Eventually, just before my pension became due, it was over. To the sound of Sally Simms playing the Hallelujah Chorus on the organ we all trooped out.
Amazingly, we were all so polite that we thanked the vicar and said how much we had enjoyed the sermon. It's a British sickness being polite, even apologising when someone bumps into us - such manners.
It was 12.30 and I decided we might as well take a ride into town and have a pub meal. It was nice to sit down to eat even though I was self-conscious about anyone noticing my head. The girls decided to have a roast lamb dinner while I decided on Cumberland sausages on a bed of sweet potato mash and leeks, which sounded really nice. I even ordered a pint of bitter. A young waiter brought the meals over and joked to Ysabel, “How long has he been out of prison then?”, and bless her, she didn't laugh as I hung my head in shame as though I really was a criminal.
As the girls had a pudding I had a coffee and began to feel lighter. Well, I suppose I am much lighter having lost all that hair.
As we left the pub, Lady J announced that we would make a quick detour to the stables so that she could check if the horse's hay net was OK. Though we both like horses, this was not a diversion Ysabel and I welcomed, as Lady J tends to forget time when she is at the stables. Her time is not the same as ours; minutes to her are hours to the rest of us mortals.
Anyway, we arrived and walked over to say our hellos to the horses. I made the mistake of leaning over as we got to the half open stable door. I was adjusting the nameplate on the lower half when the horse stuck his head out and licked my head.
I straightened up rapidly and hit my head on the upper section of the door which was not fully opened. Down I went again, only this time all the way down, totally dazed. Of course the law of happenstance had moved a puddle of water (at least, I hoped it was water) directly beneath my derrière. I could see stars and my right hand was resting in something that a horse's derrière had last seen.
The girls rushed to help me up, but at that moment I was happier on the ground. I heard Ysabel say, “Mummy look, there's blood!” So maybe there wasn't a red mist descending over my eyes. I wasn't too worried as I know the scalp can bleed profusely, and as there's so little flesh stitches aren't often needed.
Out came all the tissues, and bless her, Ysabel was gently dabbing my head and wiping my forehead. As the blood was removed I noticed that Lady J had disappeared. Then I noticed her dashing towards me with a chair from the stable's café. They managed to get me up and into it, though the feeling of putting my wet behind onto the chair was quite uncomfortable. I borrowed a tissue from Ysabel (she wouldn’t have wanted it back) to wipe my right hand. I heard someone else approach and, with my head in my hands, could just make out a pair of trousered legs.
“This man been bothering you, My Lady? I see you've put him in his place”.
“No no, Masterson, this is His Lordship and he's had an accident”.
“Sorry, Your Lordship, I didn't recognise you with that hairstyle. Let me help you to the rest room to wash up”.
“Thank you, Masterson”, said I, “but I think I may sit here a while longer”.
“Nonsense, David”, said Lady J, and I could feel the heat of her red face at the haircut remark. “You go with Masterson and clean up while I finish off here”.
Groaning, I stood up, only to be nearly knocked down again as Ysabel pushed me to prevent me hitting my head on the same door again. As I was almost upright, the horse licked my head again. A quick vision of a vampire horse drinking my blood flashed across my brain. Masterson led and Ysabel supported me to the rest room, a tiny place with a loo and a sink. Ysabel dampened a couple of paper towels and washed the top of my head that was now tender and contained a blacksmith, a very large hammer and an anvil. Satisfied, she dried me off with another towel which was dry and felt like sandpaper, then led me the few yards to the café for a cup of tea.
“Have you got 50p, Daddy?” she asked. “My purse is at home”.
This felt like adding insult to injury as I passed her a pound and she got herself a drink as well. The tea was nice anyway, and someone offered me a couple of aspirins which I accepted gratefully.
Lady J entered and I could feel everyone automatically straighten up and hear the men's heels clicking together.
“Are you all right now, David?” she asked.
“Fine, my dear, though ready to go if you've finished”.
“Yes, I've just been waiting for you to finish you tea”, she responded.
We drove home and I sat on a newspaper for the journey to protect the seat covers. When we arrived, I decided to have a shower and change my clothes. Julia made a coffee and we relaxed in the lounge. Ysabel went off to do whatever it is teenagers do.
An antiques programme came on the television and the experts were talking of how the barbers of old were sometimes surgeons and would bleed you. I glanced over at Julia whose face didn't move a muscle, though I'm sure she felt my eyes on her.
During the evening, Ysabel joined us and asked what Paris was like, and what I'd seen. I told them all about it. When I was talking about the friendliness of the women on that street near my flat, I saw Julia roll her eyes towards the ceiling and heard her sigh in exasperation.
I don't understand women.
Wednesday, July 15, 1992
Departure and the Birthday Pillow
Julia's birthday. Her 36th though I didn’t suppose that that was something I'd better mention. I think 29 was the age she’d settled on and I decided that for the sake of my health, it was the age I'd concentrate on. I certainly ensured my survival by putting Happy 29th on her card, which I just left on the coffee table in the lounge.
