Lydia did indeed know what to do, and so it was that when the Admiral returned a few minutes later, her outspoken shape merely emphasised by her uniform, she came upon Lydia standing in the middle of the room, her blouse, brassiere, camisole and neck-scarf cast to its four corners, and Doctor Dixon subjecting her cleavage to what appeared to be an exceptionally thorough examination. The Admiral, from a standing start, immediately leaped to a conclusion, viz that Lydia was not, in fact, the woman of her dreams, but was just a cheap tart who would do it with anybody, men included. From here it was but the work of a moment for the Admiral to strike Doctor Dixon with a blow so hard that he flew from Lydia’s cleavage to the other side of the room, where he lay among the remnants of an occasional table, looking peaceful. Which was just as well for him, as the ensuing jealous scene would, had he witnessed it, have probably made his mind implode, so far did it lie outside his conceptual scheme. Thus, the Admiral, turning her wrath from the Doctor to her lover, shook Lydia hard, shouting as she shook “What are you doing, you, you, you bimbo!” Lydia was, as was so often the case in her conversations with the Admiral, a little fogged (not to mention being more than a little startled, what with her rude translation from the solemn peace of a medical examination to a state of violent perturbation): “I was just letting him...” she began, but the Admiral interrupted, too angry to let the woman she had thought she loved admit to her horrid promiscuities, saying “I could see what you were letting him do. How could you?” Lydia wasn’t sure how to answer that, which was all to the good, for the question was rhetorical, and the Admiral continued without letting up, “Only minutes ago we were making love and you were acting as if it was the best thing that ever happened to you, and then the moment I leave you to yourself you’re getting ready to play hide the salami with a man. And I thought you loved me” she added bitterly, letting go of Lydia and putting her hands over her face, then spitting out, as an envenomed epilogue, “Well, I’ll know better next time, you whore.”
There was a lot to unpack in this speech, and Lydia wasn’t entirely sure where to start. Apart from anything else, the shaking had gone on for so long that she was quite, quite dizzy, and, bereft of the support that the Admiral had been giving her, she collapsed to the floor, utterly disoriented. And this was not a good state in which to try to decode the Admiral’s sayings. Apart from anything else, she thought a salami was a kind of German sausage, and she was a good patriotic English-woman, and wouldn’t have German food in the house, not while there was a war on. No sir. So ‘hide the salami’ meant nothing to her at all; she couldn’t imagine what the Admiral was accusing her of, except possibly hoarding food, which was also unpatriotic, and something she would never, ever do, though she could quite see why the Admiral would be shocked at the thought of her doing it. But then there was the other part of the speech, which seemed to be about, well, them, and their relationship, and had nothing at all to do with off-ration food-stuffs, and Lydia really didn’t understand how the two connected in the Admiral’s mind. However, despite all this confusion and the dizziness, Lydia was able to deduce that (a) the Admiral was a bit unhappy with her, (b) she seemed to perceive some kind of connection between Lydia’s long-standing diagnostic relationship with Doctor Dixon and her brand new, terribly immoral but also terribly exciting relationship with herself, and (c) she had called Lydia by a derogatory name. Lydia felt that somehow she had to defend herself, clearing herself of the charge of being a whore, though it wasn’t entirely clear to her why it was she was being accused of being one, which didn’t help. But she was an Englishwoman, and brave, noble and pure (in heart, even if not, since meeting the Admiral, in body), so she rose to the challenge and her feet and, after an initial wobble, said “What we did was the best thing that has ever happened to me; a thousand times better than anything with Gerald. I don’t know if I love you” she added, at which the Admiral cried “Ha!” but Lydia continued, with growing conviction, “because I’ve only just met you, but I know you’re something very special to me. And I’m not a whore: after my husband you’re only the second person I’ve done ... that ... with. I became a loose woman for you: that shows how much you mean to me” which almost convinced the Admiral, even if she didn’t fully comprehend the significance of Lydia’s admission, being unaware of how major, in County Wife terms, the act of taking a lover actually was. Instead of marvelling at the sacrifice of womanly virtue that Lydia had made for love of her, the Admiral was more concerned with the basic facts of the situation, which explains why she responded by saying, in a tone of some awe, “You mean that when we ... practically a virgin ... wow,” her incoherence reflecting her astonishment as she contemplated just what kind of a bombshell Lydia might turn into given half a chance and a bit more experience. And the ‘almost convinced’ turned to ‘absolutely convinced’ when Lydia, concluding that words were not sufficient to express her feelings for the Admiral, took her in her arms and passionately kissed her. Indeed, so impassioned was the kiss that the pair of them might well have proceeded to initiate a second bout of love-making there and then if Doctor Dixon had not, most inconveniently, chosen this moment to come around and, seeing two women locked in a close clinch, passionately kissing and saying things like “My God, I love you” to one another, said “Oh hell, I must have caught her delusions.”
