Sister from Bicester

My God, I thought, she's an angel.

Also before bathing, I shaved very closely, trimming carefully round my moustache and greying goatee. After a soak, I blew my hair dry, straightening it the process and making it easier to tie in a ponytail. I then donned my best three-piece suit, complete with a violet Paisley tie and a purple handkerchief, and out the door I flew.

Presently, at Douglas Aeroport, I held up a small sign that read simply, "AMANDA" in large, black lettering. The aeroport was crushingly crowded, and I prayed we'd be able to find each other somehow in the midst of all this chaos.

I thought of how deliciously mysterious she was. Yet I now knew so much about her, it felt somehow as if I'd known her all my life. The feeling was uncanny, irresistible and utterly wonderful. I hadn't felt so giddy in long years.

And shortly, there she was at last.

My God, I thought. She's gorgeous.

I'm very good at gauging such things, and I pegged her at five-two and around 112 svelte pounds (or eight stone, as Amanda herself might say). Her hair was radiant, cascading past her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. She wore a modest skirt and a lovely, equally modest blouse, both dark in colour, along with heels that weren't too high.

"Amanda! Amanda!"

I jumped up and down, feeling fairly like a schoolboy.

"Thomas? Are you Thomas Renn?"

We ran toward each other, parting the crowds of other airlines customers as we did so.

"Yes, I am! How wonderful to meet you! So you are the Amanda Louis!"

I pronounced her name correctly, like "Louie," and she laughed the most musical laugh that ever I'd heard.

"You're the first American I've ever heard say my name right!"

We embraced, and I took her suitcase.

"Allow me. So! How was your flight?"

"Long. Tedious. But I ploughed through Elisabeth von Eberstein's latest murder mystery! And certainly I was very excited to get here and to meet you!"

"Oh, God!" I said, hugging her again, tighter this time and delighted that she reciprocated, roaming her soft hands across my back as I did the same to her. "It is so good to meet you as well! I can't tell you how happy I am to have another sister!"

She drew apart from me slightly, looking up at me, my blue eyes meeting her even bluer counterparts. She smiled at me----a perfect, dazzling smile. She was a movie star; nay, a goddess.

"And I can't tell you how happy I am to have another brother! This is all so strange for me. But strange in a good way, y'know?"

"Yes. I know. And after all these years! My little sister, Amanda!"

"My big brother, Thomas!" she returned, and then she squealed as I hugged her again, picking her up and spinning her round as the crowds thronged about us.

"Hey, Mac," a stranger from New York said. "Why don't you and your fiancée get a room, huh? The rest of us are tryin' to get troo here."

We couldn't help laughing at this.

"Oh, we're not----" I began, gently placing Amanda back on the ground as she burst into a fit of giggles.

"That's funny," she said. "That's just too funny! You Yanks!"

***

Soon enough, we were in my Honda "Civic," and before long, we were approaching my neighbourhood, just outside Charlotte. During the course of our half-hour conversation in the car, we'd already gotten to know each other surprisingly well, and we were even already to the point of finishing each other's sentences.

"Forgive me for saying so," I began, feeling very schoolboyish, "but I really love the way you talk."

She giggled and flashed her big, blue eyes at me: twin sapphires that held a mesmeric appeal for me already.

"I feel the same way about you, Thomas. You have a delightful voice."

I smiled, revelling in the beauty of her delightful dialect.

"We're family. You must call me Tommy. Thomas is the guy who does all that turd-polishing, so-called journalistic work, making politicians and school superintendents sound halfway intelligent," I said, referring to my usually thankless tasks at the newspaper and magazine. "But everyone in the family calls me Tommy."

She laughed slightly, her perfect teeth reflecting the late-afternoon sun.

"All right. Tommy."

"That's better. And 'Amanda' is a beautiful name, I want you to know."

"Thank you."

"But I think I'm gonna call you 'Mandy.'"

"Hmmm? Do you know, believe it or not, no one has ever called me that! Well, my parents, when I was little. But nobody else, somehow, not since then. Not sure I like it."

I grinned.

"You'll like it. If it comes from me, Mandy."

She smiled again.

"All right, big brother. If it comes from you. Tommy."

***

"And here is your room."

I hoiked her suitcase into the guestroom, setting it by the door. I was pleased by Amanda's reaction.

"Ooh, it's lovely," she said, taking in the new bedspread, the bright curtains and framed Monet prints upon the walls. "Aww, how sweet!"