Anyway, before all this, I was in bed having a wonderful dream when Oscar decided it was breakfast time, and he would give the job of preparation to me, the most obedient of his servants. He had charged at my bedroom door and as I had left it ajar instead of closing it properly, he had enough power to force a passage. The noise had brought me to the surface of sleep and had penetrated my dream enough for it to appear as a thunderstorm. I came fully awake as I was hit by lightning in the form of Oscar landing on my stomach. My legs stayed where they were but my whole upper body sat upright. I gasped for all the air that had up until that moment sat happily in my lungs. He just edged down a little, sat on my thighs and set up a reverberating purr that sounded like a dentist's drill.
“Food?” I asked. And with a little brrp sound he was off my legs and heading for his bowls.
The clock said 5.30 am. “Oh how I hate you cat. Why is it always me?”
I washed his dishes and fed him, then made myself a coffee and took it through to the lounge. Oscar came through, lay across the chair back and started flicking my hair with a fully clawed paw.
It was at this time that I'd decided to go and get Julia's card and have a little think about her age. I can't understand why women just don't admit how old they are. I've passed 41 and don't care who knows it. Somewhat bored now, Oscar had moved to occupy the settee close to where I'd laid her gifts.
At 7.00 am the postwoman came, and luckily I'd seen her so was able to get to the door as she arrived.
“Mornin', Lord David”, she said. “Quite a pile for Her Ladyship today. Is she up yet?”
“Not yet”, I replied, “but not long now and I'll wake her with a coffee”.
“Well, wish 'er a Happy Birthday for me”, she said, and I assured her that I would. She's an asset to the community, our postwoman, as she's often the first to notice a problem in the village, such as uncollected post on the doormat from the day before. She's also a very friendly person.
There were lots of cards and a small box which I also left on the coffee table, and I decided maybe it was time to take a coffee through so that she could open her cards and gifts.
Here was my first mistake of the day.
“David, why are you waking me so early?” she asked.
“Happy Birthday my dear, I thought you'd like
to open your cards and put them up”.
“Thank you dear”, was the response, “but birthdays aren't that important at this age are they?”
“But I thought…”, I started, and then realised that independent thought about me being older and still enjoying birthdays might not be appreciated.
“No dear, I suppose not”, I said.
“Still, as I'm awake now, I might as well bring my coffee through and have a look”, she added.
Back in the lounge I watched her open all her cards with barely concealed glee. She stood all twenty cards up on the mantel and across the window-sills. They looked really good. Just then Ysabel came in. “Morning Daddy, Happy Birthday Mummy”, she said, passing Julia another card. Julia opened it and, chuckling at the humour, put it with the others.
She opened the little box which had arrived and which turned out to be a nice head scarf from a friend in Wiltshire. It was covered in scenes of Wiltshire villages.
Ysabel had bought her a new pair of jodhpurs and I gave her a matching hacking jacket. I knew that her sister had also bought her a pair of riding boots which would be delivered later.
She loved the gifts and after saying her thanks we all went to get dressed.
Ysabel had started the school holidays with a request that we let her stay in France for two weeks as an exchange student. Later a young French boy would be coming to stay in the village in exchange. Today was the day she was due to leave.
Excitement was in her every move and she must have packed, unpacked and repacked her case a dozen times in the last three days to make sure that everything she was taking looked as chic as possible. We made sure she had all her francs ready and they were safely hidden with her passport in a pouch around her waist. She looked like a pregnant kangaroo. At 10.00 am we set off for the school where the teacher supervising the students who would be travelling was waiting. There was a small coach to take them to the airport. She was ready and the coach was ready to leave, so we hugged Ysabel, instructed her to phone when she arrived and waved her away. As the coach passed us I noticed someone had stuck a poster on the back saying, 'Our revenge for 1066'.
The coach now gone, with a last dab of the eye, Julia turned to me and said, “Right. Time to take me to lunch in Barchester. Daddy sent me some cash so I'm going to buy myself some gloves”.
“OK”, I said, “lead on Macduff”.
We arrived at 11.30 am and headed straight for the Barchester Arms Hotel which was close to the shops and also served an excellent meal. Lady J chose a booth to sit in while I went to the bar.
“Two lime and lemonades please”, I ordered.
“Sorry, My Lord”, came the reply, “we've no lemonade at the moment though the manager has gone to get some if you'd care to wait?”
“Fine and dandy”, I said, “we'll sit with the menus for a minute”.
I explained to Lady J that there would be a delay with the drinks which would give us chance to see what was on the day’s menu.
She liked the sound of the beef stroganoff followed by a strawberry meringue and I chose the stroganoff with a double chocolate fudge gateau and cream to follow. I suspect that this was our equivalent of the jelly and ice cream parties of our childhood.
I got up to go to the bar just as the manager came back bearing a crate of lemonade. He must have caught his toe in the carpet, because the next thing I knew he seemed to have launched himself in my direction. The crate was held out in front of him to avoid dropping it, but it was on a collision course with my midriff and I thought his face was on a collision course with the floor. I found myself backpedalling at the same time as I reached for the crate. It was like trying to make a pass in the game of rugby. My hands gripped either side of the crate as he relinquished his grip. His arms whirled in an effort to regain his balance as he still advanced on me. I reached the end of my backward run as my legs came up against the end of a booth - at least my legs did but my body didn't. I ended up flat on my back in the booth with my head in the lap of a startled lady diner. The crate came to a rest safely on my chest. The manager came to a halt against my legs which dangled over the edge of the booth.
