and what the house agents called ‘f. & f.’
And then, just as Dulcie had been, he was approached by a stranger, but a youngish, good-looking man with fair curly hair, who asked him in a rather prim voice, if number thirty-seven Deodar Grove was at this end of the road.
‘It’s this next house, with the particularly fine deodar in the front garden,’ said Aylwin.
The young man laughed rather uncertainly, for he saw only a laburnum and what might have been a kind of prunus or almond tree. ‘I hope I’m not too late,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly five o’clock.’
‘Too late?’ Aylwin asked. ‘For tea, do you mean?’ What was this young man doing, going to the house at tea-time, as if he had been invited? A friend of Marjorie’s, perhaps – but he could not place him among the youths at the tennis club who had been her suitors before he married her.
‘Well, that and the sale,’ said the young man, and then Aylwin saw what he meant. He read the notice on the front door – jumble sale – in aid of the organ fund*. This was really too much! The things women did to men! Had anybody ever really made a serious study of the subject, of the innumerable pinpricks and humiliations endured by men at the hands of women? How could he enter the house with flowers for his wronged wife when the place was crowded with women buying and selling jumble in aid of the organ fund!
‘You see,’ the young man explained, ‘I’m the organist, and I feel the ladies will expect me to put in an appearance.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ said Aylwin, faintly ironical. He could imagine the entrance the young man would make, the pleased cries that would greet his appearance, the fresh tea that would be made, and his complacent acceptance of their tributes. No doubt, like all men connected with the Church – his own brother Neville included – the organist would be At Ease With Ladies. He could see the phrase – At Ease with Ladies – as the title of a novel or even a biography.
Aylwin wished the young man good-night and walked on past the house, holding the flowers awkwardly in front of him. What should he do with them now? Was there anybody living in the district to whom he could give them, unobtrusively, of course, hardly seeming to do so? He thought for a moment, and then remembered that Viola Dace, who had so embarrassingly insisted on making the index for his book, had recently moved into the neighbourhood. He even had her address written in his diary. He would find a taxi at the station and take the flowers to the house – a landlady or servant would doubtless open the door, so there need be no embarrassing encounter.
Dulcie, walking from the bus stop and seeing the taxi stopping in the road, had no idea that it was coming to her house. Taxis usually meant Senhor MacBride-Pereira, or Mrs Beltane returning from a particularly exhausting shopping afternoon in Harrods. It was not until she reached her front gate and saw Aylwin Forbes standing on the doorstep that she realized the situation. And even then she did not, of course, know everything. Her one thought was that she must not meet him, so she walked quickly down the road past the house, an anonymous scurrying figure, just like a tired businesswoman returning home after a day’s work.
Aylwin, meanwhile, had rung the bell and was waiting confidently for the landlady or servant who would appear and relieve him of the flowers. After what seemed a long time – especially as the taxi was ticking away in the road – the door was opened by a tall dark girl wearing tight-fitting black trousers and a yellow sweater.
‘Oh …’ Laurel exclaimed, obviously taken aback at the sight of such a good-looking man and such a very large bunch of flowers. ‘I’m afraid my aunt isn’t in yet.’ But surely, she thought, he’s come to the wrong house?
‘Actually I brought these for Miss Dace,’ said Aylwin, confused by the unexpected encounter with a pretty young girl and
And then, just as Dulcie had been, he was approached by a stranger, but a youngish, good-looking man with fair curly hair, who asked him in a rather prim voice, if number thirty-seven Deodar Grove was at this end of the road.
‘It’s this next house, with the particularly fine deodar in the front garden,’ said Aylwin.
The young man laughed rather uncertainly, for he saw only a laburnum and what might have been a kind of prunus or almond tree. ‘I hope I’m not too late,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly five o’clock.’
‘Too late?’ Aylwin asked. ‘For tea, do you mean?’ What was this young man doing, going to the house at tea-time, as if he had been invited? A friend of Marjorie’s, perhaps – but he could not place him among the youths at the tennis club who had been her suitors before he married her.
‘Well, that and the sale,’ said the young man, and then Aylwin saw what he meant. He read the notice on the front door – jumble sale – in aid of the organ fund*. This was really too much! The things women did to men! Had anybody ever really made a serious study of the subject, of the innumerable pinpricks and humiliations endured by men at the hands of women? How could he enter the house with flowers for his wronged wife when the place was crowded with women buying and selling jumble in aid of the organ fund!
‘You see,’ the young man explained, ‘I’m the organist, and I feel the ladies will expect me to put in an appearance.’
‘I’m sure they will,’ said Aylwin, faintly ironical. He could imagine the entrance the young man would make, the pleased cries that would greet his appearance, the fresh tea that would be made, and his complacent acceptance of their tributes. No doubt, like all men connected with the Church – his own brother Neville included – the organist would be At Ease With Ladies. He could see the phrase – At Ease with Ladies – as the title of a novel or even a biography.
Aylwin wished the young man good-night and walked on past the house, holding the flowers awkwardly in front of him. What should he do with them now? Was there anybody living in the district to whom he could give them, unobtrusively, of course, hardly seeming to do so? He thought for a moment, and then remembered that Viola Dace, who had so embarrassingly insisted on making the index for his book, had recently moved into the neighbourhood. He even had her address written in his diary. He would find a taxi at the station and take the flowers to the house – a landlady or servant would doubtless open the door, so there need be no embarrassing encounter.
Dulcie, walking from the bus stop and seeing the taxi stopping in the road, had no idea that it was coming to her house. Taxis usually meant Senhor MacBride-Pereira, or Mrs Beltane returning from a particularly exhausting shopping afternoon in Harrods. It was not until she reached her front gate and saw Aylwin Forbes standing on the doorstep that she realized the situation. And even then she did not, of course, know everything. Her one thought was that she must not meet him, so she walked quickly down the road past the house, an anonymous scurrying figure, just like a tired businesswoman returning home after a day’s work.
Aylwin, meanwhile, had rung the bell and was waiting confidently for the landlady or servant who would appear and relieve him of the flowers. After what seemed a long time – especially as the taxi was ticking away in the road – the door was opened by a tall dark girl wearing tight-fitting black trousers and a yellow sweater.
‘Oh …’ Laurel exclaimed, obviously taken aback at the sight of such a good-looking man and such a very large bunch of flowers. ‘I’m afraid my aunt isn’t in yet.’ But surely, she thought, he’s come to the wrong house?
‘Actually I brought these for Miss Dace,’ said Aylwin, confused by the unexpected encounter with a pretty young girl and
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