The Christmas Pudding Lie

by P. B. Phillips

  Anna somewhat astounded asks, “There have been Lady Banks for over two hundred years?”

  Sherlock didn’t mean to imply such. He laughs at her thought process.

  “Maybe, but the Lady Banks we speak of is a totally modern woman.”

  Anna is not buying the modern bit. “Totally hood winked woman.”

  Back behind the wheel of the car, Anna looks at her reddened thumb asks, “This is a cock up story?”

  Holmes allows her the point. He points forward while checking and rechecking his vintage map. The dirt byway opens onto a paved two-lane road. Anna sighs in relief. The road winds past walled gardens, dilapidated wood fences, sprawling meadows and tumbling hills. She drives slowly and silently. Sherlock is unusually quiet also. An Elizabethan clock tower looms large in the noonday sun.

  “Pull over at the ‘Goose and Cock.’ They provide a good lunch and a clean loo,” Sherlock points to the timbered two story structure on the right side of the narrow cobbled road.

  Anna laughs at Sherlock’s priorities. However, she is glad for his attention to details. She makes the toilet her first stop. Holmes waits for her at the bar. The shrill cry of a peacock distracts Anna. She follows the cry out back. To her delight she comes upon a green pond complete with peacocks and various waterfowl. Sherlock is right behind her. He sees that she is heading straight for one of the roaming peacocks.

  “They’ve been known to devour small children whole, so proceed with caution!” Sherlock points Anna back to the dining room.

  “Perhaps a table on the other side of the glass..? This way you can enjoy your meal. These creatures are great beggars, especially the geese.”

  The place is deserted, not unexpectedly. It’s too early in the week for the off-season weekenders. And summer holiday visitors are long back to work tanned and a few bob poorer. The service is courteous, prompt and with minimal intrusion, all the hallmarks of fine dining in Anna’s book. She eagerly explores her order of spinach and Parmesan tart in a mushroom pastry. Holmes finds contentment in a tian of crab, prawn and avocado.

  Between bites, Anna confesses, “I forgot how enjoyable it is to eat out. Dining out for me is strictly takeout.”

  Holmes asks directly, “Why did you go into hiding, if I may pry?”

  Anna shrugs, “Didn’t Dodd tell you? It should have been his first word about me. I am a social misfit. People and I don’t mix well. I do best on my own.”

  Holmes offers another perspective, “Rubbish, I believe that yours is a journey of self discovery.”

  Anna laughs at such a lofty ideal, “If so it’s a dead end road.”

  Both pass on the temptation of dessert. They choose to share a pot of China tea. Sipping her tea, Anna looks around the empty dining hall. “Can we talk with ease here,” she asks.

  “Better to meander,” Holmes says as he grabs the check and prepares to leave.

  “Oh one moment Holmes,” Anna asks. She rummages to find the crumpled pound notes she has stashed away. “I want to contribute, please, Dutch as they say?”

  “If it pleases you,” Holmes humors her.

  Out of doors, he directs Anna, “This way. We’re less likely to run into cocks or grokels.” Anna follows his lead, as he seems to be quite at home here.

  “Here is something you won’t see in your beloved wild west,” he points to a lush green.

  Anna asks with curiosity, “What is it?”

  Holmes replies, “A Jacobean bowling green of course, Watson!”

  Anna replies, “Oh it is quaint however we have something better I believe!”

  Holmes remains silent knowing that she needs no coaxing to explain.

  “You must promise to come and see our greens. One of the world’s most distinguished greens is in my backyard. Maybe you’ve heard of it, Spyglass Hill at Pebble Beach?”

  Holmes continues the light banter, “Oh? Indeed, I should like to see it.”

  Anna comes back with, “Anytime! I’m a capable tour guide myself.”

  Holmes sits on a bench on the skirt of the green lawn. “We can talk here.”

  “So Anna, what’s on your mind? I venture that you wish to get back to Lady Banks. Or is it Lord Banks?”

  Anna plops down and tries to resurrect her thoughts on the subject. Holmes refrains from speaking lest he inadvertently color her impressions. He is adamant that she forges her own inroads into this story.

