Picture the scene:
It’s a party. Not your usual, run of the mill party in someone’s house that revolves around loud music, beaucoup de alcohol, raucous behaviour, with the possibility of vomit and a fight at some point. No, this is a far more civil affair.
Set in the main reception room of a country hotel, it is black tie and by invitation only. There is a lot of money there. The premise is a charity night, let’s say for quadriplegic puppies with learning difficulties, and this is an opportunity for the privileged few to pretend that trickle-down economics is a genuine thing, if you can be patient enough and let us be generous.
At this party, a pretty, young girl is in attendance. She isn’t a part of the privileged elite that usually gather. She was invited by a well-connected friend, a daughter of a rich man, who encourages her to bring along a few pretty friends to such events, and she never thinks to wonder why. She just assumes they are being nice. Hell, maybe they are.
She is awkward, a minnow out of water, and uses the free-flowing wine to alleviate that nagging feeling that she doesn’t really belong here. She is young, but not overly naïve, so she is careful with her consumption. She doesn’t want to get drunk and make a fool of herself. She is savvy enough to realise that this is a networking opportunity.
She moves around, joins in conversations, makes the superficial small talk, and like everyone else there, says nothing of importance. She laughs at the right time (she hopes), and slowly feels less uncomfortable. Momentarily, she finds herself sitting alone.
An older man (he must be seventy) sees her, and, very politely and deliberately, asks if the seat next to her is taken. It’s a bullshit question, and on some level, they both know it. Feel free, she says, and takes a moment to consider this man. He is, of course, well dressed. A bespoke tux, beautifully tailored. He is not handsome, not particularly, but not unattractive, for an older man. His nails are manicured, he is in good shape, for an older man. He is clearly comfortable in his own skin, and exudes self-confidence.
The conversation flows. He has a daughter of a similar age, so he finds it easy to develop the exchange, and she finds herself relaxing, for the first time this evening. The daughter thing makes her feel at ease – this is just a nice man empathising with a young girl in unfamiliar surroundings.
At some point, her friend comes over to take her away to a vacuous conversation with another man of advancing years, but she puts her off with a promise she’ll be over soon.
Her friend is somewhat put out. She invited her, and is non-plussed by this minor rejection. She doesn’t know it yet, but she has decided this will be the last time she extends an invite like this if this all the gratitude she is going to get.
The young girl re-focused her attention on the older man, and the conversation takes a very different path.
I am, he says, very wealthy. And I think you are lovely.
He pauses, very deliberately. She blushes. This is exactly what he wanted her to do.
And I am a man who speaks plainly. My dear, I have a suite upstairs. Would you join me for the remainder of the evening, if I were to pay you $50000?
She is young and a little green, but she understands what is being proposed. She is immediately affronted, but keeps herself in check. She doesn’t want to cause a scene, and is all too aware that she is a small cog in this engine. She will not win, if this gets unpleasant.
And. $50000.
That’s my student debts gone. Right there. It’s a car, and a holiday, if I am careful.
The older man sits back in his seat, relaxed. If she was going to make a fuss, she would have done it by now. Whatever happens, he’s in the clear. He could almost hear her brain processing his proposal. This was one of his favourite parts of the process.
She considers him again. Maybe he is more handsome than she first thought. He is gentlemanly, and seems like a decent enough man. And it is not she is a virgin. $50000.
Until midnight, she says.
2am, he responds.
Agreed, she says, a little reluctantly.
Excellent, he declares. However.
He paused again. This is his very favourite bit. He wanted to savour it. He always wants to savour it.
I have been a little hasty. Look, we’ll both have some fun, but $50000 is a ridiculous amount of money. Let’s make it $500.
Her reaction is spontaneous. She is not in control any more, and she is hugely insulted.
$500? What do you think I am?
He smiles.
My dear, we have already established what you are. All we are doing now is negotiating on a price.
Author's note. This premise has been stuck in my head for a long time. I had no idea where it came from until I went a-Googling. The above is a fictional version of a quote attributed to Winston Churchill. It confirms what I have long suspected about him: a terrific wartime Prime Minister, but actually a bit of an asshole.