Doomed Dynasty Pt. 07

"A slice of Madeira cake or a lamington Mr Curtis?"

Tea and cakes in mid afternoon was not Matt's idea of an acceptable substitute for a cold beer and sausage from a bar food warmer. But he was after something.

"Thank you, Mrs Ingledew. A slice of cake, please. My word, this cup is extremely dainty. I like fine bone china."

Amy Ingledew had already realised her mistake in giving this big man with enormous hands a cup from her late mother's precious tea set. She waited nervously for Matt to return the cup to its saucer before passing him the piece of cake.

"Well then Mr Curtis. You haven't come here to tell me that the garden looks lovely or perhaps it will rain tomorrow. You haven't been inside this house since Maurice died."

A believer in meeting accusations head-on, even if they were thrown as delicately as this one was, Matt replied, "That's true. I really miss him, and the great times we had at the club. I'm here to talk business with you, with your consent of course."

Well, he's not one to beat around the bush, thought Amy, which is probably why Maurice had liked him. When Matt was a teenager his father had appealed to Maurice to teach Matt how to play snooker, as more often than not Collier's attempts at coaching ended up with father and son verbally brawling.

Maurice had great patience and eventually Matt was regularly beating Curtis at the game. At the end of their first year together Maurice and Matt won the Miranda open snooker championship and played together competitively for almost twelve years until Maurice's fatal heart attack when he was at a South-East Asia and Pacific newspaper proprietors' conference in Hong Kong.

"I wish to make you an offer for The Bugle Mrs Ingledew."

For a moment Amy looked at her wedding ring locked on to her finger by arthritic swelling, then she replied.

"Why?"

Bugger, thought Matt. He'd not rehearsed a reply for a direct one-word question. Tell her the truth.

"Because I want to get rid of the editor."

"But you know I can't do that. Swanson is my son-in-law."

"I know that but we can still negotiate."

"I'd like that. One of my friends has told me that you are a formidable opponent in business Mr Curtis. So please begin."

Matt sniffed, and gave her a wide grin.

My god, thought Amy, he certainly looks as if he's used to getting his own way. But Matt, despite that big bad wolf grin, surprised her with his next comment.

"I would not like to take advantage of you Mrs Ingledew. We should adjourn and resume at your convenience when you have your advisers present."

"No wonder Maurice liked you, Matt. You're a good boy. But now cut the crap and begin talking. I was running a military field hospital in Italy when you were in short pants so expect to leave empty handed."

There was no way Amy was going to sell The Bugle or even water down her shareholding. She eventually planned to hand it over to her daughter Jules, who headed advertising and management operations and Jule's husband Swanson, who she recognised was slowly maturing as an editor.

An hour later Matt drove off with a verbal agreement, to be drawn up into a contract and signed later that week. He would pay $10,000 for a seat on the board, and the company would give the departing chairman a $10,000 golden handshake.

Amy had told him that the board was not driving the company hard enough for her liking, so Matt's interest was rather timely.

"I appoint the chairman and the new one will be you," she had said. "Now, what about Swanson?"

Already that was no longer an issue in Matt's mind. "That chairman will advise the editor that his personal vendetta against Peter Reynolds must stop."

"And you were prepared to outlay something approaching $2 million to buy The Bugle just to do that?" Amy asked, incredulously.

"Yes, he was acting unjustly against an employee who'd over-stepped the mark a bit. Instead of trying to sack him he should have giving him a good dressing down or even taken him outside and thumped him."

"Oh, Matt. You must upset Patricia talking like that. Besides, people don't behave like that these days."

"Don't they," replied Matt with a grin.

"I can see that my son-in-law is going to have to grow up rather quickly," smiled Amy.

Matt said, "Oh there's a couple of things before I go. One, either you call me Mr Curtis or invite me to call you Amy ..."

"Call me Amy from now on Matt. And the other thing?"

"I wasn't going to 'throw two million' at a donkey. I know a great deal about the business performance of The Bugle Amy. I would gladly have held on to it after dealing with the editor. My first priority will be to look at the problem of circulation slippage; we may have to consider converting The Bugle into a free community newspaper or perhaps better still switching it to a morning newspaper. Worldwide overseas evening newspapers have been hit by the development of television. We can also expect greater competition for advertising revenue from radio stations."

