by Martha Long
‘God, she has her work cut out for her, Ralph, daring to try and rule you,’ I laughed, reaching up to give him an unexpected hug and land a kiss on his cheek. Then I pulled back quickly before he thought I was going too far. I’m certainly tempted. But, bloody hell, I would soon be repulsed, even if it was in the most gentle way. No, I’m too fragile to take rebuffs or rejections at the minute. Anyway, it has to come from him. He must make the first move. It’s not my choice. I know what I want. Yes! I’m here to make a decision for my life ahead. I won’t get that made by messing about.
‘Come along, it is quite late! Let us get you to bed,’ he said, taking my hand and pulling me out the door before stopping to switch off the light.
‘Imagine, you own this house, Ralph. Does the Church pay for your upkeep?’ I said, stopping on a half-landing to look at him.
He shook his head, saying, ‘No, certainly not! I suppose they would if it was necessary. But it is not. I am well provided for. Money is not a consideration,’ he said, sounding like he took that for granted.
‘So, do you mean you have your own private income, Ralph?’
‘Yes, of course! I am not quite within the order now,’ he smiled. ‘I live privately. But, of course, I am not out of it either,’ he laughed, sounding confused now, thinking he’s in a no-man’s-land of being neither one or the other. ‘Oh, well! It is not a difficulty. I am quite happy with how things are working at the present. Now, off to bed with you, Martha. Come along,’ he said, wrapping me to him then walking on, taking me with him as his arm held tightly to my waist.
I spread my arm across his back, feeling the firmness of his muscles. Yet the softness and the warmth made me feel safe and comforted as I leaned into him, letting my body rest against him. I felt cherished and protected – something I had very rarely experienced. It made me feel young and very female. I had been independent for much, much too long. I have never turned over my life to anyone. I yearned now for Ralph to take care of me.
‘Here we are,’ he said, as he threw open a door and showed me into a huge bedroom. I instantly took in the big picture window, with heavy gold drapes hanging down in folds and drawn across to keep out the night. They were crowned with a big matching pelmet edged with hanging tassels. I looked up, seeing a high ceiling with ornate carvings and a big rose in the centre. Then my eyes lit on the king-size bed standing against the wall, to the far right of the door. It was very ornate carved wood and painted in a lovely blue-grey, making it look very elegant and terribly French.
‘Jaysus! You could get lost in that bed,’ I said, diving at it and plastering meself on top, then spreading myself out. ‘Ohh, I have died and gone to heaven,’ I moaned, rubbing my hands over the velvet quilt and bouncing to test the springs, feeling its softness under me.
Ralph stood grinning and saying, ‘Yes, Martha, it was meant for more than one!’
‘Would you like an invitation?’ I said, hopping up and forgetting myself.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ he murmured, shaking his head and giving me a slow smile before looking away. Then he looked back at me, saying quietly, looking a bit more serious, ‘The bathroom is on the next landing down. Terribly sorry, we do not have en-suite! Any complaints, please take them up with management. I am only the night porter. You will meet Madame Bouclé tomorrow,’ he laughed. Then he took himself out the door before I could ask him where his room was.
There seemed to be a lot of rooms on the way up here! Jaysus! All this space for just one person! His mother was the same. A huge house all to herself. But it wasn’t too big to her, or him. She grew up in an even bigger house! Bloody hell, I forgot how well off his family were. I knew all right. But somehow I just forgot it. Right, I wonder if he remembered to get me something to wear for bed? Just as the thought hit me, the door was whipped open and he breezed in. My heart leapt at the sudden sight of him again.
‘Here we are, Martha,’ he said, dropping a lovely pair of soft cotton pyjamas on the bed. ‘Now, do you have what you need?’
‘Yes, everything for now, thanks, Ralph. I will just have to wait for tomorrow to get my stuff. So no worries, I am perfectly fine, thanks. In fact, I was never better.’
‘OK, I wish you goodnight! Sleep well,’ he said, grabbing me in a hug and kissing my cheek.
