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Message-ID: <47463asstr$1081977005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "virgosun" <virgosun@internode.on.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Beryl and the Polymorph 4/9 {virgosun} (mf rom slow pett mutant)
Lines: 728
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2004 17:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "poly04.txt" begin>

*BERYL AND THE POLYMORPH*

by virgosun (c) April 2004
*******************************
(Part 4)

She loved it best when George wrapped her in a big bear 
hug, almost engulfing her in his burly shoulders. His 
body was hot, his muscles thick. But there always came a 
point where he became too overpowering, too heavy. He 
liked to lean over her, liked to squash her into a 
corner. His kisses on her throat made her sigh, and she 
liked it when he felt her bottom. But his fingers were 
blunt and work-roughened; manly, she supposed.

These days she preferred it when he kissed her neck and 
breasts. It kept the taste of stale hops out of her 
mouth.

"Berry, love, let me touch you there!" he panted, 
tugging at her hemline.

"George, I...don't, no, please, I'd rather you didn't, 
not yet."

"But you liked it the other night! Come on, love, just 
one little touch, please?"

"Don't...it's delicate down there. You wouldn't like it 
if I mangled your, er, thingies."

"What, my nobbles?" He laughed and caught her hand in 
his. "Berry, you can play with my nobbles any time you 
like!" And stuffed it deep into the hot fabric of his 
crotch amidst the lumps and bumps that dwelt there. She 
yanked her hand back.

"No! I told you, not until we're married, and not one 
day before!"

"We _will_ get married, I promise!" he insisted 
sturdily, dragging at her skirt again. "I'm saving for 
the ring! Just one little touch?"

She fumbled for her purse, anything to distract him. 
There was one cigarette left. "Georgie, I need a smoke, 
would you light it please?" She didn't believe he was 
saving anything, and beginning to understand the little 
frown Dad wore whenever he saw George lately.

George grumbled and sat back, thumbing the dashboard 
button for the cigarette lighter. "We've got to wait a 
while longer," said Beryl desolately. "I'm not old 
enough."

"You're nearly seventeen."

"By the time you save any money I'll be seventy! Why do 
you drink so much, Georgie?"

"Because I like it!" he said sulkily.

"But you used to be so much nicer before," she sighed.

"Oh yeah? Well, you smoke too much, all you've done 
tonight is puff fags!"

"I thought you liked it when I did that."

"Yeah, well, you can't tell me I drink too much then." 
Then he smiled, and threw his arm around her shoulders, 
looking more like the George of old. "Come on, Berry, we 
shouldn't be fighting like this, eh? I love you, you 
know."

His eyes twinkled; that look had always made her heart 
flutter. "I'm sorry, Georgie, I didn't mean it," she 
whispered, snuggling against him again. His lips found 
her temple, her cheekbone, the hollow beneath her 
earlobe, and he sighed.

His hand ran up the inside of her thigh. She squeezed 
her legs quickly and firmly together.

"If you love me, you'll wait. I think you'd better take 
me home now."

"Shit," George muttered.

***

The doorbell jingled, and Beryl looked around from 
stacking loaves of fresh bread in the display rack. "Oh 
hello Doug," she smiled. "What brings you here? Do you 
need to change your lunch order?"

Doug's Adam's Apple bobbed up and down his neck and he 
looked around nervously. Beryl was the only person 
present; Mum was out the back helping Dad stack 
deliveries, and it was Dot's day off. She gave a 
mischievous smile and tapped her nose. "Don't worry, 
Tempest isn't here."

This brought a deep flush to Doug's long face. He 
cleared his throat and drew himself up to his full 
height. "Ahem. Beryl, good morning. I, er, as to the 
reason for my stopping by, it's not to change my lunch 
order, it's perfect as is thank you. No, what I mean to 
ask you is..." He gulped. "Seeing as you're on good 
terms with the families out there," and he gestured 
jerkily toward where the tower now peered above the 
rooves of the town, "I wondered if you might...care to, 
ahem, accompany me to an, er, birthday celebration 
they're holding this Friday night. I would be much 
obliged if you would." And then he stood stiffly, almost 
eyes-right, as if awaiting an execution bullet.

Beryl put down the last loaves slowly, carefully. "This 
would be...to keep Tempest off your case?"

