117: The art of travel

‘I see, well that sounds most agreeable. I think I can say with absolute confidence that both Charlotte and I would be happy to attend, upon the morrow. Excellent, see you then. Bye.’

‘What have you committed me to, now?’ Said the voice over my shoulder.

‘Gore blimey! You never lose the art do you. The silent shimmer into the presence. That, was the Lady Victoria inviting us to combine an hour’s story-boarding and preliminary sketching with a dinner to follow, at what will forever be, in my mind at least, 221b, Baker Street!’

On entering the Tufnell residence however, all seemed changed. Reassuringly the seascapes remained, the walls had a fresh lick of paint though, and the watercolours themselves seemed better lit.

‘It’s the whole stairwell that’s been painted white and the skylight replaced.’

‘Ah! You must have been itching to do it for years?’

‘Well, yes, indeed... Tuffy! They’re here.’ Victoria called. We were invited into the ground floor front. ‘We’ve taken a leaf out of your own book, back to the original usage, as it were. I confess I toyed with the idea of reinstalling the service bells, but I doubt that would have been appreciated.’

‘Don’t, get any ideas.’ Said Charlie, leering in my direction.

‘Absolutely not. But then you anticipate my every need. Tuffy on the other hand...’ I registered a sudden Sparkwell eye-movement; ‘Old friend of my youth, how are you?’

‘Still not sure about it all, whether mother would have approved.’

‘Time moves on, take care of the living, aye?’

‘Yes, yes of course. Coffee, tea, something stronger?’

As polite afternoon tea chatter was fading, Victoria asked; ‘So, what’s this commission all about Tony? You said a nineteen thirties style railway poster, but what of?’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then, I’ll be in the Den.’ Said Tuffy, abruptly standing up.

‘Alright my own.’ And with that he was gone; ‘Isn’t he a sweetie?’

‘He means the attic, right?’ I asked.

‘We’ve done a bit of a turnaround in the rest of the house too. I’d quite imagined he’d want to take over his father’s study. But no. That is now my little artist's studio, whilst Tuffy has taken over the two attic rooms. At first, I thought he was just sorting, prior to a clear-out, but no he’s just reorganising a lifetime’s detritus.’

‘The attic was the play area when we were kids.’

‘Oh! Right.’

‘Then it became the dumping ground for all things not in use. I should warn you there’s a model train set in there somewhere.’

‘Oh my god! Talking of trains, I have on the side in the study, the studio I should say, Mr Tufnell’s railway books for you, as requested. But before you take them away, they may be of some use today. Also, as a prompt, I’ve brought up from the gallery the National Railway Museum big catalogue, index thingy of their poster collection. In fact, we might move upstairs now.’

‘So, you were about to fill me in on the background Tony.’ Said the Lady Vic after we’d made complementary comments on her new studio.

‘Well, obviously the idea, not very original I grant you, is to advertise the ER, R, the English Riviera Railway with what looks, at least, like a traditional screen-printed poster, but naturally available free in all legacy and social media formats. But it’s the sort of thing that would have to pass muster with the new board of the railway, so we just have a rough proposal. They might want to bring in professional artists, photographers and models, but we thought we’d just have a go, see how far we can get.’

‘Tony’s tailor thinks he can knock out a genuine looking GWR porter’s uniform to fit me, much to the same standard as my valette get up.’

‘Oh, I see! A series of posters with a pretty, loveable, cheery, female character.’

‘Well, actually I’ve only thought of one design.’ I conceded.

‘One fantasy you mean, shades of Buffy Trumpton’s night time scenarios perhaps?’ Chided Victoria.

‘Certainly not!’

‘I was at St. Hilda’s; we were only a couple of fields away; one did hear rumours.’

‘If it’s a fantasy, it’s subliminal, thank goodness.’ So asserted Charlie. ‘In fairness it was Daphne who cast me as the Valette. Don Wooley promotes me as a “fitness model”. Now it seems I’m being re-contextualised as a “poster girl”!’

‘You’re picking up all the gallery lingo then. I can see this is going to be two against one.’

‘Perhaps you’d be happier with Tuffy in the attic?’ This from the Vic, again!

