It was Pat who had found a rather old, but very beautiful, moth-eaten circular rug in the cavernous cellars of the house. He and Greg had placed it directly under the globe in the centre of the ballroom and had marked the ring with a perfect ten metre circle of flour. Two short wooden stools from the kitchen, some towels and some bottles and buckets of water had been placed at opposite sides of the ring on the long axis to the room.

The audience was very sparse. With the exception of Melanie, who was acting as timekeeper, none of the women were present. In fact Lucinda, Chris and the housekeeper hadn't been seen for a couple of hours, all saying that this rather stupid macho charade, would not really settle anything and could lead to someone getting hurt. And much more endless litigation! Even Suzanne drifted away with the twins as the action started in the darkened room.

As the pips on BBC Radio 4 sounded midnight, Greg who was acting as an unwilling referee, called the participants to the middle. Russ glared down at his shorter opponent, who ignored him completely, by looking through him and around the ballroom. Greg said all of the usual things about a fair fight and may the best man win, but neither listened.

A few seconds later and Melanie rang the familiar bell, she had taken from the dining-room.

***

The Englishman had listened to Clyde on the phone for perhaps twenty minutes. The immaculate, but hard-hitting fighter had tried as best he could to teach him, how to balance properly, how to make sure that every blow counted and what to do if he was hit. He had also tried to instill some sense of strategy and some illegal tricks, that were not what the good Marquess had in mind. But it was not much more than any rudimentary help.

Clyde had told him to spent most of the first round watching and running from Russ and this he followed to the letter. No blow, firm or even glancing, was landed. As he sat on the stool at the end of the first round, Pat spoke quietly. 'Well done! I thought you would have been a bit more impulsive. And a bit more mad!'

'I've got too much at stake, to get mad!' He was still following the advice and taking as deep breaths as he could. 'Even, Ali never fought for this much money!'

'True!' Pat glared across. 'Suzanne was right you know. He's not fit. Look how he's blowing. And he hasn't done as much as you. You can keep him running for ever!'

The next two rounds were much the same, except that in both Russ took a couple of strong right hands to the face. No real damage appeared to have been done, but it did stoke up the anger in the American, especially when he failed to grab the Englishman in return.

Pat's pep-talk at the break continued Clyde's line of care and patience, something that Russ threw away in the next round. He decided he had taken stock of the Englishman and in between calling him a 'fucking coward' and a 'scared rabbit' he tried much harder to catch him. With about thirty seconds to go he made a desperate lunge, which was easily avoided, but he fell heavily to the ground. His opponent did not need a second chance, as he rushed in with his feet, kicking him savagely several times between his legs exactly where it hurt. He was still kicking, whilst Russ screamed and shouted abuse and tried to protect himself with his hands, as Melanie rang the bell for the end of the round.

Pat was smiling as the programmer returned to his corner. 'You did well! He was only saved by the end of the round.' They could hear more hatred, as George lifted Russ back to his corner. 'Trouble is, you've made him really mad now. Just be careful.'

'I had to come back!' It was his lover, who had joined Pat behind him. 'It's awful!' The two men noticed her face full of apprehension and strain. 'Is he following Clyde's advice?' She wished that Clyde had phoned early enough to have been in the corner. She felt, they needed him!

'Yes!' Pat answered for his friend. 'He's actually being quite good. He hasn't been hit yet. Let's hope he can keep it up!' He looked across and was pleased to see Russ in a great deal of pain. 'Did you see what he did to Russ, at the end of the last round?'

She bent down and kissed him. 'I didn't think that you were capable of that sort of brutality.'

'It's in us all!' Hadn't she once told him, that she'd wanted to kill that awful second husband!

***

The next two rounds were quiet and followed the pattern set earlier. Russ had decided that rash actions would get him into trouble and his movement was rather restricted by the pain, the kicking had caused. Again, he took a few strong blows, but as before no real damage was done.

Pat was getting impressed by his charge. 'You know you're not a bad boxer.' He hoped he hadn't spoken out of turn!

'When you were as small as I was and lived in the sort of neighbourhood I did, you have to learn to look after yourself.' He was pleased as well. 'It's all coming back! Especially after the pep-talk from Clyde. He was good. What did he say was most important?'

'Don't get cocky!'

The seventh round continued similarly, with the retreating Englishman, being verbally abused by Russ, who seemed to have regained his original gait, as the pain had subsided somewhat. This time when he lunged he connected and grabbing his opponent's left arm, he straightened and twisted it skilfully, so that the Englishman was forced forward, with the tricep muscle uppermost.

It was the classic bully's movement, beloved of every thug, in every playground, in every school, the world over. The victim is held by his one hand, he can't reach with the other and the bully has his other hand free to hit and pummel the exposed muscle.

'Now my stupid Limey friend!' Russ's voice was now calm. 'I take it you are now ready to submit!'

'No! You fucking bastard...' He winced as Russ hit the muscle hard with his free hand.

