The Quince And The Pimiento

27

The Quince and the Pimiento

    Since Terri seemed prepared to ignore him all the way to London, Euan barely spoke, either. When they arrived he became very busy unloading the car and unpacking his bags, and then taking a shower and changing for his appointment.

    He came out of his room to find she was in the black tent-like garments she’d worn when she first came to England. Christ! “Where are your jeans?” he said numbly.

    “I do not think that that is any of your business. And in any case this black is more suitable for a cook.”

    “I did not ask you up here to be ma cook!”

    “In any case I shall wear these clothes,” she replied, glaring. “Unless you would prefer a uniform?”

    “A— No! Terri, have you run mad?” he cried. “What have I done?”

    “Nothing,” said Terri grimly. “What would you like for your dinner?”

    Euan passed his hand through his hair. “Nothing—I mean, I haven’t thought— Och, Hell, now I’ll have to do ma hair again!”

    Terri thought it looked much prettier like that, with his curls tumbled over his forehead. She said nothing, merely glared as he retreated to his room.

    “Do you wish for me to prepare the dinner or not?” she said as he came out, his hair combed into the odd-looking style again.

    “I don’t know. Can we discuss it when I get back?”

    “Just as you wish,” replied Terri grimly. “You are the boss.”

    Euan had started for the door because he was afraid that if he stood there another second he’d start shouting his head off at her. He paused. “What? Look—Och, I canna deal with a woman in a snit!” He went out.

    “I am not!” cried Terri loudly to the closed door. Her jaw shook. “And—and I don’t even know what a snit is!”

    The meeting went very well. Euan hadn’t worked for this production company before but he knew several of the people involved in the film. They had sent him a script, but it was hardly an audition: he and Lenora Galsworthy, whom he’d worked with before, both in a TV series and on stage, just read through parts of a couple of scenes and John Morton, who’d be directing, discussed how he saw it going and admitted to Euan’s somewhat quizzical inquiry that he was right: it was based partly on Ruggles of Red Gap and partly on The Admirable Crichton. Brought up to date, of course! They had tried out a couple of other people for the part but they’d seemed to imagine they were auditioning for a remake of The Servant. On Euan’s asking wryly how many stately ’omes they intended cramming into it, he conceded with a grin that there would be a few, but they wanted something to attract the American market!

    Yes, well. After Four Weddings and a Funeral all British film-makers seemed to imagine they were going to attract the American market, not to mention find the next Hugh Grant, but the rôle was not costume and not a young lover, though the story was a romance, and it didn’t require him either to bleach himself or to lose weight, so Euan, having said all the right things, departed reflecting that he wouldn’t mind doing it, because the money was right. Which was pretty much what he’d thought when he started out. He didn’t think that Mr Soames, such was the thing’s working title, would be a hit on either side of the Atlantic, frankly: for one thing Lenora, though a very good actress of her kind, noticeably lacked the sort of popular appeal that Rosie had. No ability to light up a screen. However.

    In his absence Lenora Galsworthy, who’d been envisaging the whole project going down the gurgler after the frightful try-outs who’d thought they were required to be the 21st-century Servant, said with a sigh of relief: “I told you he’d be right for it! And he’s terrifically popular in America since The Captain’s Daughter!”

    “Absolutely!” agreed John Morton with a grin. “Never thought he’d be interested, actually! Derry Dawlish told me he’d had three firm Hollywood offers for really good rôles: romantic leads.”

    His producer eyed him drily. “The way I heard it, Dawlish wants him, himself: he’s planning some mega-epic for next year: Double Dee are scouting locations for it from County Cork to southern Scandinavia.”

    “That could mean anything: he used Prague as 19th-century Russia for Ilya, My Brother,” replied John smartly.

    “Euan was wonderful in that,” croaked Lenora.

    There was a short and simmering silence in the Mr Soames casting meeting.

    “Better sign him up straight away, then,” said the producer flatly.

    Terri had vanished when Euan got home with a huge bunch of flowers for her. There was a note on the kitchen bench. “Euan: I have gone to buy some flowers for Rosie as she has had her baby. Please think of what you wish me to make for your dinner. I shall buy some skim milk if I can find a shop. Yours sincerely, Terri Johnson.”

    What? Och, God, the woman was still in a snit! And Rosie had had her baby? When? No-one had told him: how long had the bloody female known it? Jesus! He staggered into the awful white sitting-room and poured himself a large belt of the whisky he’d firmly decided he was going to cut down on.

