Edmund Cooper - Kronk

“No. I rather hope he is busy elsewhere.”

“Good. You wouldn’t like to go to a diplomatic reception, would you? Horribly boring, really. But free drinks, free food and sometimes interesting people. It’s at the Russian Embassy. They are celebrating something or other about an old folk singer called Ivan the Camilla smiled. “Do you know, I really would like to go to a diplomatic reception. I haven’t Terrible.”

ever been to one — and, as you say, Christopher, there might be some interesting people.”

He sighed. “Pliz, mi amanti, I am theenking Manuel Labore. Pliz to put on zee dress pronto, and I weel attend you. Gracias.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” said Camilla.

Gabriel returned home late in the evening, rather pleased with himself. Camilla was out, presumably working. He felt somewhat tired and thought that he would make a pot of tea and wait for her in bed. Then, perhaps, when she returned they would compare notes in a cosy aura of domesticity. Such, he thought, were the underestimated and quiet joys of marriage.

Gabriel had some reason to be pleased with himself. After his encounter with Messalina, he had gone to an intimate club called The Flipped Lid, much frequented by artists, pseudoartists, models and pseudo-models. At The Flipped Lid, he had refreshed himself with cold lager and whisky. He had also made successive and satisfactory arrangements — later fulfilled in a private room — with what in his mature judgement seemed to be the two most promiscuous-looking females present. He had even thought of tackling a third, but then decided to save a little something in case Camilla needed consolation.

She returned to the apartment before the tea was too cold to drink. Lying in bed, looking at her as she undressed, Gabriel was aware of a great surge of affection. Not sex, not romantic nonsense, but affection. Friendship also. Perhaps this really was what marriage was about.

Camilla looked tired. She kissed him. “Tea! What a superbly delicious thought. I shall drink the pot dry and then you will have to make some more… Had a good day, darling?”

“Not bad,” he said modestly. “One guaranteed twenty-four carat nymphomaniac, two gifted amateurs. How about you?”

“Not bad,” said Camilla also modestly. Suddenly, she giggled. “The chargé d’affaires of Tierra del Fuego.”

“Our neighbour?”

“The very one.”

Gabriel grinned. “My nymphomaniac alone outranks your chargé d’affaires.”

“Plus,” said Camilla, “the Swedish military attaché, plus the Spanish cultural consellor, plus the Egyptian ambassador, plus a Russian second secretary. Now who outranks whom?”

Gabriel was amazed, mortified and filled with pride. “Terrific!” he said. “Camilla, I love you. come to bed.”

She yawned and tottered a little. “I love you too, darling — but damned if I can do anything about it just now. The spirit is willing but the Egyptian ambassador was hell.”

“Come to bed,” went on Gabriel, “and you shall drink oceans of tea and I shall hold you very tenderly.”

“I’d like that,” murmured Camilla. “I’d really like that.”

As they lay there, with Camilla sipping tea and Gabriel’s arm protectively round her shoulder, recounting to each other the day’s events, Gabriel became convinced that this really was what marriage was all about.

Dr. Slink, seething with outraged womanhood, sat at her desk with a freezair pencil ready to hand and the door electro-locked. She had had no contact with Dr. Perrywit since that unfortunate, unendurable, unthinkable encounter on the carpet. She wished to have no further contact with him ever — except, perhaps, to give evidence at the trial. That such a man — no, such a beast — could brutally knock her down and then, while she was unconscious, work his savage will upon her poor defenceless body…

Dr. Slink shivered, recalling the sudden and cunning trip, the heavy blow upon her head, the torn clothes, the bruised flesh. She shivered and her breasts began to heave as she felt once more the superhuman strength of her pitiless assailant, and the weight of his evil, lusting manhood. Fortunately, oblivion had shielded her from the worst. Heaven alone knew how many times he had possessed her. Perhaps he had even committed other unspeakable indignities…

Dr. Slink sat at her desk shivering, her breasts heaving and with strange sensations passing through those parts of her which she always preferred to call the modest zones. She sat waiting for Sir Joshua Quartz, who had promised to bring news to her as soon as he had talked with the Minister. She sat waiting for justice, those curious aches and spasms to leave her modest zones…

Perhaps, besides possessing her, that beast had done things to her. Perhaps she needed to be examined by a doctor. Or even several doctors. Of course, if they were men it cold be embarrassing. But then men were always better doctors than women. Everybody knew that.

They were so much more objective and skilful. And even if it was necessary for her to completely expose herself and submit to their probings she would nevertheless endure it for the sake of justice, for the sake of the country — and in the hope that the strange irritations in her modest zones could be relieved.

There was a knock at the door. Dr. Slink grabbed the freezair pencil nervously.

“Who is it?”

“Quartz.”

“Forgive me, sir Joshua. Are you alone?”

“Quite alone.”

Dr. Slink released the electro-lock, and Sir Joshua came into her office.

“You have seen the Minister, sir?”

“I have.” Sir Joshua was abrupt. His voice was harsh. He had still not entirely recovered from his interview with the Right Honourable Theodore Flower.

“You laid all the facts before him, sir?” Dr. Slink was beginning to feel uneasy about Sir Joshua’s attitude. Normally he was quite friendly. But, of course, there was an explanation.

He, too, must be suffering from shock. That such bestiality could occur in MicroWar!

“I gave him your account of the — er — incident. And I also gave him the version and the information supplied by — er — Dr. Perrywit.”

Sir Joshua seemed to be floundering. Dr. Slink felt sorry for him. Poor Sir Joshua! How embarrassed he must feel. Dr. Slink felt it was her duty to put him at ease.

“You need not spare my feelings, Sir Joshua,” she said bravely. “Although I am but a woman, I do possess certain inner resources. Please do not feel embarrassed. I assure you, you may speak quite freely to me about this terrible tragedy.”

“Very well, Dr. Slink.” Sir Joshua stroked his nose, cleared his throat and stared through the window. “The Minister and I have considered the entire situation very carefully. Dr.

Perrywit’s account is at variance with yours: yours is at variance with Dr. Perrywit’s. Neither satisfactorily explains what happened. Therefore, always bearing in mind the interests of MicroWar, the Minister and I have formed our conclusions on the slender evidence available.”

He cleared his throat once more and gave her a piercing stare. Dr. Slink stood quite still, returning his gaze, white-faced, suddenly mesmerized like a rabbit.

“In our mature judgement,” went on Sir Joshua, “your provocative behaviour — which, I may say, has been a matter of departmental concern for some time — was largely responsible for the incidents which took place. It is therefore my painful duty, Dr. Slink, to discharge you from service in the Microbiological Warfare Division — effective immediately. I need hardly remind you that the Official Secrets Act covers all that has transpired during your employment. Accordingly I have to request you to vacate this office within one hour, and I bid you a very good day.”