If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
 
#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
 
Madam Styles hee-hawed.

"Everything is decent for the pure of heart," continued Alf as he whisked her through the door. Without delay, he lifted her into his arms and dropped into a well-stuffed armchair with her in his lap. She held up a hand, making a weak display of warding him off. At the same time, she laughed seductively.

"You are a bit of a wild man, my Lord," she said and carried on sitting there.

"Bring us coffee and cognac, Charlotte," she called over her shoulder, "and then you can take the rest of the day off."

A maid floated into view, carrying a large tray that she placed on a sideboard. She poured two cups of steaming black coffee from a percolator, filled two bulbous glasses with generous servings of golden cognac, served them, and hurried out.

Then the party really started. "To us," said Alf, clinking his glass against Madam Styles's. She took a deep swallow as if it were water, but Alf barely sipped his. After refilling her glass twice, Alf sat her in the chair and sank to his knees before her. "My darling. Will you make a Lord happy and marry me?"

She closed her eyes and covered her mouth, then flung her cognac glass over her shoulder and reached her arms out to him. "At my age, I don't need any thinking time. I accept. Come, let us seal our engagement with a kiss."

Alf lifted her in his arms and planted his lips on hers. On a scale of ten, he gave her four for effort.

"Oh, you are so wonderfully young and virile," she lisped. "I feel as though I'm in the seventh heaven."

"Yes, youth comes with the years," answered Alf and stole another kiss. "But we mustn't wait too long before we marry."

"No, the sooner the better," said the widow happily. "That I have hooked a Lord is nothing less than a miracle."

So far, so good, reflected Alf. But now it was time to strike while the iron was warm and carry his little scheme to the next level. He sat her down again and tapped on his breast pocket. "I won at poker and my wallet is stuffed with notes. I'll deposit the cash at my bank in a few days, but I need to keep it secure until then. Do you have a safe?"

The widow fended him off with her hand. "Don't worry yourself with such petty things, my friend," she chirped. "Yes, I have a vault. You can leave your cash with me for as long as you wish."

Idly, he opened his wallet and handed over the bundle of notes. Still he hadn't counted them, but the wad was so fat that he felt faint. He was taking a risk, trusting this sly woman, but the odds were all on his side. Soon, he'd have more money than it was even possible to count.

But he kept his composure and handed them over. "Thank you. You are sweet. And I shall ask for them back after a couple of days."

The widow hardly glanced at the bundle. She clambered to her feet and caressed him on the cheek as she passed. "Stay here. I'll only be a moment."

"My heart will stop beating until you return. Be quick."

Madam Styles hurried through a side door and locked it behind her. Alf closed his eyes, concentrated, and followed her movements through the wall with his adapted third eye. He watched her swing a painting away from the wall behind a desk, silence an alarm that peeped, dial the combination lock on a vault door, and use both hands to pull it open. She tossed his bundle of notes inside and put everything straight in the reverse order.

"My pleasure to be of service," she said on her return, and then crept under his arm and cooed like a dove. "Think that life should come to us again."

"Yes, think that we have found luck." Alf had relied on his good luck all day. He didn't want to press it much further. There was another round of tender hugs and kisses, and time dwindled away. Eventually, Alf rose and yawned. "I'm tired after today's events, but we shall meet again in the morning, my love."

"Yes, tomorrow and every day forever after," she purred. And then she exploded in laughter.

Alf didn't understand the hilarity but knew it spelt trouble. It was time to retire, even though he was in such a rosy mood that he could have kept going all night. He wobbled slightly as he stepped toward her. The alcohol and the kissing had left him dizzy. He leaned in for a last goodnight kiss and a hefty hug, but she still laughed so hard that he couldn't get near her.

"But, love of my life, how can you laugh at a time like this? Pray tell me what has amused you, so that we may both share the joke."

She bounced on her toes and brayed like a donkey. He'd met many strange women in his time, but this one took the icing. She must be totally cracked; and as ugly as she was too. Good God. But she had money, and that was a beautiful feature with a woman. It corrected many flaws.

At last Madam Styles caught her breath and straightened up. "Alf, what a delightful fool you are," she gasped and slapped her hands to her cheeks.

A lead weight dropped in Alf's stomach. She'd called him by his proper name. His game was up. His luck had run out.
 
Part 41:
In this post: Crusher, the robot…
 
"I've known your true identity since the moment I set eyes on you. You are not a Lord, but a pauper named Alf, a security guard on the Cloud Estate, and England's bare-knuckle champion. I lost a fortune on one of your fights."

Alf jerked his head back as if she'd punched him on the nose. Madam Styles proved more cunning and dangerous than he'd given her credit for. "Who did you bet on?" He dropped his posh accent.

