Tableland by D. E. Harker Page A

engaged – she said it was good for the figure, so I had one or two half-hearted attempts at the game. However, it was good of Steve to ask me and I must say I was rather honoured to be asked to make up a four with three Round Wheelers – we can all have a “noggin” afterwards and I can find out yet more about entering that “select band” (another step further towards my ambition).
    April 22nd – Wednesday
    It rained heavily during the night and I thought of my car out there in the wet, probably starting to rust already. The dog will have to go – my car is not going to spend another night outside and that’s that. Hope it rains tomorrow then the tennis will be cancelled.
    Avery leaves on Friday – the bright spot of the week. P.H. called me into the cupboard that he calls his office this morning and informed me that there would be no replacement for Avery at the moment due to “trade being somewhat thin” but that he hoped Brimcup and I would “pull our weight” and share Avery’s calls between us. No mention of salary increase in the foreseeable future. So much for the “certain conversations” overheard by Brimcup.
    April 23rd – Thursday
    Felt rather self-conscious strolling along to the Cock and Bull this evening in my pale blue terylene slacks and red T-shirt left over from last year’s holiday, and, sure enough, the others were wearing whites. They were very pally, however.
    I was getting hungry by this time as we usually have supper at about half past six.
    I hadn’t expected the whole c1ientele of the Cock and Bull to be watching. They were either looking through the French windows, at the back of the pub, or standing around outside in groups with their drinks, discussing the play and every now and again clapping a good shot, when they could find somewhere to park their glasses.
    Over in the corner, standing by himself, I spotted a vaguely familiar figure, running a comb through his hair.
    â€˜There’s Les Crow watching the talent,’ said Keith, and by the way he said it, I don’t think he was referring to the tennis. There were two young women just finishing their game as we approached the court.
    â€˜Oh, it’s Val and Vera getting in some practice for the Inner Circle knockout tourney,’ Ken Dugeon remarked and he, Keith Goodchap, and Steve discussed the forthcoming tournament and their respective wives’ chances of winning it.
    I must admit, I was feeling more and more hollow in the stomach, whether it was due to hunger or nerves, I don’t know, but at that moment the usually fickle finger of fate changed direction and smiled on me. In other words, it started to rain.
    The spectators dispersed and Val and Vera fled into the bar.
    â€˜It’s only a shower,’ Steve said and the others agreed.
    â€˜Yes, it’ll be over in a minute,’ added Keith. I said nothing.
    We braved the elements for a few minutes, twirling our racquets, but it soon became too wet for even these redoubtable three.
    â€˜We’ll just pop in for a quick one, shall we?’ said Ken.
    â€˜Good idea,’ I replied.
    Inside it was crowded and noisy. Steve went to get some drinks and we squashed into a corner with Val and Vera. Waves of relief swept over me and, as I drank my beer, my chat became quite witty – the others seemed to enjoy my company and the girls were laughing loudly at my jokes.
    â€˜I hear you’re coming to our Gourmet Evening,’ shouted Ken.
    â€˜Looking forward to it,’ I shouted back.
    â€˜You coming, Les?’ Keith hailed Les Crow as we spotted him weaving his way towards us, his gold medallion glinting in the light of the fruit machine.
    â€˜Sorry, can’t make it.’
    This reminded me of the casual way he’d rung up the night of our party.
    â€˜How’s your good lady wife?’ he asked Keith. ‘Long time no see!’ He then planted a loud