Jaysus! That was very quick, I thought, seeing him vanish out the door and hearing his footsteps disappear down the stairs again. Wonder where he’s gone to? Better still, I must take a look tomorrow and see what his room looks like. It would be nice to get a look at his stuff. That tells you volumes about a person! I have never really gotten a look into his personal life. He always lived in a big institutional order house for priests. Hmm. Brilliant, get to see a bit more of the private Ralph. Right, Martha! Off with the clothes and into the bed. Jaysus! What a day, I’m exhausted, I sighed, mooching around and snuggling down into the deep mattress, feeling meself sinking into its softness. The lovely weight of the duvet and the feel of the heavy quilt over me was heaven on earth. I yawned, then closed my eyes, feeling them instantly go heavy, then I was out like a light.
5
I woke up with a golden light radiating in through the heavy curtains. My eyes shot open and a ripple of happiness flowed through my chest and made its way down into my belly, making me tingle all over. I could get the scent of foreignness in the room. It was the French air coming from the wild herbs and the trees and the thick foliage making its way over from the gardens and the surrounding countryside.
The room had a scent of its own, too. It was the polish from the old, highly glossed stout furniture, and the dust coming from the thick heavy drapes and wafting up from the old heavy rugs sitting on the painted, creaking wooden floorboards. I took it all in instantly, without really seeing or looking at anything. I was with Ralph, in his house, alone with him, and had all the time in the world to enjoy it. I only had something like this once before, being alone with him and able to spend time. That was a wonderful day. He had swept me off my feet by suddenly announcing he was taking me for a drive out to the country. Then we stopped for an unforgettable meal in an unforgettable, magical setting. Then it had all ended with a crashing suddenness. I had lost him for ever. Until now.
I stretched in the bed, feeling his deliciously soft pyjamas gently caressing my skin. They felt like silk. Hmm, Ralph sure loves himself, no cheapy stuff from Dunnes Stores for him. Perish the thought! God forbid! Ah, now, come on, Martha! No sarcasm, you love him, and he can afford his lifestyle. It’s how the rich live. So be it. Anyway, you’re not exactly a pauper yourself, either. Oh, no, indeed not! I have great friends like Blondie to keep me in style. Which reminds me. What did I pack? I thought, trying to get a picture of what I put in the suitcase. Yeah, I think I put in most of the good stuff I got from Blondie. That should be suitable for here. I want to look my best.
Right, I groaned, taking a very long stretch, then yawned, thinking I could maybe go back to sleep. Then it hit me. Not on yer nelly. Out of the bed and get moving. Start the day. I do not want to miss one precious minute with Ralph.
I threw back the bedclothes and swung my legs out of the bed, then sat on the edge, rubbing my eyes and yawning, taking another stretch, then I remembered my suitcase. Ah, Jaysus, I won’t be able to get dressed until I get me hands on that. What will I do? I bet I look a holy show. My eyes must look plastered with the two black rings around them from the mascara.
I looked around the room, slowly taking in the lovely old rosewood wardrobe in an alcove by the window. Then I spotted my suitcase sitting next to the dressing table. My heart leapt and I was off the bed in seconds to slam it on the floor and open it up. Ah, Gawd, Ralph is such a wonderful man. He had it sitting here all ready for when I woke up. He must have come in quietly and left it here without waking me. Oh, he is so good! I thought, feeling my heart melt as I whipped open the suitcase. Right! What do I need? First get a bit of order.
I rushed up and whipped around, making a dive to tidy up the bed. Then, satis
fied it was as I found it, I stood back to admire my work, seeing it all nicely made up and covered with the heavy quilt. Grand, that’s done. Now to make myself look respectable. Respectable? Forget that! Look for something sexy!
I rummaged through the suitcase, taking out half the stuff and landing it on the bed. Bloody hell, it’s the middle of winter, I have nothing here to look sexy in, I thought, feeling disappointed as I let my eyes fly over the frocks, skirts and nothing but heavy winter stuff. This lot would do a modern-day nun proud, I snorted with disgust. Yeah, no doubt about it, she would definitely feel safe in this stuff! Ah, fuck! What will I wear? Come on, Martha! Hurry up, think! Or the bleedin day will be gone.
I settled on a cream silk blouse that Blondie threw at me when she was doing her weekly spring clean. I like to keep her in order. That’s why I suggest she shouldn’t be hoarding all that stuff she never gets around to wearing. ‘It’s a sin to waste, Blondie!’ I do snort at her. She agrees with me and now I’m always in the best of style.