He eyed her, a steely, determined quality coming into 
his gaze. "Not necessarily, not as such. I would like 
merely the pleasure of your company. If that is too much 
to ask..." He rocked on his heels.

"Doug...was it _you_ who sent me a letter a little while 
ago?" she asked carefully, not wanting to show her 
startlement.

He pressed his lips together, nostrils flaring, and gave 
one jerky nod.

_Oh my! Wait 'til Dot hears this!_ Friday night was 
always Georgie night, had been for over a year.

"Who's birthday is it?" she asked with a small, 
speculative smile. Doug relaxed slightly.

"Basil Blake's. He's turning 28."

"Then I shall have to get him a birthday present," Beryl 
thought aloud, pressing a finger to her lips. "What sort 
of things does he like?"

A big grin split Doug's face, and with his moustache for 
a moment he looked quite rakish rather than awkward. 
Then he sobered up quickly. "No, no, I have that taken 
care of, not to worry."

She had turned toward the main display case 
thoughtfully, where pies, custard tarts and sugar-dusted 
streudels lay in tempting wait. "Well, what about a 
birthday cake? Something special for the invisible 
feller in the crane."

"I don't think anyone's organised a cake for him yet," 
said Doug thoughtfully.

"Good, that's settled then," Beryl said matter-of-
factly, pencilling an order on a notepad. "Me, cake, 
you, motorbike?" She flashed her most flirtatious grin, 
well aware that Doug got about on a small motorcycle, 
hardly a cruise-machine for dating.

"I'll borrow something more appropriate," he promised.

When Doug had gone, Beryl sighed and gazed at the posy 
of flowers in a vase sitting on the window display. Rain 
streamed from the awning outside, and she watched as 
Doug shook out a big black umbrella before walking away. 
The crops had been suffering, drying out, but Tempest 
had promised rain would come today.

The posy had been brought in by George the afternoon 
before, with a Sorry card. He was sorry he had been such 
a brute of late, and promised he wouldn't have more than 
a couple of beers before going out with her.

But why shouldn't she indulge Doug, if just this once? 
She was pretty sure he would keep his hands to himself, 
and it would be nice not to have to end Friday night 
before it grew too many fingers, for a change.

***

"Nothing too formal," Doug had said. She wore a party 
dress, had the cake ready in a box with a big ribbon, 
and at the last moment, popped out to the garden where 
she found a pink carnation bud and wrapped it carefully. 
And she left the spare cigarettes at home.

Although Doug was driving, the car that arrived to 
collect her was the big pale blue buggy that belonged to 
Mr Phillips. And while he had said informal, Doug was 
not far short of black tie, hair slicked across his 
high, high forehead. He greeted her and took the cake 
box and placed it on the back seat, then ushered her 
around and opened the door gallantly for her, as though 
he drove a swanky sportscar rather than someone else's 
ordinary sedan. Laughing merrily, Beryl felt a million 
dollars.

Instead of downtown to the Tatts Club, bistro or picture 
palace, or out to Wildgoose Hall for the barn dance, 
they drove the same way Beryl rode every day, a familiar 
route made exotic by darkness. They paused at the gate, 
which Doug rattled open, and the homes ahead were a 
carnival of coloured lights. Music pulsed distantly; not 
a dance band, but something much more modern, the kind 
of sounds that came from the sophisticated parts of big 
cities.

Doug drove around the back of the housing estate to the 
Phillips' place, then opened the door for Beryl. "I have 
the cake, Mrs. Phillips!" he called.

"Douggie!" came Tempest's delighted cry. An outdoors 
light flicked on, backlighting a halo of hair and swirl 
of skirts. "Oh Beryl, hi! Pro didn't say you were 
coming, what a wonderful surprise!"

"Um, Pro didn't actually ask me," Beryl admitted, 
steeling herself to weather an eruption of peer 
jealousy. Tempest just laughed and clapped.

"He didn't? Oh, super! He is gonna be so surprised then! 
Come on, I'll show you the dance floor they've nailed 
together today!" There was barely time to greet Mr. and 
Mrs. Phillips as Tempest tugged her away, giggling back 
at "Douggie" as she went. Her party mood was infectious 
as they went toward the lights and music.

"Where is Pro?" Beryl asked.

"Over at his place getting cleaned up, he shouldn't be 
too long. He's connected to water now, so his bathroom 
works."

"Pro's got a whole _house_ of his own?" Beryl stopped in 
her tracks. Tempest looked at her as if she was an 
idiot.

