A Woman with Mongrel Ch. 01

"You want me to continue being ordinary housewife Carson Robertson. God, what an unromantic name."

Harry attempted to hum the tune of Mrs Robinson and Carson, catching on immediately, said, "You would have to pick that example."

"Come on, wipe those leaking peepers of yours and let's go. You have something Jessie Chicago doesn't have: Lydia will be wondering where you are."

"Yes, right. Oh, I feel such a fool."

"Hey, hey Carson," smiled Harry. "Don't be so tough on yourself."

As they drove on he suggested if Carson wanted to loosen up a bit and become sexier, she should go ahead. "You said yourself Jessie Chicago is a good role model for younger women. Think about what she does, how she reacts and how she dresses, but don't go overboard. If you begin dreaming about her possessing you as soon as you wake up, get up so that you don't fall back and begin dreaming the next chapter of your encounter. That way you will soon squeeze out her influence. Jessie has simply caught your imagination, so deal with it by being cruel -- don't allow her to evade your persona."

"Wow, what a speech. You are so kind. Here we are."

Harry hadn't expected the high-profile Mr Philip Robertson deceased to have lived in a humble home, so was not disappointed.

"Wow, what a home."

The white-plastered all concrete sprawling three-level structure with orange tile roof was on a ridge of exclusive homes -- the city and port estuary spread out to the east and south; they were three houses back from the beach in the other direction.

Harry wondered why they hadn't invested in absolute beachfront, and Carson seemed to read his mind.

"Live right on the beach you get your windows and aluminum frames sand-blasted, beach-goers gawk at you and the noise of the surf during storms keeps everyone awake till they slip into exhausted sleep. Being back three houses is best."

"Right"

Sara came out to meet them, wearing a little piece of material than perhaps could be called shorts and a halter covering her heavy hangers.

"You look mod and great," Harry smiled.

"But I bulge in the wrong places.

Harry squinted at Sara and she looked nervous. "Would you do a wee thing for me, once a day?"

"If I can arrange it around baby caring duties."

"Come to the gym with me once a day for ninety minutes -- I'll pay the monthly sub."

"You think I'm too fat?" Sara said, poking out her bottom lip a little.

"I think a quality trainer -- and I'll pick one out for you -- can help you reshape your body and tighten the curves. You put in the hard yards and you'll be astonished at the difference -- but it takes sweat and guts to continue."

"Like Jessie Chicago has?"

"Yes."

"Could they give me her figure?"

"No."

"Well, you're cruel but honest. I'll talk to Aunt Carson," said Sara, as they walked through the heavy wood double doors to face a stunning ocean view.

"My God, a view like this should be illegal," sighed Harry.

"Take Sara at whatever time you wish to go in the morning, Harry. She will drive you. Our gym is only five minutes away."

"Good, she'll really benefit and it will boost her confidence in herself and give me a better body to gaze at while I think about my next novel."

"You dirty old man," giggled Sara. She then frowned. "Oh, mum phoned while you were out. I told her about the meeting on Thursday and she told me to tell you not to let the bastards screw you."

"Oh, you've got some sexual activity lined up for tomorrow," Harry grinned, and saw his hostess was not amused.

"This is business, big business, Harry. I'm sure you won't be interested."

"Try me."

"I'll get a bottle of wine and three glasses if I'm allowed to sit in on this."

"Thank you, Sara. Yes, sit with us."

Over the next two hours Carson spoke about her life with Philip, a part inventor and part business entrepreneur. A fanatical keelboat sailor he worked on developing systems for making yachts easier to sail in terms of electronic instrumentation, fittings and sail furling systems. Initially he improved on what was available in the marketplace then started developing his own systems. Philip built up a company by over the years taking in four other mates as working shareholders; as each of them left he bought them out until becoming sole owner.

In need of capital he attracted a US blue water sailing corporation as half partner, and that continued until last year when the corporation pulled out to raise capital to go into a much larger venture. Philip went back to his original four partners and three of them accepted the offer to work for the company again, each buying a 25% shareholding that allowed Philip to buy out the Americans.

