When Abigail's Aunt Harriet told her she could bring along a friend with her to stay for Easter, she didn't stipulate until later it had to be a girl. But what was going on in the little village, cut-off from the rest of the world? This is a story set partly at Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, commonly known as SIGHS and involves young people involved in such things as humour, adventure, crossdressing and growing-up.

Part Two: Boys! Even when they're pretending to be girls, they can still make mysteries over the most stupid things. Or could there possibly be any basis to Ben's - oops, I mean Stevie's - suggestions?

Author's Note: This story is complete and will be published in four parts at approximately daily intervals.

"Girls. Come and meet my lodgers." Aunt Harriet said. She waved a hand around the seven or eight girls standing in her kitchen. I'd expected mature women, but these girls were not much older than ourselves. "This is my niece, Abby, and her friend, Stevie. Now why don't you all introduce yourselves in your perfect English?"

"Hello Abba and Stiphy," the nearest one to us said. "I am pleased to meet you." She held out her hand for me to shake and I rather stupidly took it. "My name is Anastasia."

"Hello, Anastasia," I said, as she pumped my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you too. But I would prefer it if you called me Abigail."

"Sorry?" She looked puzzled. "There is a strong wind coming?"

"I'm Stevie," Ben said before I could think of a reply. As Anastasia went to shake his hand he held up his own with his flat palm held upright. "No," he said. "We never shake hands when we meet like this." He pronounced each word carefully, adding, "Perhaps in business, but never when we meet informally."

Anastasia grinned at Ben, and I noticed she had whiter teeth than my own, damn her. "Thank you, Stiphy," she said. "You two girls can show us how normal English girls behave. Yes?"

"I think I need a few lessons, mys..." Ben started to say so I quickly interrupted. "We'll be delighted to, although we hardly regard ourselves as role models."

"No," she grinned back. "Mrs Starkey is the role model. You two are real girls."

Fortunately, the next girl was already introducing herself before either of us could think how to reply to that misassumption.

"I am Katya," she said, and gave a little wave instead of a handshake.

And so it went around the circle of smiling girls, who were all far more attractive than me. Ben seemed in his element, chatting with them and gently pointing out mistakes with their English. I guessed that, had he been dressed normally in those circumstances, he'd have been standing embarrassed in the corner. Hmm, I thought. I'd better watch out he doesn't get too chatty with any of them.

"Aunt," I said at the first opportunity. "We thought we'd go a walk around the village if that's all right with you."

"We're walking back to the schoolroom now," Anastasia said. "Why not walk with us and help us more with our English?"

So we all set out walking along the track from the house up the steep hill to what classified as the main road in the village, with the schoolroom standing a little distance along to the right. We bade them goodbye, there and turned in the opposite direction.

"They seem a really friendly bunch," Ben said.

"They are," I said, "but more importantly, you're behaving completely naturally with them. Well done."

He smirked a little. "They're very easy to talk to, and I also thought they're less likely to notice any slips I might make."

"You must love it," I said, "being surrounded by girls. Maybe you'd like to go back to being a boy,"

His face took on a look of horror. "Oh no," he said. "I'd be terribly awkward and embarrassed. I feel so much more natural as a girl.

"That sounds really weird, doesn't it?" he added, "when I'm actually the complete reverse of natural."

"No," I said. I stopped and turned to face him. "You were right first time. Natural is what you feel: not what society dictates."

He smiled shyly and then threw his arms around me and gave me a hug, pushing his big boobs into my chest. They felt sort of squiffy.

"Thanks, Abigail," he said. "You're a real friend.

"And if I did that when I was a boy," he continued, "you'd have slapped my face."

I opened my mouth to protest and then shut it again. Of course I'd have slapped the little runt's face if he'd tried anything on with me. A girl has to make it clear that no way does she want a romantic relationship with a little runt like that. "Maybe," I acknowledged. "Let's move on to the main part of the village, although there's not much of it. It's more a hamlet than a village."

We'd already walked past a few derelict houses and I explained to Ben a little of the village's background. "The place is based around a little boatyard on the river. It's been here for centuries and they used to build boats there.

"In the Second World War it became a place where they made those mini-submarines. They turned the dock into a dry dock, where they could float the submarines in on the high tide, then, as the tide went out, the submarine settled onto blocks on the bottom. Then they closed the lock gates at the entrance to the dock so that when the tide rose again, it didn't flood the dock."

"How incredibly exciting," Ben said. "Can we go and see it?"

I was rather touched at how interested he was in what was now a fairly desolate place. "We'll visit that last," I told him, "then we can walk back along the river path to Aunt's house. First, let's visit the village shop."

Mr Ahmed had run the village shop in Combehaven ever since I could remember. His face perpetually smiled, and when I was tiny, he'd slip me little sweets. Of course, that guaranteed that when I grew up, I'd always come back to his shop. But today, even though the sign on the door stated 'Open', the place was all in darkness.

"Hello?" I shouted, pushing open the door which gave its characteristic 'bing-bong'.

It was like stepping into a ghost shop. It used to be crowded with packs of toilet paper and bottles of wine, special offers on dog food and nappies, and throughout the holiday season, it was full of shoppers from the nearby caravan park. But in the dim light I could barely see a thing, apart from empty shelves.

A door opened from the interior, a shaft of light lancing across the empty shop. The shadow was temporarily blocked as someone stepped into the room, someone quite big who moved quietly. I suddenly felt seriously scared.

"Oh, hello Abigail," said Mrs Clark, as she flicked the light switch and I could see her properly. "Your aunt said you were coming to stay for Easter with a friend. You must be Anna," she said to Ben.

"Anna couldn't come," I said, rather annoyed not just because I'd been scared by the darkened room but also that she'd let slip that Ben wasn't my first choice. "This is... Stevie." In my anger, I'd almost called him by his real name! I'd have to watch that.

Mrs Clark was probably as old as my aunt – somewhere in her fifties – but she looked positively ancient in comparison and was one of those people who are always moaning. She gave Stevie a grimace rather than a smile.

"Mrs Clark, what's happened to the shop? Where's Ahmed?" I asked.

"After the bridge came down last year and cut us off, the whole area has gone out of business. The caravan park closed down, as did the boatyard. Mr Ahmed hung on as long as he could but eventually went into receivership and had to go and live with one of his sons in Seacombe. We formed a little cooperative in the village and when the receivers couldn't sell or rent out the shop, they let us take it on at a peppercorn rent. We man it on a voluntary basis, although I seem to get the brunt of the work. We keep the lights turned off to save electricity unless there's a customer in the shop. So, are you buying anything or just wasting time?"

"Could I buy a newspaper, please, Mrs Clark?" Ben said.

"Newspapers have to be specially ordered and paid for in advance," she said, seemingly rather pleased that she couldn't fulfil his order. "Which one did you want?"

"I wanted the Daily Mail," Ben said, "but if you don't have any it doesn't matter."

"The Daily Mail?" She gave him a strange, questioning look. "No. We don't sell the Daily Mail."

"OK," Ben said. "Well it doesn't matter." He looked at me and said, "Shall we continue our tour, Abigail? I'm looking forward to seeing that little boatyard."

"The boatyard's closed!" Mrs Clark snapped. "Don't you two go hanging about there. It's dangerous and if you do have an accident we'll get the blame."

"Can't we just look…" Ben started to say.

"No you can't!" Mrs Clark shouted. "Keep away from it. We don't need girls like you around here."

We left the shop feeling rather subdued. Mrs Clark was starring daggers at Ben, and I'm sure she was muttering under her breath, "All boobs and no knickers."

"I'm frightfully sorry about that, Stevie," I said, aware of Mr Robinson staring at us from across the road. "Hello Mr Robinson. This is my friend Stevie. We're staying with Aunt Harriet for Easter." Mr Robinson was a pensioner who'd seemed to have been elderly ever since I was a little girl, so heaven knows how old he was. Unlike Mrs Clark, he was always smiling.

"Pleased to meet you, Stevie." Mr Robinson's face had lit up as I greeted him. "Hello Abigail. It's nice to see someone I know in the village. I mean, the foreign girls are all very nice, but their English isn't very good and it's difficult chatting them up."

I couldn't help smiling at the idea of him chatting up all those young women.

"There you are," he claimed. "One sentence and I have a smile from you. I reckon we'll be on a date quite soon. Perhaps Stevie will make it a threesome."

"Er..." Ben looked a little gobsmacked at his offer

"She may have the figure," I teased, "but she's not into the wild parties like we are."

"You know, Abigail, I could be locked up for what I'm thinking."

"As long as you only think it," I said, "they can't lock you up."

"Who said it was only in my thoughts?" He grinned at us. "If only. Have a nice afternoon, you two."

"Thank you, Mr Robinson," we both chanted as he went on his way towards his cottage.

"That was non-stop sexual innuendo," Ben said. "You shouldn't encourage him."

"But he's lovely," I said. "We made his day and there's nothing wrong in that."

"Dirty old man," I heard Ben mutter.

***

We meandered through the village meeting just a few more residents - Mrs Thomas, Mr Davis and Mrs Marshall. Finally, we were walking down the last few yards towards the boatyard, with its tall, black metal gates firmly shut. 'Boatyard Closed. No entry. Danger!' the large sign declared. Beneath it was a notice stating the name and address of the company receivers, to whom any unpaid claims should be sent.

"Sorry, Ben," I said. "It looks like we're not going to be able to see the yard after all."

"Hmm," he muttered, walking over to the gates, peering through the gap between them and giving them a shake. "By the way," he added, "it's probably better if you stop calling me Ben. A couple of times you almost used it in front of other people. Stevie is fine with me.

"There," he said, as the left gate moved forward a few inches. "This is not locked, just stiff because it's dragging on the ground. If you give me a hand, we can push it open sufficient to squeeze through."

I screwed up my nose. "I'm not certain this is a good idea, Ben... I mean Stevie. We could get into trouble."

"The company's gone bankrupt," he said. "That means no one owns it. In any case, we only want a look; it's not as though we're trying to steal anything."

"No, but..."

"Look." He waved up the road and I followed his wave. The road was deserted for the hundred yards or so we could see. "Come on," he continued. "Don't be such a wimp. This is fun."

So we both lifted and pushed the one gate so it opened sufficient to squeeze through. Stevie (got it right, that time), went first and I followed, after giving another careful look up the road.

I'd been there a few times as a child but never recently. Like I said, it always seemed rather boring to me. It wasn't boring that afternoon – it was incredibly scary. Not only was I frightened we'd be arrested for breaking and entering, but it was all so desolate, I could feel the ghosts of those submariners who went on missions from this yard and never came back.

There was a roof over the top of the dock – and if you look on a satellite map you can see it's still painted in camouflage colours – but no sides, presumably to let in light. It meant we were exposed to the chilly breeze which came in from the river. Within seconds, I was shivering.

The dock was partly full of water, and there was a small fishing boat moored at the far side of it.

"That's strange," Stevie said.

"What is?"

"The dock's partly full of water but the tide's out."

