My Uncle Oswald(76)
“‘Take her away,’ gasped the King.
“‘Where to, sire?’
“‘Just get her out of here quick! Dump her in the street!’
“So I was frog-marched out of the palace and all I remember is I kept saying awful dirty things to the young soldiers and making all sorts of sexy suggestions and they were hooting with laughter . . .”
“So they dumped you?”
“In the street,” Yasmin said. “Outside the palace gates.”
“You’re damned lucky it wasn’t the King of Bulgaria or somewhere like that,” I said. “You’d have been thrown into a dungeon.”
“I know.”
“So they dumped you in the street outside the palace?”
“Yes. I was dazed. I sat on a bench under some trees trying to pull myself together. I had one great advantage, you see, Oswald, over all my victims. I knew what was wrong with me. I knew it was the Beetle that was doing it to me. It must be simply awful feeling the way I felt and not knowing why. I think that would scare me to death. So I was able to fight it. I remember sitting there and saying to myself, what you need, Yasmin old girl, what you need to straighten you out is a few good digs in the backside with the hatpin. That made me giggle. And after that, but very slowly, this ghastly sexy feeling began to go away and I got a hold of myself and I stood up and walked along the street to the hotel and here I am. I’m sorry I messed it up, Oswald, I really am. It’s the first time ever.”
“We’d better get out of here,” I said. “I don’t think these people would ever do anything nasty to us but the King is bound to start asking a few questions.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“I think he’s going to guess my letter was a forgery,” I said. “I bet anything you like he’s checking it out with George the Fifth right this very minute.”
“I’ll bet he is, too,” Yasmin said.
“Hurry up and pack then,” I said. “We’ll slide out of here at once and drive back across the border into Sweden. We’re going to get lost.”
25
WE GOT BACK HOME via Sweden and Denmark around the middle of April and we had with us the sperm of eight kings--fifty straws each from seven of them and twenty from old Peter of Serbia. It was a pity about Norway. It spoiled our record, although I didn’t feel it was going to make much difference in the long run.
“Now I want my holiday,” Yasmin said. “A good one. Aren’t we about finished anyway?”
“America’s next,” I said.
“There aren’t many there.”
“No, but we have to get them. We’ll go over in style on the Mauretania.”
“I want a holiday first,” Yasmin said. “You promised me. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had a nice long rest.”
“How long?”
“A month.”
We had driven straight to Cambridge after disembarking from the Danish boat at Harwich, and we were having a drink in the living-room at Dunroamin. A. R. Woresley came in rubbing his hands.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve done a great job with those kings.”
“Yasmin wants a month’s holiday,” I said. “But personally I think we ought to bash on and get America done first.”
A. R. Woresley, puffing his disgusting pipe, looked at Yasmin through the smoke and said, “I agree with Cornelius. Get the job done first, take a holiday later.”
“No,” Yasmin said.
“Why not?” Woresley said.
“Because I don’t want to, that’s why.”
“Well, I suppose it’s up to you,” Woresley said.
“You bet your life it’s up to me,” Yasmin said.
“Aren’t you having a good time?” I said.
“The fun’s wearing off,” she said. “In the beginning it was a lark. Terrific joke. But now all of a sudden I seem to have had enough.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’ve said it.”
“Hell.”
“What both of you seem to be forgetting,” she said, “is that every time we want the sperm of some bloody genius, I’m the one who has to go in and do the fighting. I’m the one who gets it in the neck.”
“Not in the neck,” I said.
“Stop trying to be funny, Oswald.” She sat there looking glum. A. R. Woresley said nothing.
“If you have a month’s holiday now,” I said, “will you come to America with me immediately after that?”
“Yes, all right.”
“You’re going to enjoy Rudolph Valentino.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “I think my romping days are over.”