"Jennifer!" he greeted me with superficial warmth. "Surprised to see a familiar face?"
I was. So surprised that I spontaneously flung my arms around Bernard's neck and gave him a welcoming hug. He seemed taken aback.
"I guess that means yes," he flustered. "This must seem a daunting place at first. How's it been so far?"
"You mean you don't know?" I confronted him. "You didn't spend this morning trying to change the attitude of a wayward recruit?"
His puzzled frown told me I was wrong.
"I come every Sunday," he replied, "to greet all novices and ask how they're getting on. Remember how I had to dash away that morning? I believe you've met our other successful newcomer?"
I turned. There in the doorway stood Ursula, sipping childishly at an orange cocktail.
"Ursula's made a commendable start," he went on, "earning herself a sizeable bonus this morning."
"We have met," I said, holding out my hand. "Well done, Ursula - how did you manage it?"
"Simple!" she replied with a dull grin. "Gerald asked me to wear a most peculiar outfit, and quite by chance it turned out to be just the way he wanted it."
"Soaking wet," added Bernard. "A blue rubber suit which someone had evidently worn the day before and not dried properly. Poor Ursula found it still half full of water this morning, but like a trouper she soldiered on. She happened to mention her discomfort, and this caused the earth to move for our Gerald. Now he's tipped her very handsomely."
"You do get some funny people here," I said.
"In what way?" cooed Ursula. "I think they're all perfectly sweet."
"Which is just the attitude we like," added Bernard, his proud smile turning to stone as it came my way. "Jennifer used to be a waitress before she came to us, and I see she's clinging tenaciously to her old career by bringing us the wine. Ursula's joining me later for a celebratory lunch along with another of the top-brass, once he's extricated himself from his other duties. I'm told Beaujolais is one of his greatest loves, second only to naked boys."
I gaped. "Boys?"
"Yes, my dear. Boys. This man has an incurable passion for members of his own sex - and he doesn't care who knows it. That's another feature of this place, Jennifer - everyone's free to talk about his own sexual proclivities without the slightest fear of condemnation."
If this was intended as a rebuke, I brushed it aside.
"And just how young do his unfortunate victims have to be?"
"Oh, six, seven, eight, I don't know. I assume before puberty sets in and ruins their innocence."
"Well," I said in a voice that felt strangely loud, "since everyone's allowed to speak freely here, I'd like it known that I find child abuse totally repugnant. I can overlook some kinky practices, but not the corruption of innocent children. Is this the man I met this morning? He said something about being a director, though of course I took that with a pinch of salt."
"Why?" chirped Ursula, all innocence. "Didn't you believe him?"
"Thanks to the tactics of this seedy organisation, I've learned to believe nobody. Mind you, he did say his name was Marmaduke, which hardly fits in with your curious naming scheme."
Ursula stared vacantly, so I explained.
"Surely a director would be called Boris, Beelzebub or Bernard, like my old lino-companion here."
Ursula seemed even more confused, and actually asked what lino was.
"I'm the External Director in charge of recruitment," Bernard announced stiffly. "It's my job to discover new blood like young Ursula here, a splendid example to us all. I'm glad it's worked out well for you, my dear, but perhaps you wouldn't mind stepping outside for a moment while I have a quiet word with Jennifer?"
The three of us smiled pleasantly as Ursula took her leave. But once Bernard had closed the door behind her, there was no more pretence.
"All right, Jennifer, I'll come straight to the point. In thinking you'd make a potential hostess here, it's clear I blundered badly. To make matters worse somebody jumped the gun in bringing you here, I'm not yet sure who or why, but I will acknowledge my own error in misinterpreting what I thought was a recommendation by one of our trusted administrators. I've since confronted the man, who now claims his remark wasn't meant to be taken seriously. It seems he merely wanted to know your home address for personal reasons, after taking a shine to you in your café."
"Really? Do I know this man?"
"I believe you've met. I spent weeks trying to convince him he ought to visit this place instead of sitting in Whitehall criticising what we do, and I remember raising the subject again in that café, which is when he made his fateful remark concerning you. I was misled into processing you as an applicant, and at first I was impressed - you seemed a good-hearted, pleasant-natured girl, experienced in waiting on other people. But I realise my mistake now - something I deeply regret."
