Dynasty

Chapter 2

Chapter 2She stepped inside. An old-fashioned racing car was on a garage-style ramp and a tall broad guy was welding the underside. He wore a full face protective mask and blue overalls. She knew not to look at the intense light from the sparks. At a quick glance he was working on aluminum. So, he knew what he was doing. She was happy to study the engineer. He was about six foot three. He was broad and powerful. His boiler suit was open showing a tanned dark-haired chest and some belly hair arrowing down through the waistband of his boxers. His body was strong and sexy. When he paused she spoke.

“Good evening, Sir. Looks like you’re welding aluminum.”

He stepped out from under the ramp and flipped up the mask to reveal a handsome aristocratic face smudged with oil. Crow’s feet around his eyes stood out where dirt hadn’t penetrated. She guessed he was about forty.

“Good Lord! Are you some kind of police officer?” he barked in deep loud voice.

“I like to think so. I’m gonna keep trying anyway,” said Shannon with a smile.

“Where on earth are you from?”

“The village, Fleetworth-Green. It’s just beyond the trees over there,” she said, well aware she was being mischievous.

“I know where the b****y village is,” he said with an exasperated tone.

“Are you going to say that I’m not PC Flowers?”

“Yes, you certainly are not PC Flowers.”

“We’re agreed then,” said Shannon.

“Look. What the hell is this?”

She could tell he was hovering between anger and laughter. She had to tease. She just had to.

“It’s a police raid. Hands behind your back while I put the cuffs on,” she said, smiling all the while.

“What, what? Who the hell are you?”

“Sir, I was joking.”

“Where is PC Flowers? He’s the only man I deal with.”

“Where have all the flowers gone, eh?” Shannon remarked.

“What? What?”

“I’m PC Shannon Aguerri, your new local bobby on the beat.”

“No one told me,” he blustered.

Slowly he pulled off his welding gloves to reveal big strong-looking hands and forearms. He wiped his face with a rag. Shannon held his angry stare, noting his deep brown eyes and long straight nose like that of a Norman knight. She could tell that he was softening as he took in her coffee skin and blue eyes. She smiled and knew he couldn’t resist a small smile in return.

“And you are the local police officer?”

“Yes. Fresh out of the box from Brixton. Someone important thought you guys needed me.”

“Brixton?” he said, almost aghast.

“Yeah, Brixton Academy, Brixton Market, Brixton riots and don’t forget Brixton Prison.”

“This is astonishing. No one told me,” he said.

“I’ll mention it to the Commissioner,” she said.

“I could tell the b****y Home Secretary.”

“And I’ll tell Boris Johnson and he’ll go on TV and tell everyone,” said Shannon, enjoying the sport.

Without warning he let out a bellow of laughter.

“Yes. b****y Boris would, wouldn’t he?”

For a second he stared at her and appeared to have a light-bulb moment.

“I get it. Good Lord. You’re a ‘stripogram cop.’ This is Jazzy’s idea of a birthday surprise. You b****y near had me fooled,” he said chuckling with hearty mirth.

“Father, she’s the village cop,” said Ben who had walked in behind her.

Shannon smiled broadly.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Sir,” she said. “Anyway, is it your birthday? No party?”

“No,” he said with a kind of plainness that conveyed a sorrow.

“Are you this young man’s father?”

“Yes.”

“He was in the woods on a Vespa scooter. He claims it belongs to you.”

“Yes. Yes it does,” he said, turning his attention to Ben. “Is this so? It’s not a dirt track machine. Have you damaged it?”

Ben shook his head and studied the floor. Shannon was aware of the clatter of horses’ hooves.

“Sir, I just wanted to check he hadn’t stolen it.”

“Stolen?” said a sharp posh female voice from behind her.

“Ah, Jazzy,” said the earl with a smile. Shannon glanced at Ben, noting that his face had clouded. She caught the boy’s eye and gave a small wink.

The woman came and stood beside the hunky guy in overalls.

“I hope you have not dared to question a minor without all the proper protocols, Officer,” she said.

Shannon looked her up and down. She was slim and elegant even if she did have over-large teeth. She was dressed in riding jodhpurs and a beautifully cut black jacket. Wisps of blonde hair trailed from her riding helmet.

“Who are you?” asked Shannon with deliberate formality.

“I am Jasmine de Montfort. I’m a barrister-at-law at the Marlborough-Fortescue Chambers. You will know of us I think. Although at your rank you won’t be dealing with top level cases,” she said with an icy smile.

“I dunno. I’ve locked up all kinds of toffs but so far, no barristers. One never knows though, does one?” replied Shannon.

“Toffs! Toffs! What is your name and number, Officer? I think you need to be aware of the limits of your authority.”

Shannon held her stare for a moment.

“The numbers are on my shoulder. Is that your ‘Chelsea Tractor’ four-by-four out there?”

“How dare you?”

“It’s easy, Madam. Is it yours?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“The number plate is illegal. The letters are mis-spaced. You know it and I know it.”