    After some time, possibly the whisky was brightening up his brain, he realised that there might have been a message on his answering-machine—after all, he had known Rosie for years, and he’d seen a fair amount of her and John these past few months. …No. No messages at all. He glared suspiciously at it. Had Terri wiped everything? She was hopeless with anything electronic. He must send flowers, but he didn’t know what hospital she was in! He rang the flat but got the machine. He didn’t leave a message, because what if bloody Terri had got it wrong? Um, well, they might know at Henny Penny—and Rupy might be in today rehearsing, he’d know! He rang Henny Penny but Rupy wasn’t there: Linda, the receptionist, informed him that Derry was filming a scene with the Admiral, the New Captain, and the bit players that did the Navy top brass, and he kept stopping and shouting that Varley’s dialogue wasn’t nautical and telling Paula to re-write it. Euan could envisage this very, very clearly, so he just shuddered and asked if he could speak to Brian. But Brian was out; would he like to speak to Karen? He wouldn’t, actually, because if Brian’s secretary did know that Rosie had had her baby and realised that he didn’t, she would gleefully spread this morsel all over Henny Penny. He asked whether Georgia or Molly was in but Linda reminded him, giggling, that there was no such person as Molly and that Derry had finished all of Georgia’s scenes except the big one with her and Molly together, that was in the very last episode, and they were doing that whole episode on location, she hoped he hadn't forgotten that? He hadn't, as a matter of fact, but he also recognised that this speech indicated that Linda, and no doubt the rest of the Henny Penny permanent staff, hadn't forgotten some of his Big Star carry-ons during Rosie’s series. He gritted his teeth, managed to reply very nicely, and hung up.

    Well, damn! Um, try Molly? Surely she must know! He rang her home number. He was just about to hang up when a breathless voice, with its mouth full or he, Euan Keel, had never been a grimy Edinburgh brat with his shirt-tail hanging out and a taste for the Mars Bars that Dad had only let him have one a week of—thank God, or he’d’ve ended up as round as a barrel—said: “’Lo?” Chew, chew, gasp! “Are ya—”

    “Yes, I’m here, Micky: it’s Euan,” he said resignedly.

    Micky burst into speech.

    What? Oh! “Yes, that’s right, we’re all going on location soon. E-er… but Mr Dawlish is very strict about relatives and friends on set,” he admitted uneasily.

    “Not on the weekend, though!” he stated with horrible assurance.

    “Um, yes, he films in the weekends as well, if the weather’s right.”

    “But Mum said I could come!”

    Och, God, did the woman not remember how frightful filming on location with Derry in Queensland had been? “Aye, well, I’m sure you can come, Micky, but just don’t get your hopes up that you’ll be allowed on set while we’re filming.”

    “You’re really MEAN!” he shouted.

    “It isna me, those are Derry’s rules!” he cried. “He’s the boss, don’t you get it?”

    “Um, yeah,” he said sulkily.

    Euan sighed. “Look, I’ll do my best to make sure you see everything, but I canna guarantee—”

    “The cameras?” he gasped.

    “Yes, the cameras, but—”

    “Neato! Hey, tha-anks, Euan!”

    Yes, well, presumably he wasn’t mean, now. “Is Molly at the office?”

    “Yes, ’cos it’s one of her days, see, she’s got a timetable on the fridge! And the like, telly days, they’re all blue,”—appropriate, reflected Euan drily—“but the location days, they’re red!”

    “Mm. Micky, do you know if Rosie’s had her baby yet?”

    “Yeah, ’course!”

     He waited, but nothing was offered. “Well, is it a boy or a girl?”

    “A girl. Mum said we hadda go to the hospital and look at it tomorrow evening,” he reported glumly.

    Euan had to bite his lip. “Mm. Well, everybody does when someone in the family has a baby. Do you know what hospital it is?”

    He didn’t, of course. And after repeated assurances that whatever Mr Dawlish said, he could look at a camera, he finally managed to ring off and dial Molly at the office. She was quite surprised he hadn’t heard. It had been yesterday, mother and baby doing splendidly, and the name was going to be June.

    Euan was going to ring the florist he usually used; then he paused. He’d known Rosie for about five years, and in spite of his rotten Big Star behaviour during her series, not to say his rotten behaviour over Katie Herlihy, not to say his further rotten Big Star carry-on in Queensland before the affaire with Molly had turned him into a facsimile of a reasonable human being, she’d been a very good friend to him. He’d choose them himself and drop them off today: some really nice ones!

    It was a private hospital, in fact he sort of thought it was the one where Lenora Galsworthy had had the nose snip that had resulted in her landing the main female rôle in that telly Dickens thing. In any case he’d certainly been here before, though possibly that wasn’t why the beaming receptionist recognised him. Of course he could pop in to see Lily R—giggle—Mrs Haworth! He’d just been going to leave the flowers, it was only the day after she’d given birth, for God’s sake, would she even want to see him? Weakly he followed the receptionist’s eager directions.

    No, well, why had he worried, she already had four other visitors, none of whom was her husband. Rupy, old Doris from the flats, and two of the peculiar people from the tap classes she and Rupy used to go to together. At one stage Euan had attended for a bit: it was very good exercise and his agent had wanted him to be seen with Lily Rose as much as possible. He was damned if he could remember their names but he did know the tall blonde had once been a man.

    Rupy bounded up immediately: “I’ll take the fl—”

    “You willna.” He pushed him aside. “Congratulations, Rosie,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.

    “Thanks, Euan. What beautiful flowers!” She sniffed, and beamed. “Scented! Where did you find them?”

