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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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07-03-11 6M p3 |
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The Roger Treatment by Lois Tuffield |
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sample: CHAPTER 5 Lillian had not done her homework as we already know, and if Roger did, he certainly wasn’t letting on. He was in his element regardless of the weather, he just changed the strength and colour of his pre-dinner wine; rosé was perfect as an aperitif in spring and summer, but red was best in the winter, while a good Chablis suited him during the autumn evenings while he waited for Lillian to prepare the meal. The Bowcotts had met a widower named Tony at one of the summer’s social events. Tony was an excellent French speaker who, over the last decade had fully integrated into the life and culture of his adopted country. When he heard Roger singing he suggested he might like to join the local choir of which he, Tony, was the only British male member. “Are the pretty ladies desperate for men too?” asked Roger sounding very interested. “There are far too many sopranos.” commented Tony, ignoring the innuendo of previous question, but it was enough to persuade Roger he should join, and he raised the subject with Lillian. “I’ll come with you.” she said. “Why? You can’t sing.” said her ever-loving, and honest husband. “Maybe I need to keep an eye on you.” she joked. “That won’t be necessary Lillian. You must know you can trust me by now.” Unusually for her, she accepted this, and every Wednesday evening from the beginning of September, Roger dressed himself in his best clothes and went along to sing. To begin with, he had problems as the songs were all in French, as were all the other men except for Tony. Roger was able to hum the tunes and move his mouth in an approximation for the words, but he didn’t understand the meaning of any of the songs. He used this opportunity to survey the three rows of sopranos, and next to them, the single alto row. He made eye contact with a few women, and made mental notes of which ones might succumb to ‘The Treatment’. He reckoned there were enough possibilities to keep him happy for at least a year. Tony gave Roger a lift to choir practice each week, enabling Lillian to have the use of the Merc. if she needed it. Her husband assumed that she didn’t really want or need it, but the arrangement made them both feel better. One evening, when the singing had finished, the choir leader provided drinks to celebrate his birthday and the two men had an opportunity to chat to other choir members. Naturally, the British people gathered together to speak their own language, and one of the women introduced herself, and said she thought she lived near Tony as she’d seen him passing her garden with his dog. She said that her name was Catherine, and Tony offered to collect her as well as Roger each Wednesday evening from then on. “It’s not good for a lone female to be out in a car on these dark nights.” added Tony. She was happy to accept. This travelling arrangement continued through the whole of the autumn term, but after Christmas, Tony had to return to UK to visit his sick mother. Roger was forced to take the Merc, Lillian was not too bothered - she said there was a good programme on Sky every Wednesday evening, but then she didn’t know that Catherine was to be a passenger. She probably would not have minded too much anyway because Catherine was dowdy and quiet, and appeared to be lacking in the personality department. Whereas Lillian was blond and vibrant, Catherine was exceedingly shy and dressed so as not to draw attention to herself. Her hair was chin-length, wavy and a non-descript sort of browny colour. She seemed reluctant to pass opinions on anything under discussion, and never opened a conversation. She wasn’t rude, always replied politely, but never invited any intimacy. She’s lacking in self-confidence, thought Roger as he watched her singing in the alto row and attempted to imagine what she would look like under the layers of baggy garments. One particular chilly evening in January, Catherine attended choir practice wearing a long grey skirt, partly covered by a darker grey shawl tied at the waist; her top half consisted of three different layers, one thin beige jumper with a polo neck, a round-necked grey woollen one, and both of these covered by a long black cardigan with a voluminous scarf swathing her neck. A study in shades of black and white, thought Roger as he studied her shapelessness. Catherine’s prematurely grey hair was tied in low, stubby ponytail. Dull! The conversation in the car as they went to choir practice was stilted and Roger had decided to endeavour to liven things up on the journey home. “I’d love to see you naked.” he said, turning away from the steering wheel to look into her eyes. Poor Catherine, she was totally unprepared for this; she blushed, she stammered, covered her face with her hands, and then she stared to cry. Roger pulled the car off the road, he was thinking ‘The Treatment’ was starting to work. She continued weeping soundlessly so Roger leaned over the gear stick and tried to take her in his arms to comfort her. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t want to upset you. What’s brought on all this crying Catherine?” She said nothing, just continued weeping and mopping her tears with a seemingly endless supply of tissues from the depths of her sleeves. Ten minutes went by before she stopped weeping and announced that they had better be going or her husband would think something had happened to them. “I don’t think we should leave until you tell me what the tears are all about. All I said was, and please don t start again - that I would like to see what you like under all those layers of garments. You really don’t make the best of yourself you know.” Catherine thought for a minute or so, the silence was deadly, and Roger ran all sorts of possible scenarios through his head, but just couldn’t think why his compliment should have had such dire results. “Okay Roger. I guess I do owe you an explanation.” She paused to blow her nose again. “Go on then.” “Well, my husband, Greg I think you met him once? He does not think I am attractive. He says that I have let myself go, that I’m not the woman he married thirty-five years ago. If ever I wear short sleeves or low necks, he tells me to cover myself up. He can’t bear the sight of aging, sagging flesh.” “But the only time we met, at the Winterbournes Pool Party last summer, I saw him flirting with Lillian, and she’s no spring chicken. I took it as a compliment that he fancied my wife.” “Yes, other women’s bodies are ok with him. It’s just mine that turns him off.” “Well believe me Catherine, I would love to see your body. Let’s see if it can be arranged.” “I don’t think that is a good idea at all Roger.” she said pulling her scarf tightly round herself and blowing her nose yet again. “Take me home now please.” she whispered. Roger did as he was told, and drove swiftly back to her house, and before she got out of the Merc. he tried to kiss her goodbye, but she avoided his embrace entirely, and swiftly slipped out of the car. “See you next week.” she said as she slammed the door and ran up the garden path. Roger drove the short distance home, deep in thought. As he approached his own road, he saw another car disappearing in the opposite direction. He thought it a bit odd as there was never any traffic this late at night in their isolated neck of the woods, but he soon forgot it as he concentrated on the enigma that was Catherine. Roger was totally confused. Had his charms failed for once? What was the motivating force for Catherine? Did she fancy him? Was she grateful for his compliments, or just embarrassed? He would have to wait until next week to find out. In the meantime, where was his wife? He looked for her in the lounge downstairs, and eventually found her asleep in bed, left her alone and went downstairs to pour himself a very large whisky. He had the feeling that she was not really as sound asleep as she was pretending to be, but he...
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