Ladies From Hell Read Online Free PDF Page B

weretrying to seduce an attractive, intelligent young woman and had to tow a scruffy, rotund little portrait painter everywhere with you, how would you feel? Particularly if he had a faintly Rabelaisian sense of fun and a limitless capacity for plonk. I’d have given up before I started; but I’ll give George his due, he was a tryer. Our
ménage à trois
got to be a familiar sight round Town, even in pricey joints like the old Antelope; we sallied farther afield, to Salisbury, once the Druids at Stonehenge; we sampled French cuisine and National Provincial, Indian and Italian, Spanish and Greek. I think if George had come across an Icelandic Kebab House he’d have had a go at that as well, out of sheer frustration. Through it all, Ms. Sandringham remained
chic
. She said the right things, and did them; she knew her wines, Deferred to Rank; and she talked about Art. It was Blake with the Birani, and Pablo with the paella; Seurat with the smorgasbord, sometimes even Klee with the koffee. And through it all the gold tooth winked and invited, distant as a star. “I think he’s sweet,” she said to me once of its owner. “I think he’s a very nice
man
indeed.”
    Oh, the subtleties of our old patchwork of a language! It sometimes makes me wish I’d been a writer instead.
    She wasn’t Celtic by the way. She hailed from Aberdeen; which as I pointed out to the Overseer made her that rarest and most swep-up of academic birds, an accentless Scot. And also of course a Viking; though as I also observed, that was nothing against her. Very misunderstood people, the Vikings; like a sort of ninth century Class D’s. All that bad press about braining priests with reliquaries, then it turned out they were really keener on digging drains. Which in turn led to the thought—
    “Oh for Christ’s sake
shut up
,” bellowed George. He took to his heels, slamming the Barn door behind him. I stared after him in surprise and dismay. It wasn’t his usual form by a long way; I could only conclude he’d been overdoing things somewhere along the line.
    Matters came to a head when he caught Netta in the Barnhelping me prepare a canvas. She’d asked how they were primed; so since practical experience is the best sort to have I’d given her the size and whiting and told her to get stuck in. She was wearing an old shirt and scruffy jeans; she’d tied her hair back into a pony tail, which made her look about nineteen, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. He ordered her out, peremptorily, then turned on me; but for once I wasn’t having any. How the Department ran its affairs was no concern of a humble Class D, and I said as much. Also she’d been sent into the field to learn, which she was certainly doing; at a faster rate, it seemed, than some of her superiors.
    He opened his eyes very wide at that, then narrowed them to slits. He turned on his heels and stalked out; and I had the distinct feeling I’d just spoiled a really beautiful friendship.
    After that I saw less of the Assistant. In fact most days I saw nothing of her at all; the Overseer kept her pinned down in the Office writing and rewriting endless Reports. Bit of a low-down trick, but it’s another fact of life; if Adonis can’t have what he wants, he usually gets very mean indeed.
    At about the same time George started getting letters from home. Leastways I presumed they were from home; they weren’t official, and the handwriting—a woman’s—was always the same. Whatever was in them, they made him snottier than ever; I wasn’t at all surprised when he announced with some brusqueness that he was taking a weekend off. He added some dire but luckily unenforceable threats about what he’d do if I weren’t official, and the handwriting—a woman’s—was always hour later, belting down the drive in the bright red Alpha provided by a grateful Government, who hadn’t in fact had a sight of choice in the matter. He was in a hurry too, or a damned bad temper; he