16.
Mister Vanilla in the Hall of Mirrors
MISTER Vanilla smoothes the waxy tips of his waxy moustache and pops a sugared primrose into his mouth. He does not like the way the conversation is developing.
''We did the work,'' says Mistress Thyme, ''We should share the profits.''
''What profits, my little pigeon? You assume I'm going to sell it.'' Mister Vanilla replaces the tin and folds his great fat fingers over his stomachs.
''You said it was valuable,'' says Rue.
''And so it is, my little roselet. Very valuable.''
''So let's sell it and skip the country,'' says Thyme impatiently. ''Imagine, Vanilla, the three of us settling down somewhere together, just as you always dreamed, all three of us together somewhere like.... France..''
Mister Vanilla is suddenly dressed in a black beret and a blue-and-white stripy jumper and has a string of onions round his neck. He sings: ''Sur le pont d'Avignon, on y dansant, allez poncey…''
''Not again!'' he snaps.
''Or Spain,'' suggests Rue.
Mister Vanilla is suddenly dressed in black toreador pants, a golden waistcoat, a black hat and has a red cape in his hand. He sings: ''Toreador, en garda, toreador, knock on the door, kick down the door….''
''Or Good Ole Americay,'' says Thyme.
Mister Vanilla is suddenly dressed in leather chaps, a checked shirt and a cowboy hat, a lasso dangling from his hand. He sings: ''Hey little dogies, roll on, roll on,''
''Or.…''
''Stop it,'' snaps Mister Vanilla. ''Stop this at once. I am not going abroad and neither is the jewel. It is valuable, but not to you and not to me. It is not for sale.'' He settles back in his chair. ''Now give it to me.''
''We don't have it,'' says Thyme.
''I don't think you understand,'' says Mister Vanilla softly. A gun appears in his hand. ''Give me the jewel.''
''Oohh, Mister Vanilla, don't shoot us, please,'' says Rue in mock-terror.
''No, Mister Vanilla, please don't shoot us,'' says Thyme. The sisters explode into mirth.
''How do you know I won't shoot you, my little cobra-kins?'' The gun does not waver. Mister Vanilla's blue eyes are ice-cold.
''Because you love us,'' says Thyme.
''You adore us,'' says Rue.
''You lust after us,'' says Thyme. ''You dream of possessing us. You'd sell your jewel, your ring and your soul for one night with us.''
''Where is the ring?'' says Mister Vanilla. ''Where is it, Rue?''
Rue runs her tongue-tip over her lip. ''Satisfy us, Vanilla, satisfy yourself, and you shall have it,'' she says.
''It's your chance to live out your fantasy,'' says Thyme, slapping her high-cut thigh-boot with her riding crop. ''Come, and you shall have it.''
Mister Vanilla is sweating profusely. It is a very unpleasant sensation. He pops a sugared peony into his mouth.
''Not here,'' says Rue.
''Oh no, not here,'' says Thyme. ''In the Hall of Mirrors. You can live out your dream a thousand times over.''
Mister Vanilla is in a dilemma. He needs the jewel. He has been paid to retrieve it. But he doesn't trust the circus sisters. They have double-crossed him many times before. Threats and persuasion have come to nothing. Perhaps he has to pay their price. Mopping his face with a large lilac handkerchief, he adjusts the watch-chain across his upper stomach and lumbers to his feet.
Rue and Thyme exchange smiles. ''Fetch the olive oil,'' Thyme tells her sister.
''Extra Virgin?'' smirks Rue.
''I think so,'' smirks Thyme.
Mister Vanilla finds himself wobbling towards the Hall of Mirrors, Rue on one arm, Thyme on the other. Both sisters are caressing and cooing. Fine, he thinks. Maybe this won't be so bad. The sisters know what they want from him. Maybe he should just lie back and think of the cheque he'll get from his mistress when the ring is returned. Entering the tent, he is dazzled by a billion reflections of himself. Somewhere mixed up in this he spots two naked women, Dax and Jax, bouncing round the mirrors, DaxandJaxandJaxandDaxandDaxandJaxandJaxandJaxandDaxand
and
VanillaVanillaVanillaVanillaVanillaVanillaVanillaVanillaVanillaVanilla
Distantly, he hears laughter and then the voice of Truss, the circus owner, proclaiming: ''Welcome to the World of Mirrors, where nothing is real and everything is reflection.'' His senses swirling, Mister Vanilla groans and sinks to the ground, covering his ears with his very fat hands. As he falls, he understands they have done it again. Rue and Thyme have fooled him again, and now he is lost, maybe forever.