Seductive Viennese Whirl (9 page)

I spend a lot of time in the corridors of the hospital trying to locate Sten. When I find his bed, I almost cry with joy.

"I was so worried about you," I say, sinking into the seat beside him.

"I feel terrible," he croaks and gives a hoarse cough. I wait while he glugs down some water.

"Do you fancy a grape?" I ask, peeling the cellophane from the fruit basket. "Thanks, but I couldn't eat a thing." He puts his hand over mine. "It's good to see you."

I had been looking forward to feeling him grapes, but instead I have to make do with scoffing them myself. His complexion is the shade of white knickers gone grey in the wash, but when he flashes me a smile I remember why I'm nuts about him.

While I'm busy stuffing my face, a doctor comes in and fixes a chart at the bottom of the bed. He's about to go when I say, "Do you mind me asking, was he deliberately poisoned by those animal activists? Shards of glass slipped into a pie, that sort of thing?"

"You have quite an imagination," he says, chuckling. "Sten tells me he was hanging around the kitchen earlier in the day and because he was ravenous he bunged a few of the frozen pies in the microwave. The meat was probably barely heated through and crawling with bacteria. That's why no one else got sick. The stuff for the guests was properly defrosted and cooked."

"Oh," I say, somewhat disappointed. That doesn't sound half as exciting as victim of animal right espionage.

After the doctor's left, I help Sten sit up and we talk about last night. Turns out he wasn't embarrassed about my antics on the back of the deer at all. Thought I was quite hilarious. He even says, get this, that we must do it again sometime, and fixes his gaze on me. My palms are starting to perspire and I'm wondering whether it would be inappropriate to give him a little peck on the cheek, when a tall black guy rushes into the room.

He bustles up to Sten and starts chattering at an amazing rate. Something about a Chihuahua called Madison who's been pining for Sten all night.

Sten is totally mesmerized by this stranger, who, frankly, I wish would just push off.

At last Sten says, "Sorry, how rude of me, this is Henry."

To which I reply, "I'm Kate. Pleased to meet you." But Henry just ignores me and sits down on the other side of the bed and presses Sten's hand between his.

"I tried to come round last night, but they said visiting hours were over. I was so worried about you babe."

I think about the term babe. It's a mighty strange term of endearment to call another man. It almost looks, oh God, don't make me say it. It almost looks as if Henry and Sten are gay or something. I tell myself not to jump to conclusions. It could be his brother, his manservant, a work colleague, for God's sake. It doesn't have to be his boyfriend. But when Henry leans over and kisses Sten and they hold the kiss for four seconds, I realize I have to face the unequivocal truth. Sten is queer.

"Well," I say, jumping up. "I'd better be off." I feel about two inches tall as I creep towards the exit. Sten waves, still totally oblivious that I fancy the pants of him. Thank God I never told him about the wallpaper dream.

"We must do lunch. I'll call you," he shouts after me, but I know he doesn't mean it.

Another one bites the dust.

Going to bed now to lick my wounds.

Love always,

Gherkin

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Are you blind?

Date: 29 July 2011

Dear poor little Gherkin,

I'm so sorry that your hopes were dashed with this Swedish meatball, but purleeze. Pale pink suit, fuchsia tie! Are you blind? How did you not pick up on that? It should have set the alarm bells clanging immediately. You always were a strange one. So smart in so many ways but incredibly clueless in others, particularly when it comes to picking men. Do let me know if he calls. A really good gay friend can be hard to find but Sten sounds like a keeper. Talking of gay men I recently had Serge, a feng shui consultant come in and reposition the children's rooms because I was at my wits end, what with Blair waking up four times a night and Basil having 'accidents' in his bed and then wailing for me to change the sheets, it meant I wasn't getting a jot of sleep. Turns out it was all to do with where the beds were positioned! I know you think I'm full of new age hooey, but after Serge moved their beds to the east side of the house and put the headboards facing north Blair sleeps through the night and Basil remembers to get up and use the toilet if he needs to go. Isn't that amazing? And the upside of peace at night means that Donald and I have tons of energy for some rather enjoyable rumpy pumpy. I swear Egg, you should try it (feng shui, not sex with Donald!) I'm sure you'd feel much more positive about life and possibly even stop being attracted to the wrong sort of man. Think about it.