"Good," I said. "I'm glad we agree on that."
"But this leaves us with a major headache, Jennifer. You've grown antagonistic to the point where my fellow directors doubt how far you can be trusted. To put it bluntly, we feel we'd be unwise to let you go. This particular colleague behaved very irresponsibly in my view, though I take equal blame for not spotting it sooner. Another of my team also expressed doubts and twice did her best to stop you getting this far. She's done that with several of our girls recently, making unauthorised visits in the guise of a press reporter, hoping to persuade them to back down. I believe she left you some tablets that should have knocked you senseless before the driver called, but it seems we made you so suspicious you bought your own pills instead. We always administer a mild sedative during the journey, but I should have listened to Cindy's fears before we got that far - my fault again. So there you have it, Jennifer. No-one's blaming you personally, but the fact remains you've become a giant thorn in everyone's side, and I don't know yet what we're going to do with you."
"I would have thought," I said evenly, "since I'm totally in the dark about who any of these people are or where this place is, there's not a lot I can do if you simply let me go."
"Unfortunately your friend Allen has already revealed far too much. He's too naive in my view, far too inexperienced. How he got the job is beyond me, especially when my own promotion's long overdue. But that's Whitehall for you, blundering yet again."
"Oh, sure - blame the government! But you're right about one thing, Bernard, old boy. Your lies did make me extremely suspicious, which is why, if I'm not home safely by midnight, a close friend will be sending full details of this rotten organisation straight to the BBC."
"You see? You're doing it again. You keep reinforcing our worst fears. Jennifer, you're far too vindictive to be let loose. However," he added, pouring himself a gin and tonic, "we're not completely heartless. You'll be given a job here, working alongside our support team who may find your rebellious attitude more amusing than I do. In time you'll doubtless earn a few extra bonuses and may even aspire to becoming a hostess one day, we'll see. And don't imagine you're the first to fall into this trap. There are other E-grades here besides yourself. We fit them in as best we can, though they do present a tiresome overhead we can well do without."
Even at this stage I remained calm.
"Just tell me one thing. Where did I go wrong? Just how did I prove myself unsuitable? I know I was a bad cheerleader, but so would you be if you had to wear that stupid costume. I did my level best as a schoolgirl, and I stood obediently in my ivory tower yesterday afternoon, and talked politely with my man this morning - so why do you claim I deserve to be kept here against my will?"
"My dear girl, it isn't at all what you deserve. I only wish we could find some other way of resolving the situation. I clearly didn't prepare you enough for the kind of activities we perform here - again, it's my fault and I'm truly sorry. Yes, of course you deserve to go home and forget you ever saw this place. But no-one's yet developed a reliable method of inducing selective amnesia."
"Then instead of bleating like a lost ewe, I suggest you set about finding one, because I intend leaving here tonight, with or without your consent. Meanwhile, I went to the trouble of bringing you a bottle of Beaujolais. You'd better open it and let it breathe before your friend Marmaduke gets here."
"Who?" Bernard retorted. "I don't know anyone called Marmaduke. I'm having lunch with your troublesome friend Allen."
"Of course, yes - the Beaujolais! You know, it's odd," I challenged him. "If Allen's so keen on seducing boys, why would he be interested in me? It's these little non-sequiturs that make me so suspicious about this whole set-up. I bet you're still testing me, that's it - to see how well I stand up to your silly threats about making me a prisoner."
"My dear girl, I only wish that were true."
"You're saying I really am to be kept here? Against my will?"
"I'm afraid so. This enterprise is too important to risk compromising our security."
"And you believe I'm daft enough to run to the papers with a story I can't substantiate? What about Ursula? She doesn't have the brains of a rabbit. What makes you think you can trust her?"
"Ursula's already signed a pledge to stay. She's been given the name Denise. She'll start work as a hostess this afternoon."
"I'm sure she's dumb enough to be delighted, until she finds she's just as much a prisoner as the rest of us. Slaves, I think Diane called them. Your job stinks, do you know that?"
"Many a government job stinks, my dear. It's the way of the world."
"Maybe, but I reckon I could work in a sewer full of shit all day long and still come up needing fewer baths than you! Do you intend to discuss my fate with Allen? He's been told I'm going home tonight, so he'll be very surprised to see me being led away in chains."
