The spy who came into the Pavilion. Final part.

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Hi Everyone

  Hope you are all  well,

 This is a rather small Wednesday round up, life has made my time short at the moment, but that will not stop us from enjoying the final part of Mistress LeatherBeths complex and delightful story.

  However below, you will find just a few little pics, to enjoy as dessert.

 Big Big hugs

XXX

Andy

The spy who came into the Pavilion

By Mistress LeatherBeth

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

George and Matt had a swift chat, but they had to agree that, within their understanding of the laws, Chris Mills had, for once, done nothing wrong. They agreed that there was nothing to stop a player from leaving the ground for a period and then returning. However, over in the scorers’ box, Robert Snell cursed under his breath, as he had to amend the ‘absent’ entry in the scorebook.

However, Chris Mills’s return had no real positive effect on Derrington’s performance. Lacklustre was a word which sprang to mind. They put together a few useful partnerships but then, each time they seemed to be getting their act together, Chris would hand out some scathing rebuke to his partner, who would then take a wild swing at a ball from Will and be dismissed one way or another.

Yevgeny regained consciousness for the third time that day, meaning that, for the third time, nobody had killed him. Judging by the proximity of his knees to his chin, he was in a child’s chair. He was gagged, blindfolded and he couldn’t move. Of course he couldn’t move. Polly Evans’ ability to tie wasn’t restricted 

to shibari rope and, if she’d still been there, she would no doubt have recommended that he just have fun wriggling. Polly was firmly of the opinion that unsuccessful wriggling was one of the great pleasures in life.  

But for Yevgeny, all that he could think about at that moment was the pain in his foot and the ache in his head. (And still no vodka).               

Suddenly he felt a slight draught. The storeroom door must have opened. He made a few perfunctory grunts, just to let the newcomer know how unhappy a bunny he was with the way that he’d been treated, but then the gag was ripped away and he immediately smelt a sweet, sickly odour, quickly followed by a pad of slightly damp material being placed over his mouth and nose.               

“Oh, no,” he thought, “Oh no, not again. By the holy, blessed and sanctified shoelaces of Saint Theodore the Partially Sighted, not agai...”               

The fourth time Yevgeny came round, later that evening, he was in the driving seat of the Civic on the edge of the village, with a full tank of fuel and with several service station pasties and bottles of water on the passenger seat, together with a large brown paper envelope of mixed currencies. By the following evening he was over five thousand miles away, and it was Not Due East.

With Will tying up one end it was now time for Budgie to wreak havoc from the other. Chloe’s off cutters had provided him with a useful break (indeed, she’d picked up a wicket), but the first two balls of Budgie’s second spell had had the batsman floundering as the ball swung in just before pitching, then straightened. The batsman, attempting to protect his off stump, was a whisker away from getting an outside edge.

Of course, Budgie was just setting up the three card trick. The third ball of the over pitched a little wider. The batsman took a wild swing, made a thin contact, and JoJo collected a tumbling catch in front of Kat at first slip. High fives all round though, at the non striker’s end, Chris Mills had the face of a camel with a secret sorrow.

One of the youngsters was next in, looking as though the Headmaster had sent for him for the third time that week. He gave Chris a barely concealed look of loathing as he passed him, and took a guard of middle and leg before surveying the field prior to settling into his stance.

Budgie began his run up with a couple of bouncing steps before steaming in. The ball speared in directly on off stump, and the poor boy heard his stumps behind him shatter whilst still in mid back lift.

‘Трахни меня, это был яффо’ (‘Fuck me, that was a jaffa’), thought Olga, who had retired to the Audi to enjoy the remainder of this fascinating game.

The departing glance directed at Chris was, if anything, even more baleful.

