Kitabı oku: «An Innocent Masquerade», sayfa 4

‘Yes,’ he said, adding, ‘my name’s Fred.’ He gave her his swooning smile, even more attractive now that he had lost his beard. ‘A bit of fun sounds nice.’

‘Right, then,’ she said, taking him by the hand, for he seemed a little unsure of what to do next. She led him to her own quarters which were unexpectedly comfortable and pleasant, in contrast to the stark appointments of the girls’ rooms.

Fred thoroughly enjoyed having fun with Fat Lil. Once in her bed he found, much to his surprise, that he knew exactly what to do, and that he was rather skilful at it, judging by Fat Lil’s pleased reactions.

Fat Lil was surprised as well as pleased. She thought that although it was some time since Fred had enjoyed a bit of fun—and she was right about that—he was still very considerate of his partner, both before and after the fun. She thought this was a little surprising, too. Great hulking diggers were not usually so thoughtful in her experience.

‘Nice, wasn’t it?’ said Fred dreamily, afterwards, thinking that he had been missing a lot in life by not remembering what fun was before. He sometimes wondered why he had such difficulty in recalling things. Whenever Geordie asked him questions about the past to test whether his memory was returning, his usual reply was, ‘I can’t remember, Geordie.’

Geordie, indeed, was curious to know why it was that Fred had lost some things completely, and yet remembered others quite well. It had been obvious to him for some time that sex had flown out of Fred’s universe, and he had sometimes wondered what would happen when—and if—it flew back, and why it had disappeared at all.

That first night Fat Lil was so pleased with Fred that she allowed him, nay, encouraged him, to pleasure her for longer than usual, so it was quite late when he finally trotted off to the only home he could remember. Not that Fred had much idea of time and its importance—that was something else which he had mislaid.

Big Sister was still up when Fred rolled home, a look of stunned happiness on his face. Sam and Bart had abandoned the card game and had gone to Hyde’s for a quick drink—which always seemed to turn into a slow one, Kirstie noticed sardonically.

Geordie was teaching her to play chess. He had tried to interest Fred, but Fred had said distressfully, ‘It makes my head hurt,’ when Geordie had begun to explain some of its basics to him. The chessboard lay on a mat between them, and Fred’s arrival came at a crucial point in the game.

‘Remembered you had a home to come back to, did you, Fred?’ Kirstie said sharply to him. The sharpness was partly because Geordie had her Queen pinned down again.

Her sarcasm flew over Fred’s head. He was still in such a state of delight that nothing could disturb him.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said simply. ‘I don’t forget that.’

‘As a matter of interest,’ Kirstie asked, more to delay the fatal moment when her next move—whatever it was—would result in her losing the game than real curiosity about Fred’s doings, ‘where have you been and what have you been doing?’

Fred, who had sat down in front of the chessboard, opened his mouth to tell her about his adventure with Fat Lil—and then closed it again. He was not so far gone that he did not remember that fun with women like Fat Lil was not something which you talked about to a pure and innocent young girl like Big Sister.

Not that she didn’t know about them—you couldn’t live in the diggings and be unaware of their presence, but there was a pretence that somehow young virgins never saw them and knew nothing about them and their activities.

He desperately tried to invent some explanation of where he had spent the last three hours, and began to sweat with worry that he might come out with something wrong.

‘I…’ he began, and then, water running down his face, he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and tried to mop it up. He looked at the chessboard as though it might give him inspiration. Not that it did, but what it did do was drag a memory from the distant recesses of his mind.

‘If you’re playing with white, Big Sister,’ he said judiciously, ‘you could mate Geordie instead of him mating you, if you let him have your Queen, and then you moved your rook to the square opposite his King—seeing that his taking your Queen leaves your Bishop covering his King as well, and so his King has nowhere to go and you’ve won the game.’

There was an intense and stunned silence. Both players stared at the board. Geordie, an old chess hand who was certain that he had won the game, saw immediately that Fred had spotted a major weakness in his attack—probably because he had not been concentrating very hard against a novice.

He looked across at Fred. ‘Now, how the devil did you know that, Fred?’

Fred had spoken without thinking. He looked at the board and tried to think but nothing happened. The game of chess was once more as mysterious to him as it had been when Geordie had tried to teach him.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, mopping his sweating forehead with his handkerchief again. ‘Why did I say that, Geordie? Does it mean anything?’

