NATHANIEL’S SPLIT PERSONALITY
We malefactors maintain a rather invidious relationship with the world at large. We look like human beings, behave like human beings, and for all practical purposes might well be human beings. But we have no feelings, and no emotions.
I know that my human counterparts frequently recoil when they meet a superior force, and talk of fear. I sometimes recoil, and realise that I am being practical. I know that men, and women, do the strangest things to attract and please members of the opposite sex. I call that hunting. I recognise greed as a desire for more and more, but I am really rather fastidious, and think in terms of excess.
Sometimes men, and women, will also move heaven and hell – particularly hell – to gainsay rivals. A woman came up to me at a cocktail party the other day, looking conspiratorial. Her name is Celia, and she is pretty well off, all things considered. Her husband is something big in a bank, and I know him professionally, some odd problems ironed out, here and there. They live in a big house, and ride to hounds, and rank high in local society. I know Celia well enough to swap pleasantries, but she is the sort of woman who takes more interest in horses and dogs than men, so I knew straight away she was intent on business, rather than pleasure.
‘Nathaniel.’ She had a determined look in her eye. ‘I have a problem.’
Problems inevitably tend to come pricy, and I set my fees against what I judge clients can bear, so I was immediately interested.
‘That woman over there is making a pass at Peter.’ Her eyes flickered towards a rather exotic looking creature in a gold dress; lots of black hair, flashing eyes and smiles verging on girlish giggles, though she must have been somewhere in her mid to latish thirties. I could see she was working hard: standing close, body language adoring, and with the rapt atittude that a teenager might cultivate around her favourite pop idol.
I smiled indulgently, my interest waning. Celia tends to get a bit hyper sometimes, particularly at parties: I think she much prefers combing manes. ‘I’m sure Peter can look after himself.’
‘No, really.’ She had a strained look in her eyes. ‘He’s flaunting her under my nose. People have seen them canoodling in his car at times when he has told me he has been working late, and she’s been telling all her friends she has a new man in her life.’
I took a second look. I did not know the woman in gold, but I had heard a bit about her, and nothing very nice. She was reputed pretty much of a gold-digger. I sipped at my glass of white and thought for a moment. I owed Celia – she had twice lent me a horse for equestrian assignments, occasions when I needed a mount to help with my mounting, if you snaffle my bit. I also wanted to keep her well on side: one never knows when and where one might have to jockey next.
I smiled. My businesslike smile. ‘I’ll do it for a couple.’
Celia looked quite surprised. ‘I want her right out of the running.’
I shrugged. ‘Put it down to goodwill.’
Her handbag was already open, and a nice little wad of forty fifties swept straight into my suit jacket pocket – it would have been invidious to open my wallet, let alone count out the pink ones, and I am nothing if not a malefactor of the very best breeding. But I could see that she still had a stack stashed away in her bag, and it looked to be made up of several couples. Maybe she had been thinking four to six grand. Women will spend a lot to defend their home patch.
I had to wait for a week to engage my target. Celia briefed me pretty well on her movements, but women are changeable creatures. However they always have their hair done when they are on the make, and Celia slipped a score to Lisa’s housekeeper for a date and time – Lisa being the woman in the frame. A widow, she said, mourning a grave somewhere in South Africa. A divorcee, others whispered, booted out by a husband tired of her playing with the houseboy.
I had to wait some time for her to come out of the hairdresser in all her glory, but I must say this for her: she looked pretty good. Nothing fussy, but a nice cut and a pretty side flick across her forehead. It set her hair off a treat, and she carried herself in keeping – she had a smouldering sort of look about her that would have set any lesser malefactor slavering. She was wearing a pale beige cotton dress, with high heels in crocodile, and sporting a big thick golden bangle. Supertrim, and a beautiful movement - she really looked like a million. I slavered: duty just happened to be calling.
I was parked right in front of the salon, seated in my Clio Williams: royal blue with fancy gold hubcabs, listening to a nice bit of Vivaldi, wholly fortuitously, and totally on purpose. I naturally leaped out, smiling my very best smile – she was wearing dark glasses, and I had to count on charming.
We traded pleasantries, and I behaved as though I had just clapped eyes on the most beautiful being in creation. Well, she certainly thought she was. I glanced at my watch, and tendered an invitation to luncheon. We were in Windsor, and I thought the Oakley Court might be nice. A big Victorian place with frontage running along the river. Very smart.
Lisa looked quite sad. She had to meet a couple of girlfriends, they were thinking of lunching at Fenwicks.
I was shocked. ‘You can’t go and eat in a department store when you’re looking like a million dollars.’ I looked thoughtful, and hopeful, by turns. ‘I’ll take the three of you. That way we’ll be even numbers. Unless you prefer Boulter’s Lock.’ I named a place on the river at Maidenhead. Nice setting, on a big balcony overlooking the Thames. But not quite in the Oakley Court class.
Lisa hesitated, but it was split-second timing. ‘I’ll have to ask them.’
I knew I had won. Every nice girl in the Thames Valley wants to get close to Nathaniel: I am single, I have a nice house, I own a vineyard in France. Nobody quite knows what I do for a living, and everyone thinks I have a shady side to me. But that just adds to my pulling power, particularly as I entertain with an open hand. Nice girls always like generous single men.
