We'll Get Through This Together

When I woke, a sleepy little face surrounded by an unruly mess of curly red hair smiled down at me, her eyes twinkling. "Been watching you for a half hour." She wiped away a tear. "Not sure I ever saw anything quite as beautiful as you sleeping. Fair took my breath away!"

We made love once more then showered. As we helped each other dry our hair, she asked me what the plan was for the day. As a surprise, she hadn't told me she had taken three days off from the stables. The thought of spending that time with her filled me with such joy I could barely contain myself.

Then something dawned on me. "Erm, Alannah. So when exactly are you planning on going back to the stables?"

"Thursday -- day after tomorrow."

"And what are you going to wear for the rest of the time? And what about panties."

She did a facepalm. "Oh fuck!"

"Oh fuck indeed. How tall are you?"

"Five-four, give or take. Why?"

Ignoring her, I tapped a few buttons on my phone. "Hi Faye, got a bit of a problem here..."

Five minutes later I was back upstairs with a little bag of goodies. The bra was a slightly too big for her but the panties fit perfectly. Another of Faye's old dresses - this one green paisley - contrasted with her hair so beautifully I thought we may have to have another session in the sack.

I became all business-like. "So, the plan. First, we have five mad dogs to run ragged. So we will go through the woods, make sure our handiwork is still there, kiss one another demurely in our special place, then proceed to say 'Hi' to Martha and tell her we have consummated our relationship. Then... erm, then... I dunno -- you think of something."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ok, so we've ridden out, we've made out, we'll have taken the dogs out. Howzabout we eat out? And I don't mean each other. Well, not yet anyways cuz I was planning on that a little later, but that's another story."

She stood to attention and became the Southern Belle again. "So, Miss Tallulah, once we have walked the dogs and paid our respects to Miss Martha, would you allow me the pleasure of treating you to luncheon?"

"My, like... a date?"

"It's what good and proper young ladies do. Or so I am led to believe."

"But we're not good and proper young ladies."

"Well you fucked me good 'n' proper, so that'll do for me! So, how's the Rusty Horseshoe grab ya?"

"They brew beer. You'll fart. They do chilli dogs. I'll fart."

"So, fancy a fart-fest?"

"Hell yeah!"

14 - Tallulah

I came to cherish my Thursday afternoons with Martha almost as much as my other duties around Milton's Creek. We sat in rocking chairs on the porch in the sunshine, sipping huge gin and tonics, invariably with Slinky asleep across her feet after he had enjoyed the treats she always had for him. The tales she told me had to be heard to be believed and usually involved household names of stage and screen.

She relished hearing my salacious tales almost as much as she got a thrill out of telling me hers and I was usually interrupted by comments like, "Lilith Nobel, you naughty girl! Known her since she was Lili Knighton - knee high to a grasshopper and wouldn't say boo to a goose!"

When it came to the subject of Alannah, she was a little more circumspect. She danced around it a few times, then on our third meeting she obviously couldn't hold herself in check any longer.

She sipped her gin. "So, you and my stable manager..."

"Don't worry, Martha. We love each other and we have you to thank for that." I looked over the rim of my glass. "Want to hear about it?"

She shook her head slowly and tickled Slinky's ears as he sat at her feet. "Some things best left unsaid, hon. I'm just happy that someone of my age can play matchmaker to two of the purtiest girls I ever did see. No -- you two keep your naughty little secrets between yourselves. I've known Alannah since she was not much bigger than Slinky here, so it's a little too close to home for me. I'm just happy in the knowledge something beautiful is happening, right?"

She went quiet for a moment. "You're both lucky girls finding someone you love so much at your tender years. I walked down the aisle four times, but I always preferred the ladies. Funny, ain't it?"

It became a weekly ritual - my yomp across the Creek to her clapperboard house, her cheery wave from the porch as Slinky and I arrived at her gate. She had even remembered his name and always had a treat and a word for him before he settled down at her feet and we got into our gins and our tales of salacious deeds from different centuries - different eras. I'd never even drunk gin before, but thanks to Martha Landau, I soon acquired the taste.

