Hell Hath No Fury

This morning I received a call from the local polizei enquiring if I knew the whereabouts of the woman I was seen talking to the previous evening in the Chedi bar. It appears that she and her partner had done a moonlight flit and left the hotel without paying a hefty bill.

Good riddance, I thought. I may be an ignoramus about the German language but knew perfectly well the meaning of schadenfreude.

I was hoping that Jessica had not heard the unpleasant exchange between me and an old spiteful spinster who bore a grudge because I had blackballed her membership application to my London club.

I was afraid that the mention of a 'love child' may have raised her suspicions once again about being my daughter; a doubt that, ironically, I shared.

If she ever finds out, I know exactly how she would react: she would look at me sternly and say, “I have a bone to pick with you, dad!”
She is a tough cookie and would not be disconcerted. But would she blame me for being illegitimate?

Many women have accused me of having caused their downfall and have retained a long lasting resentment. Some have even been been bent on settling a score. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' could be the legend on my coat of arms.

But nothing could have prepared me for a surprise revelation and from an unexpected quarter.

It happened prior to Lottie's departure for Zurich.

I had been longing to make love to her since I had arrived but apart from tender touches and little pecks on the cheek, she had kept me dangling; a fact that even Kristin, the housekeeper. had noticed.

“Poor Mr. Geronimo; he pines.”, she had said to my niece who thought the misnomer hilarious when she repeated Kristin's comment to me.

“When are you going to propose, uncle 'Geronimo'?”, she jests.

“Mind your own business, you little monkey. Tell me about your romance with Klaus.”

“Nothing to report, I'm afraid. He seems to have a penchant for boys.”

“Sorry to hear that, darling.”

“Don't be. I might have to enter a monastery. Or do I mean a convent?”

◊ ◊ ◊

My bed is nice and soft and yet I can't go to sleep. I hear the sound of naked footsteps and in no time Lottie is there on top of me.

“I thought I should show you what you missed that time in London, Jeremy. Think of it as a stirrup-cup.”, she whispers and I believe that the last remark refers to her imminent departure to Zurich.

She is just as passionate as she had professed herself to be. Even more than I imagined. I tell her so and she laughs.

“I find hard to believe that a libertine like you has never met a nymphomaniac like me.”

Her next question floors me.

“Have you have ever wondered how I 'lost' my cherry, Jeremy?”

© Luigi Pagano 2020

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