    “Ma secret florist. Sells the only scented roses in London,” he said, grinning.

    “Mmm! Smell them, Vanessa!” she cried. Right: the former male was Vanessa. He was still damned if he could remember—“Smell them, Arthur!” Right: the almost-male in the droopy grey tracksuit was Arthur, of course. He was thus able to greet them nicely. He was in no doubt that, new mother or not, Rosie had said their names on purpose.

    “New Baby’s in the horrible nursery,” Rosie then revealed on a sour note.

    “I was hoping to get a peep at her.”

    “Rupy’ll take you,” she said with a smile.

    Rupy bounded up again all eager, so Euan let himself be led down the corridor to coo over a glassed-in, dimly-glimpsed wee bundle with a pink bow on its wee bed.

    Vanessa and Arthur had merely popped in, according to themselves, so they took themselves off and that left Euan, Rupy and the elderly Doris. Kindly Rupy offered a box of Rosie’s chocolates. “Uh—no. Where’s John?” said Euan limply.

    Rosie winked at him. “If you’re wondering whether the hospital staff are wondering who actually is the father—”

    Rupy collapsed in ecstatic giggles.

    “Not quite, but where is he?” he said feebly.

    “Doing some shopping. Otherwise Doris would’ve insisted on feeding him as well as Rupy,” she said, smiling at the old thing.

    “Don’t be silly, dear. Show Euan that lovely set that Arthur brought,” she prompted.

    Smiling a little, Rosie produced a lacy set of baby clothes in fine wool. “Arthur’s mum made them, aren’t they beautiful? Crocheted, not knitted. She couldn’t come today, it’s her day for her very up-market housekeeping clients that do their nuts if she doesn’t turn up.”

    Doris sniffed loudly. “Down by the river.”

    Rupy eyed Euan drily. “We won’t mention which building.”

    “Look,” he said, going very red, “if you’re implying—”

    “No,” said Rosie quickly. “But you are chucking away a fortune on that bloody flat, Euan, and you don’t even like it!”

    “Have you done anything about that horrid carpet, yet?” asked Rupy, inspecting another box of Rosie’s chocolates.

    “No, I’ve been too busy!” he said crossly.

    Rosie took a deep breath. “Look, you may not like this idea. But Miss Hammersley’s old flat’s empty—next to ours. You do know the area, and it’s pretty handy, isn’t it, Rupy?”

    “Absolutely! And very nice neighbours, Euan!” he urged.

    “Yes, of course,” he agreed, smiling weakly at old Doris.

    “And—Give me those chocs, Rupy! And you’d save a fortune,” finished Rosie, smiling at him and biting into an enormous chocolate.

    “Having New Baby seems to be an excuse for getting fat and sprouting spots,” said a deep voice with a laugh in it from the doorway.

    Euan got up, smiling. “Congratulations, John!”

    “Thanks,” he said, shaking his hand hard, grinning. “I’m worn out, but as you can see, she’s fit as a flea, sparking on all twelve cylinders!”

    “Pooh,” said Rosie, making a face at him. “Yum, these chocs are totally extra! Who are they from, Rupy?”

    “Aw-aw,” he said indistinctly.

    “Honestly!” Doris snatched the box off him. “From Norman,” she explained.

    Rupy swallowed with difficulty. “Rum. Shouldn’t let a nursing mother have them, really. –There seems to have been a demarcation dispute, because those fruit jellies are from Fiona.”

    In spite of her consumption of the huge rum chocolates, Rosie immediately retorted: “Right, ’cos she’s got sense!”

    John looked at Euan’s face. His shoulders shook. “Sorry if you expected a tender maternal scene, old man. Real life tends to be more like this.”

    “Hah, hah,” he replied, very feebly indeed. “Well, I’m verra glad it’s gone so well. And congratulations again.”

    John smiled a little, took his arm and, after the appropriate goodbyes, accompanied him down to the front lobby. “Heard Colin’s news?”

    “What?” replied Euan is some alarm.

    “Nothing bad,” he said with a smile. “He and Penn have decided to get married.”

    “Really? That’s very sudden,” said Euan dazedly.

    “Mm. Well, between you and me, Penn’s pregnant.”

    Euan’s jaw sagged. “Ma God! John, does she know—”

    “No. Look, we can’t talk here; there’s a bar down the road.”

    They adjourned to the bar and John got them each a double Scotch. “I managed to have lunch today with Colin’s neurosurgeon—Francis Dorning: I was at school with him. Colin’s latest lot of tests showed that that blood clot has disappeared.”

    “That’s excellent news!” he cried.

    John rubbed his chin slowly. “Yes. Well, he did cat-scans from every which direction. He seemed positive there was no sign of it—he did say it might dissipate, of course.”

    Euan nodded shakily. He got out his handkerchief and blew his nose hard..

    “Yes,” said John, looking at him with considerable liking. “I’m terrifically relieved, too. And Francis isn’t worried about the memory loss. Um, though he did say that there’s never a one hundred percent certainty with head injuries.”

