John had intercepted both Jo and George as they were chatting together in the grand foyer of the Old Bailey. He was a bit hesitant in making his request but eventually, as he drew close, they both saw him out of the corners of their eyes and turned their heads in his direction. He blurted out the first words that came off the top of his mind in an unusually gauche fashion.
"I would be grateful if you could help me with some shopping"
George gave John a severe look and addressed him sternly.
"Are you seriously telling me that you are acting the helpless man at your time of life and wanting us to plod round the supermarket and that your keen incisive mind cannot distinguish between one wretched make of baked beans and another and that women have that superior mystical facility"
"No no, nothing like that"
Jo and George exchanged puzzled glances, John had been pretty self-sufficient so why, after all these years did he want their help?
"You had better spit it out, John"
"Oh, hello, Neumann," George turned her head, smiling glassily and waving at the man. "See you in court tomorrow. May the best woman win"
Neumann Mason-Alan had the ill luck to cross swords with her on a court case. Everyone had their good days and others when their grip was more uncertain. He observed gloomily to himself that George was in scintillating form and she had tripped him up continually while he had stumbled through his cross examination of the accused.
John looked a little sheepish in view of the other barristers who flitted past, their heels clicking sharp sounds on the chequerboard flagstones.
'I could really do with some help in choosing a bed for my new flat. I want to make sure it is up to the task," He murmured under his breath.
A lascivious smile spread across George's face and Jo grinned likewise. Perhaps they had a vested interest in the matter after all.
"Oh, why didn't you explain, John?" They chorused. "Oh well, we'd better get going."
Presently, they arrived at the furniture shop of their choice. The very fastidious salesman raised his eyebrows as another customer or possibly three entered his shop. He was very proud of the expensively priced superior range that he sold. Let the run of the mill tat be sold by the supermarket chains. He studied the body language of the middle-aged man and two attractive women. They were smartly and properly dressed and had that air of money about them. They appeared to know each other and there were possibly two beds
if not three that could be sold.
"Can I help you, sir?" he smarmed in his best style.
"Could I have a look round first?" he said politely in a definitely posh voice.
"Perhaps you two ladies could do with some assistance?" he probed.
The taller of the two women drew level with the man
"Oh we're fine, we're..we're just helping him out"
The man was very inquisitive and nosy. He wanted to know everything about everyone else's lives and this irritating woman had blocked him off.
"Take all the time you want. If you want any help. Pray ask me."
Fortunately, a few customers were starting to come into the shop and he devoted his attentions to them instead although he kept a sharp eye on the trio who had moved to the end of his shop.
John ran an eye over the standard sized double beds and ruled them out straightaway.
"These definitely won't do," Agreed George.
A young couple entered the shop next, the woman proudly displaying a glistening engagement ring but, as yet, no wedding ring. They were so obviously in love and only had eyes for themselves.
John's restless eye looked at the corner of the shop just as the traditional middle aged married couple started to move away from it. To the woman's practiced eye, it would take up too much space to allow the bedside corner tables to fit in properly. She propelled him away just in time for John to gaze at it and feel the springiness of it. It looked as if it would suit his purposes just right.
"It is the right size, John." Jo commented, visually comparing it with her own double bed.
While the assistant was selling his smiles by the minute to the middle aged couple, he deduced that the taller woman and the man must be married or something.
John grinned expansively in his totally show off fashion, blithely ignoring the assistant and the assorted people who were coming into the shop and pretending not to look at the three of them. He had an irresistible impulse to act in the way that impulse prompted him. He sat on the bed, basking in the comfort
"Take that look off your face, John. I know very well what you are thinking," hissed George in the most conspicuous stage whisper imaginable for all the shop to hear.
John bounced gently on the bed, just imagining what sexual acrobatics he, Jo and George might perform and calculating just how much space that it allowed the two women without falling off either side of the bed. It looked as if the bed fitted his specifications exactly and he was possessed by that craving to possess this bed before anyone else could get there first. Jo sighed inwardly at the tell tale glitter in his eye which revealed his feelings naked before her even if the rest of the shop was oblivious to it.
"The bed looks ideal, doesn't it?" John teased.
"The rest of the shop are looking at us," George whispered to him, though a part of her was making similar calculations.
"If you're happy with the choice, you'd better snap it up. If I might say, I think you've made the right choice," Jo observed judiciously, with a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
"Do you think we ought to look at some of the other beds? I mean, you don't settle for the first thing you see. There might be better beds elsewhere"
John groaned inwardly. This was a distinctly female touch that threatened to take over and that was to be dissatisfied with the shop altogether, try every bedding shop in town, finally conclude that this bed was the best choice and bemoan their fates and apportion blame for the mischance everywhere but themselves. When he said 'help him choose a bed' he meant encourage him to buy the first bed he liked. Whatever on earth did they think otherwise?
