Guess Who's Coming to Stay?

Chapter 1

Maddy and Bolt Jones own and operate a recovery 'Health Farm' on a semi-remoted place amid grassland farming and forests on the Banks Peninsular, 90 miles drive from Christchurch, the largest city in the South Island of New Zealand.

The peninsular is a rugged but nevertheless charming area, surrounded by marvellous ocean vistas and peppered with a mix of large harbour, small bays and almost hidden coves that are surrounded on three sides by steep hills.

The summers are hot and the small villages, the largest being the originally French-settled Akaroa that is called a town but with fewer than 700 permanent residents is no more than a township) the attracts holidaymakers, weekend private cabin dwellers, campers, cruise ships, hikers (trampers) and permanent and semi-permanent dwellers who include potters, painters, spinners, writers, and other artistic bent crafts people plus people wanting a quiet life with access to quality bars and cafes.

The Jones's H&R Farm (health and recuperation retreat) offers luxury accommodation and high-quality 'care support' and is priced accordingly high that also serves to keep the riff-raff at bay.

Maddy runs the staff while Bolt is satisfied as being the head groundsman, the 'Mr Fix-it' and takes care of ordering in supplies, dealing with any troublemakers and unwanted trespassers by setting loose two hunting dogs trained to scare the crap out of humans but not to maul them while Bolt usually watches such encounters in delight, cradling a semi-automatic shot-gun.

He also takes fitter guests out to photograph game such as wild goats and deer up close or taking to the sea in small-boat cruising. At times, he takes up to eight guests that wish to go day sailing on a 54-foot keeler .

The Jones' H&R Farm has a maximum occupancy of sixty guests.

Bolt returned from clearing a blocked toilet in Chalet 19, the blockage caused by six panties presumable flushed away on separate occasions.

As expected, the sole occupant, Mrs Armstrong from Petaluma, Northern California wondered how they had got there, claiming it must have been a previous resident.

Bolt nodded and said it must have been and, as expected, his offer to have Maddy call next time she was going to Akaroa to ask Mrs Armstrong was there any replacement clothing she wished Maddy to buy for her and the offer was accepted with thanks.

Bolt showered and changed into leisure-wear and found Maddy and asked did she want sex or coffee or both and, as anticipating the reply to go bury his head as it was only 11 am but he could make her coffee in a few minutes.

When free to sit for morning tea, Maddy said breathlessly, "I've received a call that a senior official in Wellington will arrive here tomorrow for a lunch meeting accompanied by two high-ranking officials from the Australian Government in Canberra, representing the Prime Minister's Office."

"Omigod, our time has come. That young Aussie PM wants to pay a mint for regular accommodation here as somewhere to take the occasional cuddly woman to entertain her in private."

Maddy's eyes widened.

"Omigod, you've said a couple of times seeing them on TV lately that his wife looks too much of a wildfire for him."

"Well, she was looking bored," Bolt said.

Maddy said thoughtfully, "Perhaps if he attends long sessions of Parliament, long meetings, the heaps of other official duties loaded on to a Prime Minister and plied with too much liquor, possibly his ability to perform well in bed has diminished."

"Thoughtful thinking, Maddy," Bolt said.

"What?" she said, looking surprised.

"I wasn't aware that you were an authority on marital sexuality problems, being a fan for wanting it no more than twice a week to preserve your figure and ensure copulation remained enjoyable for you."

"Oh, you stupid twit," she said, showing her teeth and then, fighting to hold back her laugh, told her husband to pour her another coffee and then to crack the whip to get all staff to get everything looking first rate in preparation for VIP visitors arriving by helicopter at 11.00 in the morning.

Her final dig was, "You do talk shit at times and don't forget I no longer have sugar with my flat white."

"Yes dear," he said, mischievously touching his forelock.

Maddy sighed heavily.

The helicopter had left Christchurch Airport and was probably only three or four minutes away from the retreat when Bolt arrived on to the lawn and admired his wife wearing her favourite best dress.

She screamed, "Get the fuck back to the bedroom and change into a suit. Those jeans and Hawaiian shirt are totally unsuitable."

"My suit is still covered with vomit from the last time I wore it to a funeral about eight months ago," he lied.

She screamed, "Bolt, get into something decent or I'll deal with you painfully."

He thought he shouldn't upset her further, and raced off.

