‘O dear. Mine Madam. Utterly and solely mine. Please might I just squeeze in the bed. Move over please.’
‘Just so long as you understand the implications of what you are compelling me to do.’
‘I do. I so absolutely do understand. But can’t you immediately reimpose your sanction and catch up with your stored up celibacy when I entrain back to the country.’
‘Don’t you continue to be so damn smart, you.’
‘I’m really not. I mean it is after all, the fact of the matter is it not.’
‘No it’s not. And do you know what I think dear boy.’
‘What do you think Lois.’
‘Someone should take you in hand. Before you become one of these horse racing playboys. I think you would selfishly say or selfishly do just about anything just to get what you want.’
‘Well even as a racing enthusiast and modest horse breeder, there do exist some gentlemanly limits beyond which I’d consider it highly improper to go.’
‘O god I would like music and my gramophone is broken, and I can’t afford to have it shipped back to England to be fixed.’
‘Ah but Lois I shall play the solo part in a D minor symphony on top of you. Call it a horn concerto, if you like.’
‘You shall certainly not. I shall be on top if you don’t mind. You may be funny but you are also being extremely unromantic. And while you are exercising your gentlemanly inclinations also include a thought for when my arthritis prevents me from painting. I may need in the not too distant future, a small perhaps semi grace and favour residence. I certainly think you should have regard for the long term aspect of being a patron.’
‘Well there are unoccupied cottages. Indeed that I do have. Outlying perhaps. In need of renovation. I mean a new thatch and a patch and window pane or two. Could make one of them quite liveable.’
‘I see. Chuck me into some damp labourer’s hovel. Exactly what my arthritis needs.’
‘No no. It could be smartened up and prettified. My gardener is a marvellous hand at such things. I have a cemetery as well.’
‘You what.’
‘I mean it is ancient. And nearly full. But so attractive. Has a ninth century ruin of a church.’
‘I said I had arthritis. I did not say I was dying.’
‘No of course you didn’t, Lois. But we all must go sometime. And I suggest it only in the interests of providing you with a final resting place.’
‘Do you simply think that because I am older than you. That I am at death’s door. Is that what you think.’
‘No no. Not. Never. Nein, nao, nu, nyet, nie, nae, ne, nem.’
‘And what are you mumbling.’
‘I am just saying no in a few other languages. My tutor frequently set me various exercises in comparative linguistics. And the word no happens to be one I still remember.’
‘O god. Here one is. Selling off my body to you, for some protection against a heinous rodent. Compromising my soul. And in return, instead of dignified retirement one day, I am being offered burial.’
‘Lois, please. I think you’re a long way off from finally packing it in. I really do. You have such a marvellous figure and you do feel so marvellously naked in my arms.’
‘This is just a blatant exploitation of my body.’
‘Well if it is, why don’t we really make the most of it. Sorry I didn’t quite mean to say that.’
‘You said it. O god, get it over with, you brazen bold boy.’
Lois squeezing, digging in her fingernails into Darcy Dancer’s back. As she writhes and sticks her tongue in his ear and rolls over on top of him. Her arms pinning him down as she shakes her braided long pigtails loose. A cat wailing outside. That should keep the rat quiet. And one supposes, what does it matter. Another bit of land, a cottage, a fraction of one’s birthright. Slap a little lime wash on the walls, sweep out the cobwebs. After all in spite of all her high falutin intellectual flights of fancy she is a decent enough sort. One simply cannot understand how she retains such a splendid physique. If it weren’t for the sometimes utterly mad expression worn on her face, she could, be classed as quite beautiful. And in spite of making no effort as she does to look in the least smart or feminine. Her tongue darting out her mouth and licking around her lips does resemble some sort of lizard. Even so I don’t suppose she deserves to have heaped upon her one lie on top of another. How can one ever afford, broke as one is, to commission a painting. One’s staff’s last fortnight’s wages unpaid. The resounding loud scraping sounds at the bottom of all one’s barrels. My mother’s jewels. I see sparkling and glowing in a great iron chest which becomes a nightmare when I wake up. Her pearls. Long gone black without a woman’s skin to give them life. Her rings, bracelets. Where do they lie. To be unearthed and bring one back to solvency. And one must remind oneself yet again. That so much of my mother’s family riches came from an act of kindness. Of one’s great great grandfather. Who one hot summer’s day came riding cross country on his horse to the flooded ford of a wide stream. To there find an old gentleman stranded, wheels stuck in the mud trying to get his pair of horses and carriage across. And my ancestor dismounted and after an hour or two’s digging, pushing, shoving and tying and adding his own horse to tugging, finally pulled the old gentleman’s carriage across the stream. The old gentleman tipped his hat and thanked him. And my ancestor bowed and smiled. Till many years later he was one day summoned up to Dublin. To climb the stairs of a big old house to an office. Whose windows overlooked the green velvet lawns of Trinity College’s Provost’s garden. And to there find an agent and a lawyer with deeds and papers and to learn from them that he’d been bequeathed by the old gendeman two great tracts of land of two thousand Irish acres. On one tract stood nearly the whole of a midlands town. And on another, part of Dublin. No wonder one rushes to every litde old lady’s elbow to safely usher her across the roadway. Such compassion as a forbear had, I suppose still flows in my veins. But my god, administering such similar kindness. Help Lois to reimpose her celibacy. Kill her rat. Would only get me bequeathed her obscene pictures swirling with male private parts. Which in turn would get me arrested and imprisoned. And she’ll no doubt strangle me for all the crimson, blue and green paint she finds my feet are presently wiping off all over her sheets. Taste her saliva. She does have such sweet breath. To sniff back comfortingly into one’s nostrils. Makes all sorts of contorted gyrations and groans. Getting up on top of me. Which duly reminds that I must my god, win at the races. Borrow or beg to bet on Awfully Stupid Kelly’s Ulidia Princess The Second. So much has happened can’t remember where he said it was running. Leopardstown or Phoenix Park. My god, she’s finally got down. Changing from one orifice to another. And biting and painfully chewing one’s balls in between. Now feels as if she’s nearly swallowing me up. Shaking my prick in her mouth from one cheek to the other, teeth sawing back and forth. Pigtails flying like an autogyro. And O my god, licking her chops sucking out the last single drop. Must be her impoverished condition.
‘Are you tired already darling.’
‘Lois for someone whose recent regime was celibacy you do demonstrate an uncommonly explosive enthusiasm. Which is also if I may say so, entirely unarthritic’
‘Well there is little point darling in not being wholehearted. And I’m not a cripple you know. Shall I try to get it up for you again.’
‘Well seemingly, for the time being at least, it does appear to be down, doesn’t it.’
‘Yes darling. Let us kiss it more. But what a lot of work you’re being dear boy. It’s still down and my jaw muscles are getting quite painfully tired.’
‘Is it your arthritis.’