Mrs. Pargeter's Pound of Flesh Read Online Free Page A

deep-cleansed with something that in any other environment would have been recognized as a pan-scourer. An hour more aerobics and a very long ride on an exercise bicycle ensured that she was more than ready for her supper, which offered the gastronomic treat of the day – breast of chicken who had evidently been a recent winner of Brotherton Hall's Slimmer of the Year Contest. This sliver of meat was parsimoniously garnished with, yes, more lettuce, and the whole complemented by a rather soapy mineral water.
    Kim's day was then completed by a lecture on Body-Tautness Through Yoga , followed by another ugly encounter with the collective conscience of all the guests, the Nine O'Clock Weigh-In. At this ritual those who had put on weight were vilified, those who had kept the same weight were castigated, and those who had lost weight were discouraged from complacency and asked why they hadn't lost more.
    This regime ensured that everyone went to bed in a proper state of humble inadequacy, determined to spend even more time and money at Brotherton Hall.
    Mrs Pargeter's day was different in almost every particular. After a Full English Breakfast (including Black Pudding), she returned to the 'Allergy Room' for lunch (Salmon Steaks, blissfully garnished with gooseberry sauce and of course rosti, Charlotte Malakov aux Fraises , enhanced by a good bottle of Sancerre) and dinner (Faisan au Vin de Porto, garnished with prunes and of course rosti, Meringue Glace , a very decent Barolo, and some more of the princely Armagnac). Gaston Lenoir (formerly 'Nitty' Wilson) was simply ecstatic to have someone to show off to.
    But Mrs Pargeter did not totally neglect the facilities offered by Brotherton Hall. She read a lot of magazines and dozed in the solarium. She spent a very relaxing time in the jacuzzi and after that had a massage, having first checked firmly that no Saragossa Seaweed (or Brotherton Hall Pondweed) was going to be involved in the process. Her enquiries were rewarded by a deliciously benign pummelling from a large masseur whose initial training had been as a baker.
    For both it was a delightful experience. Mrs Pargeter felt herself transported to new heights of physical well-being; while for the masseur the kneading of her warm, abundant, scented flesh piquantly brought back the early days of his apprenticeship.
    Though Mrs Pargeter and Kim Thurrock spent their days so differently, it would be a hard call to say which one enjoyed herself more.
    The one mildly discordant note in Mrs Pargeter's day was struck by her visit to the Brotherton Hall doctor for the medical ratification of her 'Special Treatment' status.
    It was not that Dr Potter made any demur about granting her sick-note – his actions were as unimpeded by ethical considerations as Ankle-Deep Arkwright had suggested they would be – it was just that Mrs Pargeter did not care for him very much.
    In spite of his fussily dapper suit, the doctor's appearance did not inspire confidence. The thin skin of his face was stretched tight over prominent cheekbones and a surprisingly small nose; it looked completely smooth, but when he grimaced-which is what he did instead of smiling – it broke up into a tracery of tiny parallel lines.
    There was something slightly out of true about the set of his eyes, which was accentuated by the deepness of their colour, an indefinable muddy hue like the deep silt of an estuary.
    And his hair was obviously dyed, to that over-hearty chestnut which is apparently the only brown available to greying men. Though she had been happy to let her own hair settle to its natural white, Mrs Pargeter had nothing against the principle of hair-colouring, but she thought it looked better on women than men. It was still the case that while women might use hair colour as an exotic fashion accessory, men almost always aspired to a natural look; and it was therefore somehow disappointing when they failed to achieve this effect as totally as Dr Potter had