Fast Fiction: Isabel
It can take years for some affairs to come to light, as Richard Mallinson’s tale reveals.
'Yes, I visited her,' I said, 'but I've no wish to do so again.'
'Why is that?1 he asked. 'Was there something - ?'
'Oh, she never stopped complaining ... on and on ... endlessly.'
'No escape?'
'Well, I did nip out to the village pub for an hour in the evening . . . They knew, I'm sure.'
'Who knew?'
The people in the pub, especially the barmaid, young Moira . . . sharp as a razor, that one.'
'What did she talk about?'
'Who, Moira?'
'No, Isabel... at the house.'
'Hm, her neighbours . . . how horrible they were and -'
'Politics, surely? , .. You know who her father was?'
'Yes, a cabinet minister, wasn't he? Photographs of him on the walls . . . She kept saying Daddy wouldn't have liked that or Daddy would have disagreed with that. .,, whatever it was.'
He took some time over lighting his pipe. 'Now, tell me,' he said at last, 'has she aged well, d'you think? She used to be a real beauty - but she never married. You see, the only man she ever loved was already married ... Sad, really.'
'She's still attractive,' I said, truthfully.
'And I suppose you think I was the married man in question, don't you?'
I laughed. 'No, no, of course^ not Dad it couldn't have been you, surely?' 'Ah, well,' he murmured puffing out smoke.
**
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