‘No, no, I’ll stay and fight my corner. Actually, talking of St. Hilda’s do you remember a certain Bloomfield-Jones, E?’

‘Eleanor? She’s something in PR now, last I heard.’

‘Tell me, were she and I, ever friendly?’

‘Not that I recall.’

‘She’s becoming a non-executive director of the railway, like myself, but we’ve not met yet.’

‘So, she’d be passing judgement on whatever I come up with?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘So, let’s hear your fantasy, the full unexpurgated version, if you please.’

‘Well, the vision that appeared to me, was a scene at the Abbey station, appropriately restored of course, circa, say, late nineteen thirty-four. Imagine a world in which Cole Porter’s Anything Goes is still playing on Broadway, book by Wodehouse. Stanley Baldwin plotting, poised to return yet again as Prime Minster. A classic Manor or Castle class loco in the background, with first class carriages behind, an Up express of the holiday season. The foreground dominated by a female porter, uniform unbuttoned a little at the front perhaps, cap pushed back a bit and set at a jaunty angle, winking or grinning to camera. She leans on her trolley whilst one hand is outstretched to receive folding money as a tip passed from behind the back, by a gentleman, elegantly attired in pin-stripe and buttonhole, carrying on a conversation with his grand fashionable wife, the aquiline features of her profile...’

‘Wait a minute, wait a minute!’ Interrupted Victoria. ‘The smallest banknote in the thirties was a fiver, what are you paying this porter for? Perhaps you should be stuffing it down her front!’

‘Me?’

‘Obviously. I stopped you because you were clearly starting on a description of yourself married to Daphne...’

‘Ha! Old man’s dreams of what might have been.’ Mused Charlie.

‘You’re always complaining about me getting passed it, when in fact it’s all normal aging. Let me remind you, we’re all getting older at the same rate!’

‘Right, well let’s get on with it, if you’d care to strike a pose Charlotte.’ As she said this Victoria reached over and picked up her sketch pad and selected a pencil. ‘Yes er, okay but try pulling up that high backed chair as something to lean against, as if it were your trolley. Good, now hold that position for as long as you can. Quiet all.’

The silence held for a few minutes, apart from Vic’s scratching of course. Then Charlie whispered loudly in my direction; ‘We, sir, have become a parody of ourselves.’

I looked towards Vic; ‘Sorry, one can’t get the staff these days.’

‘Tony, be a love and go and remind Tuffy things will need looking at in the kitchen by now, there’s a good lad.’

End of season nine

116: Girl porter

‘I feel left out.’ So mused Sparkwell.

‘But you’re always at the heart of the action.’

‘I may be present, but mostly I’m observing your actions!’

‘But your life is busier and more demanding than mine.’

‘Precisely, sir. Such is the lot of the deputy-assistant-undermanager throughout history.’

‘It’s an age thing. I’m the brains and you’re the brawn.’

‘Be afraid, be very afraid.’ And after a short pause; ‘What I meant was this railway caper of yours, not life in general.’

‘Ah! Well, an idea did occur to me some time ago, but I’m not sure you’d approve, you’d be the ideal person to, but...’

‘What?’

‘That you should be the “face” of the English Riviera Railway.’

‘As in model?’

‘As in poster girl.’

‘But railways are kind of, boys’ toys.’ So said Charlie, tinkering with her coffee machine.

‘Yes, and that’s one of the things we just can’t get away with any more. Especially a project such as this, dependant as we are on lots of volunteers and community support.’

‘Oh no! Not another woman in a masculine role.’

‘Girl porter, the cheeky chappie, tripling her wages in tips. Traditionally, porters at mainline London termini made a very good living!’

‘This would just be for a photoshoot?’

‘Well, maybe a screen printed, nineteen thirties style railway poster too. Oh, and the occasional opening.’

‘Opening?’

‘Cutting of ribbons etcetera. The problem would be finding an authentic looking uniform...’

‘But my picture could end-up, anywhere?’

‘Well yes, once we become popular. Permission to invite Edoardo for a lunch at the club?’

‘Exploratory talks only, at which I’ll be present. And of course, there would be both one-off fees and repeats coming with wider exploitation.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Dear lady, a pleasure to meet you again. You’ve been neglecting me; it must be all of twelve months.’