It was the eighth time I visited her that it all changed. We had been chatting for ages and Slinky snored contentedly at her feet. We were dragged from our gossip by a little cough. We turned to see a small, tousle-haired redhead beaming at us from the corner of the porch. "Sorry to interrupt, but can I have my best girl back please, Miss Martha!"

"With pleasure, my dear. Makes my old heart sing seeing you two lovely ladies together. I'll just finish this little libation and have my afternoon nap with my little friend Slinky. Can canny, sweet girls!"

We set off for our ride and it was wonderful to be able to sit together with our arms around each other at our favourite little clearing. There was not much said -- we just relished being so close after so long and I was so happy I could have cried.

We dropped the horses back at the stables and Alannah drove us back to Martha's to pick up Slinky.

As we walked up the path, I just instinctively knew. Slinky was sitting outside the front door, whimpering.

Alannah stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh no. Fuck, no..."

Slinky ran down the path and jumped into my arms as Alannah ran in the opposite direction, her face etched with fear.

I had never been inside the house so didn't know the layout. It felt cool despite the heat of the afternoon and it inevitably smelled musty. I heard a tremulous voice from the second door on the left off the hall.

"In here..."

The tick of a grandfather clock sounded like thunder as my heart sank lower and lower. I couldn't look into the room and held Alannah close to me as she called it in from the porch.

The funeral was a grand affair and I even recognised some of the great and the good that were still with us; stooped but still impressive, their lights dimming as age took its toll. After the ceremony, I took myself off to a quiet corner for a moment of reflection. I had a sixth sense that eyes were upon me and when I turned, an elderly man was standing a few yards away, waiting patiently. He was in an immaculate morning suit and his silvery-grey hair shone in the early afternoon sun. There was only one word for him.

Distinguished.

His voice sounded like it was from another age. Cary Grant or James Stewart reborn. "Excuse me for interrupting, but... it is Miss MacAllan, is it not? I'm an old friend of Miss Martha's."

"It is, and no, you're not interrupting. And if you are a friend of Martha's, please - it's Tallulah."

He nodded and tapped a large manilla envelope in his hand. "That is good. I wouldn't have liked to have intruded on your thoughts. Miss Martha spoke very fondly of you, Miss Tallulah. I am..." He hung his head and corrected himself. "I... was Miss Martha's attorney. My, that is going to take some getting used to after almost sixty years! Anyway, Allen Rothschild at your service."

He held out a wizened hand and I took it gently. "Pleasure, Mr. Rothschild. I only knew her briefly, so I can only imagine the effect it has had on you. My sincere condolences. Even in such a short space of time, I cherished her company and she gave me advice that has seen a big change in me. I'll always be grateful to her for that. I came to know her as an amazing lady and she had a profound effect on me."

All the while I spoke, he held onto my hand. "Please, it's Allen. And yes, she was amazing. Quite, quite remarkable. She led a fulfilled life." He let me go. "Miss Tallulah, I think we will be conversing more at length very soon, but for the moment let me leave you with this envelope. Miss Martha was insistent I gave it you this afternoon. I have just delivered a similar envelope to Miss Mason."

He handed it to me and it felt heavy in my grasp.

"What is it?"

He smiled. "I'll leave that for you to find out, Miss Tallulah. I'll say farewell for now but I'm sure we'll be in contact soon when everything becomes clear." He turned to go as I inspected the envelope. My name was written on it in flowing script, but there was nothing else to give me any hints.

"Oh, and Miss Tallulah, if I may just give you a small word of advice."

"Yes, please do."

"As you know, Miss Martha was rather fond of a cheeky glass of gin. May I suggest that when you open that envelope you are sitting down comfortably." He raised an eyebrow. "And with a very cheeky glass of Tanqueray to hand."

He nodded as if putting a full-stop on the conversation.

Alannah approached me, and envelope similar to mine in her hand. It seemed strange to see her in a black hat, not her habitual Stetson.