‘Yes,’ said Geordie, ‘It means that you were once a better player than I am, and I’m a good one. Are you sure that you can’t remember anything more?”

Kirstie, who had been watching Fred and his handkerchief closely, gave a short scornful laugh. ‘I think that Fred has remembered another game,’ she said. ‘Lend me your handkerchief, Fred, I’m hot, too.’

Fred obediently handed it over to Big Sister. He invariably tried to oblige her. Too late, he remembered that Fat Lil had given it to him as a memento of their highly successful encounter, and that Lil was embroidered in one corner. It reeked of powerful perfume, too.

Kirstie saw the name and smelled the perfume.

‘Well, well, Fred Waring,’ she said softly. ‘So you ended up at Fat Lil’s Place, did you? Were you there all the time you were gone?’

Fred sighed and said stiffly, ‘A gentleman never talks of such things, Big Sister. Particularly to a good woman.’

I wonder where he dredged that piece of etiquette from, thought Geordie who was watching Big Sister’s stricken face.

‘If it is Fat Lil’s I certainly don’t want it, Fred Waring, and you can have it back,’ and she tossed it into his lap.

Fred said anxiously, ‘If you want a nice clean one which isn’t Fat Lil’s, Big Sister, I have one in my other pocket.’

Geordie didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at this artless answer. Big Sister’s response was to snap, ‘No, thank you, Fred. I’ll take your advice about the chess game, and then leave you to talk to Geordie about those things which a gentleman never talks about to good women but can, apparently, discuss with good men.’

She rose agilely to her feet and stalked to the door of her hut where she turned to bid them both a haughty goodnight.

Fred said anxiously to Geordie, ‘Why is Big Sister so cross with me? I tried not to tell her about Fat Lil, but she insisted.’

Geordie hesitated a moment before saying, ‘I can’t explain to you now why she’s so cross with you, Fred. I don’t think that you would understand. But I’m sure that one day, perhaps soon, you might be able to work it out for yourself.’

Fred nodded. He wasn’t sure that he understood what Geordie was telling him, but said in an earnest voice, ‘I do try to be good, you know, Geordie.’

‘Yes, I do know, Fred. Don’t worry about it. Go to bed yourself. Tomorrow is another day.’

Fred nodded his head and did as he was bid, leaving Geordie to wonder what the future held for Fred and the Moore party now that Fred had remembered one of the reasons why women had been put on earth.

Chapter Three

The immediate future for Fred was a happy one. Women were attracted to him, as Fat Lil had been, and Fred Waring soon gained a name for himself as a man for the ladies, particularly since he was always gentle and courteous when with them. He never pestered them if they weren’t interested in him, but when they were, proved to be a joyful and happy lover.

In short, he took to women as he had taken to the bottle—‘As though,’ Geordie said once to Sam, ‘he’s making up for lost time.’

He also thought that, one day, Fred’s desire for women might go the same way as his desire for drink and disappear. He was still not sure how much his treatment of Fred had stopped him from drinking and how much it was due to Fred himself. Could it be that the man he had once been before he had lost his memory occasionally took him over—which he had done on the night of the chess game?

Big Sister was in despair. ‘Who would have thought it?’ she wailed. ‘All those weeks—and nothing. Now this! You ought to try to stop him, Pa. It’s not right.’

Her father looked kindly at her. ‘He’s a man, Kirstie,’ he said. ‘Fred needs his fun. It was right odd that he never seemed to need it before.’

‘Oh, you’re all the same,’ she raged. ‘All that you can think of is drink and women.’

‘And gambling and smoking and horseplay,’ said Geordie, laughing gently at her.

Big Sister rounded on him, too. ‘Oh, you’re as bad as the rest, Geordie Farquhar, for all your education! You should be helping Fred, not encouraging him to go round lifting women’s skirts.’

She realised that her anger with Fred was making her indelicate, and she began to wonder why she was so cross with him since, after all, he was only doing what the rest of the hairy monsters did.

She was prevented from answering this question by Allie running in and announcing that Fred had made a strike, and they were all needed to wash the gold out. Organising this, and standing in the creek, overseeing the little ones, collecting the fine grains, and sharing in Fred’s pleasure at his first substantial strike, drove her annoyance at his womanising temporarily out of her head.

Instead, Fred ended up that night with the choicest chops and Johnny cakes as a reward for being a good hardworking mate. Later, Pa gave him a share of the gold on top of his pay and Fred bought himself a new straw hat and Big Sister a ribbon for her hair.

