In All the Wrong Places
Q.E.F. “Come in” said Mrs. Prospect, “into my parlour said the spider to the fly”, misquoting, I think, Mary Howitt. A genial, if a tad florid woman draped in a scarlet dress, Mrs. Prospect – real name Mrs. Hamilton, recently widowed – smiled broadly and waved me past the entrance hall and into her expansive and remarkably sterile living room. “May I offer you some coffee Mr…..?” she asked pointing me to a white chair next to a large bay window. “Petrescu, Mrs. Hamilton”, I responded. “Nathan Petrescu. And thankyou, I would love some. It’s been a long drive to get here and I skipped breakfast.” No harm in letting her know the sacrifices I’ve made to be here. Ha! I spent a lifetime looking for you … (A song 1 from the radio I heard on that drive enters my head for some reason. Which is odd given I don’t even like country music…) Mrs. Prospect nodded and pottered off to her equally steri...