Lydia uttered a sharp squeak and leaped away from the Admiral, who swayed for a moment disoriented before she realised what had happened and then said to herself, in resignation more than anger, “I knew it, Doctor Feel-you-Up is back,” then to Doctor Dixon, “Couldn’t you have stayed unconscious another five minutes, you inconsiderate bastard?” and then finally to Lydia, “Shall I kill him, my love?” Lydia was quite definite, “No!” she shouted, then in a more normal tone, “I mean no, don’t kill him; he hasn’t done any harm.” Doctor Dixon was in absolute agreement and nodded vigorously, but it was clear that the Admiral wasn’t impressed by this argument. “If he’s done no harm,” she said, “What’s with the,” she gestured vaguely at Lydia’s uncovered bosom, “you know: topless look?” “Oh, he was examining me, that’s all,” said Lydia, and Doctor Dixon echoed her: “Just a normal examination.” “Oh yeah?” said the Admiral, “Well, my doctor just takes my pulse and ask me how I am and things like that. None of this in-your-tits stuff.” “Oh well,” said Lydia happily, “Doctor Dixon is very modern, you see. I take off my top, close my eyes and then do deep breathing exercises while he examines me.” “And what good does that do?” asked the Admiral, who clearly was sceptical of the efficacy of this practice as a diagnostic tool. Doctor Dixon answered that question, perhaps without due consideration, but then, he was talking to a woman after all, which meant there was no need for due consideration; so, rather than explaining in detail the mechanism whereby viewing the rise and fall of Lydia’s breasts would help him to understand the psychiatric problems that plagued the woman within, he showed that he had learned precisely nothing in his short acquaintance with the Admiral by choosing to respond with a rather crass frivolity, saying “Well, it makes me feel a lot better for a start.”
The Admiral simply gaped; even with her ready tongue she didn’t know how to respond. Had the man really just admitted to using Lydia, and by extension all his female, and, for all she knew, male, patients, for his own sexual gratification? Were these people really that primitive? She didn’t know whether to kill him or take him back home to be put on display in a museum, but when he followed up by getting to his feet and saying, rather tetchily, “And I’d ask you not to interfere with my examination. Who knows what harm could come to Mrs Marsden if she is not treated properly? So if you could leave the room, please?” she regained control over her vocal chords, and, gasping at his sheer effrontery, said “What kind of Doctor are you, anyway?” to which he replied “One who needs to examine his patient; Lydia, if you could just close your eyes again?” The Admiral could see the way things were going, and she certainly wasn’t going to countenance any more bosom inspection unless it
was her doing the inspecting, so, turning to Lydia, she said “No, darling, you just put your top back on like a good girl, while I deal with this predator,” then, turning back to the Doctor, she said “If you were even half-way competent you’d know that all that was wrong with the poor woman was that she needed a good shag and some affection. And she’s had both of those this morning, with the promise of more to come, so be off with you before I really lose my temper.” Doctor Dixon was outraged: unqualified people, women even, telling him, one of the lords of creation no less, a County Doctor, what was wrong with one of his patients? Never! He laughed, in a way which he no doubt thought was jolly, but which merely came across as patronising, and said, “Oh come now; I think I know better than you what Mrs Marsden needs, and right now that’s me looking at her bosom, just to make sure it’s the right shape”, then, with some urgency, for Lydia was already brassiered and camisoled and was hunting about for the next layer of clothing, “Lydia, don’t put your blouse back on, please, it’ll just waste time” “Don’t listen to him!” snapped the Admiral, before replying to the Doctor, “I know perfectly well why you want to look at Lydia’s tits, you pervert, and it’s not to help her, now is it? So are you going to get out of here, or am I going to have to make you?” Well, Doctor Dixon was having none of that. Told to leave by a part-time nudist maid in a funny uniform? Without even getting to feel Lydia’s breasts? Or collect his fee? He wasn’t going to tolerate that, and he said as much: “I’d like to see you try and stop me treating my patient” he sneered, and it was the last thing he did, for the Admiral said, “Fine, don’t say you didn’t ask for it”, pulled a strange pointy device from her pocket and pointed it at him. And in a flash there was another cloud of grey dust settling on the floor.
