A Cold Moon

by Mike Price

  “Thank you, that would be most helpful.”

  The assistant left him but soon returned with a number of trays holding an assortment of rings, some solitaire’s, some with a cluster of diamonds around a centre stone and some had three or five diamonds set together. As well as the various configurations, there was a choice of gold, white gold or platinum bands. He stared at the array of precious jewellery. If only he’d thought to ask Maddy first and then choose a ring, but it was too late, he had decided on the big romantic gesture and now he had to go through with it.

  His eyes ran over the rings for the fourth time and alighted on a large solitaire on a platinum band.

  “Can I see that one a little closer please?”

  “An excellent choice, sir.”

  I haven’t chosen it yet, Martin thought. “How much is it?”

  “Fifteen thousand pounds, sir,” the assistant replied in a matter of fact way, as if he was giving the price of a loaf of bread at the general store.

  Martin panicked for the second time since entering the jewellers.

  “What if it doesn’t fit?” he asked.

  “No problem, sir, just bring it back to us and we can size it to suit, but this is an ‘N’ and in my experience, that is an average size which fits most ladies.”

  Martin breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you, I’ll take that one then.”

  He passed over his credit card, which had a limit of twenty-five thousand pounds, and the assistant went to the office to ring through to the card company to check that it was in order. He returned after only a couple of minutes.

  “Thank you, sir, everything is correct, do you want it gift wrapped?”

  “No thanks, just in its box will be fine.”

  Martin left, the ring safely tucked away in the inside of his jacket pocket, and once outside, started to walk back towards the city, keeping his eye open for a passing cab. He had only walked a few yards before one appeared coming in the opposite direction and, waving furiously, he hailed the taxi.

  Within two hours, he was back at his desk, fifteen thousand pounds lighter in his bank account, but feeling very pleased with himself.

  As always, she was ready to leave when he called to collect her that evening. One of the many qualities he liked about her was her punctuality; she never kept him waiting whenever they met. She was wearing a red off-the-shoulder dress, with matching shoes and bag. He wondered if she ever sold any dresses from the shop, or whether it was just a channel for her own cloths. He kissed her lightly on the lips by way of greeting.

  “This is a nice surprise; I can’t wait to hear your news.”

  He smiled to himself. I hope it really is a nice surprise, he thought, as the engine burst into life and they roared off down the Kensington Road.

  The Ivy was packed but Martin was a regular and somehow they had always managed to find him a table. When he phoned to make the reservation, they had at first said they were full, but once he gave his name, they miraculously found there had been a late cancellation.

  The maître d’ showed them to their table and Martin ordered a bottle of Krug. He sat deep in thought, unable to decide whether to propose before the meal or after it.

  “What’s the matter? Is there a problem? I thought you were happy that things were moving with Giles.” She looked at him quizzically, this was not like Martin, he was usually very buoyant; confidence was his middle name.

  “Sorry, no, there’s no problem.” He had come to a decision

  He filled her glass and then his own, and they chinked together as he said, “To us.”

  “To us,” she repeated the toast.

  He cleared his throat and then slid his hand into his jacket pocket. Withdrawing the ring, he held the box open in front of him. She looked at the ring, sparkling in the reflection of the room lights, her mouth wide open in surprise.

  “Maddy, will you marry me?” The words, so carefully rehearsed only a few hours ago, rushed out so that they were concertinaed into one long word. She had not taken her eyes off the ring but had, nevertheless, deciphered the message.

  “Martin, it’s beautiful, may I take it out of the box?”

  “Only if you say yes to the question?”

  “Of course, it’s yes. I’ve been wondering how long it would take you to ask.”

  The relief swept through him and taking the ring from the box gently slipped it onto her finger. It fitted as though designed especially for her. The waiter had seen the tableaux being played out and had discreetly left them alone, not wanting to disturb the proceedings for the mundane matter of taking their order. Eventually, Martin released her right hand, which he had been holding all the time she had been admiring the ring. He looked up and the waiter took it as his signal that he could proceed, and within seconds, had appeared at their table to take the order.

  Later, during the course of the meal, he related the conversation he had with Giles and told her that he intended to visit Kenilworth to meet the local party chairman, to ‘smooth the way’, before they compiled their short list of candidates.

  Of course, the evening did not end once they had finished their meal. He had picked her up by taxi which, considering the amount of wine they consumed, had been a wise decision. They were swaying gently as they left the restaurant to take the taxi the Ivy had called for them. She was giggling as she almost fell out of the cab once back at his flat, and it crossed his mind that maybe she would just go straight off to sleep once inside. As he turned the key in the lock and they entered, she seemed to get a second wind, and walking straight into the kitchen, found the wine fridge and pulled out a bottle of Dom Perignon.

  “Night cap, darling?” she asked.

  “Why not,” he groaned inwardly, knowing he would have a long night’s work in front of him! He had prepared himself for the prospect of her carnal desires and had got hold of some Viagra tablets to counter the negative effect the drink might have on his libido. She had already found the glasses and poured two drinks by the time he had reached the kitchen. He slipped the tablet into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of champagne without her noticing. I just hope the thing kicks in quickly, he thought, knowing that the next room they would be entering would be his bedroom.