"But I told you about the lock gate at the entrance to the dock," I said, pointing to the left where we could see the river. With the tide out, it mainly comprised mud flats. "The gate's being used to keep the water in, not out."

"But that means there must be two gates," Stevie said He walked towards that end. "One to keep water in and another to keep water out."

"Is there a point to this conversation," I asked. "So what if they can keep the water in and use it like a normal dock. It stops that boat going up and down with the tide."

"Suppose so," Stevie said, "but I was hoping to see the dock empty.

"In any case," he added, "who owns that boat?"

"Presumably," I said, "it belongs to the boatyard. Does it matter?"

"The receivers would have sold it off if it did," he said. "Yet that boat is clearly in working order, and whoever owns it has closed the dock gate to keep the water in. That means, there could be someone around..."

"What are you two girls doing here?" A man's voice rang out from behind us and we both jumped like startled rabbits, turning round to face him.

"Jethro," I said, recognising him as the spotty-faced teenage son of Mrs Clark whom I'd known when I came here as a child. Now he was a nasty-looking man, with an evil leer on his face as he stared at Stevie's breasts.

He quickly glanced at me before his gaze returned to Stevie's chest. We'd started to walk towards him and I suddenly became aware out of the corner of my eye how Stevie's boobs were bouncing up and down. Strange. I'd never noticed them before but Jethro had immediately locked onto them.

"You're that annoying little brat, Abigail Peters," he said. "You'd better introduce your friend."

"I'm Stevie," he said. "We were just looking round."

Good for Stevie. I was almost wetting my pants with terror whilst he was totally shameless.

"You've probably been nicking stuff," he said, "but there's no need to involve the police. I'd better frisk you both down." He grinned and pointed at Stevie. "I'll start with you."

"Fuck off," Stevie said. "Abigail telephone the police, and he can go to prison for assaulting a minor. Then all the other prisoners will gang up on him and cut off his balls."

"OK," Jethro said, holding up his hand. "Only joking. But you can both fuck off out of here." He pointed to the gate. "And don't come back. This is private property and it's dangerous in here."

We squeezed back through the gap between the gates, my heart racing fit to burst. As soon as Jethro had pushed the gate shut behind us, I turned to Ben – it was definitely Ben now – and hugged him tightly.

"You were fantastic" I said. "I was simply petrified. Why weren't you frightened?"

He grinned back at me. "I haven't as much to lose as you do," he said. "In any case, I see now why girls always go round in pairs. They don't even go to the toilet on their own. He couldn't attack me and at the same time prevent you telephoning the police."

"Ah," I said. "I need to tell you about that. You see, I left my mobile phone charging in our bedroom."

His mouth opened wide and – OK, call it stress in the heat of the moment – I planted my lips over his and snogged him.

"Fucking lessies," we heard from behind the gates. Jethro must have been peering between the gap.

***

Rather than walking back through the village, we followed the reasonably level path along the river bank towards the house.

"It was just because I was scared," I said. "I don't want you to read anything into it."

"It was nice though," Stevie said.

"It wasn't totally disgusting," I agreed, trying not to reveal the surge of excitement which had swept through me. Trying to change the subject, I said, "Wasn't he horrible."

Stevie shrugged. "Lots of boys at school make similar suggestions to girls."

"But he isn't a schoolboy," I said. "He's an adult talking to schoolgirls,"

"I don't feel very school-girlish with these things bouncing around on my chest. You know that you've given me serious sex symbols."

"They're just lumps of fat," I said. "Do men really think they're sex symbols?" Emily had said something similar but I hadn't figured it.

"I've always been terrified of girls with huge breasts," Stevie admitted. "Now I have them, I feel different. I can understand what girls have to put up with on a daily basis. You know, Abigail, you don't realise how lucky you are having a wonderful figure like yours."

Another flutter in my heart. "Wonderful? But I'm skinny. You said just now that big breasts are a sex symbol. That's why so many girls have enhancements."

"Don't have an enhancement, Abigail. You're perfect the way you are."

Perfect! This conversation was getting out of hand. Remember, I had to sleep in the same bed as the little runt tonight, and there was no way I was getting into any kind of relationship with him. For the next two weeks, Ben was Stephanie, a girl with two big breasts that bounced and jiggled as he walked along the path. Whatever may have been buried between his legs, would remain buried.

"At least you've seen the boatyard, now," I said. "Hopefully that's sated your curiosity."

"Of course not," she said. "There's a mystery we have to solve."

"Mystery? What mystery?"

"The Mystery of the Water in the Dock, of course." He really did pronounce it as though it was a Famous Five adventure.

"Why is it a mystery? There are lots of small docks like that one. Ships come in and unload their cargo then leave on the next tide."

"Precisely." Stevie spoke as though I'd made a good point. "But that wasn't a ship; it was a fishing boat. You see them in little harbours all around the coasts of Britain. They'll come up to the quayside to unload their catch, but then go and moor elsewhere. When the tide goes out, they simply settle on the bottom. They come and go with the tides. There's no point in going through the rigmarole of entering a dock and closing the gate to keep the water in."

"I think you're making a mystery out of nothing. I suppose it is strange that everyone says the boatyard is closed, yet Jethro is clearly using it, but these fishermen are a law unto themselves. He's probably there without the knowledge of the official receivers."

"Where did he come from just now?" Stevie asked.

"He must have been working in the boatyard somewhere."

"But where? When I went through the gate, I looked all round, just in case there was someone inside. There wasn't."

He had a point. I'd done exactly the same; and we'd both looked up the road beforehand to make certain there was no one approaching. "He must have been on the boat."

"Which was moored on the opposite side of the dock," he said. "He'd have had to walk all around the dock to get up behind us."

"There was a kind of pontoon thing, floating on the water," I said, with a flash of memory.

"Which had no one on it," Stevie said. He was right, otherwise we'd both have seen him.

"Does it matter?" I asked. "The point is, he must have been there somewhere; perhaps he was standing in a corner having a crafty fag."

"It's another part of the mystery," Stevie said, mysteriously.

Boys, I thought. They never grow up. Talking of which, "I'm going to talk to Aunt about Jethro," I said. "I think he's dangerous."

***

"What were you doing in the boatyard?" Aunt asked. "It's dangerous in there. There's a sign on the gate." Instead of being shocked at Jethro's behaviour, she was angry at Stevie and me for going into the boatyard.

"It was my fault, Mrs Peters," Stevie said. "Abigail didn't want to step foot inside, but I made her because I was really interested."

"It doesn't matter who initiated the idea. You both went past the danger sign. You could have been involved in a nasty accident. Promise me you won't do that again."

"We promise, Aunt," I said, giving Stevie a look and he nodded and said he promised as well. "But Aunt," I added, "I thought Jethro was going to rape us. He shouldn't be allowed to get away with it."

"He made a lewd suggestion," Aunt said. "That is not rape. Perhaps some of your friends would be only too pleased to be frisked down by a very fit young man like Jethro."

Fit! Aunt surely had to be joking. "But we're under the age of consent…" I started to say, when Aunt interrupted.

"But you have to remember that you are now both sexually mature young women. I know it's pointless to tell you to continue to dress like children, but you have to be aware that it's perfectly normal for every adult heterosexual male to want to have sex with you. So be careful, and do keep together. Combehaven may appear like the epitome of English civilisation, but sex is still rampant. OK?"

"Yes Aunt." "Yes, Mrs Peters."

"And for heaven's sake, she added, "Stevie, please call me Harriet."

"Yes, er, Harriet."

***

Dinner was a very jolly affair. It was cooked by the students, and Aunt Harriet had a rule that only English was to be spoken in the house. Now that I'd accepted that Stevie was a friend who happened to be a girl, it didn't seem to matter that he was better than me at conversing with them. I was sitting next to Katya and once I'd got used to her accent, we had a great conversation. She told me she was from Croatia, and had moved to England because of the better job prospects here. I guessed there were a lot of Little Englanders who hated the idea of 'foreigners' moving to England but it didn't bother me. Being part of the EU meant that I could just as easily go and live in Germany or France, and it also meant I met interesting people like Katya and Anastasia.

We stayed up talking until quite late, but then one of the women started yawning, and suddenly, we all were. We all went up to bed at about the same time, and it was then I remembered that Stevie and I were sharing a bed.

"I'll go to the bathroom and clean my teeth if you wish to get ready for bed," Stevie said.

"Don't be too quick," I told him. "I'll murder you if I'm half undressed when you come back."

He smirked at me and said he wouldn't.

***

"Wha..." I jerked awake, aware someone had entered my bedroom. Stevie was standing there looking as though I'd scared him half to death.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "Sorry."

"That's all right," I said. "I have to go and clean my teeth, anyway. It'll give you chance to get into your pyjamas." I paused as he seemed reluctant to move. "Are you all right?" I asked him.

My question seemed to jolt him back into life. "I'm fine," he said. "Just fine.

"Except that..." He paused. "Well, I can't unfasten the gusset thing."

Uh-uh. I'd have to put this carefully. "I told you you'd have to be a girl for the whole of the two weeks. You won't be able to take it off."

"But I must," he said. "There are… pressing reasons... male reasons."

Well, he wasn't catching me like that. Even if I could have taken it off, I wasn't going to have him waving his enormous thing in my face. "I'm sorry," I said. "You're stuck in that Torsolet for the next two weeks and I can't do anything about it."

His reaction took me totally by surprise. He burst into tears. I took him into my arms again and hugged him, and made, "There. There," noises. Of course, his ginormous breasts were squashing against me, and they really felt quite squashy. I was tempted to lift a hand and give them a squeeze, just to find out what they felt like, but I knew exactly where that would get us. In order to reduce the pressure between our breasts, I arched my back a little, and that's when I had this little electric tingle down below, if you know what I mean. Trying not to gasp, I realised our stomachs were touching each other, and that includes that little mound right at the base of our tummies. Looking into Stevie's face, I could see he felt the same tingle, so I rapidly pushed him away.

"I think it's time I cleaned my teeth," I said. "You need to get into your pyjamas."

"Did you pack me some?" he asked.

Cripes! I suddenly remembered finding the drawer in which Stephanie kept her nightwear. In a fit of devilment, I'd packed several pairs of harem pants and tops. "Yes," I told him. "You'll find them at the bottom of your rucksack."

I grabbed my toilet bag and dashed to the bathroom before he had chance to locate them. There was no lock on the bathroom door, and I'd opened it and stepped inside before I realised it was already occupied.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't realise..."

I stopped because there wasn't just one girl in there, there were several and at least three of them were totally naked! No wonder Stevie had been in shock when he returned. And no wonder he had taken so long. And particularly no wonder he wanted to get out of the Torsolet and wave his thing at me.

Looking around the bathroom, it was clear that Aunt had had it extensively modified to cater for her dozen female lodgers. There was a communal shower area and communal washbasins, as well as three WC cubicles. No wonder Aunt had objected to my bringing a boy with me!

***

"You were a long time in the bathroom," I said to Stevie a few minutes later as I returned to our bedroom. "I wonder why?"

"Hi, Abigail." He looked both relieved and guilty at the same time. I mean, how weird does that sound?