Lovely! OK, what to wear with cream? No! Forget sexy. That’s vulgar. What I need is demure. Shy and retiring looking, but gorgeous! Then I got the picture of a Victorian maiden wilting away from all her blushing. No, forget demure. I’m a bit too long in the tooth for that caper. Right! What the fuck then? I ran me hands over the mountain of clothes sitting on the bed. Jaysus! They’re all getting creased. Then I spotted the lovely linen charcoal pencil skirt, lined of course, with the slit down the back. It went just below the knees.
Lovely, Brown Thomas best. Nothing but the best for me. That’s what Blondie told me when she swooped in with me on her heels and fitted it up to me. Jaysus! I see more of her than her husband does. We’re nearly living together. We would be lost without each other. Which reminds me, I better remember everything that happens here. She will want a blow-by-blow account.
‘Ahh! Poor Sergei!’ she said, when I told her me tale of woe.
‘Never mind him!’ I said, marvelling at my ruthless streak in letting nothing get in my way while I chased down the man of my dreams, going nearly to the ends of the earth. I would have gone to the Congo if I’d known he was there! But yeah, poor Sergei! Still, any woman with a drop of blood easing its way through her veins would pant after our Sergei. Blondie might be more than happy to get him back for herself. We nearly killed each other over that fella! I only got him because? Well, Jaysus! I can’t even remember now. The poor fella is already fading away!
Still, cut out the messing, Martha. Think straight. If Ralph does not want me? Then it’s over. I’m going to keep moving. I do want a family. And Sergei? Well, he’s a lovely man. As he said, we could make a go of it.
Right! That’s sorted. Now back to business. What was I doing? Oh, yeah, the skirt. Now, what colour jumper with that? The dark V-neck cashmere sweater. Right, ahh! Back to sexy. I know what I’ll wear. The suspender belt with stockings and the pale-lemon French cami knickers! Yeah, with the silk bodice! Ohh! And the black low-heeled leather shoes. Yes, OK, I will put them all to one side and hang this stuff up in the wardrobe while I’m at it.
Now, that’s all sorted, I sighed, standing back to admire my stuff hanging up in the lovely old wardrobe, with the smell of mothballs pouring out, threatening to suffocate me. Jaysus! I will smell like one of them old lavender-and-gin aul biddies with the smell of mothballs pouring off their fur rabbits hanging around their necks! Never mind. You don’t want the moths getting a mouthful of your good stuff. But they don’t come out this time of the year. I’m still OK!
Oh, bloody hell! Will you ever get a move on? Look at the state of you! I thought, staring at meself looking back in the mirror. I looked like a floozy that’s been left stranded, wandering out of her mind for the want of a bit of sense! Right, get moving down to the bathroom. Grab the washbag. Wonder if they’ve got towels there? I haven’t got me own. Ah, yeah, of course there is. Right, hike up the pyjamas and off you go.
I brushed out my hair and bent forward, grabbing it up in a bundle and twirling it around, tying it in knot after knot. Jaysus, the length of it. It’s sitting at me knees. Just as well I got a few inches off the bottom. It will help keep it in good condition. Well, I took nearly a foot off. It looks lovely and thick now, but it’s not for letting out. That is only for rare occasions, it’s too long. I could tie it at the back of my head in knots, then let it hang as a ponytail! Never – this is not the time.
I tied it on the back of my head in a chignon, sliding through an ivory hairgrip to secure it in place, then stood back to admire myself. Lovely, it looks soft in the front and sits high on the back of my head, looking very elegant. Perfect! If this doesn’t work, then, Ralph, you are definitely a bleedin eunuch!
I opened my make-up bag, taking out the lipstick, then ran it around my lips and stood back to pout at meself, seeing which is the most demure! Oh, my dear, you look . . .? Sexy? Too skinny? Demure? Too old? Fuck . . . Maybe a bit sophisticated? Yeah, I would get away with that look over here. Particularly with the rouge lipstick. It gives me an air of, eh . . .? I leaned into the mirror to get a closer look. No, not a hooker. This lipstick makes me look like something out of the Parisian gay 1890s. But on the whole? I thought. Smashing, it’s the elegant look!
