The Hunting Trip (41 page)

So, Phil, ol' buddy,
ol' Pat's letter finally ended,
instead of sitting around lonely and alone with absolutely nothing to do and no one to talk to in your London hotel room, you can go to the Tower of London and watch them lock up the Queen's family jewels. Fondly, your pal, Pat
.

George then handed Phil the message from Lieutenant Colonel Smythe, and announced, “I will leave you and your niece now so that you can rest from your journey. Since you were traveling with all that white trash, you must be exhausted.”

Phil went looking for Ginger and found her jumping up and down on the emperor-sized mattress in the bedroom wearing nothing but the intimate undergarment with the two hearts joined by Cupid's arrow and the legend
My Heart Belongs to Phil!
embroidered all over thereon.

He averted his eyes.

He handed her Lieutenant Colonel Smythe's message.

“How do I deal with this?” he asked.

She stopped jumping up and down on the mattress, read the message, and then reached for the telephone.

After Phil had explained to Ginger that when the Brits say “knock me up,” they are not talking about impregnation, but rather asking to be telephoned, she got on the telephone.

“Colonel Smythe, this is Miss Ginger Gallagher, personal executive assistant to Mr. Philip Williams. How may the Master be of assistance to you?”

Since he could only hear one side of the conversation, he didn't understand what was being said from the other end, so when Ginger said, “We'll be there,” and hung up the telephone and appeared to be in the act of removing her intimate undergarment, he logically asked, “What was that all about?”

“I'll summarize it briefly while you take your clothes off,” Ginger said.

He began to do so, and she did so:

“At five-fifteen, a Buck House car will pick us up here and take us to the Tower of London, where we will watch the sequestering of the Crown Jewels, after which we will go to the Yeomen Warders Club, where you will be very nice to Generalissimo and President for Life Sir Montague Obango of the People's Democratic Republic of Chongo—a member of the British Commonwealth of Nations—who thinks your book
Love and Lust in the Kremlin Necropolis
is the finest he has ever read dealing with love, lust, and international intrigue, and intends to award you the order of Montague Obango Second Class in person at the Tower of London. Smitty says that if you're not willing to go along with this, you'll be threatening the entire British Commonwealth of Nations establishment. And Smitty suggests I bring along a can of Mace, as Generalissimo Sir Montague Obango has wandering hands.”

She paused, and then said, “Let me help you with that zipper, Precious. The way your hand is shaking, you'll never get it down.”

—

And here,
dear reader, we must once again draw the curtain of modesty across the narrative stage of this romance novel.

[ FIVE ]

Her Majesty's Royal Palace and Fortress, a/k/a the Tower of London

On the north bank of the River Thames

London, England

5:45 p.m. Tuesday, September 16, 1975

A
t 5:10 p.m. that same afternoon, a Buck House Rolls-Royce rolled up to the front door of Claridge's Hotel, and an elaborately uniformed officer, who was of course Lieutenant Colonel Sir Brathwaite T. Smythe, Companion of the Bath to H.M. Queen Elizabeth, got out and went through the revolving door and into the hotel.

He came out of the hotel approximately three minutes later, which elapse of time permitted the Ladies of The Tuesday Luncheon Club and the Magna Carta Dames to leave their widely separated tables in the Sidewalk Tea Tables at which they had been impatiently waiting and to form opposing lines between the Rolls-Royce and the revolving door.

At a quick glance, the couple whom the elaborately uniformed
officer ushered quickly through the lines of opposing ladies didn't look much like Royalty, but the ladies curtsied anyway.

When the Buck House Rolls had rolled away, there was some discussion about who the couple had been. At least two of The Tuesday Luncheon Club Ladies were convinced that the man had been that
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
Yankee friend of Randy Bruce, but admitted they knew nothing about the blonde except that she was visibly not wearing the upper intimate undergarment without which a Muddiebay young lady would never dream of going out in public.

Two of the Magna Carta Dames were strongly convinced that they had just seen the Duke of Harlborough, H.M. the Queen's Second Cousin once removed, and his French mistress, basing their convictions on two things. First, that the duke was known to have a weakness for young French women, who have a weakness for going brassiere-less, as this blonde was so visibly doing. And, second, that the duke was known to go around with a dazed look on his face.

Mr. Philip Williams did indeed have a dazed look on his face as he passed between the opposing lines of Ladies and Dames. But he also had a look of wonderment and joy on his countenance alternatively.

The looks flashed rapidly from one to the other in the manner of the flashing red warning lights at railway crossings when a train is due to cross the crossing.

One second, he would be thinking, and his countenance would reflect:

I am the happiest, luckiest
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
in the world.

A beautiful blonde loves me and I love her and together we have made the greatest whoopee I have ever experienced in my life!

And then, next second, F L A S H!, he would be thinking, and his countenance would reflect:

I am the most miserable
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
in the history of the world,
who has just taken sexual advantage of a fine young woman young enough to be his daughter, which at the same time constituted infidelity to his wife of all these years and the mother of his three children, none of whom even suspect what a terrible person their husband and father is!

And then, next second, F L A S H!, he would be thinking, and his countenance would reflect:

I am the happiest, luckiest,
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
in the world.

A beautiful . . .

—

Und so weiter.

Ad infinitum.

—

Practically any aficionado
of romance novels will follow my meaning, as this isn't nearly as difficult to understand as some of the narrative I've encountered in romance novels written by others, and I'm not talking just about the lousy grammar and sometimes unintentionally hilarious spelling.

