All Saints Eve

Standing still was out of the question; it was far too cold. What made matters worse was the rain. In ten minutes, it had changed from vertical to horizontal, and as icy drops of water hit my face, they stung like needles against my exposed skin.

The wind picked up everything from the ground and threw it around like shrapnel. The temperature lowered by the minute, and I felt frozen when the hail started falling. I needed a ride soon, or I'd be suffering from hypothermia.

When my breath became visible each time I exhaled, I coughed occasionally from breathing in icy cold air. What the hell was I doing hitchhiking in this weather? Wasn't it supposed to be warmer in October?

The radio weather report I'd heard earlier said it would be 'sporadic showers', but the rain had not stopped since hearing the news. It felt like someone was manipulating the weather to change my travel plans, and I would die if I couldn't find shelter soon.

A truck driver had dropped me off at a junction five miles back, and the area I now walked was unfamiliar territory. I hurriedly looked at my soggy road map, but this place, wherever it was, was too small to be shown. I saw the name of the last town and quickly picked out the following village on the map, but there was nothing in between. My map showed wilderness.

I walked quickly to keep warm, and the collar on my jacket pulled around my ears to keep the rain out. I couldn't figure out what happened next, but the hairs on my neck stood out. I distinctly felt my balls try to retreat into my belly, leaving my scrotum a cold and empty sack.

When it suddenly went dark, my head circled to see if the street lights had blown, and then, as I looked up and down the road, I noticed no lights on anywhere. Something had caused an electrical short, and a distinct smell of ozone was in the air. A strange feeling washed over me as though something or someone was trying to introduce themselves. My fingers tingled, and my heels went numb.

After walking another half mile, lights raked the darkness over my shoulder. I frantically waved my thumb, hoping the driver would see me and stop. Freezing water flew up from the tyres as the car passed, and the spray soaked me even more than I was already. My head automatically bent to let the water run from my hair to the ground.

As I chanted my "I must get out of this weather" mantra, I heard the vehicle stop fifty yards further up the road. The reverse lights came on, and the car snaked from side to side as it raced across the ground in reverse. The differential howled in protest at going backwards too quickly. I thought, 'Jesus, this guy's trying to kill me.' Then, as the car stopped a couple of feet away, I thought, 'A lift. I've got a lift."

It was a black Chevrolet, probably a 1960 vintage. The chrome alone must have weighed as much as a Honda. The window on my side opened, and a female voice said, "Can I give you a lift?"

I leaned in toward the window."I'm heading for the next town, maybe thirty miles away. Anywhere close would be much appreciated. I'll look for somewhere to stay when I get there."

"Please, get in. How long have you been out in this awful weather?"

I opened the passenger door, took off my pack, and threw it onto the back seat. "My last lift dropped me over an hour ago." The words came out as a stutter, like a kid reciting poetry. I tried hard not to shake, but it wasn't working. I must have been closer to hypothermia than I realised.

"Make yourself comfortable; I'll turn up the heater and see if we can warm you up again."

She seemed friendly enough and unconcerned that she'd just picked up a man in the middle of nowhere. All I needed right then was the warmth from the heater and a little TLC if it was on offer.

Water leaked from my clothes onto the seat and the floor. I said, "I'm sorry about getting your car wet."

"Don't worry; it'll dry off soon enough. No harm done." We shook hands briefly, and when I felt her warmth, it made me feel that much colder. "I'm Beverley, by the way."

"Hi Beverley, I'm Danny, Danny Lehman." Beverley was stunning and much older than me, maybe in her mid-forties. Her hair was jet black, except for a streak of white about an inch wide running through the centre. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail held by a flexible gold band. I knew it would be as soft as silk without touching it. The noise as it swished against her dress was mesmerising.

I gazed away momentarily when she said, "Has the cat got your tongue? "

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"I said are you getting warmer? I can turn the heater up, or you could take a drink from the flask in the glove box."

I felt embarrassed when Beverley caught me staring at her like a schoolboy looking up his teacher's dress. "I'm sorry, Beverley, what flask?"