"You must realise we can't allow you further contact with Allen," he announced. "That's why I'm handling matters before he gets here."
"In that case," I said, "you'd better remind him of his promise."
I detected a glimmer of concern as he asked: "What promise?"
"You see? You don't know half the details, do you! Ask him! He'll remember. I think I know Allen a little better than you realise."
Bernard made no further comment. He pressed a bell on the wall and two burly women appeared, the same Amazonian pair I'd seen on Saturday flogging the daylights out of some poor deluded masochist.
"Meet Elspeth and Elaine," he announced blandly, "stalwart members of our Security Team - some of the girls here call them the Rescue Squad."
"You know, Allen's going to be very annoyed with you," I protested, "not giving him the chance to see me with these tights on. You did know about his fetish for fish-nets? They drive him totally wild. So you see - you're wrong - I am doing my best to please at least one client. Oh, and Allen's bound to ask where I'm having lunch. You're good at telling lies, so pretend I've emigrated to the South Pole, because that's where I'd like to see you end up, down in the frozen wastes of Antarctica with nothing on but a wet vest. All your hollow talk about integrity! Do you know something, Bernard? You and Allen were the only two guys in this rat-hole I really thought I could trust. I hope you both choke on your Beaujolais."
Close to tears I was hauled away. I did consider creating an uproar on the open gallery, broadcasting my plight to the entire gathering, but they would only have assumed it was another fantasy for someone's delight. Besides, I had sense enough to realise meek submission would leave me in far better shape than outright rebellion. I'd already witnessed the mock brutality meted out by these powerful women in playful fun. Heaven forbid that I should provoke the full extent of their wrath.
Thrust into the same cell as before, all I could do now was to wait while two influential men conversed over their bottle of Beaujolais - the well-meaning, dependable Allen, and the unreliable two-faced Bernard who might not even bother to mention my fish-nets or pass on the message about Antarctica...
My first visitor was Carol. She opened the door and stood there, her solemn face showing more than a hint of true compassion.
"I don't imagine you've come to rescue me?" I said cheerfully.
She came slowly forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
"Oh, my poor lamb, I hate it when they do this. Girls come here in all innocence, often ill-chosen and inadequately prepared, and all those dumb directors can do is twitch and gripe when anyone admits she's out of her depth. It's not your fault, my love, it's the fault of the stinking system."
"Then instead of wringing your hands in despair, why don't you have the guts to do something about it? I assume your precious clients are free to come and go. Is that a privilege reserved exclusively for those male chauvinist wimps? We poor women have damn-all to gain by pandering to their pathetic needs, yet we're the ones who pay the ultimate price. You're right. The system does stink, so why don't I go the whole hog and get myself pregnant downstairs. There's a man called George Owens who'll be only too willing to oblige, I'm sure."
"I'm afraid it's not that easy."
"Oh, it's all too easy, believe me. How else did that toady little bastard Bernard get created? He tells me I'm to receive free board and lodging until there's a change of government, when hopefully a more enlightened crew will see this vile place for what it truly is. You do actually feed your prisoners, or must we fend for ourselves like underground rats?"
"Jennifer, my love, you'll be as well looked after as the rest of us, I promise, but we're all victims on a one-way ticket to nowhere. I've come to tell you a little more about your new duties. You're to take the name of Edith, I hope you don't mind. You'll be given jobs like cleaning, washing-up, and sundry other tasks not directly involving client-contact. You can still earn bonus points by taking part in spectator events such as mud-wrestling, custard-pie throwing, and other passive duties."
"Passive? Listen, Carol. You don't seem to have noticed. There's a stubborn streak to Jennifer Bewley and she doesn't take kindly to being shoved around, so I'm giving the whole gathering an ultimatum. Get me out of this place now, and you'll never hear from me again. But keep me here against my will, and I swear I'll destroy this festering cesspit if it takes me ten years. Hallo? Have you all got that? I assume I'm still wired for sound?"
"And I still maintain you have a thoroughly bad attitude."
"Correct! Did you think life was going to be easy? Believe me, Carol, I know how to stir up trouble, and I'll break every bloody rule in the book while I'm here. I'll shout the name of every client I recognise, I'll wet the bed every night, and puke in all the drinks. You ain't seen nothing yet."
