My Uncle Oswald

'You get a free go.'

'And who would actually perform the insemination?'

'A senior gynaecologist, madam. It would all be most carefully planned.'

'And my husband would never find out?'

'How could he? He'd think he'd done it himself.'

'I suppose he would, wouldn't he?' She giggles.

'Bound to, madam.'

'It would be rather nice to have a child by the King of Spain, wouldn't it?'

'Have you considered Bulgaria, madam. Bulgaria is a bargain at twenty thousand.'

'I don't want a Bulgar brat, Mr Cornelius, even if he is royal.'

'I quite understand, madam.'

'And then of course there's Mr Puccini. La Boheme is absolutely my favourite opera. How much is Mr Puccini?'

'Giacomo Puccini is sixty-seven thousand five hundred, madam. He is strongly recommended. The child would almost certainly be a musical genius.'

'I play the piano a bit myself.'

'That would help the baby's chances enormously.'

'I expect it would, wouldn't it?'

'Confidentially, madam, I can tell you that a certain lady in Dallas, Texas had a Puccini boy three years ago and the child has already composed his first opera.'

'You don't say.'

'Thrilling, isn't it?'

I was going to have a lot of fun once the selling started. But right now I had before me one whole month in which to do nothing except enjoy myself. I decided to remain in London. I'd have a real fling. I deserved it. Throughout most of the winter I'd been chasing after kings all over Europe and the time had come for some serious wenching.

And what wenching it was. I went on a proper bender. For three weeks out of the four I had a glorious time (see Vol. III). Then suddenly, at the beginning of the fourth and final week of my vacation when I was really in full flood and churning the ladies of London to such purpose you could hear the bones rattling all over Mayfair, a devilish incident occurred that put an immediate stopper on all my activities. Terrible it was. Diabolical. Even to think about it at this distance causes me sharp physical pain. None the less, I feel I ought to describe this sordid episode in the hope that it may save a few other sportsmen from a similar catastrophe.

I do not usually sit in the bathtub at the wrong end with my back to the taps. Few people do. But on this particular afternoon, the other end, the comfortable slopy end, was occupied by a saucy little imp who possessed hyperactive carnal proclivities. That's why she was there.The fact that she happened also to be an English duchess is not entirely beside the point either. Had I been a few years older I would have known what to expect from a female of high rank, and I'd have been a good deal less careless. Most of these women have acquired their titles by ensnaring some poor benighted peer or duke, and it takes a very special kind of mendacity and guile to succeed at that game. To become a duchess you must be a prime manipulator of men. I have tangled with a fair number of them in my time and they're all alike. Marchionesses and countesses are not quite so ghoulish but they run the duchesses a close second. Dally with them by all means. It is a piquant experience. But for heaven's sake keep your wits about you while you're at it. You never know, you positively never can tell when they're going to turn and bite the hand that strokes them. Watch out, I say, for the female with a grand title.

Anyway, this duchess and I had been jouncing for an hour or so in the bathtub, and now that she had had enough she threw the soap at my face and stepped out of the water. The large slimy missile caught me on the mouth, but as none of my teeth were dislodged or even loosened I ignored the incident. In point of fact, she had done it simply to quieten me down and to give her a chance to get away, which it did.

'Come back in,' I said, wanting a second helping.

'I've got to go,' she answered. She was keeping her distance as she dried her trim little body with one of my huge towels.

'It's only half-time,' I pleaded.

'The trouble with you, Oswald, is you don't know when to stop,' she said. 'One day someone's going to lose patience with you.'

'Frigid bitch,' I said. It was a silly thing to say and quite untrue, but I said it.

She went into the next room to get dressed. I remained sitting in the bath, silent and feeling thwarted. I didn't like it when others called the tune.

'Goodbye, darling,' she said coming back into the bathroom. She was wearing a short-sleeved silk dress, dark green.