Dinner with Hillary

I FELT - more than heard - the tyre blow. My car had lost its grip on the icy road at about the same rate as panic had gained its grip on me - fast!

I fought to keep control of both the car, and myself, as it slid in to a curve and I started to yell. I lost control of the steering. The car and I, like fairground waltzers, began a long, slow turn.

All I could do was watch as the car veered towards a frost-covered verge. As the rear wheels bounced up the shallow brim my head hit the roof and I was thrown sideways. The car came to a juddering halt.

I sat slumped in the drivers' seat, with my heart rapidly beating, until the creeping chill turned my breath to a vapour.

I needed the heater, but with the engine not running there was none. I turned the ignition key. The engine turned over lively enough, but it did not fire.

I tried again. No joy. By the sixth try I became worried that I would flood the carburettor. I decided that I would change the flat tyre and then try starting the car once the engine had settled.

The moment I opened the door the wind pounced. It threw back my jacket and my tie lashed against my face. My feet slipped, and I fell, cradling between the seat and the frost covered grass. I gently eased myself back on to the seat involuntarily laughing at my predicament.

Once upright I gingerly made my way to the boot. The freezing wind hurled about me, dashing any humour I had left. The thin material of my suit was of no protection from the ferocity of the wind.

This evening, I had been to dine with my new boss and his wife. To impress him, I dressed formally. The thin material of the suit was no protection for the severe weather, however. I wore no overcoat because I wanted to give the impression that harsh weather meant nothing to me.

My new boss would think, "he must be fit, no overcoat in this weather". Stupid really but, because he had invited me to his home after only a week in his employ I thought of it as my opportunity to make a good first impression; especially since he seemed to take a shine to me, always saying. "You're just the ticket, my boy, just the ticket."

Anyway, my effort to look impressive went unnoticed, because when I arrived at his house, buried deep in the countryside, neither he nor his wife were on hand to greet me.

After ringing the bell several times without reply I realised that the front door was ajar. I entered, calling his name aloud and had already looked in two rooms before he had come bounding down the stairs.

He came down with such a thunder that he gave me a fright. A bulky man and quite intimidating, I had the distinct feeling during the meal that he was mocking me, which made me feel quite uncomfortable. His wife too had about her an air of haughtiness that I found extremely annoying.

By the end of the meal I was eager to get away. My uncomfortable disposition went unnoticed by my hostess, however, who was by then well into her subject.

Reincarnation is not a subject I know much about and have never taken an interest in. I thought it rather morbid for the occasion, but I sat stoically and she went on while her husband sat back smoking on a cigar.

"The transference of a soul from one kind to another you know" she stated.

No, I did not know, but I dutifully smiled and nodded. I must have nodded off to sleep for a moment, because I was jarred alert by the shock of a book thrown into my lap.

"Ah! What! Oh yes." I said picking up the book and reading the title and author's byline. 'Transmutations' by Hillary Conduce.