Maxwell’s House
“A buff envelope stamped with a reminder that the Local Education Authority had offered ninety years of service. Odd year to celebrate, but in John Major’s England no one expected the Local Education Authority to see its hundredth out. Perhaps they were quitting while they were ahead.
‘Black tie, do you think, Count?’ he consulted the cat. ‘Or hood and gown? What does one wear when one is on the carpet accused of gross moral turpitude? Well,’ he checked the date of the hearing again, ‘I’ve got a few days to decide, I suppose.’ He wasn’t ready for his visitor that night at all. It was a little after eight and he’d settled down to watch the video he’d treated himself to earlier in the day. Dame May Whitty was just writing her name – ‘Froy’ – in the dust of the train window prior to vanishing, when the door bell rang. It was a tall kid with blond frizzy hair and hideous, striped leggings.
‘Sally Greenhow,’ Maxwell said, ‘and I claim my five pounds.’ ‘How are you, Max, you old shit?’ Never... one to stand on delicacy was Sally Greenhow.MoreLess
‘Black tie, do you think, Count?’ he consulted the cat. ‘Or hood and gown? What does one wear when one is on the carpet accused of gross moral turpitude? Well,’ he checked the date of the hearing again, ‘I’ve got a few days to decide, I suppose.’ He wasn’t ready for his visitor that night at all. It was a little after eight and he’d settled down to watch the video he’d treated himself to earlier in the day. Dame May Whitty was just writing her name – ‘Froy’ – in the dust of the train window prior to vanishing, when the door bell rang. It was a tall kid with blond frizzy hair and hideous, striped leggings.
‘Sally Greenhow,’ Maxwell said, ‘and I claim my five pounds.’ ‘How are you, Max, you old shit?’ Never... one to stand on delicacy was Sally Greenhow.MoreLess
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