Bolt re-emerged wearing a beautifully tailored blue jacket, white shirt, cream pants and had remembered to put on socks and wore his favourite highly polished brown shoes.

"That's much better," yelled his wife, who then turned to the landing military chopper waving her handkerchief and many of the watching residents also began waving.

"Omigod, take your hands out of your fucking pockets," Maddy yelled to Bolt and he and most of the men pulled their hands out of pockets and stood with clasped hands in front of them as if protecting their 'privates'.

A few minutes later Maddy, finding her rarely used cultural voice, introduced the VIPs to her husband and, "This is our company chairman and general manager of our highly prestigious enterprise, Mr Bolt Jones."

One of the Australian's asked, "Are you two related Mrs Jones?" while a companion said, "Omigod, Bolt Jones, the best Rugby League forward that New Zealand has even produced by a country mile."

"Lads, I think it's time for a beer."

Horrified, Maddy called sounding much like a stall seller at a fish-market, "No, come this way for Champagne, gentlemen."

The men, now including the pilot and co-pilot headed off with Bolt to the lounge/dinning veranda with its marvellous mid-distance view of the harbour.

"Some place you have here, Bolt," said the head of VIP Liaisons of New Zealand's Department of Internal Affairs.

Maddy looked shocked, wonder how on earth had Bolt without lifting a finger or opening his mouth, drawn out that accolade and now the two Aussies were murmuring responses in agreement with the beauty of the setting.

She was about to yell 'Get those two fucking dogs out of there' to the kitchen chef when the dogs leapt on to the verandas with the appearance of being welcomed guests. Bolt warned the two Aussies with outstretched hands not to pat them as they were trained guard dogs capable of removing hands from the wrist if they believed they were being attacked, that being total bullshit. But each Aussie pulled back his outstretched arm and put that hand in his pants pocket, holding his bottle of beer in the other hand.

Maddy raced up with a tray of glasses but none were used.

She was ignored and returned to the large table under a huge umbrella and began gulping down champagne alone, trying to settle her upset. Fucking goodness sake, the dogs were partly muted idiots and only created any sign of menace if Bolt, being their sole food provider, appeared to be under imminent attack by Maddy or anyone else.

With most of her first bottle of champagne almost gone, she was relieved when Boris the chef returned and signalled lunch was ready.

She had thoughtfully told the chef and his two assistants to prepare of meal of cold meats, and assortment of hot green vegetables, plus plates of Kiwifruit, Australian pineapple, and an assortment of hot quiches.

Maddy finished the bottle of champagne and followed the men in and became filled with pride when hearing the men already inside saying in admiration, 'What a spread' and 'Golly, Bolt how on earth do you retain your slim figure when you are served up tucker like this?'

But on entering the dining room, Maddy almost had a seizure.

Nothing from the menu she'd given Boris was on the table that was almost bending under the weight of food. She saw heaps of green lipped mussels, plates of salmon fillets, oysters in the shell, barbequed sausages, mixed lettuce salads, and wire baskets of golden potato chips and, for fuck sake, tinned spaghetti pizza with six Pavlovas to follow for dessert.

Maddy, hands held ready to strangle somebody, intercepted Boris and hissed, "Why did you replace my menu."

"I didn't. Bolt ordered me to replace your menu with the one he handed me."

"But I set the menus."

"Of course, you always do Mrs Jones, but Bolt said as general manager, his menu is what he anticipated would most impress our distinguished visitors and to do it without any reference to you or else he'd set the dogs on to me."

"Thanks Boris, I appreciate that my stupid husband placed you between a rock and a hard place."

Boris said in broken English that had didn't see the boss using any hard places or any rocks.

"What did you call him?"

"The boss, everyone knows he's the boss despite him and you insisting you are the boss."

"Omigod, the culture in this place has changed before my very eyes and I remained unaware."

"What are 'very eyes' Mrs Jones?"

"Fuck off and do what you're paid to do, Boris."

Staggering slightly, thinking she'd like to cheerfully kill some mother-fucker, Maddy chose the only vacant chair and noticed all the guys were drinking red wine but there was a bottle of the expensive white French wine from the dozen that she'd had chilled to serve to their guests.