    “No, but it’s so much better than we thought, John!” he beamed.

    “It is, yes.”

    “Have another, on me!”

    John let him fetch the whiskies. He downed half of his with a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m not dancing in the streets. It’s reaction, I suppose.”

    “Aye. You are sure this old school friend told you the truth, are you?”

    “Yes. Always have been able to tell when Francis is lying. I suppose after a year of being worried stiff about him I can’t believe it’s over,” he admitted ruefully.

    “Aye. I was like that when Dad’s hip replacement was successful and he’d accepted the car. I’d been so strung up… I just wandered about Edinburgh for hours in a daze. –I’d get you another if you could tell me you’ve been sleeping lately,” he said with a smile.

    “Uh—no, I suppose I haven’t, what with New Baby coming… I’d better get back, or nursing mother or not, she’ll imagine something’s up!”

    Euan agreed and saw him on his way. He himself grabbed a taxi and got all the way home before it caught up with him. He collapsed onto one of his horrid white wool sofas. It was some time before, having blown his nose hard several times, he pulled himself together sufficiently to go and check the kitchen. No sign of Terri. He went to her room but the door was open and the room was empty. He looked edgily at his watch. Well, perhaps she’d done some shopping and then got stuck in traffic.

    His phone rang at seven-thirty-seven by his watch. He grabbed it, his hands shaking.

    “Hullo, Euan. It’s Terri here,” said a small voice.

    “Where the Hell are you?” he shouted. “You’ve been out for hours!”

    “Sí,” she said, sniffing. “I don’t know.”

    “WHAT?” he shouted.

    “I don’t know where I am! I—I’m sorry but I could not think whom I might ring.”

    “What are you blathering about?” he shouted.

    “I’m lost!” she wailed.

    “Och, GOD!” he shouted.

    “I’m sorry, Euan,” said Terri, sniffing.

    “Uh—no, I am, Terri. Didn’t mean to shout. Listen, all you have to do is flag down a taxi and get it to bring you home.”

    He heard her gulp. “I don’t know the address,” she said in a very small voice. “I went out and I found a—a shop with flowers so I bought some for Rosie, and then I looked for a shop that sold food but there were none, so I walked…”

    He took a deep breath, and told her the address. She didn’t have anything to write it down on so he made her repeat it twice. “Okay?”

    “Yes, but is one permitted to take a dog in a taxi?” she faltered.

    Och, God! Bloody Kitchener! “Have you been dragging that puir wee pooch around London for hours?”

    “No. We have sat on a bench,” she said soggily.

    He took a very deep breath. “Well, that’s good to hear. Don’t cry. I’ve never had a dog, so I’ve no idea if London taxis allow dogs. If he doesn’t, just call me back, okay?”

    “But I can’t!” she wailed. “I have used all my money!”

    “Is there a pub anywhere near? Or mebbe a corner shop? They’ll give you some change.”

    “No! You don’t understand! The fluh-flowers were very expensive and—and then I found some shops and bought some groceries. I did not have enough money for the phone. I had to ask three ladies before one would give me the money.”

    “All right, I’ll come and get you. Just don’t cry, okay?”

    “But I don’t know where I am!” she wailed.

    “Terri— Just calm down! Listen: there’ll be a wee notice on the phone with the address. Just stop panicking and look for it! It’ll give you the number of the phone box and the address.”

    There was silence except for the roar of traffic, and then she read out the address in a very soggy voice.

    Euan ran his hand through his curls. Daft wee— Three streets away! “Did ye no’ think to take a map?”

    “No. I do not have a map of London.”

    “Stay where you are, and don’t speak to anyone. I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?”

    He was there in five, panting. There she was by the phone, complete with the pooch.

    “That was very quick,” she said in a tiny voice.

    “You’re three streets away from home, ye daft wee hinny: the river’s just over there! Did ye no’ think to ask someone where the river was?”

    “No.”

    “Come on,” he said resignedly. “I’ll carry the pooch.”

    “Thanks you,” said Terri in a small voice as he picked up Kitchener, tucked him firmly under his arm, and grabbed a couple of shopping carriers in his other hand.

    They headed down the road in silence.

    “Now do you know where you are?” he said as they rounded a corner and found the river in front of them.

    “Um… No,” she gulped.

    He took a deep breath. “You will not go out again without a map, a phone card and a purse full of change for the phone, which you will not spend on anything else. Okay?”

    “Yes,” said Terri, sounding sulky.

    “Anyone can get lost in a strange city,” said Euan with a sigh. “Though how you ever survived Marrakech I’m damned if I know!”

    “The market was in the square, very close to the hotel,” she said in a tiny voice.

    Euan was, frankly, very glad at the return of this tiny voice. “Glad to hear it. –No: it’s this way: left,” he said firmly.

    “Oh,” said Terri lamely.

    They walked on again in silence but this time Euan was trying not to laugh. Finally he managed: “I think you’ve probably been walking in circles for some time. That is, if you went to the shops these carrier bags would indicate.”

    Terri said nothing.

