‘Ja wohl, indeed.’
‘Ja wohl. That one might want to sink one’s teeth into Madam. Or merely squeeze by hand. And your lean slender waist. And your so wonderful richly creamy pink budded breasts like spring primroses.’
‘Of course we are without zee primroses in the middle of winter, but that what you say is perhaps an improvement for my ear. I am not like a good quality brood mare, perhaps. To breed up your winners.’
‘Madam. Ah Madam, why not. Of course you are. Together we can as well as good colts and fillies breed up a great dynasty. Not only of horses but of little Darcy Dancers.’
‘What. When I am far older than you.’
‘But O Madam. I have missed you, you know. I have. Other ladies simply do not possess your elegance. Even though it’s true I suppose, you really are nearly old enough to be my mother.’
‘You want I slap you again.’
‘But Madam our ages need not matter. It is how we can be helpful to one another. Isn’t it that’s how there is love, that it comes into being because of these mutually useful performances of chores. And it makes not a scrap of difference your getting the least little bit long in the tooth. Be a good little lady now and fetch in my breakfast tray. Why don’t you say something madam, why are you being so quiet.’
Tooth, breakfast, Mein Gott. And whose tooth is long.’
‘Well perhaps I must wait till there is a little more light to have a look. Perhaps I am mistaken. But no need to get flustered and angry Madam.’
‘No fluster. I am not.’
‘Well your English is getting suddenly ungrammatical. And please, you must let me finish.’
‘You finish while you are telling me to serve you breakfast and perhaps with my long teeth I am finished. Yes.’
‘No no no, Madam. For god’s sake. You do bloody well misconstrue. I just hate leaving a tray out there for someone to trip over. O god. Hear that. Exactly as has happened. And I mean you have, even though you are approaching middle age, such fine bags on you. That one would expect of a pedigree cow. A pair of the prettiest udders in the parish. Of a sort which promises a long, copious and dependable milk yield. These are the things which matter Madam. O god, what now have I said to make you go all rigid and silent again. What I am trying to tell you is, the important thing is that with the lineage you claim. Plus.’
‘I am some cow you would like in your herd to milk. And claim. What do you mean claim. It is bog trotters like you who claim. I do not claim.’
‘I see you have definitely taken to the continued unfortunate use of that term bog trotter in your vocabulary. And it does not Madam, help in the improvement of your English. Please. Get the tray. There’s a good sweet wonderful girl now.’
Miss von B rising out of bed. An impatient sweep back of the eiderdowns. Going to one’s mother’s wardrobe for covering. God what a wonderful arse she has got. And such calf muscles. Merely the shadows across such contours send the heart thumping and prick twitching. Such a damn nuisance she’s slow to take orders.
‘Thank you so much Madam. I do appreciate it. Ah not too much damage. Little coffee spilled. But in any event I have plans for the future. Now that the sea lanes are open again to America. I shall be importing the modern exotics from that land.’
‘Vas exotics I may ask.’
‘Lavatory paper as a matter of fact. I understand they have a variety which is both soft and absorbent.’
‘Ah what problems you have.’
‘Do have some coffee Madam. I indeed am going to build, as well, a high tower to this house.’
‘What, to shit down from.’
‘Please Madam, do you think we could take up discussions of that architectural utility later. You see I am inclined to imitate that fascinating gentleman William Beckford as a matter of fact. Some accounts of his travels are in the library. Indeed as is the very desk which once belonged to him. I should like, as he did, to travel widely and to return here winters to hunt. His tower was two hundred and sixty feet high. Mine will be a few feet shorter of course. There’s much loose stone about. And it would be I think nice, cementing them together to have such an edifice.’
‘Such folly would fall down on your head.’
‘Bloody hell, you are, aren’t you a barrel of enthusiasm this morning.’
‘Perhaps you would wish too by your edifice to pretend you are much high and mighty.’
‘Madam just shut up and put some honey on this barmbrack please. As a matter of fact from such a structure one could watch for poachers, trespassers and idlers.’
‘And also if commoners and peasants come too close who would not perhaps be schooled in the ways of court.’