"Earlier this year Philip developed a very cheap hand-held device that could automatically download every thirty seconds all of the yacht's computer feed-out on instrument readings right down to tensions on sheets -- which are the ropes that control tension on sails. He was flying to an airport in the States with a contract for $9 million American dollars to produce a large shipment of these devices when the chopper went down, killing everyone instantly."

"So that was the end of that; I'm sorry."

"No -- the contract remains valid. All that needs to be done is to set up the production unit. His three partners want to buy me out and get cracking."

Harry looked thoughtful because he could see Carson's frown.

"But they want to cheat you?"

Carson shot him a gratified look. I have my suspicions."

"Do you have papers I can glance at?"

"Yes, help yourself."

Carson went out, returning with a thick folder.

"Amuse yourself Harry. Sara, come help me with dinner; bring that half bottle for us and open a new one for Harry, please darling."

"Oh Sara?"

"Yep."

"When will Lydia wake up?"

"Around 7:00 as we begin to eat. We've trained her to join us."

"Excellent."

After a lovely dinner and they all had a play with Lydia, she went back to bed and Sara disappeared to watch some puerile Reality TV Show.

"Well, all rubbish to you, no doubt," Carson said handing Harry his coffee and looking at the business folder.

"Not at all, very interesting. I take it the meeting to conclude the sale agreement is tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes."

"This lawyer advising you, Peter Doig, and the accountant, Fred Quirk -- they are the company's lawyer and auditor?"

"Yes, they were Philip' professional advisers ever since they left university together. Are you saying to me, don't trust them?"

"They have a vested interested in keeping on earning fees from the company which will continue after your exit."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"That automatically makes them suspect, as they are also two of your three partners. They want the best deal, not for you but for themselves."

"You've been reading too many detective novels."

"Ha-ha. It's how the system works, Carson. Now listen very carefully. This certified valuation of the company's shares shows a valuation date that was after your husband's death. How much does that valuation differ to the last valuation prior to his death?"

"Thirty-two point something percent down."

"Hmmm."

"What? There was a slump in sales the moment Philip' death was publicized by the media."

"Yes but look have sales climbed back since then, with the company assuring clients about business viability, guaranteeing continuity of supply and servicing of product and adherence to guarantees?"

"Yes, they are almost back to normal."

"Right, so at that meeting tomorrow you sit there and request a valuation update of the company. There's another thing -- they have included all the set-up costs for producing the products under the $9million contract, but that expenditure does not occur until after your planned exit. Tell them to remove those costs from the liabilities for the purpose of the new valuation as you won't be around to pick up the profits arising from that short-term investment for production over the next three years."

"Oh God, Harry. I can't do that. We are all friends and have socialized as families for years."

"Will you consider another suggestion?"

"Yes, of course," said Carson, looking worried and vulnerable.

"This is not a matter of friendships, it's a matter of dog eats dog over money, so you need to get it right to avoid getting ripped off. Now here's what I suggest you do..."

After Harry had finished Carson rose and said she'd check on Lydia.

"I could kiss you, Harry. You have been so helpful, so re-assuring."

"Don't do that, Carson. Women who kiss me at night usually can't say no."

"All right Harry. After you come back from the gym in the morning we will set up for you writing; I'm a touch-typist and am used to editing on-screen at intervals. I am going to be your unpaid assistant."

"I can easily afford to pay you."

"But Harry -- look at the car you were driving and look at the house you live in."

"But I live there because it is central and because I grew up with my car; it was my parents' house, my parents' car."

"Oh Harry, oh Harry, how thoughtless of me. I am so sorry. I have no wish to denigrate either your or your parents' choice. Forgive me, Harry."

"You are forgiven -- but come and kiss me goodnight, Carson. I promise not to seduce you or be in any way naughty. My mission while I'm here is three-fold: to help Sara find a better body; to resume writing and to help you get back into your stride so you can meet your perfect replacement husband."

"I'm not ready to consider that yet Harry."

"There never will be the right time. As we speak some quality candidates are being snapped up."

"Oh Harry, you are incorrigible," said Carson, coming up and kissing his lips without allowing their bodies to touch.

Harry was happy, the happiest he'd been since his parents moved away to enter an expensive retirement village, having to re-start their lives that were running out -- his mum was sixty-nine his dad seventy-nine. He had two much older brothers but they never bothered with their parents.

