Walter

Walter

Walter had always had an inferiority complex. He knew exactly where it
stemmed from, but did not like to pin it down. Walter had more
important things on his mind. On seeing Walter for the first time, one
might have been forgiven for thinking that he was quite strapped for
cash. One would have been wrong, for Walter was not deficient in
money.
He was of average build, quite thin, tall with dark, straight hair.
Walter's clothes were never new. He wore a discoloured, white cotton
shirt, and an ill-fitting blue blazer, which might have suited him some
twenty years earlier. His plus fours were creased and scruffy looking,
and as for his shoes, they presented the possibility that a mutt had
chewed them up.
This dishevelled man had known better days. In an earlier incarnation,
Walter had been a managing director of a small independent distillery
in the South West of England. In addition, he had inherited a sizeable
sum of money when his father had died. He really had no need to dress
in a slovenly fashion It was simply a matter of choice?
Perhaps, in his late middle age, he was rebelling. Walter was quite
prepared to give society a glorious, two-fingered salute. Some might
have believed Walter to have an undiagnosed mental health problem. But
he was as sane a man as one could hope to find. He simply used a
different yardstick by which to measure his work than other people
might have agreed to. Walter had his own agenda.
It was said that he had once been married to a farmer's daughter, but
she had walked out on him claiming he was hard to live with. After his
divorce, Walter had remained single. "I don't need anyone", he was fond
of telling Mr Martin, who was a cousin. Mr Martin visited Walter
because he was an elderly relative and out of duty, although he
suspected that his cousin was hoping that he would include him in his
will. However, Walter had no such intention.
Walter did not care for people much because he had long ago decided
that they could not be trusted. He sometimes toyed with the idea of
retreating to a cave in the backwoods of Cornwall, and becoming a
hermit. Although Walter enjoyed steak and roast potatoes, he imagined
that he could adapt to living off the land, and surely there was
sufficient vegetation in the coastal areas to sustain him.
Walter could find only one fault with his fantasy. This was that he
feared that he would be presumed dead and his money, which he was
allowing to accumulated in a reputable bank would somehow, in the
absence of a will, be taken from him and go straight to the exchequer
in death duties. This he would not allow. He wished he could find a way
of taking the money with him but this, too, was only a fantasy.
Walter strongly believed there had to be something more to human
existence. He had read books on the principle of Buddhism. He always
felt that if ever he lived again, he would be a mantra on the lips of
some Buddhist priest.
He wondered how different his life might have been if he had the
benefit of hindsight, but then hindsight only came with experience.
Walter dared to believe that one day he would somehow 'crack' the
enigma that was his life.
Experience told him that the unexpected often happened. Although
Walter harboured a great well of resentment over the way his life had
turned out, he was nonetheless secretly optimistic that things would
improve.
There was one aspect of himself he especially liked and highly valued.
It was, he had long ago decided, a saving grace. Walter believed
himself to be a good gambler. For as long as he had possessed the means
to do so, Walter would play the stock market. He had a large number of
shares in blue chip companies, and a not inconsiderable sum of
potentially lucrative, but risky investments worldwide.
Walter had amassed a sizeable fortune through a series of judicious
investments. He enjoyed the process of building his wealth as much, if
not more, than the pleasure he gained from actually spending it. Now
and again, he examined his morals, but always concluded that he was
satisfied with the state of his conscience.
Walter credited his flirtation with the stock market as the reason his
wife had walked out on him. However, he had no regrets, because making
money gave him so much pleasure. He was in a position to fulfil his
life's dream.
Of course, he would buy that hideaway in the country he had always
fancied, but for the time being he just desired to have a quiet life.
The small, three bedroom house in which Walter resided, he found
adequate for his own needs.
He recognised that his flat needed redecorating, but being the type of
person he was, Walter did not favour changing things that he had become
accustomed to. But this year was different. This year, he would be
fifty nine years old. Walter wanted to do something that would break
his hitherto familiar routine. He decided that it was time for him to
find himself a new friend.
