Read Online The Wilt Inheritance by Tom Sharpe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tom Sharpe
Ads: Link
doing getting out of bed like that?’
‘Probably forgot he’d a catheter in and wanted to urinate. Very forgetful, the Brigadier is. And obstinate too.’
‘Was by the look of things,’ announced the doctor.
‘Must have hit his head on the locker when he fell.’
Five minutes later the Colonel heard the siren of a police car arriving and more heavy footsteps on the stairs. Why couldn’t they use the lift? Five more minutes passed and they did – or at any rate tried to.
‘He’s too bloody tall! He’s never going to fit in here … should have been on the ground floor.’
‘What? And have him where visitors could hear him using such foul language all the time?’ Matron replied. ‘Anyway, we always put the most difficult old bastards down there, so they can’t make things too awkward for the staff who have to get them up and dressed and so forth.’
From his room, the Colonel decided to make his feelings known.
‘I am not a difficult old bastard!’ he yelled, and heard someone say he could see what Matron meant.
Presently she opened the door and poked her head inside.
‘Now don’t you worry,’ she cooed into the darkness. ‘You just go back to sleep like a good boy.’
‘I am neither an old bastard nor a boy,’ shouted the Colonel. ‘And you’re the ones who’ve woken me up, pounding up and down the stairs without a thought for anyone else. I won’t have it, and I won’t have your rotten rudeness either, do you hear me? In fact, in future you’ll call me “sir” when you address me. Now bugger off!’
‘Naughty, naughty,’ answered Matron. ‘There’s a catheter going spare for nasty old men who won’t behave themselves.’ And shut the door with a loud bang.
The Colonel roundly cursed all women and then lay grimly contemplating his future. It would be an unpleasant one and probably short. His thoughts drifted back to the days when he’d still wielded some authority. It all seemed a very long time ago.
Before he got back to sleep he had worked out the rudiments of a plan to get himself out of this hellhole, preferably before that old bag could do anything involving catheters. He had remembered hearing that Matron had a son who had been an officer in a county regiment. A man of that calibre would have more respect for anyone connected to the army than for his old bat of a mother. No point in throwing himself on Clarissa’s mercy: she’d made it quite plain when she’d come down to settle him into the Last Post that it was this or the even more Godawful-sounding Journey’s End where, according to her, you could practically smell the Crematorium on a busy day.
No, he’d had it with Clarissa. He was pretty damn’ sure he knew why she visited so regularly and it was nothing to do with love. Or, rather, nothing to do with any kind of love for him.
Now if he could only get a message to this army chap, he might just be able to get out of here.
Chapter 9
Next morning Wilt was awake surprisingly early and over his standard breakfast of muesli – which Eva insisted was good for him – continued mugging up on the First World War. Eva was still in bed, much to his delight. He probably wouldn’t have been so relaxed if he’d known she was thinking dark thoughts about him and Lady Clarissa. Eva eventually came downstairs in her mauve and yellow dressing gown and was relieved to find him sitting at the kitchen table, obviously engrossed in his book.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’
‘Just an account of the decisive battles of the First World War,’ he answered. ‘I thought I’d better go through it again myself before trying to make it evenfaintly comprehensible to what’s-his-name? You know, the Gadsleys’ puppy … Edward. I must say, the prospect doesn’t exactly enthral me. It’s very bloody reading – but I daresay that’ll make it more interesting to the young brute.’
Eva didn’t want to know. Instead she made a pot of tea for herself and some coffee for
‘Probably forgot he’d a catheter in and wanted to urinate. Very forgetful, the Brigadier is. And obstinate too.’
‘Was by the look of things,’ announced the doctor.
‘Must have hit his head on the locker when he fell.’
Five minutes later the Colonel heard the siren of a police car arriving and more heavy footsteps on the stairs. Why couldn’t they use the lift? Five more minutes passed and they did – or at any rate tried to.
‘He’s too bloody tall! He’s never going to fit in here … should have been on the ground floor.’
‘What? And have him where visitors could hear him using such foul language all the time?’ Matron replied. ‘Anyway, we always put the most difficult old bastards down there, so they can’t make things too awkward for the staff who have to get them up and dressed and so forth.’
From his room, the Colonel decided to make his feelings known.
‘I am not a difficult old bastard!’ he yelled, and heard someone say he could see what Matron meant.
Presently she opened the door and poked her head inside.
‘Now don’t you worry,’ she cooed into the darkness. ‘You just go back to sleep like a good boy.’
‘I am neither an old bastard nor a boy,’ shouted the Colonel. ‘And you’re the ones who’ve woken me up, pounding up and down the stairs without a thought for anyone else. I won’t have it, and I won’t have your rotten rudeness either, do you hear me? In fact, in future you’ll call me “sir” when you address me. Now bugger off!’
‘Naughty, naughty,’ answered Matron. ‘There’s a catheter going spare for nasty old men who won’t behave themselves.’ And shut the door with a loud bang.
The Colonel roundly cursed all women and then lay grimly contemplating his future. It would be an unpleasant one and probably short. His thoughts drifted back to the days when he’d still wielded some authority. It all seemed a very long time ago.
Before he got back to sleep he had worked out the rudiments of a plan to get himself out of this hellhole, preferably before that old bag could do anything involving catheters. He had remembered hearing that Matron had a son who had been an officer in a county regiment. A man of that calibre would have more respect for anyone connected to the army than for his old bat of a mother. No point in throwing himself on Clarissa’s mercy: she’d made it quite plain when she’d come down to settle him into the Last Post that it was this or the even more Godawful-sounding Journey’s End where, according to her, you could practically smell the Crematorium on a busy day.
No, he’d had it with Clarissa. He was pretty damn’ sure he knew why she visited so regularly and it was nothing to do with love. Or, rather, nothing to do with any kind of love for him.
Now if he could only get a message to this army chap, he might just be able to get out of here.
Chapter 9
Next morning Wilt was awake surprisingly early and over his standard breakfast of muesli – which Eva insisted was good for him – continued mugging up on the First World War. Eva was still in bed, much to his delight. He probably wouldn’t have been so relaxed if he’d known she was thinking dark thoughts about him and Lady Clarissa. Eva eventually came downstairs in her mauve and yellow dressing gown and was relieved to find him sitting at the kitchen table, obviously engrossed in his book.
‘What’s that you’re reading?’
‘Just an account of the decisive battles of the First World War,’ he answered. ‘I thought I’d better go through it again myself before trying to make it evenfaintly comprehensible to what’s-his-name? You know, the Gadsleys’ puppy … Edward. I must say, the prospect doesn’t exactly enthral me. It’s very bloody reading – but I daresay that’ll make it more interesting to the young brute.’
Eva didn’t want to know. Instead she made a pot of tea for herself and some coffee for
Similar Books
