Before and After (22 page)

“Oh,
sorry. No, do have it please,” Sylvia said apologetically.

“No,
I insist,” Archie replied with old world gallantry oozing from his voice.

“Oh,
no…well, if you’re sure…”

“No,
please…”

There
followed several very tedious moments of middle class, polite tussling. I could bear it no longer and swiftly picked the egg up myself, sliding it into my open mouth. There was a moment’s silence as I lay sandwiched between husband and wife.

I
cleared my throat. “Well, this
is
cosy, isn’t it?” I said.

Rule Number Twenty Three

“
Three
is
a
mystical
number
in
many
cultures
.
In
India
three
monkeys
on
a
rooftop
can
foretell
financial
reward
.
A
full
-
moon
three
nights
running
in
Japan
leads
to
a
spike
in
the
national
birth
-
rate
.
Yes
,
three
is
a
truly
vital
number
.
Particularly
when
the
constituent
numerals
are
2
plus
1
.”

The night passed pleasantly enough, I suppose, although threesomes are
grossly
over estimated in my opinion. Besides, Archie and Sylvia had very little experience, and I find instruction in sexual etiquette and behaviour
very
wearing indeed. I quite see the attraction of a nun-like state of celibacy to tell you the truth, so much better for the mind and soul, not to mention the complexion. What? You don’t believe me? Well, all I can say is, go and take a good look at the peerless skin of the sisters at the Carmelite convent in Rome. Divine. Simply
divine
. Of course, unlike their sisters in Britain, who aren’t allowed any form of skin care (the work of the devil and if not that, then far too worldly at the very least) the Italian faction slather on a particularly efficacious unguent of rose petals and glycerine. I think they make it themselves, from the walled flower and herb garden that surrounds them. They don’t
sell
it of course. That would be going too far, even for the Latino lot, who as a rule are inordinately fond of taking silver from the secular sector.

I
glanced back at Archie and Sylvia who were asleep in my bed. They were both either side of the mattress, with a gapingly wide blank space between them, where I had slept.
Naturellement
.

Sylvia
lay like the good school girl she had been, neatly, breathing softly, her back to her husband. Archie was curled away from her, facing the door, his breathing heavier. Stubble was starting to show on his normally clean shaven face and his hair was in need of a trim. Even in his sleep there were the beginnings of a furrowed line on his brow, and the faint puckerings of worry were etched around his closed eyes. It was quite delightful to see the changes that I’d wrought in such a short period of time. A man giving up his past always looks the worst for wear initially, then improves. With women, ‘tis the other way round.

I
fastidiously bathed and dressed and left them dreaming of – of who knows what? Flying? Bankruptcy? Infidelity? The usual stuff of which the matter of dreams is composed, I assume.
My
dreams are far more vivid than the Ambles could possibly imagine, although I suppose that they might be considered nightmares by some. I find them refreshingly lurid. Perhaps with me gone they would sleepily turn towards one another. God knows they hadn’t last night. At the risk of sounding
un
petit
peu
crude I was worn out although, to be fair, I am fairly demanding and am a firm believer that if you are going to do something you may as well do it
properly
. No point at all in being lily-livered about things, and bed is no place at all for the faint hearted. Dear me, no. The amount of cajolery I’d had to employ was almost unbelievable. Anyone would think that I wasn’t desirable. I know. Unthinkable, isn’t it?

I
carefully placed a black velvet hat on my head, making sure that my hair was covered before I left the room. (I may as well tell you that my hair has a very unforgiving way of letting the world know that I’ve spent a night
not
alone. It curled and twirled, twisted and knotted, positively writhing over my scalp, in a dishevelled sensual life of its own.)

I
found Bella in the kitchen, disconsolately kneading dough, her eyes watering from something or other. No onions were visible so I assumed she was crying. I tried to judge by the tear quality if it was a monthly attack of the vapours that young girls such as Bella are prone to – in which case, I would strongly advise anyone suffering from this to keep handy the universal cure, and take a strong swig of sloe gin – or was it a genuine sorrow?

I
decided on the former and resolved to not to mention it, but casually poured Bella a swig of the sloe gin which I always keep close to me into a glass.

“There
dear, whatever it is, this will make it better,” I said soothingly, in a head prefect no nonsense way.

Bella
thanked me wordlessly and took the medicine like the trusting soul that she is. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to give her a lecture on checking for arsenic in her glass. It did occur to me to do so, but I managed to curb myself. To be fair, I think that particular practice has disappeared from fashion. Still, you can never be too careful.

“Oh
Flora, mummy isn’t in her room and daddy isn’t in his. I went to wake them with some tea and their beds haven’t even been slept in!”

I
laughed.

“Bella
dear, is that all? Don’t worry, your parents and I enjoyed a midnight feast in my room last night and then we all fell asleep.”

Bella’s
credulous bovine eyes blinked wateringly and trustingly at me with relief.

No,
poor little bird, the adults haven’t flown the nest leaving you all alone. I won’t let that happen to you, I promise, I thought to myself, realising that Bella was, in many respects like a fledgling. She wouldn’t last too long in the great wide blue yonder alone.

She
laughed with relief.

“Oh,
that’s alright then. What did you eat?” She asked greedily.

I
explained to Bella the delights of Golden Eggs and her eyes widened with surprise.

“Goodness.
Mummy loves caviar, well, so does daddy of course. And then they just fell asleep?”

