The Night Watch

I had known Maxim for about ten years. I first met him when we were working on the restructure of Bartley Brothers. Bartley Brothers had far too many 'managers'. We needed a suitably-qualified someone to help us sort the wheat from the chaff. And then we needed someone, preferably the same someone, to gently persuade the chaff that they might be happier working elsewhere.

Michael Moon had been going to help us. But then Michael had a bad accident. He was taking part in a fox hunt and his horse (or perhaps Michael himself) misjudged a gate, and Michael found himself being dumped, unceremoniously, on top of a dry stone wall. The doctors told him that he was going to be out of commission for at least three months, and possibly longer.

'Unfortunately, we can't wait that long,' I told him. 'Perhaps you can suggest someone else?'

Michael gave me the name of a chap at the Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development. 'He won't be able to take the gig himself. He works fulltime for the institute. But he can certainly recommend someone.'

The someone whom the chap at the institute recommended was Maxim. I remember when he came into the office for an initial chat. If you had told me that he was really a bishop, I think that I would probably have believed you. In fact, put him in a frock and I think that I would probably have been addressing him as 'Your Grace'.

The interesting thing about that first meeting -- and something that I didn't realise until later -- was that I ended up doing ninety percent of the talking. Maxim mainly just smiled and nodded and made little prayer-like gestures with his hands.

'This is going to take some very careful handling,' Maxim said, nodding, ever so slightly, as I eventually finished outlining the situation and what we hoped to achieve. 'But don't worry. You have come to the right chap.' And then Maxim suggested that we should go and 'consummate' our new relationship over a bite of lunch. 'The School Room is just around the corner,' he said.

I knew of The School Room. But I had never dined there. 'Perhaps I could ask Catherine to slip out to Pret a Manger for some sandwiches,' I suggested, glancing at my watch.

Maxim laughed, a little nervously. And then he shook his head. 'It's a well-known fact that it's so much more difficult to take in new information on an empty stomach,' he said.

The School Room might just as well have been a real school room. The floors were bare timber, the chairs were unupholstered, and the food was every bit as bad as I remembered real school food having been. Maxim seemed to love it.

Despite Maxim's rather dubious taste in luncheon fare, he did do a rather good job of sorting out who was what among Bartley Brothers' bloated management ranks. Eleven was reduced to four, and only one of those whose position was made redundant threatened to sue. From bitter experience, I knew that that was indeed 'a result'.

'I'm... umm... going to have to take a few days off,' Maxim said, hesitantly, when, having set the all-new Bartley Brothers in motion, we were enjoying a celebratory single malt.

'Oh?' I said. And then I immediately wished that I hadn't.

'Yes,' Maxim said. 'Matrimonial business. A bit of a misunderstanding. It has turned rather messy. I... umm... I had an away match. I thought that we were playing in front of an empty stadium. But some of the details of the match somehow leaked out and made the headlines. I'm afraid the lady of the house has not taken the news at all well.'

I couldn't help but laugh.

'To make matters worse,' Maxim said, 'the game itself was a bit of a fizzer. I probably should have just retired to my room for a bit of a wank. You know where you are with Mistress Palmer and her five daughters.'

Over the next three years, Maxim worked with us on another half a dozen or so engagements. He also got divorced and remarried. 'A small advance on fees would not be unappreciated,' he said at one stage. 'Changing hussies in midstream is not without its costs. Jane seems to think that I should pay for Pamela's schooling.' (Jane was Maxim's former wife. Pamela was their daughter.) 'I have pointed out that Pamela was a joint creation, but Jane does not seem to be interested in discussing the logical implications of that small matter.'

The hangover from Maxim's first marriage may or may not have had a part to play in the relatively swift disintegration of his second marriage. When I expressed my condolences, Maxim simply shrugged his shoulders and said that 'God moves in mysterious ways. I expect another adventure awaits.'

Maxim held a BA, an MSc, and an MBA. He was also a Chartered Fellow of the Institute. Purely on a horsepower-per-braincell basis, he may have been the brightest person that I knew. And yet he had a strong belief in an all-seeing old man in the sky, an old man who not only created the Earth, but also controlled the minute-by-minute thoughts and actions of each of the Earth's inhabitants.

'Another adventure?' I said.

'Yes. I suspect her name might be Maria.'

'Oh? And what leads you to believe this?'

'She was wearing a badge,' Maxim said.

'A badge?'

'On her left breast. One of a pair. Her breast, not the badge. She came to me in a vision.'

