Chapter 43

Bright College Days:

Eddy Harwood and I go back a long way. Right back to our mad bad youths, when, in the times when sex was an imperative scarcely concealed by the thinnest of veneers of civilization, we were constant rivals. To be fair, Eddy was good, very good, in fact he was a near legend at college with a mastery of the art of seduction which was frankly awesome.

The college Climbing Club was a great institution for the lads who regularly congregated to recount deeds of derring do (whatever that means) and impress each other with tales of karabiners and desperate rock faces. Eddy excelled at this, but what he was even better at was changing from being one of the lads to being a suave sophisticated smooth - yes smooth is the word - ladies man the moment a target - sorry a woman, hove into view. We had an expression for him back in those days.
“It’s smooth, it’s smoother than smooth - it’s Harwood”.

Well my story, such as it is, began in those far off times but continued with a brief encounter thirty years or so later .

College was for me a confusing time. It was a time when not only did I get married (well she was a bit pregnant) but also separated from my wife as she sought fame and fortune as a photographic model, living in The King’s Rd, Chelsea in the swinging sixties.
I should have mentioned that she was a good looking girl in those days.
Now it so happened that I had to sit a couple of exams at imperial College, which, of course, is not a million miles from Chelsea, so I phoned my wife and asked if she could put me up (or rather put up with me) for the night. She acquiesced and a few evenings later I arrived on her doorstep.
We had a nice dinner (she lived above a Chinese retaurant) with a good (probably cheap) bottle of white wine. Feeling fairly mellow, and still being quite good friends, we adjourned to bed.

Some hours later, probably about one o’clock in the morning I heard a motorbike pull up outside. Now I knew the sound of that particular bike.
No it was not a Harley, nor a Norton, nor a Triumph for such machines were merely dreams for us impecunious students. No, it was a Frances Barnett two stroke and I knew who owned it.
The bike stopped and the door bell rang. I looked at my wife - she looked at me and I said “aren’t you going to let him in?”
She put her dressing gown on and went down to answer the door.

To set the scene I should mention that my wife’s room was on the first floor, facing the King's road. The bed was to the left of the room door and partially obscured by the open door. The main part of the room was to the right of the door and comprised the usual sofa, armchair and coffee table in front of a rather splendid Victorian fireplace.

Eddy (for it was he) followed my wife into the room still clad in his motor biking coat and clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. I can only surmise that the wine was as smooth as the voice with which he caressed my wife.
He, of course, had his back to the bed where I was reclining with some amusement.

“Oh Eddy” said my wife “I forgot to mention - Reb’s here”.

Now I could leave it to my readers’ imaginations to complete this scene but I won’t- after all why should I deprive myself of that pleasure.

There was a stunned silence for about twenty seconds while Eddy’s shoulders slumped and the proffered bottle of wine slowly sank as the owner of the arm holding it lost the will to live.

“Hi Eddy” I said “Long time no see”.

“I err I just popped in for a quick drink but I, I see it is rather late so I think I’ll just be off” said Eddy, before scuttling down the stairs in confusion.

Now in real life I find moments like this are few and far between so I crave my readers’ indulgence in allowing me to enjoy the telling of this story.

Again I suppose I could stop my story here but there was a sequel.

In the late nineties (nineteen nineties that is) I was a member of the delightfully named ‘Petroleum Exploration Society of Great Britain’. One of it’s functions was to provide evening lectures by distinguished scientists to the members on relevant topics.
One evening Eddy was invited to lecture us on his expertise.
The lecture, at The Royal School of Mines which is not that far from The King’s Road was good and appreciated by us all.

Afterwards Eddy and I, having not met for many years went out and had a meal. It was not until we were standing, afterwards, on the tube platform waiting for our respective trains that Eddy blurted out:

“You know that evening in the King’s Rd - well it wasn’t like it seemed….”

I cut him short.

“Eddy it was exactly like it seemed - but it really doesn’t matter now does it?”

I smiled and Eddy got on his train.