She held up the envelope. "Fancy a gin and tonic?"

15 - Tallulah

It seems very strange to be sitting in Martha's old rocking chair on the porch, watching the sun go down over the trees. As I write this, there is a large glass of gin next to me and a sweet little sausage dog is curled around my feet. When I got the keys to Martha's old place, he just trotted on in behind me, jumped up on one of her old leather armchairs and fell fast asleep.

Faye was with me and she laughed and shook her head. "Always did favour you, Tal. Looks like you've inherited a house and a cute little dawg in a red bandana. Welcome to your new home, Lady MacAllan of Milton's Creek!"

Faye had also been with Alannah and I when we opened Martha's letters. We each had a large glass of Tanqueray alongside us and the bottle was to hand in case of need. Suffice to say, it got put to good use. We both asked Faye to read the letters to us and made her repeat them over and over as we kept bursting into tears.

I have re-read my letter every day since that first afternoon and read it again before I started writing this evening. At least I read a laminated copy as I cry each time. The original is framed and on the wall in Martha's old bedroom.

It was Faye's idea to write all this down at the culmination of what has, for many reasons, been a tumultuous few months. She told me back at the start of all of this about the little 'blog' she shares with her friends, chronicling their misdeeds. I suppose that should be our misdeeds now, as I seem to feature rather heavily these days. She took particular delight in writing the sections where they watched me on the hidden camera and I became part of their plans.

So at her suggestion, I started to write down my part in this sordid little saga and she edited her reminiscences to fill in her side of the story.

Now the story is nearly complete and I intend to finish it before I make my big entrance a little later tonight.

Once it is finished, I will have it printed and bound. It will then be placed in Martha's room, beneath her framed letter. I have decided to call it, "We'll Get Through This Together."

That brings us back to Martha's letter. It is written in what once must have been beautiful handwriting. There is still elegance and grace there despite the crippling arthritis that plagued her. The pain she must have felt is etched in every line, but she kept going as she always did and saw it through.

My Dearest Tallulah

Firstly, thank you for making my last few days so memorable. I cherished our little story-telling sessions and the thought of such a lovely young lady genuinely enjoying my ramblings fills me with joy. I loved hearing all about the sordid secrets of my naughty neighbours. I always did love a good, saucy tale. I suppose you young folk would conclude that revelation with 'lol'!

But I suppose now you are reading this you have met my dear Allen and I have gone upstairs. At least I hope that is the direction I'm headed! I knew it was coming soon. I survived the damned virus, but everything else finally took its toll.

Anyway, I need to cut to the chase as these old hands ain't what they used to be and I need to be able to hold my gin later. Bottom line is, Tallulah, it's coming at me fast and I've got no kids. I saw off the last of the four men that put a ring on my finger thirty years back. That old clapperboard pile in Milton's Creek is all mine and there ain't no-one to take it on for me.

At least there wasn't until recently. Allen's details are all in the envelope. Call him when you're ready. I've no idea how these things work -- whether it needs to be put it in trust until you're twenty-one, or... or...

Oh shoot, let them experts work it out, it's why they're there! It belongs to you now, whichever way we cut it. Allen's a good man and I trust him implicitly. Among many other good deeds, he kept my name out the scandal sheets for years!

So my dear -- look after it for me and fill it with joy, laughter - and most of all -- naughtiness! The lovely Alannah has a letter of her own and will hopefully soon contact Allen about taking ownership of the stables. Look after each other and I pray your 'twin stars' orbit each other for a very long time.

So I think we're just about done here. Say 'hi' to Slinky for me and tell that naughty little Lilith Nobel I'm proud of her too. Cut from the same cloth we all are. We wild ones need to stick together!

That's it, my hand has had it. I think an old lady is allowed one last cuss. Fuckin' arthritis!

Just one last thing, young lady. Gan canny, but above all, shine, my darling. SHINE!