"Of course! Okay, it doesn't have all its walls or doors 
or windows yet - hey, even _I_ have a house, although 
it's not built, but I do have a patch of ground marked 
out! They won't start work on it until I'm eighteen. He 
hasn't got any furniture either, but Pro doesn't need 
that much furniture." They started walking again. "The 
Enabled look after their people. We've all got to have 
somewhere to live, so that when we get married we can 
have families with more Enabled children. I hope Douggie 
gets to share my house," she sighed, dreaming of the 
future.

"Doug probably needs a bit of room to make that 
decision," Beryl advised carefully. But Tempest had 
already skipped ahead, calling out to this clansman and 
that, and Beryl too was soon greeting and laughing with 
familiar faces.

Over by a large speaker-box, someone had started blowing 
on a comb and tissue-paper in time to the music, and it 
sounded like three others were whistling in harmony 
together. It was a bright and happy sound, and Beryl 
made her way closer, recognising Reg and only one other 
hunched figure dressed in a full-length dressing gown.

"Hello Beryl!" Reg called.

The other straightened up suddenly, as if growing long 
skinny legs from beneath his robe. His hands were hidden 
beneath the sleeves as if those sleeves were too long. 
"Beryl!" Pro cried in absolute astonishment, and she 
laughed. Even in the dim light from the outdoor 
lanterns, she could see him flush fiery red. "Oh my 
lordy, I'm not dressed for this, I better go home and 
get some clothes! Stay there, I'll be back!" he babbled, 
fleeing on the scrawniest legs and stumpiest bare feet 
she had ever seen on a grown man. Reg and Tempest traded 
looks and burst into gales of laughter.

She was standing with Doug, Reg and his wife, Sylvia and 
Tempest watching Pyrus Blake lighting a bonfire when she 
noticed a figure approaching with his distinctive loose-
limbed, graceful gait. Pro was now dressed as he might 
be for the picture show, in pinstripe pants and vest but 
minus glasses and hat, a big grin in place when he saw 
her.

"Terrible sorry about that, Bezz, you caught me right 
off-guard then! I don't always stand around in my 
bathrobe, although this lot will tell you different. 
What are you doing here? You brought Basil a cake?"

"It's all down to this fine gentleman here," she 
declared, tucking her arm within the crook of Doug's 
elbow. He jumped, then patted her hand on his arm 
paternally, with a thin smile. Pro's browbones almost 
jumped off his face.

"Oh! Trading up from the suckerfish, then, are we? I 
knew you could do better."

"Now Pro," said Beryl sternly, letting go of Doug to 
prop her hands on her hips. "I told you before, I won't 
have you rubbishing George..."

"I'd be careful if I were you," said Pro with a cheeky 
wink. "One day he's going to suck all your skin off in 
one go and you'll end up looking like me!"

"Pro Phillips!"

"Guys!" Tempest cried, favouring each of them a sharp 
glare in turn as she stepped between them. "Cool it! 
Pro, stop that, it's none of your business!"

"Look," Doug added, "here comes the cake! Ahh..."

Mr Phillips brought the cake to a trestle-table set with 
platters of party food. At the last moment Pyrus spiked 
it with sparklers and lit them, while children ran to 
get Basil. His wife, a long lean-faced woman, hefted 
their baby son onto one hip, pointing at the pretty 
lights. Louis was a bonnie-faced babe with a soft brown 
curl in the middle of his scalp, showing no trace of any 
disfigurement or deformity, and he gazed solemnly at the 
sparks.

"Come on Basil, leg it or the show'll be over! What a 
cake! Love the crane, Beryl," said Mr Phillips 
approvingly. It had taken a bit of doing, but she'd 
stuck a crane together from drinking straws and foil, 
and wrapped a piece of cardboard tube in foil with a 
pie-plate on top to represent the tower. There was a 
murmur of assent and praise.

"Here he is, the birthday boy! Happy Birthday, Basil!" 
Pyrus declared as his youngest son arrived, clapping his 
hands, leading the cheer that was raised.

"Ohh, my!" Beryl murmured, agog.

