’ He pulled out his wallet and handed over the lodge’s card. ‘Jamie and Claire Johns the co-owners know me and will take messages. I have an evening meal there on Sundays and they always call out when they are going down for provisions to take my order.’ ‘Stillwater Lodge, what a lovely name.’ ‘What about Miranda?’ ‘Um…’ ‘She was the woman in my mother’s favourite poem as a girl and she taught it to me. It was composed by Hilaire Belloc in 1929 and called Tarantella (an Italian dance) and the setting is at an inn on the Spanish side of the border with France. It starts off like this: Do you remember an Inn, Miranda? Do you remember an Inn? And the tedding and the spreading Of the straw for a bedding, And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees, And the wine that tasted of tar? ‘Omigod, what a lovely rhythm, it does sound like a dance? But isn’t it supposed to be unlucky to change the name of a boat?’ ‘So it’s been said but there was a time when people believed the world was flat. “Ohhh, bhaiya! You won’t tell, will you? Mom would get awfully mad.” I knew Mom would probably understand completely, but I saw my chance here.“Shit, I won’t tell, Sis,” I smiled, shaking my head, “It’s just something between you and me, right?” I let that little hint sink in. I was making myself apart of her little sex conspiracy, and Ritu didn’t have much choice but to accept me. I could tell by her long, thoughtful look that she realized what I was doing. And I could also tell that she didn’t really mind. In fact, she seemed to be pleased! “Besides,” I added softly, “you saw as much of me as I saw of you. And after all, I’m your big brother. You should trust me.” I laid my hand on her leg. She shuddered a little, but did nothing to remove it. “Shit, Ritu,” I added, “everybody does that. You’re not the first girl that’s ever played with her, you know.” I smiled knowingly, remembering the first time I watched Mom finger her pussy and use that hairbrush handle of hers on her..
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