"It's a witch's brew that will make you feel good. After all, it is All Saints Eve. You know, Halloween." I soon laughed with her when she gave a theatrical, high-pitched laugh like a loon.

"I don't want to turn your car into a sauna by asking you to turn up the heater even higher, so I'll try your 'witch's brew."

She didn't speak; she just smiled, then returned her eyes to the road. I took in the rest of her at a glance. She wore a black wool dress that reached mid-thigh. The front plunged low enough that her cleavage showed stark white against the black material. From where the dress finished, I saw black leather knee-high boots with a grey zig-zag pattern along the outside of each boot.

It was hard not to stare. Even though she was as old as my mother, she was a good-looking woman. I could not help wondering what she would look like without the dress, maybe just standing in the black boots and stockings.

I removed the flask from the glove box. It was covered in red leather and had a coat of arms engraved on the front. The engraving showed a phoenix rising from the ashes of an object on fire. On closer inspection, it was a globe, but not the Earth. The wings of a fabulous bird smouldered as it rose into the sky, its beak open in pain. The inscription below the drawing was in a language I didn't understand, but I knew it wasn't English.

I removed the heavy silver stopper and tipped the flask to my lips. The witch's brew wasn't that at all; it was either a costly Brandy or an old single malt Whiskey. What I did know was that it tasted superb. After entering my throat, a river of warmth went into my stomach.

"What is this, Beverley? It tastes great."

"It is a rare 1858 single malt from Loch Airy Distillery in Inverness, Scotland."

"1858. Wow, that's old! How did you get a hold of it? If my dad were alive, he'd be in seventh heaven sipping on this."

"I have the original bottle in my study at home; I bought it at auction last year. If you were a malt whiskey drinker, you'd recognise this as the best of the best. However, if you're not, it will still warm you from the inside."

As I sipped the beautiful single malt, the cold began to retreat; I relaxed and tried to get more comfortable. It was easier than I thought because my eyelids closed within minutes. I didn't want to fall asleep with the next town only thirty miles away, but tiredness overtook me.

I woke with a start, and my head slammed back into the seat as I said, "Where are we, Beverley?" I looked at my watch; it was a few minutes before eight. "Are we there yet?"

"Well, we were there momentarily," Beverley assured me. "But, because my home was only another ten miles further, it seemed pointless to have you stay in a motel, or worse still -- sleep rough -- when I have an excellent spare bed available. I don't have a husband or family, and the people visiting later aren't planning to stay over, so we can have dinner before they arrive, and then you can disappear while I meet with them. What do you say?"

"I hadn't planned to..." I stumbled over my words, still half asleep.

"If you don't like it when we get there," Beverley explained, "We can turn around, and I'll bring you back here again. How's that for a deal?"

What could I say? With no strings attached, an invite to dinner and a night in a beautiful woman's home. "OK, Beverley. You have a deal."

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into her driveway, and what a driveway. It had to be the best part of three hundred yards long, and every thirty yards or so, an ornate lamp splashed a pool of light onto the black surface of the driveway. The lamps were replicas of the old gas lights from 1900s London. I felt like I'd entered a scene from Harry Potter.

Beverley drove much slower now as a mist rose from the surface of the paddocks on either side of the drive. As it crossed the fence, it became thick fog and billowed into the car's path.

The lights on the driveway automatically activated as we cut an electronic circuit entering the property. The house remained dark until the car nosed its way past the front door, and then, as we broke another beam, more lights went on around the garden area and above the doorway.

I had not been able to see the end of the driveway from the road, so I was surprised when the magnificent old house appeared. I saw a massive stone chimney and a white picket fence veranda around the place. It looked like something from a movie. When I looked at it again, it resembled Tara, the house from 'Gone with the Wind'.

The architect had done a great job. The design seemed unusual, but the extraordinary is achievable if you're rich. Whoever Beverley was, she was wealthy.

"Welcome to my home, Danny." She switched off the car, opened her door and stepped out. As I did the same on my side of the car, I shivered when the cold hit me again. "We'd better get you inside and crank up the heating, or you'll catch your death. I think a hot bath is the order of the day for you while I make dinner."

