Janice Gentle Gets Sexy (39 page)

His wife kept her smile to herself. Everyone has their supreme area of sensitivity, the
verboten
.
.
.

'And’
he continued, still punishing the skirt, 'then she had the nerve to say I ought to stop smoking because it was staining my teeth and fingers!'

.
..
And some have two, she thought.

'And
she was nothing but a tease,' he said. 'Do you know she talked non-stop about sex? Orgasms and everything. I mean, I ask you
..
.'

'Difficult for you,' said his wife.

You don't know how difficult, given the state of
our
marriage, he thought, but for once he forbore to say such a thing. 'I ought to sack her.'

'You can't.'

'I know,' he said, straightening up and smiling at her dangerously. 'But I can make it hell for her.'

'In what way?' She was inching towards the open suitcase, smoothing the skirt again, closing the lid so that it could lie undisturbed at last.

'Make it impossible for her to stay.'

'How?' She clicked the latch and sighed with relief.

'Demote her.' He nodded to himself with pleasurable conviction.

'To what?'

'Well, the girl on the switchboard is leaving to have a baby. I'll put her on that.'

'Can you? What about tribunals?'

'Same pay. They can't do anything. And she'll go. No one with any sensitivity would stay after that.' 'Who'll replace her?'

He shrugged. 'Doesn't matter as long as she's efficient.' 'Or he?'

He smiled. 'Perhaps.'

'No more Little Blonde Secretary Birds?' She was looking at him very hard.

He raised both hands in a gesture of sincerity. 'Honestly, lovey' - he looked up towards heaven - 'I never even
thought
about it.'

'I believe you,' she said. 'And now I'm going to have a bit of a pamper in the bath.'

'We haven't got long.'

'Long enough for me to have a soak and wash my hair.' She giggled like a schoolgirl as she closed the door. 'Tenerife! Well, well. And I might even pluck my eyebrows.' What did his being economical with the truth matter? she thought, as she ran the water. He hadn't called her 'lovey' for years.

They flew out that afternoon. He would not let her carry any of the luggage, apart from her handbag and some magazines, and remained calm and good-humoured, save for one moment when an American girl walked across the path of his trolley causing him to swerve. There might have been a row - always a nasty way to begin a holiday - for initially the American girl said, 'Are you
blind
or something?' very aggressively, but just as the Boss Masculine was about to make an acid retort, the girl softened, put up her hand (shame about the bitten nails, thought the Boss Masculine's wife) and said, 'I apologize. It was my fault. Sorry.' To which the Boss Masculine, also changing tack, declared it was entirely due to him and he hoped he had not hurt her in any way.

The Boss Masculine's wife looked to see if there was some sparkle of flirtatiousness behind all this but could detect none. Just two people being polite. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm but did not lean on him heavily as once she would have done. Her hand rested there lightly - a connection rather than crutch - and together they wheeled the trolley along the walkway. She asked him more about Birmingham. He shrugged. 'I didn't arrange for us to go on holiday to discuss business.' This so unnerved her that she felt almost girlish, wondering what they could talk about instead. He asked her if the walking was tiring her and how her muscles felt. She told him that
she
had not come on holiday to discuss her medical condition. This surprised them both and they continued along the walkway in pleasant silence.

When Derek met the
Little
Blonde Secretary Bird at the station, she was looking very pale and very tight-mouthed. 'I ate something that upset me,' she said. 'And he had to get home to his wife, who is not well.'

'If you want my opinion,' said Derek, with unaccustomed assertiveness, 'I think it's a cheek. He shouldn't have left you on your own like that.'

'He trusts me, Derek.'

'I've a good mind to go and see him about it.' 'You can't,' she said. 'He's taking her away.' She brightened. 'And leaving me in charge. He thinks very highly of me, Derek.' 'Funny way of showing it,' he said, helping her into the car. 'Don't mutter, please,' she said.

At home she unpacked. She took out the scrap of lawn and lace and waved it under Derek's nose. 'He gave me th
is,' she said. 'He's a real gentl
eman. There I was in tears . . .'

'Tears?' Derek looked surprised. 'Why?'

She looked at him pityingly. 'If you don't know, Derek, then I'm not telling you.' She held up the hanky and fluttered it again. 'It's ever such a romantic thing to give a woman.'

'Is it?' said Derek. He didn't think Ken would think so. He didn't think
be
thought so. It was all a mystery to him, this romance business. He used to buy his Auntie Megan hankies for Christmas, with an
M
embroidered on the corner. He hoped she hadn't misconstrued it
..
.

'I'll make you a nice hot mug of tea,' he said.

'Cup, Derek,' she said, and, looking at the lacy lawn, she sighed. 'Tea in a
cup.
Remember?'

Pausing at the bedroom door, he turned and, looking pinkly pleased, he added, 'You haven't noticed.'

'Noticed what?' she said crisply.

'Behind you.'

She felt irritated. Her headache had not entirely gone despite the lapse of time. It must certainly have been the prawns. 'Hmm?' she asked again sharply.

'Behind
you.'

'Derek, I am in no mood to play at pantomimes!' 'The door.'

She turned round, puzzled. 'I
've
fixed the door.'

She gave it a little push. It stayed shut. 'Well done, Derek,' she said.