    “Let this be a lesson for you,” said Euan, his shoulders shaking.

    “Do not LAUGH!” she shouted, bursting into tears.

    “Och, don’t cry, Terri.” He set the shopping down and lowered Kitchener cautiously to the ground. The wee pooch didn’t head for the hills; hardly surprising if they’d been walking in circles for hours. He grabbed the lead anyway, and put his free arm round her shoulders. “Don’t cry, it’s all over. We’re home now, see?”

    “What?” she said, sniffing juicily.

    “Look up!” said Euan with a laugh in his voice.

     Terri looked up dazedly at the large modern apartment block.

    “This is it. We’re home.”

    “But—but we were just there,” she said dazedly.

    “Exactly. Three streets over, but you canna see the river from where you were. Just as well, because if you had seen it you’d have gone the wrong way, wouldn’t you?” he said cheerfully. “You can come inside and have a nice hot bath while I get the dinner.”

    “No! That’s my job!” she gulped.

    “Havers, woman,” he replied calmly, hoisting Kitchener again. He went up the steps and opened the door. “Come on!” he said cheerfully.

    Numbly Terri stumbled after him.

    The luxurious flat did have two bathrooms but the smaller one had no bath, only a shower, so Euan made Terri use his bathroom. He went into the kitchen humming.

    “Yip, yip, yip! Yip, yip, yip!”

    “Aye, and what’s more, someone will have to walk you, last thing,” he said, refilling his water bowl. He investigated the shopping. Right, well, the creature wasn’t getting the fillet steak! No wonder she’d had no money left. There was a bone: how had she managed that? Asked for it, in that terrifyingly up-market butchery? He gave him the bone and looked for tinned dog food. Damn! He went through to the bedroom. “Terri!”

    “Yes?” quavered Terri from the ensuite.

    “Did you get any dog food for him?”

    “I got a bone for him. I couldn’t find a shop that sold dog food.”

    No, well, not a few people in this neck of the up-market woods had up-market pooches, but— “I’ll see how he goes on that. One of us may have to sacrifice her fillet steak if he’s still hungry.”

    “Yes. And please give him a drink of water,” she said in a trembling voice.

    “I’ve done that, how shtyippid do ye think I am?” said Euan with a laugh in his voice. “Take your time, I’ll have to figure out what to make with fillet steak and a mango.”

    “There are some mange-tout peas, also.”

    “Yes. No potatoes?”

    “No. The potatoes and the carrots were very dear at that shop.”

    Right, and the mango and the peas weren’t? Euan rolled his eyes.

    “Euan, are you still there?” she cried.

    “Yes,” he said, pausing in the bedroom doorway. “What’s up?”

    “I’ve used your soap,” said Terri on a lame note.

    “There’s some more in the cupboard over the basin,” he said, going.

    Terri hadn’t meant that. She looked weakly at the soap that apparently it was all right to use. Even though the door was locked she’d never felt so vulnerable in her life, sitting here naked in his huge black bath while he talked to her from the next room.

    In the kitchen Euan investigated cupboards. Linguine or rice, seemed to be the choice. Well, uh, stir-fried fillet steak and mange-tout peas on linguine? Fortunately he had a reasonable supply of Oriental condiments. Um, add the mango? No, waste of a mango. He got on with it.

    Terri eventually emerged from the bathroom in her faded navy towelling robe.

    “Good, there you are: I’ll dish up,” he said, smiling.

    “That was very quick,” she said uncertainly.

    “Aye, stir-fries are quick. The bachelor cook’s stand-by.”

    “It looks very nice. But I am not hungry,” she said faintly as he dished it up.

    “Rubbish. Sit down and eat.”

    Limply Terri sat down at the horrible spindly-legged glass topped dining-table over by the enormous plate-glass windows of the giant split-level main room.

    “I’d suggest we draw the curtains back and look at the view, except that I’ve discovered that in a lighted room at night, all you get a view of is your own reflection,” he said drily. “I viewed this dump during the day, of course.”

    “There is a lovely view,” she said faintly.

    “Yes. Drink this,” he said with a sigh, fetching her a glass of brandy. “And don’t argue.”

    Terri hadn't been going to: she felt too exhausted to argue.

    “Now eat,” said Euan, sitting down and picking up his fork.

    “Has Kitchener had his dinner?”

    “Yes. Eat.”

    Numbly Terri began to eat.

    Euan ate hungrily, telling her about Rosie and New Baby in between mouthfuls. Adding that as she seemed to be having visitors they would pop in tomorrow. “How’s the stir-fry?” he said eventually.

    “It is very nice, Euan.”

    “Requires almost no skill, but thank you.”

    She looked dubiously from her plate to his. “Did you use all of the meat?”

    “No, a third of it’s in Kitchener’s stomach,” he said with a sigh.

    “I’m sorry. I looked and looked but I could not find another shop.”

    “No. Never mind. I think we’d better move, don’t you?”

    “Move?”