Amy nodded approvingly and said, "I like the way you think Matt."

* * *

At the elections in October, the incumbent mayor and three of his councillor cronies were voted out of office. Matt won the mayoralty with a substantial majority and three of the new councillors were under thirty years of age and two councillors were women.

Patricia and Courtney virtually had to drag him out to go into town for the announcement of the results on Saturday evening as Matt had been watching a golf programme on television featuring some of the greatest players of the past 100 years.

The local radio station interviewed Matt live and then The Bugle team had its turn. The photographer had Patricia hugging Courtney with Matt looming over both of them. He thought it was a funny way to photograph them for the newspaper, but when The Bugle came out on Monday afternoon it became clear why that had been positioned that way.

'Former Mayoress Welcomes Daughter-in-law as New Mayoress' was the banner headline.

Matt was pleased about that, describing it as "a nice touch".

He was less pleased with the article under the smaller heading, "Landslide Win for New Mayor Matt Curtis." It claimed his act of cutting a wider gap through the shingle bank at the river mouth had ensured that the outgoing Mayor and Councillors who acted against him vindictively would be bulldozed out of office.

"Election Day was Matt Curtis' finest hour. He enjoyed his revenge and distained to shake the hand of outgoing Mayor Ashley Rowlands."

Matt shook the newspaper, and growled: "That's bullshit; it was Rowlands who refused to shake my hand when I said to him, no hard feelings."

Sipping her tea Patricia put her cup down and read the piece that had upset Matt. "Don't worry, Matt. The Press often get things wrong. You'll get used to that. When Collier had a couple of problems with reporting when first elected he said he'd knocked a couple of heads together in the newsroom and rarely had problems after that. Oh I didn't offer that comment as advice Matt."

"Don't fret, mother. My hands are tied. The Council reporter and the paper's chief reporter are both women. I'll just have to storm in with bouquets of flowers and wearing a big fat smile."

The following month Matt and Courtney were installed as Mayor and Mayoress and Matt and the councillors were inducted into office at a colourful ceremony.

Courtney was pleased to have been consulted about the floral arrangements and the guest list to the invitation-only civic dinner that followed.

Watching with pride at the back of the crowded Council chamber when the chief executive officer draped the Chain of Office around Matt's neck were Vikki and Elsie Thomas, whose joint operation, Miranda Functions Catering, had been engaged by the Council to provide the banquet that evening.

"Aren't you ever so proud," whispered Elsie.

Vikki nodded, tears forming. So, Elsie was another she knew? Who else? Did it really matter? She reached for Elsie's hand and held it, feeling a little emotional and very much alone just at that moment.

The next week The Bugle announced that prominent businessman Matt Curtis had been appointed chairman of the company owning The Bugle and from the 1st of November The Bugle would switch from afternoon to morning publication and distribution.

* * *

Late one night almost a year after their election triumph, Courtney lay beside Matt. As normal after sex Matt had quickly drifted into light sleep after patting her on the butt and saying, "That was nice."

Propped on an elbow, Courtney lay almost over him, checking out his hairline, his facial features. As she gently stroke down the bicep of the arm nearest to her, she felt a twinge of arousal and smiled.

"I've become the initiator quite often these days, and it seems that you simply love that, she murmured. "Tell me your secrets, your deepest secrets, and those inspirations locked in that big solid head," she crooned, aware that her talent as a hypnotist was absolutely nil.

Dreamily Courtney's gaze drifted down her husband's chest. Both slept in the nude from late spring to early autumn. Those violet eyes suddenly dilated, and fixed on a small red lump near his left nipple. It was suppurating. With her pulse rate quickening she found two more small red lumps that she'd never seen before. One had a scab on it, the other looked inflamed, but was not weeping. They definitely were not warts or insect bites.

"It's off to Doc Mackenzie for you, my boy," Courtney said, switching off the light and attempting to subdue her concern. She'd come to understand her husband very well, with Patricia supplementing with an input of her knowledge of her son ... 'You can suggest, but it's useless trying to push him'.

Over coffee the next morning (Matt's breakfast consisted of one black coffee then usually he would call into the bakery and buy two meat pies for morning tea) Courtney primed her husband for a medical check that he did not know he was about to undergo.

