‘Crooks, please. Some champagne. For Mr Ronald.’
‘Of course sir.’
Crooks giving, as he withdraws a single pace backwards, the proper and merest nodding inclination of the head. People who rather cut a figure always seem to inspire Crooks to his very best butlering. Albeit Rashers does more vaguely resemble a race course tout. However Crooks did, being a past Dubliner, listen to Rashers with rapt attention, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Which with his crossed eyes, made him look a trifle daft. But suddenly endearing. Between of course his more obtuse irritating moments. Especially his continued attempts at putting his finger in places where the rest of the female staff find it most unwanted. Not to mention what he may do with his fingers during some of his more bizarre recent night time fetishes.
‘Of course my dear fellow I’m in utter awe. Clearly there is no need for you, as I have found the need in my line of adventuring mountebankism, to use the old nom de guerre instead of the old nom de famille and thereby keep the old incognito intact, if you follow me. But damn it, here you are, with ruddy eggs, barley, wheat, oats, milk and butter at a hand’s grasp. And yum yum yummy filet mignon within the tap of a sledge hammer, and a few slashes of a carving knife. Of course I expect to find a few damp patches on the wall and also a headless chicken or two rotting behind the drawing room drapes which are customarily found in the better Anglo Irish house.’
And as one stared out over Rashers Ronald’s shoulder, listening amused and calmed as one might be by a bird singing, there she was. Out of a blast of sunlight in the doorway. White gloved hand holding her bowler and whip. Blond hair coiffed back on her head. So soigné. Striding in her slightly military manner across the hall. Straight for me. My heart thumping uncontrollably in my chest. My private enlarging in my breeches. Even as one of my ears still listens to Rashers Ronald rambling on.
‘I would so adore to be a bookmaker. One of course with a couple or so shop fronts in say Duke or Anne Street. Even in spite of your enormous win my dear fellow. My betrothed keeps insisting she will back me. To the hilt. Which with her accountants shouting in unison that she shouldn’t, could mean the business end of the sword up one’s arse. I take a damn poor view of that short sighted attitude. But you must meet her. Before the dear gallant girl gets too much further the wrongish side of sixty. Two face lifts have kept her damn presentable. Leaves her expression a little sphinx like as a result. But who minds. Perhaps a little blet in the quarters and thighs. And knobbly hocks. A regrettable consequence of her grazing too much on her boxes of chocolates. The dear dear creature’s only failing, however. And added to her two previous tobacconist’s shops she now has three more. O but I bore you.’
‘No not at all.’
‘Well then I damn well bore myself. Except for the fact that my dear betrothed has now instead of three hundred, four hundred and fifteen acres, three roods and two perches. Of the very nicest possible well watered and fenced acres in County Dublin. Stabling for sixty. Fifteen horses in training. Five footmen, eight gardeners. Of course I exaggerate for the sake of accuracy. Knowing that anyone listening to what I’m saying will take it with a grain of salt. You know I’m convinced, there is something to this country life. But dear girl wants to know if my intentions are sincere. That I’m not after the easy way of Jammet’s restaurant life so to speak. That’s where we are dear boy, every evening in my utter struggle to impress her that my intentions are hallmarked sterling. I mean what more can I do but sit there paying the bill and holding back tears that would otherwise be pouring down my cheeks parting with the fiver it’s costing me. And all the while saying, I love you, darling. I love you. But the dear lady is taking such a long time to accept my proposal. I had to ruddy purloin this shirt and my present pair of socks from her butler. And can you imagine, damn chap had the sauce to request them back. I mean there I was on my way to take a pee having bid two spades during bridge. Damn uncomfortable feeling you know. Bad enough the collar’s ruddy too tight. Ah but you do listen to me don’t you. And you are wondering what I did, aren’t you. Well I took off my coat and handed him back his shirt and took off my shoes and handed him back his socks. And went back to the bridge table and bid three no trump. Taught the ruddy chap a lesson. Didn’t it. He then, gave them to me as a present neatly parcelled up in green tissue. But I mean my dear chap, I’m only the merest maybe thirty or forty or so years her junior. Why should my youth be such a hindrance. What matters is our common interest in horses, our companionship at the races. And what should be significant is we hold hands on our way there. Of course we couldn’t do that if it weren’t for her chauffeured car.’
Miss von B stepping close to Rashers’s elbow. Nodding to him as he stops in his speech, and she turns to smile at Darcy Dancer.
‘Reginald Darcy Thormond Dancer, the genuine aristocrat. I presume.’
‘You do so presume correctly madam. But I would rather present myself as your faithful potato digging bog trotter at your service.’
My god, if I had not got those words out my mouth it would have stayed opened long and wide enough to become a swallow’s nest. If anything she is even more beautiful than I remember. Her teeth whitely shining between salmon pink soft lips. Glowing mahogany of her boot tops and their lower leather so black gleaming. Glimpse of yellow vest under her white silk stock pinned with a gold and emerald pin. Her long and sinewy legs within her breeches. Not a hair or thread out of place. And a god awful crash has just happened down the hall somewhere, no doubt of the usual irreplaceable crockery breaking.
‘Ha, by zee sound of zat the old place it has not changed so much.’
Rashers recoiling at this rude interruption and turning away, just as oneself did turn at the expensive sound. And catch sight of Leila disappearing down the hall towards the ballroom. And see deposited upon the hall tiles, in her wake, a large vase in some many considerable pieces. While here in front of me within the smell of her sweet breath, Miss von B. Stands almost as one had dreamt. That she had come back into this house. And of course as luck would have it, she is surveying me from head to foot.
‘Ah but that is just as we would expect, kaboom, something precious becomes no more. And so let me look at my trotter bogger.’
Who was instantly noticed in his effort to shield my most embarrassingly largest tumescence I am sure I have ever had the arousal to have. Puts me in the extreme weakest position possible to show her any indifference. And so obvious to anyone even remotely acquainted with the breeding of horses. One even feeling that the thinness of one’s riding crop, although being as ludicrously inadequate as it is would at least distract and give the appearance of a rival stiffness. Good lord what a hopeless image one conjures in the present desperation. To ask her to stay. Do sleep here tonight. My dear. And I shall, using my celibacy as a parachute, descend quietly upon your quarters and ruddy well prod them good and proper. And erase in one throbbing evening of love all the yearning hurt. Of your ignoring me back in Dublin. Ah but maybe one should not be so easy on her. As this now is my supreme moment to be utterly cool. As she has been in her so oft practised manner. And yet here I am, one’s equilibrium already betrayed by one’s inadvertent primal instinct. O god never mind tonight. What kind of awful day might this be ahead.
‘Ah the Rashers Rashers Ronald. You know.’
‘Indeed I do, madam.’
‘He is of course a fortune hunter. You do not seem to keep such worthwhile company.’