‘A bluey-green one to match your eyes,’ he told her.

She could scarcely be cross with him after that, particularly as he never said a wrong word to her, or tried to take advantage of her in any way. He was still his usual kind and gentle self, trying to help her a little, so that the entire care of their small party did not fall on her shoulders.

She was cross later, though, when she found that he had gone to Fat Lil’s Place wearing his new hat, and Lil had seen him in it, and Fred had had a great deal of fun with Lil celebrating his strike.

Fred’s going out on his own to Fat Lil’s had another consequence since Sam, Geordie and Bart began to include him in their forays into the night life of Ballarat. But he was not only beginning to alter mentally: the physical changes in him were even more striking. After a few weeks of hard labour his body and hands had both hardened: he was all muscle and had become a powerful man, larger and stronger than the majority of those in the diggings.

Will Fentiman, who ran the boxing booth next to Hyde’s Place, walked round to the Moores’ claim one afternoon to watch them at work. He was particularly interested in Fred.

Fred had been driving himself hard that day. It was hot and he had stripped off his shirt to reveal his powerful torso. He was about three feet down and, later that day, he was to strike a thin vein of gold which would help them to make a profit that week.

After watching him swinging his pick for a little, Fentiman said, ‘You’re a big fellow, Fred, and powerful, too. You’ve got a good body there and you use it well. Have you ever thought of taking up the Fancy?’

‘Bit old for boxing, isn’t he?’ commented Geordie, who didn’t want Fred’s head hurt again before he was fully recovered.

‘Depends,’ said Fentiman. ‘There aren’t many his size. I’d like to see him spar. Can you spar, Fred?’

Fred stopped and looked puzzled before he found some memory from somewhere. It was odd what he could sometimes dredge up.

‘Think so. A bit.’

‘Come round this evening,’ offered Fentiman. ‘I’d like to see you in action.’

‘No,’ said Big Sister sharply to Fred when he proudly told her of Fentiman’s invitation during their evening meal. ‘You’ll get hurt again.’

This saddened Fred who liked to please Big Sister, but also liked to please himself. He was proud of his new-found powers and strength and wanted to try them out.

‘I would like to go, Big Sister.’

‘Oh, let him spar a bit,’ said Sam. ‘He’s worked hard, let him have a bit of enjoyment.’

Even Big Sister’s flouncing couldn’t change the men’s minds so they all went round to Fentiman’s with him, even Geordie, who privately agreed with Big Sister, but after all Fred was a grown man, even if a slightly strange one.

There was quite a crowd there watching Fentiman’s stable work out. Later he would ask members of it to try their luck against his men. There was always some fool, Geordie said, who was willing to risk getting his stupid head knocked off in an attempt to gain a few pence.

Fentiman saw Fred and called him over. ‘Have a go with Dan’l here—he’ll be careful with you until he’s seen what you’re worth.’

Dan’l was known as Young Mendoza after some famous fighter of the past, Geordie explained later. He was smaller than Fred, but much more skilful. He danced around Fred saying, ‘Loosen up, loosen up.’

This had an odd effect on Fred—Mendoza was kind and didn’t really hit him hard, but after they had shuffled about a bit and Mendoza shouted, ‘Loosen up,’ again, it was as though a kaleidoscope shifted and the scene before him changed.

It wasn’t dark Mendoza opposite to him at all, but a laughing sandy-haired giant, blue-eyed and confident, bigger even than Fred, who was saying, ‘Come on, come on, loosen up, you’re tight.’

And then, suddenly, Mendoza was back again and Fred really had a go at him, remembering what the giant had said. After a few moments of this Fentiman said, ‘That’ll do. Well done, Fred.’

Fred walked over to the others, puffing and blowing a bit, and laughing at them. ‘Wasn’t too bad, was I, once I loosened up? I enjoyed that.’

Fentiman said. ‘You were right, Fred. You have sparred a bit. It’s a pity you aren’t younger I could have made something of you. Not a champion, but something.’

‘He doesn’t want his brains addled,’ muttered Geordie to Bart.

‘Thought they was addled already,’ grunted Bart.

‘No,’ said Geordie, half to himself. He asked Fred a quick question, to try to catch him off guard when he often had insights into his forgotten past. ‘Do you remember when you last sparred, Fred?’

Fred looked at him, surprised. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but I know that I was once in the ring with a right big ’un. A fair giant he was with a grin all over his face. He was a real hard one, though. Kept shouting orders at me.’