He felt it was considerably more 'well done' than that stupid bit of cotton she'd dangled under his nose.
‘I
had to take the whole thing out.' He said. 'All of it.' He waited for her accolade.

'Talking of taking things out, Derek,' she said, 'we'd better have that awful Vent-Axia out this weekend, too. I'm sure that doesn't help the atmosphere . . .'

His pinkness turned to red. He very nearly shouted. 'But that's ex
actl
y what it
does
do,' he said. 'Without it the atmosphere would be terrible in there. Don't you understand, woman?' He was raising and lowering his arms at his side like a feeble chicken. 'If we didn't have that Vent-Axia, there'd be all
sorts
of things trapped. Steam, smells
..
.'

'Derek'
she said warningly. 'Besides, I am not talking about that sort of atmosphere. I'm talking about setting the mood. You should have seen the restaurant in the hotel. They knew how to set the mood with atmosphere, all right.'

'And poison you,' he said huffily.

'Derek, that was unfortunate.
But the setting was very romanti
c. And it didn't have . . .' - she began snapping, the throbbing returning - 'it didn't have a whining
monster
stuck in the wall.'

'Oh,
didn't
it?'

'Oh and also' - she fished about in her bag, taking out a small card chart — 'this weekend . . . um . . .' She ran a finger down the lines. 'It's an
important
one. All right.' She snapped her bag shut, turned to the door, but he had gone.

There was a sudden crashing sound from the bathroom. She froze, card in hand. He was
so
clumsy. She waited for his apologetic cry, which did not come. Very well, she thought,
I'm
not going to ask. But suddenly, remembering the card, she put her hand to her mouth. Supposing he had damaged something -of an important
physical
nature. She rushed to the bathroom and pushed open the door. He stood there, Vent-Axia in his hands, and without a further sound threw it down on to the black and white diamond tiles. He drew his lips back over his teeth in a curl of scorn, said, 'Happy now?' and went out. He was rather pleased at the last picture he had of her, with her pretty little pink mouth in the shape of a perfect O.

By the
time
they were speaking again, which in reality was by the
time
she was speaking to him, ovulation had ceased and the Boss Masculine had returned. Interviews were taking place for the switchboard girl's replacement. The
Little
Blonde Secretary Bird found it odd that she was not involved in the decision about replacing such a lowly minion but thought it was probably kindness, the sharing of burdens at this critical emotional time in her life.

Appare
ntly
the person had been engaged, but she knew no more than that. Time would tell. She was quite looking forward to it. She organized the whip-round in the office and bought the mother-to-be a pretty plastic changing mat for the baby and a boxed selection of beauty aids and bathtime pamperers for herself. The mother-to-be left clutching these to her extraordinary belly and the
Little
Blonde Secretary began to look forward, with interest, to Monday morning.

Derek gave an even louder whoop of pleasure than the whoop he had given when the now defunct Vent-Axia slipped into place. 'Are you quite sure?' he asked the man on the telephone.

The man on the telephone said that he was.

'And the new rules begin from when?'

The man on the telephone said, 'Next Monday. You can collect the new specification from the Town Hall then.'

Derek felt as if he were floating on air. If his wife had been there, he would certainly have kissed her - if not more. He couldn't wait until Monday to confirm the truth. The Borough Council had reduced the ceiling height for loft conversions. He would be able to add one to their house after all! And that was the first really cheering thing that had happened to him for ages. She would be over the moon when he told her. Life would get back to normal again - him doing home improvements and her being encouraging. Teamwork - that was what marriage was

about. Probably better that she didn't get in the family way yet -though he wouldn't actually say that to
her
...
He wouldn't mention anything until next Monday night, when he definitely knew, had the paperwork in his hand. He didn't mind half so much about the Vent-Axia now he had all this to look forward to.

*

Dermot Poll was finding life very dull now that Deirdre had gone teetotal, eschewed his bed and refused to fight any more. As he said to her, pleadingly, 'What else is there?'

But Deirdre was not to be
moved. She had taken to crocheti
ng in the evening, perched on a high bar stool, chatting to the customers, sipping blackcurrant cordial and soda.

The only little excitement rece
ntly
was a telephone call from England in which a Miss O'Dowd inquired the whereabouts of Mr Dermot Poll. It was Deirdre who had taken it and who had said, smooth as a spoonful, that she had once known a man of that name but that he had gone away a long time since. Whatever the reason for Miss O'Dowd's inquiry that particular pot was best left unstirred.

Chapter Twenty-three

E

rica
von Hyatt was amenable to everything. In the first days of late summer and autumn she had gathered the flowers, gathered the fruits and learned all that Gretchen O'Dowd could teach her about the art of floristry and basket-arranging. But now the garden and the hothouse were empty and damp and cold. They spent each day and each evening alone together. And Erica von Hyatt was feeling extremely constrained.

But she remained amenable. Soon they would be on the road again and that was a freedom to be savoured. In the meantime she behaved herself, biding her time. The balance of comfort and confinement was equal. Everything was fine, providing she knew it was not for ever. So she said yes to walks, she said yes to television, she said yes to cucumber sandwiches. Everything was lovely, nothing was too much trouble. They slept together, snuggled up tight in the large, snowy bed, and, even there, Erica von Hyatt said yes to everything.