Fortunately, he seemed quite oblivious of the harem plunge top he was wearing which gave him a fantastic cleavage, and through which I could just discern nipples through the semi-transparent material. Steady, I thought. You are not becoming a lesbian; that would make life in a female dormitory just too complicated. Come on, Abigail; get a grip. "Did it really take you all that time to clean your teeth?" I asked.

"I got chatting to the girls again. They seemed quite oblivious of their nakedness, and I didn't like to show how shocked I was."

"Shocked?" I asked, "or excited."

He grinned at me. "Both, I guess."

I couldn't help but grin back. "Well I guess I got you into this so I've only myself to blame. Just wait until tomorrow. Aunt wants us to dress up in her Victorian clothes and be sketched."

"Great," he said, with a huge smile on his face.

It really was disconcerting, I thought, just how much he was enjoying this. But I had to admit, it was far more fun than if I'd invited Anna.

***

"Aunt! You can't expect us to wear a corset!" I said.

"Of course that's what Harriet expects," Stevie said. "All Victorian women wore corsets so obviously we have to."

I grimaced at Ben. He should be on my side; instead he was merely egging Aunt on.

"They're lovely clothes," Harriet," he continued. "Which ones do you want us to wear first?"

"I've taken a flyer with some of the sizes," she said. "Let's get you both corseted up, and then we'll see which clothes fit you best. I want to sketch you in some normal day wear, as well as dresses suitable for a ball or a party. I thought you could wear those on Easter Day, then I can get several sketches of you both in ballgowns.

"And it's no good you pulling that face, Abby," she said. "Stevie's enjoying it, so I don't see why you shouldn't."

"Let's see how much she enjoys it after we've got our corsets on," I said.

Actually, since Aunt already knew my size, my corset wasn't too bad a fit. Sure it was slightly uncomfortable as it was tightened, but it really did push up my tiny breasts into a quite presentable shape. For once, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to wear a low-cut dress.

Aunt had bought the other clothes for Anna, whom she'd met on one occasion, and had a vague idea of her shape. Correspondingly, Stevie's corset had to be tightened rather more than mine, which I thought was poetic justice. He could hardly whinge when I helped Aunt pull in the cords, and it must have hurt like crazy, but give Stevie his due, he put up with it. It left him with a staggeringly beautiful shape, his waist looked so tiny beneath those huge breasts, quivering out of the top of the corset like party-sized jellies. Jethro would have been driven crazy with lust.

We tried on our day dresses, and I have to say, I looked quite half-decent in mine. Stevie looked a little like Barbara Windsor in one of those Carry On movies, except that his breasts were about twice the size of hers!

"Wonderful," Aunt enthused. "I may have to tone down the size of your breasts, Stevie, when I draw you. The book is for teenagers after all."

"In that case," I quipped, "maybe you should make them even larger."

"I want parents to buy the book to encourage their children," Aunt said. "Not ban them from reading it."

***

Being an artist's model may sound glamourous, but in reality, it's as boring as one of Mr Duncan's Chemistry lessons – except that it goes on for far longer. At least Stevie and I were allowed to talk, as long as we didn't open our mouths too wide or look at each other. It was a bit like one of those old spy movies where they mutter code phrases at each other, whilst pretending they're not having a conversation. The really good thing was that Aunt was sitting some distance away and we could quietly converse without her overhearing.

"Any further forward with The Mystery of the Water in the Dock?" I teased Stevie.

"I've been thinking about it," he said, taking my question perfectly seriously. "You're right of course, that there may be a perfectly innocent explanation for it..."

"There you are," I said.

"...but I'm inclined to think not," he continued as though I hadn't spoken. "Did you notice your aunt didn't try to explain why Jethro was at the dock?"

"She probably doesn't know."

"It's a country village," he said. "Everybody knows everybody else's business. She didn't even say, 'That's strange,' or something like that. No she has a good idea what Jethro is up to."

"What do you think it is?"

He shrugged, and I heard Aunt Harriet hiss with exasperation, as she did with every movement either of us made. "My guess is that it's smuggling," he said. "He brings his boat into that dock to unload something, so smuggling's the obvious answer."

"Alcohol? Drugs?"

"It could be either," he said. "But bearing in mind that it's got to be transported in that Land Rover to Seacombe or beyond, it can't be anything too bulky. My guess is on drugs."

"He could just be supplying the local villagers with cheap booze," I suggested.

"There aren't enough people living here to make it worth his while to do it. It's not even as though there's a pub in the village. But Combehaven has this superb advantage over almost anywhere else in England. It's almost inaccessible, yet it's only a few miles downriver to the sea and then to France. When it was easy to get here, there wasn't much worth coming for. Now you need a 4x4, I bet the police or Customs and Excise never come near. At the same time, the village is dying – you saw all those deserted houses. It must be impossible to sell or rent a house if you want to move away."

You mean," I said, "that the villagers know about the drug smuggling but turn a blind eye to it."

"Precisely. But at the moment we have nothing concrete we could take to the police. We need to get some firm evidence."

"But if my aunt's involved, you can't report her to the police."

"I'm not saying she's involved; just that she's turning a blind eye to it. They can't arrest the whole village. What's really great is they've built up this EFL teaching course. Several people are boarding the students; the shop will do well out of them. If it becomes a regular business, perhaps they won't need to turn a blind eye to smuggling."

"You mean we just let situation work itself out?" I rather hopefully said. I couldn't imagine what my parents would say to me if I got my aunt arrested for drug smuggling. And in spite of the sketching, I rather liked her.

"Of course not," Stevie scoffed. "Besides, I have the bit between the teeth now. I'm going to solve The Mystery of the Water in the Dock."

"Right," I rather hopelessly said."

***

"I think it's time to break for lunch," Aunt said just before midday. "I've got a meeting later on this afternoon, but I would like get in another hour's sketching after lunch, so keep your dresses on, but take care you don't spill anything on them."

By now, I'd resigned myself to wearing Victorian dress for much of the holiday. To be honest, Stevie's enthusiasm was catching, particularly as I really felt quite elegant in the day dress which teenagers would have worn in the nineteenth century. It was a fairly cool April day, and the long-sleeved bodices we were both wearing had been plenty warm enough, even though we'd been sitting still. The corset was quite restricting, but then I've never been any kind of tomboy, so I didn't really mind that. But of one thing I was certain; absolutely no one at school was ever going to hear about this – and I'd mercilessly blackmail Ben to make certain he never told anyone.

So the students at lunch gently teased us about our dress, but I felt several of them were quite envious. Once more, we had a great conversation although I felt Stevie looked a bit embarrassed with some of the girls he'd seen naked the night before. But then, I could hardly blame him; and it was me who'd got him into everything.

It was as we were finishing lunch, and the students were clearing away and stacking the dishwasher that the phone call came in. My aunt went off to take it.

"That was one of our neighbours, Nancy Pennington," she said when she returned, "who lives a mile up-river. She has a Victorian steam launch and she's offered to let me use it in my sketches. It seems that this morning, Larry, her husband, has fired it up and it's now steaming merrily away and is all ready for me to collect. The only problem is that I have a meeting of our village cooperative at three, this afternoon, so I hardly have time to mess around with a steam launch. I'm hoping that you two will be able to help me."

I was starting to pull a dubious face – a steam launch sounded not only quite techy but also an extremely dirty job – but Stevie leapt into the challenge. "Of course, Harriet. We'd love to do it, wouldn't we, Abigail?"

"Well, I…"

"That's great," Aunt said before I could raise my objections. "I'll run you over there in the boat, and you can then come back in your own time."

"But don't we need to change out of our dresses?" I said. "We don't want to mess them up."

"Nancy says it's not at all messy. We haven't got much time so come as you are."

So, less than ten minutes later, we were in Aunt's motorboat and moving out of her boathouse into the River Combe, and heading upstream. We looked an incongruous group – two elegant looking Victorian teenagers and a middle-aged woman in jeans and anorak.

When I'd first arrived at SIGHS and Aunt had told me she had a boat, I'd dreamt of a fabulous speedboat. Instead it was a crummy little thing with a puny outboard motor, which travelled at about two miles an hour – in the reverse direction if the tide was against us! Fortunately, that afternoon, it was running in our favour so it only took us an eternity to arrive at the Pennington's and we had plenty of time for conversation with my aunt.

"How often does your committee meet?" I asked her, and Stevie gave me a tiny nod, as though I'd said something he approved of, rather than me just having a chat, which is what I was actually doing.

"It's normally every week," Aunt said. "We meet in the schoolhouse so Mrs Starkey lets the students go early."

"Every week!" Stevie said. "I wouldn't have thought there was that much to talk about."

Aunt appeared flustered by his question. "Well it's mainly about coordinating the departure and arrival of the girls. Everyone's boarding at least a couple of students; I have the most with twelve, so we all need to know. Then simply shipping them in and out of the place is a bit of a nightmare, and it's not just the bumpy track. Seacombe isn't well served by long distance coach transport and rail is too expensive. So Mrs Starkey drives the Land Rover up to London and drops half a dozen students at Heathrow Airport, whilst Jethro hires a the large minibus and drives to Birmingham, then on to Leeds and Manchester."

"So Jethro is part of your cooperative," Stevie said.

"Everybody in the village is," Aunt said. "Being so much younger than most of us makes Jethro extremely useful."

So there it was. No wonder Aunt had stood up for Jethro; he was essential to the co-op, and hence the village's future. "Presumably, Aunt," I said, deciding to change the subject, "they pick up the next set of students as they go."

"Well, no," she replied. "We're not yet running courses end to end, so there's a break of a few days before the next lot arrive. Maybe later on, but at the moment we're trying not to run before we can walk."

"So Jethro must be gone for a couple of days," Stevie said. I could see what he was thinking; with Jethro out of the way, we'd be able to explore the boatyard at leisure.

"No." Aunt shook her head. "No, he does the whole trip in one day. He sets out very early in the morning and gets back late at night, so you may sometimes hear the Land Rover being driven at weird times of the night, but it's nothing to worry about." She pointed to a mansion house on a hill above the river, some distance away. "That's the Pennington's place up there."

It was a fabulous place – one of those classical Palladian style mansions with columns. On the riverside, below, was a superb matching boathouse, clearly our destination.

Aunt Harriet told us a little about the famous author who'd once lived there, and how there was now a little museum in her name. (Read Unconsummated Love if you want to learn more about her and the events which recently went on there.)

Eventually, we arrived at the boathouse and Aunt steered the boat straight inside. It was full of smoke and we all started to cough a little.

"Hmm," Aunt muttered. "I never thought about smoke on your clothes. Never mind. You can see why I was so pleased Nancy offered to loan us the steam launch."

"It's super, Harriet," Stevie said, admiring the lovely old boat. "All that polished brass. It really looks quite appropriate for two elegant Victorian ladies."

"You'd better go off and see if you can find Nancy or Larry," Aunt said. "I have to head straight back to Combehaven or I'll miss the start of my meeting. Keep out of the smoke as much as you can."

We barely had time to get out of the boat onto the boardwalk before she was pushing off and heading back downriver.

