wanting you!

I cannot be coming, I have the woman still! He replied motioning up the ravine to his hidden shack. His brother looked at his watch and then back at Yogi and with a smile he announced; Not anymore! The sound of a woman screaming echoed around the creek.

NO! Yogi bellowed.

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In the ten minutes Yogi had been gone; Joan had skinned the beast and had dismembered the carcass. She had even managed to winch the beast up by its back legs to drain the blood over the floor hole, near the fire. She had just decided to rest with a cup of wine, when the sound of footsteps picked up her ears. She considered grabbing the knife on the table, as this was the first time Yogi hadn’t been whistling on his approach to the small building.

The door swung open and there stood a giant of a man. Joan’s eyes widened as the man ran straight for her. She tried to jump up to the table to grab the hunting knife but the man was far too quick for her; within a split second he had her on her back, pinned to the floor by her wrists. You English whore? Joan screamed. The door opened and in walked two more hefty strangers. The man pinning Joan remarked; "Uni aru sundar bhanda ma led expect la hami haru un lae straight away garny marnu cheen?"

Joan didn’t understand what had been said, but realised what it meant when the two men at the door began to undress. She screamed louder. The man on top of her back handed her into silence. The two men at the door came over and took Joan’s limp body to the table, ripped off her dress and threw her face down over the corner. He took hold of his erection and guided it towards Joan’s exposed crotch. Joan opened one eye quickly to decipher where in the shack she was. The men had thought she was unconscious and so no-one held her arms down. She slowly reached underneath the table and felt around for the gun taped to its underside. The guerrilla penetrated the tiny woman with a slamming hard thrust; Joan screamed as she spun around knocking her attacker off kilter and to one side, she grabbed hold of the machine gun with both hands and ripped back the safety catch; she sprayed the men with a full magazine almost splitting one of their heads in two.

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As Yogi tried to run, his comrade grabbed him by the wrist. What is this woman to you? Yogi did not respond; he grabbed his friend’s wrist and turned him around; then in one swift motion he grabbed the back of the man’s hair and pulled him downwards onto his crouched leg, slamming him down hard he snapped the hulks spine. Yogi then jumped to his feet and ran up the side of the canyon. His heart beating faster; he wouldn’t admit it but he had a tear in his eye at the thought of losing this wonderful love. He ran at the shack door knocking it clean off its hinges. Joan was standing near the fire, next to the three corpses hanging over the floor drainage hole. You took your facking time! She shouted.

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For the next two hours the pair packed and cleaned the shack. If the Principle had sent the men to get Yogi and kill Joan, then it would only be 48 hours before all hell was let loose; the highest insult to your Principle was to betray him but to kill his men too, now that was a death sentence.

As Joan cleaned the place from top to bottom Yogi prepared their weapons and sorted what clothes they would need and which were best to burn; after he had left this place he wanted to leave nothing that could be used to track them. He had planned to take Joan North East to Takasindu, and then onto the monastery of Trakshindu, where they could rest up before the treacherous journey to Khumjung and Ama Dablam near the Chinese boarder; Yogi had a brother there who would fly them both by helicopter over the border; it was a high risk journey because if the Chinese air force got wind they would be shot down for sure, but this was the only plan he could think that would stop his guerrilla fellowship following.

Joan had finished the cleaning of the hamlet and had begun to wash her hair over the floor hole. Yogi had just finished burying his three dead comrades and had come in to check on Joan’s progress. He stood in front of the shack’s door and watched as the tiny woman, who had stolen his heart, washed her lovely blackened hair. Just the other side of the door he heard a creek; he spun around as the door hit him full in the face and knocked him to the floor, unconscious. Joan bolted up-right and saw the tall dark haired man appear in the door way. He smiled at her as he walked in and bent down to check Warrior Yogi for a pulse. He fumbled into a small holder on the side of his left boot for the blade to kill Yogi, as he did he spoke to Joan; Hello I’m… He didn’t get to finish the sentence; Joan had waited until the man was crouched at the side of her unconscious lover, then using a broom handle for support she swung her body up and around, like a stripper on a pole; grabbing the assailant around the throat with her feet in a pincer movement, and swinging him face first into the door post, rendering him unconscious. Warrior Yogi came to and saw Joan crouched next to him.

