1. The Storyteller Of Brompton House - Part One


    Date: 9/21/2015, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Rheged6, Rating: 7, Source: LushStories

    six-thirty?” she asked Cameron. “Six-thirty-five,” responded Cameron, understanding that something was going on and realising that if they were not careful they were all about to be ‘organised’ by Liz. He turned to the room. “Guardians of Findhorn,” he called. “The forest is safe and I leave you now. Be vigilant – summon me if you need – but I have a quest to pursue. I bid you farewell, fearless maids.” The world knows full well the pleading noises children make for something to carry on, and the four girls gathered to hug him and Auntie Carrie before the couple made good their escape. At the door, Mrs. Harper caught hold of Carrie’s arm. She leaned in and whispered, “Remember what I said girl, remember what I said.” Once in the car and round the first bend, Cameron went into a Bogart like character. “I think we shook em off, Queenie, and we’re clear. Watch out for the Feds but head for the state line.” “Naaah, too soon,” slurred Carrie, “better hole up awhile in the Greedy Duck and get us some chow.” They both laughed. “Seriously,” said Carrie,”I owe you dinner.” “You owe me nothing – but I’m not turning down dinner at the Greedy Duck.” Carrie was relieved; she had this wonderful man captive for another hour, at least. Cameron was relieved; he had this wonderful woman for another hour, at least. “I liked the Tiffany touch,” he said, “I take it we narrowly escaped a third-degree interrogation and having our lives planned for us?" Carrie was glad they had been stopped at the ...
    junction of City Road waiting for traffic to clear; when Cameron had said ‘us’ it had come as such a shock that she might have let go of the wheel – in her head choirs of heavenly angels sang glorious hallelujahs. Hoping she didn’t look as flushed as she felt, she turned and grinned at him. “By now she would have found out how your great-great grandfather met his wife.” The ‘Greedy Duck’ was still quiet as they pulled into the car park a few minutes after six-thirty. They found a quiet table away from the bar. Each of them felt completely relaxed as they chatted. They both chose the Beef Bourguignon, for which the pub was renowned, and Carrie discovered Cam’s passion for cooking. 'Girl this just gets better,' she thought. Cameron listened to her talk about the ‘girls’ and heard the soft warning. The ‘girls’ got together – generally on a Friday night a few times a month and nothing and nobody got in the way. Carrie began to understand the difference between a writer and a storyteller. Cameron was both, but a writer composed to be read – a storyteller composed to be listened to. He wrote under various names for different publishers but he most enjoyed telling stories, although this was not much of an earner. Carrie almost cried at one point – and tears did begin to form. “I know lots and lots of people,” said Cameron, “but I don’t actually have many close friends. I like to think you’re going to be a close friend, Carrie?” Had she not had a knife and fork in her hands she would ...
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