"Then I suggest we leave you to your sulks until you're in a more responsive frame of mind. And you'd better get used to obeying orders, Edith. You'll report for mud-wrestling this afternoon. Otherwise you'll stay here for forty-eight hours without food or drink. Is that clear?"
Having achieved the desired effect, she left me alone. The last thing I needed was a succession of sympathisers clamouring to visit me in my cell. I wanted only one face to appear in the doorway, and it wouldn't be healthy for either of us if crowds were present at the time.
In preparation for Allen's coming, I took off my bugged identity tag and kept it firmly pressed in the palms of my hands to muffle the sound of any unauthorised voice.
But I was in for a long wait. The next face I saw belonged to Ursula, and she certainly hadn't come to sympathise.
"You mutton-head!" she gloated. "You should have had more sense than to go shouting your mouth off. Poor little Edith! Look how she's ended up. Never mind, Edith, some time in the next half-hour you'll be downstairs performing a task that's right up your alley." She threw something smooth and white at my feet. "Put that on, and come down when you're called. Oh, and I had a very nice lunch with your friend Allen who sends you a message - he says he'll be standing by to sing the Hippopotamus Song. He says he hopes you remember all the words about wallowing in your glorious mud!"
With a smirk of satisfaction Ursula left my cell, and I picked up the item she'd thrown at my feet. It was a plain plastic bikini, evidently the approved costume for Mud Wrestlers, though I had no intention of putting it on or co-operating in any way. Instead I sat with my head in my hands, my thoughts focused on Allen's apparent change of heart as I tried putting together some pieces of the puzzle that didn't quite fit.
My breakfast friend Marmaduke certainly wasn't Allen, I was convinced of that. Yet I'd seen him somewhere before - not on television, either - somewhere closer to home - a neighbour perhaps - the one with the roses?
Then as I pictured my home furnishings and saw how cruelly they contrasted with the stark prison walls around me, the word Holloway entered my subconscious mind - bringing with it another clue. Marmaduke's hollow eyes were identical to those of gruff Sergeant Adams, the man who once came to my flat and tried to accuse me of prostitution. It struck me too how his side-kick had born a striking resemblance to Cindy, the bearer of those bogus travel pills - and it made me intensely angry - all these malicious people, worming their way into my home as part of their rotten conspiracy designed to bring about my downfall - none of them to be trusted an inch, with the possible exception of Allen.
Dear kind Allen! Why would he even think of mocking me, let alone share his cruel jibes with someone like Ursula - to suggest standing there, chanting unkind songs while I suffered such deep humiliation? And what if I did or didn't remember the words? Did he expect me to join in? Was the man totally heartless? Had they brain-washed him too?
Holloway! Hollow eyes - hollow words - all hollow, hollow!
Despite my resentment, the words of the Hippopotamus Song fluttered to and fro across my mind for a good five minutes before it finally dawned on me they contained a coded message.
"Follow me, follow, down to the hollow?"
Wasn't the entire complex a giant hollow? I remembered more too - something about diving with an ear-splitting splosh and rising to the surface again? Good old dependable Allen! But any escape plan he devised would need my full co-operation. I took off the waitress's outfit at once, changed into the unfriendly cold bikini, and prepared myself for action.
Five minutes later Carol returned.
"That's my girl!" she exclaimed with an encouraging smile as she saw me standing ready. "Best you keep your shoes on though. Have you done this sort of thing before?"
Resisting a sarcastic reply, I shook my head and meekly followed her down to the arena, carefully scanning the crowds as we went.
"A few tips," she was saying, "try not to get dirty too soon. Work up to a climax. And it's not as nasty as it looks. Don't worry about your opponent - she's an experienced contortionist. Her job is to entertain the crowds, not to injure you. She'll advise you on the various holds, when to fall and when to get up again. Remember, this isn't a fight, Edith, nor even a contest - just a friendly bit of knockabout fun like you see on television. Good luck, and I'll have someone standing by with a towel to guide you to the showers. You'll be coming out of that muck blind as a bat."