Are you alright my darling? She asked.

Yes my love, what happening to me?

"It’s what happened to me, darling! Yogi raised an eyebrow. Joan realising this wasn’t the time for an English lesson, pointed at the unconscious stranger and said; He happened to you! Yogi pulled himself into an upright position and stared down at the man. Who is this?" He asked.

How the bleedin ‘ell should I know; you’re the one who knows all the ruffians, I’m a facking ladies maid! Yogi shot to his feet and ran for the chains he had held Joan in. After a few minutes the man had been hoisted from the floor into a chair and bound and gagged. Joan rummaged through his belongings to find any idea as to who the man was; they could tell by looking at him he was no guerrilla. The man was carrying a British Passport, some money and very little else, apart from a few knives and a loaded Smith and Weston.

He’s English. Why would an English man be here! Do you have English men in your…gang? Joan asked realising this sounded like a playground question.

No, no England men! Just then the man began to groan as he regained consciousness. Joan walked over to him and removed a hunting knife from its sheaf. She held the blade at the man’s throat. I’m going to ask you questions, you will answer, if I don’t like the answers I cut your throat; do you understand me…cant? The man nodded his understanding.

Who are you and what are you doing here? She asked ripping off the masking tape from around his mouth.

I work for British Intelligence. I followed those men here, to rescue you! Joan stood with her mouth agog. Then after a few seconds pause; You came to rescue me?

"Yes, the family you worked for got in touch with cobweb, they sent me here a few weeks back, I managed to get to the principle and find out those men were coming to give the order to kill. I guess that guy there is the one to do the killing!" He motioned toward Yogi.

No, no you have it wrong that man saved me, that’s why I knocked you out…By the way sorry about that!

So if we are all on the same side, could you untie me?

Oh fack sorry about all this; darling, I thought you were here to kill us! Joan began to unlock the chains that had bound him to the chair; "What’s cobweb?"

It’s a section of the British Intelligence, that’s all I can say!

Ain’t you a little young to be an intelligent?

What he couldn’t tell the young woman was that Cobweb was the most secret side to British Intelligence. In fact the department was so secret, even the British Prime Minister was unaware of their existence. When in the world, civil unrest threatened British interests, cobweb would be sent in. When a country was being ruled by a dictator then cobweb would be sent in; more often than not when you read in the news that some dignitary had been killed by a member of their own forces you could practically guarantee cobweb was behind it. This kind of manoeuvre was typical of this department, up until now no English people had been involved in any kidnap plot in Nepal, but as this was a favour for the powerful family that the thirty year old ladies maid worked for, one agent had been sent.

As Joan made tea the agent began to tell how he had found the Principle and had infiltrated the militia; when four of the guerrillas had been dispatched the agent knew he had to follow. He also told Joan and Yogi that a follow squad was being dispatched in a day or so, this gave the threesome a limited time to head to safety; in this case safety was a contact across the border in Saidpur, Bangladesh. From there the three would make their way south to Dhaka, where a military secret plane would fly them to England. Yogi knew only too well that this would not be straight forward; this particular gang had contacts almost everywhere; their only chance was to lay false trails in the opposite direction. After many heated debates it was decided that the best plan would be for them to head towards the airport at Lukla, that way those following would think their destination was the Chinese border.

