Maudie: Revelations of Life in London and an Unforeseen Denouement

THE MANSION OF MAUDIE An awakening in a whore's bedroom is, as a rule, cheerless. One is vague as to one's whereabouts, as a rule sore on the John Thomas, and a general feeling of having made a bloody fool of oneself is most often mixed with a wonder whose pyjamas you've got on and whether you've got the clap or possibly worse. Charles Vernon St Just Osmond, fifth off the succession to the earldom of Osmond, very much a 'younger son', with a good deal less money even than most younger sons, turned over twice, flicked his eyes at the sunlight dribbling through the blinds, bit a tongue which felt like leather, sniffed a distinct aroma of whisky, and wondered where the hell he was, why he had done it and whom he had done it on. He raised himself on one elbow, and looked. Then he was pleased. He had obviously not made a very drunken error. The good lady who lay by his side, in a charming silk pyjama suit with a deep Venetian lace collar, was not only pretty, but interesting. Her chestnut hair flowed over her shoulders. Her arms, bare from just above the elbows, were deliciously rounded, and her very delicate little hands were heavily be-ringed. This, Osmond (or, as we shall call him Charlie) concluded, was no ordinary tart, and the question of finance smote him suddenly. He had a vague recollection of friends and the Empire and the Continental, and he knew that he couldn't have much on him. He was just slipping out of bed to look through his pockets when she woke up and put a soft arm round his neck

• Ean/ISBN: 9781465533012
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