'Quite,' said the General loudly, and wondered how long she was going to take. If she had to get out of the costume, she'd be gone for hours.
In fact she was back almost at once. 'Ever so handy having that hole down there,' she said, 'though if you ask me it could do with a bit of widening if he's to get the full benefit of the old oral, know what I mean?'
'I'm sure you'll manage somehow,' said Sir Cathcart, beginning to feel rather squeamish himself. 'Now, as I was saying, he's got this ambivalent attitude towards women and in particular-'
'Oh dear, he's one of those is he?' Myrtle interrupted. 'So many of them are these days, aren't they? I don't know what the world's coming to. I said to my hubby only the other day-'
'I daresay you did, but let's get this over with,' said the General irritably. 'The point I am trying to make is he's heavily into bondage and he may struggle a bit when he first sees you come in. Not that there'll be trouble. My man will be there to help.'
'Ooh, it's couples, is it? I didn't know it was going to be couples. Still, makes a change, I always say.'
'I'm sure you do. But as a matter of fact it's only one couple. You and this young man. Now once you've got him starkers you may find he's got an arousal problem. In fact seeing you dressed up like that he's almost certain to-'
'That's not a very nice thing to tell a girl, I must say,' said Myrtle. 'I may not be as young as I once was but-'
'Not that,' the General said hurriedly. 'Because he'll think you're black. I've told you he's a South African and he's got a problem about women who are black. Which of course is why we're going to all this trouble for the poor fellow. And that, Myrtle dear, is why you're just the right person for him, the mature and beautiful woman with experience who can alter his sexual outlook quite dramatically.'
Myrtle Ransby preened herself. 'That's different of course. I always did want to be an actress,' she said. 'You know, like Barbara Windsor. Ever so sophisticay.'
Sir Cathcart glanced once again at her curious proportions and doubted the comparison. Hattie Jacques. With bits of her into anorexia nervosa.
'Well, now is your opportunity. At first you will pleasure him as a black woman and of course he may struggle a bit as a result of his phobic reaction. But then you will slowly reveal yourself in all your radiant beauty as the lovely white woman you are.'
'You mean I've got a chance to do a bit of the old striptease? Ooh, I do like that. You undress ever so slowly like, and do a bit of a dance in between.' She stopped and looked puzzled. 'Will he have a gag in his mouth? Bondage freaks usually do.'
'Of course,' said the General. 'I should have mentioned that before. Why, what's the problem?'
'Well, I don't see how he's going to give me the old cough medicine with a gag in his mouth.'
'That is a bit of a problem, come to think of it, but I'm sure you'll find a way round it somehow. You know, improvise. After all he's got a nose and things. That's when you are a black woman. When you've revealed yourself as a white one, you can dispense with the gag. He's bound to give you all the pleasure he can in that area then. And one other thing. You'll be wearing this little earpiece under the hood. It's got a tiny radio in it and I'll tell you what I want you to do and things like that. They use them all the time on film sets and TV, you know. Well, I think that's about all. You can get out of the latex togs and back into those lamé trousers of yours. Very fetching, I must say.'
Myrtle Ransby disappeared behind the screen and took a great deal longer getting out of the costume than she had getting in. But at least Sir Cathcart didn't have to use his finger again. Instead he gave some thought to the need for discretion. Not being acquainted with Dr Osbert he couldn't be at all sure how he would feel about being tied to a bed in a strange house and subjected to the sexual favours Myrtle was going to offer him so fulsomely. In the long run, when he had seen the video, it would be different, but all the same it was best to be on the safe side. 'By the way, I think you had better have a stage name,' he said. 'I mean, if he knew your real name was Myrtle Ransby, he might start making a pest of himself by falling in love and all that sort of thing.'
There was a giggle behind the screen. 'Ooh, you are silly, Sir Cathcart. You don't think my real name is Myrtle Ransby, do you? Course it isn't. Like the Yanks used to say, I only use it for special assignments. My hubby wouldn't like it if I went around saying who I really am. He's got a very good job with British Telecom.'
'Oh well, that's all right,' said the General. And how many children did you say you had?'
'Didn't say any,' said Myrtle, still involved in a battle with the costume. 'Though actually it's nine not counting the miscarriages.'
'Ah,' said Sir Cathcart who had suspected she was the mother of a very large family. All the same, there was something still troubling him. If she was shrewd enough to use a false name for special assignments and had nine children to cater for plus a husband in British Telecom, she was also shrewd enough to have found out who he was. It suddenly dawned on him that she had been calling him 'General' and 'Sir Cathcart.' With the thought that the wretched woman was in a position to blackmail him, the General decided to take precautions.
'If you don't mind, my dear,' he said when she reappeared in her gold lamé trousers, crimson see-through top and leopardskin coat, 'I just want to check up on a partner of mine. We've got a little enterprise going and I'd like you to make his acquaintance. He's an interesting fellow with rather special expertise and I'm sure he'd like to see you looking so lovely.'
They went out to the garage at the back and drove out to Coft Castle.
'Ooh, ever so posh,' said Myrtle appreciatively. Sir Cathcart drove past the sign to Cathcart's Catfood Canning Factory and they got out.
'In here, my dear,' said the General and ushered Myrtle into the abattoir where Kudzuvine was skinning an ancient stallion which he had only recently dispatched.
'Kentucky Fry, I want you to meet Miss Myrtle…' the General began, but the message of the horrible scene and of Kudzuvine's bloodstained knife and hands had not been lost on Myrtle Ransby. 'You needn't worry about me, Bishop,' she whimpered when she had been helped out of the shed. 'I ain't going to say nothing to nobody. Swear to God I won't.'
Sir Cathcart beamed at her. 'Of course you won't, my dear,' he said. And no doubt you'd like to be paid in advance.'
Myrtle brightened slightly. This was the sort of gentleman she appreciated.
'Half now and half afterwards suit you?'
'Oh yes. Ever so generous of you,' she said and was surprised when the General took out a bundle of large-denomination notes and tore them in half.
'You need have no fear. The banks accept torn notes with no trouble at all. You simply tape them together,' he explained and gave one half to her.
'Yes, Bishop, anything you say. And I ain't going to say a word to anyone.'
'Then I'll call you when our young friend is ready,' said the General. Myrtle Ransby got into the car and was driven away.
Sir Cathcart's next move was to consult his secretary, a blonde from Las Vegas who was just crazy about generals and horses and not being anywhere near certain guys in Nevada. 'Now, my dear,' he said, 'what have you been able to find out about Dr Osbert? Did you phone the Porter's Lodge like I told you?'
'Gee, General, the guys there say he's a loner and a weirdo. You know what he's into? You're not going to believe this.'
'Tell me, my dear,' said Sir Cathcart, helping himself to a large Scotch to rid himself of the memory of Myrtle Ransby bulging in black latex. The gold lamé and the leopardskin hadn't been too pleasant either. 'What is he into?'
'Like penises.'
'Like penises, dear? Are you sure?'
'That's what they said. I mean it's something different, I guess.'
'You can say that again,' said the General and took a large swig of whisky. A man who could elicit letters from Mrs Ndhlovo in which she recommended masturbatory techniques involving avocado pears, and who was also heavily into penises, combined so many sexual inclinations he might even find Myrtle Ransby's elderly and over-ripe eroticism attractive. Weirdo was definitely an understatement. 'What exactly did they say?' he asked. And first of all they didn't know who you were, did they?'