The saying goes, "You're only as old as you feel." His parents had acted old for most of his life, which was a worry. It was unnecessary but it was their choice. But he, Harold Quentin Truscott -- God, what an ancient mouthful, thought Harry -- was feeling young again simply through fraternizing with younger people -- Lydia, six months; Sarah nineteen years and Carson was only in her thirties.

For the past twenty years, which is a convenient span to think back, Harry was aware he'd not belonged to any community group. Not a single one. But was he alienated? No, because when he saw people in trouble, he pitched in to help a little, and if they appeared lonely he chatted a little. Minimal effort, he admitted, but simply knowing names of people gave you the feeling of community and because he was casually friendly he became known and acknowledged. Few people in his community, though, knew he was a big selling author simply because most people in his neighborhood didn't read books -- they read magazines and watched TV.

In bed that night, his first night in Carson's home, Harry thought about Carson and was concerned for her welfare -- he was eager to help her find a man, a strong figure of a male head of household who Carson would come to love deeply, and Lydia would adore.

That was called the perfect match, almost impossible to achieve, particularly second time round. The more Harry thought about it the more he lost headway until he had to admit he was stymied. He grunted in frustration until the answer came to him: how would Jessie Chicago handle this situation for her best girlfriend?

Wearing his boxers, Harry went to the kitchen for a glass of ice-water. It was dark, but already he'd memorized the layout. He walked to the fridge and poked out a hand when he could faintly see a glimmer of background light on the stainless steel door -- but most of that image was blacked out.

Huh?

His hand touched something warm and very soft. Harry knew instantly it was a woman's breast.

Sara's! Oh no.

"Sorry," he said. "Bad navigation."

"I vaguely saw you come in -- you walk incredibly softly."

Harry's mind soared -- he'd not touched Sara's tit; it was Carson's.

"Why are you walking around in the dark?"

"Because Lydia is almost asleep. She suckles until she's half asleep and then slows her pace, so I become bored sitting in a chair, so just pad about, aimlessly but it gives me the sense of freedom."

"I've been thinking of you, attempting to go to sleep."

"Naughty boy," she giggled.

"I'm going to rescue you, Carson."

"Give it a rest, Harry. I'm fine, I don't need rescuing. I've had some years with one of the finest men around, and am left with his child. What more could I ask? However, it's very heroic that you desire to intervene on my behalf, Harry; very noble, but not required. Do you understand?"

"It's one way of looking at it," Harry said, brushing past her and feeling only skin. She was totally nude!

"Er, excuse me; when I open the door of the fridge to get the ice water the light will go on and you are, um, not dressed."

"We'll if that will embarrass you, don't look. Lydia is not embarrassed."

"Er, this seems to be a sneaky way of doing it."

"What, glimpsing my body? Open the door and look at me, Harry. Let's get it out of your system."

Harry pulled the door handle, desperate that the light bulb should not choose that moment to expire. He looked around and saw Lydia attached to a breast; his face softened and Carson saw that clearly. Carson's lower body looked lovely; her bush obviously was clipped.

"What do you think?"

"A great mother and child image has been captured, and you have great legs."

"Right, thank you Harry. Those were two lovely compliments. Now pour you water and go to bed; I want you to have a great sleep as we have a big day tomorrow."

Carson watched him walk away, swagger really, as she held the fridge door open. She reached for her secrete cache of chocolates to find only one left. Sara, of course, had discovered the hide-out soon after she arrived but she never scoffed the last one, which was a caring thing to do.

Carson was pleased with a discovery of her own, that Harry was not a one-dimensional character. By appearance he looked very slender one-dimensional. Discovering that he was Jessie Chicago's creator had certainly signaled that his mind was not one-dimensional, and the way in which he'd taken to Lydia was little short of astonishing for a bachelor without family around him, or it certainly appeared that way as Harry had given her the impression that even his parents didn't like him.

But why was that? It seemed crazy. Here he was talking about his mission being to help her find a suitable man. He wasn't conforming -- all women think men only think of themselves when it comes to sex, at least that's what she'd be told.

Carson yawned and wondered if Harry was good at sex. She walked to the nursery, smiling.