‘You do Madam, don’t you, seem to possess a rather jaundiced view of me. I think it is the duty of a landowner such as myself to set for the peasantry an example but not especially to encourage their closeness.’
‘No it is for you and your ancestors who bring yourselves here to this country to keep the land they steal from these people so that you can prance about with noses stuck up in the air. So precious. So refined. So superior. Thinking they are something grand. When all you are is parvenu and maybe not even deserving of zee word. Now you are silent and rigid.’
‘Yes I am Madam. I am really hurt. To the quick. By your words. Which you say with a bitterness and almost hatred which would make me wonder who you consort with these days in Dublin. Here. Let me put your finger. To feel. That is my tear. That has come most genuinely out of my eye.’
‘Grosser Gott. You have, haven’t you, with so much cunning, and still so stupidly charmingly stuck up, come back into my life.’
‘Madam, may I remind you, while you are still trouncing me spiritually in the balls, that it is you who have arrived here. And come back into mine. With not so much as a warning by your leave. But of course I do not complain of that. As you do bring with you so much elegant beauty and grace. And I do so need a housekeeper again. And you ought really to be glad of my putting such a proposition to you.’
‘Who do you think you are you insolent pup. And now I shall, I really shall. Hard. Slap your face.’
Miss von B’s slap landing on Darcy Dancer’s jaw. Spinning his head around, sending coffee soaked chunks of chewed barmbrack across the room. Dishes clattering on the tray. The sting sinking deep in one’s face. My how marvellously strong she is. Astonishing how in spite of seeing stars, it trembles one’s prick into instant rigidity. With a desire flushed from scalp to toe to plunge it into her. And recall out upon yesterday’s afternoon, looking up beyond her shoulder into the western sky. The grey clouds unloading their showers of rain. And then just above the horizon, the newest of new moons luminous white against a sliver of egg shell blue. Crescent of hope so needle sharp and bright. Perhaps amid catcalls and jeers not everything was to be continuous unglamorous gloom in one’s life. That a world could begin all new again. After a war. Streets of cities to be walked. Arms held wide in joy. Singing. Windows opening to listen. Gwendolene. My Miss von B. Are you now my first armful of supreme good luck. Grabbed and held. In the embrace of your glorious golden squirming body. Your so soft tongue darting, digging down against one’s neck. Pressing between one’s lips and down one’s throat. And yet. Dear me, in the ways of women, one does sometimes feel like some filthy rich foxhunting novice arrived out in the field in the latest gear, and standing out like a sore thumb. A memorable monument to ostentation. And then on the most magnificently groomed horse, taking the first fence, and flying head over heels to splash spreadeagled in a drain full of the most moistly fresh cow flop. Face first. The Marquis did say his pop might sensibly now hang up his old testicles to dry. While one’s own still moist balls have suffered such glooms. Hanging lonely. Waiting and waiting. In great yearning groans. To anoint in her silky loins some suitably desirous lady. Even the unsuitable. So desperate was one. Nearly chewing one’s nails, which I don’t, but pacing the carpet in front of the fire. Long months of one’s flesh uncaressed by another hand. Mouldering untouched. And now feel her body. Rise up like a tide in an ocean. To deliriously drown. Enfolded in the musk of her. And in my brain holding Leila. Stretched upon thy body I lie crucified. And whom shall I ask. To walk with me. Upon the world’s boulevards. If I asked you, Leila. To waltz with thee. Make thee laugh. Would you. The foreign streets. Hands tight entwined. Hearts alive with gaiety. Would you. Waltz with me. Leila. And yet. One does swear never again to make an assignation. To be there waiting. And that they might not come. Never to see one. Even by binoculars. So lonely crushed. Just before one stamps one’s foot and says to hell with everybody. Yet you do. You do go seek them again. Her voice. And this voice. Gwendolene. O Darcy Dancer come into me. Push the prow of your ship deeper and deeper into these waters. Sail upon me. Tell me my name. Say your joy screaming aloud. Slap my palms upon your thighs. Say that you do.