‘And you’ve just killed off any chance of my ever gaining Bacchus’s confidence, sir,’ she murmured.
‘No harm done. That was dead in the water anyway. You’re never going to be soulmates. In any case, I doubt the chap has a soul.’
‘Poor Bacchus! No mother and now no soul? I can begin to feel sorry for him.’
‘Waste of time. I’ll try to keep you off his back. Best I can offer.’
He watched as the girl shrugged and conceded a bleak smile. He thought he’d try for a warmer one. He’d been a bit hard on her, perhaps. ‘And now … reward for a jolly good morning’s work! I’m going to say a few words that may produce a reaction. Are you ready?’ He gave her the benefit of his most seductive tone. ‘What about roast beef … Yorkshire pudding … horseradish sauce … apple charlotte …’
He sat back, alarmed, as the girl went off like a pistol, jumping to her feet and laughing. ‘Gawd, sir! You know how to make a girl wet her knickers! … Oh, Lord! Oh!’
Her face turned crimson at her indiscretion. She put a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with horror, burbled something and started for the door.
Joe leapt up, dashed over and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Steady on! Don’t bolt! I’m not insulted. I’ve heard worse in the trenches.’
‘Sorry, sir. It’s just a common saying … where I come from it means nothing, not a …’
‘Shh. Don’t go and spoil it. I’ve never had a compliment of the kind before. I’m rather relishing it. The nearest I’ve come to such a pinnacle of approval is from Amalthea Jameson who declared once, in a fit of heightened emotion — occasioned by a bunch of violets, I remember — that I certainly knew how to make a lady’s heart flutter. I think I prefer the earthier tribute! But look — before you lose complete control of your tongue and any other dicky bits of your anatomy, why don’t we get someone to drive us to Simpson’s-in-the-Strand? Lunch goes on there until supper time. And their gravy is wonderful. They make it with red wine, you know.’