Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 2885

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike, est. 2007)
Part 2885
by Angharad

Copyright© 2016 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.
*****

I sat there staring at the phone number while sipping my tea, wondering what I should do. Or rather, how I should do it? Should I act indignant as in the restaurant; or would a cold and disdainful approach be better? As I sat there my phone peeped and I nearly dropped the mug of tea in my lap.

“Yes?”

“It’s Mr Archibald, I’ll put him through,” and before I could react he was speaking.

“Lady Cameron?”

“Yes.”

“Look, I feel I owe you an apology.”

“Is that all you rang for?”

“Please, hear me out?”

“I’m still not going to support any sort of blood sport.”

“I realise that now, but I honestly didn’t know it at the time. You might say I was set up.”

“Or you didn’t do your homework.”

“Okay, that as well.”

“So is that it?”

“Uh not quite.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to apologise for something else.”

“Uh yes, I’ve done my homework now and I made some unfortunate remarks about you as a student, didn’t I?”

“My time as a student is not a particularly pleasant memory.”

“Sorry, I really didn’t know.”

“It’s no great secret.”

“May be not, but I wasn’t in the know and I’d never have guessed.”

“What that I was that weedy creep who made good microscope slides?”

“Yes—er no, I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed who you were because you looked so female...”

“Mr Archibald, I am female.”

“But your clip on the BBC about your marriage to Lord Cameron...”

“What about it?”

“Well it said you were a boy.”

“So?”

“I’m sorry, I seem to have done it again, don’t I?”

“Let me ask you something, Mr Archibald...”

“Please call me Colin, but fire away.”

“Do you ever get asked about your gender or your sexuality?”

“No of course not.”

“So why is mine a discussion point?”

“I was apologising for something I said at lunch.”

“But you then had to qualify it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t especially enjoy being told I look female because it’s irrelevant irrespective of the intention of the person who says it. I am female, my past is irrelevant, my present and my future will all be met by me as a female because that is what my status is. I’m a wife, mother and professor of a university—I do all of them as female.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that, Mr Archibald.”

“Colin, please.”

“I am going, Mr Archibald, goodbye.”

I put the phone down and felt like throwing my cup against the wall. Diane put her head round the door. “More tea?”

“You called him up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, because if I hadn’t you’d have been late for the children.”

I looked at the clock, “I’ve got an hour before that.”

“I know you didn’t want to speak with him and would have put it off and put it off until it was a huge mountain. Now you’ve spoken to him, hopefully you can shut the door on it and forget about it and we can get some work done.”

I looked at her in astonishment, “I beg your pardon?”

“I have twenty letters for you to sign.”

“Okay—but don’t you ever do that again.”

“Fine—now, d’you want more tea or not?”

My answer was to hold up my mug which she took smirking. Okay, she was absolutely right, I didn’t wish to speak with him but I needed to or it would have haunted me. He now knew, big deal. It’s out there in the public domain, I won’t deny it—or should I say, I can’t deny it as it happens to be fact and much as it annoys me to have to admit it from time to time, it is no longer relevant to my life any more than the fact I acted as Lady Macbeth in school is. It’s an item in my history. I’m not employed for my history but what I can do now and in the future, Simon didn’t marry me for my past any more than I did him for his past—my children, some of who have similar pasts, don’t think about them, we interact as mother and children. It’s what we are now that matters and what we’re going to do in the future. The rest is just history.

I’d just finished logging on when I saw I had an email from guess who? I was tempted to just delete it without reading it, but he does work for Defra, so I clicked on it.

Dear Professor Watts,

I seem to stick my foot in my mouth whenever I speak to you. I understood your point perfectly and again I was out of line. I apologise unreservedly.

I’m sure that you’d prefer not to meet with me again but it appears my superiors think differently and I’m due to meet with you to discuss some research we’d like you to undertake for us. I’m aware that you could probably insist on seeing someone else but I’d be grateful if you would discuss the matter with me and I will try not to say anything stupid or irrelevant.

I discovered you got a first from Sussex, they don’t give many of those away, so you are special. I also know you’ve done some very clever things with the mammal survey. This department needs people like you to ensure the policies we develop are the correct ones for the environment and the people who inhabit it.

Please contact me to make this appointment, I would really appreciate it.

Yours

Colin Archibald.

I was still musing on what I’d do when Diane appeared with my letter’s file and my tea. “You look very pensive—here,” she handed me the tea and then the file.

I pointed at the screen and she came round behind me to read it. “He’s certainly a trier.”

“Trying, may be a better descriptor.”

She chuckled, “So what you going to do?”

“What’s going on here?” I pointed at the screen, “I mean the subtext.”

“They know he messed up with you, so d’you mean are they rubbing his nose in it or giving him a second chance?”

“Something like that, the way he’s pleading it looks like it might be his last chance.”

“Yeah, could be—so what ya gonna do?”

“Call ghostbusters?”

She roared with laughter, “Don’t tell me your kids love it too?”

“I don’t know about them but I quite like it myself.”

“Yes, something of a classic—now what about this here begging letter, are you going to see him or what?”

“You mean, am I going to kick him when he’s down?”

“That’s up to you, perhaps he needs someone to administer the coup de grace.”

“I don’t support blood sports—make the appointment but in the morning, he can come here.”

“No freebie lunch?”

“Definitely not, I don’t wish to watch his appalling table manners as well as talk to him.”

“You really are an aristocrat aren’t you?”

“Nah, just a snob.” I stuck my tongue out at her and she went back to her office chuckling.

“I just love working here,” came through the door as she shut it.

Yeah, so do I some days—but despite her manipulations, I was glad she was my secretary, she’s a good one.

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