Zoe West
/April Shower
"Excuse me, dearest," called the unwanted male voice through the frontdoor letter-box, "but I've come about your electric iron."
"I'm sure it must be very pressing," called back ZOE WEST, London secretary with green eyes and a way of slaying men from the Electricity Board, "but you'll have to call back later. I'm just about to take a shower."
"Well, if you won't be embarrassed, I won’t either," called the voice a little hoarsely. "I like a shower myself. I usually take mine in April, but if there's room in there I'll take it earlier this year."
What a pusher, thought Zoe. It was no use arguing with that kind of nutcracker, so she went into the hall, aimed the nozzle of the washing-up detergent container through the letter-box and squirted him a faceful. He staggered back, lurched into the street and the heavy rain turned him into a foaming miracle.