Counselling
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‘If you were to sell me one of your chickens, dear lady,’ the middle-aged man smiled at the woman behind the barrow laden with chicken pies and morsels of roasted chicken. ‘I would surely enjoy the memory of it.’
‘I am just basting the next batch, sir,’ she responded listlessly, without looking up, ‘They will be finished soon, but do talk to me while I prepare them.’
‘I enjoy talking to attentive ears far more,’ he rebuked her lightly. ‘Would you care to accompany me to the inn?’
‘I am listening and you are being unfair.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I have work to do here.’
‘Attentive ears, sharp minds and sensual bodies,’ he turned away and foraged in his purse for a few coins, proferring them to her. ‘Here, give these to your master to cover your absence.’ ‘Please be patient, sir,’ she sighed, trying not to blush at his remarks as she looked to the ruddy-faced butcher at the back of the stall.
She did not take his coins though and eventually he put his hands down and his money back in his purse.
‘Of course,’ he determined. ‘There is no rush. My hungers can be assuaged in due course. I have after all only just come across you.’
‘Do talk on if you want to. It will make finishing your bird seem all the faster.’
‘I can wait, while you, my dear sweet baster, blush so prettily.’
‘Are you trying to embarrass me, sir?’
‘The hint of your blushes fills me with inspiration.’
‘Your words strike a simple chicken baster as…I don’t know…’
‘Rather fatuous?’
‘If you like sir.’
‘If you understand words like fatuous, dear lady, I suspect ‘simple’ does not fit the cut of your cloth.’ ‘You do, sir?’
‘And your complexity has several layers of pleasure for me.’ ‘It does?’
‘It does and I think the experience does for you too?’
‘The experience of the compliments of middle aged gentlemen, sir?’ ‘Yes and pursuing those compliments to further his ends, if appropriate?’
‘If the gentleman was a true one,’ she replied quietly, spooning fat over the gleaming bird and pushing it back into the flames. ‘And has the coinage to recompense my master for the loss of her services.’
‘I am a true and, as you have seen, pecunious gentleman, expecting the best of you, dear lady.’
‘The best of me, sir?’
‘Politeness and good manners.’
‘I give respect where respect is deserved, sir.’
‘I try to do the same.’
He reached out and touched her elbow. She started and moved away from him, rubbing her bare elbow and pushing the sleeve of her stripped cotton blouse against the flesh. It was as if she had been burned and was looking for something to ease the pain of the wound.
‘Excuse me,’ he apologised, bowing his regrets and thinking of her as a young faun backing away from the hunter. He stroked his face reflectively.
‘Forgive my shyness.’
‘Your reserve conceals wit and strength.’
‘Both at the same time?’ She smiled and looked up at him wide-eyed, a picture of innocence.
‘If possible, yes,’ he barked out a laugh at her impish stance.
‘You are demanding,’ she replied coyly.
‘Don’t you want to give of your sensual best?’
‘Should my words slink across the chicken pies, sir?’
‘No – just be you – unless you wish to slink across the pies?’
He arched his eyebrows and reached out to stroke the invisible contours of her imagined body, lying across the barrow.
‘With practice I might, though you would have to pay for all the broken pie crusts.’
‘That I cannot do right now. Go: get yourself some time free. Let me find something to fill your belly?’
His eyes pleaded with her and she surrendered on one condition:
‘No poultry please.’
‘I promise you that.’
She smiled and nodded, touching a young man on the shoulder and whispering to him shyly to obtain some release. He shrugged and waved her away, pointing to the butcher at the back of the stall.
‘Sir, the butcher’s boy insists I must ask you for those coins and more to obtain a little liberty, it seems.’
‘You are most welcome to them and more,’ he said emptying his purse into her cupped hands.
‘Thank you sir,’ she whispered and passed the moneys to the scowling butcher’s boy. The boy spat on the ground and then bit into the coppers. Then he spat again, the saliva splashing the girl’s shoes and her stocking.
She did not flinch at the disrespect, being well used to it, but stood there patiently gazing down until the boy turned and went across to his father.
The gentlemen watched her all the while and observed a thin-lipped smile cross her features as she heard the boy being rewarded with a loud curse.
The blotchy, red-faced man stared across at the stranger insolently, but chose not to approach. The gentleman responded in kind until the butcher dropped his prurient gaze, muttered something indistinguishable and cuffed the boy away from him.
‘You have two hours, Louisa,’ the boy whinned at her. ‘Don’t be late or else father’s strap will oblige you.’