Must dash, need to take Basil to his Beginners Pottery class.

Lots of love,

Egg

The Canter Agency

28 - 32 Greek Street

London W1 5UJ

England

9 August 2011

Dear Egg,

Thanks for your email and your concern, but I don't think having our place feng shuied would help a jot. In any case I don't have the disposable income to pay for a consultant. Although I could do with a pick me up. The last couple of weeks have been a bit tense if you really want to know. When I got back from visiting Sten in hospital and gave the Haddock the low-down on his condition she wasn't at all happy.

"I don't believe it," she said. "I just don't. There's not a damn thing wrong with those pies." The Haddock has a blind spot where her clients are concerned, as in, they can do no wrong. I, on the other hand, can do no right.

"It's what the doctor said."

"Impossible. I think it's much more likely that you're mixed up in this. You do tend to destroy whatever you touch."

"Now hold on!"

She looked at me coolly. "Are you telling me you weren't behind the broken parcel weighing machine?"

"I don't know what you mean," I said, trying to look innocent. How did she even know about me and Ricky when I hadn't told a soul apart from Eva?

"Look, I don't care what you and Ricky get up to as long as you don't do it on company time," she'd said, giving me a withering look, "or on company property."

And since then the Haddock's been on my back more than ever. Today I don't even dare take a lunch break. I just eat my two Danish lunch and keep working straight, noticing that Eva still isn't back from lunch. Surprise surprise. She's at one of her long business lunches with McManus in which business is never discussed. I mean, isn't it blindingly obvious to the Haddock they're having an affair? On company time. Why doesn't she have a go at Eva about wasting company time?

I lean over and help myself to a half eaten packet of Monster Munch which lies on top of a heap of papers on Eva's desk. The clutter on it has gotten so bad now it's overflowed onto her seat. Sandwiched one on top of the other on her chair are lipstick smeared tissues, cans of hair mousse and several pairs of shoes. A Louis Vuitton carry on bag is squashed on top. Beneath her desk stands a matching travel bag.

The phone rings and its Sten. His voice is as uplifting as digging into a vat of Haagen Daaz, without the downside of putting on weight. I was wrong in assuming he wouldn't call. He does. Frequently. And takes me to lunch. If only all men were so reliable. Right now he's telling me about a girl at work who had to get drunk before getting a Brazilian wax.

"I said, ‘Oh please, Brazilians are so last year. Haven't you heard, hair is back.'" While I'm laughing I'm also thinking, how could I have been such a dunderhead as to have missed the signals that Sten was gay? You're right, Egg. I am so clueless.

Once I've licked my fingers clean of Monster Munch and have finished my call with Sten I decide I can't hang around waiting for Eva any longer. She was meant to be heading off for her weekend in Vienna after work today, but it's five o'clock and she still isn't back. Since I'm dog tired I decide to slip off home, to a typical Friday night special, half a bottle of Bailey's, some reheated pizza and sitcom reruns on TV.

I click shut my briefcase, which I've taken to carrying around to give me an air of professionalism. Today it contains a Mars Bar, a chocolate Slim-Fast shake (which I carry around just to prove to other people that I'm dieting - sad isn't it?) and an unread copy of the advertising paper
Campaign
that I sometimes prop up on my desk for show. I hope Eva doesn't wear McManus out this weekend. We need him here, bright eyed and bushy tailed Monday morning to okay a new slogan, visuals supplied by Simon, which I was working on today:
We take our game seriously
. McManus' luxury pies. She needs to keep his five minute sexual bursts to a minimum, or he'll be cranky and tired and might make us redo the whole thing. He's already rejected two ideas.

