not for you, Barbara’? Those were your exact words, as I recall. You had come down to London for some meeting or other, and we went for lunch at the Poule au Pot and Oedipus was with us to begin with and then had to dash off to the House. At first you didn’t want to give a view, and then, when I pressed you, you did. Well, you were right. As the saying goes, Oedipus is now history—or history to an extent. I still have a score to settle with him and will do it. I know, I know, one shouldn’t be vengeful, but that’s the way I feel and he deserves it. He’s used me, and I’m going to make sure he knows it.
“But that’s not what I’m writing to you about, James. It’s something that happened almost immediately after I left Oedipus. I met the most wonderful, kind, handsome, considerate, soft-spoken, gentle, sympathetic, interesting man. How can a man be all that? Well, he can, and I’ve found him.
“And now, James, the bombshells. One: he’s six years younger than me. Twenty-five; but so what? Two: I found him in a car park in Rye. Yes! And I took him back to London in the British Racing Green car—remember I drove you to Oxford in it once?—and, anyway, we drove back together and, apart from an Isadora Duncan moment, it was a blissful trip. And then one thing led to another and … well, he’s moved into the flat. Last night he made me scrambled eggs and we watched To Kill a Mockingbird together. I cried; I just cried. And he didn’t say that I shouldn’t cry; he just held my hand and let me do it.
“And how do I feel? Well, I feel happy. That’s the only way I can describe the way I feel: happy. Do you know that anthem, ‘I Was Glad’—the Parry one? That’s what I feel like singing at the top of my voice, the first line of it, announcing to everybody that I feel today that I am the most fortunate woman in London, by far. That’s how I feel, James, and I know that happiness doesn’t last for ever, but when you’re truly happy, you think it will. That’s what I think. I really do.
“Bless you for listening, James, and love from your friend, Barbara Ragg, who feels today the most blessed of women: ecstatic, fulfilled, and wanting for nothing.”
58. Dee Makes Tea for Jenny
FOR JENNY, Monday was the first day of her new job as assistant to William in his wine shop. The shock of her dismissal by Oedipus Snark had dominated her weekend and had left her with that curious numb feeling that we feel when we encounter a real setback. Of course she knew that she did not deserve to lose her job—and certainly did not deserve to be dismissed as Oedipus had done, by text message—but this knowledge could not protect her from the smarting sense of rejection that the dismissal brought with it. She had worked hard in her job; she had done everything Oedipus had asked of her, including the constant sending of made-up excuses when he broke his word to do one thing or another. I colluded in his lies, she thought, and I am ashamed.
On Sunday, lying in bed in her flat in Corduroy Mansions, she had been too dispirited to get up and had instead lain there rehearsing all the possible reasons for her dismissal. She could think of nothing, other than that Oedipus had simply grown tired of her and wanted a change. And when Dee had knocked at her door to see if she was all right, she had simply burst into tears, unable for a few minutes to say anything cogent. Nice, patient Dee; they had held hands, with Dee sitting at the edge of the bed comforting her as best she could.
“He what?” asked Dee. “He sacked you? Snark did?”
“Yes. He sacked me. I’ve lost my job.”
“But that’s ridiculous! You must be the most efficient assistant or whatever that there is. We all know that. Are you sure?”
Jenny nodded miserably. “Look, here’s the text.”
She reached for her mobile phone and brought up the text message she had received from Oedipus the previous day:
SORRY. JOB OVER. WILL PAY ONE WEEK’S SALARY IN LIEU. THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. OEDIPUS.
Dee read the message, her astonishment giving way to outrage. “Is he serious?” she said. “How can anyone …?”
“It’s the sort of thing