Free The Irresistible Inheritance Of Wilberforce by Paul Torday Page B

the photograph on the moor. Ed Simmonds had asked Francis and me to come and shoot grouse with him, on his moor at Blubberwick. Francis hadn’t shot, but had brought his spaniel, Campbell, to pick up behind the line. Catherine had been with Ed then, and she had spent most of the day standing with him. I didn’t know anything about shooting grouse, and I only shot for one drive, with a minder standing with me. When the brown birds rocketed over the horizon and whizzed through the line of butts I was too surprised to shoot, at first. At last one unlucky bird tumbled in the air and sped past me, to bounce in the heather behind the butt. Others followed. It was incredibly exciting to be out in the heather, shooting grouse. I remember that at lunch Catherine came and sat on the grass next to me, as we made a picnic by a small burn. For the first time, I became very conscious of Catherine’s nearness to me, her perfume, and the sound of her voice. That was when I first started to think about Catherine as somebody other than Ed’s friend.
    She gave me the portrait photo just before we married. ‘This was taken when I still had my looks,’ she told me. She was smiling as she said it, her eyes dancing, inviting a compliment. She looked a thousand times more beautiful than in the photograph. I told her so.
    ‘You really do love me, don’t you?’ she said breathlessly, for I had folded her into a tight embrace.
    ‘Of course I do.’
    ‘It’s hard to tell, because you never talk much.’
    I let go of her and said, ‘I’ve just been all work and no play for so many years, I’ve forgotten how.’
    Catherine picked the photograph up from the table where I had put it down and studied it. ‘It’s funny,’ she said: ‘when that was taken all I was thinking about was parties, and you were already sitting behind a computer writing programs. You’ve never really had any fun in your life at all, have you?’
    ‘No, but that’s about to change.’
    That was when we were still undecided about where to live after we married, before we made the decision to come and live in London.
     
I decided I would get dressed, go out and buy something to eat. It seemed a long time since I had eaten, and I felt a little dizzy from lack of food. The wine I had drunk lingered on my palate and in my brain, and when I stepped into the street I nearly fell over, misjudging the distance from my doorstep to the pavement. I walked down to Curzon Street, went into the shop on the corner and started to look along the shelves for something to eat that wouldn’t be too much trouble.
    I was just reaching for a box of oatcakes when an advertisement caught my eye, a white poster on the wall on which was printed, in heavy black type: ‘TNMWWTTW’. It occurred to me that it was not the first time I had seen those letters. They were familiar to me, in some way, but I could not recall why. Perhaps I had seen the advertisement before. It must be one of those ridiculous teaser campaigns, designed to mystify, intended to make you think, What’s all that about, then? so that when the name of the product or service being advertised was finally explained, it would be such a relief you would immediately go and buy some out of sheer gratitude.
    ‘TNMWWTTW’. It grated on me that I could not make the connection. The letters stood for something, but what? It looked like a mnemonic. Then I thought it was a mnemonic, and one that I knew, if I could only call it to the front of my mind.
    ‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked somebody nearby. But I could not take my gaze from the poster. I gestured in its direction.
    I was beginning to feel distinctly odd, but I managed to ask, ‘What is that advertisement for?’
    ‘What advertisement is that, sir?’
    I waved my hand at the poster. I could not take my gaze from it. The letters grew larger, blurred and swam, turning into huge dots dancing across my vision. I felt sick and faint, as if all the blood had left my head in a