‘I’ve not had the chance to wear-out any of your clothes yet.’ Charlie replied.

‘Tony! Is this true? More evenings out, I think. More trips to fashionable locations.’

‘Eddie.’ He was clearly in Edoardo mode, playing up the Italian side of his descent, in what for him was definitely a posh location. ‘Been enjoying more trips to Gstaad?’

‘No, we don’t go back. You just need to see it once I think. Very generous client, but showing off. You, you buy me lunch because you want something, value for money guy, more equitable.'

Cockney Eddie was sensing fun, as well as the money. ‘Order whatever you feel you’re worth, my dear fellow.’

‘So, Tony. You’re still going for the short hair, rather than the distinguished grey, like myself.’

‘Charlie is fully in charge of matters of style and taste these days, if you want to get to me, you have to get to her.’

‘But we all have our little affectations, you go for the flowery buttonhole, I the coloured handkerchief in the top pocket.’

‘Tony has a scheme, Eddie! A project. In which apparently, I’m just the pretty face.’

‘Anthony, how could you!’

The next forty minutes or so, despite intermittent chatter, seemed to consist in me watching Eddie eat, whilst I picked at my food, under the watchful eye.

‘So, this project involves clothes for Charlotte presumably, otherwise why would I be here?’

‘You’ve heard of this idea of extending the heritage railway?’

‘Sure. So, you’ve got a finger in that now.’

‘In a very modest way, I’m no expert on railways, but it seems a good bet for a small investment by the Trust.’

‘Don’t fall for the false modesty, he’s in it up to his eyeballs!’

‘I am merely a facilitator.’

‘Okay, I believe you.’ He replied.

‘I had an idea that Charlotte should be the face of the publicity campaign. Now obviously everything is modelled on the old Great Western Railway, better known as just the GWR, but also known as God’s Wonderful Railway. I thought she could be a sort of mascot, the cheery porter, there to serve, but she’d need an authentic looking uniform, and maybe with your contacts, such as Sally, you could make that happen.’

‘But why?’

‘Well at worst for the money! By the way, I note that both Charlotte and I are currently significantly in credit with you. But really, I imagined you might find it an interesting project, something to grab your interest, something other than using up your semi-retirement hours doing routine repairs?’

‘You know, once I was thought of as one of the best, the finest stitching applied to the finest cloth. You could have offered me the General Manager, or at least the Chief Mechanical Engineer, the designer of fine locomotives, but no you come to me for the lowest of the low, the cheapest of workman’s clothes. Not even worthy of a silver railway pocket watch.’

‘I never had you down as a snob Edoardo!’

‘I’m not talking that kind of class, I’m talking skill, quality, expertise.’

‘But I am talking about skill, it’s a performance, an illusion, like your valet uniforms. In the act of creating a uniform to fit Charlie, you transform. A tuck here, a tuck there. Suddenly the figure hugging trouser and the not quite big enough waistcoat...’

‘Okay, enough of the mansplaining.’ Chipped in Charlie.

‘Well? You hesitate Eddie, not like you at all. There’s something else isn’t there.’

‘You know my doctor would be most disapproving of my diet today.’

‘Well yes, I can imagine.’

‘All my life I have strived for the good things. When you get them, the medical profession tells you it’s too late to enjoy them. Just watching you two makes me feel guilty.’

‘Yes, well, I must confess, were it not for the presence of Charlie I’d probably be joining in with you. I’m sure she’d be willing to take you on as a private client; relaxation, therapeutic massage, meditation, a little gentle yoga - you’d come away a man transformed...’ Eddie looked like he was about to choke on his jam roll and spray the finest cream custard over all of us.

After much coughing; ‘My life would be intolerable. Oh! No disrespect to you my dear. I’m sure you provide a valuable service to those willing to live in the modern world. You are Anthony’s, what’s the name I’m looking for, a new thing people are calling themselves, a “Performance Consultant”, that’s the one.’

‘Oh, yes. She’s definitely that, in all domains!’

