The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2824 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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I made the teas and waited for them to come to get them. Henry appeared from their room, thanked me and disappeared back with the teas. Simon eventually emerged and sipping his tea said, “Where’s this dress that cost half my bonus, then?”

“Just wait,” I retorted hoping the redness in my face would be seen as caused by drinking hot tea, “I mean, if I got tea all down it before the off...”

“All right, point taken, just don’t forget to take your slippers off before you go, eh?”

Having once turned up at work in slippers I was aware it could happen—but not tonight. I’d wear the same sandals as on Wednesday with same dress. A bit of wickedness crossed my mind—yes, serve him right.

The two men were having a glass of wine and had offered me one but I’d declined, Henry looked at his watch and said, “Ten minutes.” I nodded and went to put my dress on.

Simon came in as I was finishing. “You’re wearing that again, I thought there was a second dress?”

“There is, this is it.” I was lying.

“Looks the same to me.”

“Well it doesn’t to me. It’s similar I’ll grant you but it is a different dress.”

“You bought two almost identical dresses, why? Why not just get it cleaned in between events?”

“You told me to get two dresses.”

“I don’t remember that, I just said get something nice for this one.”

“Oh so the university doesn’t matter then?”

“Yes but it’s not quite on the same level as this one—this will be full of very rich men with exquisitely coutured women.”

“So what am I doing here then?” I suddenly felt very inadequate.

“Because you’re my wife and the most beautiful real woman there.”

“What d’you mean, real woman?”

“Well half of them will have size zero stick insects on their arms, with IQs in the same sort of numbers as their wrist measurements, you’re a director in your own right, you’re a university professor and mothers of thousands and still more beautiful than all of them put together.”

“Oh, Si,” I hugged and kissed him.

“It’s the same dress isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“See, I’m not as stupid as you think.”

Damn, he was thinking for himself—have to stop that before it becomes a habit. “Well, I didn’t see the point of buying two and besides I didn’t see two I really liked.”

“So how much was it then?”

“I think with the other bits and pieces about fifteen hundred. Sorry.”

“Sorry? Babes, I got off light, it looks lovely but you could have spent a bit more if you needed to.”

Whatever I do is wrong. I touched up my lippy checked my hair and misted myself in Coco. Simon coughed and then sneezed. Serve him right he should have stood further away.

The dinner was okay but I’ve had better at home. The speeches were tedious—was mine the other night?—I hope not. I did get a mention in Henry’s boasting that High St was the only bank with a director of ecological and environmental matters and that my films had raised the bank’s profile amongst people who valued their environment, usually youngsters and new account holders. So my contribution was valuable.

It was during the dance part of the evening that people came up to us and hanging on to their arms were these waif like creatures who looked in need of a good meal not having just had one. The gowns were beautiful and I wondered if at one time I might have wanted to look like that but many of them were there as arm candy, I was there because I was one of the family and for my brain—at least I hoped so or Simon would be entitled to a refund.

Henry managed to persuade me to have a couple of dances with him and he dances very well—I’m sure he’d give a good account of himself on Strictly, not that I watch it. Simon as if jealous of his dad grabbed me as we returned to the table and I had to do three dances with him. “Look, I’m already wearing your mark of ownership, so stop worrying.”

“What d’ya mean, mark of ownership?”

“This,” I lifted my ring finger with its wedding and engagement rings.

“It doesn’t mean that—does it?”

“It’s a sign to other men that I’m not available, I’m already owned by someone.”

“Yeah, me and I’m so proud of it and you and you look a million dollars in that dress, you did the other night.”

“It’s funny that you should quote the original selling price.”

“What a million dollars?”

I nodded sweetly trying to look guilty to confuse him.

“How much was it?”

“I’m not discussing that here, you don’t know who’s listening.” Suddenly he turned back into sweetness and light, “Of course dear.”

Later back in our room he asked me again. “I don’t remember, I just saw the dress and knew I had to have it regardless of price.”

“It does look lovely on you, so I suppose the cost is irrelevant.”

I popped out to make some tea and Henry was doing the same. “You looked simply delicious this evening, my dear. That dress was beautiful.”

“Thank you, Henry, you looked pretty dapper yourself and you dance wonderfully.”

“Yes, not a bad rug-cutter if I say so meself.”

I smiled and leant over to pour my tea, “I’m so glad you married my idiot son, it’s the best thing that happened to him. Normally when he comes to these sorts of things he sits there looking uncomfortable but tonight, he was so different. Several people commented on it. So thank you for coming, it made a big difference.” He went back to their room before I could say anything and I wasn’t sure if what he’d said had been a compliment, a thank you or an observation on Simon.

When I got back Si was undressing, his cummerbund over the back of a chair and his trousers and jacket draped over the seat of the chair. In contrast, my dress was on its hanger and in the wardrobe.

“I’m bushed,” he said and lay back on the bed and by the time I’d pulled on my nightdress, the grey silken one that Stella gave me for special occasions, he was zonked, one leg still on the floor. So much for, ‘No children tonight,’ which he said with a gleam in his eye—looks like his battery failed.

I sat in the easy chair on my side of the bed and read my book for a while. Donna Leon writes such curious and quirky characters for Brunetti to investigate, this time the sudden death of a man who was a deaf mute who probably also had a learning difficulty—was it murder? I don’t know, I’m only about a quarter the way into the book.

Simon snored himself awake, he sat up pulled his other leg under the bedclothes and turned over on his side. He looked straight at me but didn’t see me sitting by the bed. I cleaned my teeth and got in beside him. For all his failings I love him to bits and I know he does me as well. Just as well because he woke me an hour later with his snoring...