Basil glanced about with a sheepish grin as he stepped 
up to the table, behind the cake. "Well, well!" he said, 
and kissed his wife and baby. It wasn't that he was 
twisted, distorted or malformed. He was tall and slim, 
and cut a fine figure in his bronze serge suit. He had 
even, chiselled, quite regal features and generous lips, 
and might well have been described as classically 
handsome. If it weren't for his skin being completely 
covered by fine green scales that glittered by the light 
of the sparklers, from the top of his hairless skull to 
the tips of his elegant fingers. His eyes were enormous, 
rounded and bulging, all-golden in colour with vertical 
slit pupils, as serpentine as could be. She almost 
expected him to have a forked tongue.

She was keenly aware of Pro's blue eyes glinting as he 
gazed down at her. With the tumult of applause, it was 
too noisy to say anything. She added her claps and 
cheers to the chorus.

"Pyrus, put those damn things out, they're dropping soot 
on the icing!" Poppa Stone growled. Pyrus reached over 
and nonchalantly pinched out each sparkler, fearlessly 
grasping each red-hot wire between smooth-skinned 
fingertips. His Enabled gift made him immune to heat, 
and only carbon stained his fingers.

 From there, the party began in earnest. Guests tucked 
into the buffet, and brought gifts to Basil. Doug had 
another gift-wrapped parcel to give him, Beryl dutifully 
at his side; the paper came away to reveal a natty cream 
beret. Delighted, Basil thanked Doug, then smiled at 
Beryl.

"We meet at last!"

"My pleasure, Basil. And they told me you were ugly! 
Happy Birthday!"

"I believe I, too, gave you fair warning. You must be in 
love with Pro, then."

"Eh?" said Doug. Beryl laughed and blushed, noticing Pro 
chatting with his sister-in-law, words momentarily 
failing her. Basil rescued her.

"May I have the pleasure of dancing with you after 
dinner? With Doug's permission, of course."

"You borrow all my tools, and now you expect to borrow 
my companion? I suppose you must if you must, it is your 
birthday," Doug grumbled.

"At least I return your tools." Basil caught her hand in 
his smooth, scale-textured clasp, and touched his lips 
to her knuckles in a chaste but stylish kiss. "I think 
you can spare Beryl for one whirl."

Everyone ate, taking dining chairs brought out of homes, 
or fold-out iron chairs, some simply parking themselves 
on hay bales. Doug picked carefully from the food on 
offer, choosing the blandest fare he could find and 
daubing his moustache fastidiously with a napkin. 
Tempest and Pro camped on a grassy edge nearby, Tempest 
casting coy glances up at Doug. Then it was time to 
dance.

Doug stepped out stiffly and formally. He had clearly 
learned to dance from a set of footprints painted on a 
floorboard at a boys' school. On the more upbeat 
numbers, Beryl imagined this was how it felt to dance 
with a pogo stick. Sylvia, being waltzed by Basil, must 
have seen something telltale on Beryl's face and gave a 
wry face of sympathy that made Beryl giggle. He was her 
date for the night, so she stuck with him for a few 
rounds until flirted away by Pyrus, who loomed over her 
from his staggering height of six-five. He was in his 
mid-fifties and fancied himself with the ladies; was 
quite a good-looking man, but with large, slanted eyes 
of all-bronze with those reptilian irises that his son 
had clearly inherited. Then Basil claimed his due, as 
graceful a dancer as his serpentine hide suggested he 
should be. Reg took her for a spin, then his dad; then 
she had the nerve-wracking task of avoiding Poppa 
Stone's clumsy feet. He was half-blind even in bright 
daylight, becoming well lubricated, and everyone else 
looked out for him. Even the deckchairs cleared the deck 
for Poppa Stone.

"Not avoiding me, are you?" asked Pro as he came to her 
rescue.

"Good gracious no!" He laughed and whirled her around, 
and she held him with private delight. He didn't so much 
dance as swirl, so liquid were his movements. His back 
and shoulders beneath her arm rippled and shifted almost 
magically. After three numbers, she glanced guiltily 
around for Doug.

"I really should change."

"What, and break that scene up?" Pro pointed, to where a 
laughing Tempest was using all her weight to get Doug to 
spin about, skirt flipping up as she swung on his arms 
and _forced_ him to move.

"Ohh, no!" Beryl laughed, almost sorry for Doug.

"No, no, leave 'em be! That's true love if ever I saw 
it."

"Grade A for persistence, at least, and enthusiasm," 
Beryl sighed. "I tried to get him to loosen up a bit, 
but," she shrugged.