"Let's walk up to the house," Stevie said. "Presumably we'll meet up with Mr and Mrs Pennington there."

In fact, Mr Pennington (call me Larry) had seen us arrive and was already walking down the path from the house.

"Welcome, welcome," he called to us in a broad American accent. "You two beautiful ladies must be Abby and Stevie. Now which is which?"

So we introduced ourselves. Once again, a male's eyes were drawn like magnets straight to Stevie's breasts pushing out the top of her dress. How stupid men were! Except that Ben had said I had the perfect figure!

Larry wanted to show us around the museum, and no doubt would like to have extended it to an overnight stay with Stevie sharing his bed! We said we had to get back fairly promptly so he walked with us back down to the boathouse and showed Stevie the controls of the steam launch.

Stevie seemed to make quite a meal of it all. After Larry had explained everything at least three times over for Stevie's benefit, I felt that even I could manage it, but Stevie went on about whether we needed to oil it or grease it or whatever.

Of course, Larry was only too happy to peer down Stevie's cleavage whilst muttering about the engine.

After about twenty minutes of wasted time, we were finally leaving the boathouse.

"Did you have to go through everything ten times over?" I pointedly asked.

"Sorry about that," he said, "but I wanted to give Harriet plenty of time to head back to Combehaven. Otherwise, with the speed that boat was going, we'd have caught up with her straightaway."

"Is that a problem?" I asked.

"Of course." He looked at me as though I'd asked a stupid question, and then went on, "It was so clever of you to get her to tell us that Jethro is on the committee, and so will be at the meeting this afternoon."

"You mean... You mean you want to go to the boatyard this afternoon?" After what happened last time, I couldn't believe he'd even suggest such a stupid thing.

"Of course. We can take the steam launch right up to it, moor there and wander all around without even having to open those gates - Jethro has probably locked them, anyhow."

"But what if he catches us again?"

"Well, he's not going to, is he? He'll be at the meeting which starts at three. He won't be back before four. Even if he is, we'll hear him opening the gate and do a bunk."

"But we promised Aunt we wouldn't go there again."

"No. We promised we wouldn't go past the Danger sign. Well, we're not going to."

"But... But..."

"But nothing. Don't be such a wimp, Abigail. You can stay in the boat if you're really frightened."

When Abigail's Aunt Harriet told her she could bring along a friend with her to stay for Easter, she didn't stipulate until later it had to be a girl. But what was going on in the little village, cut-off from the rest of the world? This is a story set partly at Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, commonly known as SIGHS and involves young people involved in such things as humour, adventure, crossdressing and growing-up.

Part Three: In which I become a Mata Hari!

Author's Note: This story is complete and will be published in four parts at approximately daily intervals.

In the end, I decided it would be better to go with him than be left behind on the steam launch, not knowing what troubles he was getting himself into. He was right that we could steam right up to the dock wall and tie up the launch to a ladder. The first problem was trying to climb the ladder wearing a long dress over a crinoline! In the end, we decided we'd remove our dresses and crinolines and explore wearing just our corsets, woollen stockings and shoes.

Of course, it left a wide expanse of thigh revealed, as well as our shoulders and the top of our breasts. Stevie, with his Torsolet covering his upper half was fine, but I had goose bumps all over my breasts and arms. If Jethro was still around the dock, he'd probably explode with erotic passion at the sight of us.

So Stevie climbed up the ladder to the dock, cautiously sticking his head over and looking carefully around. Then he motioned me to follow and climbed over the top.

By the time I was standing on the dockside, he was already several yards away, staring at the lock gates which sealed off the dock from the river.

"I was right," he said. "There are two lock gates."

I nodded, and if I looked as though I couldn't care less, that's because I couldn't. "Are you certain there's no one around," I asked.

He gesticulated around the dock. There were a couple of large single-story buildings, with locked padlocks clearly visible on the outside, but those aside there was nowhere where anyone could possibly be, except...

"What about on the fishing boat?" I asked. "There could be someone on board that."

Stevie sniffed, then went walking along the dock until he reached the fishing boat. There was a ladder leading down from the dockside to the deck of the boat, and he climbed down it. He looked incredibly erotic in just his corset and stockings, and I wondered just what would happen if Jethro suddenly appeared.

But he did not. Stevie poked his head inside the wheelhouse and then looked down a hatch.

"You'd better come down and see this," he called.

"You want me to come down there!" He might as well have been inviting me into hell.

"Come on. You are a wimp."

Personally, I thought being a wimp was quite sensible – the kind of person who survives when others are leaping into danger. All the same, my curiosity was piqued and I carefully climbed down the ladder to the deck. It was only there that the smell hit me. There was no doubt this was a fishing boat; no doubt at all.

"First of all," Stevie sad, "look down this hatch."

He pointed to the one in the foredeck and I stepped over and looked down. It's only now I was on the boat that I realised how small it was. Two paces and I was standing looking down into a small storage space, and from the smell there was no doubt what this was used for.

"What about it?" I asked.

"Imagine you were smuggling cases of whisky," Stevie said. "How many do you think you could pack down there?"

It wasn't so much the overall size that was the problem as the low height and the funny shape. Right below the hatch, you could probably put one box on top of another; then perhaps one or two on either side.

"Five? Six?" I guessed. "It's a lot smaller than I imagined. And the weird shape means you can't stack them."

"Precisely," Stevie agreed. "Now come and look in the wheelhouse and see how many cases you'd get in there."

It was tiny. OK, there was space for the helmsman and perhaps one other to sit on a narrow shelf, squashed together for warmth, but no way could you store much else.

"If there was only one person in here," I suggested, "you could stack boxes to the ceiling."

"But not if you want to conceal them," Stevie said. "If the coastguard shone a spotlight on you, it'd be obvious you had boxes stuffed in here.

"OK," he continued, "there are probably several more lockers where you can store the odd box or two, but if it's alcohol he's smuggling, then it's no great deal. Right?"

"Whereas," I said, "if it's heroin, you could get tens of thousands of pounds worth of plastic bags down that hatch."

"Precisely. So we're agreed he's a drug smuggler."

"Hang on," I said. "We don't have any evidence he's any kind of smuggler at all. And this boat is so small; could it really cross the English Channel, and what's more, could it do so without raising suspicion?" I suddenly realised I was shivering like crazy. No wonder, my shoulders and upper torso were totally exposed, and it was a cold April day.

Stevie saw my plight and suggested I should go back to the launch and put on my lovely warm dress. "I'm just going round to look at that pontoon where Jethro must have been working when we arrived yesterday."

"I don't know why you're wasting your time," I called over my shoulder as I ran as fast as I could back to the steam launch. The wonderful thing about a steam launch is that it has a boiler, which gives off lots of heat. We'd left our clothes quite close to it, taking care they weren't going to catch fire; now they were lovely and warm. It had taken me ages to put them on this morning, but it's amazing how quickly you can do things when you're freezing to death. So I was properly dressed and even getting warm again, by the time Stevie returned.

"Did you see anything?" I asked him as I held up his dress for him to slip into.

"It was just a pontoon – a sort of floating box so they can work around a ship's waterline. There was nothing there at all, apart from an old tyre floating in the water. I just don't understand where Jethro was when we arrived yesterday, so he could come up behind us like that."

"Look," I said, having had a chance to get my thoughts around his suggestion. "Maybe you're making mountains out of molehills. All we know is that Jethro keeps his boat here, and that he sneaked up on us yesterday afternoon when we broke in. So what if he's repairing his boat without the permission of the receivers? It really doesn't make him a drug smuggler."

"Then why didn't Harriet explain what he's doing here when we spoke to her about Jethro? And did you notice how she changed the subject just now after we got onto how Jethro is touring the country on the pretext of saving the girls the cost of their train fares. That's a pretty puny excuse anyway. He's obviously distributing the drugs; Mrs Starkey as well, no doubt."

"Mrs Starkey!" I was aghast. "You're saying she's in on it?"

"Abigail." He spoke kindly, knowing how I would feel about it. "The whole village has to be in on it. That's clearly what they plot at their cooperative meetings."

"You mean my aunt, Mr Robinson and Mrs Clark?"

"You told me that Mrs Clark is Jethro's mother. Did you know that Mr Robinson is Mrs Starkey's father?"

"Mrs Starkey's father!" I was gobsmacked. "How did you know that?"

"It's no secret. One of the girls told me at dinner last night."

He was dressed by this time and I thankfully cast off from the dock whilst he powered the launch away and into the main river channel. It gave me a little time to collect my thoughts.

"You haven't met Mrs Starkey, have you?"

He shook his head.

"We'll go and meet her tomorrow. When you see her, you'll realise she couldn't possibly be a drug smuggler."

He didn't look convinced, but by mutual consent we left the conversation there.

***

In fact, Aunt had invited Mrs Starkey over for dinner that evening, so I didn't have to contrive a reason for visiting her. To be honest, I'd always felt rather scared of Mrs Starkey. She was one of those old types of schoolmistress, who could be incredibly strict, but sometimes would have a twinkle in their eye and could be rather fun. She was older than Aunt – I guessed in her mid-sixties but I could be wrong. Looking around the table, it seemed that most of her students felt much the same way as me, and their normally jovial conversation consisted of rather stilted words between themselves.

On the other hand, Stevie seemed to have no inhibitions at chatting to her across the table about all kinds of (what I knew to be) leading subjects, such as the problems of students taking drugs. There were no guilty starts or special glances between Mrs Starkey and my aunt, and she dealt with the questions in a very thorough way; clearly, she knew exactly what to look for and was on top of any drug problems she might come across. I could see that Stevie was thwarted in his ambition to label her as a drug smuggler. I even gave him a smirk, which he returned with a shrug.

I decided to draw a halt to Stevie's sleuthly questioning and said, "Mrs Starkey, what made you start the Language School here in Combehaven?"

"Oh." For the first time she seemed thwarted by a question and looked to my aunt for support.

"I guess it was my idea," Aunt said. "After both the caravan park and the boatyard closed down, we held a village meeting – the first of what would turn into our co-op. We cast our minds around the assets we had and how we could use them to keep the village solvent. The old schoolroom has been hardly used since it ceased to be a school decades ago. Gemma," she turned and smiled at Mrs Starkey, "is another of our tremendous assets. Put the two together, and you have an English as a Foreign Language school. The whole village has been involved in getting the students in and out, and housing and feeding them."

"How many courses have you run so far?" I asked, vaguely wondering why Mrs Starkey hadn't answered my question.

"This is only the second," Mrs Starkey replied for herself, this time. "The first was just to establish it would work, and we only had five students."

"It must be so much more difficult teaching so many, this time," I said.

"Oh, no," she said, at last seeming at home with one of my questions, and she proceeded to give me a lecture on how to teach EFL which lasted for the rest of the meal – like, as though I was interested! I only asked the question to be sociable.

***

"That was brilliant questioning," Stevie said as soon as we had said goodnight to the other girls and closed the door to our bedroom.

"It was?"

