The purchase of the sofa took weeks to accomplish—not because they disagreed, but because they couldn’t make up their minds, either together or apart.
For hours they walked the floors at William Worrall and must have sat on a hundred sofas before choosing a model that looks much like the overstuffed sofas at home, but with practical upholstery that will wear well and resist stains. Once they have a rocking chair and an area rug to cover the fir floor, they will have a proper living room fit for company.
Hook sits down gently, fires an Ogden’s and leans forward on their new couch so as not to spill ashes on the fabric. When Jeanie has settled back comfortably, he asks, choosing his words carefully, “Pet, I need to ask you something.”
Her eyes remain closed. “If it is what I think it is, no developments as yet.”
“That isn’t what I want to bring up. Not this time.” He knows that he has been acting like an immature worrywart and that worry is contagious. Sometimes it’s best just to keep one’s mouth shut.
“No, it has to do with other, intimate matters.” Even to his wife, he can barely say the word out loud.
She gives him the straight-on look that sees right through him. “Sexual matters is it you’re saying?”
“That would be the word, yes.”
“Ducky, you’re blushin’!” She reaches over and puts her hand on his upper thigh. “If there is something you want or don’t want, you must tell me, do.”
“No. No, it’s not that, not at all, far from it. This is a case that involves others. It has to do with… hitting.”
She takes her hand back with a frown: “Aye, many marriages are like that. Men can be brutes, especially the drinkers.”
“That’s not what I meant, pet. I meant… the other way around.”
“And what would be the other way around?”
“Such as when the woman does the hitting.”
“Do you mean whipping and that sort of goings-on?”
He nods. “Something like that, yes.”
“It’s the public schools—Eton is famous for it.” She smiles with one corner of her mouth. “Would you like that, ducky?”
“No! No, pet, I mean… my question is part of an, an investigation.”
“Of a disorderly house, you mean?”
“No, it concerns an individual who occupies a certain… position of authority.”
She starts to giggle. “You mean while another bloke bends over with his skivvies down?”
He waits for his wife to recover her composure, for this is a serious police matter. “No, pet, not that. I’m talking about the, er, person of interest’s social position. Actually, it’s a government position.”
“Goodness. Is it the toff who speaks for the premier? I’ll bet he likes a good caning. I’ve heard toffs are flogged so often in public schools that some of them come to like it when they grow up. In London there are clubs where rugby men get their arses whipped by large, buxom women. They say the chancellor of the exchequer is a member of one.”
“You must be joking!”
“That’s what I hear tell. And I shouldn’t be surprised if that sort of thing goes on in Victoria, it’s so Jolly Olde England and all that.”
“In any case, the female in question is neither large nor buxom.”
“I doubt that is a necessary requirement. Mind, I’ve not seen such goings-on myself.”
“How do you suppose such a relation is arrived at? How does a fellow persuade a lady to come to… an agreement as to the, er, details of the punishment? Or is it the lady who takes the initiative?”
Jeanie thinks about this a moment.
“I should think she draws him in. Some of the women at the greengrocer talk about things of that sort—tricks to keep their husband’s interest. Mrs Walsh says garters are the ticket. Garters are the only present her husband ever gives her that’s not a kitchen appliance. And there are others what say they must get themselves all dolled up with lipstick and perfume.”
“So it’s a matter of costume and makeup?”
“Of course, ducky. Why else spend good money on such things?”
Hook remembers McCurdy’s description of the mousy woman in the chief’s office, seemingly with the ability to transform herself from worm to butterfly at will. To judge by Max Factor advertisements, beauty is big business now. Thanks to modern science, it is possible, given sufficient skill with brushes and pads, for a woman to look like anyone she wants. It’s a sobering thought…
Jeanie is watching him closely, her head tilted to one side and a half-smile on her lips. He kisses her cheek: “I assure you, pet, that you don’t feel you have to get all dolled up for me.”
“Not you, ducky.” She looks down at his trousers. “Not yet, anyway.”