Other advice from Patricia before Courtney was taken to the altar had been, 'You have to lead Matt into making his decisions you want him to make; it's the only way'.

"Matt I'm really worried."

That triggered Matt to tune in 100 percent.

"What's the problem, what can I do to help?" was the protective response. His eyes flicked around the kitchen as if searching for an unknown threat to his wife.

Courtney went behind him, and leaned over him, her head against his head.

Matt's nose correctly identified the scents of recent mouth-wash, hair spray and her distinctive odour. He also detected a faint scent of fear but the ability to interpret the exact nature of that sensitive signal had long died with the passing of his ancestors, so he was unable to do anything but wait for more verbal output from his mate.

"I've noticed a couple of nasty-looking spots on your chest Matt. That worries me."

"Oh those," he chuckled, patting his chest. "Old flea bites."

"They're not and I think you know that," Courtney said, coming round to face him.

The laughter had gone from his face. He couldn't hold her gaze and felt compelled to please her.

"I'll got to Doc Mackenzie soon, let him check me out."

"You do that Matt. The longer you leave it, the longer I'll worry."

Later that morning Matt was talking in bed to Vikki. She jumped in alarm when he told her of the conversation between himself and Courtney earlier that morning. She rolled him over and carefully looked over his back, then examined his neck and forehead, saw the three spots he pointed out on his chest, and then looked down both arms, placing a finger in one space as she completed her scan.

Lifting her finger, she said: "Here's another one, Matt."

"At least I don't have then all over me."

"Matt Curtis. This is no laughing matter. Go and see Doctor Mackenzie."

"You're as bad as Courtney. Nag, nag, nag."

"Tell you what, Matt. You go and get these spots checked out and I'll get out my old school uniform again. I'd said we're getting too old for that sort of caper, but on the other hand you seem to have never really grown up. What do you say?"

"I'm out of here," said Matt, jumping to his feet and reaching for his clothes. I'm off to see doc."

"Matt it's usual to phone for an appointment."

"Not for me it ain't. We're distantly related and he and dad were in the Home Guard during the war. He even brought me into this world."

Matt walked into the Mackenzie's kitchen where the semi-retired doctor and his wife were arguing over crossword clues.

"Good morning young Matt," greeted Mrs Mackenzie. "Tea and a scone?"

"No thanks, but thanks for the offer."

He waited for the grumpy old doctor to acknowledge his presence.

"What's a seven letter word starting with 's' Matt? The clue is 'fornicator'.

"Seducer" said Matt, without having to pause to think.

"Bingo, you're right," said the doctor. With a leer, he continued: "How is it that you knew that?"

The Mackenzie's looked at him expectantly. But the awaited reply, perhaps a confession, did not eventuate.

"Doc I need to see you. I may have a medical problem."

The Mackenzie's looked at each other, both raising their eyebrows.

"I have a busy schedule, but I'm sure I can push you in at the head of the queue."

Iain Mackenzie examined the three skin blemishes on Matt's hairy chest and the one on his arm. "Hmmm. I'll whip a piece of the larger two on your chest and get it tested. The others will keep for a while."

The surgical removal was completed quickly. Local anaesthetic was not even offered as both doctor and patient were aware that Matt's tolerance of pain was exceptional.

"I'd like to get you a thorough routine examination Matt, and take urine and blood samples. It's several years since I've had the opportunity to check you over."

Matt stripped to his underpants.

"Those too, Matt. Bugger me; you wear floral patterned underwear. You!"

"Birthday present from the wife," mumbled Matt, sheepishly. "Why do you want to check my gear? It's functioning well?"

"Very well I hear," said the doctor. Remaining silent for a few seconds he said, "Give Vikki my compliments when you see her. She's a fine woman."

Frig me, thought Matt. He does the old codger know about Vikki and me? He's not even her doctor. Then it occurred to him that Courtney was his patient, had Courtney been talking to him about her suspicions? Or was that her certainty without actual proof?

"I said please cough."

The doctor, wearing gloves, was holding Matt's testicles. Matt coughed, and complied with another request to cough once more.

"That coughing caper is just a trick we used in doing our medical checks in the Army," his doctor said. "Actually we learn very little from it, but sure as heck it made our patients sense their vulnerability. They would wait, scarcely able to breathe, to learn whether or not some sort of catastrophe was happening to them. We actually learn the most by flipping the dingle over and back and rolling the testicles around a bit. You appear to be fine down here, perhaps looking a bit worn out for its age but it's still looking fine."