"Of course. It made me realise I was totally up a gum tree with this business about the dock and the boat. Whilst you and Mrs Starkey were prattling on about EFL, I asked some of the girls around me how long they'd been in the country. A couple told me the truth, and said they'd come over just for this course. The rest were obviously lying when they told me they'd been here for a few weeks or months."

"Why do you say they were obviously lying?"

"Well..." He paused and looked at me as though I'd asked a really stupid question. "I agree with you; that boat is too small to cross the Channel without raising suspicion. So if the drugs aren't being smuggled in on Jethro's boat, then the girl students must be bringing them into the country, hidden in their luggage."

"In other words," I said, "those girls giving answers which line up with your crackpot theory are telling the truth, and those which don't are liars?"

"Precisely." He looked pleased I'd given such a concise summary.

"Or perhaps," I suggested, "your crackpot theory is rubbish and the girls really are telling the truth."

"Well," he looked puzzled, "how else do you suggest they're smuggling in the drugs?"

"Stevie, there is no drug smuggling." I was getting exasperated. "The reason you came up with the idea was to satisfy your curiosity about the boatyard. Now you concede the boatyard isn't being used for smuggling, just accept that smuggling isn't going on here at all."

"Hmm." He looked thoughtful for a second, then his face suddenly brightened. "I guess it's my time to use the bathroom?"

What else could I say. I'd got him into this. "OK, but don't take too long."

***

He wasn't, damn him! When he came in, I'd been staring in the mirror at my breasts, wondering what it would be like to have breasts Stevie's size, and having dishy rich guys like Larry Pennington leching over them.

"Shucks!" I cried, hurriedly pulling my pyjama top over my head and down my body. "You might have knocked."

"Abigail," he said, "we're all girls together in this house. I didn't knock when I went in the bathroom; it would seem suspicious if I knocked when I entered my bedroom."

"Well you could have taken a little longer."

"Abigail, you told me not to take long. Besides..."

"Besides what?" I asked.

He grinned. "Besides, there were no naked girls in the bathroom, and there was a very pretty one in here."

I sniffed, grabbed my toilet bag and went to the bathroom.

***

I had a dream that I'd gone to pick up the steam launch and Larry Pennington couldn't take his eyes off my huge breasts, which wobbled like jellies with every movement I made. Larry stepped up behind me, put his arms around me and squeezed my jellies; then somehow, I was squeezing my own jellies. Then my jellies turned into Stevie's breasts. Then I woke up!

"I was hoping you wouldn't wake up," Stevie said with a grin as wide as a Cheshire Cat.

I realised I was cupping his breast in my hand – well not just cupping it, but kneading it – and it felt very nice!

"It feels very nice," he said.

I quickly pulled my hand away. "It's plastic," I said. "How can it feel nice?"

He smiled and I couldn't help smiling back at him.

"Anna said you took no notice when Emily was telling you about the Torsolet. She said you wouldn't remember anything about the Sensotouch."

"Sensotouch? What's that?"

He grinned some more. "She was right."

"Stevie. What on earth are you talking about? Emily never said anything about Sensotouch. I don't even know what it means."

"The skin of the Torsolet is touch sensitive, like a smartphone screen and the underside of the Torsolet next to the wearer's skin has tiny electrodes. It means I can effectively feel any kind of touch on my skin. And your squeezing felt very nice."

"I don't remember Emily saying..." I paused. I'd been horrified at the whole nature of the Torsolet, and Emily had been wittering on about something, whilst I was trying to work out how I could remove the horrible thing without hurting Emily and Anna's feelings.

"So when you move and your breasts wobble," I said, "does that mean you feel them wobbling?"

He shrugged. "I can't feel the movement itself, but if they move inside my bra, I can feel that. It turns walking into a whole new experience. I think jogging would probably drive me crazy."

I tried not to think what my squeezing his breasts had done for him.

"I'm taking a shower," I said, locating my toilet bag. "No doubt Aunt is going to dress us up again today and we'll have to sit around like lemons."

"Good-oh," he said.

***

The previous day, after we'd returned from collecting the launch and our additional exploration, we had changed out of our Victorian wear and I'd hung everything out on a washing line in the hope that the fresh wind would blow away most of their smell. It had worked. The clothes smelt as fresh as a daisy when we put them on.

Aunt wanted to maximise the opportunity the steam launch presented, and we spent much of the day being sketched getting into it, climbing out of it and standing around looking like wallies. But Aunt said the sketching was going really well, and with her and Stevie both enjoying it, it seemed churlish not to join in their fun.

It was whilst we were moored in the river, with Aunt sketching us from the bank that Aunt's phone rang.

"Don't move," she yelled to us, and then proceeded to spend ages chatting to someone.

When we eventually finished that particular pose, and got back to shore, Aunt said, "That was Gemma Starkey. Tomorrow is Friday, the day before the girls return home and she's invited you to a dinner party at her house."

"Dinner party!" I exclaimed. "I thought those kinds of things went out of fashion in the 1970s."

"I suspect that so did Gemma Starkey," Aunt replied. "But she likes to give the girls a wider experience than simply classroom lessons and her dinner parties are one of the ways she does that. She's held several over the two weeks the girls have been here. The neighbours take turns to go.

"She was very impressed with the interest you were showing in EFL last night," she continued. "She's hoping to interest you in it as a career."

"Oh. No way!" I said. "I was simply making polite conversation." I had a sudden thought. "What sort of dress is it?" I asked. "It's not formal, is it?"

Aunt smiled. "With Gemma Starkey, how could it be anything else? Have you both got things to wear? I probably have something which would fit you, Abby, but you, Stevie, are far too busty for anything of mine to fit."

Seeing Stevie's face forming a big question mark, I hurriedly replied for us both, "Oh, yes. We've both got things we brought for looking smart. Stevie has a lovely dress, and beautiful matching shoes."

I shouldn't have added that about the shoes, as, knowing she'd be scared by their height, I hadn't yet shown her the pair of stilettos I'd brought in my bag. Their height both fascinated and scared the hell out of me.

"That's good." Fortunately, Aunt hadn't noticed Stevie's face. "Now. I'd like you out in the boat again, with you, Stevie, pointing at a body in the water."

"A body in the water, Aunt! What is this graphic story about?"

"It's about two girls, much like you two, except that they lived in Victorian times. They go to stay with their aunt for Easter, and find all kinds of suspicious things happening, including the dead body in the water."

"How does it end, Harriet?" Stevie asked.

"It turns out there are smugglers in the village," Aunt said, "and most people are turning a blind eye to unusual events."

"Just like here," Stevie blurted out.

Aunt gave him a quizzical look. "There aren't suspicious things going on here, are there Stevie?"

"Well, er..."

"Stevie thinks the boatyard is mysterious," I said. "With Jethro's boat moored there, when most fishing boats are simply beached, ready to put out to sea."

"Jethro turns his hands to most things," Aunt said. "He doesn't fish that much now, so he got the contract to dismantle the metal roof over the dock for scrap. He brought in some cutting equipment on his boat and he'll use his boat to transport the scrap out, when he's ready. But if you really want to learn about the boatyard, speak to Mr Robinson. He'll be at dinner tomorrow and he used to work there. In fact, he's been working there since World War II."

"Really?" Stevie was in his element. "I shall really look forward to that."

Boys! Wanting to talk about docks in WWII!

***

"I suppose I've been stupid, haven't I?"

We were in our bedroom, 'freshening up' before lunch and for once, Stevie had spoken common sense. "There's a perfectly rational explanation for the boat being there, and I've built all my suspicions around it being mysterious. Let's face it, if the village really had been in a smuggling ring, Harriet would hardly have told us the storyline from her book. You must think I'm a right plonker."

"Don't worry," I told him. "I've always thought you a right plonker, and you've made this holiday a whole lot more fun than if I'd been on my own. Thanks for coming with me." On a sudden impulse, I put my arms around him and hugged his breasts against me. They did feel very squishy.

"Thanks for inviting me. This is the best holiday I've ever had."

"Don't be stupid," I said, pushing him away to avoid showing the emotion which had swelled up inside me. "And no way do I have any romantic feelings about you."

Damn! I'd said that word again. Romantic.

***

I should have been delighted that Stevie was no longer pursuing his stupid ideas, but somehow it had made everything more fun. I suspected that with the girls leaving on Saturday morning, life might become rather sedentary.

But in the meantime, we had the excitement of preparing for the dinner party. That evening, we got our dresses out of the wardrobe and looked them over.

"It's a bit revealing," Stevie said, staring at Stephanie's lovely dress.

"This was the most respectable of the dresses Stephanie didn't take with her on holiday," I said. "If I'd brought one of the others, Mrs Starkey would have you labelled as a tart. Slip it on and see how it looks."

Stevie took off the top he'd been wearing since we'd changed out of our Victorian robes. "Do I need to change my bra?" he innocently asked.

"It's a halter neck," I said. "You can't wear a bra with this dress, otherwise it would spoil the effect."

If our positions had been reversed, I'd have been shocked at the very idea of wearing a dress which exposed my boobs like this dress would. But Stevie simply unclipped his bra and let those magnificent breasts wobble unfettered.

Oops! Did I really say magnificent? I mean, I've seen Stephanie Turner plenty of times in the changing rooms without thinking of her breasts as anything other than gross, embarrassing or simply obscene. Now I was calling them magnificent. No way.

Anyway, Stevie stepped into the dress and I helped him pull the halter over his head.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Oh my God! Who could have dreamt that concealed somewhere inside this sexy girl was really Benjamin Walters? "You look very attractive," I told him. "Fortunately, you have some matching tights and shoes which I brought with me."

He gasped when he saw them. "But they're high heels."

High? They were like stilts! "A girl has to get used to wearing heels," I told him. "Sit down and try them on and see how you get on."

I showed him how to put on the tights, and then he slipped his feet into the shoes and I fastened them up for him.

"I can't even stand up, like this. Never mind actually walking a single pace."

"Push your weight down through your heels," I said. I held his hand as he rose to his feet and stood there tottering slightly.

"This is crazy," he said. "I'll fall flat on my face."

"Think of the heel simply as an extension of your leg. Keep your weight back on them. Now, just get your balance." Here I was giving instruction as though I was an expert, when a two-inch heel was the max I'd ever worn.

After a second, he managed to stand without holding my hand, and then he took a tentative step; and then another.

"Try walking along the landing," I suggested after he'd taken a few more hesitant paces around the bedroom.

So I held the door open for him and he went out into the landing slowly walked the length of it.

"Oh, Stevie! What a lovely dress," Aunt said, coming out of her bedroom at that moment.

"Stevie's not used to heels," I said. "But I really think they make the outfit."

"They are rather high to start in," Aunt agreed, "but Abby's right. They are essential for that dress. Do you have any shorter heels you can practice in?"

"Yes, she does," I jumped in before Stevie could answer.

"Then you must wear those this evening and all tomorrow," Aunt said. "You'll be fine for tomorrow evening.

"You really need earrings with that dress," she continued. "Do you have any?"

"She has a lovely matching pair," I said, "but they're for pierced ears and she hadn't had her ears pierced, yet."

"Then we'll go into town tomorrow," Aunt said. "Of course a girl must have pierced ears."