"I'm sure that this shop will satisfy our needs," John said firmly and decisively and one split second later, regret his words as he had given the game away. George averted her head, grinning at John's obvious slip up.
A potential sale in the offing. These three aren't window shoppers after all, only bent on window shopping, fantasizing and departing, exclaiming that he had a wonderful selection of beds, promising to come back next day when they had made up their minds and never hearing from them again.
John made his way back to the assistant and caught his attention while Jo and George tried to look inconspicuous and fade into the background.
"I think I'll take that bed. It is admirably suited," He exclaimed, trying to look as if he was the only one whose needs should be satisfied. He did the necessary paperwork while the nosier shoppers readjusted their guesses as to the relationships between the three, if any. It was not until they strolled out of the shop, obviously happy and excited that the assistant began to bridge the speculative gap between situation and conclusion.
It was a few days later, on Saturday that John was able to say farewell to the digs, which had served him comfortably. He would miss the pleasant, old-fashioned surroundings but concluded that it was time to move on. After all, he had been that sort of 'moving on' man all through his life, from when he first left home to go to boarding school and in his very complex relationships.
He had selected a flat in the exclusive Holland Park area of London, just outside the more down market, cosmopolitan Shepherd's Bush. It was the entire first floor of a large white painted Georgian block that ran the length of the street and curved slightly in line with the road. It was very tall, from the ground floor basement with five floors altogether and a communal back garden. What attracted him was both the sweeping balcony and the flight of steps, which led proudly up from the wide tree lined street and up to the large, black imposing front door. One look and a quick tour round the half furnished flat convinced him that the flat was his especially as, best of all, it would accept dogs. It should be his. It was his by right of rental agreement once he had shot out and cemented the deal.
He had had a harassing Friday evening and early Saturday morning boxing up all his possessions ready for the removal van. His beloved Strad and his CD collection would travel in the back of his car. He said his formal goodbyes to the other members of the judiciary who had visions of peace and tranquility returning to the dignity of their calling. He was off on the open road, well another part of London anyway.
He pulled his car up behind the van to go in and handle the directions as to where the furniture would go. Once in the flat, he was struck how large and spacious it was. The ceilings seemed to be about twelve feet off the ground in pristine white. The front hall was a worthy prelude to the other rooms. The spacious front living room, bare of furniture opened out to the wide balcony, which had struck him before when he had visited it. It had an elevated position to take in the whole sweep of the elegantly uniform street whose perspective was entirely different from the pygmy perspective from the street. It would soon be filled by his large bureau desk by the window, his bookcases, along the walls, elegant settee in the center of the room and soft lights. This would be the antechamber, both in time and place, for his bedroom in which, pride of place was the king-size bed. His spirits rose when he contemplated the ardent nights of sexual passion that would be in store for him, unencumbered by any prying eyes of agents of the LCD.
The removal men were relieved that the posh bloke was polite and considerate and gave clear instructions where to set the furniture. None of this fussy hectoring demands to put the settee down exactly so as sometimes they had the ill luck to be saddled with. In no time at all, everything was in place and they were able to shift off back to the depot.
With enormous satisfaction, John got his prized books out of the boxes and arranged them on the shelves and likewise, the CD's, plugged in his computer and got the front room to his satisfaction. He turned his attention next to the kitchen behind the bedroom with the large oak table in the center of the room and all the appliances which he was at home with. A mug had been left out on the units by the last tenant, which he filled, to the brim with water. It had been an energetic day and it was most refreshing. In the corner of the house, a small bedroom housed a single bed. It would be a spare room in case Charlie wanted to stop over. Even though she was at university, there must be a place for her as of right should she want it. It had ever been that way from after he and George split up and, in another flat, there was another Charlie's room. Finally, there was his large bedroom and the tasteful furnishings were the perfect expression of his own tastes in every respect. The flat was there to be filled with by the presence of his forceful, many-sided personality and the local pub round the corner, a valuable center of a social life.
As he sat back in contemplation, a flood of memories surged back. He remembered how he had been plucked out of Birmingham and had gone to boarding school when he was little. That was no life for anyone who wanted their own space where everything intruded, nothing was private and the echoing chorus of other voices was all around him in the dormitory, which was his very tenuous home. He had learnt to speak a foreign language, a languid self assured tones, that of the class that was born to both rule the nation and also to serve it ,or so the Christian prayers repeatedly told him. Life was an upward move from one institution to another. Next, memories of the house he lived in with George flitted across like some ground mist and was gone like his marriage, then his previous flat where he had brought up Charlie, then the digs and finally, his very first place of his own at the somewhat belated age of mid fifties. Someday the restless rolling stone would come to rest but what peace and tranquility finally meant, he really was at a loss to know.