Come and Stay with Me, Miss

Chapter 1

Unmarried Clint Hudson emerged from Harry's Bar in fading twilight into the car park behind the premises to hear a guy yelling to someone, "You lazy bitch, you're always reluctant to accompany me boozing, or go with me gambling or cook early for me on a Boys' Night Out like the other partners do for their man."

"Bitch, eh?" Clint said aloud thoughtfully, musing that was no way to address a lady.

"You've been living with me for nigh on a year and refuse to marry me."

The woman yelled, "That's because you haven't divorced you wife who dumped you."

"Dumped me, eh? Well take this you slandering bitch."

Clint squinted into the gloom and could just make out the woman was on the ground being held in a wrist-lock and it appeared the guy dressed in a faux cowboy outfit was about to put the boot in.

"Hold it, arsehole or I'll whack you."

The guy dropped the woman's arm and stepped back and shone his mobile phone torch on to the intruder. He could see Clint wasn't holding a weapon and wasn't anywhere near as big as he was.

He jumped over the recumbent woman and charged at Clint ready to knock him into tomorrow.

Clint ducked under the swinging punch, landed a heavy left-hand punch into the attacker's belly and as the guy fell, clubbed him on the back of the neck with both hands held together.

Checking that the guy was breathing, Clint went over to the woman who was sitting and crying.

"Stay where you are; lie back and pretend to have fainted. Don't leave the punk until you are organized to leave on your terms. Then you may choose to come and stay with me, Miss. I live by myself and will provide you with temporary accommodation until you make other arrangements."

He pulled out his wallet and extracted his business card.

"Here's my business card. Hide is in a bra cup for now. Remember I'm only doing this to help you because you are perhaps a bullied and mistreated woman. Pretend you didn't see me whack him and turn out his lights temporarily. He'll feel less humiliated upon hearing that."

"What are you, Mister. A psychiatrist?"

"No, a lawyer. And there will be no fee payable, not even for giving you temporary shelter. What's your first name?"

"Brittany."

"Cute name. Bye for now. My name is on my business card."

Three days later, Clint received a call from Brittany Lewis.

"Thanks for saving me from a brutal beating behind Harry's Bar the other evening. Jeb actually helped me to my feet and asked had I fainted and said yes, and I lied that he kicked me on the head when he jumped over me. He said 'Oh' but didn't bother to apologise and claimed he beat the crap out of you and left you unconscious."

"You've had a rough time, Brittany,"

"Yes, Jed is out drinking with mates tonight and tomorrow he goes to Melbourne for the day. I've organized a day's leave for tomorrow and that's when I'll do a runner."

"Good, my address is Melrose Apartment Towers in Double Bay. I'll need to come an let you in."

"I-I'm not sure I should take advantage of your offer."

"That's fine. Call me if should you decided it's the right move for you. It's only a temporary offer to allow you to find yourself new accommodation."

"Why did you make the offer?"

"History influenced me, When I was at law school, my flatmates and I were thrown out of our flat for once too often having a noisy party that disturbed other tenants. A female party-goer who I didn't know invited me to move in with her until I found new accommodation, and I was most grateful."

"Ah, and you shared her bed and shagged her?"

"I slept on the sofa and she slept with her same-sex partner."

Brittany squealed in laughter and said, "Um give me the address and I'll time my arrival for 12.15 if that is convenient for you."

"I'll make it convenient. Bye, Brittany."

* * *

Brittany (28), a financial analyst at a Personal Wealth Consultancy, was extremely grateful that this Clint Hudson had been in the right place at the right time to save her from a brutal beating from her short-fused live-in-partner that she'd known from almost Night One that Jed could be a real arsehole at times.

The evening after the attack, she went for a walk and called her parents who lived in Canberra.

Her mother ordered her to come home immediately and her father took the milder approach by suggesting that moving residence was enough disruption to her life. He suggested before taking up the surprising offer of temporary accommodation by a total stranger that Brittany thought in torchlight, he looked about her age, she should have him checked out.

"How can I best do that?"

"Pay a private investigator to check out that he is likely to pose no threat to your well-being."

"But he's a lawyer," Brittany bleated.

"And so am I and yet I recall you once described one of my lawyer mates as a potentially scurrilous adulterer because he kept eyeing your breasts as if, and I quote, he couldn't wait to pull them out and lick them, ends quote."

