Mr Sailsbury was a man burdened by very little. Marriage arranged by parents, children raised by governesses, and his job was more or less inherited with his boss making no demands.
His wife likewise asked for very little, sighing as she heard of another late evening at the office with her typical reply of: “That’s alright dear” which was as passionate as their marriage got.
Mr Sailsbury, however felt that a man such as himself should have a mistress. A wife you did your duty towards; a mistress was for fun.
Alas, he, bald save for whisps of hair above his ears, crooked teeth stained by years of coffee and tobacco, and beady eyes covered by thick glasses, had little in the way of looks or charm to seduce women.
The solution was wealth, pick up some penniless young lady and she’d play the part of lover, so long as he spoilt her.
Jenny was a runaway from Bradford, had no friends in London and was happy to live in his rented flat, thus Mr Sailsbury had in his possession an acceptable bird ready to satisfy his appetite, for his appetite was surprisingly insatiable when he indulged it.
Another surprise was that six months in, Jenny confessed she had missed her period, and honestly, she didn’t want to give it up.
A bastard child? Mr Sailsbury knew it wasn’t proper, no, no he coughed and mentioned a doctor who, for a certain sum of money would…
Jenny almost sobbed, “Oh Arthur, don’t you love me?”
Now that was unexpected, not that they didn’t have fun together certainly, in a low-level unassuming way but love was too strong a word.
“Arthur please,” she said, “we could runaway together and live where no one knows us!”
Mr Sailsbury though still gave Dr. Finney a call, explaining their little mishap, assuring the doctor that this was the only solution.
But when he arrived at his flat on the date in question, Jenny scowled: “I wonder what your wife would say if I talked to her.”
He did what he thought was best, a swift slap upon her cheek, letting her know that she had no business mentioning his wife.
“Tonight, the doctor will take care of our mistake and that’s final,” he said in a sternness that surprised him.
Tears in her eyes, Jenny flung herself upon the rickety bed and wept. Foolish girl really.
Dr. Finney arrived in his brisk, solemn manner, did what needed to be done, leaving a sickly, wretched Jenny laying on the sofa as Mr. Sailsbury sniffed in distaste at the leftovers upon the bed.
He wasn’t surprised coming over Friday night to find the flat deserted. It had been a brief affair, enjoyable until it wasn’t and yet…
No, no, no regrets, only the matter of finding another bird when boredom set in for Mr. Sailsbury usually craved a little excitement.
Life was agreeably predictable in that regard.
