The Anarchist

‘Parties. Sophisticated parties. With quiche Lorraine and pasta.’

‘I can’t see why not. Pasta, eh?’

‘And piña coladas.’

‘Right.’ Piña coladas and quiche Lorraine. That would show his Double Diamond and Mackeson-swilling staff.

Sheridan was grinning as he tucked the flowers and paper under his arm and dug for his key. He entered the hall and cheerfully announced his presence. Yet Jennifer did not greet him with the enthusiasm he’d expected.

‘What’s wrong, Sherry,’ she asked warily, automatically reaching for the kettle.

‘Absolutely nothing, my dear. On the contrary, everything is just splendid.’

‘So what are you doing home?’

He handed her the flowers. She eyed them suspiciously.

‘You gave me flowers on Friday, Sherry. What are these for?’

‘To say … you know … I suppose I might quite like you – or something to that effect.’

She cleared her throat.

‘I see,’ she said, looking at the kitchen floor.

‘Jennifer.’

‘What?’

He walked up to her.

‘Come upstairs.’

‘Why, Sherry?’

‘Because I’ve come home to … to, well, make love to you.’

‘Oh no you have not. I’ve got tons, simply tons, to do.’

‘Like what?’

‘Cleaning, cooking. You know. That sort of thing.’

‘My darling, it can wait.’

‘Oh no. Oh no, Sherry. Certainly not. Besides, the Unspeakably Behaved could come back on one of her revision periods. No, no. You sit down and have a cup of tea.’

‘Ah, that tried and tested method of contraception. One of Jennifer Entwhistle’s cups of tea.’ He wrapped an arm around her middle and kissed her cheek. She didn’t resist. Nor did she succumb.

‘Sherry,’ she said calmly. ‘It really is out of the question. In the first instance we’d have to draw the curtains. It would be like raising a flag for the residents. Besides …’