The Prime Minister’s Mistress (‘Labyrinto’) … continued (Part 2)

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    13th April 2010

    Following my recent foray into dabbling, as it were, with bodice-rippers and in response to huge demand – OK, two readers – I thought I’d continue the tale started at the end of this post. Also here – À la mode of Harris & Polanski – FICTION – ‘The Prime Minister’s Mistress’

    If you’re feeling fatuously judgemental, you might describe it as a Blair Supporter’s equally fatuous response to the fatuousness of the Ghost Writer.

    [Writer’s Warning: ANY SIMILARITIES (or links) TO ANY PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, ARE PURELY CO-INCIDENTAL (Honest, Your Worship.)]

    Labyrinto

    [Working title. See ‘Key 1’ here.]

    ‘STIR ABHORRER’

    [Working chapter name – “Stir Abhorrer” – see ‘Key 2’.]   –  [Character list here]

    [Tale continued from here – À la mode of Harris & Polanski – FICTION – ‘The Prime Minister’s Mistress’]

    They locked fingers and he raised her hand to his chest, pressing it against his thumping heart.

    “What’s that all about?” he queried, feigning innocence, as though it was all beyond his control.

    She lingered for a moment, looking into his eyes pointedly, one at a time. His pupils were dilated, almost obliterating the steel-blue irises.

    “Lust?” she proffered.

    He smiled, “You don’t mean there’s any truth in the rumour that I’m human?”

    She glanced at her watch, and quipped back fondly, “No chance.”

    Clock-watching had become habitual for both of them. It was only four thirty. His “people” would not knock the door to check on them again for hours.

    Their unspoken urgency was shared. For Harry the sensation was both welcome and surprising. Nothing much had moved him recently.  For Sally, everything had.

    Despite the press’s rumour mill, the former prime minister had been a remarkably faithful husband. He loved and needed his wife and family more than anything and he knew he always would. His thoughts right then were on just how wide was the New England bed.

    The hideaway was little more than a shack, an American-sized shack. But the rooms inside were pokey in a familiar British way. Quaintly decorated, flowered wallpaper throughout, it had a large oak cabinet in the hallway. It had reminded him of  the little house on the prairie. He’d mentioned this to Evie when they first arrived after he had been warned of threats to his security and freedom. Evie had simply sighed – “Good night, Harry-Boy.”

    Evie was in New York on legal business. She was not personally under threat but was “24-houred”, in case of kidnap.

    Neither this house nor the ‘prairie’ was quite as welcoming as those of the TV series. The bed, he soon concluded, was adequately sized.

    The rain had started to pound the windows. The skies were heavy and darkening. All the doors had been multi-locked from the inside and out.  There would be no entry or exit without mutual collaboration or exceptional force.

    When they first holed up the former prime minister and his entourage in this extended cabin and told him of their heavy security measures, he doubted the necessity.

    “You don’t really think the American people will string me up if they get the chance?” he’d protested to Mikey, the head of his security guard.

    “The American people are the least of our worries, Mr Prime Minister Sir.” There was never a comma inserted in this phrase, and it was invariably staccatoed out, volubly. Mikey was proud of his US Marines service record.

    The stocky, balding chief of his personal security had an old East European-type moustache which twitched distractingly at one side or the other when he spoke. He spoke in riddles.  His sullen demeanour, though not always his words, suggested that he took his task seriously. He was invariably polite.

    Mikey had riddled on, courteously – “Well, tally-ho! NATO ran in. Lynch Serb! You watch movies, Mr Prime Minister Sir?”

    “Er, sometimes”, smiled Harry hesitantly, playing it safe.

    A retard and botchiest major dumbass actor pretending, Ghost-like, to be someone principled.

    “You wanna watch James Bond for real escapism. You got plenty of time now, Sir.  Even that third-rate James Bond actor … you know the one, Sir? That retard and botchiest major dumbass can be entertaining in a stoopid kinda way. But the Scottish 007 was class. The Irishman doesn’t know baby shit from butterscotch.

    Avoiding the butterscotch reference, he quipped back lamely,  “Better any 007 than a NATO-lynched Serbian, Mikey? Maybe?”

    The moustached one failed to respond, or even smile. He often failed to smile.

    Harry remembered how he had broken that silence. He’d thought it wise to ask what would happen in the event of a fire.

    “All the evidence goes up in smoke, my friend, Mr Prime Minister Sir”, his protector had half-teased, adding, “You have three cellphones. Keep one on you at all times, ALL times, Sir. And remember the ring code. We’ll be all around.”

    ……….

    He and Sally both glanced through the hall window. He picked up the cellphone from the cabinet. They could see half of the armed security squad chatting in groups, two visible from the front. If ever there was an opportunity for his human side to get some air, he thought, this was it.

    The curtains and blinds were all tightly closed. The candlelit room was cloaked in a flickering milky grey hue. It gave off a smell that reminded him of his room in his Edinburgh boarding school. Something, or someone else also reminded him of that time.

    He pulled Sally towards him and started to unbutton his shirt with one hand. Surprised he was not perspiring he felt desire rising in him as her hands caressed …


    That’s it for now, folks. Bedtime. If you want the steamy bits, use your imagination, as in the movies. Or you could just go to the movies. Sorry, but you’ll have to pay for that!

    Don’t we all pay in the end? Hmmm, Mr Harris? Mr Polanski?

    While we’re awaiting the court case, the video below the Characters and Key lists is great fun. Not to be taken TOO literally, of course.


    CHARACTERS

    Harry Bent – A former British Prime minister pursued by the International Criminal Court for constantly beating the Tories, and by half the women in the world for some other reason.

    Evie Bent – Wife of said object of pursuit.

    Sally Faithful – Longtime friend and assistant/secretary to the former Bent prime minister.

    Mikey – US Secret Service Operations Chief, responsible for security of said villain and party.

    KEY

    (Source: Anagram Genius)

    *1 – Title clue – Labyrinto [Back to where you were]

    *2 – Stir Abhorrer (Robert Harris anagram) [Back to where you were]

    *3 – “Tally-ho! NATO ran in. Lynch Serb!(Someone’s name anagram) [Back to where you were]

    *4 – “Retard and botchiest major” (‘Third rate James Bond actor’ anagram) [Back to where you were]


    Of course this Harry & Sally moment has absolutely no relevance to the interesting bits in the real/true/half-true/lies/fiction in my little tale.

    But you still might want what she’s having.


    RELATED, MORE OR LESS

    Excerpt: ‘Of course, moral seriousness have never been the left’s thing. Still, the latest twist in it all is special. They’ve made a movie of Harris’s novel in which a thinly-disguised Tony Blair is hiding out in the US to avoid prosecution for ‘war crimes’ – the alleged torture of Islamofascist lunatics.’


    When Harry met Sally, they hated each other, sort of …


    Read Part 1 of the modern day ‘Harry & Sally’ story, if you must.

    À la mode of Harris & Polanski – FICTION – ‘The Prime Minister’s Mistress’




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    2 Responses to “The Prime Minister’s Mistress (‘Labyrinto’) … continued (Part 2)”

    1. ‘Blair Plus’ from the Minus Blair party « Tony Blair Says:

      […] The Prime Minister’s Mistress (‘Labyrinto’) … continued (Part 2) […]

    2. Blair, the Lion King of the Jungle is Missed (and not just by Nancy Dell’Olio) « Tony Blair Says:

      […] The Prime Minister’s Mistress (‘Labyrinto’) … continued (Part 2) […]

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