‘If such is his pleasure,’ Louisa smiled timidly, but a little more fulsomely than before. She bowed slightly to the boy and turned to curtsey to the butcher. The surly tradesman grunted and turned his back to her, disregarding her gesture.
She shrugged, but tilted her head respectfully and crossed to the other side of the barrow to stand next to the gentleman.
‘I already like your self-effacing manner,’ the gentleman smiled as they walked away, ‘but tell me, what brings you to this little stall. You do not belong in this market place really, now do you?’ ‘You may ask.’
‘Thank you Louisa. My name is Andrew Mintosh.’
‘But I may decide not to answer, Mr Mintosh, so that is scant consolation to you.’
‘I was just curious – that is all. I am a writer. I perambulate back and forth in search of marvellous inspiration.’
‘You wander well, sir.’
‘Are you teasing me?’
‘Forgive my sass, Mr Mintosh. I’m sorry that I reached a little above my master’s chickens for a moment.’
‘Sweet dreams are made of such moments, and…’
‘Yes?’ She looked up at him once more, curious as to what words hung in his mouth.
‘…Regret is a very strong word.’
‘It is.’
‘Chosen as such I don’t doubt, but I shall think of it as wistfulness since I want no regret from you, my dear, now you are free and at my disposal.
‘Yes sir.’
‘You have to give up something to get something else, young lady.’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I know it’s not always opportunity cost.’
‘Opportunity cost, sir?’
‘Sometimes you can have your chicken and eat it too?’
‘That, sir, is a very silly saying in my modest opinion.’
‘Tell me, Louisa, what did you do before you were cajoled into hawking hot chickens?’
‘I served a gentleman who studied or, rather, I studied while he gambled, sir.’
‘What was his field?’
‘History sir, though he diverted to the broader field of smoke, bourbon and cards.’
‘Yes indeed. Did any aspects of the studies you undertook on his behalf interest you?’
‘I tended to focus on the 17th century well before the invention of the chicken rotisserie.’
‘Feeding others is not necessarily an ignoble trade, Louisa.’
‘You do not know what it is like working for a chicken butcher, sir.’
‘True, but remember even Richelieu ate chickens.’
‘What is that to me now, sir?’
‘Since that unstudious former master of yours gambled away more than his coinage to a passing trademan?’
‘Yes sir.’ She looked up at him so sadly that he had to look away, regretting his foolish banter. Having gleaned just an inkling of her sadness from that short confrontation at the stall, he cursed himself for trying to be urbane and witty at her expense.
‘Forgive me, Louisa.’
‘There is nothing to forgive sir.
‘Not even your inquisitve streak?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, sir. I shall return to my place.’
‘Don’t do that Louisa. Your inquisitive nature is a delight – please indulge me with it.’
‘As you wish sir.’
‘Sometimes, my liberality sometimes knows no bounds.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘And right now the image you studying your books, head down in thought, would be far more delightful than your face perspiring before the heady scent of roasting fowl,’ he paused and looked at her. ‘It is a shame that you are restrained from doing this.’
‘It’s my fate, Andrew.’
She shrugged her shoulders and spread the palms of her hands, so that he could see the marks of the butchers strap across them.
‘I can see why you’re not entirely ebullient at your current prospects. And thank you for the intimacy.’
‘I beg pardon sir?’
‘You can beg later, pet. Right now, let me say that it is remarkably pleasant to encounter someone like you, no matter where. I was just telling you what I like and respond to.’
‘It may not matter to you, sir, but it matters to me or do I express myself too freely?’
‘I am glad that your spirit has not been completely cowed, pet,’ he murmured appreciatively, as he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the inn, lifting up his arm, so that she slipped under it.
Louisa stood there on the threshold for a moment, blinking her eyes several times to accustom them to the darkness. Then she turned back towards him and found herself blinking up into the sunlight, slightly disorientated.
‘The master does not extend to the cattle trade as yet,’ she jeered in a voice tinged with resentment.
‘He has aspirations so to do though?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Let’s not beef about his ambitions, girl,’ he punned back at her provocatively.
She walked down the steps ahead of him, carefully and gentillely, leaving him to trail in her wake as if their respective roles had suddenly been reversed – she the dowager and he the butcher’s bit of rough.
‘Should I flatter you, sir?’ She almost snapped at him.
‘No, just compliment my wit with your lovely form.’
She looked over her shoulder and half smiled, half- frowned at him.
‘Be yourself, Louisa,’ he responded, disregarding the barely suppressed anger in her tone. ‘It’s all I ask of you.’