     “Mm. To a neighbourhood where (a) there are shops in the same block and (b) all the shopkeepers will know who you are and be able to tell you how to get home,”

    “That is not very funny,” replied Terri, going red.

    “It wasn’t meant to be,” he said mildly. “The flat next to Rupy’s and Rosie’s is available. I have been there once but I can’t remember it exactly. I think the layout’s very similar, in which case the big drawback is that the kitchen’s damned poky. Though we might solve that by using the room next to the main room as a kitchen-dining-room. I think John once said that that room in their place originally was a dining-room. I should warn you that the place is panelled throughout in horrible dark brown varnished wood. Really horrible.”

    “Then you should not move!” she gasped.

    “I suppose I could have it all ripped out. Nice plain white walls, mm?”

    “But this flat has nice plain white walls,” said Terri limply.

    “Aye. I could buy five flats like the other place with what I’ll get for it.”

    “I see. I was imagining what could be done here.”

    “Och, so was I, Terri, but if I don’t take so many acting jobs, I might have to sell the cottage to pay the bluidy mortgage!”

    Terri looked at him in horror.

    “We’ll look at it tomorrow,” he said, smiling. “I think you’ll see it has possibilities. The main room’s got a view of the trees behind the block, I think.”

    “Has Rosie’s also?”

    “No: lovely view of old Mrs Whatsername in the block next-door with her balconyful of geraniums! Now, I havena done any pudding because I couldna figure out what you intended to do with that mango.”

    “I don’t know,” she said feebly. “I thought I would look in the book.”

    “Never mind, we’ll just have a wee coffee and a nice sweet liqueur. And then you can get off to bed.”

    “But I must walk—”

    “I will walk Kitchener. Go and sit down by that horrible imitation fireplace.”

    Uncertainly Terri went over to the fireplace. “Does it not work?”

    “No. That is, the frightful electric fire works with horrible efficiency, sending the power bill rocketing up and into the bargain lighting up those fake coals so that they glow redly, but there’s no chimney. Added to which, that white marble looks slimy, don’t you think?”

    “Slimy…” said Terri slowly. “Oh! As of slime! Ugh! Yes, it does.”

    “Aye,” said Euan with considerable satisfaction. He poured her a glass of Cointreau. “Here.”

     “Thank you,. –I could make the coffee.”

    “Ye couldna, because it’s ready, it only has to go on the heat. Want to put the telly on?”

    “Not for myself, thank you. But if there is something that you want to watch—”

    “No.” He went over to his bank of electronic gear and put a CD in the player.

    “Elgar!” said Terri pleasedly.

    “Aye.” Euan went out to put the coffee on, smiling.

    “I’m so sorry,” said Terri as the piece ended: “I forgot to ask you how your meeting went, Euan.”

    “Eh? Oh—that. Verra well. At least the part isna a young lover. Well, romantic lead of sorts.” He told her a bit about it.

    “But is that not The Admirable Crichton?” she croaked, pronouncing it “Critch-ton.”

    “Yes, it certainly is!” he said, grinning in spite of himself. “It’s pronounced ‘Cry-ton’. English,” he said with a shrug as she gaped at him.

    “I see,” said Terri lamely. “Cry-ton. Thank you.”

    “I dare say it’ll be a flop, but I dinna care. They’re offering a decent sum. And the part itself’s not bad.”

    “I see. And where will they film it?”

    “Och, here—England: I’m no’ up for any more Hollywood dreck.”

    “No: I meant, will it be filmed in the studios or—or outside?”

    “On location,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling. “A bit of both, I think. They are planning lots of stately ’omes, but that’s not to say the cast will be required to turn up at them. Which reminds me—” He got up, sighing, and fetched the Henny Penny shooting schedule. “You up for a wee bit of touring the countryside getting lost in between the stately ’omes of England?”

    “I’m sorry, Euan, I do not understand.”

    “Will you come on location with me?” he said clearly.

    “You do not need me for that,” she said stiffly.

    “No, but I’d like to you to come. It is part of my life, Terri: I’d like you to find out if you can stand it.”

    “But… Where does one sleep?” she said in a tiny voice.

    “Hotels, with luck.”

    “I cannot afford to stay in hotels.”

    “The company’ll be paying. Henny Penny, in this instance.”

    Terri scowled. “Not for me, as I am not an employee.”

    Euan swallowed. “I see. Look, I’m sorry: going on location was on my mind and I spoke without—without thinking it through. I didna mean to bring this up on top of a stressful day. Um, well,” he said lamely, his cheeks very flushed, “I was hoping we could mebbe make it more than just—just an employee and cook thing, Terri. If—if you could stand it.” He grimaced. “Stand me.”

    Terri went very red. “But—”

    “I know ma track record’s rotten,” said Euan grimly. “But the thing with Molly’s over, and it was never serious in any case. And there’s been no-one since. And actually no-one else for nearly two years, now.”

    “But I cannot stop being your cook,” she said in a tiny voice.

    “We have to eat; I’m not proposing keeping you out of the kitchen,” replied Euan mildly.

    “But then I will have no money!” she cried.