The dismissed batsman, 16yo Simeon Petrie, reached the bottom of the Pavilion steps, and slowly, very slowly, trudged upwards. In truth, he was dragging his feet so that he could stare at Jane and Kerry for as 

long as possible. Such soft, tight leather, such smooth, shiny vinyl, such awe inspiring heels. In years to come he would look back on this day as the beginning of his fascination with, and his devotion to, smooth, slick and shiny ladies (of all genders).

Gareth ‘Spike’ Milligan came out to face the hat trick ball. He had also noticed Jane, but it was her highly inventive sledging which drew his attention. For such a refined looking (and very attractive) lady, she had a very imaginative phraseology and a spicy vocabulary. At the prospect of a hat trick, however, Budgie,  seemed totally unperturbed. He made his way purposefully back to his mark, turned, took a couple of deep breaths, and set off. A couple of paces out, just before his delivery stride, he drifted out towards the return crease. Spike had left an open gate, just begging to be attacked. The ball pitched on a full length and straightened, but didn’t crash through the gate. Spike barely got his bat across in time, but only succeeded in feathering a catch into the slips. Throwing herself instinctively low to her left, Kat took a diving catch, giving Budgie a spectacular hat trick and almost bringing Jane to the point of throwing her legs around Mayfield’s waist and punching the air but, for better or worse, she just managed to restrain herself.

With six overs left Derrington had stumbled to 198 for 9, with Chris Mills on 37 and young Xander Craig on 3. 60 runs required in 6 overs, with one wicket standing.

“Boy! Come here!” said Chris, ever the charmer. Xander, obviously a bag of nerves, met him halfway down the pitch. “OK,” said Chris, “this is what we’re going to do. People have been giving this poncy, twirly about bollocks leg spin too much respect. I’m going to put it into orbit, knock it out of the attack and bring us in striking distance for the last couple of overs. And you, sunshine, are going to keep out of the way and do exactly as I tell you. Capiche?”

Xander, shell shocked by the Mills onslaught, just nodded and scampered back to the non striker’s end.

And Chris Mills did, indeed, have a little success, taking a couple of fours out of Will’s first four balls. In truth, though, Will was toying with him. For his next delivery, Will unveiled his googly. It had a little bit more air under it, but dipped late in its trajectory, pitched in Rufus’ foothold, reared and spun viciously to leg. Chris’ stroke was transformed into a wild swing, making contact with the ball near the leading edge of the bat and flying off in the direction of deep square leg, where it would surely earn him a six.

But wait. What’s this? A figure streaking round the boundary from deep mid on. As the ball passed its apogee and began its descent, the slim figure took a longer stride and then leapt, right arm outstretched. Fingertips flicked the ball upwards, back towards the field of play, preventing it from crossing the boundary. The figure did a tight forward roll upon hitting the ground, but he had kept the ball in vision, and got a left hand under it just a few centimetres above the turf. Andy had pulled off an absolutely stunning catch.

Mayfield’s blush would have been a sight to behold as, this time, Jane totally failed to control herself. Rather, she threw herself at him, wrapped her legs around his waist, dragged his face into her cleavage with her left arm while punching the air with her right and squawking, yes squawking, “Andy, you little beauty!”

Mills c sub b Will 45

Derrington 206 all out, defeated by 51 runs.

Given that the game against their deadliest rivals had been the primary topic of conversation in the village for weeks (along with the Extravaganza), the Rec was packed, and it now erupted. Josie Attlee, exhibiting all the beneficial after effects of a session as Cottontail, had started a small but boisterous conga over by the Grange paddock wall; Lois Watkins allowed her mind to stray from profit margins and delivery schedules for long enough to give Izzy a big hug; and Carmel was plainly moved by JoJo’s contribution and, especially, the extent of his acceptance; and, indeed, the entire village was en fête.

Jane spotted Andy and Will enjoying an intimate moment over near where Andy had taken his catch, and she strode over to congratulate them. However, they saw her coming, whereupon Andy winked, and then leapt, wrapping his legs around Will’s waist and snogging his face off. Happily, Jane was in an exuberant mood, and all three laughed at the joke before Will and Andy set off to the Pavilion to change.