She plopped upon the king-sized bed and seized the new plush Teddy bear I'd placed there especially for her. It held its little arms open wide, and upon its chest was a heart-shaped sign with the words: "I love you this much!"

I sat down beside her and was quite happily surprised when she suddenly and spontaneously turned to me, hugged me and kissed my freshly shaven cheek.

"That's very nice of you, big brother," she said softly. "How did you know I never lost my childhood love of Teddy bears?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "I really don't. Somehow I just sensed it."

I placed my right hand gently upon her soft left cheek, feeling a fringe of her silken hair in my fingers.

"Look, I know this sounds fatuous, because we've only just met. But it's the strangest thing. I feel as if I know you, Mandy. I feel as if somehow I've known you all my life."

She regarded me solemnly.

"Tell me. Did you ever feel as if something----someone----was missing from your life?"

"Yes," I said softly. "More than you know."

"No. I think I do know. Because I've felt it, too. Since the 1980's, anyway. I've always wanted a big brother. Someone who could protect me, look out for me. Keep me safe."

I smiled, astonished.

"And I've always wanted a little sister. Wow, you're just too good to be true! Well, welcome to the Renn family!"

We hugged again.

"Your perfume is wonderful."

She laughed.

"I was just about to say the same thing about your cologne!" she said, her big blue eyes flashing at me. "You know, I don't expect you to believe me. But I am a bit psychic."

I blinked.

"And somehow, I always knew you'd come. No, really, Tommy. For years, I kept having these visions of this big man who was going to be my protector, my knight in shining armour. What are you, six feet tall?"

"Just about."

"And around 200 pounds?"

"More or less," I said with a chuckle. "I used to be as slender as you, in my 20's!"

She laughed.

"I like big men," she said, rubbing my arm gently. "And don't you see? You match the man in my vision. You're like the personification of this Teddy bear!"

She looked down at it again.

"'I love you this much,'" she read. "And I love you, too, Tommy!"

She embraced me, holding me so tight. I grinned, ecstatic. I could not believe how happy I was at this moment.

"And I love you, Mandy! I'm so glad to have you as part of our family."

"You're so handsome," she said softly, and she blushed slightly.

"Thank you. And you are so gorgeous. You must be in fact the most beautiful woman that I've ever seen!"

"You're sweet, but I'm nothing special. You know, you look nothing like your father, from the pictures I've seen."

"I take after my mother."

"And I take after mine," Amanda replied, glancing at the extension on the nightstand beside the bed. "I say, may I borrow your 'phone? Talking of Mam, I'd like to call her and let her know that I made it here OK."

"Oh, of course. Meinem Haus ist deinem Haus. And it really is, you know. Again, you're family!"

She smiled. I could gaze at her smile all day.

"My two oldest are working, of course. But Grace, my youngest, and the other three are with Mam."

"You say 'Mam,' not 'Mum'?" I asked, curious.

"Yeah, well, my mother's a Geordie. People in Newcastle and elsewhere up North, they say 'Mam.'"

"Well, I learn something new about the UK every day."

"You're good," she replied. "I've noted your use of the Queen's English, both in your speech and your spelling. Next thing you know, big brother, I'll have you dropping your R's! Hahaha!"

I laughed as well. Amanda was a sheer delight.

"I've always been an Anglophile," I explained.

"And I've always loved America and Americans," she responded, her eyes flashing. "Aren't we the perfect pair!"

I smiled.

"I'll leave you alone for a moment. Let me go downstairs. I'll fix us some drinks."

"Smashing. That would be lovely."

"Not as lovely as you, my dear," I replied with a wink.

She blew me a kiss as I closed the door.

***

Five or so minutes later, we were downstairs on the sofa, sitting side by side as if we were long-lost best friends. I poured us each a glass of Connemara single-malt Irish whiskey.

"Slàinte mhòr!" I said, as we clinked our glasses to-gether.

"Slàinte," she repeated, taking a sip. "Mmmm. This is good. Just what I needed. Thank you, Tommy."

We talked for hours. I couldn't get enough of her. I greatly enjoyed hearing about her lovely kids and her life in Oxfordshire. She told me of her eldest son's missionary work in Brasil (good on him). And she told me of her Georgian mansion, built not 260 years ago in the early reign of dear, old George III. The roof leaked, and it could be very expensive to maintain. She was considering chucking the pile alto-gether and getting a cheaper flat somewhere instead.

