Chapter 10

“Yes, Julian. That is the way it is.”

“Is he blind? Does he know that none of you are lookers, Freda?”

Reg had heard this declaration and shouldered his way to stand in front of Julian.

“Listen, fellow. You may be Freda’s brother, but there is no need to insult my brides. They are wonderful girls, as I have found. Just because you are blind to their inner beauty, doesn’t mean you can slag them off. Now apologise to them: NOW.”

Julian gulped, and saw where his best course lay.

“Ladies, I apologise for my uncouth behaviour. I did not give you a chance to show your inner selves. Perhaps I can learn more during your stay with us.”

Freda smirked. “That is how my husband is, Julian. You could learn a lot from him, as he knows how to be nice to ladies.”

Reg spoke to Julian again. “Thank you, Julian. You are a quick learner. It must help you in your job.”

Julian was more friendly this time. “It is. You have to be sharp to deal with fast-moving money markets. A wrong decision can cost your employer millions; a right decision the same in the other direction. Mostly I make the right decisions.”

Freda commented, “If only you made the right decisions about girls, Julian.” She turned to speak to her husband, “Reg, my brother has gone out with dozens of girls, but none of them stick with him. He just does not seem to have the knack of getting along with girls. I suspect he always says the wrong thing.”

Prudence chipped in, “If I may, Freda, can I suggest it may be the other way. It might be what he doesn’t say, rather than what he says to them.”

Julian seemed befuddled by that statement, and queried it.

“What do you mean, eh, Mrs Robertson?”

“Prudence”, supplied Freda.

“Yes, what do you mean, Prudence?”

“Julian, let me tell you a basic fact of life: a girl likes to be appreciated, not just in the way you look at her, but what you tell her about herself. Reg does this semi-automatically: he tells us how much he admires us and loves us.”

Julian seemed stunned by the idea.

“He admires you girls? None of you are pretty in any way, you realise?”

“That is it exactly, Julian. He admires US, the people behind the looks. He sees all the things we say and do, all the thoughts we have, all the emotional feelings we have about others. He sees us in the round, and that is one of the attractive things about him.”

Freda came back at him. “Prudence is right. You probably never see past a pretty face and a set of nice tits.” She stopped to giggle. “Mind you, Reg appreciates our tits too!”

Julian went quiet, and moved off with an apology.

“Sorry, things to do...”

Freda said to Reg, “Was it something I said, darling?”

Reg was looking after the retreating Julian, thoughtful.

“Yes and no, my darling Freda. I think Prudence hit it on the head. He has been concentrating on a girl’s looks, and never considers her as a person. His job suits a self-centred man, but being self-centred is not a good starting-point for attracting a girl.”

Frances joined the conversation. “My goodness, Reg. You are becoming much more observant of social situations. I am impressed. Good man.”

Julian had retreated to his bedroom for privacy to think. He recalled his mother going on about him being an egotist, but such an attitude was vital at his job. You had to have confidence in your own decision-making ability, or you would never make good decisions.

However, that also meant you were self-centred, as Prudence had pointed out to him. Thinking back to his dates, he recalled that he decided where they would go; he never asked them. He decided WHEN they went out, and the girl had to fit in. Ostensibly that was due to his hours of work, but in reality it was simply him controlling everything. No wonder girls seldom went out with him a second time!

It was all about himself, and not about the girl.

Even at work, he did not view the girls as personalities, merely as lookers. The best-looking ones, he asked out, but that was as far as it ever went.

Did he ever really look at the girls around him, he began to wonder?

As he thought back, a memory nagged him. It was of sitting in the company dining room, looking around. His eyes kept being held by a mousey girl with glasses. He had forgotten that. She was not a real looker, but she had an interesting rounded face with an alluring smile. How had he ignored her?

It suddenly hit him. He had ignored her as she did not fit his stereotype: beautiful face and big tits. Now he realised what Prudence had been getting at: he was missing what had been staring him in the face.

Who was this girl? She did not work in his department, he was fairly sure. It occurred to him that Freddie would know; he seemed to know everything there was to know about every female on the staff.

