The Christmas Pudding Lie

by P. B. Phillips

  The war of top spies plays out in very short order. Once the initial seduction of Lady Banks is made, the total disintegration of the union of Lord Banks and Lady Banks occurs over a few short months, at the most three.”

  Anna withdraws into the recesses of her mind. She is overwhelmed. Is this Harriet’s story? Is this the typical scenario of a Lady Banks? Oh dear god is this her story? She unconsciously bites her lips. She tastes her warm blood on her tongue. She wrings her hands. She checks her shoes. They are on the correct feet.

  Sherlock offers to top off her cup of tea, “Anna, ca va?”

  Hearing her name brings Anna into the moment. She extends her cup but keeps her eyes lowered from Sherlock’s penetrating stare. She nods, silently thanking him. In complete silence, she sips her tea slowly. The Holmes pair does likewise. All three stare at the burning embers. The crackle of the lone log provides comfort.

  The tea restores Anna’s courage to ask once more. She must press on. “So what happens? Is Lord Banks destabilized? Does Lady Banks go mad? How could she not go mad?”

  Harriet places her cup on the tray. She gets up and moves towards the fire. She inspects the lone log. She selects a heavy log and thrusts it on the fire. A shower of sparks causes her to flinch. Playing with the fire, Harriet answers, “Indeed! Many a Lady is lost in these territorial wars among the spooks. Nervous breakdowns are the typical result indeed. The spooks call it burn out. Some lasses never recover. They go into hiding. They become recluses.”

  Anna can’t believe her ears yet she knows that somewhere in the bowels of her psyche that Harriet does not exaggerate. Anna needs to be absolutely sure, “So is that the end? Lady Banks went mad?”

  Harriet keeps her eyes forward and speaks “This Lady Banks runs out and takes up with Dan.”

  Anna unhinged by the whole matter asks, “Really?”

  Harry returns an understanding look to Anna and says, “Lord Banks is not a safe bet now. He is unstable. He takes to drink. He has episodes of blind rage.

  If she didn’t make the move, her handlers would have sent some one in to get her out.”

  Anna pipes up again, “And Lord Banks…?”

  “He is called back to England where he convalesces. He will be put back together.”

  Anna thinks that maybe, just maybe, there might be a small end note of redemption here. “And does Lady Banks put the pieces of her life back together?”

  Harriet moves forward, “I wish that I could say yes. However her road remains difficult. Dan barely keeps himself afloat. A long term relationship with the Lady is not part of his job description. As it is next to impossible for a British national to get a job without a work permit, Anna’s sense of self diminishes more and more. In a low moment, she reaches out to an old friend. She writes to one of her tutors at the Institute seeking to reestablish her professional career interest.

  Upon receiving Lady Banks’ letter, the tutor calls her in California. He explains that he doesn’t have a vacancy at this time. However, as luck would have it, a colleague of his wife is in need of a research assistant. He asks Lady Banks if she has pen and paper handy. He dictates the relevant information and stresses that time is of the essence. There is a lot of interest in the post. In signing off, he urges the lass to return to London.

  Lady Banks is genuinely moved by the show of support from her old don. She thanks him profusely and agrees to act swiftly. She hears the phone go dead on the other end. She can’t seem to move. She’s frozen in time, the past. The loud buzz of the dial tone in her ear startles her enough to hang up.

  This small glimmer of hope goes dark abruptly. Lady Banks castigates herself for wasting away her academic potential. Between a rock and a hard place, she assesses her current situation. She starts with the pros. She likes California. She adores the sun. And she absolutely loves Dan. She believes in Dan. She loves his counterculture world, with its down with the establishment mantra. It gives her a rationale for walking out on her academic ties. She loves the carefree abandon of the flower children. And she is deep into the great experiment with drugs.

  On the other hand, Lady Banks’ fragile temperament frazzles with living day to day, never sure where she will rest her head come nightfall. She doesn’t think that she can eat another spoonful of brown rice and beans, the staple of hippy cuisine. She hates not having two pence to rub together. And she is down right put off on the look and smell of the ‘au natural.’ A hot bath is a must. Convinced that she is too ‘bourgeois’ to be a real hippy she opts for the London post.

