Faff in the Desert

1

He fasts and fasts,

only to then feast on an onion.

Arab proverb

1

The train pulled into the station, clouding what few people stood on the platform in billowing steam and smuts. With a hiss the engine stopped and as the passengers alighted, a young man sprang from the carriage, as if the locomotive itself was on fire and looked about. Archie Plunkett-Pfaff was tall and slim but not wispy, rather like a sapling that refused to succumb to a winter of hard frost and howling gales. His rather wide eyed nature did, however, cause such a wind to occasionally bring a tear to his eye, as howling gales often do to those who stare into them.

In this case however, it wasn't wind, but a newspaper that hit him in the face, caught in an eddy as the train left the station. Tearing the paper from his head, he folded it into the bin and saw that he was alone on the platform.

Had Sir Charles not sent anyone to meet him? Archie knew that he was not the great man's favourite potential son-in-law. In fact, as Archie pondered it, he wasn't only Sir Charles' least favourite potential son-in-law, but the only filler of the role. If he was the only one, might he also be the favourite too? He was determined to make it so, even if no-one had been sent to greet him.

Let's see, Rankledown Hall was only a few miles away and if he started walking immediately he could be there before anyone would even know. Archie might miss drinks before lunch, but that was merely the warm up to the great news he had for Sir Charles. But if there was one thing that would relegate him to below least favourite suitor to his daughter, it was tardiness.

Archie pictured the stern look on Sir Charles Rankledown's face but soon found himself thinking of Laura. He hadn't seen her since their engagement in London earlier in the summer. Holed up at Rankledown Hall, she had written him letters but Archie hadn't been able to tear himself away from his studies to come here to darkest Herefordshire.

Until now.

Today was the day. Laura would see that her future husband was set on a flowering career, what Sir Charles would describe as prospects.

Hurrying along the platform to the small station house, Archie slowed, taking care not to slip on the polished floor inside. He rounded the station's entrance-way and was outside on to the road. It was a warm September day and Archie felt his life was about to take a turn for the better. And he was, if not literally in the driver's seat, or in any car for that matter, certainly metaphorically so. He was about to wrest his being from the fug of academia out into a world of adventure and agency. Soon his dreams of being a fully fledged field archaeologist would take flight. Laura will be so proud.

"Mister Plunkett-Pfaff?"

A man in a dark jacket stood beside a highly polished black Morris Cowley motor car.

"Sir?" He called again. Hearing the shout from behind him, Archie spun around on his heels, slipping on the cobblestone and was floored instantly.

"Mister Plunkett-Pfaff?" The man blustered again as he trotted over.

"Yes, yes, that's me," said Archie, lifting himself to his feet and examining his tweed jacket for dirt.

"Sir Charles sent me to meet you."

"Excellent," said Archie, worried there might be muck on his jacket but after the fall felt too self conscious to give it a thorough inspection.

"I trust the train was not too early?"

"It was a fine journey, thank you."

"My name is Hotchkiss, this way please," he cooed as he ushered Archie to the car.