"A friend of mine named Pest said he had a certain winner called Crusher."

Crusher! Alf remembered that battle all right. He'd almost lost, not only the fight but his life too. If his best mate, Bert, hadn't set his two Alsatians to drag Crusher off him, Crusher would have ripped his head off.

Crusher now worked with him on the Cloud Estate, and they were friends and allies. Nobody but his partner, Bert, knew that little secret. His bosses, the Cloud Masters, had been strict about never letting him leave the estate. "Did you know Crusher is a robot?"

"Yes. That's why he was a certain winner."

"But that's cheating."

She shrugged. "Gamblers who cheat seldom lose."

"You did that time..."

"Why are you here?" Her voice turned sharp, all trace of drunkenness and merriment vanished.
 
To be continued…
 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
 
#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
 
Madam Styles sighed delightedly but drew away from Alf. She straightened her rumpled dress and gazed around the room. The music had stopped and all eyes were on them. Spots of colour invaded her cheeks. With a forced laugh, she clapped her hands and raised her voice. "Carry on everyone. The show is over."

Alf realised the hugging had come to an end, but determined to follow up his success. He whispered in her ear, "Can I offer madam a drink up in my apartment?"

"I say with many thanks," she answered bashfully. "A drink sounds delightful. But I insist you come to my suite."

Without protest, Alf took her elbow and guided her out. To go to her suite was exactly what he wanted.

Arm in arm they wandered past the reception desk, up a shallow flight of steps, and toward her rooms. As they strolled, Alf winked at a chambermaid standing there. "Be so kind as to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on Madam Styles's door."

The chambermaid curtsied, and the couple continued on their way.

"I'm not sure this is exactly decent," said Madam Styles. Her tongue darted out to lick her thin lips.

"We are both consenting adults," said Alf. "You inspire a love in me I never thought possible." He swallowed softly. "As hard as I try, mere words aren't enough to tell you how I feel about you."

Madam Styles hee-hawed.

"Everything is decent for the pure of heart," continued Alf as he whisked her through the door. Without delay, he lifted her into his arms and dropped into a well-stuffed armchair with her in his lap. She held up a hand, making a weak display of warding him off. At the same time, she laughed seductively.

"You are a bit of a wild man, my Lord," she said and carried on sitting there. "Bring us coffee and cognac, Charlotte," she called over her shoulder, "and then you can take the rest of the day off."

A maid floated into view, carrying a large tray that she placed on a sideboard. She poured two cups of steaming black coffee from a percolator, filled two bulbous glasses with generous servings of golden cognac, served them, and hurried out.

Then the party really started. "To us," said Alf, clinking his glass against Madam Styles's. She took a deep swallow as if it were water, but Alf barely sipped his. After refilling her glass twice, Alf sat her in the chair and sank to his knees before her. "My darling. Will you make a Lord happy and marry me?"

She closed her eyes and covered her mouth, then flung her cognac glass over her shoulder and reached her arms out to him. "At my age, I don't need any thinking time. I accept. Come, let us seal our engagement with a kiss."

Alf lifted her in his arms and planted his lips on hers. On a scale of ten, he gave her a four for effort.

"Oh, you are so wonderfully young and virile," she lisped. "I feel as though I'm in the seventh heaven."

"Yes, youth comes with the years," answered Alf and stole another kiss. "But we mustn't wait too long before we marry."

"No, the sooner the better," said the widow happily. "That I have hooked a Lord is nothing less than a miracle."

So far, so good, reflected Alf. But now it was time to strike while the iron was warm and carry his little scheme to the next level. He sat her down again and tapped on his breast pocket. "I won at poker and my wallet is stuffed with notes. I'll deposit the cash at my bank in a few days, but I need to keep it secure until then. Do you have a safe?"

The widow fended him off with her hand. "Don't worry yourself with such petty things, my friend," she chirped. "Yes, I have a vault. You can leave your cash with me for as long as you wish."

Idly, he opened his wallet and handed over the bundle of notes. Still he hadn't counted them, but the wad was so fat that he felt faint. He was taking a risk, but the odds were all on his side. Soon, he'd have more money than it was even possible to count.

But he kept his composure and handed them over. "Thank you. You are sweet. And I shall ask for them back after a couple of days."

The widow hardly glanced at the bundle. She clambered to her feet and caressed him on the cheek as she passed. "Stay here. I'll only be a moment."

"My heart will stop beating until you return. Be quick."