It didn’t do to push him too much. Geordie thought that when Fred wanted to remember he would, and Geordie wanted to be around on that day and find out what the true man was really like.

After that Fred often worked out in Fentiman’s gym, not enough to damage his hands or head, but enough to keep himself in trim. With each new skill that he recovered he grew and changed a little.

Big Sister fussed over him, and scolded him severely once when he got a black eye through failing to dodge a blow.

‘She doesn’t want him to spoil his pretty face, does she,’ grinned Bart who wasn’t always blind to what was going on and, not being so near to Big Sister as Sam was, realised what lay behind Big Sister’s half-scolding, half-affectionate manner to Fred—something which Big Sister had not yet grasped herself.

As a result of going to Fentiman’s Fred made new friends, principal among them being Young Dan’l Mendoza. Mendoza wasn’t so young, being in his mid to late thirties like Fred: he was a man who had almost made it to the very top in England, but not quite. He had joined Fentiman’s after he had come to the diggings because he found it easier to earn a living in the boxing booth than breaking his back down a hole.

Sparring with Fred late one afternoon, he towelled off with him afterwards. He knew of Fred’s inability to remember his past, but asked him idly, ‘Can you remember who taught you to spar, Fred? It was someone who knew his trade, I can tell you that. I’d not say that you were a natural fighter, mind, but you’ve got brains as well as skill and courage.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t like my brother. He was really good. He could have been a champion,’ said Fred unthinkingly, pulling on his red flannel shirt. He was momentarily in the dark where, oddly enough, the kaleidoscope occasionally shifted and a brief enlightenment often followed.

‘Your brother?’ queried Dan’l. ‘You had a brother who fought?’

Fred’s head emerged from his shirt and he blinked at Dan’l, the brief memory already gone. For a moment he had recalled that he had a brother who was a real fighter…but… ‘Did I say brother, Dan’l? I can’t remember.’

He puzzled a little and tried to bring the memory back, but like the tiger in the night—it hadn’t run so often lately—he could not catch it, although one day, like the tiger, it might catch him. He surprised himself by having such complicated unFredlike thoughts these days.

Once he was dressed again—he was slower than Dan’l who had had more practice at taking his clothes on and off—he suddenly stretched and yawned. Dan’l laughed at him and said, ‘How about going to Jameson’s for a drink, Fred, make a night of it?’

Fred said, ‘You’re on, Dan’l,’ even though he knew that his drink would be a soft one, and they joined the watching trio—Geordie always accompanied Sam and Bart in order to keep an eye on Fred in case he was hurt. Dan’l was kind, though, and tailored his skills to test Fred rather than to knock him about for the fun of it.

Jameson’s was in full swing when they arrived there. At one end of the big tent was a small improvised stage on which some minimal entertainment was provided. Jameson claimed that this meant that he was running a music hall. His customers usually ignored the entertainers but that night for some reason each third-rate act was being greeted with rousing cheers.

Fred drank his lemonade—it was pitiful stuff—and didn’t join in the ironic cheering. He rather felt for the poor creatures struggling through their acts. They were giving of their best, even if it was inadequate.

Dan’l said quietly to Geordie, ‘Fred spoke of a brother today.’

Geordie looked sharply at him. ‘Did he say anything useful?’

‘Only that he was a really good fighter. He couldn’t remember any more and I didn’t push him.’

‘Best not,’ agreed Geordie. ‘Fred doesn’t strike me as having a member of the Fancy as a brother, though.’

‘No,’ said Dan’l. ‘But at some time someone who really knew the game taught him, I’ll say that. Fred can box, but he’s no fighter. He has no instinct to kill. The brother had, apparently.’

One more piece of the puzzle that was Fred. Geordie and Dan’l abandoned discussion of him when a juggler ran on stage. He was so unskilful that he was unintentionally funny and they joined in with the sardonic applause which greeted each failed trick.

Fred said mildly, ‘The poor chap’s only doing his best.’ His kindness seemed to embrace everything and bore out Mendoza’s judgement of his lack of a killer instinct.

‘His best isn’t good enough,’ said Sam, laughing. The rowdy mood of the crowd grew and the juggler began to curse them when he lost his clubs in mid-flight again. One hit his foot so that his pained hops accompanied his oaths.

‘Damn you all,’ he roared.

