Internationally acclaimed British film Star Katie O'Shea arrived alone and incognito and was whisked through Immigration and Customs checkpoints at Auckland International Airport by a burly New Zealand security man and placed into a black limo outside the airport terminal.
It appeared no one had recognized her, apart from the well-disciplined customs officials and, of course, the airline's discreet cabin attendants.
A recent divorce and the failure of her two latest films to shine well at the box office, had left Katie in despair and exhausted.
On the advice of her medical advisers, she'd pulled out of her next film - it was placed on hold because the part of the principal character was written specifically to capture her talents - and she moved off to 'disappear off the map' for six weeks.
Awaking next morning just before noon, Katie, now under the assumed name of Lydia Valencia, heard a disturbance outside.
Walking on to the balcony, she saw her two broad-shouldered male 'attendants' accosting a tanned wiry man aged about thirty dressed only in ragged shorts and sandals. In his hands he held a motorized edge trimmer.
Lydia (Katie) heard Saul say, "Beat it chump along with that noisy machine; our client is asleep and needs rest."
"Yeah, well if she went to bed like a normal person, she'd be up now to enjoy the day; it will do her good to hear my weed-eater buzzing, knowing that some people are doing an honest day's work."
He pulled the cord and the machine started instantly, making quite a racket.
"Turn that thing off, you mother-fucker otherwise I'll wrap it round your neck!"
"Omigod, my own High Noon on the lawn," chuckled Lydia, watching the man drop the machine which stuttered to a stop and hearing him say, "You've defamed my mother; apologize right now, Arsehole."
As Saul drew back his huge fist, Lydia whispered "Don't be too brutal."
She then witnessed an amazing sight.
The fist went flying other the workman's shoulder as he moved his head in the nick of time and he just seemed to kick at Saul's knee. The big man collapsed in a heap, screaming.
Benny raced away and the workman pulled out his cell phone and made a call and then picked up his machine. Benny reappeared and unclipping the lead on the German Shepherd, and set the dog on the workman.
The man watched the dog bounding at him. He whistled shrilly and shouted a command. The dog stopped, looking back at Benny confused, allowing the man to calmly walk away around the back of the rural rental home.
Lydia threw on a gown and raced out to help Saul.
"I'll get help," she said.
"I heard that guy call an ambulance."
"Right. Saul, you must say you tripped and fell, otherwise we'll have the police and media in on this and my cover will be blown. You'll be compensated financially."
"Right, Miss Valencia," he groaned.
"Benny, get that useless dog out of here and bring Saul a pillow and a rug. For god's sake, you should have done that already instead of looking at him and asking if it hurts. Of course, it fucking hurts."
"Yes Miss Valencia, right away Miss Valencia."
When Benny returned with a rug and two pillows, Lydia strode off to the kitchen to get Saul some water and pain-killers if she could find them.
She found the workman sitting at the table, drinking coffee.
"What are you doing in my house?" she enquired, icily.
"You've rented it for six weeks. The contract says the grounds will be maintained and the grounds man has access to the kitchen, adjoining toilet and the ground floor bedroom."
"And does the contract say the groundsman is free to criminally assault one of my minders?"
"Believe what you like, lady, but our security cameras will tell the story, showing the punch designed to knock my head off."
"Oh."
"Anyway, why should you have two minders with a half-trained attack dog? Who are you?"
"Never you mind. I'll have to engage another private security officer, thanks to you."
"Why not use my services?"
"What?"
"I'm ex-Army trained to go in after individuals requiring extrication to get them out safely. If anyone gets through me to the target, I'll be dead. Sit and have coffee and talk about this."
"I'll come back when my man has been safely removed."
"Fine, my name's Taylor."
"Taylor who?"
"Taylor Novak."
"Oh, then are you related to Mr Morris Novak, who owns this property?"
"He's my father."
"Oh, I'm Lydia, Lydia Valencia."
"That's an unlikely name," said Taylor, causing Lydia to flush. She walked away speechless and fuming.
Lydia returned to the kitchen twenty minutes later.
Taylor announced coffee was off as it was approaching lunch time and Mrs Mullins would be arriving soon to prepare it. He fetched a bottle of white wine from the fridge and grabbed two glasses.
"Have some of this or don't you drink with gardeners?"
"A half glass, thank you."
Lydia took a sip and exclaimed how beautiful it was and asked what wine was it.
Sauvignon Blanc from the Marlborough region well south of here, best in the world.
"On whose say so?"
"We say so."
Lydia smiled.
He was rude but quite a character. It has been sometime since she had been in the company of a genuine character other than a relative.
They talked, Mrs Mullins arrived and Lydia stayed and had lunch with them in the kitchen instead of in the dining room.
After Mrs Mullins had left and two bottles of wine later, Lydia had told Taylor everything. She kept a brave face but finally cried and that was the last thing she remembered.