  Chapter Eleven

  Martin woke next morning, a stale taste in his mouth, the result of a combination of wine, brandy and champagne. Maddy was still fast asleep as he slipped out of bed to go to the bathroom. He was surprised to find that he still had an erection, perhaps he should not have taken a whole tablet, but it certainly worked for him last night. She must have had at least three orgasms and he even admitted to himself, as he padded across the bedroom floor, that he had enjoyed things more than usual!

  He showered and dressed, leaving her still fast asleep, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. She was still asleep when he carried the tray into the bedroom with her breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast and a mug of steaming hot coffee.

  “Wake up,” he called as he set the tray down on the table beside the bed

  She stirred, rolled over and opened one eye.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “It’s eight o’clock,” he replied.

  “Christ, Martin, it’s Saturday, don’t you ever have a lie in?”

  He laughed at her good-naturedly.

  “Don’t you remember anything about last night?”

  “Of course, I do, we got engaged, came back here and you made love to me for what seemed like forever, it was wonderful.”

  He laughed again, flattered by her description of the evening.

  “No, I meant at the restaurant, I told you that I had spoken to Giles about the new Kenilworth and Southam constituency, and that I was going up to meet the chairman of the party.”

  “Yes, I vaguely remember you saying something, but I didn’t realise it was today that you were going.”

  “You know me. I like to strike while the iron’s hot. I rang him, a fellow called David S
mythe, and asked if it would be convenient to call and he said it was not a problem and that Saturday would suit him better.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.

  “Don’t you have a shop to run? I would have thought that Saturday would be your busiest day.”

  “Well, yes, but I have Jane and there’s a young girl who works on Saturdays, and she’s very good. I could easily ring through and tell them I won’t be coming in.”

  “No, it’s fine, and anyway, it’s only the first meeting. I am sure once they have chosen me, they will want to meet the future Mrs De Glanville.” He smiled and she returned his smile fingering her new ring, which glistened in the morning light, which was streaming in through the window.

  He left her to finish her breakfast and went back to the living room where he had left his own coffee. It was cold now so he returned to the kitchen to pour a fresh mug.

  He had decided not to wear one of his business suits, instead opting for grey flannels, white shirt and of course, a blue tie. A plain blue blazer with black brogues completed the outfit. He wanted the effect to be smart, but not smart Alec.

  Maddy had just stepped out of the shower when he went into the bedroom to let her know he was off. She stood facing him drying off the remaining water and looked up.

  “Can I tempt you with a quickie before you go?” she asked mischievously.

  “You’re incorrigible,” he replied as he kissed her goodbye. “I’ll ring when I get back.”

  He quickly made his escape; he had seen that look in her eye before and recognised the danger signals! He settled into the Ferrari and, exiting from the car park, made his way through the traffic heading to the Edgeware Road. The roads were not very busy and soon he was on the MI heading north. Conscious that the car was a magnet for traffic patrols, he sensibly kept to a sedate eighty plus miles an hour, which was difficult as the Ferrari, like a dog straining on the leash, wanted to roar away. The last thing he needed was a speeding fine on the way to an interview to become the next Conservative candidate for Kenilworth!

  Before he knew it, he was heading along the A46 from Coventry. The satnav’s monotone voice cut in telling him ‘to take the next exit and turn right at the roundabout’. He was soon in Kenilworth High Street and two minutes later, parked on the forecourt outside the Conservative Party local office. The journey had taken under two hours. It was five past eleven and his appointment was for eleven fifteen. Feeling pleased with himself, he got out of the car, locked it and entered the building. To his surprise, the reception area was empty. He coughed, rather loudly, in the hope of attracting someone’s attention, and as if on cue, a door opened and a man of about fifty-five came into the room.

  He had sandy hair, which was receding, and being light gave the impression that he was balder than he was. The man was short, about five-six, rather overweight, the paunch trying to burst out his trousers, with rounded cheeks that reminded Martin of a hamster he had as a pet when he was a boy. Martin stifled back the urge to laugh as the memory crossed his mind. The man walked towards him.

  “Mr De Glanville?” he asked. “I’m David Smythe, the party chairman, we spoke on the phone.”

  “Pleased to meet you, please call me Martin.”

  “Sorry about the empty office, but we don’t usually have anyone working at the weekends, that is unless we’re in the middle of an election campaign and then we’re open almost twelve hours a day. Please come through. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee would be fine, thank you, white, no sugar.”

  He followed David through into a large room which had a long table and at least sixteen chairs set around it. He assumed this was the party meeting room. A coffee percolator was making a spitting noise in the corner of the room. David pointed to a chair and motioned Martin to sit down. David poured two coffees and set the cups on the table then sat himself down at the head of the table with Martin next to him.

  “This is just an informal meeting, Martin, to get to know a bit about you and to answer any questions you might have about us.”