Then Charlie suggested; ‘Let’s take our coffees in front of the open fire Eddie. Oh! I almost forgot Tony, the club sec said he wanted a word earlier.’

‘Then I’ll join you later.’ If Charlie had an intervention up her sleeve, I was more than happy to let her take point.

When I returned to the lounge they were gone. Charlie caught up with me as I was loitering around the entrance, trying to work out what action to take over the latest games room notice; ‘No Recreational Play Permitted’, a good joke, Cat’s work no doubt, but it really couldn’t be allowed to stand. Ah, well.

‘He’s in!’ She said without pausing, making strides for the car.

‘What did I miss?’

‘He just wants a cut of the action with the railway that’s all. I got him to talk about his childhood. He’s south London, right sentiment old boy, just the wrong railway, he’s the Southern, rival routes to the west country. Our Eddie, as a young lad, spent the swinging sixties spotting on Waterloo Station!’

51: Doing archaeology

Charlie was doing her usual trick of asking what the “agenda for the day” was as we were towelled off after showering - so as to better take control of my wardrobe!

‘We need to settle on a strategy for dealing with the contents of the Villa.’ I replied.

‘Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?’

‘What can you mean?’

‘Well shouldn’t you be in secret session with Brinkley and Merriweather deciding the fate of the Villa first?’

‘Well, the thing is, you remember the first time I took you there...’

‘I mean it should be a piece of cake for you to get as much time as you want to sort the possessions.’

‘Well, yes...’

‘There, jeans, tea shirt, leather jacket, trainers - ideal for dusty sorting, box carrying etc.’

‘You think we should be making a start today?’

‘For a few hours. Look, you don’t really know what there is yet, what the significance of what there is, is. You won’t know what can go, until the very end. Even sorting one room at a time. I mean as soon you hit on a document concerning anyone, you’ll have to stop and read it to know whether it has implications for everything else!’

‘Point taken.’

‘Besides. You’re a bit emotionally distracted now anyway. You may need weeks to take it all on board when it comes to your father’s stuff, as well as your Aunt’s. You’ve just got to feel your way around, at your own pace. However long that turns out to be.’

‘But there must be an efficient way of doing it.’

‘May be, but it’s not really about a house clearance is it, least not for you. It’s a learning process, you want the history to use, think of it like acquiring a skillset.’

‘Oh, right. So speaks the voice of the sports scientist, you mean take a thin-slice through each room...’

‘Try several.’

‘Then start to make links, so as to make one chunk, of the whole. Then make other chunks elsewhere.’

‘You just have to decide what the game is, if it is a game? If there are any rules at all!’

‘Well, the game is obvious - it’s archaeology.’

‘What?’

‘Digging up the past.’

We were sat in the kitchen of the Villa. Taking a break. Charlie, improvising a lunch from the Aunt’s well stocked freezer. ‘Why don’t I persuade the Trust to allow you to rent this place or better still buy a long lease, cheap? It would give you some long-term security. Then you could afford, with a loan or two, to remodel the place however you liked.’

‘With respect sir, for someone so smart, you have an amazing ability to miss the bleedin’ obvious.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘For a start that’s your fantasy, not mine. In your grand scheme of being master of all you survey at Checkley, with this as the town house, presided over by yours truly, you’re ignoring reality. Pandemic aside, if you inherit the gentleman’s manor house, realistically it won’t be for another twenty years or so!’

‘Possibly, possibly.’

‘You’ll be seventy! You’ll be like your uncle is now, trying to take it easy and keep-up at the same time. You won’t have the energy for any grand plans or schemes. If you want an ancestral home, this is all there is. A four-bed detached, thoroughly middle-class home with pretentions - which is what you really are! Take it, transform it into whatever state you want, then ask me whether I’ll join you. And be prepared for the reply that it is not within the terms of employment of a valet, sir - to be housekeeper and cleaner in a place of this size, thank you very much.’

‘I see, this is you putting your foot down is it?’

