Worried something might have happened to Amelia, I pulled on a pair of jeans and headed out.In the Masterton’s drive, a police car and an ambulance had their lights flashing; red and amber lighting the front garden turning blue blossoms black. At the bottom of their drive, a fire truck sat, with firemen patiently waiting. What had happened?Running up the drive, I was just in time to see medics wheel out a stretcher, Harold Masterton wearing an oxygen mask. Following close behind, Betty emerged from the front door looking flustered and worried in a rumpled dress.“What happened?” I asked.“It’s Harold. He’s gone and had a heart attack, the idiot,” Betty answered, her eyes turned to watch her husband being lifted into the ambulance.“Can I help? Can I do anything?” I asked.Betty looked at me with a vacant expression.“Do you want to go with Harold?” I asked. “I can keep an eye on Amelia.”“Oh, goodness! Amelia! I almost forgot about her.” She started looking around, her hands. . . what?’ Well, Meggie and I had planned toasted cheese sandwiches, but the Mistress had other ideas, and we wound up with crisp bacon, crumbled on the toasted cheese, which she instructed Meggie and Eloise to make as rare-bit, Worcester Sauce, stale beer, and all. Tasted pretty good, as a matter of fact. Whatever we did for the rest of the night, except go to bed and sleep soundly, I don’t remember, but the Mistress told me (‘for the record,’ as she put it) that it was a normal evening. Later, which I am permitted to tell you about, a great deal happened, very interesting things. v v v v v v The day after the Mistress arrived was a Saturday, and I usually ‘took Saturday off,’ that is, I did no writing that day. I had claimed that I needed to ‘rest my weary mind,’ and I pretended that I had done a week’s work every Saturday. Most Saturdays, too, Meggie and I made slow-evolving, eventually truly passionate love to each other, save those Saturdays when she was ‘hors de combat.’ This.
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