“World domination’s never actually been my bag dear boy,” said Charles, striding across his study in a purple dressing-gown and paisley cravat. “And there’s my bad back and dicky heart to think of, you know.”
It was the summer of 1943 and sultry in his spacious Piccadilly flat.
“Look Charles, the PM’s rather depending on you.” We couldn’t pander to his hypochondria, a legacy of aristocratic German parents.
I handed him a holdall. “Just try it on. Please. You’ll be back here in three days, snug as a bug in a rug!”
“Well, dear boy …” He waved his hands in exasperation and took it into the bedroom.
I gazed out onto the street, watching the passersby scurrying about their anonymous business. Time crawled … Come on Charles!
–
20 minutes later the door opened and a stranger entered. His short black hair was parted on the right and shiny with hair cream. He wore a khaki jacket with a black cross pinned to it and a red arm band. He barked a short speech in German, clicked the heels of his jackboots and gave a straight-armed salute. “Sieg Heil!”
“Fantastic Charles!”
Charles smiled and stroked his small square black moustache.
–
Featured in the book, To Cut a Short Story Short: 111 Little Stories
- To purchase the stories on To Cut a Short Story Short up to December 2021 in paperback, Kindle, eBook, and audio-book form, and for news on new titles, please see Shop.
- If you are interested in joining Write Away, a fortnightly story group (giving a choice of 250, 500 or 750 word assignments) please contact me and I’ll be pleased to send details.
- Don’t forget to check out some of the other stories on this blog. There are over 350!
