only one?’
‘She don’t think I’m your only one.’ Juliet was suddenly irritated by her mother’s soft whine.
‘Wot? Wot you say?’
‘I said she don’t think I am your only one.’ There was a grin in Juliet’s tone.
‘Oh Julie! You been telling her lies?’
‘Had to. Now don’t go on about it, Mum, it’s done now.’
‘Oh Julie! Wot you been and told her?’
‘Nothing you need worry about. You have a nice Christmas with your other four kids.’
‘ Julie ! You never!’
‘Yes I did – and so’d you if you was half off your trolley wanting a bit of peace and couldn’t never get it . . . Now don’t cry, Mum. I’ll ring you Christmas Eve. And there’ll be something nice for you and Dad in the post. Cheerio.’
‘Julie—’
But Juliet had replaced the receiver.
Miss Pennecuick had invited the Masseys, Frank, and a married pair, old friends of hers, to stay until New Year’s Day. The Harding-Grays were amiable and pleasant enough, but hardly ‘added to the gaiety of nations’, though nations were their chief topic of conversation. Priding themselves upon keeping their minds alert, they remorselessly read their newspaper from front to back every morning over their breakfast trays (omitting only the sports pages), and arrived at luncheon primed with the difficult names, correctly pronounced, of the Arabs or Vietnamese present at the latest hopeless conference table.
From the ‘newest industrial deadlock’ to black holes and the bouncing universe was, for the Harding-Grays, only a step, and they did not seem to realize that other people might have weaker nerves and digestions than themselves.
‘Well, at least they didn’t grumble about permissiveness,’ said Clemence. She and Frank were indulging in a little good-natured mockery of the departed guests on New Year’s morning.
‘Yes, we were spared that. They rather approved, trendy old donkeys.’
‘I thought “Three cheers for Aunt Addy” when she came out with: “Well, my dears, I can’t do anything about all these things so I shall just ignore them.”’
Frank was staring out at the silvery trees. Hoar frost, one of the rarest and most beautiful of natural spectacles, had descended, as silently as a New Year angel, in the night. A sudden sense of enjoyment in Clem’s company came to him, and with it the realization that his own mood was usually so lofty as to lower the spirits of others.
Man’s Fate . . . The Origin of the Universe . . . I almost never feel actively cheerful , he admitted to himself, and laughed aloud suddenly, and got up from the window seat.
‘What is it?’ Smiling, as she looked up from her knitting.
‘I was just thinking I’m a bit of a Harding-Gray myself.’
‘Oh you aren’t . . . but you do hardly ever laugh out loud.’
‘I’m going to take young Juliet out for a walk. She looks liverish to me. Coming?’
‘No thanks. I must write some letters.’
Not though the hoar frost was so pretty, not though an hour of his company was precious. Not with Juliet Slater .
‘We’ll be back for lunch.’
He smiled at her as he went out, leaving her glad to have heard the unromantic word. One did not fall in love with a liverish teenager.
Frank ran upstairs and tapped on Juliet’s door.
‘Juliet? Coming for a walk?’
‘All right,’ after a pause. She opened the door. She was putting on her cape. Her books were open on the table, and Frank felt such a strong curiosity about what she might be reading that in two strides he was across the room and bending over them.
Juliet said impatiently: ‘Get your skates on.’
‘Sorry. What’s this? The Challenge of Chance – any good?’
She shook her head.
Frank forgot to watch his speech, and said, like anyone else, ‘What an odd book for a girl to be reading.’
‘He – that boy – you know, Arthur in the shop – told me about it, so I tried in the library. But they hadn’t got it, so I bought it.’
‘Bit of a waste of money,
‘She don’t think I’m your only one.’ Juliet was suddenly irritated by her mother’s soft whine.
‘Wot? Wot you say?’
‘I said she don’t think I am your only one.’ There was a grin in Juliet’s tone.
‘Oh Julie! You been telling her lies?’
‘Had to. Now don’t go on about it, Mum, it’s done now.’
‘Oh Julie! Wot you been and told her?’
‘Nothing you need worry about. You have a nice Christmas with your other four kids.’
‘ Julie ! You never!’
‘Yes I did – and so’d you if you was half off your trolley wanting a bit of peace and couldn’t never get it . . . Now don’t cry, Mum. I’ll ring you Christmas Eve. And there’ll be something nice for you and Dad in the post. Cheerio.’
‘Julie—’
But Juliet had replaced the receiver.
Miss Pennecuick had invited the Masseys, Frank, and a married pair, old friends of hers, to stay until New Year’s Day. The Harding-Grays were amiable and pleasant enough, but hardly ‘added to the gaiety of nations’, though nations were their chief topic of conversation. Priding themselves upon keeping their minds alert, they remorselessly read their newspaper from front to back every morning over their breakfast trays (omitting only the sports pages), and arrived at luncheon primed with the difficult names, correctly pronounced, of the Arabs or Vietnamese present at the latest hopeless conference table.
From the ‘newest industrial deadlock’ to black holes and the bouncing universe was, for the Harding-Grays, only a step, and they did not seem to realize that other people might have weaker nerves and digestions than themselves.
‘Well, at least they didn’t grumble about permissiveness,’ said Clemence. She and Frank were indulging in a little good-natured mockery of the departed guests on New Year’s morning.
‘Yes, we were spared that. They rather approved, trendy old donkeys.’
‘I thought “Three cheers for Aunt Addy” when she came out with: “Well, my dears, I can’t do anything about all these things so I shall just ignore them.”’
Frank was staring out at the silvery trees. Hoar frost, one of the rarest and most beautiful of natural spectacles, had descended, as silently as a New Year angel, in the night. A sudden sense of enjoyment in Clem’s company came to him, and with it the realization that his own mood was usually so lofty as to lower the spirits of others.
Man’s Fate . . . The Origin of the Universe . . . I almost never feel actively cheerful , he admitted to himself, and laughed aloud suddenly, and got up from the window seat.
‘What is it?’ Smiling, as she looked up from her knitting.
‘I was just thinking I’m a bit of a Harding-Gray myself.’
‘Oh you aren’t . . . but you do hardly ever laugh out loud.’
‘I’m going to take young Juliet out for a walk. She looks liverish to me. Coming?’
‘No thanks. I must write some letters.’
Not though the hoar frost was so pretty, not though an hour of his company was precious. Not with Juliet Slater .
‘We’ll be back for lunch.’
He smiled at her as he went out, leaving her glad to have heard the unromantic word. One did not fall in love with a liverish teenager.
Frank ran upstairs and tapped on Juliet’s door.
‘Juliet? Coming for a walk?’
‘All right,’ after a pause. She opened the door. She was putting on her cape. Her books were open on the table, and Frank felt such a strong curiosity about what she might be reading that in two strides he was across the room and bending over them.
Juliet said impatiently: ‘Get your skates on.’
‘Sorry. What’s this? The Challenge of Chance – any good?’
She shook her head.
Frank forgot to watch his speech, and said, like anyone else, ‘What an odd book for a girl to be reading.’
‘He – that boy – you know, Arthur in the shop – told me about it, so I tried in the library. But they hadn’t got it, so I bought it.’
‘Bit of a waste of money,
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