with them with ease. His father had been fond of pontificating in a scathing tone when he spoke about his son, ‘That boy will be eaten alive by the sharks if he enters the business world,’ but John’s gentle appearance disguised a firm resolve his father failed to recognize. ‘He was born that way,’ his father said many times, ‘just a wimp, how on earth could I have spawned a child like that! He is far too shy and introverted to ever be a successful businessman.’
The fact that he did not help the boy to socialise or understand how to interact with other people did not occur to him. He thought it was not his fault that his son was so shy. He had done his best. ‘I have provided the little brat with good nannies and plenty of pocket money,’ he never tired of telling his friends. ‘Useless though. He will never amount to much.’
The real problem, John was intelligent enough to understand, was that he, John, was alive and well and his mother had died and left his father with a child he did not want to complicate his life. Jack was an entrepreneur and a child was something his wife should have been able to look after. A man with his brilliant business aptitude should not have been burdened with a small boy.
After boarding school John went to Oxford University where he met Pamela, a quiet studious girl who wore her thick horn-rimmed glasses with flair. The lenses made her fine blue eyes look larger than they actually were and her eyes were her main asset. She loved to look like a bookworm. Her unruly thick mousy hair was cut short in a fashionable bob with an uneven fringe she had a habit of flipping back carelessly in the middle of a conversation. It hung down her forehead like a curtain, stopping just short of the top of her eyes and her short straight nose.
Pamela was too plump for her short stature, and lack of exercise and a head more often than not hovering over a book during her early years had not done her any favours. She was described by a friend as ‘cuddly’ and her cheap poorly cut tweedy clothes and uninteresting flat laced shoes emphasised her dumpy shape. She didn’t at that time see any reason to waste money on expensive clothes she didn’t need.
Pamela made the first advances. ‘John Lacey,’ she said, sidling up to him one day after a lecture, ‘can you help me with my assignment? I really am stuck and would appreciate it.’ She moved towards him and placed a small chubby hand over one of his. He jumped away as though stung by a bee. The warmth of her touch lingered for a few moments, strange and unfamiliar. It was an unusual experience for him to be touched in such an intimate way by any other human being. She moved her hand slowly up his arm.
‘Come and have a coffee with me in my digs,’ she wheedled and he found himself agreeing. The warmth of her soft and neatly manicured hand crept through his thin shirt. Feelings for the opposite sex that he did not fully understand and had until that moment denied, flooded through his body.
She was akin to a magnet he could not resist and she pursued him with determination in an effort to win his affection. She stirred feelings within him that he had never been fully aware that he possessed, except perhaps in the odd dream. She longed to get married but had not attracted many boyfriends; her dumpy and studious looks disguised the passionate and loving woman that lurked behind the shapeless clothes and hid her curvaceous body. John, though pitifully inexperienced with the opposite sex, knew he was lucky. He worshipped her; indeed he had never got to know any other girl very well so comparison was not relevant. Pamela gave him the affection he had craved all his young life. She had obtained a scholarship to allow her to attend Oxford and her background was very different from John’s, money always being in short supply, but in his eyes that made her more desirable. She did not appear to be interested in the demon money which was God to his
The fact that he did not help the boy to socialise or understand how to interact with other people did not occur to him. He thought it was not his fault that his son was so shy. He had done his best. ‘I have provided the little brat with good nannies and plenty of pocket money,’ he never tired of telling his friends. ‘Useless though. He will never amount to much.’
The real problem, John was intelligent enough to understand, was that he, John, was alive and well and his mother had died and left his father with a child he did not want to complicate his life. Jack was an entrepreneur and a child was something his wife should have been able to look after. A man with his brilliant business aptitude should not have been burdened with a small boy.
After boarding school John went to Oxford University where he met Pamela, a quiet studious girl who wore her thick horn-rimmed glasses with flair. The lenses made her fine blue eyes look larger than they actually were and her eyes were her main asset. She loved to look like a bookworm. Her unruly thick mousy hair was cut short in a fashionable bob with an uneven fringe she had a habit of flipping back carelessly in the middle of a conversation. It hung down her forehead like a curtain, stopping just short of the top of her eyes and her short straight nose.
Pamela was too plump for her short stature, and lack of exercise and a head more often than not hovering over a book during her early years had not done her any favours. She was described by a friend as ‘cuddly’ and her cheap poorly cut tweedy clothes and uninteresting flat laced shoes emphasised her dumpy shape. She didn’t at that time see any reason to waste money on expensive clothes she didn’t need.
Pamela made the first advances. ‘John Lacey,’ she said, sidling up to him one day after a lecture, ‘can you help me with my assignment? I really am stuck and would appreciate it.’ She moved towards him and placed a small chubby hand over one of his. He jumped away as though stung by a bee. The warmth of her touch lingered for a few moments, strange and unfamiliar. It was an unusual experience for him to be touched in such an intimate way by any other human being. She moved her hand slowly up his arm.
‘Come and have a coffee with me in my digs,’ she wheedled and he found himself agreeing. The warmth of her soft and neatly manicured hand crept through his thin shirt. Feelings for the opposite sex that he did not fully understand and had until that moment denied, flooded through his body.
She was akin to a magnet he could not resist and she pursued him with determination in an effort to win his affection. She stirred feelings within him that he had never been fully aware that he possessed, except perhaps in the odd dream. She longed to get married but had not attracted many boyfriends; her dumpy and studious looks disguised the passionate and loving woman that lurked behind the shapeless clothes and hid her curvaceous body. John, though pitifully inexperienced with the opposite sex, knew he was lucky. He worshipped her; indeed he had never got to know any other girl very well so comparison was not relevant. Pamela gave him the affection he had craved all his young life. She had obtained a scholarship to allow her to attend Oxford and her background was very different from John’s, money always being in short supply, but in his eyes that made her more desirable. She did not appear to be interested in the demon money which was God to his
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