"Dad, I was only eighteen at the time."

"And does that mean at that age you were unable to make an intelligent assessment of a guy that you knew slightly?"

Brittany sighed heavily.

He mother grabbed the phone despite it being on speaker, and pleaded to her youngest daughter to abandoned Sydney and come home.

"Darling, any guy who beats the shit out of your punchy boyfriend and then offers you temporary sanctuary in his bachelor's pad in a suburb inhabited by the well-heeled won't be looking at you as a potential bride."

"But mom, this is real life, not something from the pages of one of your Romance paperbacks. Anyway, I would be away from his den most of the time should I decided to accept his offer. Thanks guys, good collective advice. I must get back to the apartment before Jed thinks of accusing me of being out long enough to have picked up some randy guy for a quickie."

"Brittany," yelled her mother as the call terminated.

The unhappy attractive brunette sighed, wiped away a rogue tear and hurried home thinking that after consulting her parents about what to do, she was more confused than before speaking to them. She decided to rely on her instinct that the quicker she left Jed, the happier - and the safer - she would be. That Clint had acted heroically for her but it puzzled her and she had to ask why had he not insisted on totally removing her from her 'lover's' clutches rather than just offer her a bed whenever she wanted it?

At work next morning in the Central Business District, she called the business phone number on Clint's business card and the receptionist at the law office said that Mr Hudson was with a client and did she wish to leave a message.

Brittany said no, she'd try later.

That was good enough confirmation that the guy offering her sanctuary was who he said he was, and with his law firm being highly reputable, it was unlikely he'd be a scoundrel hidden beneath a smooth façade.

* * *

The cab driver told Brittany that Double Bay was a quiet, leafy harbourside eastern suburb village only 4km from the city's central business district, making it a very desirable address to live at.

She arrived to find that Clint was already waiting outside the small apartment block for her with a 4-wheel luggage trolley. The older woman beside him presumably the apartment manager.

"Hi, Brittany, welcome to your temporary home," Clint smiled.

Placing an arm around the woman beside him, he said, "This is my mother who is worried that I may be giving refuge to an undesirable female, possibly a woman of the night, if you know what that means."

"Hi, Mrs Hudson, I'm far from being a prostitute. My mother simply would not allow it as she reared me to what she calls, 'to toe the line'. My mother is a well-known Canberra cosmetic surgeon, Sylvia Bryant-Stevens and my father Roland Stevens is a senior administrator within the Federal Diplomatic and Consular Corps."

"Omigod, I've read articles about your distinguished mother, the only child of the late industrialist Sir William Bryant and Lady Alicia, your grandmother who lives in a retirement in an exclusive village here in Sydney."

"Well I'm off Clint," she said, walking to a black chauffeur-driven limo parked on the opposite site of the street. " It was lovely meeting you Miss Lewis. I must have you two for Sunday lunch very soon."

The cabbie had already left after loading Brittany's four travel bags, two protectively packed paintings and what appeared to be a heavily protected covered chair on to the trolley.

"What's with the packed odd items?"

"Paintings and a bedroom chair I inherited from my late great-grandmother that are of immense value as being authenticated as being heirlooms from French nobility of the 17th Century."

He asked was the chair comfortable to sit in and the reply was not at all, that it was object d'art.

Brittany asked, "Why did your mother leave so abruptly?"

"She didn't say. Presumably she accepted your explanation that you weren't a prostitute and more importantly, disclosure of your parentage was more than enough to satisfy her that you were more than good enough to share my residence with me."

"Then who is your mother?"

"Mrs Marylyn Hudson, a former eminent Queen's Counsel and widow of top criminal lawyer Easton Hudson, his father being one of the co-founders of the law firm in which I'm a junior partner."

"Wow, I think I can get my head around that explanation. Exactly what is a Queen's Counsel?

"A small number of top barristers are appointed QC's by the Queen of England and Commonwealth countries such as here in Australia. It is a traditional honorific title in recognition that they are senior lawyers of eminence."

"Oh, tradition, otherwise known as old school stuff?"

"Perhaps. On the other hand, where would we be without some traditions?"

"Pretty aimless?"