Madam Styles hurried through a side door and locked it behind her. Alf closed his eyes, concentrated, and followed her movements through the wall with his adapted third eye. He watched her swing a painting away from the wall behind a desk, silence an alarm that peeped, dial the combination lock on a vault door, and use both hands to pull it open. She tossed his bundle of notes inside and put everything straight in the reverse order.

"My pleasure to be of service," she said on her return, and then crept under his arm and cooed like a dove. "Think that life should come to us again."

"Yes, think that we have found luck." Alf had relied on his good luck all day. He didn't want to press it much further. There was another round of tender hugs and kisses, and time dwindled away. Eventually, Alf rose and yawned. "I'm tired after today's events, but we shall meet again in the morning, my love."

"Yes, tomorrow and every day forever after," she purred. And then she exploded in laughter.
 
Part 40:
In this post: Madam Styles brays like a donkey…
 
Alf didn't understand the hilarity but knew it spelt trouble. It was time to retire, even though he was in such a rosy mood that he could have kept going all night. He wobbled slightly as he stepped toward her. The alcohol and the kissing had left him dizzy. He leaned in for a last goodnight kiss and a hefty hug, but she still laughed so hard that he couldn't get near her.

"But, love of my life, how can you laugh at a time like this? Pray tell me what has amused you, so that we may both share the joke."

She bounced on her toes and brayed like a donkey. He'd met many strange women in his time, but this one took the icing. She must be totally cracked; and as ugly as she was too. Good God. But she had money, and that was a beautiful feature with a woman. It corrected many flaws.

At last Madam Styles caught her breath and straightened up. "Alf, what a delightful fool you are," she gasped and slapped her hands to her cheeks.

A lead weight dropped in Alf's stomach. She'd called him by his proper name. His game was up. His luck had run out.
 
To be continued…
 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
 
#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
 
The other guests at Hotel California gazed at Alf and smirked, but he couldn't care less. Here he'd show them a Lord the likes of which they'd never seen. He spun Madam Styles in a jive swing, first one way and then the other. When she began to pant and sway dizzily, he dropped her hands and scooted backwards across the dance floor in a perfect Michael Jackson moonwalk.

He received a mixed reaction. Some clapped, others stuck their noses into the air and turned their backs. But he ignored them all and carried on. He spread his arms and twirled around the dance floor, knees bending, slapping his heels as they kicked up behind him. Every so often he leapt high and landed in a crouch, only to spring up again like a Jack-in-the-box. The orchestra came alive and switched to playing a sprightly folk melody. Alf picked up the lusty rhythm and never missed a beat.

Down onto a handstand he dropped and continued dancing on his hands, feet bobbing in the air. After a moment he flipped over in a somersault, followed by another, and another, and then flipped backwards again until he was back to where he started.

Press-ups came next, twenty on both hands, then twenty on each arm, one at a time. He started another round of the dance floor: cart-wheeling, fast knee-bending, high jumps, and heel slapping. For a finale, he did a headstand, lifted his arms, and spun on his bald head. Faster and faster he spun, arms folded now, legs spread like the blades of a helicopter.

Back on his feet, he stooped in a deep bow. The guests applauded and laughed out loud, but Madam Styles seemed a little troubled. "You're such a teaser, my Lord."

"Yes, I've been away from England's green and pleasant lands for so long that I felt I needed a release."

"You are like a breath of fresh air," she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're not even breathing hard."

"I have energy enough for the both of us, my darling." He reached around her thin waist and gave her a thorough hug. She was his now, to do whatever he wanted with.

Madam Styles sighed delightedly but drew away from Alf. She straightened her rumpled dress and gazed around the room. The music had stopped and all eyes were on them. Spots of colour invaded her cheeks. With a forced laugh, she clapped her hands and raised her voice. "Carry on everyone. The show is over."

Alf realised the hugging had come to an end, but determined to follow up his success. He whispered in her ear, "Can I offer madam a drink up in my apartment?"

"I say with many thanks," she answered bashfully. "A drink sounds delightful. But I insist you come to my suite."

Without protest, Alf took her elbow and guided her out. To go to her suite was exactly what he wanted.

Arm in arm they wandered past the reception desk, up a shallow flight of steps, and toward her rooms. As they strolled, Alf winked at a chambermaid standing there. "Be so kind as to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on Madam Styles's door."

The chambermaid curtsied, and the couple continued on their way.

"I'm not sure this is exactly decent," said Madam Styles. Her tongue darted out to lick her thin lips.

"We are both consenting adults," said Alf. "You inspire a love in me I never thought possible." He swallowed softly. "As hard as I try, mere words aren't enough to tell you how I feel about you."

Madam Styles hee-hawed.