So we lunched at the Oakley Court. Lisa queened it more than a bit, she made it clear it was her party. But the two others tried charming me for all they were worth, and I pencilled them both in for later occasions. I like collecting rich women. And of course Lisa discarded her dark glasses, because she wanted to make sure I was on side.
I worked on her. Nothing very fierce, just a series of little love looks, the kind a hopeful man makes when he wants a handful, but doesn’t necessarily want to be lumbered forever. Lisa understood very well, because she had her eye on Peter. But she wasn’t above having a little bit on the side into the bargain.
So we all had a wonderful time. It was a beautiful day, so we all ate cold – the diningroom at the Oakley Court does a really nice line in cold poached salmon, the roast beef was just right, they had a bit of blackened chicken, very American, and the salads were exotic: lots of sweet potato and pineapple, palm hearts and cold salsifi - just the right things to brag about at the next girlie coffee morning. I also made sure the dry white flowed like a river. We malefactors are lucky, we cannot inebriate.
Then we strolled along the river, and Lisa’s friends tactfully left us alone. Nice girls always respect their place in the queue. I held Lisa’s hand, and kissed her as we reached some strategically placed bushes. I wanted to have her away there and then, but I always respect the proprieties, and I knew she would cut up nasty if she found grass stains on her dress.
‘Come back to my place,’ I whispered into her shellpink, and she giggled.
‘I can’t, I’m going out.’
I could tell she was planning to meet Peter, and so I laid it on with a trowel. I don’t think that woman knew what hit her. But I will tell you this, she was bowled over completely.
‘Just come back for a couple of hours.’ I nibbled the lobe of her ear. ‘I’ll take you straight home, and you’ll have plenty of time to get ready.’
She weakened. ‘I must be back at six.’
‘No problem.’ I was wholly persuasive. It was just running two o’clock. ‘We can’t go on forever.’
She giggled, and I knew I had her in the palm of my hand. We rushed the two friends back to Windsor – for a moment I thought I might have a threesome on my hands, but my bed is only kingsize, and production line sex is not my bag. Lisa insisted on collecting her car as well, she was renting a nice little house behind the Guards barracks, but she followed me like a lamb. Fast lamb at that, for she really winged it for a girl soaked in a river of dry white – I trailed her at speed along the Windsor-Datchet road, and then up past Ditton Park and across the A4, but she hung on my tail like a leech.
We collapsed into bed just after three, and I gave her my very best, bifurcated and both entrances. I must say that she seemed a little surprised at first, but then she took to the swing of it, and soon we were shafting as very few couples shaft: it was a bravura performance. We went on and on, and on and on, and time seemed to stand still. You must remember that I am a malefactor, and have no constraints. There was more, and more, and very much more, and she was insatiable. I think she could have gone on for a hundred years, and still been on form.
But then she looked at her watch. Hell hath no fury, I promise you. She was straight out of my bed, screeching like a scalded cat. It was past nine.
‘You’ve done this on purpose.’ She was screaming with rage, and I think she would have belted me several, had she but been able to locate a belt. ‘You’ve fucked me up rotten.’
Well, that was true, but I was really rather proud of myself.
Another scream, or rather two, because she was busy ripping her dress down a seam. ‘Peter will never forgive me.’
Another home truth, but it was worth a couple of grand in my pocket.
‘I’ll fucking murder you for this.’
I must say that I was shocked at her language. But perhaps she had learned from the houseboy.
Then she took off in a squeal of tyres. I went downstairs to pour myself a large brandy. I thought I deserved it. But a light started to flash blue outside my house, so I tucked the glass to one side. Three of our finest, a very grim male police sergeant, a younger man, looking equally fierce, and a woman constable. But no sign of Lisa.
I invited the three officers into the house. I live out in the country, but I don’t relish blue beacons flashing outside my front door.
They came straight to the point. Lisa wanted me done for date rape. I thought of laughing, but one does not like to mock. I thought of wiping the three of them. But it is hard to explain three heart attacks piled up on your drawingroom carpet, especially when all three belong to the forces of law and order.
So I went with them, after making a quick call to my solicitor. But I must say that it did not take long. The police made me empty my pockets, part with my belt and shoelaces, and locked me in a cell. However they allowed me to keep my trousers on. Not that it would have made much difference, because my second end tucks itself away neatly in a kind of pocket behind my balls when it is out of action, and only a real expert can find it.
My solicitor came, and talked to the police, and then came to see me in my cell. I thought he was about to have hysterics.
‘She’s gone stark raving bonkers.’ He could hardly speak for his laughing. ‘She reckons that you have two dicks, and took her in front and behind. The policewoman detailed to look after her first turned pink, and then bright red, and then put out a call for an ambulance. They’ve taken her away for observation.’
I met Celia a couple of days later. She looked ravishing, just as if she had won the Derby, the Ascot Gold Cup, and the Prix des Champs Elysees all on the trot.
She bought me lunch, and pressed a fat envelope into my hand. ‘She’s been put away, Nathaniel. How did you do it?’
I smiled my most mysterious smile. ‘High performance.’ I counted the cash later. Another grand. And I reckon Lisa gave me the finest ride of my life. But it was sad about her breakdown. She slashed her wrists, you know. She could not handle ridicule.