Free Starburst by Robin Pilcher Page B

passage to the back of the house. Aye, it was quite fitting that it was Terry who should break the news. If it hadn’t have been for him in the first place, this whole thing would never have come about.
     
     
     
    Saturday night at Andersons Westbourne Social Club was always busy, but on that particular occasion, there was hardly room to move, due to the impending and much publicized visit of Danielle Vine, a young singer who had recently been a finalist on the television show Stars in your Eyes, thanks to her superb - yet not quite superb enough to win - impersonation of Celine Dion. Consequently, Harold Prendergast, manager and licensee of the establishment, decided to come out front for a spell so that he could watch with eagle eyes as the money flowed in and out of the three cash tills that were spaced evenly along the shelf at the back of the long bar. He felt this was a necessary precaution, seeing that two weeks before, he’d had to sack one of his eight bar staff for having “light fingers.” Not that he knew for certain it was that particular girl who was the culprit, but losing money in such a way ate into his profits, and he thought it necessary to show the rest of the staff that he would not tolerate such practice. Okay, truth be told, he’d had to pay her off just to keep her mouth shut about what happened, or more to the point, what hadn’t happen behind the closed doors of his office, but he’d always considered it a perk of the job, having a bit of fun with the girls, and he wasn’t used to having his advances spurned in quite such a forceful manner.
    He leaned against the bottle shelf at the back of the bar and crossed his arms as he eyed the new girl at work. This one wasn’t so much of a looker as the last, her size certainly outweighed her beauty, but there was something definitely sexy about her. It was his theory that a girl could be as pretty as paint, but still exude as much sexual attraction as a cross-eyed donkey. Talking of which, he thought to himself, as he glanced over to the permanently reserved table next to the stage where his wife sat, chatting away primly with her set of friends from Thursday night bingo. With a shake of his head, he turned away from the sight that, over the years, had come to offer him little attraction and found a space between the spirit-dispensing racks to look himself over in the mirror that backed the full length of the bar. He adjusted the striped bow tie, which drooped a fraction to the left, picked at a loose thread on his white double-breasted tuxedo jacket, and with forefinger and thumb smoothed his well-trimmed moustache from centre outwards. Out of the side of his eye he caught sight of the reflection of the new girl, wrestling to control the size of head on a pint of Guinness. He turned, shot a look over to where his wife was seated, before gliding over to the girl and putting his hand on top of hers on the tap.
    “Come on, Rene, lass,” he said kindly, “ye’ve been working ’ere two weeks now. Ye should really ’ave mastered the Guinness tap by now.”
    Rene looked round and smiled. “Sorry, Mr. Prendergast. I think it’s because Joe’s just changed the barrel.”
    “Never mind, we’ll do this one together. Just pour the head off into the waste tray and we’ll try it again.” He pushed up the tap and then eased it down, taking the opportunity to move his hand gently against Rene’s. “There, that’s going wonderfully.” He took another brief glance towards the stage before leaning closer to Rene’s ear. “I think ye’ll manage that now, won’t ye?”
    “I think so. Thanks for the help, Mr. Prendergast,” Rene replied.
    “That’s what I’m here for,” he said soothingly, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. He started to move away, then turned back and put a pensive finger to his lips. “Actually, Rene, maybe ye could spare me a moment in me office after ye’ve finished that round of drinks. Just