  It doesn’t take but a few moments of consideration for Lady Banks to place the long distance call to Beatrice Webb, senior fellow in the prestigious political science faculty. To her great surprise, Beatrice Webb answers the line directly. Banks stumbles with her introduction. But eventually gets out that she wishes to be considered for the post of research assistant. She lists her research skills. Webb expresses her desire to close the search this week. So without a moment’s hesitation Banks agrees to an interview for lunch tomorrow.

  Lady Banks with resolution hangs up. But soon begins to shake like a leaf in a North Western wind. She clutches her heart. She is sure it is skipping. She exhales slowly. And to her surprise, confidence and self worth wash over her psyche. For the first time in a long time, she can feel positive about her life. She places a call to the local travel agency. She books the 12:01 AM, the red eye out of Los Angles non-stop to London.

  Not once in the deliberations does she consider what she will say to Dan. It’s not long before Dan bounces into their attic space. The cramped hole is no more than a storage room at the top of a nineteenth century mansion belonging to Dan’s mate from primary school. Dan scrambles to roll up his smelly sleeping bag. He tells her to get packing. “The guys are taking off for Baja. They have some great waters there. I’ll teach you to snorkel.”

  Lady Banks instinctively follows his direction. With her meager belongings packed, she plunks herself down on her sleeping bag. She wrestles with her internal conflicts. Finally she announces to Dan that she is not going. In fact she has a plane out tonight. She is going back to London.

  Dan is taken aback a bit. He knew from the start that they were not long term. He just didn’t see this move coming. He teases her with taunts about bloody old England with its cold and fog. But he has no real intention of keeping her.

  Lady Banks explains about the RA post. She tries diligently to sell him on the merits of the job. Dan is an easy sell. He endorses her decision and promises to follow when she gets set up.

  Filled with ambivalence she crosses the Atlantic. She arrives in London in the early morning. She goes straight to the British Museum, where she checks her bags. She will find rooms after she meets with Professor Webb. She spends the next few hours researching Webb’s work. She discovers quickly that Webb is a feminist scholar.

  Jet lagged and culture shocked, Lady Banks arrives at Webb’s rooms twenty minutes early. Fortunately, Webb, all smiles, arrives a few minutes later. She appears to be in her early seventies. She is wearing the fashion of the day, a dark blue gabardine pantsuit with purple and pink pinstripes. The two hit it off immediately. Lady Banks asks Webb if she is any relation to Beatrice and Sidney Webb, the founders of the Institute of Historical Research. Webb nods in the affirmative. She explains that it is formidable mantle to carry.

  Webb fusses with an electric teakettle. Having decided that it is an Assam day, Webb gets down to business. She explains that the newest chapter in her history of feminism focuses on the role of women in the intelligence community. She suggests that Lady Banks might want to take notes.

  As the kettle picks up steam, Webb goes over to a small safe atop an antique oak cabinet. She dials in the combination. From within she retrieves what looks to be a legal brief in a blue binder.

  Webb whispers to Lady Banks that the envelope herein appeared mysteriously one day on her doorstep, origins and author unknown. Lady Banks, spellbound, nearly jumps out of her skin when the
kettle reaches its boiling point and screeches hysterically. Webb is oblivious to the lass’s feelings of foreboding. With her cup of tea in hand, Webb sets out an outline. At the same time, Lady Banks is busy trying to read the lettering on the front of the envelope. In bold black letters, she reads, “Wives, Lies and Spies.”

  Pointing to the brief, she asks Webb if this is the title of her new study. Webb shakes her head yes and explains that according to the information within there has been a long tradition within the community of secret agents of recruiting, in their terms ‘cherry picking,’ young women to serve as wives for a special cadre of spies.

  Webb adds, in a tone of light mirth, that the whole idea sounds so very preposterous that it may indeed be true. It will be the work of her new RA to corroborate the details of this brief. The first task will be to glean the sources for any memoirs, autobiographies and biographies written about wives of spies in the twentieth century. Webb adds that the main body of the study will focus on the mind games used to manipulate these young girls. She asks Banks if she has any questions so far.