"Everything is decent for the pure of heart," continued Alf as he whisked her through the door. Without delay, he lifted her into his arms and dropped into a well-stuffed armchair with her in his lap. She held up a hand, making a weak display of warding him off. At the same time, she laughed seductively.

"You are a bit of a wild man, my Lord," she said and carried on sitting there.
Bring us coffee and cognac, Charlotte," she called over her shoulder, "and then you can take the rest of the day off."

A maid floated into view, carrying a large tray that she placed on a sideboard. She poured two cups of steaming black coffee from a percolator, filled two bulbous glasses with generous servings of golden cognac, served them, and hurried out.

Then the party really started. "To us," said Alf, clinking his glass against Madam Styles's. She took a deep swallow as if it were water, but Alf barely sipped his. After refilling her glass twice, Alf sat her in the chair and sank to his knees before her. "My darling. Will you make a Lord happy and marry me?"

She closed her eyes and covered her mouth, then flung her cognac glass over her shoulder and reached her arms out to him. "At my age, I don't need any thinking time. I accept. Come, let us seal our engagement with a kiss."

Alf lifted her in his arms and planted his lips on hers. On a scale of ten, he gave her a four for effort.

"Oh, you are so wonderfully young and virile," she lisped. "I feel as though I'm in the seventh heaven."

"Yes, youth comes with the years," answered Alf and stole another kiss. "But we mustn't wait too long before we marry."

"No, the sooner the better," said the widow happily. "That I have hooked a Lord is nothing less than a miracle."

So far, so good, reflected Alf. But now it was time to strike while the iron was warm and carry his little scheme to the next level. He sat her down again and tapped on his breast pocket. "I won at poker and my wallet is stuffed with notes. I'll deposit the cash at my bank in a few days, but I need to keep it secure until then. Do you have a safe?"

The widow fended him off with her hand. "Don't worry yourself with such petty things, my friend," she chirped. "Yes, I have a vault. You can leave your cash with me for as long as you wish."

Idly, he opened his wallet and handed over the bundle of notes. Still he hadn't counted them, but the wad was so fat that he felt faint. He was taking a risk, but the odds were all on his side. Soon, he'd have more money than it was even possible to count.
 
Part 39:
In this post: Madam Styles cooed like a dove…
 
But he kept his composure and handed them over. "Thank you. You are sweet. And I shall ask for them back after a couple of days."

The widow hardly glanced at the bundle. She clambered to her feet and caressed him on the cheek as she passed. "Stay here. I'll only be a moment."

"My heart will stop beating until you return. Be quick."

Madam Styles hurried through a door and locked it behind her. Alf closed his eyes, concentrated, and followed her movements through the wall with his adapted third eye. He watched her swing a painting away from the wall behind a desk, silence an alarm that peeped, dial the combination lock on a vault door, and use both hands to pull it open. She tossed his bundle of notes inside and put everything straight in the reverse order.

"My pleasure to be of service," she said on her return, and then crept under his arm and cooed like a dove. "Think that life should come to us again."

"Yes, think that we have found luck." Alf had relied on his good luck all day. He didn't want to press it much further. There was another round of tender hugs and kisses, and time dwindled away. Eventually, Alf rose and yawned. "I'm tired after today's events, but we shall meet again in the morning, my love."

"Yes, tomorrow and every day forever after," she purred. And then she exploded in laughter.
 
To be continued…
 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
 
#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
 
With his winnings converted into hard cash, Alf stuffed the notes into an inside pocket of his jacket, patted the bulge, and strolled up to the dining room. They had removed most tables and the maestro now conducted his orchestra with gusto. Couples filled the dance floor, the youngest full of energy, the eldest hardly moving and stumbling over their own feet. A few of the couples comprised of elderly women dancing together, their husbands long deceased.

Madam Styles sat at a table in a corner, smiling at him. He strutted across to her and bowed gallantly. "Shall we try this dance, Madam?"

"With pleasure, my Lord," she lisped and rose to her feet. She stunk like a perfume shop, her diamond rings glittered, and her low-cut gown hung on her like a listless windsock.

Alf pressed her knobbly skeleton into him and waltzed her out onto the dance floor. To her credit, the old hen displayed talent and followed Alf's inexperienced style with ease. "Isn't it wonderful to swing a little," he said and squeezed her.

"Heavenly," she said and looked up at him with shiny eyes. "I take it from the bulge in your jacket that you had success at the poker table?"

"Yes, Madam, but my greatest success is having you in my arms."

She laid her head on his broad chest and gave his hand a delicate pinch. He'd made instant contact.