"But... But..." Stevie stuttered.

"No buts. You're having them pierced and that's that. I think we'd better have your hair properly styled, as well, whilst we're about it."

I could see the thoughts running through Stevie's head. Then he said, "Thank you, Harriet. I think you're probably right."

"I'll make an appointment," she said.

***

We spent Friday morning as usual being artists' models, but then, after lunch Aunt drove us into town in the Land Rover.

Aunt took us to one of the smarter hairdressing and beauty salons and offered to pay for both Stevie and my hairstyling.

"Let's face it," she justified it, "I'd be spending a fortune on modelling fees if I had to pay someone to do what you two are doing. It's the least I can do."

I was perfectly happy with my bob, but Stevie's hair was obviously a bit of a botch – the best Anna could achieve with Ben's hair – so Aunt spent ages discussing the options with the stylist. Eventually, they agreed on a short spiky style which Aunt was satisfied she'd be able to cover over with a wig for the Victorian sketching. I was fearful we'd have to start all the sketching from the beginning but Aunt said she could do a sort of cut and paste on the work she'd already done.

Thankfully, we didn't meet any of our friends from either school. Although by now I was pretty confident no one would realise Stevie was really Ben, conversation would have become exceedingly difficult trying to introduce Stevie as Stephanie Turner in front of my aunt, when everybody already knew a different Stephanie Turner, who already had a top and skirt just like the one Stevie was wearing. You can see the problem.

Anyway, we got back to Combehaven without problem, and when Stevie put on her dress, and with her matching heels and earrings, she looked incredible. I felt quite dowdy beside her in my own dress, and I vowed I would get another at the first opportunity. Perhaps I should try a halter – after all, with my figure, it wouldn't be as though I would have to be anything like as daring as Stevie.

***

"Mr Robinson," I said with delight. "You're looking very dapper." He was too, in a dinner jacket – such an unusual sight except in old films.

"And you two ladies are looking very beautiful," he said. And although his eye briefly took in Stevie with her boobs barely concealed by the halter neck, it was me, in my rather drab dress who he seemed to twinkle his eyes at.

"Thank you, Mr Robinson," I said.

I motioned Stevie to thank him for the compliment. Instead, he started straight off with, "Mr Robinson. I understand you're a bit of an expert on the boatyard here; that you used to work there in the war?"

"I did," he admitted, "although even now I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's still classified information."

"Still classified?" Stevie was obviously puzzled. "But there's a lot of information about the X-boats on the Internet. Even all the codebreaking at Bletchley Park is public information now, so why should the boatyard still be classified?"

"If I told you that, it wouldn't be a secret any more, but I suppose every man is susceptible to Mata Hari. With two beautiful women working on me, who knows what state secrets I might reveal?"

He grinned at me as I grinned back. It's funny, but if Jethro had said the same thing, I'd have been freaked out; Mr Robinson saying it was kind of flirty.

Just then, Mrs Starkey called us to the table and we all sat down. There were four girls on the course, and they were interspersed between us four English natives. I sat diagonally opposite Mrs Starkey whilst at the other end of the table, Mr Robinson was placed amongst all the prettiest girls, including Stevie.

It was an enjoyable meal. For most of it, we conversed with the students which I quite enjoyed, and I could see the skill of Mrs Starkey as she drew them into conversation which made them think about things other than nouns and verbs and stuff. As they became engrossed, so their speech became more natural, although still often difficult to follow. All the time, Mrs Starkey kept making comments to me about how enjoyable it was teaching someone English. Hmm. I wasn't convinced but thought it better to smile politely rather than to argue.

Finally, Mrs Starkey was thanking everyone for coming and reminding the students they had an early start the next morning. They all left quite quickly, rather glad, I thought, to get away, and Stevie rather amazingly offered to help clear away the dishes. As he passed me, he whispered, "I've got nowhere in grilling Mr Robinson. You have a try."

I pulled a face at him but obligingly went over to Mr Robinson. "I saw you were engaged in deep conversation with all the beautiful girls surrounding you," I said with a wide grin. "That must have been a great hardship for you."

"What was so bad," he replied, "was being at the other end of the table from the loveliest of them all."

I blushed. "You're crazy," I said. "They were all gorgeous, especially Stevie."

His smile broadened. "She's a real Mata Hari. She terrifies me. Kept interrogating me about the boatyard."

"I'm surprised it's still secret," I said. "I think you're either saying it to wind us up, or it must be something to do with espionage."

"Espionage? Why do you say that?"

I paused a little, trying to put into words the ideas which had been forming in my mind over the course of the evening. "If it was just about torpedoing shipping with small submarines," I said, "there'd be nothing very secret. As Stevie said, it's all on the Internet. But if it was using submarines to spy on shipping entering or leaving an enemy port, well that might still be going on in Russia or China, say."

Mr Robinson tilted his head, acknowledging my point without actually saying so. "But," he said, "during hostilities, all ports were protected by nets hanging from booms, specifically to prevent submarines creeping in. You couldn't get in from the sea."

I realised he was giving me a clue. But what? I suddenly had another 'Wham!' moment. "If the submarine was sufficiently small," I said, "you could parachute it from a plane during a bombing raid. The way they used to drop mines." I knew that after reading the blurb on the WWII mine displayed on Seacombe sea front.

Seeing the encouragement in his eyes, I continued. "It would be tethered to the bottom, just like a mine, and have a periscope and a snorkel."

"If that were true," he said, "it would only be big enough for one man. He'd be stuck there for months completely on his own, eating a very basic diet. It would be incredibly arduous. You'd have to make certain an individual could stand up to that kind of isolation."

"So that's what the dock was used for," I gasped. "Assessing spies who were going to be dropped in tiny submarines into enemy ports?"

"What a ridiculous idea," he said, his smile giving a lie to his words. "I suppose you'll tell Stevie your thoughts, but please don't spread such silly rumours any further."

"Of course not," I said. "And thank you for filling my head with such stupid ideas." As an afterthought, I added, "Was it successful? Did you get lots of information back about ship movements?"

He shook his head. "I don't really know but I suspect not. What I do know is that the programme was dropped about six months after operations began. After that, we started producing mini submarines for carrying a platoon of commandoes onto an enemy shoreline, which was part of the run up to the D-day invasion, but I'd get into real trouble if I told you about that."

"What are you two plotting?" Mrs Starkey interrupted. "He's not inviting you to a midnight assignation, is he?" she asked of me. But she wasn't smiling, and I realised she took her father's outrageous flirting a little too seriously.

"Not yet," I replied, "but I was expecting it at any minute."

"Huh!" She sniffed, clearly not appreciating my sense of humour. "I suppose he'll offer to walk you home, but you're probably safer walking on your own.

Needless to say, he did walk us home and was a perfect gentleman, although he did suggest we each took one of his arms and we walked quite closely together in companionable chatter. I deliberately avoided the secrets he had just told me, as I knew Stevie would start grilling him.

When we reached the intersection where Aunt's house met the village road, we split up and I gave him a kiss on his cheek. After a second's hesitation, so did Stevie.

"Well?" he asked as soon as we were out of earshot. "Did you find out anything?"

I smiled at him, although in the dark I guessed he wouldn't see. "Oh yes," I said. "You may have the boobs, but you don't have the subtlety to be a Mata Hari."

"Maybe not," he acquiesced. He stopped, took my arm and pulled me round to face him and then planted a clumsy kiss on my mouth.

OK, logic says I should have pushed him away. After all, it wasn't as though I fancied him. But those breasts did feel awfully nice, especially since I now knew he could feel me pushing against them, and it was the sheer clumsiness of the kiss which got me. This was no Casanova about to expertly make love to me; this was definitely a first kiss, and who was I to ruin the moment for him. So I pulled him closer to me and snogged him like Harry Fielding had snogged me on that first date.

***

Of course, I had to make it quite clear to him in the few minutes' walk down to the house that it was a one off.

"Just don't go getting any ideas," I said. "No way do I fancy you. Got it?"

"It was very nice though," he said. I could sense he was grinning from ear to ear. I only hoped that he hadn't sensed the same in my words.

"Lots of things are nice," I said. "But you don't necessarily want to repeat them."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like slapping your face," I said. "So just don't take liberties like that again. All right?"

"You certainly are," he said, adding, "A bit of all right, I mean."

Shucks to him; in the darkness, I was grinning even wider than before.

"Don't you want to know what I found out from Mr Robinson?" I asked. So I went on to tell him the few words which I'd exchanged with him, but behind which were a myriad of untold tales of man's ingenuity and bravery.

"It means there'd be no engine inside it," he said. "It really would be like a bigger version of that mine on Seacombe sea front. That's a pity."

"A pity? Why?"

"I was wondering whether they might be using mini-submarines to do their smuggling."

"But I thought you'd agreed there was nothing in that but your imagination," I gasped, amazed he should still be thinking of it.

"I agreed that using the fishing boat wouldn't work, but I got thinking that if you had a submarine you could come right up river without Customs seeing you."

"You mean you'd cross from France in a mini-submarine? That's ridiculous!"

"I looked it up. X-class subs had a range of five hundred miles. They could easily do there and back."

"But it would suffer just the same problem as the fishing boat; hardly any space for storage."

"Drugs don't need much space."

The argument seemed to be going over the same ground, so I chose to say nothing, and just to show him, I slapped his hand when he reached out to take mine. "No way," I repeated.

***

Saturday was the day when Mrs Starkey and Jethro were ferrying the students to various parts of the country. That meant an early breakfast for everyone. As soon as I walked across the landing to the bathroom, it was bedlam, as the girls were running around doing their last minute packing. There were some bags piled up on the landing, whilst others were still being stuffed with last minute items, and, in spite of the English-only ruling, a few girls were jabbering in their own language.

I was still in the shower when Anastasia entered the bathroom. "I am looking for Steffi," she said. "She is not in your bedroom."

"She went downstairs," I said. I was about to add we'd had a bit of a tiff, as Stevie wanted to search the girls' bags for drugs, and I wouldn't allow it.

"It no matter," she said. "She borrow my rabbit and I want to tell her she can keep it as present. She say it make her very happy. You and Steffi good friends to us."

"It's been great fun meeting you all," I said, feeling quite touched by her statement. I vaguely wondered what she meant by a rabbit, but by that time, I'd got used to them replacing one of their Croatian words for an English one when they didn't know it. I've done the same when speaking French.

Breakfast was frantic, with all the girls running around, stuffing pieces of food in their mouths and trying to do other things as well. Then it was hugs all round, by which time Stevie had reappeared, and from the way they kissed Stevie, I wondered whether some of them might be lesbian.

The minibus had been left up by the main road, and Jethro was ferrying the girls up there in the Land Rover, so it was a succession of squeezing into it, waving frantically to the three of us, and then they had gone.

As the Land Rover disappeared for the last time, it suddenly seemed very quiet.

"We've a hard day ahead of us, girls," my aunt said, breaking the silence. "All the rooms have to be cleaned and the bedding changed and laundered. Let's go back and have a leisurely end to our breakfast, and then make a start."