  Finally Anna confesses, “I don’t know where to begin.”

  Seeing that she labors, Holmes gambles. He asks, “Is the difficulty Lord Banks? I can’t help but notice that you’ve given Lady Banks your undivided Zen like attention. But you are reticent now to explore her life with Lord Banks. Might it be that you were predisposed to the ambush of Lady Banks? ”

  Anna snaps back, “What do you mean?”

  Holmes looks out ahead. He allows silence to enter into the equation in the hope that Anna will fill in the blanks here. She doesn’t. He reiterates,

  “Perhaps Lord Banks is not the villain that you imagine?”

  Anna is indignant. She huffs. But she holds her tongue. She prompts him to go.

  Sherlock obliges, “You view Lady Banks as a victim. You view Lord Banks as the persecutor.’

  Anna interjects, “Damn right! The only reason Lord Banks hooks up with Lady Banks is that she fits his agenda. She legitimizes his legend and serves his sexual appetites. He’s not likely to risk a bit of ruff with the boys for fear of blowing his cover.”

  Holmes cuts in quickly lest Anna change the direction again. He looks on her tenderly. With calm in his voice, he says,

  “And this gets us to what I think is a major stumbling block for you!”

  Anna lowers her defiant chin. She turns her head in his direction. She allows only a quick glance. She sees that he is serious. She sits up straight, raises her shoulders, bites her upper lip, presses her knees close and lowers her eyes front. She hopes to hide any foreboding in her voice and replies playfully, “Go on, I’m listening.”

  Reading defensiveness in Anna’s body language, Holmes directs his focus to the far off vista. He raises his chin one degree as if speaking to someone in the distance. In his easy manner, he goes on,

  “Ask yourself this, Anna, do you feel that you have a good handle on the sex factor here? Forgive me if I am out of order, but this is a hot button for you.”

  Anna churns his words over silently. Put out by his assumption, she remains mute.

  Holmes moves ahead tentatively, “Sex is a component in the Lord Banks and Lady Banks algorithm. We sort of let this topic of sex drift out with the tide when we were at the seaside.” He takes a short breath and proceeds,

  “Perhaps your reservations relate to Lord Banks’ sexuality, specifically his homosexuality.”

  Anna’s whole stature goes rigid. She wants to object. However, she knows deep down that she needs to be up front with Holmes. She replies with eyes downwards,

  “When Mycroft first suggested that Lord Banks would more than likely be homosexual, I admit that I was surprised. It had never entered my mind. But now that you have put this card on the table, I suggest that we discuss whatever needs to be discussed. Shall I start?”

  Anna does not wait for an answer. She refuses to look directly on Holmes. She articulates her preconceived thoughts on the subject.

  “I assume that a major component of the job of the initiator is the sex education of Lady Banks. His first objective is to remove all her sexual inhibitions. Sexual intimacy is a must. His main charge is to insure that Lady Banks is proficient in the sex play of homosexuals. And sodomy is the sex act of choice.”

  Anna pauses and then asks sincerely, “Are we on the same page?”

  Holmes relaxes ever so slightly. He answers softly, “We are.”

  Anna continues, “But I am curious about Lady Banks’ sexual predisposition. I’m assuming that there are two key characteristics in Lady Banks’ psychological profile; promiscuity and masochism.”

  Sherlo
ck doesn’t hesitate. He answers directly and simply, “Your assumption is correct. However, I would add sexual naivety with a masochistic propensity.”

  Anna considers his qualifier and adds, “Oh I confess I didn’t consider a blank canvass. With no defined sexual role she is easily manipulated to accept homosexual proclivities. Is that it?”

  Sherlock ends calmly, “I think so.”

  An uncomfortable lull hangs about. Sherlock decides to stay with the subject matter. With no emotion in his tone, he goes on,

  “There is yet another scenario and that is a low sex drive not only for Lady Banks but also for Lord Banks. A low sex drive diminishes greatly complications arising from outside influences. I mean to say that neither party is likely to go shopping for sex. So low sex drive is the optimal attribute.”

