Paused to let the flattery sink in, then rushed,
“I’m so sorry it’s been a while but I promised Loyola I’d call the minute I got back.”
Still perplexed, she led me into the sitting room. A large portrait of the Sacred Heart was perched above a roaring turf fire. Is there a finer sight? I saw some framed photos of a benign smiling priest, thought,
“I’ll be having me one of those.” I said,
“God, I’m perished.”
Meaning….frozen.
She took the hint and went to make hot ports. I followed her into the kitchen. It was spotless and I startled her all over again.
Good.
I wanted her to be on the precipice continuously.
I said,
“In you go and sit by the fire, I’ll make the hot port.”
She left reluctantly, her look saying,
“Should I call the Guards now….or call… after… the port?”
The port won.
The kettle was boiled and I added lethal amounts of port to her mug, then pulled out the Jameson in me other pocket and added a serious dollop to hers and just the Jay for me own self.
Found the sugar, ladled in three spoons to hers.
Brought out the two mugs, she was sitting on the edge of the armchair, ready to flee.
I handed her the mug, said,
“Loyola loved a wee drop of port.”
Toasted,
“Slainte.”
And she took a homicidal swallow of the drink. Her eyes danced in her head. I apologized with,
“I’m so sorry, I probably shouldn’t have overdone the sugar.”
She gasped,
“Oh no, ’tis lovely.”
She took another large dose and I could see it physically relax her. I said,
“Ah, Loyola, those were the days, and when I entered the Guards and he the Seminary, we still stayed in touch.”
She managed,
“You’re a Guard?”
She was relaxing, I said,
“Retired now but I do miss it.”
The latter being the only truth I told.
I asked,
“So where is the bold man himself?”
Her eyes kept flicking to the small framed photo that was near hidden behind the host of other frames. I rattled on about the great times we’d had fishing and other nonsense. Finishing her drink, she asked,
“Another?”
“Lovely,”
I said.
Soon as she headed for the kitchen, a barely noticeable stagger in her walk, I was up and grabbed the frame, put it in my pocket.
On returning back, she said,
“I left out the sugar, is that all right?”
I nodded, asked,
“So where do I find my old friend?”
She looked to her left, i.e., lying.
I’d watched Season One of Lie to Me.
She said, and slowly, that careful dance among your words you know are trying to be slurred,
“He’s away on parish business.”
I acted irritated, pulled my phone from my pocket, looked at the screen, said,
“Please excuse me Maura, I’ll have to take this.”