The old Scottish doctor, who liked to vent his dry wit on his patients, added, "Look after it, Matt. It's the only one you've got and they don't make them like that any more."

Matt gaped at him.

"Turning around Matt and bend over," said Doctor Mackenzie, drawing his right hand glove up almost to his elbow and allowing the stretched rubber to snap back loudly. "Now, let me complete my inspection of your plumbing. How many times a day do your bowls move, or should I say, how many times an hour?"

The doctor was enjoying himself immensely, dealing with a patient that his wife called "a randy old bull, just like his father."

Dr Mackenzie was confident that the sample to be sent to the lab would not be malignant growth. He was not so sure about the very immature growth on Matt's right arm though.

A three monthly check on that would be in order. He'd phone and tell Courtney that because as sure as hell Matt would not telling her that he needed to return for periodic checks.

Matt cringed as he felt the first touch of the rubber glove.

He wished, he fervently wished that right at this second he could transport to the top back boundary of his farm in complete isolation from people, especially old Scottish doctors skilled in the art of mindless mental and physical torture.

His knees began to knock together as the rubber glove began to move forward.

"A medical supply rep called yesterday and gave me a sample of this new lubricant I've got on my glove. Something useful that's come out of Space Age technology. It's so damn good that he said it can be used to make water go uphill. You okay Matt?"

His patient was unable to answer. Matt had his mouth clamped shut as his teeth were beginning to chatter.

CHAPTER 15

In early November Reece called Courtney to tell her he'd won a substantial sum of money at the races and in a poker game and was taking a month off work to go to France and meet up with old acquaintances.

"Are you gambling heavily?" was the concerned response.

"No, I only throw a few bucks at it now and again," lied her son, laughing.

"Oh, I'm relieved to hear that. Will you be seeing Chase?"

"Probably not. I haven't heard from her for three or four months. Anyway how come you remembered her name?"

"It's a most unusual name, and you are my son. Besides, I have seen her photograph several times in magazines. She's incredibly beautiful Reece."

"You reading women's magazines!" retorted Reece in surprise.

"I know but after Patricia showed me a photo of Chase in The Australian Women's Weekly I began buying some fashion magazines and found photos of her, sometimes a whole series of them. How does she keep so slender?"

"Cocaine helps."

"Matt!"

"That was a joke, mum. I've gotta dash. Will phone you from France. Give my love to grandma.

"And Matt?"

"And dad."

* * *

Courtney answered a phone call just after 1:00 am.

"Who is it?" asked Matt sleepily.

"Hush, it's Reece," replied Courtney. She'd not heard from Reece for three weeks and had been worried.

"Yes, dear... that's nice... What! What today! Oh Reece, how could you!" Courtney began weeping uncontrollably.

"What's up, son?" asked Matt, taking the phone.

"Look, dad. I've got to rush. I've told mum I'm getting married this afternoon to a gorgeous Australian girl... got to go now."

"Never be late for your wedding," joked Matt. "Rather a surprise but good luck son."

"Thanks dad. Tell mum we'll be home soon. Bye."

"Well," said Matt, to Courtney who was drying her eyes. "You got me going there for a minute, I thought something terrible had happened."

"Oh, Matt!" she wailed, starting a new outburst of tears.

"Goodness gracious, what is it?" asked Patricia, sweeping into the room in her long nightdress.

"It's Reece he's getting married in London this afternoon to that famous model Chase. The wedding is timed to catch tonight's TV news and the weekend newspapers.

Patricia started crying, "Tell me more; tell me more."

"I'll go and get tea with a dash of whisky," said Matt, disappearing out of the bedroom. Never one for women's tears was Matt. It made him feel, well, rather inadequate.

Ali Packard from The Bugle woke the household at 7.30 am next morning, asking them for a background on Reece as requested by the New Zealand Press Association. Tim Scott the photographer would be with them shortly to take their photo holding a photo of Reece.

"Absolutely no comment until we've seen a transmitted copy of the photo of the wedding from London and the accompanying story. You must have it by now."

"We do Mr Curtis. I'll be on my way with it in a few minutes."