The One a Month Man
“Nevertheless, there were a few more questions that had to be asked, much to his tumescent frustration.
‘Did it happen; did they get hitched?’‘Damn right they did – Marylebone Register Office.’‘There’s something missing in all this,’ I said, puzzled.‘There’s something missing for me, too, and it’s waiting on ice upstairs,’ he protested, his eyes throwing flares.‘Just a few more questions and I’ll be gone into the ether,’ I promised, struggling to keep this alight, like a candle in the rain. ...‘Am I supposed to believe that Tina was bowled over in a couple of nights by this Russian?’‘As Tina Turner sang so often, what’s love got to do with it?’ A ghost of a grin told me that I was expected to acknowledge his smart repartee. I obliged, mimicking a laugh. ‘Must have a drink,’ he said, shuffling with constipated inertness to a cabinet, where he poured himself a whisky. Declining to offer me one was an elaborate gesture; it wasn’t just a matter of deliberate inhospitality, he was anxious not to extend my stay so that he could surrender to the reverse pull of gravity, upwards, without too much further delay.‘So it was a marriage of convenience?’‘Very convenient.’ ‘For whom?’‘Both.’ ‘Spell it out for me, Mr Cullis, then I really will be on my way.’ This clumsy dance of diplomacy was becoming increasingly hard to sustain.MoreLess
‘Did it happen; did they get hitched?’‘Damn right they did – Marylebone Register Office.’‘There’s something missing in all this,’ I said, puzzled.‘There’s something missing for me, too, and it’s waiting on ice upstairs,’ he protested, his eyes throwing flares.‘Just a few more questions and I’ll be gone into the ether,’ I promised, struggling to keep this alight, like a candle in the rain. ...‘Am I supposed to believe that Tina was bowled over in a couple of nights by this Russian?’‘As Tina Turner sang so often, what’s love got to do with it?’ A ghost of a grin told me that I was expected to acknowledge his smart repartee. I obliged, mimicking a laugh. ‘Must have a drink,’ he said, shuffling with constipated inertness to a cabinet, where he poured himself a whisky. Declining to offer me one was an elaborate gesture; it wasn’t just a matter of deliberate inhospitality, he was anxious not to extend my stay so that he could surrender to the reverse pull of gravity, upwards, without too much further delay.‘So it was a marriage of convenience?’‘Very convenient.’ ‘For whom?’‘Both.’ ‘Spell it out for me, Mr Cullis, then I really will be on my way.’ This clumsy dance of diplomacy was becoming increasingly hard to sustain.MoreLess
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