'It's so easy to walk away!' He was punctuating short sentences with accurate blows. 'I'm sure that yid, Adams will see you alright. Especially, as you have pissed all of his profit and most of his money down the fucking drain.'

'No!' Another blow landed. 'No!' He was trying to turn towards his corner, so that he could get some sort of signal from Pat as to how much of the round was left, but Russ had realised this and turned him back towards George.

'If you're worried about the time!' Russ hit him twice more. Accurately and with as much force as he could muster. 'I think there's about thirty seconds left! There's still time for you to submit. There's no problem. Just walk away.'

The pain was now intense, but he was not going to be beaten. 'This will be your last chance.' He screamed as another blow hit the tortured muscle. 'In the next round, I'll get you.'

Suddenly, Russ twisted and hit again at the same time, with all his strength. The resistance had now drained the programmer of a lot of his strength and the inevitable happened. He toppled forward, Russ twisted more and as the two of them fell, the intense pressure of their combined strengths and weights, shattered the Englishman's upper arm.

Thankfully, he heard Melanie ring the bell for all she was worth.

***

''Well, that's it then!' Russ was jubilant. 'I'll get the papers and you can sign.'

As Pat and the two women carefully turned the Englishman and helped him back to his corner, to the astonishment of all concerned, he spoke in a quiet, calm voice. 'No! It's not! I was not counted out. Get back to your corner! It's not over, as the fat lady hasn't turned up!'

They seated him on the stool, with his left arm limply in his lap. 'You can't go on!' His lover was in tears, with mascara running down her face. 'For God's sake, stop it now. He'll kill you!'

'I must!' He half-smiled at both of them. 'When the bell goes, whatever you do, stand back and leave the stool in place. To paraphrase Baldrick, I have a cunning plan!'

'Fuck, Baldrick! Don't be stupid.' Pat was imploring him to stop.

'I have enough strength for about thirty seconds! One last throw of the dice!' He heard his lover run crying out of the room.

'She's gone. Give up for her!' Pat put his hand on his friend's shoulder, as if to hold him back. 'You'd win control in the Courts.'

***

Ten seconds before the last round started, Russ was standing in front of the Englishman, glaring down on him as he sat on his stool. The taunts were coming thick and fast, as he scented the inevitable victory.

Reluctantly, Melanie rang the bell and hid her face.

The Englishman sat still, as Russ waited for him to rise.

'If you don't get up! I'm going to have to count you out!' Greg was standing to the Englishman's left, holding Russ away with his arm.

The Englishman used some of his last reserved of enrgy and smiled at Greg, before spitting accurately at Russ. 'Count away! I'm ready!'

'One!' He sat still on the stool. Greg was using all of his efforts to keep Russ from attacking.

'Two!' Greg lowered his right hand, as any good referee should.

'Three!' The Englishman was now looking straight at Russ, who had backed off slightly, due to Greg's pushing. Sitting there, he was waiting for any drop in his level of concentration, so that he could make his last move.

'Four!' He caught sight of a flicker in Russ's eyes as he momentarily glanced to the right. He just needed a fraction of a second.

'Five!' He was absolutely certain, that in the dead quiet between the counts he heard a baby cry. He believed that there were no babies in the house. In fact he knew!

'Six!' He saw Russ look away again. Longer this time. Had he missed his last chance?

'Seven!' Greg was lengthening the count, as he was sure, this was not the outcome he wanted. He had also moved from between them, as Russ had moved a step backwards.

'Eight!' Russ was now staring wide-eyed towards something or someone, that was behind the Englishman's left shoulder. His jaw had started to drop too!

'Nine!' And the Englishman moved.

In one last despairing movement, but with the pounce, poice and absolute viciousness of the tiger, he moved. He had been given a second and the action was over in perhaps a fifth of that time. He reached underneath the seat of the oak stool with his right hand. He grabbed it by the leg, and stood up despite the searing pain in his left arm in one extraordinarily quick move. He even flicked and twisted the stool in his right hand, so that the heavy wooden top became an awesome projectile, which hit the American hard on the left side of his head. Immediately,

Russ never saw anything, lost all consciousness and toppled unceremoniously to the ground.

***

'Well! Start fucking counting!' He raised the stool again ready for another blow, that he knew would not be necessary.

'Was that legal?' Greg was being rather correct considering that it looked like he might be getting the result he wanted.

'There's nothing say's it's illegal in the fucking rules!' Secrely, he thanked Suzanne for her foresight. 'Get counting!'

'One ... Two ...' Greg started the count, with Pat and some of the others joining in triumphantly.

Only now, as he turned away into his lover's waiting arms, was he able to see what had distracted his opponent so strongly.

Suzanne had done, what she had told him in Orlando, she would eventually do. Standing there dramatically bare-breasted in a corset, perhaps borrowed from his lover, stockings and her highest heels, she was now displaying a completely naked scalp, shaved of all that wonderful blonde hair.

Copyright 1999 by Ewart Higgins