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Authors: Gillian White
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to be dominant.’
‘Shame about all that business,’ says Jerry, clearing his throat. ‘Not on, quite frankly, not on at all.’
Fabian might jest, but he deeply regrets the failures of his two marriages—his marriage to Helena had certainly failed before her tragic death. Surely all men, whatever they might say, would prefer a loving home with a wife waiting, caring, ministering to one’s needs. Elfrida and Evelyn, his own parents, struck lucky, so why hasn’t he? Ffiona was the obvious choice, too obvious, maybe? Too stereotyped to be realistic, a product of Cheltenham and Switzerland, a country girl, a dim-witted child with the velvet and peach complexion of an English rose. He had known her all his life and she was adored by Elfrida.
‘Darling Fabian, you can’t go wrong. Don’t be a bloody fool, dear boy. Grab her while she’s available.’
It was only later that he discovered her love of horses had nothing to do with the beasts themselves but was more concerned with the grooms, and any other low life she might find flinging piles of dung at the stables. In the end, even watching her gyrate on a saddle Fabian found unnerving.
‘You’re so bloody boring in bed.’ She had stung him once, to the core, in that high-pitched bleating voice of hers, with an accusation he has never forgotten and never quite recovered from. ‘It’s like sleeping with an old bull seal. Flap flap. On, off, grunt, snore. And must you wear those appalling pyjamas?’
He was shocked. Hell. She should know. She was the one with all the experience. That lamentable, evil-tongued crone, rampant, uncontrollable!
And then she bore him a daughter. The announcement went in The Times, of course, and all the relevant periodicals. ‘I am calling her Honesty,’ Ffiona declared, touching up her nails in the most expensive clinic in London, ‘so that one result of this marriage of ours can be regarded as a virtue.’
Shopping and fucking. Hell, surely Ffiona herself must have coined that expression and by some fluke of extraordinary luck Honesty does not seem to have inherited Ffiona’s remarkable sex drive.
To the contrary.
Although she does spend money like water but Fabian is more than contented with this as long as her lust can be satisfied in the various boutiques and parlours off the Brompton Road. What a blessing he’d followed Elfrida’s advice and shipped her off to boarding school pretty pronto before she could fall under the influence of Helena. His mother is a wise and wily old bird. No, he sighs while contemplating his brandy. He cannot linger long tonight, chewing the cud with old Jerry. His is a punishing schedule and he flies to Geneva in the morning. No, in spite of her mother, Honesty is, and always has been, the perfect daughter.
Oh dear, oh dear.
The message he finds on his bedroom fax is nothing short of alarming. The Rudge must consider this matter pretty damn serious for it to merit the use of such a contemporary method of communication. He had no idea they possessed such a thing. And at this hour! It has gone midnight.
‘Supplying illegal material’ in The Rudge’s language, unable to bring themselves to use the tasteless word, must mean drugs, damn it! This is unbelievable! Fabian rips the paper from the machine in order to study it more closely. Bewildered, he sits on the edge of his giant bed and reads while his feet automatically search the deep-piled carpet for his slippers. Pandora and Tabitha have been discovered supplying illegal material to children in Rubens House, which, as he must know, is a most serious offence and in ordinary circumstances would merit immediate expulsion. Hah, thank God, so they must be talking about cannabis or marijuana, nothing more serious than that, substances referred to as pollen and northern lights by their wretched mother who smoked both quite flagrantly and suffered with a permanent cold from sniffing cocaine. But has the school informed the police? Does he need a
‘Shame about all that business,’ says Jerry, clearing his throat. ‘Not on, quite frankly, not on at all.’
Fabian might jest, but he deeply regrets the failures of his two marriages—his marriage to Helena had certainly failed before her tragic death. Surely all men, whatever they might say, would prefer a loving home with a wife waiting, caring, ministering to one’s needs. Elfrida and Evelyn, his own parents, struck lucky, so why hasn’t he? Ffiona was the obvious choice, too obvious, maybe? Too stereotyped to be realistic, a product of Cheltenham and Switzerland, a country girl, a dim-witted child with the velvet and peach complexion of an English rose. He had known her all his life and she was adored by Elfrida.
‘Darling Fabian, you can’t go wrong. Don’t be a bloody fool, dear boy. Grab her while she’s available.’
It was only later that he discovered her love of horses had nothing to do with the beasts themselves but was more concerned with the grooms, and any other low life she might find flinging piles of dung at the stables. In the end, even watching her gyrate on a saddle Fabian found unnerving.
‘You’re so bloody boring in bed.’ She had stung him once, to the core, in that high-pitched bleating voice of hers, with an accusation he has never forgotten and never quite recovered from. ‘It’s like sleeping with an old bull seal. Flap flap. On, off, grunt, snore. And must you wear those appalling pyjamas?’
He was shocked. Hell. She should know. She was the one with all the experience. That lamentable, evil-tongued crone, rampant, uncontrollable!
And then she bore him a daughter. The announcement went in The Times, of course, and all the relevant periodicals. ‘I am calling her Honesty,’ Ffiona declared, touching up her nails in the most expensive clinic in London, ‘so that one result of this marriage of ours can be regarded as a virtue.’
Shopping and fucking. Hell, surely Ffiona herself must have coined that expression and by some fluke of extraordinary luck Honesty does not seem to have inherited Ffiona’s remarkable sex drive.
To the contrary.
Although she does spend money like water but Fabian is more than contented with this as long as her lust can be satisfied in the various boutiques and parlours off the Brompton Road. What a blessing he’d followed Elfrida’s advice and shipped her off to boarding school pretty pronto before she could fall under the influence of Helena. His mother is a wise and wily old bird. No, he sighs while contemplating his brandy. He cannot linger long tonight, chewing the cud with old Jerry. His is a punishing schedule and he flies to Geneva in the morning. No, in spite of her mother, Honesty is, and always has been, the perfect daughter.
Oh dear, oh dear.
The message he finds on his bedroom fax is nothing short of alarming. The Rudge must consider this matter pretty damn serious for it to merit the use of such a contemporary method of communication. He had no idea they possessed such a thing. And at this hour! It has gone midnight.
‘Supplying illegal material’ in The Rudge’s language, unable to bring themselves to use the tasteless word, must mean drugs, damn it! This is unbelievable! Fabian rips the paper from the machine in order to study it more closely. Bewildered, he sits on the edge of his giant bed and reads while his feet automatically search the deep-piled carpet for his slippers. Pandora and Tabitha have been discovered supplying illegal material to children in Rubens House, which, as he must know, is a most serious offence and in ordinary circumstances would merit immediate expulsion. Hah, thank God, so they must be talking about cannabis or marijuana, nothing more serious than that, substances referred to as pollen and northern lights by their wretched mother who smoked both quite flagrantly and suffered with a permanent cold from sniffing cocaine. But has the school informed the police? Does he need a