Dean Spanley Page #3

I would not presume

upon so short an acquaintance

were it not that I've recently come

into possession of a bottle of Tokay.

An Imperial Tokay.

- An Imperial Tokay?

- Yes.

One must be on one's guard against

the common or garden variety. What year?

- An '89, I believe.

- An '89, you say?

Was... is that a good year?

Oh, yes. How do you come to be

in possession of such a treasure?

You must be very well connected, Mr...

Fisk. Henslowe Fisk.

Well... Well...

Perhaps I might manage... Thursday,

if that would be convenient?

Most convenient.

Shall we say seven o'clock?

- Very well. Until then.

- Good day, sir.

'89. Goodness me.

I wouldn't call it a lie, puss.

More like a truth deferred.

Nothing worse.

It had not occurred to me

when I made my overture to the dean

that procuring his favourite tipple

would prove such a challenge.

Oi! Come back here!

Very hard to find

an Imperial Tokay, sir.

Of course there are what you might call

commercial counterfeits.

But the real thing,

that's another story altogether.

It's made solely

for the Hapsburg monarchy, you see.

Takes a royal decree

to have one uncorked.

You would need to know

somebody with such connections.

I see.

Tell me this. If King Edward himself

were to come you and say:

"Find me one or two bottles of Tokay",

what would you say to him?

Well, I would suggest,

most respectfully,

that he uses his family connections

in order to affect the conveyancing.

So he'd have a lot more chance

of success than I would, sir.

Of course.

The point of the exercise,

drop every ball without a miss.

Care for a small wager?

No, thank you. No, you seem more

than capable of performing such a feat.

So you'd like to acquire

a bottle of an '89 Tokay.

An Imperial.

This an adventure of the romantic sort

that you're embarking on?

Certainly not.

It is said that the fair sex

responds avidly to Tokay.

Loosens the morals

and with it the corsets.

- How high are you willing to go?

- Whatever it costs.

Within reason.

Ah, yes. Well, you see,

there's the rub, within reason.

- '89 Tokay not easy to come by.

- So I understand.

So what's your line, then?

Oh, this and that.

A bit of art publishing.

Any money in it?

A modest remuneration.

But the real reward is in the art itself.

Though I must admit there must be

rather more to be made in conveyancing.

It's not all mine.

I'm just a ground-floor tenant.

How on earth

did you come by all this stuff?

My Auntie Molly was a hoarder.

Caught it from her, I shouldn't wonder.

What do you do with it?

Oh, you never know when someone wants

something you just happen to have.

Such as a bottle of Imperial Tokay.

Really?

Good grief.

It's not an '89, I'm afraid.

Will a '91 do?

It'll have to.

I suppose I could say I was promised

an '89 and the man was mistaken.

What do you think?

- How much is this?

- Five guineas to you.

Five guineas?

That's a bit bloody steep.

These little things were sent to try us,

as the man said of the pygmy judge.

Thursday?

Are there not

six other perfectly adequate days,

each equipped with portions of time

suitable for such activities?

Thursday is the only day

the dean is free.

Poppycock.

Deans have dinner every evening.

He has prior engagements.

Is my Thursday not a prior engagement,

young Fisk?

What is going on?

You're not getting married, I hope.

- No.

- Good.

If I had it to do over again...

Am I to understand from that remark

that you regret marrying Mother?

Fine woman, Alice.

Very good in the garden.

No, it's the children.

Hostages to fortune is what they are.

But there is no point

to regretting things

that have gone to the trouble

of happening.

And that is your reason

for refusing to mourn Harrington?

I warned your brother

that the war would be bad for his health,

but no, he knew better, the young fool.

Anyway, your mother mourned him

enough for both of us.

Perhaps if you'd shared

that burden with her

she might not have found her grief

so insupportable.

I have nothing more to say

on this subject.

Please never mention it to me again.

Close the door on your way out.

- Do you miss your husband, Mrs Brimley?

- Miss him?

Oh, well. He weren't hard to miss,

were Albert.

Kept himself to himself.

Sat in that chair night after night,

never said a word.

Just nodded, sociable-like,

and spat in the fire every now and again.

That were Albert's one bad habit.

I talk to the chair sometimes

and it's just like old times.

Except the chair don't spit.

Thinking about your brother

and your mum, are you?

I just wish Father would...

Well, Mr Fisk was never one

for showing much.

Why, I remember that night

up at the lake

when you and young Harry went out

on that cockleshell of a boat.

Yes. Wasn't one of his finest moments.

I'll let you get on, Mrs Brimley.

- Good night.

- And don't you worry about Thursday.

I'll feed him his hotpot

and he'll be right as rain.

You just enjoy yourself

with your friend.

But as Thursday evening arrived, I found

my enthusiasm for the event waning.

For in truth the whim that prompted me

to extend the invitation

had lost its piquancy

and the sobering cost of Wrather's Tokay

played its part in making the whole

venture seem somewhat dubious.

I'm afraid I was mistaken about the vintage.

The '89 was unavailable.

This is... this is a '91.

I do hope you're not too disappointed.

Not at all.

One would have to have

a jaded palate indeed

if the prospect

of a '91 Kleverheld-Manschliess

were a disappointment.

Properly decanted.

No sign of sediment.

Well done.

Thank you.

To think that such wine was once

only opened by decree of a Hapsburg

and now,

through the vicissitudes of history,

we lesser beings

can command such an audience.

Your very good health.

I must confess my first taste of Tokay

was not an illuminating moment.

Rather, my father's dismissal of it

as being too syrupy

seemed remarkably close to the mark.

However, in the dean...

its champion was to hand.

Oh...

Tokay, of course, is unique among wines

in that the aroma

is of more significance than the flavour.

For us humans, alas, that is the pursuit

of the ineffable by the inadequate.

At such moments, one could wish

to possess the olfactory powers

of the canine.

It's often occurred to me

that to pull a dog away from a lamppost

is akin to seizing a scholar in the

British Museum by the scruff of his neck

and dragging him away from his studies.

Yes.

What are you doing?

One of those damned motor machines.

Dreadful things, don't you think?

It must be clear to anyone of perception

that the invention of the internal -

one might even say infernal -

combustion engine

will prove to be a complete...

catastrophe for the species.

Quite so.

And have you noticed

that motor cars are exactly the right

height for them to take refuge under?

Cats. The way they get under motor cars

and can't be got at.

Unless, of course,

you're a very small dog.

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