I was so impressed by the luxurious interior of Beverley's house that my mouth remained open as I stared around me. Large doors led left and right, a dual gateway to opulence. The floors were made of deep red timber, polished to a glass-like shine. Strategically placed rugs lay about the massive area beyond the entrance. They matched their surroundings perfectly.

Looking beyond the entrance hall, I could see the vast living room. It had separate doors leading through to the kitchen and dining areas. The place was fantastic; I had never seen anything like this.

Beverley altered the thermostat by a few degrees. "What do you think of my home, Danny?"

Feeling embarrassed, I closed my mouth. "This is awesome. I'm very impressed."

"We can't let you stand around in those cold, wet clothes, Danny. Follow me to the bathroom so you can warm up."

I followed Beverley up a sweeping staircase. She swayed as she lifted her legs from one stair tread to the next. My brief review of Beverley in the car had not done justice to what I now saw. The black dress clung tightly to her magnificent figure.

We went to the left at the top of the stairs and then moved three doors along the landing before she showed me into the bathroom. It had a huge spa bath in the middle of the room. The shower was in one corner; it had no doors or curtains, just a tiled glassed-in floor area with six shower heads facing the centre at different levels and angles. In another corner, there was a toilet and bidet. Everything in the room was in shades of ivory. The lighting made everything appear clean. The overall effect was clever; the designers knew their stuff.

The three coat hooks on the wall held fluffy white bathrobes, like the complimentary ones provided to guests in five-star hotels. Each robe had the same coat of arms I'd seen on the hip flask from the glove box.

A row of shelves held at least a dozen large white towels, and on the racks above the towels were bottles of shampoo, bars of soap, shaving gear and all sorts of creams and potions─all new, all unopened.

"Help yourself to whatever you need. When you finish, I'll get you some fresh clothes."

"Thanks, Beverley."

"That's OK. I'm pleased I can help. By the way, do you like lasagna? It's one of my favourite meals. I love Italian, and it only takes an hour to make; we can eat by nine-thirty. That gives us plenty of time before my guests arrive."

"Lasagna sounds good to me, as long as you have a very cold Dom Perignon '48 to go with it?" I laughed as I said this to Beverley. I was, of course, joking. She smiled, left the bathroom, and I ran the bath and peeled off my wet clothes.

Five minutes later, I was up to my neck in foam; bubbles spilt over the side of the bath as jets beneath the water pummelled my body and replaced the aching cold that had been there for hours.

As I soaked in the lap of luxury, I heard classical music from downstairs; I presumed it was coming from where Beverley was making dinner. The music was familiar, so I hummed with the tune - mostly off-key. As I relaxed in the steamy atmosphere of the bathroom, I thought about the extraordinary events over the past few hours. One minute I was suffering hypothermia, and the next, I was in a hot spa bath while a beautiful woman prepared dinner for us in the kitchen of her multi-million-dollar home. When I thought someone or something was manipulating the action around me, they did it in style.

My body sank deeper into the warmth of the spa until the only thing not underwater was the part of my head above my chin. As my mind wandered, I heard Beverley enter the bathroom. She smiled as I turned to look at her. I pushed up so that most of my chest was out of the water and got comfortable on the seat sticking out from the spa wall.

Beverley placed a small stack of clothes on the shelf nearest my head."So, are you enjoying your spa?" She grabbed a towel as she entered the room and held it before her as she approached. I couldn't understand why, but Beverley's feet did not seem to touch the tiles, and her leather boots made no noise.

I shook my head so I could concentrate and answer her question. "Yes, it's fantastic; I'm finally beginning to feel human again."

As she got closer, she folded the towel and placed it carefully on the side wall of the spa. She sat side-saddle, then slowly and deliberately stared at me. It was not a stare that was intimidating; in fact, I felt very comfortable as she looked at me. However, I thought she could read me like an open book.

"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, so if you'd like to jump out and try on those clothes, I will get ready to serve." She stood again, nodded toward the shelf and held the towel at shoulder height, beckoning me to stand and take the towel from her. A little self-consciously, I raised myself from the water and took the towel from her as she stared directly into my eyes.