  He pushes on, “All relations between Lady Banks and Lord Banks are arranged. This is not a liaison of chance. Years of research and plotting go into making a viable match.”

  Sherlock pauses. He is anxious to hear from Anna, something, anything. But Anna remains strangely silent. He dares to go on, “And as for Lord Banks, he is recruited also. He works on assignment. He is not privy to the decision making process in match making.”

  Anna replies sharply, “I hope that you are not implying that they are in the same boat. Granted both their lives are lies. But Lady Banks never learns that her marriage is a lie and that Lord Banks is a secret agent.

  And just so you know, I’m not buying any argument exonerating Lord Banks with the ‘just following orders’ defense.”

  Anna gets up to leave. Holmes, however, remains seated. He bends down and picks up a blade of grass. He chews on its delicate tip. He rejects it, tosses it, as if to say, it was not ready to be picked or maybe it was too old to pick. Breaching the quiet that fills this late autumn afternoon, he adds, “Let it be known that I am not about excuses. I hope that you think better of me.”

  He waits for Anna to make the next move, the next assessment. Anna walks back slowly. She sits down next to him. Without looking at him, she tries to explain her sense of outrage.

  “I’m sorry. I do think better of you, Holmes. I think highly of you for that matter. It’s the morals free zone that gives me trouble. I can’t keep an open mind. In my book, Lord Banks and his colleagues are ‘unscrupulous bitches.’ No I take that back they are below dogs. They are beneath weasels even.”

  Sherlock replies, “For argument sake, let’s agree that Lord Banks is a disposable douche bag.”

  Anna’s head jerks a bit. Her earthen brown eyes grow wide. Her ears can’t believe Holmes’ apt words. She squares her shoulders; she curls her hair behind her ears, and with disdain says, “On my page, Lord Banks is the executioner.”

  Holmes advances, “Conceded but…”

  Anna is not willing to step down. She shouts “But?” the harshness of her tone rings in her ears. She knows that she is over reacting.

  She retreats momentarily, “Sorry I’m being a brat Go on.”

  Holmes takes a breath. He stretches his fragile neck pointing his chin to the air by way of asking for guidance in handling this woman with fire in her belly. He exhales

  “Sex is a part of the Lord Banks and Lady Banks Drama.”

  Anna can’t hold her tongue. She attacks once more. “Tragedy is more like it!”

  Holmes cups his chin. His two hands softly brush the stubble on his pale face. He offers her a succinct, “Check!”

  He is not sure how to proceed. He worries about escalating the controversy. He decides to sidestep the subject of sex for now. But before he can formulate his next sentence, Anna bolts.

  She checks the time and says, “How are we on time?”

  Always mindful of her tolerance level, Sherlock abides her direction. He gets up to leave. Walking toward the car park, Sherlock resumes in a matter of fact tone,

  “Keep in mind for now that Lord Banks, while the manipulator in this relationship with Lady Banks, is also being manipulated as an agent in the agency. Psych ops are used to control him as well. And the golden rule in psych ops is to identify and exploit the weakest link. For Lord Banks that is almost always his ego. The agency gets him to play their game by playing to his ego.”

  Anna interrupts, “I imagined that it was patriotism, you know, Lord Banks, the defender, the protector of red white and blue.”

  Holmes appears to be weighing her input. He nods his head just slightly in agreement. “Today it’s hard to say where patriotism enters the equation. I believe that idealism is a matter of rhetoric not reality. It’s a job. It’s always a job.”

  “Oh yes I forgot, ‘Got Ego!’ Everybody’s got ego. I defer to you for the time being,” Anna replies.

  A loud honking gray goose, wings flapping in the air, neck outstretched torpedoes towards Anna and Holmes. Holmes turns to Anna and asks, “Flight or fight?”

  Anna takes off, “I’m out of here!”

  The goose’s game transports the two to a more playful plane.

  Back in the car Sherlock reaches into the back to grab his rucksack. He retrieves his map that is being held together by a generous use of cellophane tape. He resumes his duties as navigator.

  Anna pulls out onto the road, “Holmes, in the glove compartment, you‘ll find a brand new map. Please take it, as a small gift for the navigator.”