The other guests gazed and smirked, but Alf couldn't care less. Here he'd show them a Lord the likes of which they'd never seen. He spun Madam Styles in a jive swing, first one way and then the other. When she began to pant and sway dizzily, he dropped her hands and scooted backwards across the dance floor in a perfect Michael Jackson moonwalk.

He received a mixed reaction. Some clapped, others stuck their noses into the air and turned their backs. But he ignored them all and carried on. He spread his arms and twirled around the dance floor, knees bending, slapping his heels as they kicked up behind him. Every so often he leapt high and landed in a crouch, only to spring up again like a Jack-in-the-box. The orchestra came alive and switched to playing a sprightly folk melody. Alf picked up the lusty rhythm and never missed a beat.

Down onto a handstand he dropped and continued dancing on his hands, with his feet bobbing in the air. After a moment he flipped over in a somersault, followed by another, and another, and then flipped backwards again until he was back to where he started.

Press-ups came next, twenty with both hands, then twenty on one arm at a time. He started another round of the dance floor: cart-wheeling, fast knee-bending, high jumps, and heel slapping. For a finale, he did a headstand, lifted his arms, and spun on his bald head. Faster and faster he spun, arms folded now, legs spread like the blades of a helicopter.

Back on his feet, he stooped in a deep bow. The guests applauded and laughed out loud, but Madam Styles seemed a little troubled. "You're such a teaser, my Lord."

"Yes, I've been away from England's green and pleasant lands for so long that I felt I needed a release."

"You are like a breath of fresh air," she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're not even breathing hard."

"I have energy enough for the both of us, my darling." He reached around her thin waist and gave her a thorough hug. She was his now, to do whatever he wanted with.

Madam Styles sighed delightedly but drew away from Alf. She straightened her rumpled dress and gazed around the room. The music had stopped and all eyes were on them. Spots of colour invaded her cheeks. With a forced laugh, she clapped her hands and raised her voice. "Carry on everyone. The show is over."

Alf realised the hugging had come to an end, but determined to follow up his success. He whispered in her ear, "Can I offer madam a drink up in my apartment?"

"I say with many thanks," she answered bashfully. "A drink sounds delightful. But I insist you come to my suite."

Without protest, Alf took her elbow and guided her out. To go to her suite was exactly what he wanted.

Arm in arm they wandered past the reception desk, up the stairs, and toward her rooms. As they strolled, Alf winked at a chambermaid standing there. "Be so kind as to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on Madam Styles's door."

The chambermaid curtsied, and the couple continued.

"I'm not sure this is exactly decent," said Madam Styles. Her tongue darted out to lick her thin lips.

"We are both consenting adults," said Alf. "You inspire a love in me I never thought possible." He swallowed softly. "As hard as I try, mere words aren't enough to tell you how I feel about you."

Madam Styles hee-hawed.

"Everything is decent for the pure of heart," continued Alf as he whisked her through the door. Without delay, he lifted her into his arms and dropped into a well-stuffed armchair with her in his lap. She held up a hand, making a weak display of warding him off. At the same time, she laughed seductively.

"You are a bit of a wild man, my Lord," she said and carried on sitting there. "Bring us coffee and cognac, Charlotte," she called over her shoulder, "and then you can take the rest of the day off."

A maid floated into view, carrying a large tray that she placed on a sideboard. She poured two cups of steaming black coffee from a percolator, filled two bulbous glasses with generous servings of golden cognac, served them, and hurried out.

Then the party really started. "To us," said Alf, clinking his glass against Madam Styles's. She took a deep swallow as if it were water, but Alf barely sipped his. After refilling her glass twice, Alf sat her in the chair and sank to his knees before her. "My darling. Will you make a Lord happy and marry me?"

She closed her eyes and covered her mouth, then flung her cognac glass over her shoulder and reached her arms out to him. "At my age, I don't need any thinking time. I accept. Come, let us seal our engagement with a kiss."
 
Part 38:
In this post: Alf deposits his cash in Madam Styles's private vault…
 
"Oh, you are so wonderfully young," she lisped. "I feel as though I'm in the seventh heaven."

"Yes, youth comes with the years," answered Alf with passion and stole another kiss. "But we mustn't wait too long before we marry."

"No, the sooner the better," said the widow happily. "That I have hooked a Lord is nothing less than a miracle."

So far, so good, reflected Alf. But now, while the iron was warm, the time had come to carry his little scheme to the next level. He suddenly tapped on his breast pocket. "I won at poker and my wallet is stuffed with notes. I'll deposit the cash at my bank in a few days, but I need to keep it secure until then. Do you have a safe?"

The widow fended him off with her hand. "Don't worry yourself with such things, my friend," she chirped. "Yes, I have a vault. You can leave your cash with me for as long as you wish."