I struggled to take my eyes away from Beverley's stare. It made me focus on tomorrow: The first of November and my 21st birthday. Beverley innocently helped wrap the towel around my waist as I stepped from the spa. Her smile flashed once more as she left the room.

I had no idea how she knew what size of clothes I would need or where she had got them from, but everything I put on was a perfect fit. When I finished dressing, I followed the music and the wonderful smells coming from downstairs. As I entered the kitchen, Beverley scooped the lasagna onto two deep china plates. She placed vegetables to one side and said, "Would you like to take these into the dining room, Danny? I'll be with you in a moment."

I put the plates at the two place settings at one end of the most enormous dining room tables I'd ever seen. It looked like something from the Addams Family TV show. There were seats available for twenty-four people. It was a magnificent piece of furniture, and it didn't surprise me when I saw the now-familiar coat of arms carved into the centre of the table.

True to her word Beverley was back within minutes; she placed a bottle of wine on the table as she entered the room. She had changed the woollen dress she'd been wearing into a dark blue silk dress with a low-plunging neckline.

The bottom of the dress finished an inch below her knee, and the slits up each side went to mid-thigh. Her legs were now minus the stockings she had worn earlier, and a thin black leather belt held the centre of the dress against her slim waist. There was no sign of a clasp; she had looped the end to the left, where it now formed a loose bow.

Gold-plated bullets were attached to each end of the leather belt; they weren't replicas; these looked real. Beverley's shoes were as neat and straightforward as the belt, made from soft black leather and virtually flat, the heel maybe a quarter inch higher than the sole. To complete the outfit, she wore a plain gold necklace resembling a sleeping snake and a pair of gold earrings shaped like the phoenix in her coat of arms.

"Beverley, you look stunning."

"Well, thank you, kind sir."

"Why is it that when I go out with a girl, it takes her hours to get ready, and you achieved this result in no time flat?"

"Experience is what it's about, Danny, experience. Your girlfriends are probably in their late teens or early twenties. I am forty-two tomorrow, so I have had many more occasions to prepare than they have."

"It is your birthday tomorrow?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Well, that's a big coincidence because November 1st is my birthday too. I'll be 21 tomorrow."

"Yes, I know."

"How do you know?"

"I think you may have mentioned it on the way here."

"Oh, OK," I replied, unsure if I had. "We should celebrate then; what do you think?"

"I agree. What about we begin with the wine?"

I looked at the bottle and thought, 'No! It can't be.' I turned the label toward me and brought it closer to my face. Sure enough, it was a 1948 Dom Perignon, as requested.

"My God, Beverley, I was only joking when I asked for this wine. I was just being a smartass. I didn't mean for you to..." I was so embarrassed. "The only reason I asked for this particular wine was because I'd heard a friend say it was the most expensive wine his father had ever had. He'd had some in France on his honeymoon."

"I liked your choice of wine with the lasagna; most people would have asked for a red, but your choice was perfect; let us celebrate." She held up her glass.

The dinner was excellent, and the conversation was even better. Our age difference was neither mentioned nor an issue. As we settled back to drink coffee and sip on a superb brandy, Beverley explained about her friends arriving soon.

"I'm sorry, Danny, I cannot ask you to join us. The meeting we have planned is strictly for me and my friends. They will be here in half an hour, so I'll clean up these few things, fill the dishwasher and have time to change before they arrive. I'll show you your room; you can choose anything that takes your fancy in my library."

I was disappointed but said, "Thanks, Beverley."

She briefly pointed out the library entrance and showed me my room. Like everything else in the house, it was huge. The bed was enormous. I'm sure I could have invited three others into the bed, and there would be ample room for everyone. I looked forward to a good night's rest.

"This is great of you to do this for me, Beverley. Thanks again."

"That's OK; it is my pleasure." She left, and this time I could hear her footsteps as she travelled the polished wooden stairs toward the living room.

I waited a few minutes so she wouldn't feel I was following her, and then set off for the library to see if I could find a book to help me to sleep. I was still feeling relaxed after dinner and, if she were going to be with friends until the small hours, I would have to accept this and make the best use of the fantastic facilities while they were available.

The door to the library was to the left of the front door, just a few steps past the tiled foyer.