‘Sometimes I think you’ve got me completely back to front. I’ve been reading up about real val-ets, they only really existed between about nineteen hundred and nineteen thirty, and there weren’t that many of them! Yes, they were at the top of the tree, in that they had the same pay and status of a butler but without the drudgery or responsibility for others - freedom in other words. If they had the sense to let their employer set the pace, they could slip-stream behind and enjoy an unprecedented quality of life for someone of their background, a dozen country-house weekends every year, a car, a couple of foreign holidays and a transatlantic trip every few years. The opportunities for tips, were out of this world! But their freedom, their power, came from being able to walk away at a moment’s notice, knowing they could go work for any number of other people, who they already knew all about!’

‘I think I see where this is going.’

‘Amaze me, Holmes.’

‘Something about not being able to appreciate a butterfly if you try and hold it in your hand.’

‘I live in the here and now. If I’m content, I’ll still be here tomorrow.’ Then, eyeball to eyeball; ‘Love is found in the moment, like joy - it has to be remade every day.’

It wasn’t long before one of our sessions at the Villa coincided with one of Mr Murchison’s half days in the garden. ‘Good afternoon young man.’

‘How are you, sir’ I asked, as if he were a kindly schoolmaster or the vicar.

‘So far so good, staying out of the way of almost everybody.’

‘Charlotte’s here too, we try and put in a couple of hours sorting most days.’

‘I told Elisabeth she was becoming obsessive about family history, “who will care about all this?” I’d challenge her. “My nephew did read history Kenneth; he’ll know perfectly well what to do!” Ha! Just for the record, she never ran you down to other people, in case you ever wondered.’

‘Thank you. I understand you’ve spoken with her executor.’

‘Odd chap, still, seems I’m to carry-on, but consult with you about the future, I understand you are the Trust now.’

‘Well, the way it works is I come up with a proposal, then the lawyers and the accountants tell me whether I’m allowed to do it or not! The burning question of the hour is, do I want to live here, or do we rent or lease it to someone else. If I did move in, well I remember this garden the way it was forty years ago, I’m wondering whether it’s possible to bring it all back?’

‘Follow me.’ Murchison proceeded to the shed, took out a spade and with surprising ease, cut a section about sixty centimetres deep into the fallow veg garden. ‘So, what do you see?’

The soil was grey to black. ‘It’s not red!’

‘Now the borders aren’t quite as good, gets worse towards the house, but nonetheless. The house foundations are on the Meadfoot, but someone has shipped the soil in from somewhere down the road that’s Heavitree stone. A century of digging and composting. Elisabeth once brought out a couple of, well, Edwardian photos I suppose they must have been, they’d been found by Thomas Hayward somewhere. Find them, and you’re away. Where there’s a will, there’s a way!’

‘Come on then, give me the full tour, bring me up to speed, and I’ll fix it for you to have tea on the patio with Charlotte.’

10: Sparkwell's confession

Charlie and I took the omnibus to Jack’s garage. He had summoned us both, requesting I give a demonstration.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you Tony, it’s just that me and my crew get a bit nervous when a customer asks us to fit kit we’ve never heard of and don’t understand, especially when it’s obviously a computer bigger than the last one!’

‘Well I’ve never trusted you, so why should you return the favour?’

‘They had to botch around the dash a bit to make it fit, absolute limit size wise.’

‘Bring your tablet along, if you let me use it I’ll bookmark the websites for the software I’ll be downloading later. All I can show you today is what comes with it.’

‘Fair enough.’

I sat in the driver’s seat. ‘Okay, so what we have here has the same hardware capabilities and processing power of the latest mobiles or tablets but with a lot more storage. The preloaded software is designed to collect any data it can from other vehicles, the sort of stuff driverless technology would need, nonetheless such data would still have to be uploaded somewhere else every other day or so to prevent the machine grinding to a total halt. My evil intent however is to divert that capacity for other purposes. But, just as a demo, there you go!’

‘That’s meaningless code to me old son!’

‘Hang on, how about, there - the architecture of radio turned into a floor plan!’ The screen was suddenly showing a pictogram of the fifteen or so cars in, and immediately outside, the garage.

‘Yeah, that’s what’s going to do for us if we don’t look sharp about it. We need faster turnaround, get them back in the owner’s driveway by the time the snoopers do a sweep…’

‘Hang on, there you go, that one has its computer on, and that’s the list of identifiable stuff. Now look there, I don’t know but isn’t that suggesting it has components from more than one vehicle?’