'A dream?'

'I prefer to think of it as a vision,' Maxim said. 'The full William Blake experience.'

I laughed. 'You know... some days, I think that you should have become a priest,' I said.

'Oh, I was,' Maxim told me. 'In fact, I still am. I wasn't defrocked or anything. The bishop just felt that my, umm, interest in the fairer sex might hamper any meaningful rise within the C of E ranks. He thought that I could perhaps make more of a contribution to society in a secular role.'

It certainly helped to explain a few things.

The funny thing is, Maxim did meet Maria. And she was wearing a name badge on her left breast.

We had taken a train up to York to conduct a review of a business on behalf of a possible purchaser. Maxim and I were checking in to our hotel, and Maria was one of the two women on the front desk. Maxim almost turned into a puppy on the spot.

'I think that she might be the one,' Maxim said to me later, as we laid the day's dust with a pint of John Smith's.

'The one?'

'The angel at the reception desk.'

'You've lost me,' I said.

'The woman who gave us our key cards. At the hotel. The dark haired one. Her name was Maria. She was wearing the badge. On her breast.'

'I suspect that there are many such women wearing many such badges,' I told him. 'And not just here in York.' But Maxim was sure that the Maria on the reception desk was the Maria of his vision.

I had to hand it to Maxim. We were only in York for two nights, and yet he somehow managed to get Maria into his bed on at least one occasion. 'It just feels right,' he told me.

'I think most sex feels right when you haven't had it for a while,' I told him.

'Yes. But even allowing for that,' he said.

Somehow, Maxim persuaded Maria to move down to London. Goodness knows how he juggled the pennies. But that was his business. And then he invited Jennifer and me to have supper with them. 'Jennifer's blessing might be... well... a bit of a blessing,' he said. 'I may have rushed things a bit with Wife Number Two.'

'Blessing?'

'Well... her opinion, anyway.'

'I'm not sure that my opinion is going to make a jot of difference,' Jennifer said when I told her. 'I don't think Maxim's cock listens to any opinions other than its own.'

'We can humour him,' I suggested.

'You've met her,' Jennifer said. 'What do you think?'

'She's very attractive,' I said. 'Very well preserved. But I find it difficult to spend more that about three minutes in her company without the word bimbo popping into my mind. Of course, I could be wrong.'

Jennifer smiled.

The four of us met for supper at Scrivano's. Jennifer was on her best behaviour. Even when Maria expressed her surprise at an Italian restaurant with no pizza on the menu.

'Roast lamb,' Maria said. 'Normal English vegetables. Bits of bread in the soup. It's all proper food, isn't it?'

'The Tuscans would certainly agree with you,' Jennifer said.

'The Tuscans? Who are the Tuscans?'

'The people of Tuscany. Il Toscani.'

'Oh? So this isn't an Italian restaurant then?'

Maxim gently steered the conversation towards other matters.

'So... what did you make of Maria?' I asked Jennifer later.

'She's sweet. If Maxim were ever to go back to vicaring, she might make a perfect vicar's wife.'

'And if he doesn't go back to vicaring?'

'I don't think that anything I say is going to make any difference to anything,' Jennifer said. 'He's going to marry her. He's going to fulfil his William Blake vision.'

And marry her, Maxim did. He even prevailed upon me to be his Best Man. And things did seem to work out for the couple. They even had a bit of unexpected luck. A childless aunt of Maria's died and left her entire estate to her newly-married niece. Maria's aunt's solicitor -- who was vaguely aware of Maxim's situation and reputation -- suggested that Maria should not be in too much of a hurry to contribute her new-found wealth to the matrimonial pot.

'What do you think?' Maria asked Jennifer.

'I would say that that is probably good advice,' Jennifer told her. 'But perhaps you should get your own solicitor.'

A few days later, Maria asked Jennifer if she could become her legal advisor. Jennifer said that while she could, she was really a property law specialist. She did, however, help Maria to find a suitable family law specialist.

'Maria has hired a lawyer,' a rather worried looking Maxim told me. 'To help her navigate her aunt's estate.'

'Sounds sensible,' I said.

'Oh?'

'You don't want either of your former wives dropping by for a slice of the cake, do you?'

'Oh. Yes. Good point,' Maxim said. 'I hadn't thought of that.'

And then, 18 months or so after they had married, Maxim and Maria invited Jennifer and me to go and have supper with them at their new place in Windsor. 'Cooking is not Maria's long suit,' Maxim said. 'But I expect that she will get something in from Tesco or M&S. And I can promise you a decent glass of wine.'