First idea, a man has been sitting beside Loch Ness for months now, staring down his binoculars, hoping for a sighting of the Loch Ness monster. While he's sitting there he scoffs one of McManus' pies. He falls asleep, leaving a last chunk of pie on his plate and as he sleeps the monster creeps out of the Loch and demolishes the last bit. When he wakes up again the monster has disappeared back into the Loch. McManus liked the idea of the pie being alluring, but said the Loch Ness theme had been done to death. Bearing his comments in mind I pitched the second idea, a woman has been in labour for sixteen hours and is at the end of her rope. The doctors tell her the baby doesn't seem to want to be born. In desperation one of the nurses says, "Let's see if this won't lure the little one out," she says, waving one of McManus' steaming hot pies over the mother's belly. Immediately the woman has a strong contraction and the baby zooms out. It was meant to show that the tantalizing smell caused the baby to get its skates on, but McManus said it was in bad taste. So back I went to the drawing board, gritting my teeth. If I have to do it over again I think I'll scream.

As I prepare to make my escape I notice that Sparky, whose desk is right at the exit, is slowly unravelling the wrapper from a Murray Mint and popping it into her mouth. As she savours the sweet she closes her eyes in ecstasy and rubs her thighs, clad in mauve nylon slacks, together in a way that is vaguely obscene. I wait until she's opened her eyes and is immersed in her newspaper. All clear. I'm just creeping past her when she starts barking, "Will you take a look at that! Will you?" She stabs the paper with her finger. "I've never seen my knickers going so cheap! You can't miss out on this, chuck."

"I'm all right for knickers at the moment, thanks," I say. This prompts her to start hooting with laughter. I wait, perplexed, while her nostrils flare like a horse as she whinnies to a climax.

"Not knickers, pet. My-ka-nos, the Greek island. Seven days for three hundred quid." I shift my briefcase from one arm to the other, aching to be gone. But Sparky's only getting started. "I've been to Mykanos before of course. That was one of my holiday's without mother. I met a very nice gentleman there."

"Really?" I say, feigning interest.

"Yes, Demetrios."

I see Eva come down the hall. Her face is full of thunder as she barges past me, sweeps her chair clear of mess and collapses onto it. I'm itching with curiosity to know what's going on, but don't know how to curtail Sparky's trip down memory lane.

"He was a very good lover, if I remember rightly," she says, fiddling with her plum tinted hair. An image hops into my mind of Sandra doing a slow striptease for Demetrios. Rolling off polyester separates to reveal a white wobbly body.

"Sounds great," I gulp.

"Shocked you, haven't I?"

"Not at all," I say, stumbling backwards against the corner of a desk. I grimace as a spear of pain shoots through my left buttock. Behind me, Eva is loudly opening and closing her desk drawers and rifling through them while Sparky rambles on.

"Sorry, what?" I say, biting my lip as the pain in my bum slowly subsides.

Sparky's getting up and coming over. "I said," she nods in Eva's direction. "I know you two think I'm past all that. But a woman has needs. I'd love a fling in Mykanos, but these days it's impossible." She steps up close so I can see the orangey foundation that's caked in her pores. Enveloping me in a gush of peppermint breath she lowers her voice. "What with the threat of …" She glances from side to side to see if anyone's listening, although we're the only three there. Finally she mouths, "AIDS."

This conversation is making me feel a bit squirmy. "Ever thought of using a condom?"

"Don't trust them. I don't care what them doctors say, some germs can get through anything."

Eva stops banging about and swishes past me down the hall to the ladies room.

"Well, have a good weekend," I say, tearing off after her.

When I get in there I find Eva manically outlining her eyes with black kohl. Pulling the eyeliner gently from her grasp I ask, "What's going on?"

She gives me an angry glance. "You managed to tear yourself away from your fascinating conversation then?"

"You'll never believe it," I say, forcing a laugh in the hope of lightening Eva's mood. "Old Sparky's dying for a shag, but is too scared to in case she gets some horrible disease."

"Whatever." She grabs the eye pencil back off me and keeps ringing her eyes in kohl.

"What's with the eyeliner? You going to a fancy dress party as Cher?" With her curtain of dark hair and high cheekbones she's looking uncannily like the diva in her
‘I Got You Babe'
days.

This doesn't even merit a smile. Her eyes in the mirror, usually sparkly blue, are sludgy, like rocks dredged up from the sea bed. "If you must know, I was actually going for the cheap whore look. It's what McManus thinks I am, after all."