"Yeah, well, that's our Douggie, Mister Kick-up-your-
Heels. Again?"

"Please!" Pro swept her around, with such alacrity she 
wondered at what she had been missing. His body flowed 
around hers. At last, she said something outright 
flirtatious, something a girl with a longtime boyfriend 
saving for a wedding ring had no place saying. "Pro...I 
wish you had asked me to a dance ages ago. You're a 
brilliant dancer!"

"Am I? Thank you...I must be doing something right. 
That's good, real good. I'm never sure if I'm moving 
right." He grinned and nodded almost to himself, self-
congratulatory. Then his tone became more teasing. 
"Better than SuckFace George?"

"Pro..."

"I don't think your temper's quite as bad as Tempest's."

"I'll say it again, but my patience does have limits. 
Don't..."

"Don't insult your boyfriend. I'm sorry," he said 
sincerely.

"That's better. George and I learned to dance together. 
I don't think we were ever that great, but we were used 
to each other, and that's the important bit. I don't 
think I could ever get used to Doug's style."

"He's a good feller, Doug, but his dancing, well...can't 
have everything, I suppose. As for...what's his name, 
George..."

She deliberately stomped on his foot.

"Ow, George - I'll say this much for him. He must have 
been a reasonable dance teacher, because you're great."

"Good boy, you're learning."

"I learn fast. I have to," said Pro, as Doug tapped him 
on the shoulder.

"Mind if I cut in? There's a good chap."

***

The dishes were being cleared away, the tables being 
moved. "Doug, would you excuse me a moment? I had a 
little something for Pro, and clean forgot it in all the 
excitement earlier." He nodded assent as he folded a 
tablecloth. Beryl looked around, but couldn't see Pro at 
first. Instead, she walked toward the black framework of 
the crane, a red light winking balefully on the high tip 
of the derrick.

It had been a splendid night; she couldn't remember the 
last time she'd had such fun. Dot's wedding reception, 
perhaps. Since things had become so serious between her 
and George, they'd stopped going out with other people. 
Now she remembered what that felt like, and missed it.

A late moon was rising over the town. She had told 
George she was unwell, cancelling their regular meeting. 
If she hadn't, by now she would have been fending off 
his wandering hands. She shivered, and pressed her legs 
together. If only he wouldn't get drunk. Maybe that was 
the trouble. Tomorrow night would be the Wildgoose Barn 
Dance, and another chance to park with George.

"There you are," said Pro, stepping from amidst the 
stacked trusses behind her. "They said you were looking 
for me."

"I thought you might be looking at your tower."

He smiled and moved to stand beside her. "I was, 
actually, but down the other side of the block."

"It's looking good from wherever you stand. You can see 
it from our shop now. Some people don't like it because 
it's all new and strange, but Dad thinks it's 
magnificent, and when I look at it I feel happy. It 
makes me think of you, and Tempest, and Doug, all my 
friends out here."

"I'm glad you like it." He put his hands in his pockets, 
then eyed her archly. "Well, what did you think of 
Basil?"

"He's not ugly at all. Barbara must have seen that early 
on, I doubt she'd call him ugly."

"Still, takes a bit of getting used to."

"Not at all! He wasn't what I expected, that's all. When 
you all said ugly I was expecting, like, _ugly_, all 
twisted and squished or something. You know what? I 
think Poppa's uglier than Basil," she whispered.

Pro chuckled. "All the same, Bazz would cause a riot if 
he walked up Main Street on a Saturday morning."

"Probably. It's not fair, is it?"

"You don't know about his Enabled skill," Pro remarked 
darkly. "He really can turn people to stone with one 
glare from those eyes. They shoot out this kind of 
energy, I don't know what, and it can stun you. Make you 
faint. That's the kind of ugly he can be." He propped 
his foot up on some lumber, gazing up at the tower. "If 
people knew half of what we can do, they would hate us 
so much. They'd all be afraid of us. Even you would be."

"I could never hate you, Pro," she vowed. "I don't think 
I hate anybody."

"But you're not fearless, Beryl, nobody is, that's the 
trouble. Okay, you've seen Basil now, but he's different 
to me, and if you knew only half of what I can do, I 
swear you'd run screaming from here back to Georgie's 
arms quick smart. Then you'd hate me."

