Chapter 26

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 Maxwell woke up at around seven in the morning in a large double bed with two young woman asleep on either side of him. All concerned were naked and decorated with body paint. Maxwell recognised his style on the two women’s bodies and was pleased. He’d painted a stylised dragon on each. Sculpture was his speciality. Painting was not. He was always happy when a painting came out well.

 Glancing around the darkened room, he saw see a couple of gin bottles, several tonic bottles and tubes of paint scattered on the floor. Although this suggested he had drunk a considerable amount the night before, he was not feeling too badly. His only real concern for the moment was: who were these women and why was he in bed with them?

 This was not the first time Maxwell had found himself in such a situation. Far from it. There was no need to panic. It was not difficult to work out why he was in bed with the lasses, at least in general terms. They were very attractive. It was only the details of how they got there that puzzled him. Actually, he thought as he glanced around the room again, it was how he got here and not the other way around; this was not his room.

 He simply needed to do a little mental backtracking in order to remember the circumstances that brought him to the room, any unfortunate promises he might have made and who the lasses were. As he was backtracking in his mind, his fingers stroked the back of one of the women. She moaned softly. Maxwell stroked more thoroughly. She moaned a bit more. Maxwell’s stroking lingered on her erogenous bits. She pulled him back down to the bed. He was beginning to remember the details. When the other woman joined them, Maxwell stopped caring about the details.

 At half-past eight, an enlightened and sexually over-satiated Maxwell kissed the women goodbye and made his way back to his own room. He showered off the paint job, as charming as it was, put on some fresh clothes and knocked on the doors of Wendy’s and the angel’s rooms to suggest breakfast.

 At the buffet, Maxwell filled his tray with food – like most skinny chaps, he could eat a tremendous amount and usually did so. Wendy helped herself to a generous portion of pickled herring, which she was delighted to find at the buffet, and the angel took a croissant. At the table, they all ordered cappuccinos. As soon as the angel received hers, she guzzled it down and ordered another. Knowing the angel’s habits, Maxwell suggested that the waitress bring three over in order to keep his winged companion happy and not tire the waitress unnecessarily.

 As they were eating, Lucy and Judith came down to breakfast.

 “You!” the former exclaimed upon seeing Maxwell.

 Maxwell looked around.

 “There are three of us at this table for whom that form of address would be accurate, if less than polite, um, Lucy. Which of us are you exclaiming towards?”

 “You, of course, Maxwell,” said Lucy.

“Well, ‘Maxwell’ would be a nicer form of addressing me, but I’ve been called a lot worse over the years, so I suppose ‘you’ will suffice if it pleases you. Now, why don’t the two of you pull up a couple of chairs and plates of breakfast and join us? Wendy is doubtless bored to tears having to listen to me so much.”

“I am not,” said Wendy.

“Wendy?” said Lucy.

“Sorry, have you not met?” asked Maxwell. “This is my friend Wendy. Wendy, this is my...”

“New friend?” suggested Lucy.

“...new friend, Lucy,” said Maxwell.

“And you are?” Maxwell asked Judith. As he looked at her, he felt a stirring of recognition. “Lord love a duck! Are you the young lady who tried desperately to kill me a couple of nights ago?”

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