I was paraded through cheering onlookers to the ornamental pool which had been filled with a disgusting brown slime. A heavily-built girl came towards me wearing a bright red bikini similar to mine, tied at the sides with long loops of ribbon.
"Hi!" she enthused, playing mainly to the crowd. "I'm Edwina. Don't let the sight of this put you off," she added quietly. "It's meant to look revolting but it's all made from edible ingredients - semolina and oil to make it slimy, with peanut butter and spinach to give it sex-appeal. Welcome aboard!"
There was a dutiful around of applause as I kicked off my shoes, and we both stepped into the pool. The goop felt surprisingly warm but was dangerously slippery, and I lost my balance even before we'd begun. I was about to ask Edwina for more advice when suddenly a whistle blew and she took me wholly by surprise, bending me over in bear-like hug. What had someone said about not getting dirty too soon?
"Good," she whispered, "but I'm trying to get you down on one knee. Co-operate, please."
I immediately toppled over and found it impossible to get up again.
"Fine," said Edwina. "Now grab my left knee and we'll play bears."
I tried to do as she suggested, and over we went again, crawling and sliding about in a way that felt very contrived and utterly ridiculous.
"This next bit may be unpleasant," she warned. "Take a deep breath. You're going under for five seconds, so kick like mad."
Before I could discuss terms, Edwina pressed my face deep into the mud, and my arms and legs made their own instinctive protest.
"That's fine," she panted as I surfaced. "Keep flailing about as if I've made you really angry."
She had. I was bloody angry! Rejecting Edwina's advice, I decided to take full control, grabbing her by the ears and pushing her head repeatedly up and down. But she'd played this game before and deftly slipped from my grasp like a bar of wet soap.
"Now, now!" she warned. "Don't get smart or you'll end up with a broken collar-bone. If you want to look masterful, that's okay. Gently press your hand into my face, pushing my head back as far as it will go."
"Back?" I queried.
"Never mind me. Just do it, and for God's sake stop trying to be clever."
I did what appeared impossible, pushing Edwina's head further and further back until it was actually between her knees. Then with a sudden yell, she jerked herself forward and stood astride me like a colossus. I reached up to regain my balance, and in doing so accidentally dislodged the lower half of her bikini.
For this I was given a resounding slap across my face.
"I warned you," she yelled. "Now two can play at that game."
Edwina rolled me onto my side, ripped off my bra, and rubbed huge handfuls of gunge all over my bare bosom and into my hair while the onlookers yelled with glee. As I tried to retrieve my costume one of the ribbons came loose, and before I could fix it Edwina had lifted me bodily into the air, and was swinging me around above her head until she too lost her balance and we both fell with a tremendous splosh, splattering nearby customers with huge globules of brown. The wretched stuff was now caked all over my face, and into my nose and ears. I couldn't see a thing. I fought for breath as Edwina pulled me to my feet and in utter desperation I let out a blood-curdling scream.
Then I heard a concerned voice close by. "Are you okay?"
Blindly I shook my head, and yelled. "No! I want to go home."
This unwitting jest brought thunderous applause and appreciative laughter as I felt myself being lifted from the pool and placed on a low wall. My shoulder felt horribly bruised, but I decided a sprained ankle might look more beneficial. Someone threw a plastic sheet over my shoulders, took me gently by the hand and led me hobbling through the clapping crowds.
"Excuse me butting in," said a muffled voice. "I'm a doctor. I guess she's okay, but there's not much I can do till she's had a shower. It's years since I had a patient looking quite so bedraggled."
We entered an echoing environment where I heard the hiss of running water and felt a warm flannel being applied to my face. When I opened my eyes I looked up and nearly screamed. There before me stood a six-foot penguin!
"A visitor from the South Pole," it whispered, handing me a second penguin suit. "Glad to see you cast off those fishing nets. How's the foot?"
One feels an utter chump, trying to communicate in sign language to a penguin, but I gave a discreet thumbs-up.
"Good, then let's not waste precious minutes," he said. "Climb into this other costume, clean or not, fast as you can."
I saw the wisdom of Allen's choice. Inside the penguin suits we were totally anonymous. He quickly removed my identity tag and dangled it in a stream of hot water before dropping it neatly between the hinges of the door where it was crushed out of existence.
