The day was hot and heavy, and by early evening, Professors P'ohlig and De Busque were draped over their respective chaises in the Poppycock head office.
"How horrid this heat is," Emily sighed, fanning her adorably pink-flushed cheeks with a bloodstained Japanese fan from the estate of Yukio Mishima. "I don't feel like moving a muscle, let alone thinking. I believe I shall just continue to recline here for hours on end, and wait to see if anything happens."
Molly was slowly eating fat red strawberries, staining her Clara Bow lips the most delightful shade of crimson. "Not me," she said almost decisively, and with a great deal of effort forced herself upright. "I'm going right into the nice cool house for a nice cool bath."
Emily pushed a quaint tendril of hair from her forehead and said, "Alright, I'll see you later," as Molly pulled the Trollope and wafted away for cooler climes.
* * *
"Maudie? Mr. Periwinkle? Can you get the door?" Molly called from the door of the bathroom, where she was tying the belt of a flimsy flowered silk robe that had previously belonged to Marguerite Duras during her adventures in Indochina. Her bath had cooled her sufficiently, but the heat had tired her immensely.
"It's for you," Maude's voice floated up the stairwell. "I'll send them up."
Molly felt like grumbling, but she was too tired even for that. So she retreated into one of Poppycock's several parlors, and arranged herself attractively on a delicate pink loveseat. There was a tentative knock at the door.
* * *
Emily finally decided it was much too hot to leave the door closed any longer, so with a burst of energy, she rose, and flung it open, only to find Father Inigo standing on the other side. He stammered, "Why, Professor De Busque! I, I just happened to be, er, in the area, and was wondering if you might, erm, appreciate a cool beverage." He anxiously held up his gift before him. Emily was tempted to ask if he always carried around a Moët and Chandon bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne, but instead found herself blurting out, "What a lovely clerical collar, Father." Father Inigo was enveloped in a fetching blush, and murmured his thanks for the compliment as Emily gracefully stepped aside so he could come in.
"Shall I get...." Emily trailed off as Father Inigo produced two dainty glasses from out of nowhere.
"Please, Professor....sit down, and let me pour you a glass," Father Inigo said in a rather croony manner, seeming to have dredged some deep well of confidence all of a sudden. Emily was so surprised that she just did as he said without a word, and he was soon seated next to her on the chaise lounge.
* * *
"Come in," Molly said, heart beating faster as the face she hoped for appeared around the door. It was Mr. Denning.
"Ah, yes, Professor P'ohlig, I'm glad I caught you," he said, smartly stepping over to the loveseat in his smart Italian suit. "I just have a few business papers for you to sign, do you have the time?"
Molly shook her head ever so slightly, trying to clear the hot fog that the heat had left. "I mean, yes, yes I do. Do you have a pen, by chance?"
A silly question, and Mr. Denning smiled the sort of smile that knew that Molly knew how silly it was. Mr. Denning always had a pen, a lovely heavy fountain pen, and he drew it from his pocket to give to Molly. But as their fingers touched, the pen fell to the Indian rug that had belong to Rudyard Kipling. Mr. Denning darted a look at Molly and bent to retrieve it, but became lost in a reverie, so it seemed.
Molly felt a tiny bit awkward with her financial adviser staring, it seemed, at her feet. "Mr. Denning?" she queried, "Is everything alright?"
"Yes," he breathed, and slowly straightened, and then looked at her with the most lovesick expression she had ever seen, the one she had been longing to see. "Your ankles," he said, "How come I never noticed you had the most exquisite ankles God ever gave a woman?"
* * *
"Professor De Busque," Father Inigo said after quickly downing a glass of champagne, "I hope this doesn't shock you, but there's something I simply must tell you."
The heat and the champagne had all rushed to Emily's pretty head. She had never seen Father Inigo look so earnest before. She held her breath and looked at him expectantly. At last, he spoke.
"You must allow me to tell you how ardently and violently I adore your ears, your tiny, shell-like ears!"
* * *
"Professor P'ohlig...Molly...please answer me!" Molly heard Mr. Denning's voice as if from very far off. She had swooned. She came to with Mr. Denning's anxious face hovering above hers as he frantically patted her limp hand. "I'm so sorry if I....took liberties....I just couldn't stop myself."
She sat up carefully, clutching the robe around her shoulders. "No, Mr. Denning, I'm just sorry that I behaved in such a ridiculous manner. I think...that's the nicest thing that anyone's ever said about my ankles."
It was Mr. Denning's turn to blush. "Well," he said bashfully, "They really are lovely. So refined and ladylike, and, well," he said, with that old Mr. Denning twinkle in his eye, "Just a little bit saucy."
* * *
"Oh, Professor De Busque, you must have just a sip!" Emily opened her eyes to see Father Inigo pleading with her to have just a bit of champagne. She had swooned. "Really, it will do you good. Can you ever forgive me for my insolence?"
Emily took the glass and had a large, healthy swallow. She gave him a small smile. "Of course I forgive you, Father. I'm just not used to such things being said about my...ears."
Father Inigo seemed to get back a bit of his boldness as he topped up her glass. "I've been wanting to say it for ages, but I couldn't seem to work up the nerve." He ventured out a hand to touch one, and Emily held her breath, but he didn't have quite that much nerve.
* * *
"Well, Mr. Denning, I do appreciate your coming all this way with those....papers," Molly said, hastily adjusting the hem of her robe.
"Oh, not at all, not at all," Mr. Denning blustered, checking the creases on his Italian trousers, and realizing that Molly hadn't signed a single paper.
"Well....until next time then, Mr. Denning," Molly said, demurely proffering her hand to be shook. Mr. Denning gave a little bow, and a little click of his heels, and with one last longing look at Molly's ankles, he took his leave.
* * *
"I do, er, hope that you convey my best wishes to the nuns," Emily nibbled at her lower lip and smoothed an errant curl behind her shell-like ear.
"Oh, yes, yes of course I will," Father Inigo hastened to say, patting his neck to ensure that his collar was still intact.
"I hope that your work with the parish will bring you around this way again soon," Emily said, as they lingered at the door.
"So do I, Professor De Busque, so do I!" Father Inigo stole a final glance at Emily's ears, and he was gone.
* * *
Emily and Molly entered the kitchen at the same time. Mr. Periwinkle and Maude looked up from their game of gin rummy.
"Well," Mr. Periwinkle said, "Aren't hot days just the most boring?"
"Oh, I don't really mind them so much," Molly murmured. "What do you think, Emily?"
"Um, no, not so bad at all, I don't think. Does anyone want some...champagne?"
And even Maudie was allowed to have a glass.