"Good reply," said Clint. "Now let's get you settled in."

The apartment on the third floor had a views of the harbour from the comfortable-looking and nicely decorated living room that definitely had the look of a bachelor's pad.

Brittany resisted asking where were the flowers and why weren't the picture window curtains neatly tied back in the ties hanging forlornly. Presumably he visited his mother and she never visited him. Ah, well she was merely an interloper in temporary refuge. So far, her um benefactor hadn't inquired how as she progressing in securing her own dwelling. At least the tiny kitchen looked tidy with a window open to air it. Good boy.

"Does your mother visit here often?"

"Just the once and she condemned it as having almost no room to swing a cat and it made her feel claustrophobic. You'll know what mothers are like."

She giggled and was delighted that he grinned roguishly as if they were co-collaborators.

His bedroom was large, untidy and with a painting of a nude in recline, resting on an upright arm on the antique chaise lounge day bed and with a look on her face as if she were bored at being left unattended. Perhaps the artist was his mother, an excellent painter of considerable skill or perhaps he acquired it to indicate where his leisure skills lay. Perhaps... hmmm, she should be patient.

Across the hall leading to the bathroom was her small room.

"I've had a tradesman in to affix sliding bolts, top and bottom, inside the door to add to the security you may possess from my trustworthy appearance."

"Gosh, what an involved mouthful. Are you a lawyer?"

They laughed and he said he would fetch her possessions so she could unpack and then he would be off.

"Thanks, and what hours do you work?"

"I leave here at 7.00 and usually I'm home by 7.00 and rarely do I work at home."

"Ah, then I can cook and aim to serve it at say 7.30?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll arrive with pizza, or pies or fish and chips."

"Fuck, do you call that good eating for good health."

"Pardon me."

"Oh shit, I forgot myself. My former partner, who you bashed up, like me delivering a bit of foul mouth in his presence.

"Bad language, bad manners, unreliability, sloppy dressing, laziness and nasty habits are not the hallmarks of a lady, according to what my paternal grandmother used to say."

"Well, count me out. I'm no lady."

Clint shook his head and said, "That's not according to the potential that I believe you possess. It's possible that your ex-boyfriend has screwed up your thinking about yourself somewhat. Given the chance, I'll assist you to regain confidence and a favourable appreciation of yourself."

Feeling ready to hit out, Brittany said, "And what I say back off?"

Clint shrugged and said it was entirely her decision and began walking off.

"Actually, I'd appreciate some gentle re-alignment from you."

"Good, we start at 5.30 in the morning drinking two glasses of filtered water and we'll run for 30 minutes instead of my usual 60 minutes."

"Run?" Brittany said, with a noticeable quaver in her voice.

Clint walked off whistling. Brittany, frowning, recognised the tune as 'Baa Ba Black Sheep'."

What the fuck?

He called, "Make yourself at home. I'll return around 7.00. Your key card to enter the building and to access the lift and to enter the apartment are on the kitchen bench, together with my and my PA's phone numbers to be used in any emergencies."

"Thanks. I'll cook a healthy dinner and so don't fetch any crap food."

"Good heavens, you sound bossy just like my mother."

Brittany smothered her urge to yell 'Get fucked'.

Finishing unpacking, Brittany went to the kitchen and found a large map of the greater area but took a small map just of Double Bay and left to purchase food. The taxi driver had come via a route that avoided the shopping village. She walked to New South Head Road and entered the village of some classy shops and spotted Woolworths Supermarket on Kiaora Rd.

First, she checked out some shops, then had late lunch and then bought groceries. She was delighted to find so many shops in the village that suited her particular level of life-style. She walked back to the apartment lugging her shopping and thought everything was sweet.

When almost home, she remembered she owned an electric bike and had inadvertently left it behind parked in front of her dumped boyfriend's car.

"Oh, fuck," she said, as the happy look was wiped from her face. She now looked grim and felt murderous.

Brittany met Clint at the door when arrived home at 6.55 and he grasped her by the shoulders and kissed her gently as if he did that every day.

"Oh sorry, I wasn't thinking, being overcome by the aromas of a dinner cooking and having the shock of seeing the table set formally."

"Don't be sorry, kiss me again. It was lovely."

The second kiss was a little more like a lovers' kiss without any belly and groin meshing, but she was okay with that, knowing they'd made a good start.