Shannon glanced at Ben’s face. His expression barely hid some kind of joy.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. It reads JA51 LAW. I guess you are trying to make it read ‘Jazi’? It’s all a bit vulgar to my mind,” said Shannon.

Ben let out a howl.

“You are impertinent!” said Jasmine de Montfort.

“And you are risking a sixty-quid ticket if you drive that out of here, Madam,” replied Shannon.

Although Jasmine de Montfort, barrister-at-law at the Marlborough-Fortescue Chambers didn’t actually stamp her foot, her boiling rage looked near to explosion. Shannon smiled and carefully drew out her notebook and made a show of recording some official matter. In fact she sketched her version of a volcano. Poor Ben squealed again.

The earl glanced awkwardly between all of the faces.

“Spencer, what the hell is going on?” asked Jasmine.

“Jazz, perhaps you should leave me to speak with the officer,” he said.

His tone was firm and Shannon saw at once that Jasmine was not going to contradict him in front of her, although she continued to look down her nose at Shannon as if she wanted to spit.

“I’ll be in the house,” she said, strutting off across the yard.

“Ooh, my little pony’s not too happy,” said Shannon.

It was all too much for Ben who appeared to go into a fit of laughter that could physically harm him.

“My little pony. My little pony,” he repeated.

“Ben, get across to the house. We’ll speak later,” said Spencer.

Shannon shot a last smile at the lad. She didn’t know the set-up here but it wasn’t happy and there was room for improvement. She sensed she was on a case. She let out a sigh.

“I guess I didn’t handle that too well,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been rude.”

He smiled and seemed relaxed.

“Oh, frisky fillies can rear up a bit I suppose,” he said.

This time it was Shannon’s turn to be gobsmacked. Just where the hell was this guy from?

“I’m not any kind of frisky filly,” she stated.

“No—I’m sorry—but you introduced my little pony didn’t you.”

“Yes, that’s a fair comment,” said Shannon.

He beamed at her with the most genuine warmth she had ever seen in a human face.

“Do you truly believe in fairness?”

“Well, that’s a question, Sir. Yes I do, but I guess I accept a lot of compromise.”

He nodded and smiled again.

“So what was Ben up to?”

“Just hanging out with some mates and riding the scooter. You know, he’s a good lad, but maybe in the wrong company he could go astray.”

She watched his expression change.

“I don’t feel I need the police to tell me his character,” he said.

“I’m not telling you the police view. I’m telling you as me, as a woman, as a frisky filly.”

He smiled at her again and she smiled back.

“I guess that’s touché,” he said.

She watched him take up his tools to re-start his work. She saw him notice her eyes on his body and appear almost shy.

“You should keep those overalls buttoned up, Sir. Bare skin is very sensitive to a hot spark,” she said.

“You know about welding?”

“My dad’s a mechanic. He started in Antigua. I used to go down the arches with him when I was a kid and my mum was out at work in the hospital. He sat me in the corner but I was always helping out if I could,” she said, warming to the memory.

“That’s amazing. You know, a cop and, you know, just someone like you knowing about cars,” he said.

She sensed the fragile innocent boyishness in him that had called to her heart when talking to Ben.

“What’s your project here?” she asked.

“Ah well, she’s a D-type Jaguar that raced at Le Mans in the fifties. I’m hoping to take her back there.”

“Can I come?” she said.

“You?”

“My dad rates me as a top dog oily rag.”

“Really. You’re very—”

“I know. Forward, I suppose. Don’t ask, don’t get, Mister, innit?” she replied.

“Innit?” he questioned.

“Innit – chav-speak for ‘is it not,’ ‘n’est-ce-pas,’etcetera,” she said.

He stared at her and she let her eyes soften, expand, and accept him. She breathed in deeply, knowing that the swell of her chest drew his gaze and him into her.

“Well, thank you, Officer,” he said slowly.

“Goodnight and sleep tight,” she replied.

“You won’t turn into PC Flowers, will you?” he said.

“I won’t change if you don’t,” she said, “and you can tell Miss High Horse Legal Knickers that I won’t be stopping her car tonight. In case she’s afraid I’ll lay siege to your castle.”

“Yes. Thanks,” he said, replacing his welding mask and picking up his tools. And yes! He was laughing as he turned away. She knew that he knew she knew. A little buzz in her belly thrilled her as she stepped outside. A little voice whispered that it was time to go back on the pill.

The night air was sweet and filled with sounds of vibrant mysterious life. The scent of newly cut grass and roses filled her senses. She walked slowly back to the empty police house. The lives of these two guys, a father and his motherless son, had touched her. She knew that. She had connected from within herself. In the vital fragrance of the night some juice of her was flowing down an umbilicus that had always been waiting to ambush her soul. Some emotion was pouring helplessly out of her and some kind of love and connection was pouring in. Above her were cold stars and beneath her feet was the stored warmth of a summer’s day that her physical body could still feel. Her mind, her ability to reach both beyond and within herself, was the essence of conscious life. It had taken merely the question in the eyes of a being who needed her. She knew she would never quite be the same again and that the word “lost”’ had no meaning or leverage until someone found you. From then on, nothing other than that has any meaning.