Idly, he opened his wallet and handed over the bundle of notes. Still, he hadn't counted them, but the wad was so fat that he felt faint. He was taking a risk, but the odds were all on his side. Soon, he'd have more money than it was even possible to count.
 
To be continued…
 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
 
#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
 
"My wallet went astray at the airport," said Alf. "Some honest person found it and handed it into security. I should have it back later today or early tomorrow. I'm lost without my cards."

"You should phone the bank and tell them," said the bodyguard. "Get them to send you new ones."

"Yes, that's precisely what I did. Could be a day or two before I have them though."

The bodyguard sniffed. "We've got a credit limit of twenty thousand pounds."

"Excellent. All I require is one thousand pounds."

"Is that all?"

Alf smiled. "It's all I need. I never lose. Not at cards, not in a fight, and not in love."

"We'll see," said the bodyguard. "One thing at a time, eh? First, you lose at poker because me and me partner are the best there is. Then, if you don't clear your credit, we'll pulverise you. And when we're finished with you, you won't have any equipment left for love."

They dealt cards from a new pack. Play opened. Alf had to admit they played well, and it was obvious they used a secret code to cheat. But with his modified third eye he could see the faces of their cards and it wasn't long before the chips piled up beside him. The bodyguards, mugs as expressionless as planks of wood while they'd played, smacked their foreheads and ordered a stop.

Alf laughed to himself. He never counted his chips until the game was finished, but he knew he'd won more money than ever before. Luck still smiled on him. He called to mind the frustrated old hen he would dance with later that evening. She reigned over more riches than he could dream of, and the encounter promised to be an interesting fraternisation.

With his winnings converted into hard cash, Alf stuffed the notes into an inside pocket in his jacket, patted the bulge, and strolled up to the dining room. They had removed most tables and the maestro now conducted his orchestra with gusto. Couples filled the dance floor, the youngest full of energy, the eldest hardly moving and stumbling over their own feet. A few of the couples comprised of elderly women dancing together, their husbands long deceased.

Madam Styles sat at a table in a corner, smiling at him. He strutted across to her and bowed gallantly. "Shall we try this dance, Madam?"

"With pleasure, my Lord," she lisped and rose to her feet. She stunk like a perfume shop, her diamond rings glittered, and her low-cut gown hung on her like a listless windsock.

Alf pressed her knobbly skeleton into him and waltzed her out onto the dance floor. To her credit, the old hen displayed talent and followed Alf's inexperienced style with ease. "Isn't it wonderful to swing a little," he said and squeezed her.

"Heavenly," she said and looked up at him with shiny eyes. "I take it from the bulge in your jacket that you had success at the poker table?"

"Yes, Madam, but my greatest success is having you in my arms."

She laid her head on his broad chest and gave his hand a delicate pinch. He'd made instant contact.

The other guests gazed and smirked, but Alf couldn't care less. Here he'd show them a Lord the likes of which they'd never seen. He spun Madam Styles in a jive swing, first one way and then the other. When she began to pant and sway dizzily, he dropped her hands and scooted backwards across the dance floor in a perfect Michael Jackson moonwalk.

He received a mixed reaction. Some clapped, others stuck their noses into the air and turned their backs. But he ignored them all and carried on. He spread his arms and twirled around the dance floor, knees bending, slapping his heels as they kicked up behind him. Every so often he leapt high and landed in a crouch, only to spring up again like a Jack-in-the-box. The orchestra came alive and switched to playing a sprightly folk melody. Alf picked up the lusty rhythm and never missed a beat.

Down onto a handstand he dropped and continued dancing on his hands, with his feet bobbing in the air. After a moment he flipped over in a somersault, followed by another, and another, and then flipped backwards again until he was back to where he started.

Press-ups came next, twenty with both hands, then twenty on one arm at a time. He started another round of the dance floor: cart-wheeling, fast knee-bending, high jumps, and heel slapping. For a finale, he did a headstand, lifted his arms, and spun on his bald head. Faster and faster he spun, arms folded now, legs spread like the blades of a helicopter.

Back on his feet, he stooped in a deep bow. The guests applauded and laughed out loud, but Madam Styles seemed a little troubled. "You're such a teaser, my Lord."

"Yes, I've been away from England's green and pleasant lands for so long that I felt I needed a release."

"You are like a breath of fresh air," she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're not even breathing hard."

"I have energy enough for the both of us, my darling." He reached around her thin waist and gave her a thorough hug. She was his now, to do whatever he wanted with her.