Perhaps she needed to update herself, she thought, as the cleaner Gladys, wearing her beautiful new black dress with white collar proudly, poured the flushed looking Mrs Jones a glass of white wine to the imaginary line that Mrs Jones had schooled her on last night, although she wondered how could the imaginary line exist unless there wasn't a line marked to be seen?

The visitors had intended to stay one hour, but they stayed three, talking mostly about Rugby League, women they had banged or wanted to bang in the last couple of years, and eating the table clean of food and finishing the six bottles of red, despite the pilot and co-pilot only each having half a glass of wine and then switching to juice and straight water.

Twenty minutes into the lunch, the pilot and co-pilot carried Mrs Jones off to bed under the direction of Gladys at the request of Mr Jones. Gladys were surprised that the two men had assisted to undress Mrs Jones without being asked and they appeared impressed that Mrs Jones was without pubic hair.

When one of the guys asked Gladys did she shave down there or was it bushy, she thought it was time to hustle them back to the dining room. They were difficult to move until both had taken photos of naked Mrs Jones on their mobile phones.

Bolt turned in at 10.30 and was surprised to see his wife still on top of the bed.

"Not bad for a married woman," he said, and then tripped over his feet when turning away but recovered and yelled, "Shit."

That awoke Maddy, who said "Is that you?"

Bolt said yes and asked why wasn't she wearing her nightie.

"I am. No, I'm not. Where is it?"

"In the top left drawer as usual, I imagine."

"How did I get here?"

"I have no idea but perhaps Gladys can bring you up to date."

"Why is it dark?"

"Because it's gone 10.30, and the Australians are probably back in Canberra by now."

"Why did they come here?"

"To check out if we and our amenities are suitable for their purpose."

"I suppose we were judged suitable; I mean as a result of everything I do around here including training staff. Do they want to hire our amenities so that the Aussie Prime Minister and bring his girlfriend of the moment here to shag her and not be recognised?"

"Paddy, that's very uncouth language for you."

"Is it?"

"Yes, and you are still drunk. I showed them our premier suite during a 10-minute tour of the place and they agreed the accommodation was suitable for the wife of their Premier."

"What, to bring her boyfriends with her for her to shag?"

"Again, that's uncouth language, entirely unsuitable for you Maddy, as the daughter of a former Governor-General of New Zealand from England."

"Then I should be chastised, or if not, I should be fucked."

"I've had too much to drink. Perhaps I should call Boris because he's mad with you for threatening him with something, he was babbling about a hard place. In that mood, he'll give you the pounding of your life."

"I don't want him, I want you. Come to bed now and sober up during the night and pound me awake in the morning. Do you think that's a good idea?"

"A very good idea, Maddy. I like this when you are making a suggestion like that. You should drink heavily more often."

"What, and lose my virginity?"

"Oh Maddy, go to sleep. You are thoroughly pissed."

Chapter 2

Maddy awoke to bright sunshine leaking in around the edges of the bedroom blinds with a headache but she felt good enough to dart into the bathroom and then attend to the morning boner that she knew from what she termed 'vast experience' that she would find on the other side of the bed.

Her cool lips at work awoke her husband.

Bolt yawned, stretched and said carefully, "Hi, don't you have a headache?"

"It's a genuine although not too bad. Champagne and I have great compatibility. I feel like rewarding you for talking over at the business lunch yesterday when I, err, when I fell sleep. Just lay back and enjoy."

"You've been great, really great," yelled Bolt later as he barrelled into a hugely satisfied release.

Panting, he watched Maddy clean herself with a towel and remembering to wipe him as well.

"The Premier Suite was booked late last night for 30 days from next Wednesday."

"Great, it hasn't been used for neigh on three months," Maddy yawned, and look to have question marks over both eyes.

But Bolt decided to string it out a little.

"Guess who's coming to stay in our premium suite?"

"It's obvious after yesterday's inspection. It will be the up-himself Aussie Prime Minister."

"Nope."

Maddy sat upright in a flash and asked: "Then who?"

"The PM's young wife, former international model Meaghan Underwood."

"O-m-i-g-o-d!"

"Yeah, sounds good and our bank balance will be inflated. But there will be downsides. Possible huge downsides."

Appearing puzzled, Maddy said, "How can that be? The Aussie media have generally dubbed her 'the Smiling Princess'."

"Have you seen her on TV recently or read update articles about her in those trashy women's mags?"

"Now that you mention it, no."