To my horror, he then led me back through the arena where crowds were eagerly awaiting the next contestant and singing "Mud! Glorious Mud!" I could barely see where we were going, but we joined in the revelry as best we could, skipping in time to the song as we edged our way towards a small door on the far side.
"Now," Allen ordered, "from here on, we run like hell."
He produced a torch and led me for several hundred yards down a narrow tunnel until we halted abruptly beside a swiftly flowing underground stream. We had obviously come to a dead end.
"Now for the tricky bit," he said. "I persuaded Arnold to part with his rubber suit, because this water's icy cold and we're both going to get extremely wet. Unfortunately the level's risen since I came here earlier, and it's travelling faster too, but never mind - it'll help us through more easily."
Through? The sheer impossibility brings back nightmares to this day. There was I, caked from head to foot in slime, in dire need of a bath, yet in the dim light from Allen's torch the dark torrent of water looked horribly uninviting. Allen threw my shoes and the two penguin suits into a black plastic bag which he hurriedly blew full of air.
"Welcome to the cool Shalimar," he grinned as we lowered ourselves waist-high into the chilling waters. "This is the moment, my darling, where I hope you finally appreciate having real friends. You're going to have to take my hand and hold your breath for about forty seconds. If you're desperate for air, dig a nail into my palm and you can take a breath from this bag. But it shouldn't be necessary - we may find several natural pockets of air as we proceed. Above all, don't panic. Just keep hold of my hand and remember - my job's not half so important as your freedom."
Allen deliberately gave me no time to think. I nodded uncertainly, took a deep breath and hurled myself forward. It seemed a full minute before suddenly our heads were above the surface again and we both stood gasping for air in an eerie hollow cavern.
"My God!" I yelled above the din. "How did you know about this route? You said you hadn't been here before."
"True," he gasped, "but I spent the afternoon exploring. The flow was a lot less then, but I distinctly saw daylight ahead, so it can't be far. Some guys actually do this for fun. It's a strange old world, eh! Now, my lovely, take another deep breath, keep you head down and hold tight to my legs - it's none too wide here and the floor's very uneven. Ready?"
I shivered. "What happens if I say no?"
"You get a week's detention and no pocket money. I'm longing to fill my lungs with fresh Somerset air, and that's a thrill to be savoured by both of us together."
Allen gave me a lingering look of admiration before leading me again through a raging fury of bubbles, down a narrow tunnel which seemed far longer and tighter than the first. Twice I nearly slipped, but Allen kept tugging me forward until finally, gloriously, I noticed orange sunlight glinting on the waters above my head.
"Oh, my God!" I gasped. "Oh, Allen!"
The moment I saw blue sky I burst into tears and wept for several minutes. Allen waited till the moment was right, then lifted me onto dry land and began tugging at his collar.
"Do you need a helping hand?" I asked.
"I could use a dozen," he said, "but I don't intend going back for volunteers. It's lucky I'm only half the size of Arnold. Don't worry, I had it thoroughly cleaned. At first he didn't want to part with it, but I convinced him he had a responsibility to go and talk to you. That left me free to do a spot of snooping."
Between us we peeled the suit away to reveal Allen's ordinary weekend clothes, complete with collar and tie and a flower in his button-hole.
I laughed from sheer joy. "You're well kitted for a hike across the moors, but what about me? All I have on is this wretched bikini. Or did you imagine I'd be happy to stroll through Somerset dressed as a chocolate covered penguin?"
"You think I'd let you down?" he squinted against the sunlight. "First we must rub you dry."
Taking the penguin suits out of the bag, Allen used them as towels, wiping me down as he described his afternoon's activities.
"Recalling our earlier conversation," he said, "as soon as they tried to make out you'd gone home I guessed you could be in serious trouble. As you know, they have a sneaky system for recording every word people say, so I paid an unofficial visit to the Control Centre where I heard your quip about my aversion to fish-nets and your parting comment about Antarctica. This not only confirmed you needed rescuing, but also inspired the penguin theme."
"If it weren't for you," I shivered, "I might have been stuck there for life. Thank goodness you knew the way out."
"I didn't," he confessed, "and I certainly hadn't planned on the water being so fierce, so a lot of what we did just now was pure guess-work. However, you might not have wanted to hear that two minutes ago. And don't worry about your clothes. I've got something else tucked away somewhere."