‘Fuck!  That’s the one my main man is working on right now! Anyway, that’s our problem. What I want to know is, what is it going to be recording the next time you and your sidekick turn up?’

‘So, my interest is,’ turning now to Jack’s tablet; ‘First this company’s driver and passenger facial recognition software, also here for facial emotion recognition, there for eye movement, and finally this site for voice recognition and voice emotion.’

‘Well I’m sure you’ll make a mint whatever you do.’ He stepped out of the passenger seat and held the door for Charlie; ‘I should stick with him love, I know he goes about like he’s landed gentry with all the time in the world - but he’s always ahead of the game!’ She had no answer for that, so he carried on; ‘I heard your pal Tufnell got picked up last night, I expect you’re off to Court next?’

‘No business of ours, if he’s pinched something for a bet, again, that’s his look out.’

‘Oh I think it might be more serious than that, some disturbance at a club I’m told. Went a bit bananas, so maybe the magistrate will palm him off on to mental health.’

‘Thanks for the intel Jack, see you soon.’

‘You’re not concerned about Tuffy?’

‘No. If he wants help he’ll find a way of getting in touch.’

‘How on earth did Jack know?’

‘He has his network, and he’s very precise and purposeful in what he says, he told me in order to get my response and pass it back up the line to wherever the information came from.’

‘This is all very mysterious, all very boy’s games. What was that about trust anyway?’

‘We both believe in human fallibility, therefore we don’t take things on trust, we’re practical men, we test things out, start over in each new situation because we know we don’t know what’s going on. Jack was admitting he doesn’t know and is prepared for his potentially dodgy practices to be exposed in order to find out.’

‘You gave him more than you needed to.’

‘I want him on side, I want him to succeed, there’s a lot to be gained from so called “driverless technology” but it sure as hell isn’t autonomous vehicles on the open road!’

‘Now you’ve lost me.’

Back at the apartment, Charlie remained in reflective mode; ‘Why all the high tech body language stuff, hardly natural behaviour in natural environments?’

‘Simple, it’s more accurate and reliable than humans.’

‘People love finding out about others nonverbals, but when it comes to their own, and trying to change them - they loath it!’

‘Yep!  And when they see it coming back at them from the screen they’ll go into even greater paroxysms of denial.’

‘So how is it ever going to be useful?’

‘The outsider looking on sees the truth of it in others; the teacher, employer, police, intelligence community, mental health eventually. They’ll insist. By which time the thinking machine will be unstoppable.’

‘What about privacy, and freedom of choice?’

‘Two popular myths, always were. That won’t change. And people’s unconscious learning and behavioural responses will carry on regardless too.’

‘So why bother?’

‘When the machine keeps telling you what is natural to homo sapiens and therefore healthy too, eventually a few will exploit that and force others to follow. Those who can’t, or won’t, will select themselves out.’

‘As in evolution?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ve got to level with you. I’m not altogether what I seem.’

‘Okay. But if you’re about to confess to stuff that is already checkable online, I probably already know, I did quite a bit of searching before I let you through the door for the first time.’

‘None of this matters to me Charlie.’

‘I know, that’s why I love it here. I just had to say it out loud, for myself really.’

‘Just, please go back to squatting on your mat, let go, you’ll be focused again in seconds.’

‘Okay.’

‘I mean, anyone born and named Charlotte in the mid-eighties, and your school is on your CV, everyone with my background knows it’s the ultimate private school for so called problem kids. Besides, look at me, being told I had learning difficulties because I was ‘high functioning’! That always felt like being patronised by the less intelligent. I’ve sat in the waiting rooms of so called specialists alongside plenty of people like you who were meant to be there for the opposite reason. Thought to be thick as shit and vulnerable because you would naively navigate the world with your emotions rather than with your reasoning…’

‘But there’s a “but”.’

‘Is there?’

‘Now we’re getting on like a proper couple, in private; I’d like us to stick with the employer, employee thing, even, master and servant - when anyone else is around.’