  Lady Banks is stunned to say the least. She stutters, ‘Does this mean… I have the job?’ Webb picks up the envelope and returns it to the safe. As the tumblers in the lock fall, Webb answers with a question, ‘when can you start?’

  Harriet comes to a full stop. Anna sits back comfortably. She likes how the story ends. Harriet on the other hand suffers the pangs of second thoughts. She wonders that perhaps the secrets of Lady Banks should have remained a secret after all. Anna sees the new worry in Harriet’s eyes. She tries to ease this and her own internal drama. She jumps up, “Tell me that this is really the end of a very long and troubling shaggy dog story, right? Did my brother put you up to this?

  That was some yarn. I swear that I will never again go looking for conspiracies lurking behind every pair of eyes. My conspiratorial witch hunts are history. ”

  Sherlock is taken aback by Anna’s reaction. He wills that she realign her thinking. He worries that Harry will feel slighted. He toys with the idea of agreeing with Anna’s conclusion. He is about to relieve Anna of her worry. He is about to tell her that it’s all been a jolly hoax when a barely audible ring sounds from the galley. Harriet checks her Patek watch. As she readies to get up to answer the phone, she asks, “Are you expecting a call, Rebbe?”

  Sherlock gestures for Harriet to stay where she is. She readily complies not wishing to disturb herself. Sherlock gets up instead, “I dare say it’s Mycroft.”

  As he answers he gestures to Harry that it is indeed Mycroft. Their conversation is short. Before Sherlock returns to them, Harriet mutters to Anna, “Nothing is ever what it seems to be.” She then proceeds to join her two hands together as in prayer. In silence she reverently raises them above her head and across her heart.

  Anna does a double take. She is confused. What can Harry mean? Is this not the end of the story? But it is Anna’s conspiratorial mindset that fills her with grave anxiety. Does Harriet means to say that she was the Lady Banks of the story?

  But before she can question Harry, Sherlock announces “Mycroft and Dodd are here. They’ve decided to ski over. Why don’t you two take the walk and meet them? I think our work here is complete, Harry. I’ll get busy in the kitchen. What’s your pleasure on so fine an enlightened day, Palatschinken or maybe Kaiserschmarren?”

  Anna wants to scream for everyone to stay where they are. Harriet is damn right, she thinks. Things are not what they seem. But she means to find the real meaning of this whole exercise. But her stomach trumps all. It threatens a revolt upon hearing something ‘stinken.’ She prays that it’s not bratwurst or knockwurst that Sherlock offers. Anna belches ever so politely. Harry has to laugh seeing Anna go so white. She enlightens her, “We have crepes with cinnamon and apples or pancakes with prune compot. Either is yummy, Anna.”

  Anna’s face is all smiles. “In that case, I defer to you.”

  Sherlock fixes himself behind the counter and calls out, “Kaiserschmarren it is.”

  Anna asks Harriet, “Is that the crepes or pancakes?”

  Harry answers, “Pancakes… Dodd’s favorite. What do you say we go and meet the darlings?”

  Anna would jump for joy and do a little tap dance if she were but ten again.

  Sherlock gives a small salute to Harry to acknowledge her judiciousness. The two seniors bundle up and hit the trail. The crisp clean air has chilled further. It stings Anna’s cheeks. She asks Harriet, “Will they be walking this way?”

  Harriet takes the lead and answers, “They will want to fashion the first trail in the snow much as we did earlier.”

  Anna falls silent. She listens for the sound of snowbirds. She relishes the shafts of sunlight that fall between the heavenly pines dressed to the nines in their white ermine coats. She looks back to check her footprints in the snow. She chuckles slightly comparing her clodhopper font to Harriet’s pixy prints. A long pause ensues. Anna’s mind is awash with one question; ‘Is Harry Lady Banks?’ But she doesn’t know what is politically correct here.

  But time is running out and Anna decides that she has dragged her feet long enough. The moment is at hand when she must take the lead. In an edgy tone, Anna asks Harriet,

  “How did you come by this story?”

