The Long Wait

By luigi_pagano

Wed, 15 Apr 2020
  • 969 reads
4 comments
 
Drat, I am annoyed. It looks as if I am not on Her Majesty's Secret Service's payroll after all. Not yet, at least. Some glitch in the system, apparently. I have been waiting for my application to be processed and becoming frustrated by the waiting.
What the hell is happening? Why doesn't Gideon shift his arse and go to HQ to sort things out instead of lazing around at the bottom of my garden?
It may take 12 months for it to be rubber stamped, he had said fourteen months ago at the interview.
◊ ◊ ◊
I didn't know what to expect, what kind of questions I would be asked or what level of personal disclosures would be required, so I genned up on the likely procedure.
I was fortunate to find a lot of advice on the internet which I was ready to follow.  

I learnt that honesty is the best policy; to be completely truthful during the entire process otherwise clearance would be refused if it was found I had supplied false information or omitted details.

I should be prepared to reveal all my secrets or any skeleton in my closet. The probing may get a bit too near the knuckle but the vetting officers have heard it all before and are unshockable, so there is no need for me to worry and I can speak freely. 

◊ ◊ ◊
The date of the interview was arranged; I was told to keep the whole of the afternoon free as it would be a long session and to present myself to an address near the Barbican, in central London.
 
I deposited my handbag in reception to be examined; it would be returned to me after inspection.
I did a mental inventory of its contents and too late realised that inside it was an object that I should have left out. Undaunted, I followed the receptionist to an interview room on the first floor.
 
Sitting at the end of a small rectangular table was just one man. (Quite dishy, I thought.)
 
“Good afternoon, Ms Mazziarello. Take a seat. My name is Gideon McQuoid”, he said, “Tell me something about yourself so that we can ascertain a position to suit your personality.”
 
I kept a straight face hearing this although my warped sense of humour was urging me to come out with a saucy quip. Realising that this was a solemn occasion I decided to be on my best behaviour.
 
I told him quite a lot. My name; my age; that I had been orphaned at the age of three and that I had been raised by my uncle Jeremy who became my guardian when my mother died; that I had a degree in modern languages; that I liked travelling; that I was keen on sports and had a brown belt in judo.
 
“And you can call me Jessica”, I concluded.
 
“Tell me, Jessica, have you got a boy friend?”
 
Remembering that I had to be honest at all times I felt I should be bold.
 
“Not as such but I am not a virgin if that's what you are asking.”
 
“And it happened spontaneously and consensually.”, I added defiantly.
 
My mind went back to that magic moment, in the moonlight on the soft sand of a beach in Hammamet with Ali whispering sweet nothings in my ear, in Arabic, as he gently made love to me.
 
“Would you say you are promiscuous?”
 
This kind of interrogation was getting on my tits and it was obvious that he was trying to make my hackles rise. I kept my irritation under control and rebutted that notion.
 
“I am gregarious and when sex is concerned I am choosy but I am not a bee flitting from plant to plant,”
 
He remained impassive throughout these exchanges, then caught me by surprise with a further query.
 
“Who is Cynthia?”
 
“A college student who is one of our crowd.”
 
“Are you in a relationship with her?” Paused and then, “are you bisexual?”
 
Shit. I had forgotten of that incident on the night of Emily's hen party. The cow must have been shooting her mouth off to all and sundry and casting aspersions on my sexuality.
 
We all had had too much to drink and were too pissed to travel back to our respective places and we spent the night at Emily's.
 
As soon as my head hit the pillow I was in the land of Nod and slept soundly until the morning when I woke up to find Cynthia next to me with a hand between my legs. To this day I don't know if it was a prank or whether she had other intentions. Anyway we were both too catatonic for anything to have taken place.
 
I related all this to Mr, McQuoid and denied any impropriety. But my Spanish inquisition hadn't quite finished.
 
Fortified by several cups of coffee and loads of petit fours I was able to endure the torture.
 
“Have you ever been intimate with your uncle? It has been reported that you referred to him as your sugar daddy.”
 
Jeez, I thought, their research must have been very extensive as I recalled having jokingly used that term only once in a boutique of a Tunisian souk.
 
“Certainly not. It was just a bon mot to describe his wealth.”
 
The ordeal did eventually come to an end. The interviewer thanked me for my patience.
◊ ◊ ◊
My instinct tells me that something is definitely wrong.
I am at home, self-isolating and my only means of communication with my friends is the landline telephone.
 
And I found out that I am being spied upon!  

After my last conversation I heard a suspicious click on the line and on opening the receiver I found a tiny electronic bug.  

I right away informed Gideon on my encrypted cell phone and he replied that he would send a pest controller to disinfect the house.
 
© Luigi Pagano 2020
Certificate 15
Story
Just Stories
Drama

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

What a scary thought, to find a bug in your phone. Jessica needs to be very careful what she says, I wouldn't even trust Gideon if it was me. I wonder if he can be trusted! The plot thickens.

Jenny. xx

 

 

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

Hello Jenny, I was having the same reservations as you; great minds think alike. We'll have to see if Gideon is a snake in the grass. Thanks for reading.

Take care, Luigi x

 

Submitted by onemorething on

He definitely seems very suspect to me! 
 

Rachel x

 

Submitted by luigi_pagano on

It seems to be the general consensus, Rachel. It needs investigating.wink

Luigi x