  Holmes continues to peruse his faded relic of a map. “Thanks all the same but this is my treasure map. It shows the by ways, the side roads to yesterday. I suggest we take the Old London road. It was originally a carriage road. We might catch the last remaining leaves of autumn. We can pick up the M5 about twenty miles ahead.”

  Anna follows his direction, “Aye aye!’

  Holmes folds the map carefully and reverently. Into the knapsack he goes again. His head buried, he asks, “Watson, what’s your poison, Radio 2 or a Brandenburg Concerto?”

  Anna looks over briefly. “I’ll take Bach.”

  Holmes pops in a cassette; Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto 4 softly plays in the background. As the lush green valleys of yesterday roll by outside, Anna asks,

  “What do you think about getting old, Holmes?”

  Holmes’ turns his head to look out his window, “Is this apropos of the coming of winter?”

  Anna answers, “For sure! I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you were aging!”

  Holmes breathes easily hearing humor return in her tone. He answers, “Oh I have no illusions, Anna, no one escapes the tithes of time. Mums used to say that I was an old man at age five.”

  Anna laughs, “I believe it. I, on the other hand, didn’t grow up till I was fifty.”

  Sherlock longing to know her better asks soulfully, “And do you find satisfaction in that… I mean in the coming of age?”

  Anna answers without hesitation, “I wanted to be a grown up from my first step. Little did I realize that old age was part of the deal. You know, Holmes, I never expected to get old so soon. I was sure that I had time left.

  Holmes’ smile beams. He adds, “Who feels it knows it, Anna!”

  Anna’s head jerks hearing the man Marley’s lyrical philosophy again. She pouts her lips and shrugs her shoulders resigning herself to the truth of it.

  Sherlock delves deeper into her soul. “What worries you most?”

  Anna doesn’t need to think twice, “I worry what I will do when I can’t tell my left shoe from my right.

  Sherlock smiles discreetly. He doesn’t want to make light of the matter for indeed it is both their realities now. His comeback is, “You will go barefoot.”

  She gives him silent thumbs up on that one.

  Sherlock inquires further, “So, Anna, do you have your story ready for St. Peter?”

  A perfect smile bursts upon her face. She laughs lightly, “I tell you a secret.”

  Holmes is surprised. He bends an ear to her. She nudges him away.

  Anna goes on, “I’m bypassing St. Peter’s gate all together. I’m taking my tale directly to Ma
gdalena’s gate.”

  Holmes laughs spontaneously and offers, “Anna, you are a total eclipse of the moon.”

  The two drive the remainder of the trip into town in quiet revelry except for a few road directions from Sherlock. Bach’s Concertos provide all the conversation needed.

  Approaching Baker Street, Anna gives voice to the speech that she’s been preparing for the last hour in her mind.

  “Before I drop you at Baker Street, I must thank you, Mr. Holmes, for a thoroughly delightful visit to the country. It’s been exceptional. I loved our trek to Avalon, our train excursion to the sea and our trip into yesteryear.

  And of course, I would be remiss if I missed a note of gratitude to Sid of the tracks and Marlowe of the high seas.

  I am so very happy and honored that you have taken time from your eminent life to be with me. I will remember forever our time together in all its guises. It will hang as a surrealist painting in my memory forever.

  Never before have I enjoyed the company of such thoughtful minds. Brother Mycroft, Dodd and you welcomed me as a friend. I hope that I will be able to return your generous hospitality.”

  Sherlock expecting as much from Anna, replies,

  “Anna, it is we who thank you. You are a breath of fresh air from the frontier. We three, Mycroft, Dodd and I have grown old together. And as such we have gotten into something of a rut.

  And, Anna B, keep the cheek it suits you, it serves you well.

  And with that I have only one more thing to add. If you think for one moment that we three are going to let you slip away as you did with Dodd thirty years ago, you are in for a surprise. We four, hopefully, will share many more moments of friendship. So will you do us the honor of staying with us here at Baker Street?”

  Anna is visibly moved by Holmes’ generous spirit. “Thank you for the words of comradeship. As for this night that is falling all about us, I’m at Grosvenor Square.”