The dawn chorus of birds woke Lydia next morning. She found herself in bed, nude, her clothes stacked neatly on the lounge chair.
"The cheeky mutt," she scowled, realizing she'd must had passed out, with Taylor or whatever his real name was putting her to bed after undressing her. She turned crimson, recalling it was five days since she'd shaved her vulva; he would not have been impressed.
Taylor came into the bedroom without knocking, indicating that after what he'd seen the previous night it didn't seem necessary to knock.
"You need a shave," he grinned.
"Why thank you, you charming creature," she said, poking her tongue at him, absolutely amazed that she wasn't ranting and raving at him.
"I'm taking you away for five days. It will cost you a bit for transport but I figure you'd got heaps of money. Are you afraid of the wilds?"
"I don't really know, but cities can be pretty scary."
"We'll be walking through thick bush, sunbathing on beaches, fishing, swimming and jet-skiing and playing golf on a sheep maintained 5-hole course if you play it or want to try the game. Then when you get back here, you'll be raring to get back to work."
"My medical advisers advised two months minimum withdrawal."
Taylor said gruffly, "The UK doctors are a bit backward."
She sighed and said, "I suppose their omission of instructing me to avoid sex was an oversight?"
"Perhaps, but it's available if you want it, providing you have shaved."
"Get out of my room, you arrogantly rude bastardo," she scowled. "I want to get dressed; it will take me an hour to do my make-make."
"You'll just have to do with a shower and lipstick; the chopper is due in twenty minutes and it will be right on a tight schedule as it has other charters. Pull finger out, please."
Pull finger out, and what that supposed to mean? wondered Lydia, as she dashed to the shower. Probably something downright disgusting. She sighed, thinking this chap seemed just what the doctor ordered; being subservient was probably quite foreign to him and therefore she anticipated having a rugged time and probably it would not always agreeable to her, but so what?
Mrs Mullins had whispered that Taylor was the salt of the earth and absolutely trustworthy but with a weakness for a pretty face.
Oh yum, she'd panted to herself.
* * *
They climbed out of the helicopter that had landed on a beach reserve (public land) and Lydia was already feeling like ripping Taylor out of his clothes. At one stage on the flight, she'd leaned over him to see one of the islands of the gulf he was describing. He'd caught her with a paw squeezing her left breast and kissed her.
Her eyes had remained open and she looked with interest at his long eye lashes, knowing that under them were piercing very light blue eyes that were appropriate for his bushy fair hair and tanned complexion.
He was, in a rugged sort of way, rather handsome. She wondered what he thought of her and suddenly realised he'd pulled away and staring at her. He continued his travelogue as if it had not been interrupted by that stolen kiss, talking about the isolation of the privately-owned peninsular in the gulf they were flying over.
Taylor thought she didn't look anywhere near her age, forty. But that's what her profile stated when he looked it up on the Internet after putting Lydia to bed the previous night. Her specialty was costume drama, and not unexpectedly he hadn't seen her in a film as he studiously avoided faked military-based costume dramas of the Wellington, Napoleon and Washington ilk on-stage or on-film.
On the flight over, he'd grabbed a boob as a test and it appeared to be all her with no padding or added internal enhancements. More importantly, she'd not pulled away and that to his mind she'd already had placed herself into recovery mode.
Lydia, alias Katie. looked drained, down and running on only two of her eight cylinders, mentally as well as physically. The previous night he'd phoned an ex-Army friend, a retired doctor whom they occasionally partnered at the bridge club. Doc MacPherson was non-too pleased about getting such a call just after midnight, but that's when Taylor had thought of calling him.
Mac had suggested plenty of exercise, exposure to sun but not between10 am and 3 pm, the peak of likely sun skin damage, swimming, golf and relaxing on the beach or dawdling through the bush or boating at a leisurely speed with plenty of stops.
"Keep her low on alcohol and high on water and freshly squeezed fruit juices and heaps and heaps of fresh fruit and vegetables and, above all, plenty of sleep. I'd suggest a compulsory afternoon sleep."
"What about sex, Mac?
"No thanks, not with you Taylor," cackled the doctor. "Yes, gentle loving sex will be good for her but don't exhaust her or get her into strenuous positions. Just who is this lucky woman?"
"A secret for now, but I'll give you a call on her last night in New Zealand as I plan to get her on TV saying what a wonderful place we have here and what wonderful people we are. We as a nation need this for tourist promotion."
"We get enough fucking Brits out here now, as well as Germans and Yanks and Asians. I hope the tape goes to Scandinavia. Remember that night when we picked up those two buxom nurse hitchhikers, Ingrid and Inga..."
"Mary will be listening, Mac. When men take late night calls, their wives always pretend to be asleep."
"Ah, you're right, silly me. Enjoy yourself, you know-all lucky bastard."
As the helicopter lifted off to return to Auckland, Taylor put on his backpack and picked up two of Lydia's bags.
"We have a 15-minute walk."