Right, that’s the best I can do with what I’ve got. The good Lord didn’t go mad when he made me. I would have preferred the blonde look. Very Nordic with the big baby-blue eyes and the pouting lips with the mass of golden hair and a figure a man would sell his soul for. Ah, will you stop. Come on! Your figure’s grand and so is the rest of you! If he doesn’t like that, he can go and fuck himself!
God, I nearly forgot. My bit of seduction! Where’s me Chanel No. 5? I dived back into my make-up bag and gave myself a liberal splash around the ears. Don’t forget the chest. Right, now a bit around the wrists and I’m any man’s fancy.
Ready! I took in a deep breath and made my way out the door and down the stairs. I could get the smell of cooking and voices coming from the kitchen. I opened the door and walked straight into the face of a well-rounded woman in her sixties with stone-grey hair held up in a tight bun at the back. She was wearing a long brown skirt with a matching long wool jumper, and lace-up shoes on her feet. She stared at me for a split second, then nodded, saying, ‘Bonjour, madame!’
I hesitated, taking her in, then nodded back, saying, ‘Bonjour Madame Bouclé!’
Then her gaze lingered on me for a few seconds more, before she turned away looking like she was thinking. I bet she’s wondering what Ralph is up to! Ha, not much, Madame, not much! The radio was on beside the large French dresser and music blasted out, with someone playing an accordion. I recognised the song. ‘How would you like to be’ were the words in English. I forgot the name of it, but it was lovely. Very romantic! Ohh! How so very French ze French arrre! I sang in my head, feeling a rush of delight run through me at the thought of where I was.
I looked around, seeing no sign of Ralph. Wonder where he is? I thought, feeling the kitchen a bit empty without him. The Madame looked back at me from the big trough she was working at, preparing some little birds left sitting naked and skinny, looking like little chickens that never made it past the chick stage.
‘Que prendrez-vous?’ she said.
I looked at her thinking, What’s she saying? Ahh, I remember. ‘Je prendrai une tasse de café,’ I said, looking at her. Hoping I didn’t tell her she smells rotten.
She picked up a metal jug from the stove, holding a tea towel over the handle, and poured it into a mug set for breakfast. I sat myself down, watching the coffee pour in. It looked nice with plenty of milk through it. Then she went to the tiled shelf beside the stove and lifted off a tea towel, putting some home-made bread on a plate and putting it down on the table beside me. Then she pointed to the jams sitting in a dish on the table.
I smiled up at her. ‘Merci,’ I said, seeing her move away.
‘De rien,’ she said quietly.
Then I started in on the bread and stopped to exam
ine it, looking to see how different it was to what I am used to.
‘Brioche!’ she said, pointing at my bread, saying, ‘Non?’
‘Oh, oui, oui! Bon! Merci, Madame!’ I said, shaking me head as I started to plaster it with the butter and jam, digging into it. Then she turned to me, saying something. I stared at her, not understanding one word of her rapid French. I probably wouldn’t even know it if it was slow. I just looked blank then said, ‘Je ne parle pas bien français.’
‘Auh!’ she muttered, deciding she had enough of me, and went back to her dead little chicks.
Good, now I can get on about my business, I thought, digging into the breakfast. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of asking her where Ralph is. That would only break my head trying to work that one out! No, he must be gone out.
I was just finished what was offered and wondering how I could get myself another coffee when I heard a noise from down the house. A door slammed, sounding like the front door from the heavy thud, then there was silence. I held my breath, waiting. Then I heard the sound of footsteps thudding along on the rugs, then the march of leather shoes on floorboards. I was still holding my breath when the door swung open. I looked up at the vision of Ralph suddenly appearing, looking all windblown and fresh, with his hair falling down over his right brow. He lifted it with his hand and brushed it back through his fingers, then his eye caught mine. I smiled up at him, landing my eyes on him from head to toe. I took in the fawn-coloured cord trousers with the turn-ups, and the striped cotton shirt under a heavy knitted wine sweater. He was wearing brown, handmade leather shoes with laces. You could see your face in the shine. My breath caught, seeing him looking even more brutally handsome now than I ever remembered him. Then he shut the door, making straight for me.
‘Good morning, Martha!’ he boomed, looking all smiles, teeth and dimples, and flashing green eyes that lit up his face, the room, me and even Madame Bouclé.
‘Bonjour, Monsieur!’ she simpered, going all girly, with her ample body wriggling, batting her eyes and screeching at him in rapid French.