Ch 4 - The Nobs

Oblivious of the world and events at the Nob residence, Getona Nob and Tarquin ‘Toady’ Ramsbottom were sunning themselves while their yacht cruised at a leisurely pace towards Malta. They were blissed out on cocaine and champagne, occasionally interspersed with liberal doses of exhausting passion. The crew were repulsed. It was not a pretty sight. Getona’s boney legs were wrapped around Toady’s fat sun-reddened torso and the groaning was only drowned by the engine noise if the wind was in the right direction.

By the time they reached Malta, Toadie had proposed matrimony by providing his intended with an old ring he found in his mother’s cabin. ‘This’ll do!’ he had decided. ‘Quite a chunk of sapphire that!’ and he spat on it; gave it a quick rub before falling to his knees and slipping it onto Getona’s finger just before passing out at her feet.

Getona was ecstatic and began phoning every friend she had, all two of them.
”I am engaged!” she gushed, “Do come to my 30th birthday party in Paris tomorrow night - double celebration - birthday and engagement - super!” Phoning her mother’s mobile she was miffed when she got no reply. She phoned the Nob residence landline and spoke to Chef who had some difficulty sounding sad as he imparted the news of Caressa’s sudden death from CoronaPox.

Getona was furious! “Blasted selfish old cow!” she blurted, “She always spoils my fun! Well, not this time, oh no…. I am having my 30th birthday party in Paris tomorrow evening anyway, damn it! Toadie proposed, isn’t it wonderful? We are engaged!” The phone line went dead. “Hello? Hello? Oh bollocks!” Getona presumed that the satellite connection had failed just as Malta came into view on the hazy horizon.

Chef replaced the receiver and turned to Miss Judge who was sitting at the kitchen table appropriately dressed in black. “I am taking a couple of day’s holiday.” he declared and stomped off to his room. Miss Judge was mortified to think that she would have to make all the funeral arrangements for Mrs Caressa Nob AND organise the food. “This job will be the end of me!” she complained to nobody.

Chef grabbed his barely ever used passport and dragged his motorbike out of the garage. He departed the Nob residence in a cloud of drive dust, without another word to anyone.

Getona threw a bucket of sea water over Toadie who roused from his stupor just enough to be told to smarten himself up, they were going ashore. Getona was glued to her Smart phone making flight arrangements and booking tables at the poshest nightclub in Paris, Chez Raspoutine. Nothing could quell her excitement.

Miss Judge called Spotty Boy in from the garden and told him to get washed up. He would have to help her with preparations in the absence of his father.
”Where’s Dad gone?” asked Spotty.
”I have absolutely no idea and neither do I care, frankly!” grumbled Miss Judge. “Don’t you have a mother somewhere? Maybe he has gone to see her!” Spotty looked uncomfortable and explained that he had no idea who his mother was. As far as he could remember he had never met her. Miss Judge laughed haughtily and said that was completely impossible, but she did not pursue the matter. She had canapés and vol-au-vents to think about.

Chez Raspoutine was rammed with the glitziest of Parisiennes when Getona and Toadie arrived to meet their party guests. They were already quite drunk and squealing bawdy jokes in English, purely to annoy the French. It was a tradition they had picked up from their parents, who learned it from theirs. Apparently annoying the French could be traced back to Wellington or someone like that. They stumbled about, spilled drinks and stole fresh ones. Finally they were asked to leave by the management, which was the pièce de résistance of the whole night.

Keen to expel the rowdy couple from the premises, Chez Raspoutine management provided them with a chauffeur driven car, departing discreetly from the back door. Getona noticing a motorbike and rider in the shadows, briefly felt a flash of recognition but dismissed it in the fog of intoxication and joie de vivre. The car sped off with Toadie and Getona tumbling about in the rear seats, refusing to wear seat belts to facilitate their lovemaking; just to annoy the French, as was traditional.

They never knew what hit them really. A motorbike, presumed to be paparazzi, tore alongside their vehicle for a considerable distance, unnerving Chez Raspoutine’s driver, who was gesticulating and swearing at the black clad figure. The motorbike swerved inwards, just a little too much and the car smashed into the wall of an underpass. Getona and Toadie expired as they had lived in wild, drunken orgasmic coitus.

Spotty Boy was gathering flowers from the gardens for Caressa Nob’s funeral when he heard his father’s motorbike approaching the drive.
”Miss Judge thought you would miss the cremation, Dad” he said when Chef turned off the bike’s engine. The heat from it was intense enough to be felt a pace away. “Wow! You been thrashing it, Dad?” but Chef just ruffled his hair and said “Wouldn’t miss this for all the tea in China, son!” and they shared a wicked grin.