Allen unbuttoned his shirt, and produced a crumpled green dress.
"I never did get to see you in this," he said. "Apparently one of our more slender clients borrowed it to become a school-girl and left it hanging in the dressing room. It was also the only outfit I could find that wouldn't have attracted more attention in rural Somerset than a penguin. I guessed you wouldn't thank me if you got picked up by the R.S.P.C.A. and carted off to the nearest zoo. But you can thank me now if you wish."
I duly thanked him, in the best possible way.
"You know," I said, "it's high time I heard your side of the story about having me picked up in the first place. I'm told it was your fault."
Allen looked contrite. While I dressed he explained how as a new administrator he'd been keen to learn more about Intimate Breaks. After some persistence he was invited to meet one of the directors who by chance brought him to my Acton café one lunch-time, solely to get out of the rain.
"That's when I first saw you," he grinned sheepishly, "and I admit I was smitten. You seemed so natural, friendly and genuinely helpful, yet strangely out of place, as if you'd fallen on hard times. Perhaps I felt sorry for you and wanted to help - I can't explain. But I sat there mesmerised, watching you come and go as you served each customer with that endearing smile of yours. Meanwhile, Bernard was ranting on about how I ought to visit Fairyland, as he called it. I was only half-listening, and I must have made some stupid comment, saying if hostesses were one tenth as appealing as you, I'd jump at the chance. Whatever it was, that innocent quip led to your being waylaid, evaluated, and brought here. When Bernard told me he was keeping you under observation, I merely took it that he knew where you lived. I was planning to track you down when I got back from the States. What can I say, my love, except that I'm sorry it all went so horribly wrong."
"Which it may still do if we don't get moving," I reminded him. "It won't be long before we hear sirens, bringing the West Country Police out in force to hunt down two escaped prisoners."
"Pardon," Allen corrected me with a cheeky grin. "Only one, please. I'm officially still a member of staff."
"In that case it's your job to protect subordinates," I said, buttoning up the dress. "Do you mind explaining why an important man like you gets to be trusted, while poor Jennifer Bewley is considered a disposable by-product?"
"That's something I find totally repugnant, and you can be sure I'll kick up one hell of a stink when I find out who's responsible - though it won't be easy, not now. I've proved myself thoroughly unworthy this afternoon, so I imagine I'll soon become no less disposable than you."
"But what you did can't be wrong, Allen, you practically saved my life. I don't see why it should get you the sack?"
"A lot more than the sack, sweetheart, but none of it matters until we've got you out of danger. Are you ready to move on?"
Allen recommended we avoid the nearby roads. He led me for several miles across fields, through woods, and down steep rocky slopes - a gruelling assault course which I endured with memorable discomfort. Shoes designed for a mud-wrestling cocktail waitress are not ideal for tramping across moors.
Finally we came to a roadside café.
Allen detailed how we'd broken down some three miles up the road, adding that his daughter was quite exhausted. Was it possible to phone the A.A.? The proprietor agreed at once, and soon we were sitting down to a welcome pot of tea and cakes.
"Why the A.A.?" I asked, after Allen had made his call. "Don't tell me you've also got a car tucked inside your shirt?"
"No," he smiled, "so here's your chance for some genuine role-playing! When the A.A. man arrives he'll undoubtedly take us to where we left the phantom car, and I'd like you to be suitably distraught when we find it's missing."
"But why tell them I'm your daughter?"
"You're wearing a school uniform. Any other relationship could be highly suspect."
I said it seemed hard on the A.A., but Allen was unrepentant.
"Not really," he argued. "Over the years I've paid hundreds of pounds in membership and this is the first time I've ever called anyone out. Anyway, it's done now. Hopefully he'll offer us a lift to the nearest town, probably Midsomer Norton or Wells."
"Fine! Then what? I'm hundreds of miles from home, Allen. I've got no money, no credit cards, no house keys. This wretched bikini's getting extremely unpleasant to wear, and I can't walk another yard in these shoes. You surely don't expect me to make my way back to Ealing in bare feet?"
"Certainly not," he said. "Besides, our friends have your keys. They know your address, and since you expressed a desire to go home that's the first place they'll visit. I'm sorry, my dear, but we'd better not stray within a hundred miles of Ealing for the next week or so."
