About the Author

Bryon Williams' thirty-five year career background whilst in Melbourne and Sydney was in the fields of acting for the stage, for which he was nominated twice for ‘Best Actor of the Year’, film, television and radio, directing for stage and television and contract writing for the stage and television. 

After relocating to his hometown of Brisbane, apart from occasional television acting, he was occupied in teaching voice and acting for Warner Bros. Movie World and the Australian Film and Television Academy, and managing Dracula's Theatre Restaurant for five years, whilst inventing and playing his character, ‘Rigor Mortis’. 

His wife of forty-seven years, Marie, suffered a stroke in 2000, which left her paralysed down the left side. Since then, Bryon has retired from the entertainment industry and taken on the role of full-time carer.

Chapter 1 

‘Good morning, Twilight Escorts,’ Ms Estelle Twigden purred as she answered the phone in her ‘professional’ voice. Well, she tried to purr but it somehow came out more like a low growl. Estelle was now in her late fifties, unnaturally prim and proper, as she would’ve been described in her younger days. But she was, in actual fact, anything but prim or proper. And now, in her later years, after a lifetime of enslavement caring for her hypochondriacal mother, who had finally been admitted to a nursing home, she was at last able to blossom into the loyal, reliable, disciplined, caring, passionate, but still sexually frustrated romantic she had hidden away and denied from the outside world for her entire life.

Her mother – ‘the old chook’, as Aubrey, Estelle’s boss, secretly referred to her – after years of crying wolf, finally lost the remaining chickens from her barn and was found by the neighbourhood constabulary, sitting in the local McDonalds, stark naked and screaming obscenities at some poor old codger who was trying to show her his Quarter Pounder. She was reportedly yelling, ‘No, no! I ordered a fucking Big Mac, not a fucking Junior Burger!’

The only vacancy that could be found was in the ‘We Look After You’ Nursing Home for the Disturbed, which Mother referred to as the ‘We-couldn’t-give-a-shit-House’.

Estelle was thin, if not wiry, with a figure more like a second hand than an hourglass. The only time she tried an uplift-padded bra, she lost her balance and fell flat on her face, almost fracturing her hip. Since then she returned to what she referred to as her ‘boyish’ figure, or in her case, the now-fashionable Auschwitz look. She had dark brown eyes that tended more towards a spaniel than a Jack Russell, camouflaged by rimless glasses. Her straightened hair was the colour of badly weathered straw, drawn back into a bun or, in her case, a small haystack, at the nape of her neck, which gave her a rather stern and sometimes disapproving look.

‘Yes, Mrs Trabert,’ she said into the phone, ‘dinner and the theatre, Saturday night.’ Estelle wrote the details down on her pad. ‘And what time would you like to be picked up? – And what attire would you prefer? – Oh, it’s opening night – Formal? – That should be fine. I’ll just have to see if Raoul is available of course and call you back. If he’s engaged for Saturday, would any other escort be suitable, like Alexander or Joachim? – I see, yes, Raoul is very charming, and amenable, but he is also quite in demand, you know. – Of course. Well, I’ll be in touch as soon as I find out. Thank you for calling, Mrs Trabert. Goodbye.’

Estelle hung up the phone and pounded a few keys on her computer just as Penny Pryce entered the office through the front door, carrying a large fashionable handbag. ‘Hi, ET,’ she said. ‘Got the lunch. They’d run out of tuna so I got you anchovy paste and salad. Okay?’

By Estelle’s expression, it was definitely not okay but she declined to comment. Instead she picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers that she’d got from her computer record and waited for the number to answer. Penny bounced back to her own desk, placing the lunch bag on Estelle’s desk as she passed, opened her own lunch, a serving of chicken and fried rice, and retrieved a copy of Sex and Celluloid celebrity magazine from her handbag. She flopped down on her chair, opened the magazine and her lunch, and hoed into both.

Penny Pryce was what Estelle described as a ‘young English person’ of dubious background, lacking in class, extremely pretty in a conventional sort of way she supposed, with fashionably messy shoulder-length blonde hair, which looked like it had never been in the same vicinity as a comb, and featured an alarming streak of bright blue hanging down to her chin. Estelle thought it made her look as if someone had dropped a bottle of ink on the top of her head and it had run down one side. Her bright pink top didn’t quite reach her waist, leaving a strip of tanned flesh showing between it and the top of her white mini skirt, slung indecently low on her hips. This in itself Estelle disapproved of, but the hint of a red thong, the tattoo of a crocodile with its jaws open and slavering, pointing towards her left buttock, and a silver Balinese navel ring, did nothing, in Estelle’s view, to improve the look. The white calf-length boots clinging to her shapely tanned legs completed the picture, which Estelle thought made her look like a tart. Most men thought she looked more like a cupcake.

Penny had been what Estelle described initially as ‘an unfortunate choice’ as a receptionist-cum-girl Friday, but the final decision had not been left in her hands. Mr Charles, Mr Aubrey’s partner, had insisted they hire her as it would give the business what he called ‘FOA’: Front Office Appeal. Estelle certainly wasn’t of the opinion that Penny provided the sort of FOA suitable for the type of clients they attracted. Besides, Penny was allegedly Mr Charles’ ‘niece’, which Estelle considered extremely dubious, but since Mr Charles’ family were also from England, it was, she supposed, quite possible. And Penny had developed a not-unusual feature for a cockney: a most alarming Australian accent. Still, Mr Charles was one of the bosses and the decision was his and Mr Aubrey’s. Secretly, although she tried to hide it, Estelle, against her better judgment, had grown rather fond of Penny, and her bright, cheerful presence.