—

Things went well
at the Tower of London, far better than Lieutenant Colonel Sir Brathwaite T. Smythe had dared hope, although on three occasions during the night when things didn't seem to go well, he nearly had a heart attack.

The Queen's jewels got safely tucked away for the night, following which everyone repaired to the Yeomen Warders Club, or as it is sometimes called, “The Beefeater's Bistro.”

Generalissimo and President for Life Sir Montague Obango was already there with two of his younger wives. He was about as heavy as “King Kong” Kingman but stood only five feet five inches tall.
With him were two officers, whom he introduced as Field Marshal Percy Dingo and General of the Army Ethelbert Jones. They were both the size and the height of “King Kong” Kingman.

To judge by their medal-covered chests, all three officers had served with great valor in every war from the Wars of the Roses (1455–1485
A.D.
) onward.

“Please come in, Mr. Williams,” Generalissimo and President for Life Sir Montague Obango said. “Sit by my side, have a little taste of Famous Pheasant, and tell me how much you're asking for the blonde.”

Phil pretended to misunderstand, and said, “She'll have what I'll have, Generalissimo, which is a double Famous Pheasant, water on the side, and two ice cubes.”

The drinks were produced by a Yeoman Warder, rims touched, and downed.

“I was thinking you could have your choice between these two,” the generalissimo said, pointing to his wives, “plus, I will up the Order of Montague Obango Second Class I am going to award you for your distinguished literary achievements writing about love, lust, and international intrigue to First Class, which comes with a purple sash to drape over your skinny shoulders.”

Again Phil pretended to misunderstand, and said, “Don't mind if I do.”

Phil had hoped the first drink would turn off the flashing railroad lights.

It didn't, but the second had helped, so he held up his glass for a refill.

“Okay,” the generalissimo said. “I should have known that someone of your intelligence would drive a hard bargain. Both wives, the Order of Montague Obango First Class, plus two camels. I confess the blonde has caught my eye.”

The third Famous Pheasant turned the flashes off for the rest of
the evening and also caused Phil to be in the condition he was in, the diligent reader may remember, the night he went steeplechasing with the naked Valkyrie in the Pferd and Frauen in Berlin, Germany.

In other words, he didn't know what he was doing.

“I'll tell you what's caught my eye, Generalissimo,” he said. “And if my eye catches your hand again trying to caress the gluteus maximus of the love of my life, I will tear your
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
hand off and ram it up your
EXPLETIVE DELETED!!
”

This caused the heart of Lieutenant Colonel Sir Brathwaite T. Smythe to stop.

Generalissimo and President for Life Sir Montague Obango glared in disbelief for a moment, and both Field Marshal Percy Dingo and General of the Army Ethelbert Jones jumped to their feet to glower at Phil.

Then the generalissimo laughed.

“And what makes you think you could do something like that, Skinny?” he challenged.

“Because I am a better man than you, Gunga Din. In the sense that I am smarter and more talented in the manly arts, if not quite so fat.”

“What manly arts?”

“Taekkyeon, for example.”

“I have no idea what that is. What other manly art, for example?”

“How about arm wrestling, sometimes called
Bras de fer
, for example?”

“Ha!” the generalissimo snorted. “I'll have you know that you're looking at the People's Democratic Republic of Chongo's Champion Arm Wrestler!”

“Well, Fatso, shall we have at it?”

“I would like nothing better than to tear off your arm while arm wrestling with you, Skinny, but if I did so, I would probably get blood
all over my uniform, so what I suggest is that you arm wrestle with Field Marshal Percy Dingo, who took second place in the National Arm Wrestling Finals, and let him tear your arm off.”

“Whatever you say, Shorty.”

So Phil and the field marshal assumed the position.

Although the field marshal was not only much stronger than Phil, and a better arm wrestler, he knew nothing about Taekkyeon and Phil was a Master (Beginner's Class) of the ancient art. The result of that was that three seconds after they began their contest, the field marshal was on the floor, weeping piteously as he tried to remove his arm (still attached at the shoulder) from where Phil had put it in an upward position in an orifice of the field marshal's gluteus maximus area.

“My God!” the generalissimo said in awe. “I never saw anything like that, not even when I was Sergeant Major Montague Obango of the People's Democratic Republic of Chongo's Regiment of Light Lancers and in charge of person-to-person combat training. How did you do that? And will you show me how?”

“Perhaps, but first you said something that has piqued my curiosity. You said you were the sergeant major of what regiment of Light Lancers?”

“That of my native land when it was still under the colonial yoke. At that time the occupying force was Her Majesty's Own Scottish Light Lancers. When the Scots left—and they were pretty good chaps, actually, despite what people say—”

“Did you,” Phil interrupted, “perhaps know a—”

“I think I'm starting to like you, Skinny, but not to the point where you can feel free to interrupt me at will.”

“Sorry.”

“As I was saying, when the Scots left, we formed our own Army, of course, and included in it the People's Democratic Republic of
Chongo's Light Lancers, which assumed the customs and traditions of H.M.'s Own Scottish Light Lancers. I was appointed colonel commanding and the field marshal here was appointed my chief of staff as a lieutenant colonel.”

“That was quite a jump in rank,” Ginger said.

“Yes, it was, my . . . excuse me,
Phil here's
 . . . blond beauty. But ol' Percy and I were the only soldiers in Chongo who could read and write. One thing quickly led to another, of course, and soon I moved into the Presidential Palace, formerly Government House, as generalissimo and president for life and ol' Percy became field marshal.” He paused, and then went on, contemptuously, “For Christ's sake, Percy, stand up and stop moaning like a woman! Think of the traditions of our beloved regiment!”