For the following two weeks the trio headed in a zigzag trek across the hostile territories of Nepal. During this time the three got to know each other very well. One night whilst camping out on one of the mountain inclines Joan had decided to tell the agent the truth about Yogi, and how he had held her for three years and how during that time they had fallen in love. The agent told her that she should maintain the story of how Yogi had rescued her; otherwise the British government would hold him as a terrorist. Joan liked this man. According to the passport they had found on him his name was Michael, but he liked to be called Bear. Joan had some inclination that this had something to do with the way he looked; the man was tall, and appeared to be much younger than Joan and had a very neat beard. She also had the inkling that this man maybe gay; she had watched him watching the very muscled form of Yogi whenever he bathed; she liked gay people, her experience with the gay community was very limited, due to the fact it was still considered taboo in England; but she did have a brother who was gay, unfortunately he committed suicide when people in his work life had discovered his sexuality during a drunken romp at the office Christmas party. Bear reminded her of him and so her affection grew with each day they spent together.

Soon enough the trio arrived at the monastery of Trakshindu, the small place where Yogi had a brother who was going to lead the way onto Lukla and the world famous airport. Nokki, Yogi’s brother would also help them find a plane out of the country. This was the part Yogi was dreading; it had been a number of years since he last flew a plane but he had never stolen one. After just a few hours hidden in the monastery, Bear made his way to his own contact at the town of Takasindu. Whilst there, his contact informed him that the Principle was onto their escape and had sent some of his toughest men to assassinate them all.

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The closer to Lukla they got the more scared Joan had begun to feel; even more so when at Lomdza they had to walk across a suspension bridge to cross Thadakoshi. Finally they had made it, behaving like tourists they walked onto the airstrip. Joan’s mouth slackened as the dirt track landing strip seemed to just disappear into a sheer drop off the mountain side.

We have to take a plane from here? She asked sheepishly.

Yes my love, that light plane there! Yogi pointed to a small, old rusty looking light aircraft.

Will it get off the ground? Yogi just smiled his reply. Bear walked over to a group of pilots and began the distraction. Faking a seizure, he dropped to the floor and as people began to swarm towards him; Joan and Yogi ran across the small dirt track runway and climbed into the small plane. The sound of gunshots could be heard and Bear jumped to his feet, he spotted the militia heading towards him. As the light aircraft’s engines began to roar into action, Bear ran hell for leather towards the couple, motioning for them to start the climb to the run way. Yogi was sat in the cockpit all ready to go, Joan opened the door for Bear to climb in. The plane then started its decent down the sloping runway, bumping and bobbing along to the sound of the gunfire coming from the approaching guerrillas. Bear caught up with the aircraft and was about to jump onto its wing when a succession of bullets ripped into his side and throwing him to the floor. Yogi made an instant decision and hurtled towards the runway end. The plane disappeared off the edge of the cliff for a few seconds and then lifted upwards and off into the mountain range. Joan was sobbing as she looked back and saw the writhing body of Bear. She closed her eyes as the men on the runway crowded around the secret agent and more gun fire echoed around the mountain side.

When the Ladies Maid, Met the Man-made

Joan Spencer had finally returned back to her native England after being held for ransom in Nepal for three years. As the government jet landed at a so-called, secret location; the press were there in force to capture the moment. Joan, the ladies maid to the queen’s distant cousin, Lady Hamptonshire, had arrived back in the UK with her saviour, a gentle giant named Warrior Yogi. The tabloids had been awash with the story of the great escape, and of how the Duke of Hamptonshire had been the one to send in a crack team of SAS soldiers in a dawn swoop to retrieve Joan and Yogi and kill the terrorists holding them. The stories of course were all fabrication; the Duke had very little to do with anything but the press were certainly not permitted to know the truth, especially where Cobweb were concerned.