"No, my English rose, you mustn't! You British are supposed to be so passionate about your history. Not like here in the States, where developers----I call 'em devel opers, haha! ----are kings, little, bloody tin-pot gods, you ask me. Planned obsolescence and all that. Throw up a building in a few short weeks, then 20 or 30 years later, abandon it or tear it down and throw up another one. Disgusting!"

She laughed loudly.

"Oh, Tommy, you're so funny! Very insightful. Maybe I should call you 'Professor.'"

I chuckled.

"Not hardly."

"And what did you just call me?"

"Hmmm?"

"You called me your 'English rose.'"

"Well, yes. So I did. And so you are, sis."

She looked down briefly and smiled.

"I like that," she said softly. "You're very thoughtful."

She looked up at me.

"Yes," I said, deliberately undercutting the moment with some soft sarcasm, "I'm thoughtful."

And I leaned over and kissed her lightly upon the forehead, brushing back a strand of her hair, which smelled enchanting.

"I'm so glad you're here, Mandy."

Later on, I prepared enchilada pot roast, which I'd thoughtfully placed in the crock pot some hours earlier, letting it stew on low heat whilst I went to the aeroport. Not the sort of thing I'd normally recommend, of course, leaving the damned thing unattended. But time-wise, I had no choice, and it all worked out. I paired the roast with a Cabernet Sauvignon, which Amanda loved immensely.

"Mmmm," she murmured, staring at me delightfully as we sat across from each other at the table. "Oh, Tommy, this is wonderful. Delicious! You're an excellent cook. But I confess, I don't know which I like more: the roast or the wine."

I laughed.

"I suppose this Cab is a bit chewy," I quipped. "The wine that eats like a meal!"

I don't know which shone more brightly: the candles or my newfound sister's beautiful eyes.

Presently we were back on the sofa. I asked if she might want to see an American film, so many of which I had on DVD or VHS cassettes.

"Talking of families," I said, "how about Mr Church? You'll love it. It's about a different kind of family."

"Perhaps another time," she said, a heavy weariness in her voice as she glanced at her watch. "Good grief, it's 1 a.m. in England. No wonder I'm tired."

"Oh, of course, my dear. Well----"

"No, no, dear brother. It's not you, I promise! I've enjoyed this all so much. And you're the perfect host. It's just jet lag, I'm afraid."

She stretched, moving her arms upward quite appealingly, the outline of her breasts visible against her blouse. I guessed that she was a "C" cup.

Down, boy, I thought. But my God, she is so damned beautiful!

"Well, Mandy," I began, turning to get up, "we must get you to bed."

But as I looked at her again, I saw that she had collapsed upon the sofa's cushy pillows. She was suddenly asleep, breathing slowly and gently.

"Ah," I said softly, adding a paraphrase of Shakespeare, "'Good night, sweet princess, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.' O God, Mandy. You are exquisite!"

I bent down and gently scooped her into my embrace, her graceful, well-defined neck and shoulders supported by left arm, the back of her knees by my right. I carried her quietly upstairs, and she made not a sound, still fast asleep.

I placed her gently down upon her bed. She stirred a little when I did so.

"Mmmmff," she said, not truly awake.

"It's all right, darling," I whispered. "I've got you."

I thought about undressing her, both because I knew she'd be more comfortable, and because I longed to see her body. Dear God, what was this feeling? Genetic sexual attraction? The feeling of powerful attraction that sometimes comes over long-lost siblings who find each other as adults? Was it really GSA or something even deeper? I knew not.

I felt spellbound, positively enchanted and happily bewitched by this saucy, sexy sorceress, so sensuous and sophisticated was she. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. But at last I did what was perhaps the better thing----the brotherly thing, any road. I moved her slightly, placing her holy head upon the pillow.

Holy? I thought. Yes, holy. This woman is a saint, Thomas, and damned well you know it.

I then turned to the closet, retrieving a sheet for her. I loosened her blouse only slightly, restraining my baser desires to chastely undo only two buttons, to make her more comfortable. I then placed the cool fabric of the silken sheet over her. I made sure the bedside lamp was on its dimmest setting.

"Good night, angel," I whispered as I bent to kiss her cheek.

