‘I really don’t, except for the champagne, feel as if your description aptly applies to me as a matter of fact.’
‘O dear, you see. Because you happen to have some modestly good paintings and statuary in your house, you want so much to pretend that your taste in champagne is merely natural to you. That your grandfather and his grandfather drank it. It’s been in your cellar for years.’
‘Certain vintages of champagne can vary considerably. And even the best champagne can fade after a generation.’
‘Well I did notice how democratic of you to have been drinking with your previous sergeant at arms. Or whatever that Foxy Slattery did or was at Andromeda Park. He certainly had a filthy gossiping mouth.’
‘Madam, would you rather I leave you to your racy novel and move to another part of this building.’
‘No I would not rather you did. As a matter of fact I’m thoroughly enjoying giving you a piece of my mind.’
‘I see. But one does sense I think a slight embitteredness somehow, perhaps not mitigated by our previous somewhat embarrassing encounters.’
‘You allude of course to your fancying the cut and fit of my breeches. Which I hope you haven’t entirely forgotten all about. Well I didn’t take you up on the occasion because, since gentlemen seem frequently to prefer being on top, I didn’t exactly relish being rolled about in a field where one’s backside is likely to get awfully wet and muddy. And quite possibly too, people after the fox might come jumping over one. Now. Has the cat got your tongue darling.’
‘No the cat has not.’
‘Am I scaring you out of your wits. Pour me, please, more champagne. You see. Truth of the matter is. I think you hold it against me ever since I had a whipping match with that now shop assistant and former whore housekeeper of yours, and spurned your poor Mr Arland. As a matter of fact. Although I did spurn him. I did think he was sweet to come kneeling with his posies on my front stoop trying to sing his love songs.’
‘My Mr Arland never knelt to do that.’
‘Well. Whether he did or not is not the problem. But I have a mother. Who I admit is utterly raddled with her small town ambitions, and who nearly killed herself in her attempts to make me a Marchioness. And of course we both know the Marquis I speak of. I was forced. Forced. To do every rotten low cruel deceitful toadying and contemptible thing to become what would probably be the thirteenth or is it now fourteenth Marchioness. And for my pains. I got as the vulgar expression has it, royally buggered. And ended up still a commoner but without perhaps a commoner’s bugger all. And then again, had I ever become a Marchioness, I could have, as was one of the Marquis’ grooms, been burned to a crisp in his horsebox. But don’t you realize people like your Mr Arland have not a chance in this world.’
‘I do not think that’s entirely so. People of high principles do occasionally rise to the top.’
‘Do they.’
‘Yes they do.’
‘Well blow me down. At times, you do sound quite righteous. Perhaps then I should not ask will you dine with me. I could pretend of course I’m not at a loose end. As in fact I am. I have absolutely nowhere to go this evening. In spite of these various men earlier making their goggle eyes at me. Well, will you dine with me. That’s an invitation.’
‘Yes. Yes. That would be entirely.’
‘Entirely what.’
‘Entirely enjoyable.’
‘Ha, you weren’t were you, because of your slight tendency to pusillanimity, not saying it would be entirely a pain in the arse.’
‘No I certainly was not.’
‘Well then. We dine together. Provided of course it’s absolutely on me. If you don’t mind.’
‘Well I would rather it weren’t you know.’
‘Well I would rather it were. Do you mind, awfully.’
‘No. Indeed. If you insist.’
‘May I tell you something.’
‘Do please.’
‘You are a bit of a con man.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘You and that Rashers practically make a pair.’
‘Madam I really don’t feel it necessary for me to take up defence of myself against such a ridiculous aspersion.’
‘O come on. You’re forgetting I’ve long been a lady of the world. And you do take me too seriously. Can’t we have some fun. The pair of us.’
Following smoked salmon, and more champagne, I had duck. Yet again. We both had duck. A l’orange. Sprouts. Baked potato. And a fairly splendid bottle of burgundy. And one was becoming aware of her quite excellent palate for wine as she ordered another half. One’s formerly achingly hungry stomach filling, my limbs glowing. And one had to admit to absolutely thoroughly enjoying oneself. So marvellous a feeling the expense was not to be branded upon one’s bill. Had a slight moment of alarm as I caught sight of the manager at the door, who instantly bowed and smiled. Clearly it was time for compliments.
‘I do like what you’re wearing Baptista, you do dress beautifully you know. That fabric is quite exquisite.’
‘Thank you. Well I suppose being the wife of a mill owner does allow one a rather large field of the very best cloth to choose from.’
Although largish in the quarters, Baptista was surprisingly slender in the joints. And getting by the minute more quite spectacularly beautiful in her candle lit face. Seated as we were away quietly in the corner of the dining room. The blue of her eyes fading to an exquisite grey at the edges. But one could notice sprinkled about, what one was fast realising was nearly every whispering gossip in Dublin. Not to mention those from the open countryside as far away as Galway. All sneaking their glances each time Baptista laughed. Which was getting quite frequent as I stopped trying my utter damndest to be funny as hell, and then, relating an odd tale of previous childhood woe, became quite hysterically amusing. And when my hand was on the way to pour another spot of wine in her glass, she touched my metacarpal.
‘Darcy, no, you finish it. I’ve already had far more than my share.’
Her hand lingered. Mine holding the basket lingered. And following the afternoon’s imbroglios, I did not think that one could again get explosively stimulated between the legs. But my old pole absolutely shot bolt upright and nearly turned the ruddy table over. And god, one really was having such a great good old time. Right up to the moment when I felt a distinct vast barrel of ice water being dumped upon one.
‘Of course, my husband should be here any moment now. He’s flying in. In his own airplane. His name is Harold. You know, I think the two of you would get on marvellously together.’
‘Do you.’
‘Yes. I do. You could go together to rugby matches.’
‘I see. Could we.’
‘Yes. He shoots. You could shoot together.’
‘I suppose too, he fishes.’
‘Yes. You could fish together. But you don’t at all sound enthusiastic.’
‘As a matter of fact, actually I’m not.’
‘Ah. False alarm. Darling. I just wanted to see how far I could make your jaw drop.’
‘What do you mean.’
‘I mean my husband’s not coming.’
‘I don’t think I quite like playing this charade.’
‘Ah well he is in fact coming. But in a week or so. And he did play rugby you know. For quite a good team. O dear I haven’t have I ruined what a nice little evening we were having together. Two old friends aren’t we now. Well now. What do you think I should do. Now that we’ve finished off the burgundy and Brie. To entice you.’
‘Baptista, my dear. I do hope you will forgive me if I suggest that, should you continue what appears to be your idea of a little innocent fun at the expense of my easy excitability, that I may sock your bloody damn jaw across this table.’