Damn! He did not even have Freddie’s phone number. The guy worked in the same department as him, so should be on the staff database that he had access to. Julian went on-line and found Frederick Muscroft, and his home phone contact number.

He dialed it, and got Freddie. His Yorkshire voice said brightly, “Yo, Julian. What can I do for you, old son? You can’t be still at the office!”

“Hi, Freddie. I was thinking – I know that seems odd, but it is true. There is a girl I have seen in the company feeding trough: smallish, brown hair, rounded cheeks, bright eyes, and always seems to be looking at me when I see her. Not in our department. Know her name?”

“Hmm ... oh yes, I think I know who you mean. I have seen her looking at you. You never see the mousey ones, do you? Always have to be beautiful to ask out.”

“I think you are on the ball, Freddie. That sounds like the one. Her name?”

“Patricia ... Tremble ... no, Trumble: Patricia Trumble. That’s the one.”

“You know what department?”

“No, sorry. Might be retail banking, for she never enters our department, and most commercial operations people pop in from time to time, if only to gawk.”

“Thanks, Freddie. Enjoy your break?”

“Will do. I have a happy wife – she has just told me she is expecting again.”

“Congrats, my friend. Give her my best regards. See you soon.”

Once off the phone, Julian considered Patricia Trumble. Should he do something about her? Ask her out, as a departure from his normal approach, to see if he can make a better impact on the female sex?

He realised he was fumbling: not his usual decisive manner. Ask her out, man! He told himself. You will never know unless you make a new start.

He returned to the staff database, only to discover he had no access to the retail department staff database. Cursing to himself, he tried the number for his immediate boss, ready to kowtow for a favour.

“Junkin.” said the answering voice.

“Sir, this is Julian Dangerfield. I want to get in touch with a girl in the retail department – Patricia Trumble. Do you think you can get her phone number for me, as a really good favour?”

“Dangerfield? Ah, yes, our go-getter. If I do, can I depend on you doing a switch or a bit of overtime, if I have staff problems?”

“Of course, sir. I can do that for you, IF you can help me.”

His boss saw the deal was done.”Very well, Dangerfield. Hang on a mo.” He went quiet as he accessed the company staff database. “Here we are. I think this is what you want. Do you want her mobile, in case she is at home?”

“That would be useful, sir.”

Mr Junkin recited the number, and Julian wrote it down on the pad he kept on his bedside table.

“Thank you, sir. I owe you.”

“You do, indeed. Good luck with the girl.”

“Bye, sir. Have a happy Christmas.”

What now? Julian was in two minds about this question. Should he, out of the blue, phone up the girl and ask her out, or should he wait until they were both back at work when he could speak to her face to face? Then what if she is at work just now? They were not supposed to take private calls at the office. Then again, he didn’t want to leave it, and lose his nerve. Surprisingly, this was much tougher than asking out a pretty girl at the office.

He decided to phone her after tea, when she would either be at home, or at least finished work. He went back downstairs to be sociable with the guests. He supposed that they were now in-law relatives of his.

When he arrived at the foot of the stairs, the new arrivals were nowhere to be seen. Seeking out his mother, he asked what had happened to them.

“Trust you, Julian, not to be here when all the luggage needed carrying upstairs! Freda and her family are in their room transferring their stuff to the drawers and wardrobe.”

“What? One room for the five of them?”

“That’s the way they wanted it, Julian, so we have accommodated their wishes. Your father and I moved a second double bed through from another bedroom two days ago; you weren’t here to help. It must be rather tight in that room, but it is the largest bedroom we had. We had to park a wardrobe out in the hallway, as there was no space for it inside. It is nice having a comfortable modern home, but the room dimensions are less than in older houses.”

“Ah ... Mum? If I rush off to my room immediately after tea, I am not being antisocial. I have to phone a girl to ask her out. AND it is a direct result of what was said to me before, so no snide remarks, please.”

“Now, that IS interesting,” said his mother. “Is she different from your usual take-outs?

“A fair bit, Mum. She is nothing special to look at, but I was aware of her looking at me a lot, in the staff dining room, and she looks interesting. I have decided to go for ‘interesting’, rather than ‘good-looking’ for a change, and see what happens.”