I closed the door and retreated to my own room. I poured myself a final glass of Cabernet as a nightcap. As its velvety smoothness caressed my throat, I looked at the crucifix above my bed. I reached over and touched the palm frond behind it, praying to God:

If I am wrong----if this is wrong, give me a sign. But I cannot help how I feel. Nor can I help feeling that You have sent her to me. O sweet Jesus, I love her so!

***

The next morning, we went to Mass at my nearby chapel, St Anthony's. I held Amanda's hand as we took Holy Communion. And after Mass, sitting in a pew, contemplating the Blessed Sacrament, we held hands again, parting them only to cross ourselves with each "Glory Be" as we softly prayed a rosary to-gether.

And so very often, we found ourselves gazing into each other's eyes, smiling fondly at each other.

Dear God. I think we both knew. I think we both knew, even then.

Also after Mass, I introduced Amanda to a few close friends, several of them talking beneath the century-old oaks at St Anthony's. I simply said she was my sister, and I made no other explanation, as somehow I twigged that neither of us was ready for anything more than the Readers' Digest version just yet. We were deliberately careful and circumspect in what we said, and before the conversations could become more complicated with some of the chattier members, I made our excuses and whisked my sexy sister off to lunch.

At Los Arcos, the nearby Mexican restaurant, I impressed her with my Spanish, getting us in and out of the place without a word of English to the amiable manager, Roberto, and his helpful waitresses.

"Is there anything you don't know?" she asked playfully, drinking sangria whilst I nursed a Mexican black beer.

I held her hand for the umpteenth time, caressing it gently as I smiled at her, getting lost in her gorgeous blue eyes.

"Perdon, mi hermana," I said softly. "I can't take my eyes off of you."

She looked down, closing her eyes briefly before looking up again and deep into my own.

"The feeling is mutual, Tommy."

Soon we were back home at the Renns' Nest and in need of a siesta. We both fell asleep on the sofa, my arm cast protectively round her shoulders. As I drifted off, I felt myself enveloped by a wonderful feeling, the sensation that somehow I had come home and that I'd arrived in the land of my dreams, with Amanda, the girl of my dreams, the woman with whom and to whom I well and truly belonged.

And when we awoke, several hours later, I proposed the idea of a picnic. Amanda thought this was lovely. Soon, I'd packed a basket of cold chicken, brie and German Bauernbrot, along with some bottled water and a nice bottle of Moët & Chandon.

"Oh, I love champagne," Amanda said, her arms round my waist as she grabbed me from behind and nuzzled into me as I dug into the fridge.

Soon we were out in the fallow field beyond my backyard. The farmer who owned it, old Mr Carpenter, was quite elderly, and I knew he would neither know nor care if two Renns flew into his field for a bit of supper.

We sat upon a thick blanket and spread our plates upon it. When I uncorked the champagne, it burst forth like----well, like something else I could think of at that moment.

"Aahhh!" my sister exclaimed.

Champagne had spilt upon her right hand and forearm, and I reflexively grabbed her, without hesitation or thought. I put her hand and arm to my lips and sucked the champagne off of her.

"Mmmm," she responded. "That's nice."

"You're nicer. Mandy, you amaze me."

"Oh, Tommy..."

We talked more. And then some more. Eventually the sun was setting, and the moon and first evening stars came out. She told me more about being psychic, and I couldn't help believing her. Indeed, I had no doubts at all, not now. She cited the recent midnight tower fire in London and how she had felt its heat and the pain of those who perished----all hours before the BBC and others picked up the story.

"I don't know why I have this...this thing," she said, her hand to her brow.

"A blessing."

"Blessing? I've always thought of it as a curse."

"You could help the police, it strikes me."

"Fat bloody chance. Anyone in my shoes is quickly disabused of that idea. We'd be taken for accomplices or worse. My 'gift,' as you'd call it, is useless."

"Oh, baby. Nothing about you is useless. Nothing could be further from the truth. I think you're remarkable!"

She looked away for a moment, the sunset framing and highlighting her angelic face.

"I have nightmares, Tommy. Can you save me from them?"

"What are you talking about, Mandy?"

"It's...it's hard for me to say this."

"Darling, you can tell me anything."

She looked at me and smiled slightly.

"Yes. Yes, I believe I can."

"What is it?"

"In 1988, when I was 16, my family and I were on holiday in Cyprus. I was curious about the history of the place and went out alone one evening to look at some ruins in the moonlight. Very romantic, right? But very foolish, as it turned out. It wasn't quite dusk when I left, but then night fell, and I got lost. I was----I was raped, Tommy!"