    “What? Och, God!” He ran his hand though his curls. “Look, like I said, it’s the wrong time to bring this up, and I’m sorry.” He looked at her red and scowling face. “I’m asking you to be ma girlfriend,” he said lamely.

    “It’s more than that: you are asking me to give up my job,” replied Terri flatly.

    “Look, what is all this? Are you wild because I haven’t reimbursed you for today’s shopping? I haven’t got the cash on me, but if you like I can write you a cheque.”

    “No, because the stupid bank would not let me open an account,” said Terri tightly.

    “What? Why didn’t you say? I’ll take you to my bank tomorrow,” he said heavily. “Can we please get back to the subject?”

    “I think that my financial security is the subject.”

    Euan thought he got the point. He flushed darkly. “Look, just say it: you don’t want to be ma girlfriend, it was a bluidy stupid idea, and let’s drop it!”

    “I do not want to be the girlfriend of an irresponsible, thoughtless person who thinks that women’s employment does not MATTER!” she shouted.

    “Will ye stop talking in bluidy abstracts, woman?” he cried.

    “I am not talking in abstracts! How do I live if I do not work for you? Colin does not pay me very much, and he will not let me do more for him!”

    Suddenly Euan remembered— Hell! “Um, I’m afraid the job with Colin is down the tubes in any case, Terri; he and Penn are getting married; John told me today,” he said feebly.

    “That is good news. And therefore,” she said grimly, getting up, “I shall go back to Spain.”

    He bounced up. “You will not go back to Spain!”

    “I shall go TOMORROW!” she shouted.

    Euan grabbed her shoulders. “You won’t go tomorrow, ye daft wee hinny, and you won’t go at all!”

    “Let me go! This is sexual harassment!”

    “You’re damn right there! It’s aboot time it dawned! Have ye no’ noticed I canna be in the same room with you without getting stiff as a ramrod?”

    There was a short pause as Terri worked out what this meant. “No,” she said lamely. “One does not look for—for such things.”

    Most women he’d met did. Euan looked at her flaming cheeks. “Terri,” he said, clearing his throat, “how many relationships have you had?”

    “That is absolutely none of your business!”

    “No, but it might help me to know what I’m dealing with. Not to say, what problems may have to be overcome. Well?”

    “Three,” she said sulkily, glaring over at the fireplace.

    “Uh-huh. Three. There was one you pushed off a balcony, I think? Did that go on for long?”

    “What do you mean?” she said uncertainly.

    “The affaire. Did it go on for long?”

    “Um, we went to the hotel and, um, we were just about to, um, get into the bed, when his phone rang and it was his wife. He had told me he was a spinster—I mean a bachelor. So I pushed him off the balcony.”

    “So you didn’t sleep with him?”

    “No: as I said, we had not got into the bed.”

    “Y—Um, no. I think there may be a language problem, here, Terri. Did you have sexual intercourse with the bastard at all?”

    “No.”

    “Then we can’t count him. So who were the other three?”

    “No, two.”

    Euan bit his lip. “Mm. Go on.”

    “Jaime Gonzalez. I met him at the university. I thought he liked me but then he found a girl who was much prettier and much thinner. So it must have been for the sex.”

    “It usually is at that age. I don’t think he deserves outright condemnation for that.”

    “Nevertheless one would prefer not to be used because there is no-one else available.”

    “No, quite,” he agreed, grimacing. “So was there one other?”

    “Yes. Billy Feathers. That is ‘Feathers’, like a bird’s feathers: I had not realised it could be a surname.”

    “He was English, was he?”

    “Yes: he was staying at the hotel near Seve’s and Joanie’s bar.”

    “Right. A holiday fling, then?”

    “Fling… Oh, yes! Yes, that is what it was. He was very attractive but one could not talk to him at all. Joanie said that when it’s only a physical attraction that is often the case.”

    With a huge effort Euan managed not to laugh. “Right. Dare I ask how many times you did it with each of these guys? –In the sense of actual intercourse.”

    “I had three dates with Jaime. On the first one we did not do it. So that would be two. Billy was on a special package, for a long weekend. Um, well… Five, I suppose,” she said, blushing.

    “That explains a lot!” said Euan with a little laugh. “I’m sorry I shouted, Terri, and I’m very sorry I assumed that you were a lot more experienced than you are.” He was still holding her shoulders lightly: he pulled her to him gently and rested his cheek on her hair. “Doing it seven times with guys you’re not really in love with doesn’t constitute much experience. Certainly doesn’t put you in the class of experienced dame who looks at a guy’s pants!”

    “That is not funny.”

    “It wasn’t really meant to be. Look, I understand that any sort of relationship with me would be a verra big step for you, and that the question of financial security is an important one. I’m sorry I made light of it.”

    Terri looked up at him dubiously. “England is very expensive. One spends more on clothes.”

     “Aye, well, you’d certainly need more woollies than you would in Spain. Um, the thing is, Terri, I don’t want to go too fast for you, and in view of my track record with relationships I don’t want to rush into anything that I—I couldn’t live up to. That’s why I think we’d better try living together before we even talk about anything more.”

