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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 04/28/2024
Poetic Injustice
Born 1950, M, from Bromsgrove, United KingdomI'd first met Ivor Harris six weeks ago, in early February. He'd sounded tentative when he knocked on the door of my office. As soon as he'd started talking I'd seen the real Ivor. Oh, he appeared reasonable but only to those not trained to look beyond the mask. I'd let him dominate the conversation, not a hard task to accomplish, and it hadn't been long before odd words crept in and his tone hardened, then he'd be back to Mr. Harddoneto. I hadn't let him see that I'd stripped away his outward veneer and, when he'd gone, I'd made a note of all the words he'd used.
Then, last Tuesday, a week ago, I was immersed in Bruch's first violin concerto, and wondering why publishers even bothered employing, and paying, proof reader's since they did such a lamentable job, when a tornado entered my office.
"What the hell do you call this?"
I'd sort of been expecting Ivor. He was never going to be happy with the report I'd sent him. The tirade continued with copious expletives. You'd have thought, given my background, that I would have become immune to the common usage of such words. Well no, I still retained a basic objection to them. I had let him go on too long.
"You okay?" A nervous face peered into the room. It was Helena, the lady from next door. She didn't interrupt Ivor's flow. I ignored him and told Helena not to worry, I would calm him down.
"You sure? He seems somewhat, er ..... annoyed, upset, mad."
"Leave him to me." I smiled and we left looking altogether convinced.
"I think you need to calm down Mr. Harris."
"Don't tell me what to do. I've paid five hundred pounds for this. Where are the pictures? Where's the sex?"
He was still pacing around the room, looking like he was about to do something he, and maybe I, would regret. When the report flew past my right ear it was time to bring the performance to an end.
"Sit down Mr. Harris."
"Okay, no need to take that tone."
I retrieved the report and placed it in front of him.
"This is the extent of their affair. It's all they do. I have photographs but they only tell the same story."
"Get them ...... please."
As he worked through the twenty or so photos his demeanour changed. I wouldn't say I was feeling sorry for him, perish the thought, but I could see he was affected by them. I knew why. His face lost all its colour and he seemed to shrink before my eyes. Grudgingly I had to admire him for only giving me those indications that he'd noticed. He said nothing about the man in the photographs.
"Their days are governed by bells and once the final one goes they're off home. They go out every Tuesday and Friday either to the pub or the park depending on the weather. That's it."
"Would you say she looks happy in these?"
He didn't look at me as he asked this question.
"I'd say it's a mixture. In some she does, in others she looks nervous, no doubt hoping she doesn't come across someone she knows. Can I ask you again what first made you think your wife was having an affair?"
"She changed. It's not easy for me to say but she became more demanding. It was almost like she'd been prepped."
"Why would this lead you to conclude she was having an affair?"
"I don't know. It was the first thought I had."
"There's nothing else?"
"Well she gets annoyed when the children go in her bag. Like there's something in there she wants to hide. She takes longer to get ready for work. She uses Chanel No. 5 when she goes to work and parents' evenings. She always used to keep that for special occasions. Do you need any more?"
"No it does seem conclusive."
He had told me much more than when I had asked the same question five weeks ago. Thing was I knew something was going on but I also knew sex was not involved yet.
"You need to get into the school. They must be doing something in there."
"I think that highly unlikely."
"Nevertheless I want you to get into the school."
"Fine. I'll contact you when I have something to report."
"Don't make me wait too long."
Once he'd gone I looked again at the other photographs I'd taken but not shown him. They were incriminating but he would have to wait. I wasn't ready to let him see them - yet.
Poetic Injustice(Bernie Martin)
I'd first met Ivor Harris six weeks ago, in early February. He'd sounded tentative when he knocked on the door of my office. As soon as he'd started talking I'd seen the real Ivor. Oh, he appeared reasonable but only to those not trained to look beyond the mask. I'd let him dominate the conversation, not a hard task to accomplish, and it hadn't been long before odd words crept in and his tone hardened, then he'd be back to Mr. Harddoneto. I hadn't let him see that I'd stripped away his outward veneer and, when he'd gone, I'd made a note of all the words he'd used.
Then, last Tuesday, a week ago, I was immersed in Bruch's first violin concerto, and wondering why publishers even bothered employing, and paying, proof reader's since they did such a lamentable job, when a tornado entered my office.
"What the hell do you call this?"
I'd sort of been expecting Ivor. He was never going to be happy with the report I'd sent him. The tirade continued with copious expletives. You'd have thought, given my background, that I would have become immune to the common usage of such words. Well no, I still retained a basic objection to them. I had let him go on too long.
"You okay?" A nervous face peered into the room. It was Helena, the lady from next door. She didn't interrupt Ivor's flow. I ignored him and told Helena not to worry, I would calm him down.
"You sure? He seems somewhat, er ..... annoyed, upset, mad."
"Leave him to me." I smiled and we left looking altogether convinced.
"I think you need to calm down Mr. Harris."
"Don't tell me what to do. I've paid five hundred pounds for this. Where are the pictures? Where's the sex?"
He was still pacing around the room, looking like he was about to do something he, and maybe I, would regret. When the report flew past my right ear it was time to bring the performance to an end.
"Sit down Mr. Harris."
"Okay, no need to take that tone."
I retrieved the report and placed it in front of him.
"This is the extent of their affair. It's all they do. I have photographs but they only tell the same story."
"Get them ...... please."
As he worked through the twenty or so photos his demeanour changed. I wouldn't say I was feeling sorry for him, perish the thought, but I could see he was affected by them. I knew why. His face lost all its colour and he seemed to shrink before my eyes. Grudgingly I had to admire him for only giving me those indications that he'd noticed. He said nothing about the man in the photographs.
"Their days are governed by bells and once the final one goes they're off home. They go out every Tuesday and Friday either to the pub or the park depending on the weather. That's it."
"Would you say she looks happy in these?"
He didn't look at me as he asked this question.
"I'd say it's a mixture. In some she does, in others she looks nervous, no doubt hoping she doesn't come across someone she knows. Can I ask you again what first made you think your wife was having an affair?"
"She changed. It's not easy for me to say but she became more demanding. It was almost like she'd been prepped."
"Why would this lead you to conclude she was having an affair?"
"I don't know. It was the first thought I had."
"There's nothing else?"
"Well she gets annoyed when the children go in her bag. Like there's something in there she wants to hide. She takes longer to get ready for work. She uses Chanel No. 5 when she goes to work and parents' evenings. She always used to keep that for special occasions. Do you need any more?"
"No it does seem conclusive."
He had told me much more than when I had asked the same question five weeks ago. Thing was I knew something was going on but I also knew sex was not involved yet.
"You need to get into the school. They must be doing something in there."
"I think that highly unlikely."
"Nevertheless I want you to get into the school."
"Fine. I'll contact you when I have something to report."
"Don't make me wait too long."
Once he'd gone I looked again at the other photographs I'd taken but not shown him. They were incriminating but he would have to wait. I wasn't ready to let him see them - yet.
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