Madam Styles sighed delightedly but drew away from Alf. She straightened her rumpled dress and gazed around the room. The music had stopped and all eyes were on them. Spots of colour invaded her cheeks. With a forced laugh, she clapped her hands and raised her voice. "Carry on everyone. The show is over."

Alf realised the hugging had come to an end, but determined to follow up his success. He whispered in her ear, "Can I offer madam a drink up in my apartment?"

"I say with many thanks," she answered bashfully. "A drink sounds delightful. But I insist you come to my suite."

Without protest, Alf took her elbow and guided her out. To go to her suite was exactly what he wanted.

Arm in arm they wandered past the reception desk, up the stairs, and toward her rooms. As they strolled, Alf winked at a chambermaid standing there. "Be so kind as to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on Madam Styles's door."

The chambermaid curtsied, and the couple continued.

"I'm not sure this is exactly decent," said Madam Styles. Her tongue darted out to lick her thin lips.

"We are both consenting adults," said Alf. "You inspire a love in me I never thought possible." He swallowed softly. "As hard as I try, mere words aren't enough to tell you how I feel about you."
 
Part 37:
In this post: Alf proposes to Madam Styles…
 
Madam Styles hee-hawed.

"Everything is decent for the pure of heart," continued Alf as he whisked her through the door. Without delay, he lifted her into his arms and dropped into a well-stuffed armchair with her in his lap. She held up a hand, making a weak display of warding him off. At the same time, she laughed seductively.

"You are a bit of a wild man, my lord," she said and carried on sitting there.

"Bring us coffee and cognac, Charlotte," she called over her shoulder, "and then you can take the rest of the day off."

A maid floated into view, carrying a large tray that she placed on a sideboard. She poured two cups of steaming black coffee from a percolator, filled two bulbous glasses with generous servings of golden cognac, served them, and hurried out.

Then the party really started. "To us," said Alf, clinking his glass against Madam Styles's. She took a deep swallow as if it were water, but Alf barely sipped his. After refilling her glass twice, Alf sat her in the chair and sank to his knees before her. "My darling. Will you make a Lord happy and marry me?"

She closed her eyes and covered her mouth, then flung her cognac glass over her shoulder and reached her arms out to Alf. "At my age, I don't need any thinking time. I accept. Come, let us seal our engagement with a kiss."
 
To be continued…
 
The real world:
  
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-

If you like a good chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Wednesdays and Sundays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them for free, or wait to buy the entire story when published.
 
#3: Gamblers who Cheat ® James Field.
Previously…
 
The casino was larger than Alf had expected. It covered the entire basement. Colourful lights glittered and flashed, a thick carpet deadened sound, and a choking smell of cigars polluted the stale air. A horseshoe-shaped bar built from glistening glass and chrome dominated a centre position, its barman wore a crisp white shirt and black bow tie. He polished glasses with a tea-towel, and smiled with friendliness at Alf.

Alf recognised one or two of the oldies he'd seen in the dining salon, sitting now at slot machines, but otherwise the local was almost deserted. A roulette table stood unattended. Two middle-aged men slouched at the bar; whisky glasses in hands and chortling with stiff-upper lips. Another two played snooker at the other end of the room. What a marvellous place, thought Alf, but he wondered where he would find partners to play poker.

The two bodyguards conducted him to a round table covered in green-felt, with six chairs spaced equally around it. "Pick a seat," said the one he'd paralysed. Alf sat; the two bodyguards removed three of the chairs and dropped into the remaining two. Alf's eyebrows rose in question.

"That's right," said the bodyguard. "You're going to play poker with us. How many chips do you want to buy? The green are a hundred pounds each, the yellow a thousand pounds, and the red ten thousand."

Alf swallowed, if he were lucky, he might have one hundred pounds in his bank account. "Do you extend credit?"

Both bodyguards narrowed their eyes.

"My wallet went astray at the airport. Some honest person found it and handed it into security. I should have it back later today or early tomorrow. I'm lost without my cards."

"You should phone the bank and tell them," said the bodyguard. "Get them to send you new ones."

"Yes, that's precisely what I did. Could be a day or two before I have them."

The bodyguard sniffed. "We've got a credit limit of twenty thousand pounds."

"Excellent. All I require is one thousand pounds."

"Is that all?"

Alf smiled. "It's all I need. I never lose. Not at cards, not in a fight, and not in love."

"We'll see," said the bodyguard. "One thing at a time, eh? First, you lose at poker because me and me partner are the best there is. Then, if you don't clear your credit, we'll pulverise you. And when we're finished with you, you won't have any equipment left for love."