Walter would have been the first to admit that making new friends was
not his strong suit. In fact, he had never been concerned with other
people previously, but with a sixth decade looming, Walter wondered if
now was not a good time to make a clean break with the past.
When eventually he had got round to putting an advert in a shop
window, he was beginning to have second thoughts about the idea. Did he
really want to let another person into his life. Would they, he
wondered, be more intrested in his money than in him? What did a fifty
nine year old recluse, like him, have to offer another human
being?
These and other questions crossed Walter's mind and left him feeling
quite dizzy, for he could not adequately answer any of them. Two weeks
passed, and then another two weeks and Walter still had not had any
response to his advert. He presumed that was the end of the matter, and
he forgot all about it.
When Walter eventually received a large white envelope from the
newsagents, containing a reply to his advert, he was excited. He tore
open the envelope and retrieved a short letter.
She wrote with blue ink, in a neat, but compact style:-
"Hello there", she began. "My name is Sherry. I saw your advert in the
shop window and I thought it would be nice to meet you. I am 37 years
old, and I have brown hair, and blue eyes. I'm slim. My interests
include reading and going for relaxing walks in the country. I do hope
we can meet".
Walter's face cleared and he began to laugh. Sherry had written her
telephone number on the top, right hand corner of the letter.
Nervously, Walter picked up the telephone receiver and dialled the
number she had given him. He heard the dialing tone, there was a click
and a voice on the other end. "Hello", she said eagerly. "It's Walter
here", he answered, attempting to appear relaxed.
There was an excited gasp from Sherry. "I've just received your letter
today", he said, permitting himself a small smile. "Yes, I do hope we
can meet up", she blurted out, audaciously. "Indeed, we must. How does
8pm on Saturday night at the Phoenix cinema sound", asked Walter,
hesitantly. "That sounds great. I look forward to it", she added. So it
was agreed.
Walter wasted no time in preparing for their date. He drew a tidy sum
of money from one of his thirteen bank accounts and set about to
purchase some smart clothes. Walter also had a haircut which made his
slightly greying dark hair appear very healthy.
Monday to Friday passed quickly enough but Saturday dragged slowly.
Walter nervously awaited their eight o'clock date. He spent his time
listening to an opera cassette on his music system.
Walter wondered what they would find to discuss. Sherry sounded
considerably younger than he did on the telephone. "What if she doesn't
like me", he said, as the tenor he was listening to delivered a
memorable note. He spent the rest of the day reading newspapers and
magazines until it was time for him to leave for his date with
Sherry.
Walter loved his car, a 1950s Buick, and was very careful where he
parked it. He had been unable to find a parking space and consequently
he was fifteen minutes late for his date. He worried that Sherry might
not bother to wait for him, but he was to be pleasantly
surprised.
Sherry was wearing a smart, olive coloured dress. Her expression
suggested that she had become concerned that Walter was late. However,
when they saw each other, Sherry beamed at him with a look of
recognition, even though it was their first meeting.
"I'm sorry I'm late' Walter apologised. "Have you been waiting very
long?" He hung his face like a guilty puppy. She laughed, warmly.
"I've not been here very long", she said lightly. Walter instantly
liked the look of this girl. She was both attractive and, he fancied,
she had refinement. Her blonde hair dropped like sunshine made
tangible. She spoke with a slight accent. He reckoned she might have
originated in East Anglia, although he could not be certain.
Despite the difference in their ages, [Walter recalled that he was
twenty two years her senior] the thought occurred to him that they made
a splendid couple. Walter bought the cinema tickets. They were showing
the "Magnificent Seven" all week.
He bought Sherry a bucket of popcorn after she hinted that she was
peckish. The usher examined their tickets and guided the couple to
their seats with a bright torch. Walter's attention was not on the
film. He was thinking of Sherry and how pretty and demure she seemed to
be.
It was apparent to Walter that Sherry was having a good time. In fact,
during the intermission, she told Walter that she was really pleased to
meet him.
They said goodnight to each other and promised to meet again in the
near future. When they next spoke on the telephone Sherry let slip that
she found Walter's company very pleasing.
