General Gooner himself confirmed this belief whilst we helped ourselves liberally to the sandwiches, fresh fruits and chilled white wine which he had ordered to be on hand before (as he had mistakenly thought) he had locked himself and Maisie away from any prying eyes! 'Er, gentlemen, I don't think there is any need to mention details of this afternoon's activities to a living soul,' he said, tapping his fingers nervously on the arm of his chair. 'Don't you agree that the three of us promise to keep silent about our fun and games-for Maisie's sake, if nothing else.' “Yes, of course,' I said gravely, giving Henry a broad wink.
'I'm sure that none of us would want to compromise her reputation as one of the Club's most valued employees.'
'Good, that's settled then,' said the General with obvious relief. 'I'm truly glad you chaps happened to be passing and helped the party go with a swing, though I'm still puzzled as to why you wanted to come into room nine this afternoon, let alone how you managed to open the door, for I would have sworn on a stack of bibles that I had locked it after Maisie and I slipped upstairs after luncheon.' 'Maybe you turned the key the wrong way, sir,' said Henry disingenuously. 'I've done that myself occasionally. But the reason why we came in here was that we understood that Lord Searle had booked the room for a showing of the new naughty films he brought back from Paris last week.' 'Oh, that's not till six o'clock,' said Maisie, who probably knew full well that one of us had purchased one of Cripps' skeleton keys, but who had enjoyed the afternoon's sport and was more than satisfied with General Gooner's little present of five pounds for her participation. 'You must have misread the notice pinned up on the Forthcoming Attractions board.' I offered our apologies for this mistake but, as the General said, everything turned out for the best so we parted friends. As we went downstairs, I suggested a game of snooker but Henry looked at his watch and said regretfully that he must be going as his Aunt dare was expecting him to take tea with her. We shook hands and he said, 'Rupert, I so enjoyed seeing you again. Will you confirm all the arrangements for our trip up to York? I'm staying at the Club until I find a decent apartment, so if need be you can always leave a message with Cripps.'
After he took his leave I went into die writing-room and dashed off a letter to my parents. I told them that I had bumped into General Gooner in Bedford Square (though I omitted to mention the later meeting!) and that in addition to Nancy Carrington, I had now invited Henry Bascombe-Thomas to stay with us and hoped that this would not be an inconvenience. I added that if an invitation to the party could be wangled for Henry, so much the better, but this was not of prime importance for the main purpose of his visit was to assess the worth of Diana Wigmore's pictures. I handed the letter in to the desk to be posted and went back into the lounge for a snooze. As I dozed off, the thought passed through my mind that whilst I have never suffered from insomnia, the noted Society physician, Doctor Aigin of Harley Street, has always maintained that fucking is by far the best cure in the world for this troublesome complaint. I would go further and add that the activity is efficacious for many other complaints as well, except perhaps for the common cold, a cure for which has so far eluded the medical profession. However, in my experience, a small whisky to soothe the throat followed by a rattling good fuck will at least temporarily banish the miseries of a feverish chill.
CHAPTER THREE. Art for Art's Sake
For the sake of brevity I will mention only briefly the events which took place between my reunion with Henry Bascombe-Thomas at the Jim Jam Club and the brisk November morning just over a fortnight later when Henry met Nancy Carrington and myself at King's Cross Station for our journey up to Albion Towers, our family's estate, which lies on the edge of the Forest of Knaresborough, some six miles or so outside Harrogate. By a supreme effort of will, I fucked Mary the maid just one more time during this period, to be precise, on the evening of my departure to Yorkshire, and that was at her insistence. I, perhaps foolishly, asked her what she would like as a small present for taking on, so cheerfully, many extra duties when my housekeeper, Mrs. Harrow, was laid low with a nasty bout of influenza. Otherwise, I had no further erotic adventures of note, except of course those which took place during the wild evening enjoyed with Nancy Carrington which I had arranged, as mentioned earlier in this narrative, when I reciprocated her Invitation for the wonderful luncheon party and the splendid orgy with Countess Marussia of Samarkand. Nancy came over to dine with myself and my cousin, Michael Reynolds, a lusty young medical student though unfortunately his current amour, the pretty little Sheila de Souza who I also earlier mentioned en passant, was at the last minute prevented from joining us by the onset of the same indisposition which had affected Mrs. Harrow. However, Lady Knuckleberry, my next door neighbour, returned to town that very afternoon from a few days at Sir Michael Bailey's country house in West Sussex, and very kindly agreed to make up the numbers at my dinner party. Furthermore, she turned out to be a willing participant when later in the evening Nancy suggested a game of 'Blind Man's Cock' in which Edwards and Mary were also invited to take part, and she thoroughly enjoyed her reward of being fucked by both Michael Reynolds and Edwards as I tongued Nancy's hairy cunt whilst Mary sucked my rampant prick. Naturally, on the day of our journey up North, Nancy accepted my offer of transport to King's Cross and so as not to risk being late because of an absence of taxis, I ordered a Prestoncrest chauffeur and motor car for the short journey to the station. We were in good time to meet Henry who had already arrived from his new apartment in Philimore Gardens, Kensington. I introduced my old friend to Nancy Carrington, saying that I hoped they would both wish to buy Diana Wigmore's works and bid against each other in auction. I spoke only half in jest as Diana did need a substantial sum to continue living in France because her parents wanted her to come home and meet more suitable young men than she was mixing with on the Left Bank in Paris. Whilst our luggage was being loaded onto the tram, I was curious to see Henry walk over to the station bookstall and whisper a few words as he passed over some coins to a sales assistant, who then reached down under the counter and gave Henry a large sealed brown envelope in which I assumed was a magazine which he slipped under his arm. I said nothing at the time but as soon as we were settled in our first-class compartment-and to our great satisfaction we were not burdened by the company of other passengers – I asked Henry what publication he had bought at King's Cross to read on the journey. 'Oh, just something light to while away the time,' he said carelessly, as, spot on time, the locomotive pulling our train hissed loudly and began to slowly chug its way out of the station. Henry did not further enlighten me as to the nature of his purchase but neatly changed the subject saying, 'I've brought some writing paper with me if either of you wish to catch up on any correspondence. After all, even though this service runs non-stop to Leeds, we still have nearly three hours to kill until we change trains there.' 'Thank you, but I can think of better things to do in a railway carriage, Mr. Bascombe-Thomas,' said Nancy saucily, putting her hand on Henry's knee. I queried her statement and asked, 'Better things to do? Such as what?' 'Fucking, of course, you silly boy,' she said brightly. 'Especially during the day, I don't think that a railway carriage can be beaten when it comes to finding a suitable place to indulge oneself.' Henry looked at her blankly at first and then his lips broadened out slowly into a lascivious smile. 'Really, Miss Carrington? I don't think I have ever had the pleasure of testing your interesting hypothesis although I can well imagine the excitement of bucking one's hips in rhythm with the clickity clack of the wheels passing over the rails. Yes, the words of Thomas Grey come to mind, “No speed with this, can fleetest horse compare,/No weight like this, canal or Vessel bear.” 'And I recall reading a thrilling little tale in The Oys-, ah, a magazine to which I subscribe, about a young couple making love on the London-Manchester express. The boy came at Crewe, the girl climaxed at Stoke and they both spent together at Rugby and Watford.' 'They were fortunate not to have been interrupted,' I commented. Henry nodded his head. They were fortunate indeed,' he agreed with a smile.