the wooden shed which was the garage. Judith opened the doors and Molly climbed gingerly in, behind the wheel of the little Austin Seven, and after one or two false starts managed to get the engine running, jam the gear-stick into reverse and back jerkily out. Judith got in beside her, and they set off. It took a moment or two for Molly to get her nerve up, and they had passed through the village and were well on their way before she finally achieved top gear and a speed of thirty miles an hour.
‘I can't think why you're so frightened of driving. You do it very well.’
‘It's because I haven't had much practice. In Colombo we always had a driver.’
They trundled on, and then ran into a bit of mist, so it was necessary to turn on the windscreen wipers, but there were very few cars on the road (just as well, Judith told herself), and Molly began to relax a little. At one moment a horse pulling a cartful of turnips loomed out of the drizzle ahead of them, but she managed to deal with this emergency, tooting her horn, putting on a little speed, and overtaking the creaking vehicle.
‘Brilliant,’ said Judith.
Before long, the mist disappeared as swiftly as it had fallen, and the other sea came into view, a pearly blue in the thin morning sunshine, and they saw the great sweep of Mounts Bay, and St Michael's Mount like a fairy-tale castle on top of its rock. The tide was in, and so it was isolated by water. Then the road ran on between the railway line and the gentle slopes of farmland, small fields green with broccoli, and the town lay ahead, and the harbour busy with fishing boats. They passed by hotels closed for the winter, and the railway station, and then Market Jew Street sloped up ahead of them, to the statue of Humphrey Davy with his miner's safety lamp, and the tall dome of the Lloyds Bank Building.
They parked the car in the Greenmarket by the fruit-and-vegetable shop. Outside its door stood tin buckets crammed with the first fragile bunches of early daffodils, and from within wafted smells of earth and leeks and parsnips. The pavements were busy with shoppers, country women laden with heavy baskets, standing in little groups exchanging gossip.
‘Lovely now, isn't it?’
‘How's Stanley's leg?’
‘Blown up like a balloon.’
It would have been nice to linger, to listen in, but Molly was already on her way, not wanting to waste a moment, crossing the street and heading for Medways. Judith followed her, running to catch up.
It was an old-fashioned, sombre shop, with plate-glass windows displaying outdoor wear, tweeds, woollens, hats and raincoats for both ladies and gentlemen. Inside all was fitted in dark wood, and smelt of paraffin heaters, rubber waterproofs, and fusty assistants. One of these, who looked as though his head had been attached to his body by his high, throttling collar, came respectfully forward.
‘May I be of assistance, madam?’
‘Oh, thank you. We have to buy uniform, for St Ursula's.’
‘First floor, madam. If you'd like to take the stairs.’
‘Where does he want us to take the stairs
to?
’ Judith hissed as they ascended.
‘Be quiet, he'll hear you.’
The staircase was wide and stately and had a portentous banister with a polished mahogany rail that would be perfect, under different circumstances, for sliding down. The children's department took up the whole of the first floor and was spacious, with a long, polished counter on either side and tall windows facing out over the street. This time it was a lady assistant who approached them. She wore a sad black dress and was quite elderly, and she walked as though her feet hurt, which they probably did, after years of standing.
‘Good morning, madam. Want some help, do you?’
‘Yes, we do.’ Molly fished in her bag for the clothes list. ‘The St Ursula's uniform. For my daughter.’
‘That's lovely, isn't it? Going to St Ursula's are you? What are you needing?’
‘Everything.’
‘That'll take some
‘I can't think why you're so frightened of driving. You do it very well.’
‘It's because I haven't had much practice. In Colombo we always had a driver.’
They trundled on, and then ran into a bit of mist, so it was necessary to turn on the windscreen wipers, but there were very few cars on the road (just as well, Judith told herself), and Molly began to relax a little. At one moment a horse pulling a cartful of turnips loomed out of the drizzle ahead of them, but she managed to deal with this emergency, tooting her horn, putting on a little speed, and overtaking the creaking vehicle.
‘Brilliant,’ said Judith.
Before long, the mist disappeared as swiftly as it had fallen, and the other sea came into view, a pearly blue in the thin morning sunshine, and they saw the great sweep of Mounts Bay, and St Michael's Mount like a fairy-tale castle on top of its rock. The tide was in, and so it was isolated by water. Then the road ran on between the railway line and the gentle slopes of farmland, small fields green with broccoli, and the town lay ahead, and the harbour busy with fishing boats. They passed by hotels closed for the winter, and the railway station, and then Market Jew Street sloped up ahead of them, to the statue of Humphrey Davy with his miner's safety lamp, and the tall dome of the Lloyds Bank Building.
They parked the car in the Greenmarket by the fruit-and-vegetable shop. Outside its door stood tin buckets crammed with the first fragile bunches of early daffodils, and from within wafted smells of earth and leeks and parsnips. The pavements were busy with shoppers, country women laden with heavy baskets, standing in little groups exchanging gossip.
‘Lovely now, isn't it?’
‘How's Stanley's leg?’
‘Blown up like a balloon.’
It would have been nice to linger, to listen in, but Molly was already on her way, not wanting to waste a moment, crossing the street and heading for Medways. Judith followed her, running to catch up.
It was an old-fashioned, sombre shop, with plate-glass windows displaying outdoor wear, tweeds, woollens, hats and raincoats for both ladies and gentlemen. Inside all was fitted in dark wood, and smelt of paraffin heaters, rubber waterproofs, and fusty assistants. One of these, who looked as though his head had been attached to his body by his high, throttling collar, came respectfully forward.
‘May I be of assistance, madam?’
‘Oh, thank you. We have to buy uniform, for St Ursula's.’
‘First floor, madam. If you'd like to take the stairs.’
‘Where does he want us to take the stairs
to?
’ Judith hissed as they ascended.
‘Be quiet, he'll hear you.’
The staircase was wide and stately and had a portentous banister with a polished mahogany rail that would be perfect, under different circumstances, for sliding down. The children's department took up the whole of the first floor and was spacious, with a long, polished counter on either side and tall windows facing out over the street. This time it was a lady assistant who approached them. She wore a sad black dress and was quite elderly, and she walked as though her feet hurt, which they probably did, after years of standing.
‘Good morning, madam. Want some help, do you?’
‘Yes, we do.’ Molly fished in her bag for the clothes list. ‘The St Ursula's uniform. For my daughter.’
‘That's lovely, isn't it? Going to St Ursula's are you? What are you needing?’
‘Everything.’
‘That'll take some
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