The Time Machine of Thorrocks Manor - 10

“OBITS. Yes ... no ... no ... yes ... no ... no, you’re not important. No. Go away. ... Well, just walk away from the telephone. ... What do you mean you can’t go away until I go away? ... It’s simple, just go away. ... What do you mean you can’t get off the line until I get off the line? ... I’m not on the line. I am at the end of the line. ... What are you doing on the line? ... Oh really, people, Mith Srockmorton!!”
“Now, Mithter Thithlethwaite, now that you have a bakelite ear configurant horn thpeaker looped around each of your ears, thith seemth as good a time as any to raise again the matter of your rudenethth. You thee, that again was an ekthample of how unpleasant you can be.”
“Was it? I was just following the current company motto.”
“What is that, Mithter Thithlethwaite?”
“More for less. That person currently attached to my right ear got more for less – more management for less time. Thimple, Mith Srockmorton.”
“Well, that is good that you are finally managing to thay my name. Thank you, Mithter Thithlethwaite.”
“Pleasure. It is quite an effort as well.”
“Good, Mithter Thithlethwaite. But, you thee, in being polite and charming to people, you do not need to be nithe inthide, you can be as horrible and evil and dathtardly as you like, you thee.”
“Oh I thee! So, I can be absolutely horrible on the inside but just have to not show it, Mith Srockmorton.”
“Ekzactly. It’th really not that hard.”
“Hmm, okay, so let me practise this a little. Let me see. Ah yes, are you any relative of Bess Throckmorton, lady in waiting and wife of Sir Walter Raleigh?”
“Yeth, she was a thcion of my family. She was indeed lady in waiting to Queen Elizabeth the firtht.”
“A thcion? That sounds painful. Ah, a scion, I see. What is a scion, Miss Forkmansion?”
“I will ignore that. I’m not really sure what it is, but that’th jutht what I was told.”
“But wasn’t she the person who kept Sir Walter’s head in her portmanteau after he was beheaded for a while – quite a while.”
“Yeth – but we don’t dithcuthth that within the family. Remember – politenethth, Mitheter Thithlethwaite. ... Now, the final item on my agenda is the matter of your afternoon rest period.”
“Oh yes?”
“Yeth. You have a habit of putting your feet up on your dethk and thtaring out of the whindow, and thmoking a large thigar, and taking thipth of what ... what lookth like crabolic aithid ... while thtroking the cranium of that thcary thkull resting on the thurfathe of your dethk.”
“Well, we do work in Obits, Mith Srockmorton. I would have thought also that the skull would make you feel quite at home, given the family trait.”
“Oh really, Mithter Thithlethwaite, you are really a motht uncooperative man.”
“Sorry, dear lady.”
“No, that’th patronising.”
“Right. ... You know, I was thinking just now about that voice of the person that I spoke to earlier at Pontiff Villas.”
“Who?”
“The foriegn lady – words all at once - ... I’m sure I’ve heard that voice before, but I can’t for the life of me place where. What was her name now?”
“Miss Vu, Mithter Fizzletwit?”
“No, that wasn’t it! I think it was Miss Woo.”
“Miss who, Mithter Fitththiletwat?”
“Miss Woo. Miss Geisha Woo.”