I’ve been overshadowed by life,’ said Felicity Walsingham to her new Uncle Blackstone. She took solace in her Guinness and attempted to reshape her fringe. There was little natural light in the nook of the Spitalfields inn, but she prevailed. Felicity enjoyed being theatrical as it enhanced her beauty and besides, her box -room in Battersea needed fresh curtains.
For, according to unnamed sources, this particular uncle orchestrated the entire beating heart of a ministry department, with a compelling view of the Thames.
‘ Let’s commence with fresh lobster,’ whispered her uncle whose eyes wandered to the entrance door. Felicity was readdressing her life- long aversion to meat, when Septimus Blackstone lifted something onto their table. It was a puppet.
‘Meet Pugh’ he said. ‘He’s harmless until you get to know him. ‘
‘Beautiful eyes ‘said Felicity to the puppet.’ Lapis blue’.
Pugh’s jaw dropped slightly and then closed again.
Felicity extended her hand. She suspected a psychometric test.
Pugh responded with an outstretched, booted foot and Felicity clasped it tenderly to her breast.
‘He’s not used to girls,’ said Blackstone.
‘Too much time at sea, I suppose?’ said his niece. The Guinness gifted her a frothy, swashbuckling moustache.
‘Pugh has a crowded portfolio. Attends most meetings for me. I don’t like to squander my time, Miss Walsingham.’ Her Uncle’s eyes glinted red in the dismal light and for a moment, Felicity felt afraid, so she bolted a mouthful of the lobster’s scarcely dead flesh.
‘Congratulations,’ said Blackstone. ‘Scruples have no home in my department. ‘
Pugh nodded. His head tilted to one side, sardonically.
‘What is your department?’ said Felicity, less afraid.
‘Interiors’ said her Uncle. His eyes strayed again to the door.
‘Fascinating’ said Felicity and inserted a microphone into Pugh’s boot.
‘Such sassigacity’ said Pugh agreeably flummoxed, and winked.
Wonderful snapshot, subversive wit with delicious elan – and so well written!