Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1118.
Author:
Audience Rating:
Publication:
Genre:
Character Age:
TG Themes:
Permission:
(aka Bike) Part 1118 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
 |
I wasn’t entirely surprised that Howard knew I was Simon’s wife, and hadn’t been convinced that the pretence was a good idea. That he had walked rather than been fired seemed to resolve one problem–his vacancy would produce another.
Simon left me after a quick hug and a kiss, mainly to see who could be temporarily promoted to fill the gap. I went food shopping, although I did feel a bit over dressed for it. Most other women were in jeans and I was tottering about in four inch heels and designer suit.
As I paid for a large trolley load of food and cleaning supplies, the woman behind admired my suit.
“I do like your suit, my dear,” she said tapping me gently on the arm.
“Thank you, I’m quite fond of it myself.”
“You don’t see many women actually dressed up these days, it’s all slopping about in jeans and saggy tee shirts, or shorts and tights under a dress–I ask you, do they feel the cold or something?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “I know my own daughters wear things I wouldn’t put together, but surely some of that is generation gap and its application to fashions. I know I’ve worn things which I’m sure upset my own mother.”
She looked at me sideways, “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”
“Do you, I don’t know. I’m Cathy Cameron.”
“Oh, for a moment, I thought you were another Cathy, someone to whom I owe my life.”
“I’m not aware of anyone owing me anything much at all, let alone their life.” I blushed.
“Well this young woman hauled me out of the river with her dog’s lead.”
“Oh,” I said and blushed. “You’re not the newspaper chap’s wife are you?”
“It was you?” Her eyes sparkled, “Fancy meeting you in here. Look, let’s go for a coffee, the restaurant isn’t brilliant, but it’s clean.”
I looked at my watch, “I really ought to be going,” I blushed, I should be at home and these shoes were crippling me.
“Oh do come for a coffee, won’t take long.”
Weak willed as ever, I allowed myself to be dragged to the cafeteria and while I watched the shopping, she bought us afternoon tea–minus the seed cake. Why is it that these things happen to me? I mean Simon is far more famous than I and no one ever accosts him and asks if he’s Simon Cameron–perhaps they don’t do that in the city unless they’re serving a summons.”
“I’ve never had a chance to thank you for pulling me out.”
“I didn’t, that was the fire service, all I did was hang on to you until they arrived–nothing really.”
“If you hadn’t, I’d be dead now.”
“In which case, I’m extremely glad I did.” I smiled at her and sipped my tea, which for supermarket stuff, wasn’t too bad.
“Your name was different then wasn’t it?”
I blushed and had to think, I wasn’t Charlie then, was I? No, I was definitely me, because I had Trish with me. “Oh yes, I was Cathy Watts then, I’ve married since.”
“Yes, to a very fortunate Mr Cameron.”
“I hope Simon thinks he’s fortunate.”
“Simon Cameron? Not Henry Cameron’s boy? The banker?”
“Yes, Henry’s my pa in law.”
“I remember Simon and Stella growing up, we were acquaintances of the Camerons, so you’re Lady Cameron, now?”
“So they say–I’m not convinced that it isn’t all hogwash perpetuated by a social elite against the ordinary people.”
“Absolutely, which is fine as long as you’re in–hell if you’re not.”
“I feel in no man’s land, because I don’t fit with the cocktail set, but I don’t regard myself a peasant either.”
“I know the feeling, look why don’t you come to dinner, with hubby of course, and I’ll introduce you to some really nice people.”
“It’s very kind of you to ask, but I really don’t have time.”
“Oh, my dear you must make time–mixing is very important and to be seen to be mixing equally important.”
“Lady Townsend, with all due respect, I don’t mix–I just don’t have time, I have seven children to look after plus some work I do for the National Mammal Survey, I’m also trying to produce another film.”
“My dear, you are busy–seven children? Not all yours, I hope–if they are you’ve kept your figure remarkably well.”
“They’re all adopted, but we love them as our own, and I try to spend time with them each day.”
“What sort of ages are they?”
“Three weeks to sixteen years.”
“Goodness, that’s a challenge, but then a young woman like you, I’m sure you’re up to it–at the same time, I hope you have some help. I’m sure Simon can afford it.”
“Yes, I do, and Simon is very generous.”
“So he should be, a fine gal like you needs hanging on to. Well, I’m sorry I can’t persuade you to a dinner party–we could do with some new blood, and someone with balls like you.”
Why did I blush? I can’t say I’m too pleased about the description of having balls or being spunky–because I worked hard not to be such these days. I know, it’s only an expression, and I’m hypersensitive. Maybe I am, but I don’t like the expression anyway–it sounds a bit common to me. Oops, am I a snob? Oh well, can’t be perfect all the time.
I got my shopping home after getting rid of the magnate’s missus. Actually, she was a nice old trout, but I don’t fit in her universe and I’m sure as hell not going to act as her latest show and tell object or curiosity.
Simon was home when I lugged bags of shopping into the kitchen. “Where have you been, Babes, I left you three hours ago?”
“I’d have thought it was blindingly obvious,” I retorted stuffing a bag of groceries in his arms.
“Oh, it doesn’t usually take three hours, does it?”
Only when I have you with me, “No, but I ran into Lady Townsend.”
“What, Malcolm’s wife?”
“Sounds like something from Macbeth.” I laughed.
“She’s a sweetie.”
“That sweetie added half an hour on to my shopping time, and she was trying to inveigle me into going to one of her dinner parties.”
“Trying? People kill to be invited.”
“Not this people. I declined, pleading seven kids, one of whom I must feed or explode.”
“Milking time, is it?” he smirked.
“I wish just for a few hours you could experience what having heavily laden breasts feels like, let alone some little horror using them as teething aids.”
“I think I’ll pass on that one, if you don’t mind. I can’t say the desire to breast feed has ever been on my list of things to do.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” I teased.
“I think I’ll cope with the ignorance.”
“Can you finish unloading the groceries, I need to change.”
“Don’t ever change, Cathy–we all love you as you are.”
“If I don’t; I’m going to have milk marks on this suit jacket.” I kicked off my shoes and picked them up before running upstairs, my feet felt so relieved to be free of their torment.
Ten minutes later, dressed in a far more comfortable shirt and jeans, I had tiny wee clamped to my breast and a sense of fulfilment which transcended even hauling rich old biddies from rivers could.
