Fair Do’s

‘Betty!’

‘It’s quite all right,’ said Gerry coldly. ‘I do still remember that my fiancée hasn’t turned up.’

They watched him stride away.

‘She’s well out of that,’ said Betty. ‘There’s a nasty streak there.’

‘Are you surprised?’ said Rodney. ‘He’s not exactly having a nice day.’

But Betty was no longer listening. Now that she didn’t touch alcohol, curiosity had become her tipple. And her sharp, sexual antennae had spotted Ted, far across the room, beyond the bewildered Liberal Democrats, beyond Rita’s guzzling, puzzling uncles.

‘Ooooh! Rodney! Look!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who’s that woman Ted’s talking to?’

Rodney Sillitoe, the big wheel behind a planned health food complex with wholefood vegetarian restaurant, tried not to swivel round and look.

‘Betty!’ he said. ‘Don’t be so inquisitive. It’s not the right social attitude now you’re joint managing director of –’ Yet swivel round he eventually did. ‘Oooh!’

The objects of Rodney and Betty’s interest were oblivious to these ‘oooh’s’. They were oblivious to anything except each other.

‘You’re a fascinating man, Ted,’ the striking lady in yellow was saying. ‘You have a wonderful earthy appeal.’

‘Good Lord!’ said the man who had once made the best toasting forks in Yorkshire, bar none.

‘Are you surprised that I find you interesting?’

‘Oh no, not about that. Well, yes, a bit. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to think I was big-headed or anything.’ Ted gazed into the yellow lady’s blue eyes. ‘No, I was surprised because … I mean … they say lightning never strikes twice in the same place twice.’

‘What?’ She was puzzled. ‘What lightning?’

‘Nothing. Er … Ted returned hastily to more mundane matters. ‘I … er … I don’t even know your name.’

‘Corinna Price-Rodgerson.’

Even mundane matters didn’t seem mundane. Ted Simcock was found interesting by a woman with a double-barrelled name. He caressed both barrels. ‘Corinna Price-Rodgerson! Corinna, would you …?’ The forgotten Sandra stalked past, a pile of plates wobbling dangerously. ‘Oh, you sauté your mushrooms first! How clever!’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said the astonished Corinna.

‘I … er … I didn’t want the waitress to overhear our … er …’

‘You know her?’

‘No.’ There was a crash of plates. Ted closed his eyes. It was the best attempt he could make to blot out the incident, since it is impossible to close one’s ears. ‘No! No, but … not in front of the servants, eh?’

‘My God!’ There was double-barrelled astonishment in Corinna’s voice. ‘That’s an old-fashioned attitude even for my family.’

‘Tell me about your family.’

‘They’re all in East Africa. Daddy’s a bishop. He’s also a dish.’

‘You what?’

‘A lovely man.’

‘Ah. And … er … do you have … or I mean have you had … er … ever had … a husband, as it were?’

Corinna smiled. ‘No. I’ve never married.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘Thank you. Some women are choosy, Ted. They wait for Mr Right to come along.’

‘Yes, well … I’m divorced, as you probably … I was in business. I had a foundry specialising in … domestic artifacts.’

‘Domestic artifacts?’

‘Toasting forks. Boot scrapers. Door knockers. Fire irons. I needed a sea change. I moved laterally into catering. Oh, Corinna, you’re lovely.’

‘This room is so public,’ said Corinna. ‘Ted, I have an idea.’

‘Good God!’ said Ted. He couldn’t resist a quick glance at the ceiling. ‘Good God!’

‘What?’

‘Lightning does strike twice in the same place twice!’

‘What?’

‘You’ve got a room upstairs.’

Corinna Price-Rodgerson may have been a bishop’s daughter, may have regarded herself as pretty nimble socially, but Ted’s remark left her frankly at a loss. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Room upstairs? What room upstairs?’

‘Ah! No, I … er … when you said … I mean, there’s room upstairs. I mean, there are rooms upstairs. I mean, I imagine, I’ve never … funny hotel if there weren’t … and I thought, I’d like to book one. A double room.’ Sandra passed them again, giving Ted another glare. ‘Double cream! And a touch of kirsch! So that’s the secret!’

‘No,’ said Corinna Price-Rodgerson, with gentle rebuke in her voice. ‘You do know that waitress. That’s the secret.’ She handed Ted a card. ‘I think you and I should get together.’

‘“Financial consultant”!’ he read.

‘ ’Fraid so. I leave God to Daddy, and I look after Mammon. I might be able to help you, Ted. Why don’t you take me to dinner next Tuesday?’

Sandra bore down on them with a plate of canapés.

‘Sir? Madam?’ she said with controlled fury. ‘Some canapés?’

‘Oh, thank you, waitress,’ said Ted. ‘I’ll … er … I’ll try one of these Tuesdays.’

Ted reeled away, chewing his untasted canapé. Rodney and Betty Sillitoe loomed through the smoky afternoon fog and fetched up neatly on either side of him.

‘Ted!’ said Rodney. ‘The very man! We have an emerging new business, and you have a great big hole.’