“Well played, sir”, he said.
“Sir”, said the lady, spoon still halfway to her mouth.”Would you kindly remove your head from my lap?” There were little drops of liquid falling from her spoon on to my face as she tried hard not to laugh.
“David”, came Lady J's voice. “What on earth are you playing at now?”
“Rugby”, I chanced suggesting.
“Please excuse my husband, madam”, said Julia to my pillow's owner. “Usually, the second time I take him anywhere it's to apologise for the first time”.
My pillow laughed harder and the raindrops of soup continued to fall on to my face. I couldn't help but laugh and said, “I couldn't wait any longer for lunch, dear, and this lady's Brown Windsor soup looked so inviting”.
The manager removed the crate, my pillow put her spoon down and Lady J grasped my hands and pulled me upright. I thanked her and turned to apologise to the lady whose lap had saved me and been most comfortable.
“Think nothing of it”, she said, “though I'd prefer not to share my pudding this way”.
I asked the manager for our drinks and gave the food order, telling him to add my pillow's bill to mine for her trouble. We settled back in our booth.
I removed the fake tan provided by the soup with a couple of tissues and our food and drinks arrived. I saw the pillow go to the counter to pay, and the manager telling her that it was settled. She turned in our direction giving a nod and a large smile. No doubt her afternoon companions would be regaled with stories about her lunch.
Julia and I finished lunch and I settled the bill. The manager repeated his apologies but said it was the best laugh he'd had in a long time. He hoped it had not inconvenienced His Lordship. His Lordship assured him that it hadn't.
We walked along the street to a small milliner’s shop which Julia knew and she tried an assortment of gloves. She chose some nice leather ones which I suggested would be perfect for driving. She told me that they would also be perfect for getting a good grip on my neck if need be. Making sure the assistant couldn't see us, I pulled out my tongue.
We had a pleasant afternoon sauntering round the shops getting one or two necessities, some maybe necessities, and, according to Julia, a definitely not necessary corkscrew. I disagreed and said that you could never have too many, to which Julia responded, “You just like new toys, David. Just because they give it a name like The Butler's Friend doesn't make it any better than the last five you bought”.
We drove home and I persuaded her to stop once to look at the view.
“Why David?” she asked, “I can almost see this from the house every day”.
“Just pretty”, I said, not wanting her to realise that I didn't want her to arrive home before 6.00 pm.
It was just past that when we arrived. I let her enter the house first.
A light came on and I heard a shout of “Surprise!”, which was followed by a shriek from Lady J. Inside were waiting some of her friends.
Henrietta Fanshaw was there from the Pony Club, Lydia and Carlton Ponsonby-Smythe, Davide and Sybil Frankel-Ffoulkes, Jenny Thistwell the local teacher and Sally Simms our local organist and celebrity who writes children's books.
The squadron leader had turned up also to help his daughter celebrate.
Lydia rushed over to air kiss me, and to Julia she said, “Happy Buthday, Julia dahling”. Carlton wished her a Happy Birthday then came to shake my hand. “Hello David, old chap”, he said. “Had a good day?”
“Fine thanks, Carlton”, I replied.
“More than fine, you mean", said Julia. "He created a new meaning for the words lap dance today, Carlton. No sooner do I let him out again than he's throwing himself at all the women”.
Monday, October 4, 1993
Sir Bertie and the Indiscreet Letters
Last night was not an easy night.
We had offered to keep an eye on a friend's kitten while she was away for a few days. It seemed that the kitten wanted to take advantage of all the facilities on offer during her stay, and of course our cat was happy to be the tour guide.
The tour reached my room at 3:00 am where twin blows to my chest had me pinned down thinking we had burglars. In fact burglars would have been the easier option. I opened my eyes to be confronted by four green eyes watching me very closely. My cat walked up from my chest and stuck his enquiring and cold nose in my face. Seeing my eyes were open he slumped down with one paw on my right cheek and his body wedged just beneath my chin. The other pair of eyes followed suit and lay with one paw on my left cheek, but as she was smaller her body lay across my mouth. Breathing was getting to be harder but screaming for help wasn't an option with just women in the house.
I don't know how long we lay staring at each other but I know that somehow I breathed through it and managed to nod off again. This didn't seem to be part of their plan so both my eyes were assaulted by wet noses in unison. As I woke up again with a start, they turned together in disdain and moved down the bed to settle at my feet. A small sound from Oscar seemed to say, “Not much fun is he?”
By now, of course, I was wide awake and sleep was not on the cards again. All I could do was lie and wiggle my feet under the covers to see if I could annoy the cats into staying awake too. They were both impervious to my teasing and slept on. Eventually I got up in disgust and as I did so, they got up and moved to the spot I'd just vacated and settled down in the warmth.
The Queen's Envoy (The Barsetshire Diaries) Page 8