“Budgie, mate, a hat trick! I’ve never seen one in the flesh before. That was brilliant,” cried Kat, giving him a big hug as the team got back to the dressing room. “But why have you never told us before?”

“Oh, tha knaws how ‘tis. Nobdy wants t’ brag,” he said, almost sheepishly.              

“OK,” said Stuart, “I’m still confused. Where’s the real Budgie? What have you done with him?”              

Budgie was still acting shy, so Kat explained. “Budgie told me earlier about a relative of his, whom he used to practice bowling with, and who got quite good at it. Budgie reckoned he could do a fair impersonation.”

“And this relative is…?” asked Roger.

“His cousin Jimmy.” There was a pause of a couple of seconds and then, one by one, pennies dropped.              

“Jimmy? Not Jimmy Anderson? Really?”               

“The very same,” said Kat. “The one and only, the almighty, the world record holding Burnley Express himself, James Michael Anderson, is Budgie’s cousin.”               

“Nay, stop marlockin’,” said Budgie, as several of the team knelt before him and bowed, chanting, “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”

“What a splendid afternoon it’s been,” thought Mayfield, as he surveyed the victory celebrations from the seat at the front of the Pavilion, to which he’d returned. A true team effort, village cricket at its very best. And a true community effort, virtually the entire village coming together, even if some of them had exhibited rather esoteric tastes the evening before.

He glanced round as a bright red Audi slowly moved towards the exit, at the far side of the Pavilion. The driver was waving to him, that charming lady whose full name he hadn’t quite been able to catch. Olga something or other? She was a friend of George Cooper, apparently and she’d told him, with a perfectly straight face, that he, Mayfield Green, was almost the doppelganger of a notorious one eyed Bulgarian secret agent. Well, really. Bulgarian? As if there could ever be the faintest whiff of espionage in the village.

And then there had been Jane’s reaction to Andy’s catch. Mayfield was aware of having blushed deeply at the time but, looking back, he could see that there had been no reason to. In spite of Kat’s previous admonition, he still found it a little difficult to believe that there had been anything personal in Jane’s actions. She had simply been delighted for Andy, and her emotions had got the better of her. She would have reacted in the same way with anyone who had been to hand at that moment.

Wouldn’t she?

“Andy, dear,” said Jane, as the team and supporters strolled down to the Fullerton Arms to celebrate, “that was wonderful.”               

“Really, Auntie, I just stuck out my hand, and the ball was there. Will got a century and a fifer and Budgie got a hat trick. They were the real heroes.”              

“Don’t be so modest,” said Jane, “you were spectacular. Now, I know I’ve been quite strict about the football boots, but perhaps cricket is a more acceptable occasional outlet for a young lady’s excess energy.”              

Andy, knowing that his dear aunt had only his best interests at heart, just smiled. He was feeling much more comfortable now that he’d retucked, reverted to his latex leggings and top, touched up his make up, and he had a substantial heel to walk on.              

“I must admit that today’s excitement has reminded me of dreams that I’ve been having quite a few times recently,” he said.               

“Oh? What sort of dreams?” asked Jane.    

“Well, in them, you’re a secret agent, taking on spies, or maybe evil villains, and I’m your loyal assistant. Sometimes I invent a gadget, sometimes you rescue me from the bad guys. But we always look stunning and beautiful and shiny. I call them The Lady Jane Adventures.”              

“Andy, dear, what an imagination you have,” Jane said. Nevertheless… nevertheless.

The End?......... (Hope not)

A lost image of my heroine Keira Knightley in a rather stylish Leather dress

(you mean it's a cheap excuse for a picture of Keira . Ed)

A couple of images from https://www.instagram.com/_angelshiny/

Not  a movie I have ever seen, but I do know Raquel Welsh and she looked amazing in this dress.