  He had a note pad in front of him and a piece of paper with itemised points on it. Martin assumed this was his aid memoir that held the questions he wanted to ask.

  “I’ve got all the boring stuff like name and address, and occupation, what I would like to talk about is you and why you would like to represent us. I must tell you before we go any further, our little constituency seems to be very popular. We have applications from twelve prospective candidates and I am seeing each one to whittle them down to a short list of three, then, we will ask the three remaining to meet the full committee and give a little presentation. Is that okay with you?”

  Martin realised that the last bit was not a question, it was a statement! He felt disappointed; he had expected that the interview would be just a formality and that the Chairman would automatically recommend him to the committee, the whole thing then being rubber-stamped. He nodded his head by way of agreement.

  “Good, then if you could give me a resume of your opinions on current party policy and what, if anything, you would seek to change should you be successful at the next General Election, I would be grateful.” Smythe pulled his chair closer to the table and picked up his ballpoint pen ready to make notes.

  Martin had prepared a list of all the current policies and his own views on them, and had read them over and over again, so that now he could repeat them almost verbatim without resorting to any notes. He had learnt his lines like actor and felt that would impress his audience more, giving the impression what he said came straight from the heart. Giles had given him a few tips stressing whatever he believed himself; he should stick to endorsing Central Office policy. He could be a rebel, once elected!

  Smythe sat quietly without interrupting whilst Martin explained his views on everything from Trident to Europe. The whole performance lasted about half an hour and Martin felt pleased with himself when he finished. He was sure he had covered everything and noticed that Smythe had made numerous notes whilst he had been speaking. He tried to see what was written on the note pad, but Smythe had turned over a blank sheet at the very instant he finished speaking.

  “Thank you, Martin, that was very interesting.”

  Martin could not detect from the tone of Smythe’s voice what he was thinking; it was neither approving nor critical.

  “By the way, I forgot to ask if you are married.”

  “I’ve just got engaged as a matter of fact and intend to get married in a few months.”

  “Excellent!” It was the first time Smythe had shown any emotion during the whole interview. “Have you any questions that you would like to ask me?”

  “A couple. When do you expect to have your short list and, if selected, I would like to buy an apartment in the area, so that I can spend more time with my constituents, so can you recommend a good estate agent?” Giles had told him the party liked their MPs to live in the locality if possible and if he said he intended to move into the area, it would go down well.

  Smythe wrote an address down on his pad, and tore the sheet of and passed it to him.

  “These are probably the best in the area, but I should wait until after you have been selected before you buy.” For the first time, he actually smiled and Martin could have sworn that he winked at him. “The answer to the other question is that I have already seen six candidates and expect to see the other five over the next week. I will make my recommendations to the full committee and the short list will be drawn up at our next meeting, which is a week on Tuesday. Letters to all candidates will be sent out the next day so you should hear within two weeks. Well, if that is all…”

  He pushed his chair back mid-sentence and stood up. The interview was obviously over. Martin took his cue and stood up and held out his hand. Smythe shook his hand, rather too vigorously, as though trying to shake him off.

  “Thank you for coming all this way, Martin; it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

&nb
sp; “Thank you for seeing me, I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Smythe ushered him to the door and gave a cursory wave as Martin walked to his car. Bit of a cold fish, Martin thought to himself as he opened the car door, didn’t give much away as to what he was thinking. Martin sat for a minute going over in his mind what he had said. He was sure he had covered all the major points and stuck rigidly to the party line, even though there were some aspects that he did not personally go along with. No, all in all, he was happy with the way the meeting had gone and now needed to talk to Giles for advice on how to present himself when he went to the full committee, once the short list was announced.

  He took the piece of paper, with the address of the estate agent that Smythe had given him, out of his pocket and tapped in the postcode on his sat nav. It was only a couple of minutes away. Why waste another journey, he could get some details now.

  He started the engine and reversed off the forecourt. The monotone voice immediately burst into life… ‘In a hundred yards, turn right, turn right…’

  There was nowhere to park outside the estate agent’s but he noticed a large ‘P’ sign just ahead and followed the sign to a large car park. Having locked the car, he retraced his steps back to the agents.

  “Can I help you, sir?” A young man who looked no older than twenty greeted him as he entered.

  “Yes, I’m interested in an apartment; preferably centrally located, do you have anything?”

  “To rent or buy?”

  “Ideally to buy.”

  “Please take a seat and I’ll get some details.”

  Martin sat on a chair next to a coffee table while the young man collected some printed details of various properties. He returned and placed the leaflets in front of Martin.

  “Would you like to look through these and pick out what you might be interested in? Then I can give you some more information, or arrange a visit.”

  Martin worked his way through the particulars of flats and apartments, but nothing stood out as being acceptable. Most were one bedroomed, or of a poor standard and in need of repair. He knew he would not have anything like his London pad and didn’t need that amount of luxury, but if he was going to use it for more than the odd night, then he certainly wanted something with a few mod cons.