"Omigod, you're even dressed up," he said, starting at the bared swells of the top of her boobs as if realising she dad breasts. That momentary intensity of his stare almost made Brittany wet herself.

"What now?" she asked, unsure of procedure.

"You pour me a red wine while I go off to shed my suit and have a quick shower before dressing casual."

"Do I bring the wine to you?"

"Yes, if you're used to seeing an adult male nude and soaping his dick."

"I, um, oh?"

He tickled her under the chin and said to take his wine to the coffee table.

Clint was complimentary of everything about the steak dinner and said how did she know he liked his rib-eye steak medium-rare, covered with mushrooms and topped by a little very thick gravy?

"I phoned your mother for the info."

"Omigod, and how did she react to that?"

"She thought my call was hilarious and said she'd never had a request for basic information like that in years, perhaps not since you were 15 preparing to go on your first date."

"And what else did she have to say?"

"She said she was delighted that I had the wit to call her."

"And?"

"That's all."

Clint continued to eye her, and Brittany wriggled a little in her chair.

Finally, when she couldn't bear it any longer, she blurted, "What?"

Clint said unemotionally, "As part of my work I have to cross-examine reluctant and lying defendants and witnesses in court and..."

"You mother said she'd been thinking I might be a highly compatible choice for you. Should that turn out to be so, she thought she could easily wear that."

"Omigod, Brittany. I feel I've invaded your privacy. I can understand your reluctance to talk about that as it may have floored you being told that and you may have thought it was my mother's place to pass on that information to you and definitely not you to relay that info to me.."

"Thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

"Having the sensitivity to be so understanding and then apologetic."

"Brittany, now it's the jackass' turn to say thanks. Now for an admission. Three times today I thought about asking you to stop looking for a more permanent place to reside. And why is that? Because just as my mother expressed it, I, too, think we appear compatible to be shared apartment dwellers. And what do you say to that?"

"Make the call when you're ready."

"Britt, stop looking for alternative accommodation. Stay here long term."

"Thanks, Clint. I accept and have stopped looking from this moment and will cancel my registration at the two agencies I listed with last week."

"Great, I'll open a bottle of top shelf wine."

"No thanks and you shouldn't either, providing you in end to play fair, Clint. You have pushed me into a fitness regime, beginning with a run tomorrow morning early. As cook, I'm consigning you in return to a food regime, based in selective eating for good health and a limitation of alcoholic drinks and elimination of sugary drinks and no desserts, with a relaxation on our tight regime when we eat out or entertain at home."

"Christ, Brittany."

"I thought I'd suddenly become Britt to you."

"Only as my pet name for you. Calling for the eliminate the not-so-good foods from my diet that I love, has meant for the moment that you are no pet of mine. But there is dessert tonight, yeah?"

"No, eat a banana or apple or even both should you feel starved."

"Right. Bolt your door tonight. I might feel starved and find it necessary to come after you with an axe."

"You're joking, right?"

"Yeah, sort of."

Brittany left for the kitchen to make coffee (without biscuits), grinning. She felt she'd made significant headway to trim Clint from his excesses. Time would tell.

Later, as the television programme they were watching finished, she stood and said she was off to bed.

"Good night," muttered Clint, without looking up from the screen, making Brittany decide not to blow him a kiss.

Twenty minutes later he switched off television and went to the kitchen and pulled out one of the biscuit tins.

"What?"

It was empty and so were the crackers tin and the chocolate biscuit tins.

He pulled out the lolly (confectionary) jar and it was empty.

Angrily, Clint opened the pull-out rubbish tin under the sink and it was almost filled with discarded biscuits, white bread, jars of jams, lollies, and unopened pack of sugar and goodness knows what else.

In simmering rage, he patted his belly sympathetically and paused, thinking shit, he was developing a belly roll.

"Christ, it's a no beer or sugary stuff and emphasising consumption of healthy cuisine, mate."

Accepting that Brittany was doing the right thing for him, with probably without advance warning in expectation he might resist passionately, he pulled out the plastic bag, put and new one in to line the rubbish bin and marched off to the refused chute to the huge refuse collection bin in the basement and marched back to the apartment rather like a disciple of the right-thinking Brittany.