‘Thank you,’ she relented.
‘You seem to have missed that freedom for a while – a long while, I assume.’
‘Yes sir. A long, long while.’
‘We covered a broad spectrum of sensibilities on our here. I was trying to narrow the focus.’
‘Narrow the focus – what do you mean, sir?’
‘I’m here to meet a delightful woman who feels the desire to get to know a stranger better – a very respectful, yet very open woman.’
‘She sounds rather nice, sir.’
‘That was why I was asking you questions.’
‘And I thought you just wanted to fill your belly or fill mine, sir,’ she glanced up the stairs in the darkened inn, but smiled when he pulled a chair out for her to sit down.
‘Thank you.’
‘It was a way to begin and to see if you wanted to give your best,’ he replied gently, sitting down next to her and summoning a server to the barrel of ale that passed as their table.
‘It seems I am a long way from pleasing you, sir.’
‘Pleasing is an art form that need cultivating.’
‘I would not want to steal your time unnecessarily, sir.’
‘May I judge that for myself? Where do you come from Louisa?’
‘The bay area to the south of the town, sir.’
‘I have roots in the bay area which I visit often.’
‘My mother had roots in her vegetable garden in the bay area sir, which she visited often.’
‘How does her garden grow now?’
‘The horses from our rich neighbour’s paddock visited us too often, sir,’ she said sadly, looking down at the barrel. ‘Hence my gradual descent to this enforced service.’
‘I’m not trying to make you sad, Louisa.’
‘I didn’t think you were, sir. You seem to find all the pits to fall in – call it bad luck?’
‘I do like your intelligent approach.’
‘Thank you. I like yours. I can relate to it
‘More so than the gutteral grunts of the butcher?’
‘Yes or the resentful groans of his boy, sir.’
‘Exactly – this is why I’m responding to you kindly. You seem very nice – special even.’
‘You are kind, sir.’
‘Thank you, Louisa. It’s a pleasure to be appreciated.’
‘A shared one, sir.’
‘Once in a while you meet someone quite special free from princess dogma.’
‘Princess dogma sir?’
‘Those long winded ladies that talk about ‘Me, Me, Me.”
‘That is the opposite of my ideal, sir. I would rather listen and learn.’ ‘Your ethos is a lost and forgotten ideal, Louisa.’
‘The past cannot be relived.’
A server deposited to goblets of red wine on the table, along with a little pitcher to replenish the cups in due course. Andrew nodded his thanks as the aproned man bowed and retired.
‘But the formality, the trappings and the sense of style can be, Louisa.’
‘And what goes in secret behind the veneer of society?’
‘Exactly – what is not said is more important than what is. You are a clever girl.’
‘I like the idea of society.’
‘The little asides, the meaningful conversations and the glances?’
‘If you say so sir.’
‘I’m sorry – these things are outside your experience. I’m being unfair.’
‘No – please carry on – I want to understand and learn
‘I want to as well. I see intuitive understanding in your eyes and that is little short of the encouragement with eyes of the ladies who frequent societal soirees.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes Louisa. The signals are so easy to miss.’
‘If you spoke plainer, the signals might be clearer.’
‘And yet there are signals that you read, Louisa. Here we are an older man, a much younger woman…and we play back and forth – that special dynamic of my dreams.’
‘Are you lost in a dream world, sir?’
‘I am as I am and blessed with what and who comes my way. I feel lucky.’ ‘It is good to be one’s own master, sir.’
‘It takes risks to follow what you believe is your path and it is good to start the quest from solid ground, dancing your way to success.’
‘A dance full of life, sir?’
‘Yes, that is true. The edge of the cliff is inevitably better than the chasm, though I may overstate the case, walking the edge.’
‘I have done this, sir.’
‘Having someone next to you, someone to guide you at the edge?’
‘A dream, sir.’
‘You are a lovely woman – courageous and beautiful.’
‘You’ll ruin me with your compliments sir.’
‘Come with me to my room. I have no hunger now except for you.’
‘I would have left this barrel and joined you there before, sir, had you asked a while back,’ Louisa admitted. ‘I would like to concentrate on your pleasures.’
‘The noises in this inn sometimes make me feel like I am on a battle field, dodging and working my way home to my room to seek shelter from the storm,’ he puffed as they climbed the winding stairs.
‘A battlefield, sir? Really?’ She turned her head and flicked her hair down her back to encourage him to look away from her hips and up to her face as he mounted the stairwell.