“I find that encouraging, Julian. There is hope for you yet.”

There came the toot of a car horn from outside. Mrs Dangerfield exclaimed, “That is your father. Go and open the door for him; he will have his arms full of documents.”

Julian rushed to comply, and let his father in. The man was fairly short and dumpy, due to his middle-age paunch, and had a receding hairline, but he had a friendly face; an asset to any lawyer.

“Thanks, Julian. Is your sister here yet?”

“Yes, dad. The whole mob arrived some time ago. They are getting settled in upstairs, I think.”

“Good, good. I want to get this lot into my study before I welcome them.”

He went through to his study, dumped the pile of files on his desk, and from there walked quickly to the kitchen to meet his wife.

He walked in, to find his wife bending down at the oven, with a young man beside her, his face hidden for the moment.

“Alicia? Who is this?” he asked in a querulous voice.

“Oh, hello dear. This is our son-in-law, Reginald Robertson. He knows a bit about cooking, so I have been showing him round the kitchen. He is going to be a great asset to Freda, what with being able to cook as well as help out with her education.”

Reg had jumped up to an erect stance, and stuck out his hand.

“Thank you for hosting us, sir. I hope we are not too much of a handful. Just call me Reg.”

“Welcome, Reg, to my home. I didn’t expect to find you in the kitchen, young man.”

“Oh, I am safer here, sir. My ladies are up in the bedroom, sorting out our luggage. I would just be in the way there. They tell me what to do, as you may understand.”

“My goodness, Reg! You are under their thumb already?”

“Yes, sir. I may be a better academic, but in all other matters, I defer to my betters.”

Mr Dangerfield merited this a short guffaw. “My goodness, you are indeed a married man. Freda claims to be happy in this marriage. Are all the rest of you of a similar opinion?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I am extremely happy. The girls have turned my life around, and taught me SO much! The other girls are best asked to speak for themselves. Shall I give Freda a shout, to come down and say hello to her father?”

“No. She will appear on her own, as soon as she realises I am home. So, you all did well in your first term at the university, I hope?”

“We did, sir. All the girls got good marks for their work, so it bodes well for the rest of the courses.”

“Fine, fine. And what are your plans for the future, my boy – once you get your degree?”

“I haven’t really thought that far, sir. There are ideas about teaching posts, possibly at university level, but some of the girls think I might be best to go into the business sector. Frances’ father has already suggested I join him in his business as a manager, but it will be three years before we get to that point.”

“What does Frances’ father do, Reg?”

“He runs a company with a fair number of buildings in their portfolio, so I suppose you could call him a property developer. At present, we are living in one of his buildings not too far from the university.”

“Ah. I wonder who his legal representative is?”

“Perhaps Frances can put you in touch with him, if you are seeking new business.”

“You are on the ball, Reg. I shall do just that. Have you though about reading law?”

“Not so far, sir. I was more interested in a general degree, as my interests are very wide-ranging.”

Mrs Dangerfield interrupted them, “Dinner is just about ready, so if you gentlemen will go and wash your hands, we can get the dinner table ready. I will call the girls: I still can’t get over the four of them committing to you, Reg. It is amazing.”

“It still feels amazing to me, Mrs Dangerfield. They are wonderful girls to have taken me on.”

Mr Dangerfield butted in.

“It all depends on your viewpoint, Reg. My wife and daughter are both lacking in the facial looks department, as are your other wives, but as you have discovered, there is more to a good woman than how she looks. I love my wife and she loves me. I think you will find Freda a reliable and loving wife.”

“Agreed, sir. I try my best to live up to their expectations; at least I try...” He said with a smile.

“You do damned well, Reg Robertson!”, called out Freda from the doorway. “Now get ready for dinner, husband dear ... please.”

Reg and Mr Dangerfield scooted to wash up.

At dinner, the conversation at one point turned to Windsor castle, and Reg announced, “I’d love to see the Cellini Shield.”

There were blanks looks all round the table. He tried again, “The Parade Shield?”