A Little Bit on the Side (39 page)

‘Oh hello Jack,’ she said, suddenly aware of him. ‘My word you are a silent mover. Here catch me as I come down will you?’

He did so, and held her to him until he got the kiss he was waiting for.

‘I’ve put out chairs and a table under the tree Jack. You’ll find a bottle of white in the fridge. Will you bring it out with a couple of glasses while I put my gloves away and freshen up.’

He was sitting enjoying his wine and the view of the eccentric roofscape of the High Street visible above the garden walls when Josie returned, and settled not in the other chair, but on the grass beside him where she took his free hand, and sat holding it in silence as she slowly sipped her wine. Forewarned of the situation by Dot, and quite sure that this appointment had not been made with mutual pleasuring in mind as in the past, Jack sat wondering with some amusement just what her opening gambit might be.

‘Jack.’ Somehow, like a young child, she managed to draw out that tersest of syllables into a two-toned diphthong, and then paused. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yes, I thought perhaps you had.’ He continued to be deeply absorbed by the High Street skyline, ignoring what he was sure was Josie’s strange look at his reply.

‘We have had a lovely time together this last year haven’t we?’

‘A lovely time Josie.’

‘And we’ve both enjoyed it haven’t we?’

‘Well I’ve certainly enjoyed it, and although I’m no aficionado when it comes to the finer points of copulation and the female climax, it seems to me that you’ve had a pretty good time too.’ He thought after he had spoken, that perhaps he might be going at it a bit strong there, but he was determined to make her work for it.

‘That’s not a very nice way of putting it Jack. You’re in an odd mood today.’

‘Sorry: just trying to be dispassionate and objective. I thought perhaps it might help.’

‘Help with what?’

‘Just help.’

With that Josie was silent for a while, and Jack said no more.

‘It was just …’ she began, and then paused.

‘One of those things?’

‘Pardon’

‘Just one of those crazy flings,

One of those bells that now and then rings?’

‘Oh God Jack. Cole bloody Porter: another of your quotes. You’ve been teasing me haven’t you? That’s really mean of you.’

‘Why? Hasn’t it been all that the song says? A trip to the moon: our London visit at least, and a few fabulous flights since then.’

‘So what do I say now Jack?’

‘Shall I say it for you instead? A misquote this time: Josie, I think this is the end of a beautiful friendship.’

She puzzled over that until he hummed the tune for her.

‘Casablanca.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘And remember Josie, whatever comes along in the future, we’ll always have Venice.’

‘That’s enough Jack. Empty your glass and take me up to Rick’s for lunch.’

To Jack’s surprise he enjoyed their last lunch at The Pump just as much as he had their first a year earlier at Bosewell’s. Josie was her usual delightful self, and Jack was content to sit and look at her, and reflect on the fact that a year had probably been just about as long as he would have wanted to keep up her pace.

She hadn’t mentioned Beatrice, but it wasn’t really significant now, and as for Justin: Jack decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Brandy could have his Beatrice. Dot’s conscience would have been eased. Josie’s next operational endeavour would be frustrated, probably without her ever understanding why, and he would return to the quiet life.

‘But we’ll remain friends, won’t we Jack?’ said Josie as they finished their coffee.

‘Oh yes indeed Josie. Good friends if not special friends from now on.’

‘And a final quotation to take with me Jack?’

He paused for dramatic effect.

‘Farewell thou art too dear for my possessing.

And I say that sincerely with the cost of Le Rendezvous and Venice very much in mind.’

‘A taxman first and last. Come kiss me Jack.’

Little more than a week after his meeting with Josie, and before there had been any further gathering of the Players, Jack’s life was further complicated when he found that his morning delivery of mail included a letter addressed to Mr Buckingham Bear, 14 Riverside, Barlow. It was postmarked London, so he had no doubt concerning its author.

Carrying the letter unopened, he walked upstairs wondering what on earth might have prompted it, until he remembered that he’d told Jimmy that he always had the bears for company, and talked things over with Buckingham. Sitting on the end of the bed so that he was almost at face level with the bear, he waved the letter in his hand.

‘Someone’s written to you from London. I suppose you’d like me to read it to you, would you?’

Taking the bear’s silence as tacit consent, he opened the envelope and took out the contents. He had no difficulty in recognising the neat, schoolgirl hand. Addressing the bear he began to read:

‘Dear Mr Buckingham Sir,

I now take up my pen to write these few lines to you, hoping that this letter will find you quite as well as it leaves me at present. This was the way I was taught to begin a letter by my first mistress almost seventy years ago, and since then I’ve stuck to it, because I’ve always believed that the old ways are the best.

And thinking of the old ways and the old days, I’ve been wondering how things are with you and Felix, and all my other friends. I often think back to the fun we used to have together when the folk were out: what larks eh? Nothing like that for me though since we parted I’m sad to say. The bears down here are a pretty unsociable crowd, and keep themselves to themselves rather. To be honest I don’t get a sensible literary discussion from one month’s end to the next, and never a decent quote to be heard. I tell you Mr Buckingham, life in London can be jolly dull.’

So they’d worked quite quickly he thought. I’d jokingly referred to my literary discussions with Buckingham. Jimmy had told Celia, and Celia almost certainly telephoned Kate on the spot: hence the letter. He returned to his reading.

‘I said that to Samuel the house cat here, and what do you think he had the nerve to say? He told me that when a bear is tired of London, he is tired of life. Sits by the fire all day and delivers himself of such pearls of wisdom as that, he does. Well I put him right on that. Give me a country house full of bears, I told him, and I’ll show you what life is all about.

But I mustn’t take up too much of your time, and I’m really writing to let you know that the weekend after next I’m being taken down to Rottingdean to spend a couple of nights with Mr and Mrs Gillan. I’m sure you’ll remember them from the days when they used to call in on the hill. And I’m wondering whether you might be able to persuade your master to bring you down to join me, and give us a chance to talk over old times.

I hope that you and all my friends are keeping well and enjoying life in Barlow, which I understand is a very pleasant town. I hope very much that it will be possible for you to join me at Rottingdean, and remain Mr Buckingham,

Your very sincere and affectionate friend,

Wilfred Bear.’

‘Well what do you make of that Buckingham?’ said Jack. ‘He sounds very keen, your Wilfred, so I suppose you would like me to take you down. Speak up if you don’t’

Later in the day Jack telephoned Jimmy to say that if it was convenient he would be keeping his promise to visit them, and suggesting the weekend referred to by Wilfred. He made no reference to the letter, but asked Jimmy if he would let Celia know that Buckingham would be keeping him company.

‘It’ll be a pleasure to see him,’ said Jimmy. ‘And I can’t think of a weekend that would be more convenient.’

It wasn’t easy accommodating Buckingham in the front passenger seat as not all bears are made to bend, but by late afternoon on the Friday Jack had him in place and strapped in by the safety belt. Then, settling himself for what would be a four hour journey, he turned to the bear.

‘Are you sitting comfortably Buckingham? Then we’ll begin.’