‘It doesn’t bother you, the status thing, gender roles…’

‘No. As you’ve said, legally I could take you to the cleaners if ever we split-up. I like the game, I want to stick it to the others like you do. Besides, the structure of the old-fashioned daily routines, that stuff keeps me focused, keeps me on the level.’

‘By the way, I ought to say, Julia gets it.’

‘You told her about me?’

‘No, but she’s pretty good at picking up on stuff, she’ll always be on our side, just be aware she sees a lot.’

1: Charlie takes charge

Now then, touching on the matter of young Sparkwell, my PA, where do we stand? Some have gone so far as to assert that I’m totally dependent on her. Well, it is true I gave up trying to run my own affairs within weeks of her arrival. I’d only hired her for a few hours at the start, as a sort of physical therapist you know, but then somehow she seemed to be able to anticipate my every need.

It was one morning in spring that everything underwent one of those transformations that everyone talks about these days. I opened my eyes to find her standing over me. She was holding a class of water with a slice of lemon in it. ‘Drink this, sir. It will cleanse your system.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Dawn, drink it before going in the shower.’

‘I normally start the day with at least two black coffees, at about nine o’clock! Wait a second, how did you get in?’

‘I never left. I spent the night in the treatment room.’

‘In my spare bedroom you mean. But there’s no bed!’

‘I often sleep on my table.’ She turned to the mirrored wardrobe, slid open one of the doors and began to inspect the contents. I couldn’t help noticing, not for the first time, how her fitness trainer’s uniform showed off her undoubted - fitness!

‘Finish your drink, then into the shower.’ She asserted with crisp resolution.

‘I can’t, not whilst you’re here, I have an early morning erection, exposing myself would hardly be appropriate, as your employer.’

‘Glad to hear it, there is no natural reason why all men shouldn’t wake up with a stiffy well into their seventies. Pretend I’m not here, servants have been treated that way for centuries.’

When I exited the shower cubicle a short while later, still in a state of some arousal, she was standing there, holding my towel. ‘On reflection sir, a subservient relationship would not be therapeutic, since I shall be introducing elements of Tantra into the programme.’

Charlotte Sparkwell B.Sc. (32), graduate in Sports Science, qualified Yoga teacher and expert in Indian massage techniques, came to me on the recommendation of the employment agency. But as she stood there in the doorway the first time, holding her portable massage table, bedecked in various mobile devices and carrying a small knapsack, I realised we’d met before. ‘I say! It’s Charlie, one time waitress at the Harbour Cafe.’

‘Yes, well a girl has to make ends meet. Where shall I set up, sir?’ It seemed barely a matter of moments before she was sat opposite me, having left her shoes at the door, set up her gear in the second bedroom and returned with notebook, pencil and tablet in hand, announcing; ‘First it is necessary to do an assessment.’

‘Well the thing is, I know it’s all psychological really, there’s nothing truly wrong with me - my quack has told me as much. But pain is real, isn’t  it? I’ve just had a lot of aches and pains recently, muscular pain, difficultly relaxing, spent a fortune on talking therapy over the years, but that only seems to work for the duration of the sessions.’

‘Do you know from where your distress comes?’

‘Oh yes, my entire world, my pals and most of all my relatives!’

And so I tumbled out my woes for ten minutes or so, then she started to explain what she could offer. The body’s outer extremities, hands, feet, and face held the most nerve endings, were on a direct route to the brain and every other part of the body she explained, and you didn’t even have to take off your clothes. When I countered that it didn’t sound very scientific, she said she liked to stick with ‘heuristics’ since they could be instinctively understood by clients, something about ‘embodied cognition’ if I cared to look it up. ‘Touch has a direct line to the emotions, sir!’

‘Well, yes, there’s no denying that.’ I replied. There was something about this woman that I’d noted in her days at the café, but now close up, eyeball to eyeball as it were, became ever more apparent. It showed in the smile, a beaming intense smile, which at first one thought could never be maintained, but was. It had a hypnotic quality, and in its broadness seemed only just on the right side of madness. In other words she was brilliant, and isolated because of it. Or so I suspected. During our hour and a half or so in the spare room, she created the atmosphere of relaxation with convincingly eastern music and calm words, and delivered the most intense and thorough manipulation of feet, hands and scalp imaginable.

