Prior Engagement, or Plagued to Death! by Allan Frost

Author:Allan Frost [Frost, Allan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Wrekin Books
Published: 2012-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

Arthur did not disappoint. It was a good move on Cynthia’s part to get girls to demonstrate most of the goods on offer (one or two remained in the dining hall in case some of the female guests preferred same-sex activities). In no time at all, the common room resounded to the gentle whirr of battery-driven contraptions, cracking whips and the imperceptible swish of feather dusters.

George and Tim sat together in a corner at the back of the room. At one point a tipsy vicar asked them if they were gay and would they like to meet him after evensong on Sunday when the vicarage was empty. They declined.

They did their utmost not to show too much interest in case they got carried away. However, both made copious mental notes, especially when the girls explained why certain articles were, er, considered essential to enhancing a cherished relationship and went to great lengths to convince what was a predominantly ‘Wham! Bam!’ audience of the need to slow things down to beyond the usual two minute passion boundary. It was all very illuminating, a fact endorsed by innumerable comments like, ‘Well, I never knew that’ and ‘I always thought that was impossible!’

The women’s proceedings were rather less restrained; in fact, they couldn’t wait to get their hands on Cynthia’s imaginatively designed goods. Sarah returned from the toilet on one occasion to see a balloon-fest of condoms blown up and either popped or sent whizzing around the room. It was a sight she associated, for some unknown reason, with boarding school girls messing about in the dormitory after lights out.

Displays over, it was time for the guests to reassemble in the dining hall. Those who could still walk drifted around with telling smiles plastered across their faces; those that couldn’t were laid gently on the floor or propped up on chairs.

‘Going well,’ said Tim to Sarah. They each held a carrier bag but then, so did everyone else, although most guests clutched more than one.

‘Where’s Hilda?’ asked George nervously, looking around and under the chairs. ‘Not drunk, is she?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘Shouldn’t think so; she’s been on pineapple juice all night. Her glass is there,’ she added, pointing to their table.

George picked up an empty glass, held it to his nose and took a sip of the dregs.

‘Oh, no!’ he said.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Tim.

‘Vodka!’

‘Hang on,’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘That’s Ms Chinn-Dribbling’s. This is Hilda’s.’ She handed him a different tumbler.

George’s worst fears became reality.

‘That’s vodka as well. Where is she?’

‘In one of the changing cubicles,’ Sarah replied, nodding towards the far end of the hall.

‘What’s she doing in there?’

‘Haven’t a clue. You’re the detective, George, but it seems to me that she’ll be trying something on.’

‘I’d better go and find her—’

Sarah held him by the arm.

‘Can’t do that, George. You might open the wrong door. Could be embarrassing.’

‘Not half as embarrassing as I hope it won’t be,’ said George glumly. ‘That’s the trouble with Hilda; doesn’t take much to make her tipsy.’

‘Yes, we’ve noticed,’ said Tim.

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