Corduroy Mansions

86. Terence and Berthea

‘It’s entirely unsuitable,’ said Berthea Snark. ‘You told me that you were buying a Peugeot. Now look what you’ve gone and done. You’ve bought a Porsche. What am I to think, Terence? Honestly, you tell me - what am I to think?’

It was Tuesday morning, and Berthea was at breakfast in the garden room of her brother’s Queen Anne house on the edge of Cheltenham. It was a fine morning and the sun was streaming through the large glass windows, making brilliant the white tablecloth, glinting off the cutlery laid at each end of the breakfast table. It was a day that made Berthea glad that she had postponed her return to London and still had two weeks to spend in the bucolic surroundings of Cheltenham, even if looking after Terence was proving to be a frustrating experience. One does not expect one’s brother to have a near-death experience when one goes to spend a few days with him; nor does one expect him to buy a totally unsuitable Porsche, when up to that point he has been perfectly content to drive a Morris Traveller.

Terence, who was cutting the top off his boiled egg, seemed unconcerned. ‘It’s a lovely little car,’ he said. ‘It used to belong to Monty Bismarck. So I know it’s been well looked after.’

Berthea made a face: Monty Bismarck sounded a completely unsuitable man from whom to buy a car. ‘And who exactly is this Monty Bismarck? You’ve mentioned him before,’ she said.

‘Monty is Alfie Bismarck’s son,’ he explained. ‘Alfie has racehorses. A terribly nice man. He’s offered me a share in a racehorse on several occasions but I’ve never taken him up on it. Maybe I shall sometime in the future.’

Berthea sighed. ‘I don’t think so, Terence. But tell me - why did you want a car like that? Is it a . . .’ She hesitated. Terence was sensitive to criticism from her, but there were some questions that just demanded to be asked. ‘Is it a potency issue?’

Terence looked at her in puzzlement. ‘I really don’t see what a car has to do with potency, of all things. What a funny thing to say, Berthy! You really are a silly-billy!’

Berthea busied herself with the buttering of a piece of toast. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘don’t say that I didn’t warn you. I’ve had so many middle-aged male patients for whom the purchase of a car has been the first sign of something going awry. It’s the new car first and then it’s infidelity. New car, new girlfriend. It’s all so predictable.’

Terence sighed. ‘But I don’t have anybody to be unfaithful to, Berthy. You know that.’

Berthea’s hand was poised above the toast. Terence was not one for self-pity, and the absence of that unattractive quality made the words he had just uttered all the more poignant. Berthea looked at her brother and reflected on how we allow loneliness in others to escape our attention. The lonely are often brave, putting on the pretence of being content in their condition but all the time wanting the company of another. Was that how it was for Terence? Did he sit by himself in this morning room, contemplating empty days in which there would be nobody to speak to? Did he yearn for telephone calls that he knew would never come? She realised that his telephone never rang - indeed she had had no idea where it was until she had been obliged to look for it quickly when he had had his near-death experience. Poor Terence! And here she was sniping at him over his one little extravagance, the one bit of excitement in his life, this new Porsche of his. It was like laughing at a little boy’s new bicycle, like saying that it was too red, or too small, or that the girls would laugh at him as he rode it. It was every bit as mean as that.

Berthea put down her knife. ‘Actually, Terence, I’m having second thoughts. Maybe it is just the car for you. It must be lovely and fast.’

Terence responded immediately. ‘Oh it is, Berthy - it really is. Do you know, when I went for the test drive yesterday, Mr Marchbanks and I did over forty-five miles an hour! You just touch the accelerator and zoom! Before you know it you’re doing forty and above.’

Berthea tried to appear impressed. ‘And I bet it’s got a radio and CD player,’ she said. ‘Surround-sound, I should think.’ Berthea actually did not know what surround-sound was, but she did know that it was highly sought after and was just the thing for a Porsche.

Terence looked blank. ‘Is there a radio? I’m not sure. And as for a gramophone, I expect it has one but I haven’t found it yet. We’ll have plenty of time to read the manual and see how to work everything. Plenty of time.’

His own mention of time made him look at his watch. He was due at sacred dance in twenty minutes and, even if he was driving there in his Porsche, he would have to leave in ten minutes or thereabouts.

‘Sacred dance calls,’ he said. ‘Are you going to come?’

At first, Berthea’s response was to feel reluctant. She did not relish the thought of mixing with Terence’s peculiar friends - and they would be peculiar, because his friends had always been peculiar - but at the same time she felt that she owed it to her brother to go. She had pledged that she would. I must not be selfish, she told herself. I must be more supportive of poor Terence, Porsche and all.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll come along. But what should I wear?’

‘Something loose,’ said Terence. ‘I wear a tracksuit. But if you don’t have that, choose clothes that you can dance in. Nothing too tight.’

Berthea remembered something. ‘Last time I was staying with you,’ she said, ‘I left a tennis dress in the wardrobe. Do you think it will still be there?’

‘I’m sure that it will be,’ said Terence. ‘And it would be ideal. We encourage white. My anorak, as you will see, is entirely white. So your tennis dress will be perfect. And I can lend you some white socks - I have plenty of those.’

They went off to their respective rooms to get changed, and a short time afterwards met in the hall.

‘There we are,’ said Terence. ‘Both of us quite white! The Beings of Light love white because that is the colour of their auras.’

Berthea said that she was sure that they did. And would the Beings of Light be in attendance on this particular morning?

‘Of course they will,’ said Terence. ‘They are always there, even if they are on a different plane. We can reach their plane by opening ourselves mentally to their thought-realm. That can be done through sacred dance.’

‘I look forward to it,’ said Berthea.

She wanted to ask how long it would take but felt it would be tactless. Terence’s functions always seemed to go on far too long, and she was sure that sacred dance would be no exception. She did not ask. She would be positive about this. Think positively, she whispered under her breath.

‘What was that?’ asked Terence. ‘Did you say something, Berthy?’

‘I said I’m positively looking forward to this, Terence.’

He beamed. ‘I’m so happy, Berthy. And did I tell you? The BBC people are coming to make a programme about us. They’ll be there at the dance, filming. So just think - your friends might see you! What fun!’