Lucasta Wellbury was so
obviously “class” that Keith was a little ashamed of his worn old
Holden and wished he'd cleaned it properly, but she was quite unfazed
and unfussed.
“Such a nice car,”
she said, “so sturdy and safe and it reminds me of an old flame's
car years ago when we were students such a happy time when you have no
responsibilities then you get married and you have to worry about
everything children and husband and grandchildren though why one does
I don't know,” casting her eyes vaguely in Jason's direction,
clearly worried, “since in the end it all turns out all right like
that Bible saying.”
Keith bowed. “If I may
hand you in to my chariot, milady,” he said, trying hard to keep
his vowels English not Ocker. It was odd: with Jason he felt that
though Jason clearly came from a privileged background, he was an
equal. Perhaps having fucked him and been fucked by him made him
one, he thought. Or their joking and repartee together. But it was
more than that. A sort of easy-going egalitarian acceptance made
Jason seem OK, whatever he was. Lucasta Wellbury on the other hand
was … queenly. Formidob, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment