Open Writing

'A man of your culture and distinction serving on that gross committee simply does not make sense,' said Angie von Thorold, the most alluring woman in London.

She paused and looked at him through wide eyes.

'You have to sit at the same table as that bloated philistine Reg Ladout -how can you possibly do it? And those ignorant failed MPs and so on."

She paused again and gave him one of her famous smiles.

Then she resumed, 'Surely you cannot continue to grace those halfwits with your presence and expect me to go on ... It makes me feel positively queasy.'

He was about to say something when she sweetly added, 'I do hope that you will think seriously about what I am saying.'

He stood up and looked down at her, sadly.

'It seems to me, my dear,' he said, 'you are implying that if I do not resign from the committee you will withhold certain er favours. This is most upsetting. Please allow me a few days to think the matter over. In the meantime?'

He moved towards her but she backed away from him.

'No,' she said, 'I am afraid that there can be nothing in the meantime.'

Of course he was far too gentlemanly to try to put the matter to the test, as some of her other lovers would have done.

*

'Well, how did he take it? Like a man or a bloody ninny? Is he going to resign or isn't he? I want him out of the way, he's just a bloody nuisance, too bloody finicky by half when it comes to doling out the grants.'

'Actually, he is going to think the matter over,' purred Angie von Thorold, 'but he realises that there will be no more you-know-what unless and until he stands down . . . Now please pour the champagne and come over here and sit by me, you man of the people, sexy beast.'

Reg Ladout strutted and struck a pose.