"Great! What happens in the mean time? Do we sleep rough, or should I swim upstream like a salmon and plead for bed and breakfast?"
Allen kissed me gently on the cheek. "That's what I love about you," he said, "you're irrepressible! Tonight we'll find a couple of rooms in a quiet hotel. In the morning I'll hire a car and we'll become tourists. It's a gorgeous time of year, and I've always wanted to explore the West Country, especially with an attractive daughter. Got any better ideas?"
There were none I could think of.
"Besides," he added, "I'm hoping my little Jennifer might enjoy being on holiday with her Daddy."
"Some Daddy, with merely a thirteen year age gap."
"Fifteen actually. I lied. I'm forty-two."
The next morning Allen visited a local branch of his bank and explained how he'd lost his wallet and credit cards. Whatever his influence in high places, he managed to hire a smart Mercedes. We began an extensive tour of England and Wales, and found ourselves a week later in the Scottish highlands where we stayed for quite some time.
Allen and I both ask forgiveness if we now draw a veil over some of our more private moments. Suffice it to say that I remained Allen's teenage daughter until one particular night in Inverness where we could find only a double room, an unforeseen circumstance which served to sanctify an already well-established friendship. I should add that throughout our holiday, Allen treated me with the utmost respect and generosity, giving me always his undivided attention, and - in the fullness of time - his love.
Despite this new interest in my life, my mind occasionally dwelt on Cliff and Diane, and for a while I was tempted to offer my story to every newspaper in the land, until Allen made me see sense. What use was it when I could offer no proof? He asked me to imagine a dozen reporters, all with eager faces and poised pencils, taking down every word I said.
And the questions! "Whom did you say you saw?"
The exchange of disbelieving glances as I listed names.
"Describe the place again for us!"
My answer would have sounded more like the setting for a video game. I had travelled late at night, blindfolded and rendered unconscious by some strange anaesthetic, and all I'd seen on arrival was the silhouette of an innocent country cottage that might have existed anywhere in Somerset. The rest I could describe most vividly, but would any editor waste time on such a wild and uncorroborated fabrication? They probably dismissed a dozen such cranks every day. My reporters would nod to themselves as they left, and my tale would be filed away with all other reports of flying saucers, blue-eyed gnomes from distant galaxies, and recent sightings of the Dodo bird.
It was several months before I returned with Allen to my flat. I had no key, but we managed to get in through a broken rear window. Inside we found the place ransacked, every drawer tipped out, every book tossed onto the floor, sheets and blankets ripped from my bed - yet nothing was missing expect my entire collection of music cassettes and videos.
In a daring moment, I dialled Cindy's number, and a mechanical voice told me that the line was now discontinued. Allen finally persuaded me to try and dismiss everything I'd seen as a fantastic, futuristic dream - not easy though, when daily reminders still prove it was all very real.
For instance my "celebrity", the man who held me in his arms for ten fleeting seconds, began a new drama series last week. And I recently saw "Arnold" on BBC Grandstand. His name wasn't Arnold, of course, and I've more sense than to tell you what it was.
Several weeks ago, Gerald was featured on News at Ten - I had no idea he held such a prominent post in the government. No wonder he tipped Ursula so handsomely. And no, his name wasn't Gerald.
So instead of phoning the tabloids or taking globules of cyanide, I did the next best thing. I put my house on the market through an agent, attended a formal church ceremony which resulted in an instant change of surname, and went to live with someone very special in southern Ireland.
I have this man's permission to share with you one other minor detail. Having given up his career in Whitehall, he is now at work in our front room, writing his memoirs which I'm very happy to help him embellish.
So I leave you with this parting thought. The next time I meet a shifty-looking stranger who begs me to take him in for a night on my lino, I guarantee no-one will be taken in, least of all this once gullible girl, now a loving, caring housewife. And though she and her husband live happily in some verdant corner of the Emerald Isle, and though a tattered green school-dress still hangs in some forgotten corner closet as a poignant keepsake of her courting days, there's nothing else remotely green about the new Mrs. Jennifer Worldly-Wise, née Bewley.
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Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations. You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me. Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson All Rights Reserved.