He had turned to face her, a dark shade with pale cat's 
eyes, voice low and sober. Beryl's heart rattled, 
wondering what he could mean. "I know you can put all 
your joints out, like your father does when he stretches 
only worse, I suppose..."

He just shook his head. "See, that's the problem. They 
all think I should show you. You took me by surprise 
turning up like you did tonight, and it...scared me. I 
wasn't ready, and I was lucky...well, anyway. Beryl, you 
said to me once that the trick to getting along with 
people is just being yourself. But I don't think I could 
be myself with anyone outside my family. Not even you. I 
wish I could, but...I just can't. For fear of losing the 
little friendship we have."

"Pro, I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

He gave a little laugh, and kicked at a stone, looking 
down. "Sorry. Nothing much. Feeling sorry for myself I 
suppose. I should be feeling happy; after all, you gave 
up a night with Gorgeous Porgeous to be with us. I 
should be better company than this."

"Yes, well." She folded her arms around herself, pulling 
her cardigan around miserably. "I don't really want to 
think too much about George at the moment." She didn't 
see his head jerk up.

"Why, he done you wrong?"

"No, not at all." She dredged her heart for some 
enthusiasm, and the levity in her words sounded 
strained. "We're off to a barn dance tomorrow night, 
although, after tonight you may have spoiled him for me. 
Dancing, I mean."

"Oh. Good," he said, but there was an unsteadiness to 
his tone, a lack of conviction. What was normally 
conversation had ground to an awkward halt, so she 
pressed on to something tangible.

"Pro, look, before I came out this evening I found 
something else that reminds me of you, and I'd like you 
to have it. Here," she said quickly, burrowing in her 
handbag for the foil package. "I hope it's not spoilt. I 
should have given you this much earlier in the evening."

He caught her hands in his fingertips. "Oh. Beryl, thank 
you. Lately carnations have this way of reminding me of 
you, I can't think why," he joked.

She tucked it into his top vest pocket. "And this is for 
you too. Please don't take it the wrong way. It's 
because I like you, not because I'm sorry for you." 
Standing up on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his 
cheek and lingered there, hands resting on his chest, 
feeling his heart hammering close below. "There," she 
whispered.

"Beryl." His hands, soft and gentle, came up to cup her 
face, her flaming cheeks. He pressed his lips to her 
brow. Through his touch, she could feel his whole body 
trembling, before he stepped away. "Wouldn't do to be 
kissing another man's date," he said a shade roughly. "I 
wouldn't ever want my being Enabled to challenge your 
affection, you hear? Better get you back to Douggie 
now."

"There's a dance on at Wildgoose Hall tomorrow night at 
seven," Beryl said weakly. "Bring Tempest along, she'd 
have a great time there, they all dance like her. I 
could...use the company."

"What about George?"

"He'll be there too," said Beryl sadly, not looking as 
she turned to leave. "Goodnight, Pro. Thank you for the 
dancing."

"Thank _you_," came his voice from the dark as she 
walked away. "Just remember, you can do better than 
George. Stick with Douggie, never mind his dancing, you 
hear?"

*** 

Doug borrowed the car again to get her home. He wasn't 
exactly full of conversation on the way back; but that 
was Doug. Beryl, though, found the silence disturbing.

"Doug," she asked at last, still unable to make much 
sense of some of the things Pro had said, "what exactly 
_is_ Pro's Enabled ability?"

"He didn't tell you?" he said, not taking his eyes from 
the road. "He couldn't have felt that the time was 
right. Since I am his friend, I will not tell you 
either. Enabled effects can be very personal things."

"What does he do, turn himself inside out or something?"

He shook his head. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Have you ever seen him do it, ever use his ability?"

"I have."

"And did it...bother you?"

"I found it a little...nauseating; but you know I have a 
weak stomach at the best of times. Give him time to feel 
comfortable with you, and then he may share that secret 
with you. That's all I'll say."

And it was all he said. When they stopped outside her 
house, Doug hopped out and opened the door for her.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Doug, I really mean 
it - it was great fun. I hope there's more Clan 
birthdays coming up."

"I thank you, Beryl," he countered. "I, uh, my 
admiration for you still stands as written in that 
letter - I just hope you would see fit to accompany me 
on a subsequent outing." From behind his back, he 
produced a single red rose, and gave her a very starchy, 
dry-lipped peck on the cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, Doug."

As the car started and drove away, the candle-light in 
Mum's window went out.
<1st attachment end>


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