The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1558 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Neither Simon nor Henry would say anything. They ushered us out to the entrance way and a chauffeur driven car appeared, we were practically swept into it by our escorts.

“What happened at the meeting?” I asked.

“Wait until we get to lunch,” Simon said tersely. I looked daggers at him.

The car dropped us at a bistro place about half a mile away and Henry opened the door and indicated we should go through. The maitre de led us to a quiet table and Henry ordered a bottle of wine, some sort of Burgundy, I think. I reminded Simon he was driving, he reached into his pocket and handed me his keys and smiled. I called over a waiter and ordered a cranberry juice.

“I would recommend the Dover sole,” Henry said looking at the menu. After a quick glance I agreed, adding melon for my starter and sorbet for my pudding.

“When are you going to tell us what happened?” I asked both men.

“After we’ve eaten,” suggested Henry.

“Why not before?” I asked.

“Because I think it’s better after dinner, okay?” he said back firmly. I felt like getting up and walking out.

“Please don’t treat me like a school girl, Henry.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.”

“So far you have. Monica and I are adult women in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I had noticed and also how especially lovely you look today, Cathy.”

I frowned back at him and waited for the meal. Each time either of the men tried to start up a conversation, I shut it down. “Let’s wait until we’ve finished eating, shall we?” Giving them back some of their own medicine.

Simon and his father more or less polished off the bottle between them, Monica having one small glass which she diluted with water. I was getting closer to leaving by the moment.

Finally we got to the coffee–the fish had been delicious and the sorbet was pretty good too.

“Now do we get to hear?” I said angrily.

“Let me finish my coffee,” smiled Henry.

“Henry, thank you for a lovely meal, but fuck you and your stupid son.” I stood up and as I left I asked a waiter to call me a taxi. Ten minutes later I was sitting in Simon’s car with my shoes on the passenger seat where he should have been.

I waited for ten minutes in case he followed me. He didn’t, so I started it up and set off for home. The traffic was heavier now and the rain was falling. I felt totally and utterly fed up. My efforts to support him had been treated like I was a child. It took an hour to get out of London and I was very pleased to find the M25 and thence the M3. The traffic on both of these motorways was fast and furious, and I felt like the whole world was setting out to annoy or abuse me.

I had to stop for a wee on the way down the M3 and I overheard two men talking as I came out of the ladies: ‘Probably some actress or model, those threads cost a bit and see the car she has?’ I smirked as I walked past, strutting my stuff in catwalk style. Let’s face it, I could hardly confess to being an ecologist while driving a gas guzzling sports car, could I?

Clear of the services, and plenty of juice in the tank, I threw caution to the wind and opened up the throttle at one stage doing well over a hundred miles an hour. I did slow down after a few miles and was doing well under seventy when a police car hammered past at speeds well in excess of the legal limit, blue and red lights flashing on the large BMW.

I returned home about an hour later, fed up and feeling like I’d eaten too much. I pulled on my shoes and went in. “Where’s Simon?” Stella asked looking up from reading my Observer.

“No idea.”

“What d’you mean?”

So I asked for her to put the kettle on while I changed. Seven or eight minutes later I was sipping tea and explaining why I nearly tipped my coffee over Henry’s head. I had left it untouched instead.

“What’s he playing at?” she asked taking drink from her mug.

“I don’t know, but I suspect we’ll find out tomorrow anyway, and I’m beginning to feel that I’m past caring.”

“I think I can see why.”

“I don’t like being treated like a child, and rather than cause a scene, I left after stating my position.”

“I don’t blame you, though I’m glad you didn’t douse Dad in cafe, it would have ruined a Savile Row shirt.”

“Big deal, he’s got others.”

“They cost about three hundred quid a piece.”

“What’s wrong with Marks and Spencer?”

“Nothing, he just prefers handmade ones.”

“As far as I know M&S don’t make them by foot.”

“Cathy, please don’t get argumentative with me, it wasn’t I who frustrated you.”

“I know, Stel, but I felt the whole day has been a waste of time. A total bloody waste.”

“It was you who wanted to go if I remember correctly.”

“This is true, however, Simon could have said no, but he didn’t. I had a nice chat with Monica, but that was about it. I hope Henry isn’t planning on coming here for Christmas, because I don’t think I want to see him.”

“Oh dear, he has offended you?”

“He sure has, old fool.”

“He’s only in his fifties.”

“Yeah, like I said, old fool.”

She put down her cup and chuckled. “You certainly have strong opinions, Cathy.”

“You noticed–well that’s more than my husband or his father have.”

“Well the less said the sooner mended.”

“Where are the children?”

“I knew you’d notice sooner or later.”

“Notice what?”

“No children, I told Caroline it wouldn’t work.”

“What wouldn’t work?”

“Selling them into slavery to a sweat shop in Hackney.”

I shook my head, she was barmier than I was and that was bad enough. “You’re crazy, now where are they?”

“We had to kill them all in case they talked.”

“Stella, please don’t you arse about, it’s bad enough when your father does it.”

“Oh okay, Caroline and Tom have taken them out for an ice cream.”

“And Julie?”

“She went out to see some friends.”

“I didn’t know they had any sweat shops in Hackney.”

“Oh it’s well known, especially in darkest Ruislip.”

“You are completely mad, Stella.”

“You noticed? It was your fault, me spending all that time on the funny farm.”

“Where life is beautiful all the time?”

“You know it?” she said and I nodded.

“They’re coming to take me away,” she sang and I joined in.

By the time we’d finished falling about laughing I heard the backdoor open and an in rushed Mima and Trish.

“Oh; Where’s Daddy?” asked Mima obviously seeing the car in the drive.

“He’s still up in London.”

“Oh,” she said and went off.

“Hi, Mummy,” Trish threw her arms round me and a cold nose touched against my cheek.

“Hello, Sweetheart.” I hugged her.

“Is Daddy okay now?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, he didn’t tell me so I came home.”

“Oh, shall I ring him?”

“If you want to.”

She went off and returned a little later. “He’ll be home tomorrow and he said he hoped you hadn’t bent his car.”

“Did he now?”

“I told him it was fine apart from a few scratches and a dent in the bonnet. He swore but told me he’d see me tomorrow.”

“Oh well, we’ll find out tomorrow what happened won’t we?”

“I ‘spect so,” she said and went off with Livvie.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnzHtm1jhL4)