5.
The hardest part about starting a new relationship is learning how to fart silently again.
Okay, maybe it's not THE toughest thing, but it's a tough one; when you've spent years' staying on your own, in the cheapest hotels, having to think about things like that comes as a shock to the system. Then, add the fact that you're not entirely sure what kind of relationship you're in, or even whether you're really in one at all and you can see that there were downsides to the situation in which I found myself.
In all fairness, there were a couple of minor benefits.
I was sleeping with probably the most beautiful woman I'd ever shared a bed with; I was staying in a mansion which was more luxurious than anything I'd seen in my life before, being waited on hand on foot and served with the kind of meals I'd never even dreamt of and I had loads of free time to scribble a few ideas and gags.
That was because, for most of the day, I was on my own. Penny was out and about quite a lot making what she called 'arrangements.' The first of them had been on Monday morning while I was still sleeping. I'd had a few drinks the night before to help me recover from the events of the day (a superb 18-year-old Macallan that, being a Philistine, I'd treated like my customary bargain-basket blends) and, from what I can recall, Mason had helped (for which read 'carried') me upstairs and laid me on the bed. Then Penny managed to remove my shoes and her father's suit before pulling the covers over me and cuddling me into a very deep sleep.
Naturally, I had a hangover. My head hurt so much that I would have cried – except that it would have removed the last drop of moisture from my body. As my vision cleared a little, I saw a jug of iced water, a glass and two tablets sitting on the bedside cabinet. There was also a little note. It read: 'Try making it to the bathroom before you throw up – it's an expensive carpet!' It was signed 'Penny,' and there was an 'x' alongside it which reassured me a lot.
By the time I'd showered, gingerly made my way downstairs and followed the scent of freshly-made coffee to the dining room, Mason was alongside the table waiting to pour some into a nice, large cup. Once again, I remembered being 'helped' up the stairs the previous evening and I immediately began to apologise for my behaviour.
"There's absolutely no need for apologies, Sir," he told me, "I've been here a number of years and I've performed the same service for various members of the household - and their guests - during that time. Miss Pendlebury asked me to inform you that she has a number of errands to undertake but she'll be returning this afternoon after she's collected your belongings from your hotel. Will you be requiring anything to eat, Sir?"
"Mason," I responded quietly, "If you could rustle up a bacon buttie, I'd really appreciate it?"
The way he said, "Of course, Sir," gave me the impression that the response would have been exactly the same if I'd requested a slice of elephant's tongue on toast. It didn't seem to perturb him in the slightest when I followed him to kitchen and watched him prepare it, nor when I sat down at the small table to enjoy it. Getting him to talk was difficult, though; especially if I tried to draw him out on anything about the Pendlebury family. It was only when I when I mentioned my profession that he began to relax.
"I know that, Mr de Ladd," he informed me, "I've seen you on stage."
"Really? Where was that?" I asked, and the answer didn't really surprise me. A couple of years earlier I'd been drafted in at the last moment to replace a comic who'd been injured in a traffic accident just a few hours before a catering industry awards show. It was a very mixed audience and I'd had to be on my best behaviour:
"So this cannibal comes home from a barbeque and he's only got one leg. "What happened?" his wife asked. "It was self-catering!"
"Old Jewish couple been married for 50 years, and the wife tells her husband she's having an affair. He says, great, are we doing the catering?"
Yeah, I know...you can stop groaning. I'd had about two hours to cobble some material together and, whatever you might think now, a free meal and a free bar made it seem a lot better to the audience. Anyway, it soon became clear that Mason had been impressed. We got along famously while I told him a few stories about things I'd seen and heard, but he had to get back to work eventually and I went for a stroll in the grounds to get some fresh air and, of course, pollute it with cigarette smoke.
Several hours later, I found my way back. Although it was an imposing building, there were a lot of places in the grounds from which the house simply wasn't visible and, being a city boy at heart, I have no sense of direction once I'm surrounded by vegetation. After I'd wearily climbed the steps and sunk gratefully onto a chair on the terrace, Mason appeared alongside me as if someone had rubbed a magic lamp and he'd just popped out. Actually, he was magic – because he placed a pot of tea and a couple of scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam on the table in front of me. I realised I'd need to think carefully about my other two wishes.
Being at the rear of the property, I didn't see Penny arrive; my only notification of it was the fierce roar of a diesel engine, a screech of brakes and the sound of the gravel driveway being ploughed by the wheels of what I later found out was a Landrover Discovery. That noise was followed by footsteps that seemed to race through the house, so quickly that I'd barely managed to persuade my aching legs to hoist me from the chair when she appeared beside me – the redness of her face as vivid as her hair, her green eyes firing laser beams in every direction and, when she halted, tension pouring from every part of her lovely frame. She seemed to be in danger of hyperventilating, and I'm not sure it helped when I asked if anyone had ever told her that she looked really beautiful when she was angry.