'Maxim and Maria have invited us to go and take supper with them,' I told Jennifer. 'Out at Windsor. I suspect that they want to show off their new gaff. I said that I would need to check with you.'

'That might be fun,' Jennifer said.

And so, ten days or so later, Jennifer and I were pressing the doorbell at Maxim and Maria's new flat. The flat (which, for technical reasons, was in Maria's name) was a new build tucked in behind a façade that must have been almost as old as The Castle itself. And it was very nice. Maxim proudly took us on a grand tour.

'Kitchen-diner-cum-family room. Sitting room. Bathroom. Second bedroom -- although, as you can see, we have it set up as a study. And, of course, the saddling paddock: the master bedroom.' Maxim seemed especially proud of the master bedroom.

'Right,' Maxim said, having completed the grand tour, 'time for a little libation. We have all the usual suspects. Plus... we have a suitably-chilled celebratory bottle of The Widow's bubbles.' And, more or less without waiting for further comment, he poured four flutes of Veuve Clicquot. Neither Jennifer nor I were going to say a word against The Widow.

'Welcome,' Maxim said, raising his glass high. 'And here's to what should be a satisfying evening all round.' And he smiled. A little nervously, I thought. But then, with Maxim, it could be hard to tell.

We sipped our Champagne; Maria served canapes (I suspect they were straight from a local deli); and we slipped into easy conversation, carefully sticking to topics not too taxing. And then there was a lull in the conversation and Maxim cleared his throat as though he was about to make a speech.

'We,' he said, 'that is to say Maria and I, wondered if, perhaps, you two would like to watch us. You and Jennifer.'

'Me and Jennifer?'

'Yes. We wondered if you would like to watch us. Maria and me.'

'Watch you? Why? What are you planning to do? A song and dance? Or are you planning to saw the lady in half?'

Maxim laughed. Again, nervously. 'Well... not exactly,' he said. 'Although I have often wondered how that particular illusion is perpetrated. There was a chap in Brussels.... It was Brussels, wasn't it?' he said, turning to Maria.

Maria nodded.

'This chap... he just invited a random woman up from the audience. Put her into a coffin-like thing; sawed her in half; walked right between the two halves; and then put her back together again. Just like that. Quite... umm... quite extraordinary. Yes. But no. We wondered if perhaps you like to watch us... well... watch us doing it.'

'Doing what?' I said.

'The whole thing.'

'The whole thing?'

'Yes. Soup to nuts, as it were.'

'The whole what thing?'

Maxim frowned. 'The whole thing,' he said. 'You know. Starting with a bit of foreplay, and then following it through to actually doing it.'

'Foreplay?'

'Yes. And then through to... well... actual intercourse. Tab A into slot B.'

'Intercourse? You and Maria?'

'Maria and me. We had a couple watch us on Zoom. But that wasn't really... well, let's just say that it didn't feel very satisfactory. It wasn't as exciting or as stimulating as we had hoped that it would be. It was a bit distant.'

'Zoom?'

'Yes. Computer. You know. We found the couple, met the couple, through a website. They seemed very nice. And I think they probably were. But it was all a bit unreal. We thought that having someone actually in the room would be much more... well... much more exciting.'

And then, before I had a chance to really say anything, Jennifer said: 'Yeah. We'll watch you, won't we, Gerry? Why not?'

'Oh, excellent,' Maxim said. 'Excellent. We'll have supper first. And then we'll do it afterwards.' And, with that out of the way, Maxim suddenly seemed a bit more relaxed. 'Maria enlisted Messrs Marks and Spencer as her sous chefs for this evening's repast,' he said. 'They are normally pretty reliable. Now... let me top up the wine glasses.'

Messrs Marks and Spencer lived up to their reputation for reliability and, as the centrepiece of supper, we enjoyed a gastropub-style fish pie with chunks of cod and salmon, and prawns, and mash with a hint of tangy cheese. The fish pie was accompanied by garden peas, and tender-stem broccoli with more cheese. Jennifer and I are both partial to a bit of cheese, so double rations was not really a problem.

'I thought that we could save pudding until later,' Maxim said when we had all had our fill of fish pie. And he smiled and refilled our wine glasses (we had, by then, switched to Pinot Grigio), and then he led the way to 'the saddling paddock'.