‘And damn you, too, chum,’ roared back a sturdy digger at the front, ‘if that’s the best you can do.’

A man sitting near to him took exception to this. Like Fred, he was sorry for the inept juggler, and said so, drunkenly and loudly, until the big digger aimed a blow at him.

In a flash the stage was forgotten when the fight this started spread happily to other tables, and before long swept down the room. Work-toughened, hard-drinking men struck anyone who was near to them with no idea of why they were doing so—except that it seemed a good idea at the time.

The swirling brawl overturned tables and drink, and at last reached the Moore party. Their table flew sideways when yet another burly digger, set on by two others, crashed into it.

Angered, Dan’l, now half-cut, roared, ‘Watch that!’ and he struck the larger of the two men who were responsible for his drink disappearing. In a trice the whole Moore party became engulfed in the mass of struggling, fighting, laughing and cursing diggers, striking out in their turn at they knew not who, or what, and being struck at in reply.

At first Fred was bewildered. He was somehow aware that this was a totally new experience for him. He took no part in the brawl to begin with until a mild-looking little man sprang at him from nowhere and struck him, quite without reason.

This was too much, even for equable Fred. Letting out a roar he struck back, and suddenly found himself in the midst of the mêlée, taking part in it with the same unthinking joy as the rest.

Jameson and his bruisers were powerless to quell the riot, which was rapidly wrecking the tent. The fight streamed through the doorway and ended up in the alley outside. Fred threw a last punch at a one-eyed man which was hardly fair of him, he thought later, but he enjoyed doing it at the time. He subsided, laughing and breathless, on to the ground where Geordie found him a little later.

‘You all right, Fred?’ he enquired, putting out a hand to haul him up.

Fred came upright, laughing helplessly. ‘Never had so much fun in my life,’ he gasped. ‘I could never understand Alan when he said how much he enjoyed the Macao run, all that fighting and wenching!’ He shook his head. ‘But now…’ and he laughed heartily again.

‘Alan?’ asked Geordie, his eyes watchful.

Fred’s laughter ran down. ‘Alan?’ he repeated, a question in his voice, too. ‘Who’s Alan? I don’t know an Alan.’

It was interesting, thought Geordie clinically, how often Fred spoke of his lost past when he wasn’t attending to what he was saying. It was almost as though he blocked it off when he was fully conscious and awake. An odd thought that.

So the brother who could fight had been a sailor, had he? On the Macao run? Geordie found this as difficult to believe as that he had been a boxer. He had his own ideas of what Fred might have been in his lost life, but it might be some time, if ever, if he discovered whether they were right or wrong. In the meantime, they had to get home before the police arrived.

Fred had enjoyed the horseplay, even if he’d lost his new hat in it. He’d been lucky, too, in surviving relatively unmarked. Sam had acquired a black eye, and Bart, beer-covered, torn clothing. Only Mendoza looked as though he had not taken part in the scrimmage. After his first few blows, he had quickly crawled out under the canvas side of the tent, not wanting to damage his hands and body which he needed to keep professionally whole.

Big Sister reprimanded them all when they finally reached home again.

‘It’s the wages of sin,’ explained Geordie. ‘Men love horseplay, but they have to pay for it afterwards.’

‘They don’t pay enough,’ she said nastily. ‘The grub’s cold, and you’ll have to eat it cold. It was ready for you at the right time.’

‘Cold or not,’ said Fred, ‘it’s welcome.’ He sat cross-legged on the ground, grinning happily while he demolished cold stodge and looked at the friendly stars.

Oh, this was the life, and it was good indeed!

After that night, Fred’s enjoyment of fun of all kinds grew with each passing week. The harder he worked the more fun he wanted. Kirstie grew used to other women teasing her about Fred or arriving at the claim trying to get a glimpse of him. It was difficult for her not to know what was going on, even if he did exercise a fair amount of discretion.

Some of the women threw themselves at him, which was not always wise. He would turn away from them, and it became clear that he liked to be the one who was the initiator. He did not like bold women.

One of their neighbours, Lew Robinson, had a wife named Annie who made eyes at him, but always from a distance. Fred ignored her at first because Lew was a chum whom he liked. Then he learned that Lew was given to beating her if she as much as looked at anyone else, whilst running after other women himself.

After Fred found out that Lew was cheating Annie with one of Fat Lil’s girls he felt differently about her. ‘Fair’s fair’ was his motto, and Lew wasn’t being fair to Annie. If he, Fred, made Annie feel happy again, then that would be a good deed as far as he was concerned.