She visited twice a week after that. Worked me over, I relaxed and her touch did indeed seem to connect to all parts of the brain and body. Pain relief led to sexual arousal - which was okay apparently so long as I focused solely on the breath, watching it rather than trying to control it, and just ‘let go’. I was instructed to practice flexing my PC muscles. ‘Our aim is go beyond sex.’ That pronouncement came during the evening session before my unscheduled dawn awakening.

Still a little shaken from Ms Sparkwell’s sudden shift in behaviour I made haste for the kitchen as soon as I was dressed, unwilling to face the world unfortified. My favoured bread appeared to be missing. On closer inspection I found other items gone from the fridge and cupboards. I was about to call out, but the scent of this indecently healthy and fertile Cheshire cat told me she was already present.

‘I took the opportunity to detox the area, if you give me fifty pounds I can restock with more appropriate items before preparing a light lunch, say for one o’clock?’

‘I normally lunch at Crawford Park.’

‘I couldn’t recommend it, sir.’

I instigated a long pause. ‘Are you angling for a job Charlie? A relationship? Perhaps you’re just temporarily homeless?’

The smile was there again, but a little more relaxed around the edges. ‘I can get plenty of work; yoga teaching, sports massage, reflexology, whatever! But I could never afford to live in a place like this. All this space, the view. Sometimes I just want to be in the window and meditate for hours. But I can’t do relationships, I’ve tried. The thing is, what with the intimacy of what I do, I’m on all the fucking time. I just have to be in control, it’s the way I am…’

‘Okay, stop there, otherwise you’ll tell me too much. Anyhow you don’t know nearly enough about me yet. I think I know an answer, but I’ll have to think it through. In the meantime, here’s the fifty for the housekeeping. I look forward to lunch!’

‘Very good, sir.’ And with that, she was gone.

Reviewing the situation, I knew it could be made to work. There was a kind of understanding between us. But what might scupper it from the outset was the attitude of the rest of the world. At school, and later at university in the early Nineties, our lot were sometimes referred to, a little glibly, as ‘trust fund brats’, the assumption being that money was never a problem, that an endless supply was there simply by virtue of reaching adulthood. But for nearly all of us, we never had money as individuals, we were beneficiaries as children of the family trust, and as adults, trustees of the family trust. As older relatives died off, younger ones found themselves signatories to funds which brought with them responsibilities and liabilities as much as assets. The older members had the authority, but increasingly with age required more of the readies.

Contrary to popular opinion, we may be time-rich but we are never idle. Staying rich requires effort, spending money can be an investment or a waste. My pals and I are the Web generation and in this world the nerd and the geek rule! Understand that and you are half way there. The majority, in their post-modern politically correct bubble may regard us as outliers to be labelled somewhere on an autistic spectrum, but we know we are more sensitive not less, flooded with impressions of pain - and that is what gave me the edge in approaching an understanding of young Charlotte.

Lunch as I feared looked less than appetising, but when a chap’s gone without breakfast! ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’

‘I prefer to eat standing up.’

‘Bye the way I’ve decided you can live here, you can have bed and board and whatever cash 48 hours per week of the living wage comes to. On paper you’ll be my Personal Assistant, with this as your home address, but once the rent for a room in a place like this is worked out, income tax, national insurance, council tax, health plan, pension, six weeks paid leave etc. etc. The bit of paper you’ll get from the office will, if I’m any judge, show a salary not far short of 30k. What do you think?’

‘Parking?’

‘Actually that might be the trickiest to fix, I’ll do what I can.’

‘I’ll prepare today’s treatment.’

‘Oh! Charlie. One other thing, you must try to stop thinking of life as a series of puzzles, as a search for meaning, of why questions or mysteries; start thinking of it as a game, after all you already behave that way.’

The spare room was looking even more like a therapist consulting room. ‘I’ll require you to be naked from now on. I need to be able to fully monitor your responses.’

‘If this turns out at all sexual Charlie, I’ll only go along with it if you let me do something for you, reciprocity and all that, you’ll just have to make it bleedin’ obvious what you need, cause I’m a bit slow on the uptake sometimes.’

‘As you wish, sir.’