"That's because she's virtually under house arrest in Canberra, because her life-style has changed dramatically. No more sucking off her dates in alley ways or on gambling tables, no more popping partly pills or appearing from the bathroom with wet vomit stains on the front of her designer gowns."

Bolt said, "She's revolted by throwing plates and clouting people unexpectedly with one of her shoes or a handbag. In short, she's heading for a mental breakdown and the best solution Government heads have is to dump her somewhere in isolation, out Australia but in a friendly country."

"And now the Prime Minister's Department believes they have found it after Phil and Thomas reported on their visit here yesterday."

"Omigod."

"But you won't be able to boast to your girlfriends to guess who we have staying with us. Meaghan Underwood will be staying with us inIncognito under an assumed name, that is still being assessed with the front-runner being Melba Bell."

"Aw, being muzzled like that is so unfair."

Bolt nodded and said, "Now you'll have some understanding about what Meaghan is going through."

"Omigod, that would be accelerating her going off her rocker."

"Correct, I believe. However, I'll be personally paid $10,000 a week, using my outdoor skills to woo her into focusing on the great freedom that the outdoors offer."

"Oh, and what do I get while you are seducing her to step out of her panties and chasing her naked through the bush?"

"Just a minute."

"What are you doing?"

"Jotting a note on my phone about your naked pursuit suggestion."

Maddy, fuming, yelled, "What mega back-pocket payment will I receive?"

Bolt said he understanding and the way things were planned at present, she would get nothing, only a request to stay well away from Miss InIncognito to avoid the possibility of getting her face ripped by fingernails."

He urged, "Hear me out Maddy before you start blowing tacks. A liaison officer has been appointed for us to use as the conduit to get our concerns through to the correct places in the High Command. Her name is Maggie O'Brien, Police Commissioner O'Brien of the Australian Federal Police. At my suggestion, she will contact you directly as our chief on-the-ground person for the duration of the Miss Incognito emergency.

"And what is the code name for this hugely risky and expensive operation."

"I just told you, Maddy, Miss Incognito."

"Omigod, who is the kindergarten kid who thought up that stupid name? I bet it wasn't a female."

"Oh really, Maddy? I thought the same thing and was old that the entire operation will be manned by men. But listen, put your concerns to Maggie, as I bet she's female and I suggest you be named as overall commander here and that includes all Aussies such a security people, snipers, dog handlers and you decide where their caravans are parked in the bush, out of sight of residents and away from walking tracks. At the end of all that, then say you are expecting real cash compensation for all of this to happen on your land that had long been a seasonal calving paddock, and was bequeathed to you by your father."

"But that's bullshit. I won it off him in a poker game."

"Maddy, please, the Aussies will believe the calving paddock inheritance story but winning a 5-acre paddock off your own father in a poker game, no way. They will suspect you are testing their IQ and will wonder what kind of scam are you pulling."

Maddy said usually Bolt was wrong in his assertions, but that last claim appeared to have merit.

"It's best you join me in my negotiations with Maggie O'Brien."

Maddy rejected that suggestion.

"No, females are universally primed to be suckers in agreeing to what males want. I suggest you ask for $30,000 in compensation per day for the disruption that will cause to our business, having their security guys flitting about like forest ghosts, refusing to answer questions about the mystery woman you are personal having to tend to without my involvement and reward is necessary to cover the psychological strain that the Miss Incognito will heap on you and me."

"Yes, but at total of $900,000 for 30 days of inconvenience, they would never wear it."

"Perhaps, but you have to remember they are Australians, darling."

"Honestly, if you were negotiating, what would your starting figure be?"

Bolt grinned, showing all his teeth.

"Oh, that's easy, $2,000,000."

"You'd be locked up for being insane."

"Darling, it's just an upscale version of the haggling you become involved with when you go shopping or choosing meat."

"So, what would you accept as their claimed 'last and final' counter-offer."

"I'd expect to settle for $200,000 - oh in Aussie dollars as they are worth a bit more than ours."

"That's totally insane bullshit Bolt. The pressure of this operation is turning your brain into mud."

"Thanks darling, remind me to compliment you similarly one day. Here's the number I was given during negotiations on the phone last night. Call Maggie now as she'll be on her left foot feeling pissed off at landing this puny little operation, taking her away from real police work. Even tip her a little bit more by asking was her accent Scottish."