In fact, I think I was about to be the recipient of both verbal barrels when Mason rode to the rescue with a fresh pot of tea and some more scones. God bless the well-bred English behaviour in front of servants! If that was my second wish, it was a good one because she took a deep breath, said a polite 'thank you,' and sat down beside me.
"Keep taking the deep breaths," I instructed (trying not to look at her chest), "and tell me about it when you're good and ready."
"It's about someone called Millie von Koch!" she snapped as soon as Mason was out of earshot.
For a second or two, my mind went completely blank and I was a hairsbreadth from denying any knowledge of anyone of that name. Then something clicked, somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind.
"Bloody hell!" I declared as a memory found its way forward uncertainly, "that's a name from the past." Then, a little uncertainly, I said; "Can I ask why?"
"Tell me first," Penny frowned and so I began to tell her what I could remember.
"Well, I can only recall what Norah said about her... and it was a few years ago. Apparently Millie... that wasn't her real name, by the way, the 'von Koch' part probably replaced something that was virtually unpronounceable... was someone who worked with my ex-wife for a while. I didn't actually meet her; but I remember being told that she had an incredibly... vulnerable look? Do you know what I mean? Dark hair, very slim, pretty... with large eyes that always seemed to be sad." I hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say next, but Penny urged me to go on.
"Well... it was during the first few months that Norah and I were married. Norah's her real name, by the way; Daly Cummings is her... erm... screen name." Penny nodded, obviously having already realised that, so I went on; "at that time Norah told me she was only doing glamour stuff and what they called 'soft porn.' You know... no actual penetration. I didn't like it, but it was what she did. I told myself I could live with that and I was sure that once I became successful.... Yeah... stupid, I know!
"Anyway, Millie von Koch was one of the lesser players. As far as I can recall she had a very brief, lesbian scene with my wife and I'm fairly sure that was all. We didn't spend much time together – I was away doing my gigs all over the place, and she was normally filming in some tiny studio in the London area.
"The first time I knew things had changed was when I received a visit from a couple of guys backstage one night. One of them just handed me a package and told me to take a look at it when I was on my own. To cut to the chase... it was a video starring 'Daly Cummings' – and it certainly wasn't 'soft porn!' Norah did just about everything you could think of doing... with about a dozen guys in that film alone! I know I lost a very good chicken tikka masala to the toilet after watching it."
"I'm sorry...." Penny started to say, but I interrupted her:
"No... let me finish. What really shook me – well, apart from the obvious – was that there seemed to be no protection; no pulling out, no condoms... nothing! Okay, some of the men did it over her face and body... but, for the most part.... Anyway," I sighed, "I wasn't able to get in touch with her for a couple of weeks and I think that's when I first began to dive into a bottle.
"When we did meet up again, I challenged her about it and... I don't know... it was like she was a different person. She wasn't the least bit bothered about what she did. She said it was great fun... she actually used that word, 'fun.' She was making loads of money... and it was a real turn-on to think of all the horny people watching her films and getting off on them.
"Seeing how horrified I was, she just laughed. She called me conventional, constrained, prudish... and a lot of other things, too. Then she compared me to Millie. Apparently, the girl had run off the set when she was asked to take part in an orgy scene with Norah and a group of men. From what I heard later, there was a lot of friction between them because Millie had something that Norah never had...."
"What was that?"
"She could act! Norah may have enjoyed what she was doing, but Millie actually had some talent. The story was that Millie had no interest in men and was only willing to do girl-on-girl scenes. The general opinion was that Norah set her up to fail – out of jealousy. I've no idea what became of her after that.
"Obviously, the marriage was over. We split up and went our separate ways; me to a disaster on nationwide TV, Norah to a few more films before she married Harold Smith, a very rich producer of porn.
"I'm guessing it was his goons who delivered the video to me that night. Apparently, he had a thing about huge tits and Norah's – although they were pretty impressive to begin with – were enormous by the time she'd had implants. The last time I heard from her, a couple of months later, she rang me to ask about a divorce. I told her to sort it out... Harold was rich enough to pay for it all. And that, believe it or not, was the last time I spoke to her until yesterday."
"Can I have one of those?" she asked as I pulled out a cigarette.
"You don't smoke," I said.
"I'm not exclusively non-smoking," she replied, which made me smile as I lit the cigarettes and saw her cough at the first taste of hers.