Lydia had been busy knotting her scarf in front of a mirror at the actual moment of dissolution, and so, looking round and seeing the Admiral but no Doctor, she naturally, given he had been in the room only seconds before, asked “Where did Doctor Dixon go?” The Admiral, choosing her words carefully, said “Oh, he’s gone off with your Maid,” but this did not satisfy Lydia, for as she said “But they never got on with one another, and anyway, he was here just now. And what’s that dust? That wasn’t there when I last looked.” “Well, if you insist on seeing through my attempt to break the news gently” the Admiral said, pointing, “that’s him, there, that pile of dust. I was sick and tired of the smarmy bugger, so I decided to off him, and that’s what’s left of him.” Lydia didn’t know what to make of this: in her experience people didn’t just vanish or turn into small piles of grey dust, so she got down on her hands and knees to take a good look at the erstwhile Doctor. Seeing nothing she recognised, she tried talking to the pile of dust instead, hoping it might be able to explain to her what was going on, asking “Doctor Dixon? Are you all right in there?” at which the Admiral groaned to herself “Why did I have to fall for an airhead? Why? Why?” but before she could extend her line of thought any further a sudden tinny ringing noise, as of a very small telephone, filled the air and she said “Oh blast,” to herself, and then “Sorry darling; I’ve got to talk to somebody.” She pulled another device from her pocket, putting it to her ear and said, rather sharply “Yeah, what?”
So while Lydia continued her séance with what was left of Doctor Dixon, the Admiral listened intently to the device, making occasional disjointed comments: “A woman, eh? ... A riot? On my bridge? ... Broke his arm? How do we get out of this hell-hole without a navigator? ... Oh, she did, did she? What? Well, you obviously got the right one, didn’t you? ... Tell me again about the dress? ... Wow; tell her not to change out of it until I get a chance to have a look ... Right, see you in a couple of minutes.” She put the device away and turned her attention to Lydia, who had given up keening over the remains and had been listening to all this talk of riots and broken arms with growing concern. Seeing that the Admiral was now free again, she timidly asked “Is anything wrong?” and the Admiral replied expansively, “No, nothing at all. It looks as if Stinker and those two idiots managed to carry out their mission after all. Frankly I’m amazed.” Lydia thought of bridling a bit at this apparent slur on Gerald’s character, but decided, on reflection, that one of the nice things about being an adulteress was that she no longer had to lie to herself about her husband, so instead she just said “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” “Good isn’t the word, or so I gather,” said the Admiral. Do you know somebody called, what was it, oh yes, Clarissa Bertram?” “Oh yes,” replied Lydia, “but we don’t, I mean Gerald doesn’t approve of her,” she corrected herself, once again drawing on the wages of sin: “but I like her a lot.” “Good thing,” said the Admiral, “considering. It turns out young Clarissa was what we were looking for; in fact she’s more than we expected. She’s agreed to join up with my crew, and apparently when she got to the ship, the first thing she did was to reprogram the computer that drives the tailoring machine, because she didn’t like the uniform it gave her. Then she caused a riot when she sashayed onto my bridge wearing what she’d made it produce. Then she ended the riot by breaking my navigator’s arm when he tried to get fresh with her. And then, to top it all off, she took over at his desk and laid in a course for getting us away from this benighted dump that was about three times better than the one he’d come up with. So maybe she needs to tone down her dress-sense, but I’m happy to have her on board. Hey,” she said, suddenly struck by a bright idea, “She sounds pretty hot. Means we could probably get a threesome together, after all.” She pulled the small device out of her pocket, put it to her ear and said sharply, “Hey, me again. Change of plan. Tell our young hotshot to take herself and her lewd dress to my cabin and wait there for me and Mrs Marsden.”
Lydia, who had been listening to this recital with concern, amazement and not a little envy at the obvious insouciance with which Clarissa had adjusted to this strange world of which the Admiral spoke, with things called computers and machines that made clothes and navigators and a ship (but they were miles from the sea, so how had they got there so soon?) found that this last question brought her up short. She didn’t know what a threesome was, but it seemed to be something that required her and Clarissa and the Admiral all to be in the same place, which must, given Clarissa’s new home, be this ‘the ship’. And how else was she to interpret that last comment about ‘wait for me and Mrs Marsden’ other than as saying that the Admiral was assuming that Lydia’s future and hers were now entwined? Thus she was once again faced by the question she had been trying to avoid answering since the Admiral had asked it: whether the fact that she acknowledged she felt far more for the Admiral than she could feel for Gerald outweighed her County Wife conditioning. Could she bring herself to risk the censure of the Miss Sparrows of this world, by giving in to happiness, or should she just be terribly, terribly respectable and live out her days knowing what she had thrown away? She had hoped to have had longer to work this out for herself, solving the conflict between desire and convention, but now she found herself placed on the spot, for the Admiral turned her attention back to Lydia, saying “Right, I’m done here then. No need to wait for Stinker to get back. Shall we go?”
The New Star Page 5
