Forever Bountiful

Amber Jo Illsley

Description

We all need a good laugh on a regular basis, and reading this book is sure to do that for you.
The very learned, intuitive and crafty Dr Ulan Kavoski and his dodgy friends Grannie O’Shaunessy and Jock McFadden continue their humorous story in this second book set in the beginning of the new millennium. They are three very unlikely friends and as part of their modus operandi with others, that interaction is either for good, or more likely for bad...

Sujets

• Horse Racing
• Humor
• Nueva Zelanda
• New Zealand
• Nouvelle-Zélande

Informations

• Publié par: Balboa Press AU
• Date de parution: 09 mai 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781982296988
• Langue: English

Extrait

Forever Bountiful
 
 
 
 
 
Amber Jo Illsley
 
 
 

 
 
Copyright © 2023 Amber Jo Illsley.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
Balboa Press
A Division of Hay House
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.balboapress.com.au
AU TFN: 1 800 844 925 (Toll Free inside Australia)
AU Local: [phone] ([phone] from outside Australia)
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
ISBN: 978-1-9822-9697-1 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-9822-9698-8 (e)
 
Balboa Press rev. date: 03/13/2023
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Publications by the Author
This book is dedicated to my dear friend Arthur (Hubie) Roope, for his great humour, kindness and encouragement.
One

“W ILL YOU LOOK AT THAT!” SAID A FROWSY WOMAN to her only slightly better -dressed friend as they passed by an imposing man who was striding down the street. The women stopped and turned to ogle the man.
“Jeepers creepers, he can stick ‘is boots under me bed anytime he wants,” the second woman said, coughing as she did so. By a miracle, her dangling cigarette still dangled, stuck to her bottom lip.
“I saw ‘im first,” said the first woman, who was dressed in an ugly dark purple woollen dress, which did nothing for her complexion. And nor did the Dame Edna Everidge diamante-encrusted spectacles she wore.
“We saw ‘im tergether,” the second frowsy woman said, coughing again. This time her cigarette came unstuck, dropping onto the footpath. “Bugger.” She picked it up, gave it a bit of a dust-off and stuck it back in her mouth.
The big man heard them and carried on. Cheese and rice, not much of a recommendation for me, he thought, having glanced at them on his way past. A shame, as he did so love the colour purple and other similar colours, but not what he just saw. He gave a small shrug, intent on dismissing the women from his thoughts and continued walking.
With a tiny, almost secretive smile the big Aussie with a handsome face, curly dark hair and almost black-brown eyes and a distinctly Russian name continued purposefully down the main street of the small West Coast, New Zealand town of Huberton. He glanced back to see that the two rough-looking women were still staring after him, one of them coughing every so often. In a pig’s ear he’d be sticking his boots under either of their beds. If they thought that, they had another thought or even a hundred of them coming. And none of them would be any good as far as he was concerned.
He glanced around him and up at the sky, having almost forgotten the women - which was his intent, and smiling as he took in the fluffy clouds and a few towering macrocarpa trees just beyond the outskirts of the township, and sniffed the rain-washed air. It had rained earlier in the day and from the look of the clouds, rain threatened again.
But not for a few hours at least, he mused. In the meantime the air was delicious. He took another deep sniff, filling his lungs and smiling again as he did so. Seagulls flew overhead, some of them peacefully riding on the air currents. The doctor noted that the gulls were moving inland, a sign that heavy rain was due.
It was the new Millennium, and who knew what interesting things it would bring? Certainly not computers crashing and the world going mad, that’s for sure. The doctor already knew it had gone mad. After all the to-do; the fireworks and ferris wheels and huge monuments built around the world to commemorate the new millennium, the New Year had just continued on without too much fuss or bother, despite what the naysayers had been predicting.
En route down the main street, Dr Kavoski met a good-looking woman. She appealed to him enormously. Intent on going about her business she didn’t appear to notice him until she almost walked into him and then she apologised profusely.
“Oh I’m so sorry! My mind was elsewhere and I didn’t see you.”
“Hello, hello, hello M’am. I’m Doctor Ulan Kovoski. What’s your name?” he asked in a lowered voice, smiling at her as he was asking.
“Horniman...” she began in a throaty voice.
The doctor interrupted her. “Yes M’am, thank you for your compliment. I have had that said to me before, as you might appreciate.”
“No, no, I mean Horniman...”
“Yes yes, I know I am. But are you making an offer I can’t refuse?”
She took a step back. “Dr Kiosko, or whatever your name is – my name is Jane Horniman.”
“Your father must have been a horny man,” the doctor said with a snort.
“Well, of course he was! That was his family name.”
“It kept the family name going, no doubt,” the doctor replied. He doffed an imaginary hat. “Good day to you, M’am.”
The woman muttered something about it being a good day and marched on, the doctor watching her as she walked away. It gets them every time, he thought. What he’d said appeared to have gone right over her head.

Strolling in to the Labour Party office in a nonchalant manner, he closed the door quietly behind him. The doorbell gave a quiet ping: when he’d opened it again and when he’d shut it again, to get the attention of whoever was in the building. He thought it must become so tedious, hearing that all day. Rather like buttons flying off the too-tight shirt of an overweight man. Ping’s the thing, he thought. They should start off a weight watchers company with that as its slogan, showing buttons pinging off shirts and blouses.
Great for the button industry.
He gave a loud ‘ahem!’ when the very pretty receptionist, not appearing to have heard the doorbell, stayed focused on her computer screen. She suddenly spun around in fright when the big Aussie cast a shadow over her desk.
“Oh, I am so sorry! I was so engrossed in our party policies that I didn’t notice you come in.”
She flushed a becoming rosy shade and the big man lowered one dark eyebrow and in his rich deep voice said: “my dear young lady - am I so unnoticeable?”
The receptionist flushed even deeper and began to stammer. “Oh – er - I don’t really know how to answer that.”
“I’m told it’s very easy,” he said with a smile. “A simple yes or no would do.”
The receptionist smiled too, having recovered a little from the force of the big man with his naturally very dark curly hair that many women would give their eye-teeth for and his dark, probing eyes which were as dark as his hair – darker even, and held out her hand, rising from her desk at the same time.
“Shall we start again? I am Molly O’Shea, receptionist and PR officer to our local MP, Peter Swann.”
The doctor took her delicate hand in his, studied it for a moment, his thumb held lightly over her pulse and yes, it was racing. “Well then, Miss Molly O’Shea, indeed it is a pleasure to meet you.” He lingered over her hand for a few seconds longer than was polite, and she tugged at it. That action made the doctor hold it even tighter, but not too tight. She was a lovely, delicate-looking young lady, after all, and he had no wish to relinquish her hand too soon.
“My name is Dr Ulan Kavoski,” he boomed, and smiled when he saw her wince slightly. “I had heard there was a new receptionist in our good MP’s office, and I thought it would be appropriate for me to call in and make myself known.”
“That was very nice of you, Dr Kavoski. Are you a medical doctor?”
This time the doctor relinquished her hand, but not before he’d noticed that she wore only a small gold ring with an oval greenstone embellishing it, and that was on her right hand. Maybe he’d squeezed her hand too hard and the ring bit into her fingers. At least she was smiling still.
Interesting, he thought. I may have to pursue this lovely young maiden. He loved thinking in archaic terms. It seemed far more romantic to him. Not that he would have necessarily thought of himself a romantic man, but there you go. Even he would admit to having a quirk or two.
“No indeed, I am not a medical doctor. I have a d