Sara and Harry drove off to the gym at six. They both signed in and Sara was shown around, introduced to various piece of equipment, then had her basic medical and various programs were discussed. She was then taken to a cycle and pedaled until near exhausted, her performance noted, given a rest and then asked to perform on a rowing machine.

The instructor then mapped out a program for Sara and drew a diagram of the circuit she should follow for three weeks when she would be given a re-assessment.

Meanwhile Harry went on a cross-trainer and watched the three personal trainers in action.

Sarah came up to him. "I want the muscular guy."

"Why, Sara."

"He looks good."

"I want you to have the little guy."

"What, that weed? This other guy would eat him."

"Weight for weight I'd put my money on the little guy. But not only that; he demands performance, he hasn't let that woman slacken up, not even when he trots over to help someone adjust weights. He keeps looking back, checking and checking. If you want good results reasonably quick, he's the man."

"Righ, Carson seems to trust what you say, Harry, so why shouldn't I. I'll have him if he's available."

* * *

At 2:00 Carson and Harry arrived at the offices of Mariners' Proven Products Ltd and were shown into the boardroom where the three partners, chairman Max Satterthwaite, Peter Doig and Fred Quirk were waiting. They all looked curiously at Harry and his brace.

"Max, this is my new independent advisor, Harold Truscott. It's not necessary to explain anything about him, expect to say he has full authority to act on my behalf. Unless he is accepted, we have no deal -- right?

"Carson, Carson -- we accept your right to be assisted by an independent advisor. Perhaps you can provide some brief details about this gentleman?"

"Come on guys, you heard the lady; let's get down to it. I'm Harold Truscott, known as Harry, and Carson has given me a thorough briefing so I know who you all are just by her verbal sketches.

"Carson, could you leave the room please."

"Yes, Harry."

The other three directors sat down as Carson left the room, but Harry remain standing.

"Mr Chairman, may I continue speaking?"

"I don't see why not; you have us intrigued," smiled Max, totally unaware of the squall about to hit, which would wipe away that smile.

"Right, guys. Let's keep this simple with no finger-pointing, at least not at this stage. My advice to Carson after reading documentation is that you guys are attempting to rip her off, big time."

"I beg your pardon," Peter Doig thundered.

"Should not Peter wait until he's invited to speak, Mr Chairman?"

"Yes indeed," Rex told Harry who avoided looking at the presumably scowling face of the lawyer.

"The offer you have made in writing to Carson of $2,331,700 comprising the valuation of her late husband's shareholding, equipment he personally installed and the full transfer of intellectual property rights he held legitimately in his own name, is fine except it needs to be hundreds of thousands of dollars higher, based on a more recent valuation of the company's assets."

The partners looked uneasy.

"As well you know the current valuation was done soon after her husband's death which was amid a period of severely slumped trading following his death. Our understanding is that trading is virtually back to normal. I have two pre-sale conditions to impose and an ultimatum, but Carson should be in the room when I present them. But first, let's clear the decks of any bad feeling over this; there is no need for Carson to be subjected to discord in view of her recent loss."

Harry sat down, well pleased, and smiled broadly when the silence in the room was punctuated by loud slow handclaps from Peter Doig.

"Someone has a humor," quipped Harry, and that was greeted by nervous laughter.

Peter leapt to his feet.

"Mr Chairman?"

"You have the floor, Peter."

"Mr Whoever-You-Are, you have the gall to come in here an accuse us of attempting to cheat Mrs Robertson in the sale of her assets within the company to the remaining three shareholders. This is preposterous; indeed it is irresponsible and a severe libel."

"Peter, if you want a case of a totally incompetent presentation of a sale and purchase agreement proposal to presented for a declaratory judgment in Court, and followed --should the outcome be in Mrs Robertson's favor -- by proceedings against the company and its advisers alleging fraud and duplicity, then Mrs Robertson and I will find a damn good lawyer who will take you guys to the cleaners."

"Sit down, Peter," said Rex, wiping his forehead.

"Fred."

"In my professional opinion, Mr Chairman, the passage of time in bringing negotiations this far calls for the need of an updated valuation of company assets against current trading results."