Captain Tarquin Flemtwangle (Retired)

I am very protective of my mistress, especially now that Sir Teddie is no longer with us. I am constantly at her side, on the table, in the bed, sitting next to her sprawled across her desk or lying on my back in her arms looking adoringly at her beautiful twinkling eyes. At Teddie’s funeral when all the nobs and chavs were eating us out of manor house and home, I noticed with some dismay, as I sat on the desk on an assortment of correspondence, Captain Tarquin Flemtwangle (Retired) paying a lot of attention to Lady F. In fact he was rather embarrassing the way he kept following her round, topping up her glass and braying like an old diseased donkey at her every sentence and was generally all over her like a bad rash.

When he kissed her goodbye after he had guzzled two bottles of Bollickers finest vintage champers down his greedy fat neck, his lips lingered rather too long by her ears where the Van Cleet and Arse-spells diamond earrings were dangling. I am sure I saw a faint hint of pound note signs in his eyes as he weighed up the worth of the family jewels.  I hissed my disapproval at him from the comfort of Madam’s arm where I was ensconced whilst assisting her to clear the riffraff out of the house after the food and drink had all gone and the funeral party  came to a conclusion. He just ignored me and carried on fawning over Lady Fanny.

A huge bouquet or red roses arrived today from Fartnum's Floral Department. I love red roses, they are absolutely delish. I managed to nibble the edges of about seven of the fifty blooms before they were moved out of my grasp on the dining table to a higher place on the fireplace.

Skrowte is such a spoil sport.

It was only then that I learned that they had been sent by none other than the gold digging Captain himself, no doubt keen to wangle his way into Her Ladyships bed, bloomers and bank account.

A little later in the day, a calling card arrived from the Captain. It looked a bit grubby and well used. Skrowte dusted it off then placed it on the silver salver and handed it to Lady F, who looked at it then placed it beside her on the sofa where I was sitting. A deft flick with my paw soon sent the card flying across the carpet as I look up at Her Ladyship.

I saw a glimmer of an approving smile.

At 4pm the cheeky so and so, Flemtwangle (Retired) clearly not retired from chasing titled women, especially rich ones, arrived at the 14th Century oak doors of Gripewater Grange where he had rather generously invited himself to afternoon tea.

Her Ladyship sighed. Skrowte asked what Madam would like him to do with the uninvited guest who was keen to muscle his way in on the salmon sandwiches and Master Kippled coloured iced fancies that are part of our afternoon tradition. I am always handed a piece of the coloured icing to nibble on. Then when tea has been drunk, the remains of the milk jug are poured into a special bowl on the tea tray then put down for me. Two is company three is a crowd. I looked up imploring Her Ladyship not to invite this rogue into our withdrawing room.

Lady Fanny drew a big breath and told Skrote to be diplomatic, and tell the Captain that Lady Trumpington Trubshaw would not be receiving company.

I jumped down from the horsehair sofa and followed Skrowte to the front door where Captain Tarquin Flemtwangle (Retired) was standing with a plastic rose in his lapel and a box of cheap chocs from the Pound A Pop shop (everything a quid) in his hand

"Her Ladyship regrets that she is unable to entertain you Sir. Between you and me Tarkers," he confided, "she is not your type. She's not an inflatable"

With that he firmly closed the door, looked down at me, winked and strode back into the lounge to pour tea.

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