The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1303 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We sat and watched more of the first half of the France v Wales rugby match. Wales had an outside chance of winning the championship by winning by more than twenty seven points. The way it was going, they’d need a cricket score to achieve that because France were well into the lead. Simon sighed. “Bloody frogs, the Irish give Wales a chance–admittedly a long-shot one, but a chance nonetheless, and those silly Welshmen give away soft tries.

At the end of the first half we went back down to the dining room, Simon pretty sure that Wales had blown it and that England would take the championship and France would come second. I wasn’t that bothered either way.

I checked my appearance as we left the room and it was okay. As we walked down to the dining room, I wondered if it was them we’d seen earlier. Was the body beautiful, Mrs Hines, pregnant? If so, how did I feel about that? I tried not to feel anything about it other than positive for them. I could go round with my brain in a sling just because nature didn’t give me a womb and ovaries. I had to make the best of the fact that I had pretty well everything else attributable to female bodies, including some working breasts. Things could be a lot worse.

We went to the bar and Simon ordered a pint of real ale, I had a glass of orange juice. I’m a control freak, I like to be in control of my body and more importantly, my mouth. I would have some wine with dinner so for now, fruit juice was enough.

“Have the Hines come down for dinner yet?” asked Si.

“Not yet, Lord Cameron.”

I glanced at my watch, it was after half eight, if we ate much later I’d be awake all night. I sighed.

“This isn’t good enough,” muttered Simon, he wasn’t used to being kept waiting, except by me and I always had a good excuse. “At last,” he said quietly as Matthew Hines sidled into the bar.

“I’m expecting some guests for dinner,” he said to the bar man.

“I believe they’ve been here some time, sir.”

“Ah, yes, um where are they?”

At this point I took the bull by the horns–although I wouldn’t have much more effect if I’d grabbed it by the testicles. “Matthew Hines, I’m Cathy Cameron and this is my husband Simon.”

Hines spun round and smiled, then he looked me up and down, then Simon. “Your video doesn’t do you justice, you are gorgeous. How d’you do,” he shook hands with me and then with Simon. I could feel Simon’s hackles rising.

“Can I get you a drink by way of apology for being so late. Judy’s having a rest, it’s our first and the pregnancy isn’t going as easily as we hoped.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I said feeling a need to sympathise with his wife–female solidarity and all that.

Simon accepted another beer–how had he drunk the first one that quickly. I didn’t need one and said so. We were taken to our table and each time the waiting staff came near they spoke to Simon or me.

“D’you come here often, they obviously know you,” said Matthew noticing after about the fourth such encounter.

“Simon’s bank owns it,” I explained.

“Wow, so what a coincidence and you’re a genuine lord and lady?”

“Simon is, I’m only a lady by marriage,” I confessed.

“Nonsense, you’re a lady by inclination, too.” Simon added, putting an arm round my waist in a signal of ownership. I wasn’t too bothered, Matthew Hines wasn’t quite so debonair and attractive in real life as he was in his films–in fact he was verging on boring.

He talked incessantly about himself and only stopped when a waiter came and whispered in Simon’s ear. He nodded and frowned. I gave him a questioning glance. “Bloody French won,” he sighed.

“How did England do?” asked Matthew and Simon told him with great enjoyment. “Bugger,” he said, “I’ve lost a tenner on that: sodding Irish.” Now the conversation droned on and on about wretched rugby. I sat and read the menu while the two men argued about their favourite game.

We were eventually served and I had melon for starter, Simon had pate and Matthew broccoli and Stilton soup. They were still talking rugby. I was glad that he and Simon had something in common, but given Matthew’s opening statement that I was gorgeous, it seemed his opinion was short lived.

I actually sent a text to Julie asking if all was okay and had one back and the men didn’t notice. I began to wish I’d brought my headphones, I could have listened to the radio on my Blackberry, it would have been far more entertaining than debating the choice of Flood or Wilkinson for the number ten position. For a moment I thought they were organising a coup, then realised number ten was the outside-half position in rugby.

For my main course I had tuna steak with salad and new potatoes. It was delicious. Simon had some variation on steak and kidney pudding, while Matthew had chicken in a lemon and cashew sauce–must be nuts.

“Are you looking forward to rehearsals?” Matthew asked and I let it wash over my head, assuming it was something else about rugby.

“Babes, Matthew asked you a question,” said Simon nudging me.

“Oh I’m sorry, I was miles away,” or wished I was.

“Are you looking forward to rehearsals?”

“I think I’ll wait and see how we get on at reading it first.”

“I didn’t think you were a pro–so you know the process?” Matthew seemed impressed for some reason. I simply thought that actors sat and read the parts first before doing rehearsals.

“I’m not, I’m a teacher.”

“And dormouse lady.”

“Yeah, I teach dormice–so far haven’t had one fail an exam.”

“How many have sat exams?” asked Matthew looking very sceptical.

“None–of course.” I sounded very superior and dismissed his question.

“Hence none have failed?” Matthew nodded, “I asked for that.”

Simon snorted, “Be careful, she has a wit like a razor.”

“So I see, I shall have to be careful with you, your ladyship.”

I simply beamed an innocent smile hiding my razor sharp teeth.

“Have you thought how you’d like to play Lady M?” asked my fellow thespian.

“Gruoch,” I corrected him.

“Gruoch? That’s her name? I mean her real name?”

“Aye, that’s ma name ma lord, Queen of Scotland.” I spoke in the gentle lilt that I’d heard Morag use.

“My goodness, is that the accent you intend to use?”

“Aye, ma lord.”

“That is just fabulous, I’ll have to get a voice coach in and see what I can do to complement it. Simon, I thought your wife was an amateur actor–I think I have been misled, and very pleasantly so. I think I’m going to enjoy doing this a great deal more than I thought I would.”

“I see, so you were down here on sufferance really?” I felt less and less impressed with Matthew Dickhead Hines.

He blushed, “No, not at all, I said I’d do the play for the school but I expected it to be difficult because of working with school kids and few teachers–think amateur dramatics. I got Gordon to direct it because I felt we needed someone to try and set a certain standard. I suspect, you’re the one who’ll be setting the standards not us.”

“Have you done the play before?” I asked.

“I haven’t acted it, we did it in school when I was in year ten, I think–but you have, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but it was an am-dram version.”

“The reviews were very good.”

“Of course they were, the critic’s grandson played Macduff.”

“It helps–oh well–it could be great fun.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a tragedy?” offered Simon probably feeling as left out as I did when they were doing rugby to death.

“I would have been a real tragedy if your lovely wife hadn’t agreed to do it with me.”

He was a real smooth talker.

“Is your wife having something to eat–I mean, this evening?” I thought I’d remind him about her in case he forgot.

“She said she’d call room service.”

“Perhaps one of us should go up and check she’s okay?” I suggested.

“I’ve got my mobile or she could page me if necessary,” he said defensively.

“I’d like to meet her anyway,” I virtually insisted.

“Hold on,” he flipped open his wafer thin mobile, “Jude, Lady Cameron would like to pop up and say hello, is that...” He nodded to the phone–why do we all do it, the caller can’t see us? “Okay, I’ll tell her–feel free to go up, she’d love to meet you.”

With that I made my farewells, probably temporary ones, and set off to the lift–wondering why I was doing this–just curiosity or something far darker, meeting one of the most beautiful women in the world when she’s probably feeling anything but beautiful, and I’m dressed to the nines. Then she is pregnant and I’m not–so let’s leave it at female solidarity–yeah, that’ll do. I pressed the call button on the lift.