  Harriet has been waiting for this question. She is somewhat relieved that it waited as long as it has. She answers, “The answer is before you.”

  Anna’s lower lip protrudes expressing exacerbation. She wants to shake Harriet by the shoulders and say ‘Please for mercy’s sake woman, stop already with the code. I failed pig Latin. I would have thought that by now we could all be reading from the same page.’

  Anna is about to lay down her ultimatum when something far a field catches her eye. She breaks abruptly. She tugs at Harriet’s arm lest she go any further. Anna in a whisper murmurs,

  “There is something on the path. Are there bears about?”

  Harriet laughing freely gives Anna a nudge. Between spurts of laughter she manages to tell Anna,

  “It looks to me like the big bad wolf. In fact I think that there are two of them. And their names are …”

  Anna can make out the figures before her. It is her turn to laugh hardly at herself. “No it’s Mycroft and Dodd! Dang dogs they scared the life out of me!”

  Harriet responds, “I wouldn’t be too hard on them.”

  Mycroft calls out, “Dodd old man, look quickly, the Piskies of Chanaula Forest.”

  Sheer unabashed giddiness overcomes the four frolicking seniors on the first day of snow.

  Mycroft and Dodd’s mirth restores and enhances the spirit of the coming holiday that somehow got lost in the telling of Lady Banks’ secrets. The ‘Centrum Silver’ gang wrestles comically with cross-country skies, boots, mukluks, scarves, hats, gloves, and jackets.

  Dodd and Anna shake off the cold. They rub cold noses. He asks, “Come sta?”

  Anna wrapped in his charm whispers, “Va bene! Come va?”

  He enfolds his arm into hers and escorts her back into the communal hollow. They huddle near the fire giving voice only to an occasional shiver. As Anna’s teeth stop chattering, Dodd makes a motion to the settee. The two friends make themselves comfortable on the assortment of down pillows. Dodd expresses “Jolly good of you to cross the Alps to hear out this tale.”

  Anna answers candidly, “I’ve been so engrossed with Harriet’s story that I feel transported to a parallel universe. But I don’t want to give you false hope.”

  Dodd interrupts, “False hope? Why whatever do you mean? You slight me! ”

  Anna humbly realizes that she is overreacting, “Scusi, mi dispiace!”

  Dodd waves away any thoughts of hurt and says, "Va bene?”

  Anna gives Dodd a look of reservation but agrees, “Va bene!”

  In the mean time, Harriet and Mycroft join Sherlock in the galley. Harriet hangs on Mycroft’s arm, “Mah shlomcha?’

  Mycroft brushes sweet pecks on Harriet’s ros
y cheeks and answers in Yiddish, “I’m well. Mah Ha’Inganim?”

  Harriet returns, “Mamash tov, things are really good.”

  Mycroft surveys Sherlock’s gastronomical endeavors, “I say Kaiserschamarren. I’m so hungry I could…”

  With spatula raised, Sherlock quips, “eat your spare tire.”

  The three stifle laughs over their running joke.

  Mycroft makes himself comfortable on a bar stool and in a low tone, he remarks, “Dodd and I have been traveling every since we left you, Lock. I can tell you straight out that he’s in a right old funk. He hung this bloody ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign across his brow the whole time.

  At first, I thought that perhaps he had ‘buyer’s remorse.’ I tried to chat up the flat. But he merely nodded and proceeded to zone out again. I don’t believe that he is looking forward to this meeting with Anna.”

  Sherlock focuses on the tiny bubbles of air lifting the lace edges of his pancakes. He replies, “I dare say that it will be difficult for the two of them. We’ve done what he asked. It’s his call now. The next hour should prove very interesting.”

  Harriet with her head hung low adds, “combustible’ is more like it.”

  The three silently register their thoughts on the upcoming discussion. Mycroft turns to Harriet and asks, “So Harry, how do you find Anna?”

  Harry, busy mixing and matching the Bopla plates and espresso cups, turns to Mycroft and answers forthrightly, “Remember that old ballad of Roberta Flacks?