They dealt cards from a new pack. Play opened. Alf had to admit they played well, and it was obvious they used a secret code to cheat. But with his modified third eye he could see the faces of their cards and it wasn't long before the chips piled up beside him. The bodyguards, mugs as expressionless as planks of wood while they played, smacked their foreheads and ordered a stop.

Alf laughed to himself. He never counted his chips until the game was finished, but he knew he'd won more than ever before. Luck still smiled on him. He called to mind the frustrated old hen he would dance with later that evening. She reigned over more riches than he could dream of, and the encounter promised to be an interesting fraternisation.

With his winnings converted into hard cash, Alf stuffed the notes into an inside pocket in his jacket, patted the bulge, and strolled up to the dining room. They had removed most tables and the maestro now conducted his orchestra with gusto. Couples filled the dance floor, the youngest full of energy, the eldest hardly moving and stumbling over their own feet. A few of the couples comprised of elderly women dancing together, their husbands long deceased.

Madam Styles sat at a table in a corner, smiling at him. He strutted across to her and bowed gallantly. "Shall we try this dance, Madam?"

"With pleasure, my Lord," she lisped and rose to her feet. She stunk like a perfume shop, her diamond rings glittered, and her low-cut gown hung on her like a listless windsock.

Alf pressed her knobbly skeleton into him and waltzed her out onto the dance floor. To her credit, the old hen displayed talent and followed Alf's inexperienced style with ease. "Isn't it wonderful to swing a little," he said and squeezed her.

"Heavenly," she said and looked up at him with shiny eyes. "I take it from the bulge in your jacket that you had success at the poker table?"

"Yes, Madam, but my greatest success is having you in my arms."

She laid her head on his broad chest and gave his hand a delicate pinch. He'd made instant contact.

The other guests gazed and smirked, but Alf couldn't care less. Here he'd show them a Lord the likes of which they'd never seen. He spun Madam Styles in a jive swing, first one way and then the other. When she began to pant and sway dizzily, he dropped her hands and scooted backwards across the dance floor in a perfect Michael Jackson moonwalk.

He received a mixed reaction. Some clapped, others stuck their noses into the air and turned their backs. But he ignored them all and carried on. He spread his arms and twirled around the dance floor, knees bending, slapping his heels as they kicked up behind him. Every so often he leapt high and landed in a crouch, only to spring up again like a Jack-in-the-box. The orchestra came alive and switched to playing a sprightly folk melody. Alf picked up the lusty rhythm and never missed a beat.

Down onto a handstand he dropped and continued dancing on his hands, with his feet bobing in the air. After a moment he flipped over in a somersault, followed by another, and another, and then flipped backwards again until he was back to where he started.

Press-ups came next, twenty with both hands, then twenty on one arm at a time. He started another round of the dance floor: cart-wheeling, fast knee-bending, high jumps, and heel slapping. For a finale, he did a headstand, lifted his arms, and spun on his bald head. Faster and faster he spun, arms folded now, legs spread like the blades of a helicopter.

Back on his feet, he stooped in a deep bow. The guests applauded and laughed out loud, but Madam Styles seemed a little troubled. "You're such a teaser, my Lord."

"Yes, I've been away from England's green and pleasant lands for so long that I felt I needed a release."

"You are like a breath of fresh air," she said and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're not even breathing hard."

"I have energy enough for the both of us, my darling." He reached around her thin waist and gave her a thorough hug. She was his now, to do whatever he wanted with her.
 
Part 36:
In this post: All eyes were on Alf and Madam Styles…
 
Madam Styles sighed delightedly but drew away from Alf. She straightened her rumpled dress and gazed around the room. The music had stopped and all eyes were on them. Spots of colour invaded her cheeks. With a forced laugh, she clapped her hands and raised her voice. "Carry on everyone. The show is over."

Alf realised there wouldn't be any more hugging, but determined to follow up his success. He whispered in her ear, "Can I offer madam a drink up in my apartment?"

"I say with many thanks," she answered bashfully. "A drink sounds delightful. But I insist you come to my suite."

Without protest, Alf took her elbow and guided her out. To go to her suite was exactly what he wanted.

Arm in arm they wandered past the reception desk, up the stairs, and toward her rooms. As they strolled, Alf winked at a chambermaid standing there. "Be so kind as to hang a Do Not Disturb sign on Madam Styles's door."

The chambermaid curtsied, and the couple continued.

"I'm not sure this is exactly decent," said Madam Styles. Her tongue darted out to lick her thin lips.

"We are both consenting adults," said Alf. "You inspire a love in me I never thought possible." He swallowed softly. "As hard as I try, mere words aren't enough to tell you how I feel about you."
 
To be continued…
 
The real world:
  
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.

Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
-