With Everlasting Love,

Martha

xxx

Every time I read it, I kiss her wavering signature and make a vow. "I will, Martha. And if I can shine one tenth as brightly as you did, it will be a life worth living."

I seem to have caught the bug for writing as a result of putting down these words. Amongst other things, I found Martha's old diaries in the attic and, as I suspected, her handwriting was once exquisite. They are every bit as entertaining as her tales out on the porch. I have checked and there are no biographies of Martha Landau out there that I can see. I need to speak to Allen Rothschild about whether or not we should 'change names to protect the not-so-innocent,' but I am hoping that this little memoir of mine will not be the last collaboration Faye and I work on together.

There is a big bash over at the Lilith's tonight -- our first big post-lockdown gathering. The guys are back in Scotland, and this time they will get to play the Old Course at St. Andrews, so we are free to do as we please. All the usual suspects will be there and some I have not yet met but have heard a lot about. I will hopefully have made a lot of new friends by the end of the evening.

But there is one person in particular I am determined to impress. Lilith has invited her and her presence is filling me with excitement and not a little dread.

Tonight I am finally going to meet Dominique Toussaint in person. At roughly the same the guys fulfil their dream and stride down the eighteenth towards the clubhouse of the Royal and Ancient, I have my big entrance planned and I need to be on my worst behaviour.

This is my chance to shine and I intend to grasp it with both hands.

I know how the next few minutes will pan out. I have planned it meticulously for weeks since I knew she'd be there. Everything is taken care of until we jump that final fence onto the Nobel's front garden and put a full stop on Chapter One. After that, Chapter Two is in the lap of the Gods.

So I'll finish off now with I how I see the next fifteen minutes or so unfolding. Wish me good fortune, Martha dear, and thank you once again for everything. I cannot begin to describe my gratitude and luck in meeting you, and if that biography ever gets written, I hope we do you justice.

With all my love, Tallulah Xxx.

I finish typing and gather up my faithful little Slinky and kiss his wet nose and tickle his ears. I pop him on his favourite leather chair and make sure he has enough food and water. I won't be back until long after dawn and I do not intend to be in a fit state to walk him for a while.

I walk towards the rear door and slip off my robe and hang it on a peg. As I step out, the evening sun is warm against my skin and the smell in the air is intoxicating.

Clarrie is waiting patiently for me by the mounting block. Alannah saddled her up for me before she went home. She'll swing by in an hour or so and pick her up from Lilith's yard.

I step up onto the mounting block. Other than a broad-brimmed Stetson and a pair of ornate fine leather boots from the same craftsman that makes Alannah's, I am now what Martha Landau would describe as 'butt-naked.'

I swing my leg over Clarrie's back and settle down. There is something so primal about it -- the smell and softness of the worn leather against my skin sends shivers through me as I squeeze my thighs down gently. I think Alannah may have a damp ride home.

I lean forward and tickle Clarrie's ears. "Nearly ready, girl. Just don't throw me off as we make that final jump, eh?"

I squeeze a little harder and flick the reins as Clarrie begins to walk across the yard. It is not Martha Landau riding her out butt-naked, but I hope she is watching down on me and vicariously sharing the thrill I am feeling.

We pick up speed over the front lawn and jump the perimeter fence with ease. I haven't factored in what could happen if I fall, so I am not allowing myself any thoughts that I may. I spur her on with a gentle tap from my booted heel and feel my hair whip out from under my hat like some latter day Lady Godiva as she picks up speed.

Clarrie flies through the woods like the wind and my heart is beating faster and faster as I rise in the saddle and see the Nobel's perimeter fence approaching.

Thirty yards, twenty, ten.

Heads turn in the front garden, necks craning to see what is unfolding on the other side of the fence. I lean forward once more, ready to make the jump. I whisper in her ear one last time.

"Come on Clarrie, ye little beauty, let's make the old girl proud!"

She takes off like a dream and the first thud of her hoofbeat on the lawn puts a conclusive full stop on the end of Chapter One.

How Chapter Two plays out is all down to me now.