Read Online The Whiskerly Sisters by BB Occleshaw - Free Book Online
Authors: BB Occleshaw
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the sight of the furious Training Manager striding aggressively almost the full length of the dining room, to deposit the contents of a full glass of Merlot over her unfortunate colleague’s head. And who could forget her now infamous words? In every statement given to the investigators, the words, “Take that, you intolerable prick,” screamed up at her. To all intents and purposes, it was as if Tiffany had suffered from an isolated and very unfortunate incident of Tourette’s. For some unknown reason, she had just got it into her head to get up and christen the innocent fireman with a full glass of wine and no one seemed to have the slightest idea why. So, instead of being seen as the very public victim of verbal abuse, she had been cast in the role of the unprovoked aggressor.
In vain, Tiffany tried to defend her position but she found she had few allies. The drawbridge had been raised, the gates barred and the enemy protected within its citadel whilst the unfortunate Tiffany had been left floundering in the moat.
Outflanked, isolated and with no heart for a prolonged siege, Tiffany decided she had no option, but to sheath her sword, cut her losses and resign her post with immediate effect.
If only she’d kept her damn mouth shut.
CHARLEY
I
U ntil a few short months ago, Charley had been more than content with her life. She earned enough money to maintain a decent standard of living yet leave her with enough free time to pursue higher interests. A legacy from an aunt had paid for an attractive semi in a quiet cul-de-sac in the best part of town and there was money left over to fund her sports car. She could afford to go to the beauty parlour several times a month and enjoyed the benefits of the best hairdresser in town, smoothing her locks into gleaming chestnut perfection.
She had never married, being easily bored and having no desire for motherhood. She told herself that snot and projectile vomiting were for lesser mortals. She was fortunate enough to enjoy her own company and she had more than enough acquaintances to enjoy the frequent conversation of interesting, accomplished adults, more especially on those occasions in which she was the absolute centre of attention. As a consequence, she cultivated a circle of very select friends and the regular ministrations of an extremely accomplished lover or four. It went without saying that everything Charley did was done with the utmost discretion and in the best possible taste.
Considering herself to be unashamedly bohemian, Charley was a regular patron of the arts, frequently travelling up to the ‘smoke’, as she laughingly referred to London, at weekends to enjoy the theatre or the ballet and to stay with an ‘old friend’ and, if that ‘old friend’, invited her to share his bed, so much the better. It was to be expected that Charley dressed well. She never wore anything other than Janet Reger beneath her sleek, designer exterior. Her frequent trips to London always included a trip to Harrods or Harvey Nicks. And if the ‘old friend’ with whom she had chosen to sleep also offered to buy her a little token of his affection, she always felt able to gracefully accept.
To her utter joy, her life was her own, supremely under control and hers to do with as she pleased, when she pleased and with whom she pleased.
At least it was until three months ago.
II
Gone were the days when Charley could sit quietly beneath her pergola, reading a good novel whilst sipping quality chardonnay or host the perfect dinner party for close friends or relax in her executive Jacuzzi, listening to classic fm. Dammit, she couldn’t even partake of a soupcon of al fresco, late night intimacy with one of her accomplished lovers without one of those fiends from next door poking their sodding noses in.
If it wasn’t one of that pair of demonised, scruffy infants yelling that they needed to pee pee or had lost their dummy or had fallen over (Charley had convinced herself that the
In vain, Tiffany tried to defend her position but she found she had few allies. The drawbridge had been raised, the gates barred and the enemy protected within its citadel whilst the unfortunate Tiffany had been left floundering in the moat.
Outflanked, isolated and with no heart for a prolonged siege, Tiffany decided she had no option, but to sheath her sword, cut her losses and resign her post with immediate effect.
If only she’d kept her damn mouth shut.
CHARLEY
I
U ntil a few short months ago, Charley had been more than content with her life. She earned enough money to maintain a decent standard of living yet leave her with enough free time to pursue higher interests. A legacy from an aunt had paid for an attractive semi in a quiet cul-de-sac in the best part of town and there was money left over to fund her sports car. She could afford to go to the beauty parlour several times a month and enjoyed the benefits of the best hairdresser in town, smoothing her locks into gleaming chestnut perfection.
She had never married, being easily bored and having no desire for motherhood. She told herself that snot and projectile vomiting were for lesser mortals. She was fortunate enough to enjoy her own company and she had more than enough acquaintances to enjoy the frequent conversation of interesting, accomplished adults, more especially on those occasions in which she was the absolute centre of attention. As a consequence, she cultivated a circle of very select friends and the regular ministrations of an extremely accomplished lover or four. It went without saying that everything Charley did was done with the utmost discretion and in the best possible taste.
Considering herself to be unashamedly bohemian, Charley was a regular patron of the arts, frequently travelling up to the ‘smoke’, as she laughingly referred to London, at weekends to enjoy the theatre or the ballet and to stay with an ‘old friend’ and, if that ‘old friend’, invited her to share his bed, so much the better. It was to be expected that Charley dressed well. She never wore anything other than Janet Reger beneath her sleek, designer exterior. Her frequent trips to London always included a trip to Harrods or Harvey Nicks. And if the ‘old friend’ with whom she had chosen to sleep also offered to buy her a little token of his affection, she always felt able to gracefully accept.
To her utter joy, her life was her own, supremely under control and hers to do with as she pleased, when she pleased and with whom she pleased.
At least it was until three months ago.
II
Gone were the days when Charley could sit quietly beneath her pergola, reading a good novel whilst sipping quality chardonnay or host the perfect dinner party for close friends or relax in her executive Jacuzzi, listening to classic fm. Dammit, she couldn’t even partake of a soupcon of al fresco, late night intimacy with one of her accomplished lovers without one of those fiends from next door poking their sodding noses in.
If it wasn’t one of that pair of demonised, scruffy infants yelling that they needed to pee pee or had lost their dummy or had fallen over (Charley had convinced herself that the
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