‘Hello, Fred,’ Estelle said into the phone. ‘Mrs Trabert would like to book you for Saturday night for dinner at The Balaton, followed by the opening night of Lady Windermere’s Fan. – No, fan, Fred, not fanny. – It’s not a strip club, it’s a revival of an old classic,’ she said patiently. ‘And do try not to go to sleep this time. You were lucky she didn’t notice when you escorted her to the ballet last time. – Yes, well, I know she dropped off as well but she was paying. – Black tie, I’m afraid, Fred. – Yes, I know, it makes you uncomfortable but after all, she is the client and has the right to stipulate dress code. I’ll arrange for the formal hire and you can dress here as usual, so we can check you out. I’ll confirm the details by email, alright?’

Fred, or Raoul as was his adopted ‘professional’ name for the agency, was obviously still rattling on about having to wear formal gear and Estelle finally was forced to cut him short. ‘Yes, I know. – Well, look at it this way, it gives you a night out and remember, it does augment your pension, so be nice to her.’

Estelle hung up the phone, remarking to Penny as she entered the booking into the Client File on her computer, ‘Silly old fool, I don’t know what she sees in him. This is her third booking with him.’

Penny looked up from yet another article about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. ‘Maybe he’s got a big donger,’ she remarked matter-of-factly.

Estelle scowled disapprovingly. ‘Don’t say donger, please, Penny. Penis is much more refined.’

‘No, penis is average and donger is a whopper,’ Penny explained patiently.

‘Well, whatever,’ replied Estelle dismissively. ‘I’m just not up with these modern terms and I’m not sure I approve.’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ explained Penny, patiently, ‘to get you up to date. So, next time you have to interview a prospective employee, you say “Now I’ll just need to take down your measurements. Height, weight, and what’s the size of your donger?” ‘

Estelle actually sucked her teeth in disapproval, ‘Thankfully, interviewing prospective employees is not a part of my office duties any more. No thank you, I’ll leave that to Mr Charles and Mr Aubrey.’

‘You seemed to get into the swing of it last time,’ Penny smiled cheekily. ‘Where are they, by the way?’

‘Out to lunch.’

‘Well. That’s the last we’ll see of them for the afternoon,’ Penny replied, returning to Tom and Katie.

‘No, Mr Charles has got an interview with a – ‘ Estelle checked her diary ‘– a Ms Therese Singleton, at three, so when you’ve finished your lunch, will you please give the formal hire company a ring and book Fred’s outfit? They have his size on file.’

‘Right, an’ I’ll make sure they put a larger gusset in the crotch for him,’ giggled Penny, then added, ‘This Ms Singleton, are we taking on more staff?’

‘It’s to replace Georgiana nee Gladys,’ Estelle reminded her. ‘She’s in hospital having a hysterectomy.’

‘Well, she’ll never miss it now, will she? After six kids and at her age, it’s probably a bit frayed anyway.’ As an after-thought, she added, ‘Will that come under Work Cover?’

‘Don’t be silly, Penny, you well know that sex is not included in our services.’

‘Oh yeah,’ replied Penny cynically. ‘I can imagine. You mean to tell me …’

But Estelle cut her off with a quote from their website and the brochure, which she held up for Penny to read. ‘Sex is not a part of our service and is only tolerated by mutual, private consent, and on the condition that no money or expensive gifts change hands in the process. Our staff are clean-living, caring escorts and not prostitutes.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Penny. ‘I wonder how Gordon – or I mean, Philippe – got that new car of his.’

‘He said he cashed in some of his superannuation shares.’

‘I’ll bet he cashed in on something,’ Penny muttered, returning again to Tom and Katie.

Just then the front door opened and Charles and Aubrey entered. While Charles had obviously imbibed a little lunch with his wine, Aubrey remained as conservative in manner as was his mid-grey wool and polyester suit, white shirt and maroon-striped tie that adorned his slightly chubby body, which complimented his chubby face, the cheeks of which displayed a certain ruddy quality, not entirely due to the sun.

Charles called a greeting, perhaps a little louder than necessary, as was his outfit: white slacks hugging, for his age, a fairly fit and tanned body, and a bright Hawaiian sports shirt featuring a volcano, several pineapples and a parrot. The shirt was provocatively, he thought, open down to the second coconut-shell button, just short of revealing the flesh-coloured, elastic-and-bone waist pincher with pockets, which he referred to as his money belt and which Estelle referred to as his corset. The shirt opening displayed a grey, stubbled chest that was obviously well past waxing or shaving time, and gave the effect of an after-eleven-o’clock shadow. The eyes were still a sparkling blue, although now age puffed around their extremities, with tiny laugh wrinkles at their corners. The teeth were remarkably white and even, due to the fortune that had been spent on dental cosmetic enhancing and regular peroxide rinses, and were most noticeable as he called, ‘Hello, my little darlings,’ in a manner that suggested he hadn’t seen the two ladies for at least a month when in fact it had only been a couple of hours.

‘Mr Charles,’ said a slightly disapproving Estelle. ‘Remember you have an interview with Therese Singleton at three.’

‘Of course,’ said Charles. ‘And I’m so looking forward to it. What a good, efficient, and might I say, devilishly attractive little woman you are. What would we do without you?’ And turning directly to Aubrey he asked, ‘Don’t suppose you’d like to do it, Aubs?’

‘Oh, n-no Charles,’ Aubrey stammered, ‘I’ve got some, er, reports to go through. And anyway, you’re so much better at interviewing than I am.’

‘Of course!’ said Charles. And then in sotto voce, as he passed on his way to his office, ‘After all, you interviewed Estelle, didn’t you? – And employed her.’

Aubrey actually blushed and escaped, a little unsteadily, into his office.

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