    “But we are living together,” she said uncertainly.

    “Uh—no, it’s the language thing again. The phrase ‘living together’ implies a sexual relationship.”

    “I’m sorry: that was very stupid of me,” said Terri in a tiny voice.

    “No, it wasn’t. But do you see what I mean?”

    “Yes: you want it to be a casual thing, as it was with Molly.”

    “No, I don’t!” he said loudly, flushing darkly. “I don’t feel casual about you at all, that’s why I don’t want to rush into anything! Don’t you see?”

    “I think so. Seve and Joanie had a relationship for five years before he left his wife.”

    “What?” he croaked.

    “When they met it was just a very casual thing and his younger children were still at school. Though I realise it is not the same case, for you.”

    “No, it isna, for God’s sake! I’m not a married Spaniard in ma forties!”

    “No,” she agreed in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I could not think of another example. Possibly Pablo and Catherine?”

    “That selfish pair that dumped you in Marrakech? I’d say they’re slated for unending rows and a verra nasty bust-up, whether or not they get married,” said Euan grimly.

    “I think that that is not unlikely. Nevertheless their relationship was on a more casual basis than an engagement. –Is that that the right word? One is a fiancé. Fianc—No. Affiancement? That does not sound right.”

    “It sounds aboot right to me,” said Euan with a deep sigh, hugging her. “No such word or not. But that’s what I’m trying not to rush you into. Live together—um, I forget what we agreed to call it—well, live together with sexual intercourse, with a view to an affiancement or engagement, if you can stand me.”

    Terri gulped. “What if you cannot stand me?”

    “I know I can stand you, you’re the only woman I’ve ever enjoyed having in my house. But I want you to be sure.”

    “I see.”

    He hugged her again. “You’re not sure, are you?” he said mildly.

    “I—I like you very much,” said Terri in a shaking voice. “But you are not wholly a nice person.”

    “I know. I’m working on it. Um, could we mebbe shelve the financial question, with the proviso that I’ll look after you—and Kitchener, of course—and just try out the intercourse stuff?”

    She gulped again.

    Smiling, Euan held her tight and pressed it against the softness of her belly. “See? Ramrod. It’s one of those English metaphors: refers to the rod that one rammed down a musket—that was a kind of old-fashioned gun—in order to load it with ball,”—he pressed the lot into her on the strength of it—“powder and a wad. Few people know that, in these modern times. –Well?”

    Terri replied in a dazed voice: “I do know that; also that the word mousquetaire derives from the word for the gun. Though I did not know the English word ramrod.”

    “I realise that!” he said with a laugh. “Could you manage to look up at me and give me a wee kiss?”

    Terri looked up at him desperately. “We cannot have the sexual intercourse because I have got my period!”

    “Oh, Lord! No wonder you’ve been so ratty all day! Just a kiss, then?” He didn’t wait for consent but kissed her gently. Not entirely to his surprise, her response was a burst of tears against his shoulder.

    “I love you,” he said into the cloud of untidy dark curls, “but it’s too soon for promises, okay? Now, you’d better pop into your wee bed and I’ll walk Kitchener.”

    “Sí,” said Terri sniffing hard. “But I still need a job, Euan. I cannot possibly be your dependent, it would not be fair to you.”

    “No, of course,” he lied smoothly. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” He gave her his handkerchief. “Blow your nose.”

    Terri blew obediently.

    “One more kiss,” he said, grinning, as he realised that she was looking sneakily past the handkerchief at his pants. She held up her face and he kissed her gently. This time she responded timidly.

    “Wow! Better not” he gasped, releasing her hurriedly.

    “Was that not right?” said Terri in dismay.

    “No, it was too right! Five more seconds of it and I’d have been up there, period or not. Off you pop okay?” He gave a shrill whistle. The pooch snored on. “Kitchener!” Nothing.

    “He is tired, I think,” said Terri lamely.

    “He’s full of our steak, you mean! Go, on: bed.”

    “Yes. Um, is there a hottie?” she said timidly.

    Euan paused, about to scoop Kitchener up. “Uh—no. Don’t worry, there’s an all-night chemist that I think you missed, if you went over to the butcher’s. I’ll get one. Anything else?”

    Her face flamed.

    “Don’t answer that,” he said heavily. “Leave it to me, I’m perfectly capable. Hang on: pads or tamp—I’ll get you some of everything.” He scooped Kitchener up, grabbed his lead and bore him out bodily, not looking back.

    Terri went shakily to the bathroom and then to bed. It had been the most exciting, but also the most embarrassing evening of her entire life. Not excepting the evening when she’d pushed that creep off the balcony and been incarcerated in gaol and a very angry Tio Carlos—they’d been dining out—had had to bail her out.

    She was fast asleep on her back, snoring, when Euan and Kitchener got back. He lifted the spoilt wee brute onto the bed, put the packages of chemist’s stuff on the dressing-table, and tiptoed out, smiling.