***

The next few days were very different to the first four, and were much more along the lines of the holiday break I'd expected. Cleaning out the girls' rooms might have been a chore without Stevie. But he made the process such fun that we simply whistled around, getting the sheets in the washing machine, and then hung out to dry, the rooms cleaned, the bathroom made spick and span again, that it was done in a few hours.

Aunt had asked that we return the steam launch to the Penningtons, a task we were happy to undertake as it gave us another excuse for being on the river. We towed Aunt's little boat, to be used for the return journey, behind the steam launch. Neither of the Penningtons were around, but there was a young woman there, apparently a relative of a long dead author who used to live in the house, and she showed us around the museum which the Penningtons had created about her.

It was an interesting way to spend the afternoon, given we were no longer chasing smugglers and, without the Land Rover. Of course, Stevie wanted to visit the boatyard on the way back, and I went along with it as I couldn't be bothered to argue. Since we were dressed in our normal clothes, there was no problem climbing the ladder from the boat up to the dock, although of course, Stevie exposed her panties as she climbed up in her tartan miniskirt. It was just as boring as last time and I simply sat on a large bollard in the sun whilst Stevie scurried around from place to place

"By the way," I said to him as he came past me. "Anastasia said she'd lent you her rabbit, whatever she meant by that…" That's when he jumped about three feet in the air.

"I'm not sure what she meant, either," he said, although he obviously knew.

"Whatever it is," I said, making a mental note to look up rabbit in the Croatian-English translator on the web, "she says you can keep it as a present."

"Right," he said, and then abruptly changed the subject. "You were right about searching their rucksacks. It was simply impossible in that chaos, with everybody dashing around like crazy."

"I said you weren't to do it because those girls were our friends," I protested, "not because it was difficult to do."

"Whatever," he dismissed. "I was going to try to search Katya's bag as I thought she was probably the most likely of them all to have the goods. In fact she did the whole thing for me. She was suddenly tearing all the things out of her rucksack looking for her purse, when she'd really left it on the hall table. Of course, if they'd known I was really a boy, I'd have been in dead trouble, because it was incredibly erotic having all these frillies thrown up in the air. But there were certainly no drugs in her baggage."

"Since you've seen Katya naked several times, I don't see how her frilly underwear could be more erotic," I said.

He shrugged. "Neither do I, but it was."

"And you're now satisfied they aren't a bunch of smugglers so what exactly are we doing here?"

"They may not be smugglers, but there's still the Mystery of the Water in the Dock to be solved."

I shook my head. Steve was a hopeless case.

However, I thought, it was still great having him around.

***

So, the next few days, we spent most of our time as artists' models. On Easter Sunday, we put on the fabulous Victorian dresses Aunt had got us for the occasion (did I say fabulous?). Well, actually, by this time I'd got thoroughly used to our Victorian gear (although I suppose Victorian ladies didn't say gear!). Whatever, it now felt quite natural to wear those clothes and we both felt fantastic in those superb dresses.

Of course, Aunt had really got the dresses so she could sketch us and we spent most of Easter Sunday and the Monday sitting around pretending to read Victorian magazines, whilst tucked inside them we had our smartphones and were browsing the web, or whatever. I had suggested we could go into Seacombe on Monday and watch the festivities which were put on for the Bank Holiday, but Aunt scoffed that, saying Seacombe would be horribly packed with all kinds of drunken louts, and we were much better staying there. To be honest, I was quite happy simply sitting in the sun and looking pretty.

I was a bit surprised on Monday evening when Aunt said she was going to have an early night, as she felt quite tired. She reminded us the students would be arriving the next day so we shouldn't be surprised if we heard the Land Rover driving by in the middle of the night to go and get them. We both shrugged. Whatever.

We watched TV for a while and then went to bed.

***

"Abigail." Steve's whisper took me by surprise.

"What is it? And why are we whispering."

"I can hear your aunt moving about."

"What about it. Perhaps she's going to the toilet."

"No. I heard her alarm go off a few minutes ago. I think she's getting up."

I sat up in bed and went to switch on the bedside light, but Stevie reached across to stop me. His breast gave me a soft push in the chest.

"She'll see our light shining around the door frame."

"What about it?" I still couldn't understand why we were whispering.

"I'll pull the curtains," he said, "then we can get dressed in the light from the moon. We need to see what she's up to."

This was totally stupid, I thought, but then another part of me remembered those books I'd read when I was young about the adventures that girls got up to at boarding school. They had tempted me to become a boarder, only to find those experiences were totally false. Until now!

It may have been stupid, but as soon as Stevie had drawn back the curtains, I obediently got out of bed and started to get dressed. It was only when I noticed Stevie giving me the eye that I realised I had pulled off my pyjamas without even bothering to turn away from him. I smirked, and pulled a tee shirt over my head.

When Abigail's Aunt Harriet told her she could bring along a friend with her to stay for Easter, she didn't stipulate until later it had to be a girl. But what was going on in the little village, cut-off from the rest of the world? This is a story set partly at Seacombe Independent Girls' High School, commonly known as SIGHS and involves young people involved in such things as humour, adventure, crossdressing and growing-up.

Part Four: The mystery solved

Author's Note: This story is complete and will be published in four parts at approximately daily intervals.

We both heard Aunt open her bedroom door and quietly step across the landing and down the stairs. We heard the front door open and then quietly shut. A second later, we heard the sound of the Land Rover approaching from some distance away. Presumably, it was Jethro starting out to collect the new students, but it abruptly stopped.

"He's waiting at the top of the lane to pick up Harriet," Stevie said. "Come on," he said. "We're going."

"But we can't catch up the Land Rover," I said. "You can bet that Jethro will start up again soon. He's simply picking Aunt up."

"We're not going up the lane," Stevie said. "We're going to the boatyard. You can bet whatever's happening is going to happen there. And don't forget, it's a Spring tide, tonight."

Whatever that had to do with the price of eggs.

We quickly finished dressing and then raced down the stairs and out of the back door. With the full moon, we could easily find our way to the path along the river and started walking towards the boatyard.

"Schh, a minute." Stevie commanded. We both stood still and heard the Land Rover moving, this time it seemed to stop in the village.

"He's picking someone else up," Stevie said. "Come on. Let's beat them back to the dock."

I raced besides him, stumbling a little as I took an uneven step, and Stevie grabbed my hand to steady me. It seemed sensible to keep hold of it as we continued to run. It felt much nicer to run together.

When we arrived at the boatyard, we could see the entrance gates were wide open. Clearly, Jethro had left them like that whilst he went to pick up the other people from the village. We raced inside and then hesitated. Where to go? There was no cover. We heard the Land Rover approaching along the road and instinctively stepped to the one side to avoid being caught in the glare of the headlights as they shone down the road and straight through the open gates and over the water in the dock.

Too late, we both realised our mistake. We had moved the wrong way. When Jethro drove through the gates, he would turn to the right, so he could drive around the top of the dock and stop alongside his boat. We'd be illuminated like startled rabbits.

"Oh!" I gasped.

"What?" Stevie said. I'd never heard him sound so uncertain.

"Onto the pontoon," I said, "and lie flat. The headlights will shine over the top of us."

We both scuttled down the ladder onto the pontoon and lay flat, as the Land Rover drove through the gates, turned and then – Oh Shikes! – it stopped, its headlights shining right above our bodies. We heard Jethro getting out of the Land Rover! We were about to be outed.

We waited, our breaths held tight, for Jethro's bellow. We heard the screech and rattle as the gates were closed and locked. Then we heard other doors opening on the Land Rover.

"They'll see us when they look around," Stevie whispered. "I don't know how we're going to get out of this."

"Look at the tyre," I whispered. I'd been staring at it floating in the water for the last few seconds. Except that it wasn't – floating, that is.

"What about it?" Stevie said, distracted by other thoughts.

"It's not really a tyre," I said.

"Abigail, I couldn't care less if it was a hula hoop. I'm more concerned…"

I scrabbled to my knees and then tentatively lowered my left foot towards the tyre, lying beside the pontoon. I pushed it through the hole in the middle. It should have got wet but it didn't and I continued pushing down until I reached something on which to rest it.

"Have you gone crazy?" Stevie said. "We're about to be exposed and you're paddling in the water."

"No I'm not," I said, and I put my whole weight onto my left foot, whilst grimly holding onto the edge of the pontoon with my hands. Then, I pushed my right foot down through the hole in the middle of the tyre, feeling for and finding the next step down the ladder which I thought I'd seen whilst lying prone on the pontoon.

"It's a ladder down into a submarine," I added, and started to climb down it, step after step after step. It felt really weird, lowering myself below sea level, but I gained confidence the further down I went. A second after my head went below the tyre, Stevie's foot appeared on the step above my head, and we climbed down together.

It seemed like dropping into the bowels of the earth, but it was probably only a couple of metres before the vertical tube I was in opened out and I was standing towards the end of a horizontal tube, about two metres diameter. It was so dimly lit I could barely see the other end just a few metres away. Two shelf-like planks stretched down either side.

"They could get hundreds of crates of brandy down here," Stevie said, having joined me. "So it is alcohol they're smuggling, after all."

I smiled at him, seeing it all, now. "Did you hear the story about the security guard who suspected a worker was smuggling stolen goods out of the factory in the wheelbarrow he was using to carry his tools?"

"No. But what's that got to do with anything?"

"Every day the guard searched the wheelbarrow but only ever found the man's tools."

Stevie looked even more puzzled. "So what?"

I was grinning from ear to ear, now. "The man was stealing wheelbarrows." Seeing he still didn't understand, I added, "You suspected the girls of smuggling drugs, but it was the girls themselves who are being smuggled. They're not from Croatia but some other, non-EU Eastern European country. They come into Britain inside this submarine."

Stevie's mouth was forming a large O, when we heard Jethro shouting something, above our heads, then a foot clunked on the top of the ladder.

***

As one, we raced to the far end of the tube, where we could see doors on what were presumably large lockers. Stevie opened one of the doors and helped me step inside the locker over the waist-high sill. He followed and we pulled the door too, just as a large sea boot came into view at the top part of the ladder. We sat on the floor and, in the darkness, sensed we were worriedly looking into each other's faces.

I pulled out my mobile phone, which this time I'd remembered to bring, and tried to get a signal.

"They don't work underwater," Stevie said.

What to do? To remain hiding and hope we would not be discovered on what would presumably be a long journey to pick up the new bunch of girls. Or to open the lockers and confess to Jethro that we had seen everything, and were in a position to blow it all to the police. On top of that, there was the issue of our vulnerable sexual position. Presumably Jethro was on his own. Would he rape us and throw our weighted-down bodies into the sea, so they would never be found? As far as Aunt knew, we were still tucked up safely in our beds. If we were missing tomorrow morning, no one would suspect our secret mission down to the dock, and into a hidden submarine.

We stayed hidden.

Within a few minutes, a whirring noise started, which Stevie reckoned was the sound of pumps emptying the ballast tanks, so the sub would be slightly buoyant, rather than resting on the bottom of the dock, as it was currently doing.

