Irish eyes

London dark and eerie. Urge to leave this strange land. But where for out there romeo?

Have a message here on my blog from poliphilus. Long time since we last met in cyber world. Laziness, yes, I empathise with that. And the wish to communicate also strong. This blog is my preferred method nowadays. LT too full of stalking horses.

So here I am. Poesie du midi. Where did he get the idea I was having a good time in London? I feel like an outsider in this alien landscape full of miserable people in a city of darkness .

I met Mr Grey fox on the train to Waterloo. It turns out he’s my brief. Life is full of coincidences, surely you knew that. As for the photo, its Sandrine ok? But which one, I leave you to guess. The prize for getting it right is another blog entry.

I get another message, from Helene. She ran into Felix at the Berlinale, and says he’s on his way to London. No doubt expecting something from Ella, in return for the flat. But Helene has invited me to join her in Italy, for the fashion show. The same hotel on Lake Como, she says. It’s tempting, but not until I’ve paid my dues to the kraut. [But then I think, hang on, his immediate ancestor invaded my country and tried to exterminate us Jews. Maybe I don’t owe him at all. ]

Monday I’m back on the rush hour train, another appointment with Mr Grey fox. This item I’m early, and hang around in reception until he shows. He has a female with him, a redhead whom he introduces as Miss Kelly. He mutters some vagueness about her command of French, and leaves us alone.

The female is pretty, in her twenties I’d guess, pale, slim and businesslike in her black shirt and jacket. She doesn’t smile, just offers her hand.
Dana Kelly, she says, I’ll be taking your case.
I detect the merest hint of an Irish lilt there.
Why, is all I can muster. I mean why isn’t Mr fox?
He’s too busy right now. And I’m bilingual, which he isn't.
I wonder what she tastes like, I’m thinking.
Okay, shall we get down to business, she asks.
I nod, and follow her along a corridor into another office.
She puts on a pair of specs and I suddenly feel hot. I feel the urge to strip naked and kiss her. But instead I listen to her soft Irish accent, the words floating over me. I watch her lips moving but don't hear the sound.

Let's assume you're innocent, she's saying.
It's a bit complicated, I tell her, due to my psychiatric problems.
She asks me to elaborate.
I tell her that my shrink, Gerhard, diagnosed my condition as schizophrenia.
Split personality?
Exactly. So, one the one hand, there's sweet Ella, childlike, naive, Ella. But then there's also Sandrine.
Who is Sandrine?
My late mother. She kind of haunts me. And sometimes takes over. She's jealous, manipulative, and kind of mad.
How does this affect your case?
Well, the thing is, although Ella absolutely didn't kill Francine, its always possible that Sandrine got jealous and.....
Dana raises an eyebrow. Then her mobile interrupts the conversation. She glances at her watch.
Then she terminates our meeting.

I wonder if she even believed any of it.