They both giggled, Walter rejoining with a compliment. "You're a most
enchanting creature", he said to her with tongue in cheek. She cooed at
Walter. "I feel I can tell you anything", she admitted.
Walter could think of nothing other than Sherry when he returned home.
He fantasised about her and imagined that if things continued in the
way they were going, something serious, like marriage might be the
consequence. Sherry, he decided, was his ideal woman. She was pretty,
fun to be with, intelligent and good-natured.
"I feel like a teenager again", Walter told his cousin, Mr Martin when
he visited him later on that week. Mr Martin grunted. "I hope it's the
real thing, Walter, but she's a lot younger than you isn't she?" he
said, suspiciously.
'I'm not a doddering old idiot", he snapped at his cousin. "Well, at
least I'm not an idiot" he continued, lightening up a little. "I tell
you, Sherry is wonderful", he insisted.
The two cousins sat down at the table whilst Mrs McKvay, the grey
haired maid, brought in tea and crumpets. She had worked for Walter for
so long that he had not need to tell her to prepare refreshments when
people visited.
The telephone rang and Walter sprang to his feet, excitedly. It was
Sherry. "I had a great time the other night", she said with delight.
"So did I' he concurred. "I can't wait to see you again" he said, like
a lovesick teenager.
Mr Martin stood up and exited, making some flimsy excuses to Walter
who was not especially sorry to see him go.
"Let's meet up soon", said Sherry, eagerly. Walter arranged his hair
with a comb as they spoke. "We could meet at the Foxtail Tavern near
Ducie Street, tomorrow at 7 pm", suggested Walter. "I'll be there,"
Sherry replied, in a soft sultry tone. He blew her a kiss, and the
conversation ended.
The following day Walter who was always punctual, was greeted by an
equally punctual Sherry. "You look really attractive", he complimented
her. She thanked him, unselfconsciously.
Her sequin dress was low cut and Walter felt very aroused by her. They
linked hands and swaggered into the Foxtail Tavern. Walter felt
exceptionally happy.
He had every reason to believe that his dalliance with Sherry might
lead to a permanent arrangement. Sherry for her part seemed equally
smitten.
They enjoyed their meal that night. Walter asked Sherry to choose the
meal. They were each served with a bowl of Minestrone soup. This was
followed by Spicy Trout with Spinach. For dessert, they enjoyed a
portion of Pineapple and Raisin cake. This was washed down with a
bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
He also bought her a lovely bouquet of roses which were presented to
her in the restaurant as they dined. "No one has ever been this kind to
me before", she disclosed to him. A tear drained down her cheek as she
regarded Walter. He felt suddenly embarrassed. "It's my great
pleasure", he told her, truthfully.
Sherry opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She reached
for his hand and held it. For a moment, neither of them spoke until
Sherry suggested they go back to his house. Walter was only too eager
to oblige.
As he walked with her he felt a sense of anticipation and breathed a
sigh of relief on remembering that he had sent Mrs McKvay home
early.
Once inside the house she took of her coat and slung it over a chair.
"Can I hang it up for you?" he asked her. "No, it's fine", she said
firmly, and then she unzipped her dress in front of him, leaving Walter
in a high state of excitement. He led her to the bedroom, shutting the
door carefully behind them.
Sherry proved herself to be more experienced at lovemaking than Walter
could ever have imagined. She seemed familiar with all the positions
outlined in the Karma Sutra. As they grunted and writhed in pleasure,
it suddenly occurred to Walter that something was very wrong. He felt a
blind panic. "I can't breathe", he complained to her.
Sherry seemed very distant form him but she did not stop fucking.
Walter continued to struggle with his breathing and his temperature
rose rapidly. "Help me", he whispered to her. Sherry looked at Walter
indifferently. "I've already helped you enough", she replied.
Walter lay terrified as in the last moments of his existence, he
caught sight of Sherry opening his wallet, pocketing his money, and
taking the key to his safe. There wasn't a trace of bitterness in
Walter's heart as he watched Sherry. For Walter refused to believe what
his eyes were showing him.