"You see," Stevie whispered. "There was a Mystery of the Water in the Dock." I could sense the grin on his face. "It was to hide the submarine."

I had to give it to him he was right about that but I chose not to remind him that curiosity killed the cat.

After a few minutes, we felt the sub lifting off the bottom, and the pumping stopped for a while. Then we felt a little jerk forwards.

"We're being towed by the fishing boat," Stevie said. "Presumably, when we've left the dock, he'll pump water back into the ballast tanks so that we're completely submerged. Then we'll be towed out to sea and across to France."

"But that will take hours and hours," I said. "The Plymouth ferry takes seven hours, and that must go a lot faster than the little fishing boat towing us behind it.

"Besides," I added, "we haven't got our passports."

"And the girls are due to arrive tomorrow morning," Stevie reasoned, "so you're right. We can't be going all the way to France. We must be meeting a boat out at sea. I hope it doesn't take too long," he added. "I want to go to the toilet."

I really, really wish he hadn't said that, because suddenly I wanted to go as well.

The time ticked by: it felt like hours but I suspected it was about a minute.

"What are we going to do?" I asked. "Do you think there's a toilet on board?"

"Shouldn't think so," he said. "This sub hardly gives the impression of being a luxury yacht. I suppose we could wee into the bilges."

"Don't be disgusting," I told him. "You'll just have to tightly close your legs together."

More time ticked by, and I so desperately wanted to go.

"They must have something for the girls," he said, rethinking his previous statement. "One of them is almost bound to want to go, and as you say, they wouldn't want that sloshing around in the bilges of a submarine."

"But we can hardly ask Jethro if we can use the toilet," I said. "He'll probably rape us."

"At least he'll have to let us use the toilet beforehand," Stevie said. "Otherwise he'll be in for an unpleasant surprise."

"So will we, when he gets out his enormous thing."

"Look," he said. "If both of us put up a fight, we could overpower him."

"Are you kidding?" I said. "Did you see his muscles?

"And those sea boots," I added. "He'd only have to kick me with one of those and I'd be out of it. He's probably got a knife, as well. All seamen carry knives so they can slice the main brace."

"It's splicing the main brace," Stevie corrected, "and they don't do that anymore, especially on submarines."

"Well I'd rather not get into a fight with him," I said, "especially as I really need a wee."

"OK," he said. "You make yourself really small in the corner of the locker. I'll get out as silently as I can and try the next door. Perhaps that's a toilet. If I'm discovered, Jethro can have his wicked way with me. After all, he'll only be shoving his thing into a plastic hole between my legs. It won't be the real thing. You just keep perfectly still and you'll be safe."

I suddenly felt so emotional about him that I wanted to cry. I did something else; I felt for his face, pulled him towards me and kissed him. "Don't let him catch you," I said. "Come back."

"I'll make certain of it, now," he said. Then he was standing up and quietly pushing open the locker door, whilst I squeezed tightly into my corner.

With the locker door open, I could see Stevie outlined against the dim light in the rest of the submarine as he stepped out. He quietly pushed the door too and was gone.

I waited ages. Then I waited some more. At least, I didn't hear Jethro shouting. Finally, the locker door pulled open and Stevie was stepping back inside.

I reached for him and gave him another kiss, and then pushed him away as he responded. I had something rather more urgent to attend to.

***

I quietly stepped over the high sill and stood for a second, feet astride, just to get my balance after being confined in the locker. At the far end, a computer screen showed a trace on it, which I guessed was some kind of echo sounder, showing where the bottom was. It was only then I noticed the two figures seated in front of the screen. In that light, it was impossible to make out any detail, but the one figure seemed very burly, much bigger than Jethro was. I shivered. Any hope that two girls would be able to defeat Jethro on his own faded to nothing.

I mentally shrugged. I needed a wee and that currently took precedence over all else.

***

After doing my business, I opened the toilet door and a large figure stood in front of me.

"Uuhh!" I whimpered. Thank heavens I'd already done my business, otherwise I'd surely be wetting my pants.

"Ah, Abigail," Mr Robinson said. "Don't tell me. You couldn't keep away from me and wanted to brighten up a long sea voyage."

"Uh?"

"Abigail?" Said a very familiar voice from the other end of the submarine. "How on earth did you get there?"

I heard, rather than saw, my aunt stand up and start moving towards us when Mr Robinson snapped out an order. "Don't desert your post, Harriet. It would be most unfortunate if we crashed into the bottom and we all drowned."

Reluctantly, Aunt turned back to monitoring her screen, but it didn't stop her talking. "What the hell are you doing here, and where's Stevie?"

"I'm here, Mrs Barker," Stevie called, pushing open the locker.

"So what the hell are you two doing here?"

"I think I can probably answer that," Mr Robinson said. "They had an insatiable curiosity, and when they heard you leaving the house, decided to investigate. Rather than trying to follow the Land Rover, they had the presence of mind to come straight to the boatyard using the riverside path." He turned to me. "Am I right Abigail?"

I nodded. "Yes Mr Robinson."

He smiled and said, "It's Captain Robinson at the moment, Abigail, but I won't make you walk the plank for that misdemeanour."

"But how did you know they'd stowed away?" Aunt asked.

"I'd have known there were extra bodies on board when I pumped out ballast to make the boat float," Captain Robinson said. "But actually I saw them lying on the pontoon when we entered the dockyard."

"Then why didn't you make a fuss?" Aunt said. "I'd have got them out of here pronto."

"To do what?" the captain said. "Travel with Jethro on the boat? Or stay behind to call the police?

"Besides," he added, "we were already running late and we have twenty girls out at sea depending on us. What would have happened to them?"

Aunt gave a big, derogatory sniff.

"So you worked it all out in the end?" Captain Robinson said to me. "I knew you would."

"When you said you'd get into greater trouble by talking about the submarines for platoons of commandoes," I said, "it wasn't the authorities who'd give you trouble; you meant it was from the rest of the village."

He smiled. "I wanted to tell you everything, but everyone else thought Stevie was a security risk because of her choice of newspapers."

"My choice of newspapers?" Stevie said. "What are you talking about?"

"When Mrs Clark reported that you'd asked for The Daily Mail in the shop," Aunt said, "we realised the risk in telling you we were helping Ukrainian girls to enter the country illegally. You wouldn't understand they were ordinary girls who'd gone through hell. You'd just treat them as nasty immigrants."

"But I only wanted it to read Fred Basset," Stevie said. "One of the other b… Well, one of the others in the dorm has it delivered, and I always enjoy the cartoons.

"You didn't think I was stupid enough to believe all that stuff they print, did you?" he continued. "I mean, it's all rubbish."

I'm sure if we'd been able to see her properly, Aunt would have been blushing.

***

"How on earth did you get into this business?" I asked, once we'd all moved up to the front of the submarine and Stevie and I were sitting on the plank benches next to them. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"Gemma taught EFL in Ukraine for several years," Captain Robinson replied. "She came home when the civil war started. Lots of families managed to get out of the country, and wanted to get to Britain. But they were terrified at the risks that posed to young girls, who are often enslaved by the smugglers and turned into prostitutes. Some of them approached Gemma and we came up with this scheme. Sure we make money from it, but we look on it more as a social service to needy people. Harriet, watch your height again. We're almost breaking surface."

"Where did the submarine come from?" I asked him. "Surely it wasn't left over from the war?"

"We made it," he said. "It wasn't as difficult as you might expect. A few years ago, they laid a massive sewer along the valley, and one of the pipes, together with inspection chamber, was left over. We tried to get the water company to remove it, but they never did.

"I'd often thought I could build a submarine with it," he continued, "simply by sealing both ends of the pipe. It was a bit more complex than that, of course, but that was essentially it. Really, it was just the sort of thing we were doing during the war."

"Is it safe?" I asked.

"As houses," he said, adding, "Or at least as safe as sewer pipes."

I didn't feel much reassured.

***

Annoyingly, the rest of the journey was such a whirlwind, I can't remember much of it, save to say that Stevie and I took turns at keeping the submarine level, which Captain Robinson said we made a much a better job of than my aunt.

Jethro was steering the fishing boat. He towed us right out to sea where we met a French fishing boat carrying the girls and Mrs Starkey, who'd flown from Heathrow to Paris to meet them and escort them here.

Anyway, the girls' rucksacks were thrown down first and Stevie and I had to stack them in the lockers. That was when Aunt came into her own. She had to go to the top of the conning tower, as Captain Robinson called it, and coax the girls, who must have been terrified, to climb down into the submarine. Apparently, the French fishermen had a sort of gangplank the girls had to walk along, which all must have been very scary.

Then the girls started climbing down, one by one. Finally, Aunt came down, followed by Mrs Starkey. With us two stowaways, it made it incredibly crowded, and Captain Robinson said it was a wonder we didn't sink to the bottom of the sea, but most of us thought that was not much of a joke.

Jethro then towed us back to Seacombe and upriver to the dock at Combehaven. The girls climbed out and then Stevie and I had to help unload the rucksacks.

Dawn was breaking by the time the girls had all been ferried in the Land Rover to their billets, as Captain Robinson called them, and we finally got home. We went to bed and slept.

***

"You know I said that Anastasia told me you borrowed her rabbit," I said to Stevie as we awoke a few hours later.

"What about it?" He sounded so incredibly guilty that I couldn't help smiling.

"I realised last night what kind of a rabbit it was," I said.

"Oh."

When the silence lengthened, I added, "I guess it's quite different being a girl? Sexually, I mean."

He suddenly grinned. "It can't be that different," he said.

"But being a girl," he added, "is not just about sex; it's about a whole different attitude to everything. I like it, but..."

"You'll be glad when it's over?"

"No. Not glad at all. This is the best holiday I've ever had in my life, but a large part of that is because you're here."

I couldn't help smirking at him, even though I knew I shouldn't. "Me too," I said. "I can't remember having a better holiday."

"Temporarily being a girl is great, as well," he said. "Like nothing I've done before. And it… Well, this may sound crazy but without the sex element, it's more relaxed with you. Nicer. Much nicer. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect," I said. It means we can do this without it going any further." And I grabbed hold of him and kissed him like I'd never done before.

***

"So Abigail and Stephanie," Aunt said to us after an incredibly hectic breakfast with the new girls barely understanding a word we said. "You need to decide your position. Are you going to accept that we were all trying to help these poor girls, who through no fault of their own have been facing appalling conditions, to make a better life and contribute towards the British economy?

"Or," she continued, "are you going to have your poor aunt and the rest of the villagers here thrown into prison, whilst these young girls are deported back to a country in the throes of civil war?"

I looked at Stevie who was looking a little tight lipped, and then back at Aunt. "Well, Aunt," I said. "You may have presented the facts in a rather biased fashion, but I'm in. If Stevie wants to come clean, then I'll have to go to prison as well."

We both looked at Stevie.

"It's all right for you, Abigail," he said. "But Harriet, I can't understand," he paused, staring Aunt in the eye, "how you could possibly have believed I was a Daily Mail reader. Just what type of person do you think I am?" Then he grinned and I found I was grinning also, from ear to ear.