Eva Trout by Elizabeth Bowen

larger reptile handbag wondered at by Catrina. Mr. Denge was in luck; he secured a porter: the three of them made their way to the firm’s car, a conservative Rover, and loaded up. Mr. Denge threw the car convulsively into gear. “Must we go far?” asked his client, as they drove off.
    “No distance!” sang out the professional optimist. “You are not familiar with our part of the world, Miss Trout?”
    “No. That is why.”
    “ I see,” he said, accustomed to doing so. “You will find we are rich in associations, not to speak of celebrities past and present. Charles Dickens—”
    “—Yes. Where do I buy a bicycle?”
    “Now, immediately?”
    “Yes.”
    Mr. Denge altered course. “And, Miss Trout, groceries? This is your opportunity. I take it you have brought with you your plate and linen? As we pointed out in ours of the 23rd, those you provide. We trust that was understood?”
    “No. What are they?”
    “Ha-ha—sheets, and so on. Spoons and, ha-ha, forks.”
    “How should I possess those?” asked Eva moodily. “Must I buy them? Are they very expensive?”
    “Not necessarily. Had I foreseen, I’d have brought Mrs.
    Denge along—bad she been available. Tuesdays however are ladies’ bridge afternoons; one of many social occasions in which you may find you would like to take part. Broadstairs is also animated in the evenings, more rather than less so out of season, when, less overrun by visitors, we are more exclusive. You will find in the better part of the town hotels with an international cuisine, not to speak of restaurants. Those, Mrs. Denge and I and our little circle frequent, on occasions—that is, from time to time. Mrs. Denge would, I think I can guarantee, be happy to introduce you, and not less, to assist you with any shopping … Meanwhile, just this and that, to carry you over? Miss Trout, though not having had instructions we took it upon ourselves to have gas reconnected, also the electricity. Water, needless to say. We took no steps, however, with regard to the telephone—that, you have to apply for.”
    She flew into a panic. “I WON’T have one!”
    “ I see.”
    They obtained the bicycle (which Eva had roped, forthwith, to the back of the Rover), one pair of floral sheets and their pillow-cases, a tricolor bath towel, a spoon, a fork and a knife, such groceries as Mr. Denge and his friend the grocer considered basic, a bottle of milk and a swiss roll. Mr. Denge darted to and fro under Eva’s feet. “Any oranges, Miss Trout, apples, dates or bananas?”
    “No. I have spent enough.”
    “ I see. In that case, nothing of any kind to—ha-ha, drink?”
    Eva did not reply: she had crossed the street to examine a Mr. Micawber cream jug. “Now,” she announced, looking round for her charioteer, “I want to go home.”
    “ Home ?” cried he, fearing all was lost.
    “Where is my house?”
    The Rover turned out of town. Their way, on the left palisaded by terrace houses, then trimmed by villas, on the right was accorded glimpses of sea. Mr. Denge grew more tense as Cathay neared. “You are going,” he said, summoning all he had, “to be delighted. Cathay is a house of character.”
    “Are there rats, mice?”
    “We’ve had not a complaint on that score, I can assure you!”
    “I understood they inhabited empty buildings.”
    “You were quite misinformed. Are you nervous, Miss Trout —nervous of rodents?”
    “No. I am fond of animals.”
    “You have no dog?”
    “No—but I might.” (Why not?)
    “No friend like a dog. But professionally speaking I ought to warn you—they cause damage.”
    They now entered a region of grass-verged roads with eroded surfaces, which gave the impression of being obfuscated. Nowhere was anybody about, or any other vehicle in motion. Though bald on its sea frontage, along the cliff-top, the promontory had inland an intense secretiveness, everything being sunk within bastion hedges impossible to see through or over. The forceful growth