I
nodded and turned away from her, remembering their curiously shy fumblings. I could only hope that after last night’s instructions Archie had improved somewhat, and that Sylvia was due many years of happiness from him. He had certainly expressed surprise at some of the
extremely
elementary lessons that I had given. Back to basics, really. Of course, most Englishmen of his class and age knew very little about the art of love-making, preferring the rough and tumble of the locker room than the arduous contortions of the marital double bed. But still.

I
turned back to Bella to ask her how her tattoo was.

“Oh,
much better, thank you Flora. Would you like to see?”

I
declined the offer and told her that I was going to take Marmaduke for a brisk walk and then return for some breakfast. Clipping Marmaduke’s lead to his collar I paused briefly in the gloomy, rubble filled hall to take stock of the house. It was coming along a treat, as my grandmother might have said. Evidence of damp, rising or otherwise, and a wall that was suspected of harbouring some form of rot as well as the rumoured subsidence, held only in abeyance by the threat of a Building Regulator –whoever
that
was - had brought most of the building proceedings to a halt for a while. The whole of the ground floor had an air of suspended animation about it, as if it was waiting for the master to return, to bring it to life. Even the neatly-tended gardens were starting to look unkempt. Jack hadn’t attended for more than a few days to the day-to-day jobs that are needed, even in winter, to keep a garden ship shape.

I
stepped out of the door and picked my way through the maze of builders materials that were stacked under the portico, Marmaduke followed me, trying to get ahead doubtless so that he could show off his masterful lead technique to the pretty little poodle next door.

A
quick turn in the fresh air was needed to quell the lurking headache pulsating over my eyes. Nothing so common as a hangover, thank you very much - I can quaff bubbles till the cows come home and not feel so much as a twinge - No, this was more a clearing-away-the-cobweb stroll. I strode along, mentally chiding myself for dawdling with the Ambles. Yes, yes, I’d accomplished much of course, but I really needed to move on. It was a matter of trust of course, and that was lacking so much nowadays, I find. My resolve to end the Amble’s fate was strengthened when I saw that Fiachra had arrived and was enjoying some bready thing that Bella had lovingly prepared.

He
eyed me with a mixture of anxious and fearful attraction, but managed to look as cocky as ever, whilst eating unappealingly with his mouth gaping open. Bella was gazing adoringly at him and only managed to tear herself away from his attentions when I had to ask, quite sharply, for my breakfast.

“Oh,
of course, sorry Flora, I was –“

“Yes,
Bella dear, a blind man would be able to see what you were so busy doing. It used to be called mooning - but I believe that’s something quite different nowadays - or making sheep’s eyes. Now then, hop to it, as quick as you like. I’m unaccountably peckish today.”

Bella
sloped off to do my bidding and I took the opportunity of making one of those life changing decisions for her. I gazed steadily at Fiachra who continued chomping away. Although, after a few seconds of intense scrutiny from me, he did stop and managed to return my gaze quite steadily.

“Six
tonight. The Plumbers Arms. Time for our little chat over a pint of the black stuff,” I said evenly.

He
may have been surprised, but covered it quite well. A knowing smile slowly spread across his face.

“Right
you are then miss, six it is.”

“Wonderful.
I’m
so
looking forward to it. Now then, I simply mustn’t keep you from your work.” I motioned slightly with my head towards the hallway and he jumped slightly but took the hint. There was soon the sound of desultory banging, which all builders do, to prove that they are actually alive and worth the massive amount of money that you are paying them by the hour.

“Are
your parents up?” I asked Bella.

“Oh
yes, mummy’s gone out with John Taylor to look at carved screens I think, and daddy’s in the bath.”

Hmm.
Not quite a honeymoon breakfast then.

I
supped my solitary meal alone at the kitchen table whilst leafing through the holiday brochures that I’d retrieved from Sylvia’s room. On impulse I dialled the number on the front of the brochure and booked a holiday for two on one of the far flung, hideously hot, insect-infested islands that cold Europeans mistake so commonly for paradise. The departure date was for two weeks’ time. I carefully reeled off the well-remembered numbers on Archie’s credit card to the disembodied voice on the other end of the line and congratulated myself on a job well done, yet again. Archie and Sylvia might not like the hot weather but I was sure that Bella and her Irish swain would. And if they didn’t – well, a small break for two can always be filled, can’t it?

As
soon as I put the phone down it rang again. It was the call I had been expecting. It was Archie’s boss, or rather,
ex
-boss, Sir George. He had a blustering, hectoring tone, and I let him bark away for a few moments before taking control. I put on my best soothing tones, and dropped my voice to a husky level.

“Umm,
the thing is Sir George, Archie is quite unable to come to the phone at the moment.” I dropped my voice to an even lower pitch of intimacy, “May I speak confidentially? Oh good, I rather thought that I might with you. Well, I think that Archie is suffering from a breakdown of some sort, and being the loyal, hardworking man that he is, he feels that he should tender his resignation.”

I
waited for a while and listened to Sir George ramble and rant for a while.

“That’s
as may be Sir George, and of course we all feel the same way about Archie’s speech, although I must say I was surprised at the reaction to your wife’s devotion to otters, as was everyone else. But the other things that Archie spoke so eloquently of were quite true, weren’t they? And I would most strongly advise you to pay Archie a considerable sum of money to stop him saying those things to anyone else.”

There
followed yet another harangue from Sir George.