May the seventh will long be remembered for a rather unusual funeral at the village church in Wimplebridge. If there were any tongues that weren’t wagging before-hand they certainly were for a few days after.

Scandal seldom visits our quiet village. Brexit and football, a royal wedding and celebrity divorce, they all pass us by with hardly a nod of recognition. Our villagers are more likely to be outraged the Bridge Inn selling out of date crisps than a politician taking photos up a woman’s skirt.

So you can imagine how we were all shocked when one of the oldest and most respectable families in the vicinity, not named for legal reasons, was torn asunder by a young strumpet.

That’s right dear reader, I’m sorry to report how this viper positioned herself in the bosom of an otherwise happy home. She took advantage of a dear old man, a man who was vulnerable and easily distracted, one who’d normally not give her a second glance. But as skilful as any James Bond agent, she slipped beneath his radar and settled under his duvet.

Away from home and without his wife for guidance, his defences were down. He was on a two night business and golfing trip when she made her move, she allowed him to buy her drinks in the bar and willingly agreed when he suggested a nightcap in his room.  Our female protagonist was young and fit, the older gentleman less so. But not wanting to disappoint  his guest, our septuagenarian managed a good performance twice before sleep overcame them and once in the shower the following morning.

Three children waited at home for our gallant philanderer. Their shinny faces scrubbed and desperate to see their papa. Aged forty eight, forty five and forty two they were mortified when he came home and told their mother, a lady he’d been married to for half a century that it was all over. They returned to their own homes, the elder two explaining it to their wives and the colleagues in their city offices where they worked.

Mother was horrified. She moved out immediately, not able to spend another day with the bruit. Divorce, unheard of in Wimplebridge, followed and she took him for half of everything he had, or half of everything she could find.

There was still quite a lot left. The business, the house in Spain, the yacht and the shares. Not to mention the offshore bank accounts and the pensions.

Now the old guard was out of the way and our gallant hero is all loved up with his ne young bride. There is but one fly in the ointment, the brothers and the wife, two years younger than his youngest son, hate each other. There seems to be  nothing he can do to bring them together until he devises a plan that will make them work as a team. Just for a day, a few hours really, he knew how they’d willingly put aside their squabbling and co-operate.

Want to know more?

Then read the short story The long game on kindle.