He kept quiet about this, though, for he knew that Big Sister disapproved of his goings-on, which made him feel very unhappy, but not unhappy enough to change his ways—except that after the first few delirious weeks he steadied down and began to pick and choose a little.

‘Why did I forget about fun with women, Geordie?’ he said one day. They were sitting together before the fire amid the evening hum of activity going on all around them.

‘That I can’t tell you, Fred. What made you remember, do you think?’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ returned Fred confidently. ‘That was Fat Lil. She liked me, didn’t she—and then I remembered. What else have I forgotten, d’you think?’

Geordie could not tell him. Only that he might yet recover skills and knowledge which he did not know he possessed, and would not until they flew back—as having fun had done. Until then, Fred enjoyed himself hugely.

One afternoon he finished work early and went for a walk. He was feeling restless again and a bit of fun seemed called for. He thought that he knew where he might find some and who would happily oblige him.

He stopped at a stall and bought a fairing, a cluster of ribbons made up around a paper flower. Annie would like that, he knew, and he thought that it would be a good idea to visit her armed with a present.

The hut Annie shared with Lew—who might, or might not, be her husband—was a little way away from the Moores and this was convenient, too. He didn’t want Big Sister to know about Annie.

There were times when Big Sister’s patent disapproval made Fred think that what he was doing was wrong, no matter how much he and his partners enjoyed themselves. But he had seen that Lew was busily engaged elsewhere on a task which would take some time and he congratulated himself on his cleverness in noticing this.

He looked through the improvised window of their hut into the kitchen, but Annie wasn’t in. This was disappointing, so he walked round to the back, and there she was, feeding the chickens inside the picket fence which Lew had built for her.

‘Hello, Annie,’ he said, the fairing hidden behind his back.

‘Hello, Fred. Why aren’t you working?’

‘Finished early, didn’t I? Sam said that I’d been good and had done enough for today.’ His smile was engaging. ‘Guess what I’ve got, Annie? Make me a cup of tea and I’ll show you.’

She looked at his smiling face, and knew at once that it wasn’t a cup of tea he wanted. She also knew that whatever he wanted, she wanted, too.

‘You’re on, Fred. Come in.’

Her kitchen was small, but neat and clean. There was even a little iron stove on which she boiled a kettle. Fred sat down and Annie brewed the tea. After that Fred produced the fairing.

‘That’s for you, Annie. You can have that for the tea.’

She took it and pinned it to her dress. Fred smiled his dazzling smile which had all the women in the diggings swooning at his feet—everyone but Big Sister, that is.

He picked up the teacup and drank it appreciatively. He put it down, took her hand and said gently, ‘Have fun with Fred, Annie?’

‘I thought that the fairing was for the tea, Fred.’

‘Oh, it was, it was. But we can have fun as well.’

Annie debated for a minute while she went to a small mesh cage, fetched out of it a cake—a rarity in the diggings—and cut him a large piece which Fred ate with relish, his eyes still on her.

Oh, yes, she wanted fun with Fred, but there was Lew to consider. He might return and she did not want another beating. She had always been faithful to him up to now, but she knew that he had been having fun with the girl from Fat Lil’s, so why should she not enjoy herself?

Fred leaned persuasively across the little table. ‘Kiss me, Annie, please.’

The kiss was long and satisfactory. It was soon evident that Fred wanted much more than a kiss—and so did Annie. She pushed him off regretfully.

‘No, Fred, not now. Lew will be back soon.’

‘No, Annie. He and his crew went off to do a job, Sam said. They’ll be late home. Be kind to Fred, Annie, and Fred will be kind to you.’

He did not push or force her but simply put on a comically sad face. They were standing close together now.

She put her arms around his neck. ‘In the bedroom, then.’

His smile was impudent. ‘I can’t wait, Annie. Nor can you, either. What’s wrong with the wall?’

‘Oh, Fred, you’re wicked!’

But she didn’t argue with him further. He began to kiss her more urgently. His hands were all over her, undoing her in more ways than one.

‘Oh, Fred, please. Oh, Fred, no, Oh, Fred, yes, please, yes. Oh, please…’ and on that last word her voice rose an octave as Fred Waring had his wicked way with yet another woman.

‘Who have you been misbehaving yourself with today, Fred Waring?’ Big Sister asked him acidly when he arrived home late that afternoon.