Soon after the news had died down somewhat; the British government began to carry out some background checks on this Warrior Yogi, the Nepali who claims to have rescued the damsel in distress. It turned out Warrior Yogi was known by the government’s sources in Nepal; he was suspected to be involved in a number of professional hits around the world, but of course there was no evidence to prove anything. As Yogi was always a lone assassin they thought the chances of him being a kin to the principle in Nepal were slim. The government were only too glad that this Nepalese thug would not be permitted to stay in the country. Unbeknown to them Joan Spencer had fallen in love with the man and they had planned to marry. Different people showed up from different government agencies to try and persuade the woman she was suffering from what is known as Stockholm syndrome, where captives feel empathy for their captors; and that this love was all in her mind. Joan was adamant she was not suffering anything, and she would marry the man. The government were then beginning to turn nasty and telling Joan what Yogi had been suspected of. Joan turned to her employer Lady Margaret Hamptonshire for help, and in a very cloak and dagger moment her ladyship transported Joan in the dead of night to meet her own family solicitor Sir Charles Britton. Sir Charles was a portly warm soul, who spoke to Joan as if every word from her mouth was of the utmost interest and humility. After passing Joan onto Sir Charles, Lady Hamptonshire disappeared into the night. Joan was put up in the spare room and for the first time since returning to England she felt safe and protected. Yogi had been placed in an internment camp near Dover, until the British had found enough good reason to send him back to the country from whence he came.

After Joan had settled into her room Sir Charles went to check on her. Gingerly he tapped lightly on the door.

Yeah? Joan called from the other side.

May I come in for a moment my dear? Joan loved the sound of a well spoken English man. On occasions including this one; Joan tried and failed to speak as eloquently; Yes, please do so…err…mate!

Charles opened the door and stepped just inside the room. Joan was sitting at the large dressing table near the French windows. May I help one? she asked. Charles gave a wry smile; I thought I’d let you get a good night’s rest and then tomorrow we’ll discuss how we are going to get that man of yours set free. Joan’s smile beamed; You really are a gentleman, I can’t thank you enough mate!

You are most welcome, so I’ll bid you goodnight…Oh, one other thing, I’m afraid my…err…wife may be a little loud when she comes in, so I do apologise if she disturbs you!

Fine by me; as I say I’m only too grateful you havin’ me ‘ere! Charles smiled his response and headed back down to the drawing room to wait on his…wife?

After taking a long soak in the bath, Joan dressed herself in the silk night gown; a gift from her Ladyship. She climbed into the huge four poster bed opposite the crackling fire, she reached into a small bag at the side of the bed and took out a photograph of her dearest Yogi; Not long now my love, we’ll be together again, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow, I have something to tell you darlin’! With that, she kissed the picture and climbed further down the huge covers of the large bed and fell into a deep sleep, cuddled by the warmth.

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The sun had finally found its way through the gap in the long heavy curtains and had begun to edge its way up the bed. Joan began squinting as the harsh drop of day light reached her face. For the few seconds after she woke she couldn’t place where she was; since being back in England Joan had slept in many a strange bed. Her confusion gave way to thoughts of her dearest Yogi; she stared at the pillow next to her and hoped that soon his head would once again rest beside hers. She hadn’t let anybody know how she was truly feeling but the truth was she was terrified they would send him back to Nepal and to his death. A stifled cough outside her door broke her imaginings. Slowly she pushed back the covers and climbed out of the comfy warm cocoon. On her way to the bathroom she paused by the bedroom door, as she could hear Sir Charles talking in a muffled harsh tone. Joan strained her ears but couldn’t make out what was being said, then she noticed the keyhole and bent down to see if she could put an image to the voice; as she placed her left eye to the door it swung open and knocked her on her bottom. Standing above her was Sir Charles. Joan sat on her ass with her nightdress wrapped around her waist and mouth agog.

I’m sorry my dear, are you okay? Charles asked offering her his hand.

I was just…doing…stretching…I was stretching!

I just wanted to see if you have slept well my dear?

Yes, thank you! Joan replied still sprawled on the floor.

Well breakfast is ready when you are; Mrs Danvers has made us a full English!

Who? Joan asked climbing to her feet.

The housekeeper; Mrs Danvers.

Fack orf; is that really her name? Charles tittered at Joan’s response.

No; her name is really Gertrude Gretchen…Something or other, but my…wife, calls her that.

Is your wife home; I didn’t hear her come in last night?

No she’s not home yet. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a few calls to make; so I’ll see you downstairs shortly. Joan smiled as she watched Charles leave.

After twenty minutes Joan was dressed and making her way down the three flights of stairs to where she could smell the breakfast. Just as she reached the