Willie's War Ch. 09

He whirled round to see Mrs Whippet standing in a secluded corner. Her expression was not hostile, just neutral. She wore no make-up; her expression was permanently cross, lips drawn tight in a thin sarcastic line. The forceful woman was seemingly composed of wire and bone and had no difficulty indicating her suspicions with the merest ripple of an eyebrow when it suited her.

"Ja - yes, that's right. I'm allowed to talk in that way when I'm speaking to myself." he replied angrily, and stormed off to find solitude.

With Jeremy gone he knew only misery and felt like breaking into pieces. If only he hadn't succumbed so completely to the man. If only he had settled for a simple kiss in the wildwood and not gone the whole way with him maybe things wouldn't have felt so bad. But he had been putty in his hands and the man had known it. Oh yes he had known it alright, and now little Willie Froehlich was just another feather in his diplomat's cap.

He'd made such a mess of everything that he felt like getting drunk. When he was sure Mrs Whippet wasn't following him he went into the dining room and poured himself a large glass of port wine from the decanter that always stood on the sideboard. It was the strongest stuff he'd ever tasted up to that time, and without pausing to savour any of it he poured the entire amount down his throat in a single motion.

He licked his lips. The result of such a large measure produced an instant warm mood and an impulse to giggle girlishly, but five minutes later he felt terribly ill and had to choke it all back out down the toilet bowl.