13 Christine Plumb

Mr Copperly's attractively legged secretary gets an unpleasant shock

WORDS MEAN DEATH

Christine Plumb sat in her office and wondered where Mr Copperly had got to. It wasn’t like him to be late and in all honesty she rather enjoyed the occasional very pervy glimpses he cast her way when her legs were arranged the way he obviously liked them. It was easier than doing too much work, though she did manage to do some. Typing, for instance, was a problem but proof reading after she’d printed texts from the computer off was child’s play, especially when she was ploughing her way through the sort of lengthy manuscript that kept her hooked right up to the last line. Then it didn’t matter if he ignored her legs and she even went out of her way to ensure that hs couldn’t catch the smallest glimpse of her always frilly underwear.

It was al right this time, though, this book was worth reading. It was about a very naughty clergyman who enjoyed the beds of any number of old ladies. And they were well described, were those elderly ladies though the book was a bit shy of mentioning what they got up to in bed, they and the clergyman. It left most of the interesting stuff to her imagination

What did he make of the cold and wrinkled flesh of the geriatrics, though? I mean, she wondered, what would I feel like if Mr Copperly decided to take me to his bed and.. and ...and… It didn’t bear thinking about, and Mr Copperly wasn’t exactly old, was he? Not the sort of old that dribbled all the time, anyway… She’d read about old men, really old men, couldn’t do anything that a girl might want them to do, not even if they took little blue pills…

The phone rang and she sighed, put the manuscript down at what promised to be a saucy bit, and answered it. The conversation went ike this.

“Mr Copperly’s office…” she said in her best, crisp, phone answering voice.

“Are you the secretary? I mean, are you his secretary?” from the phone.

“Yes, sir, I am? Who am I talking to and what do you want?”

“There’s bad news I’m afraid. But not over the phone.”

“Bad news, sir?”

“You might as well pack your belongings up and get ready to go home, But before you do that, please remain there until after Detective Inspector Bramble’s seen you?”

“Detective Inspector… Detective Inspector… why, what have I done”

“It’s nothing to concern you, madam. Just that she’d like a brief word with you before you leave the office?”

“Leave the office?”

“Yes, madam. The DI will be with you in about an hour. And if you notice a large manuscript written by a Mr Dorian Hemsworth… don’t file it away because it is evidence…”

And the phone clicked to silence just as she was about to tell the voice that she was really enjoying Mr Hemsworth’s story.

But the mention of a detective inspector had rattled her. She had no guilty secrets and yet she found herself questioning what she had or had not done recently. Had she driven too fast to the office and gone above the speed limit? Or had the small boy she had shouted at when he almost stepped into the road in front of her car reported her? Was it illegal to warn small children that roads are dangerous places to play their games?

Or had Mr Copperly done something terribly wrong? Surely not! He wasn’t the kind of man to put one foot out of place! Or was he? After all, he was an agent for the writer of the manuscript she was reading and although she was enjoying it, it really was rather naughty. Was it against the law to publish that kind of book? She wouldn’t call it exactly porn, but it was close.

Suddenly she didn’t want to read it any more. A sleazy clergyman, old ladies, however sweet and innocent they were, allowing a defrocked clergyman into their beds, it was a disgrace and should never be spoken of, let alone written down!

She closed it (remembering she had reached page ninety two) and made herself a cup of coffee in order to settle her nerves.

It seemed like more than an hour, and the Detective Inspector arrived. A woman with a pretty face and the boss would almost certainly find her legs acceptable. Sje introduced herself as DI Bramble and, with a smile, added,

“But you can call me Dorothy.”

“Yes ma’am… er, Dorothy,” stammered Christine. Blast and d****t! The boss always told her to sound positive when she was talking to visitors in the office, and this rather nice looking DI was a visitor, wasn’t she? So she added “And you can call me Christine,” in a much more positive voice.

“Well, Christine, what do you know about your employer, Mr Copperly?” asked she who had called herself Dorothy.

“Well, ma’.. er, Dorothy,” replied a still nervous Christine, “he has a list of writers, authors I mean, and he represents them to publishers,” she added, careful not to sound guilty herself. After all, if the unlikely had happened and Mr Copperly had done something wrong, then it would be better if she distanced herself from him even though she often almost felt his eyes roaming up her legs.

“Yes, Christine, that’s what he does for a living and no doubt he does it very well, but does he ever entertain anyone you yourself wouldn’t like to be left alone with?” asked Dorothy.

Christine frowned and thought about it for a few moments before shaking her head.

“No, I don’t think so, he doesn’t have so many callers and those who do pop in are mostly lady writers. His speciality is romantic fiction, but not smut. He hates smut! Though the clergyman’s book that I glanced at before you came is pretty close to the mark! But not smut. Not quite.”

“And is that it?” Dorothy indicated the folder containing a thick wad of papers neatly arranged on Christine’s desk.

“It’s not smut,” whispered Christine and she pushed it towards the Detective, hoping that the very fact that she’d touched it hadn’t made her into a criminal.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” smiled Dorothy, and then she frowned. “Now I’d better explain the reason we’re here,” she said in a far more crisp voice. “And you’d better prepare yourself for bad news.”

“Has he been in a car crash?” jabbered Christine, “I mean, he’s a careful driver…”

Dorothy shook her head. “No. It’s worse than that. His body was found at his home this morning. Someone had taken a knife to him and that someone had left him dead…”

© Peter Rogerson 22.01.24

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