‘A bad metaphor,’ he admitted as they reached the top and he stopped for a moment to regain his breath, ‘but I feel much more here with you now.’ ‘You can bask in peace then, sir’
He fiddled with a bunch of keys and pushed the door open. She walked across the small room and stepped up to one of the little rounded windows that looked out onto the market square. She stared out for a brief momeont trying to make out the wretc
hed stall where she toiled most days and then snapping her head back she drew away from it, pulling the curtain across and enfolding them in darkess.
There was a little fire in the grate and he leant down to press a poker to it and stir the ashes. He tossed a few brands onto the fire. They caught quickly as he stood back, watching time burning away.
‘I can bask in peace once the door is closed,’ Andrew confirmed and pulled a burning taper from the fire to light a candle by the bed. ‘I’m yours now, Louisa. Will you be mine?’
‘How so?’ She was now rather surprised at his request. She had been here before. The butcher plied his trade, including her, without much scrupple, so long as it brough hard cash in.
When it came to the moment though, the clientele were often reluctant to accept that this was all they had: a finite amount of her time to enjoy her and take their pleasure.
‘I want you to be mine in the moment and see if we can enlarge the moment without trying.’
Andrew was somehow different. There had been no pawing at her as he expounded his philosophy. There had been no touching or leering other than his finger tips at her elbow and his eyes on her rounded form for that brief moment on the stairs.
She wanted to see where this would lead – was it really any different? Was she more to him than the butcher’s girl with the clever words and the soft sex?
‘Enlarge the moment: how?’
‘Just thee and me, Louisa – we can face the moment together and make it a magnificent and unforgettable one.’
‘Excuse me for being so stupid.’
‘No pet, you are just seeking clarification,’ he held her arm firmly, seeing her try to control the rush of tears and the constriction in her throat. ‘I realise that you have been ill used.’
‘It is important to me that you know this sir,’ Louisa replied choosing her words carefully,
‘Without understanding and knowledge there is nothing.’
‘I agree.’
‘You seem quite traditional, pet.’
‘My tradition is about my being used…to nothing.’
‘I’m interested in what something you would like. Come sit by me.’ He patted the bed firmly.
‘And where goes the respect for me, if I do, sir?’
Yet she sat down obediently, cursing herself for letting the bar girl out with the clichéd lines and relentless, insufferable jibes passing as wit.
‘I will respect you for learning to please me,’ Andrew responded firmly, quelling her rebellion ruthlessly. ‘My age gives me experience. That is all and I’m always open to new experiences. I’m sure you are open too, Louisa.’
‘Open to suggestions?’
‘Open to ideas. You like to push don’t you Louisa. Is that becoming of the secret, submissive woman you desire to be? Wouldn’t you enjoy pleasing rather than pushing?’
‘Secret, sir?’
He watched her, measuring her carefully before he replied. Why did he allow her to fence so, when he could just take her and have done with it? She was his for now – why did he not just take her, rather than allow her to dissect his phrases and harp deliberately on a single word, as if reinforcing her rejection of his somewhat anachronistic approach.
‘If you’re traditional, you are not going to advertise,’ Andrew explained calmly.
‘What is there to advertise: my master will find me, if he looks hard enough,’ Louisa responded desolately. Then, remembering herself and observing the obvious, added: ‘your two hours are elapsing very quickly sir.’
‘This is true. Should I look less closely or will I find myself mourning the loss of your beautiful serenity before we have got much further?’
‘What is in front of one should be carefully examined, sir.’
‘Yes. I can be quite myopic sometimes.’ ‘Do not to miss your opportunities sir,’ Louisa warned. ‘They may never be repeated.’
‘Opportunities are a nice anchor. What are you offering me girl?’
‘In due course, I may offer myself to you, but I am yours for now, regardless.’
‘I understand the fine distinction, but I want more.’
‘Greed may lead you to miss the point and fill you full of regret, sir,’ she warned, standing up and reaching to undo the buttons on her blouse one by one. ‘I’m not so sure. A pretty surrendering face is nice, a pretty amenable face is wonderful.’
‘You do have a handsome face, sir.’
‘As do you,’ he laughed, ‘and we both know it. I have a face of an man who has some experience and a little wisdom. Your manner pleases me. Your intellect is beauty in itself. That’s what got you here.’
‘Your purse got me here sir.’
‘True.’
‘I’m here to undress further, if you need me to sir.’
‘I will undress your beauty in time, whenever we feel in tandem with such desires.’
‘On your intellectual bicycle made for two,’ she smiled back, relieved and yet, at the same time disappointed as she redid her buttons.
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