Apart from the queen-sized bed and various chest of drawers, the room contained an elegant two-seater sofa. I suspect that it was a reproduction piece, but it was very nice, nevertheless.

'I'm thinking that you two should make yourselves at home on the sofa,' Maxim said. 'Please feel free to remove any items of clothing that you may feel inclined to remove. Surplus to requirements, as it were.'

'For the moment, I think I'm fine as I am,' Jennifer told him.

'Oh? Well... yes. Up to you,' Maxim said. And he smiled and nodded and, for a moment or two, stood there as though he was waiting for Jennifer to change her mind. But Jennifer didn't change her mind, and Jennifer and I took our places, and Maxim turned his attention to Maria.

I think that I had been expecting Maxim and Maria to retire to the other side of the room. But, no, they 'engaged' right there in front of us, standing between us and the bed.

Maxim began by taking Maria in his arms and 'nuzzling' her neck. Kissing her neck. And then nuzzling her earlobes. Then he briefly returned his attention to her elegant neck before engaging in full mouth-to-mouth. Slowly, Maria's stockinged left foot rose from the carpeted floor.

And then, as if in response to some silent cue, they disengaged and Maria turned to give Maxim unfettered access to the mechanical componentry at the back of her dress. A catch was un-caught; a zipper was unzipped; and the dress was gently lowered to the floor. Beneath the dress, Maria was wearing an elegant full slip.

Maria turned back to face Maxim. They kissed again, and Maxim reached down and slipped a hand under the hem of Maria's slip. Maria shuffled her feet slightly, and Maxim smiled. In fact they both smiled. I glanced at Jennifer, and she too had a little smile. So far, so good, it seemed.

Maxim's next move was to crouch down slightly, slip his other hand up under Maria's slip, and, discreetly, lower her knickers. I say discreetly, because all of the 'naughty' bits were, at that stage, still taking place behind the veil of Maria's slip (if that's not a wardrobe mashup too far). When Maria's knickers reached the floor, she stepped out of them, and Maxim picked them up and tossed them our way. I could see that that was not something that would have worked at all well via Zoom. But Jennifer and I weren't watching via Zoom.

'Pretty,' Jennifer said, after she had reached out and caught the flying knickers with all the nonchalance of a well-practiced slip fielder.

'We'll have to promote you to the first eleven,' I told her.

Meanwhile, Maxim's 'missing hand' continued to do something under the cover of Maria's sexy slip. Judging by Maria's sighs, and occasional giggles, it was something that she found exceedingly arousing.

And then Maxim removed Maria's slip. Maria was now standing there wearing just a balconette-style bra, stockings and high heeled shoes. Maxim turned her around so that she was facing us. I have to say that, for a woman of her age, she was very attractive. Very attractive indeed. I particularly liked her rather profuse patch of dark pubic hair.

I should probably mention that, while Maria was shedding her garments -- or at least having them lovingly removed -- Maxim remained fully dressed. And I do mean fully dressed. He had not, at that stage, even removed his navy blue blazer, resplendent with its red and gold pocket silk that looked vaguely reminiscent of the Spanish national flag.

But the time eventually came. Maxim began by removing his blazer and then hanging it on the carefully-contoured coat hanger that formed part of the trouser press standing in one corner of the room. His shoes were next to go. And then his socks. Maxim placed his shoes, together, neatly, at the foot of the trouser press. His socks he folded, and then he slipped them neatly into one of the shoes.

And then it was time to divest himself of his trousers which, of course, he carefully placed in the trouser press. His shirt presented a bit of a problem. What was he going to do with his shirt? After some hesitation, he took a coat hanger from the wardrobe; draped the shirt over the coat hanger; and hung the hanger from a small brass hook on the back of the bedroom door.

Maxim's boxer shorts were bedecked with cartoon elephants. I must say that it did not surprise me one little bit. A casual observer might have assumed that Maxim had been given the boxer shorts as a jokey gift. But, knowing him as I did, I was pretty sure that he would have purchased them himself. The problem of what to do with his shorts -- once he had removed them -- was solved when he tossed them to Jennifer for safekeeping.

'We have wood!' Maxim proudly proclaimed, as he waved his semi-erect cock in our direction. 'Sadly, these things are no longer guaranteed,' he said. 'But your presence would seem to be doing the trick. For that, I thank you most sincerely. Now... to put the old chap to work before he forgets what he is here for.' And Maxim eased Maria back onto the bed; spread her thighs wide; and positioned the tip of his cock at the entrance to her fur-fringed cunt.