excellent! But first she would like to see how a branch operated. Might she not visit—? Most certainly! There was a very lively branch in Wigan—Wigan?
Up in the north.
That was not what Chantale had had in mind. Fortunately, there was a lady visiting Headquarters at the time who came from the sunnier climes of West Surrey. She was, in fact, a member of the West Surrey Branch, tying up a few last things, in Mrs Wynne-Gurr’s absence, Mrs Wynne-Gurr having gone ahead to prepare the way, to do with the scheduled visit to Malta. She and Chantale got talking.
West Surrey seemed a much more suitable place for a visit than darkest Lancashire and this was confirmed in Chantale’s mind when the lady spoke glowingly of the lovely Surrey greensward.
Sword?
Obviously something to do with the Knights, although the lady had pronounced it in a slightly funny way. Dialect perhaps. Chantale spoke English well but would be the first to admit that she hadn’t properly attuned to all the dialect variations of that most exasperating of languages. But, clearly, she was on the trail. She asked the lady if she might attend the next branch meeting. Flattered, the lady invited her to come down on the following Wednesday. Among the matters discussed was the right sort of clothes to be worn for the visit. Here Chantale, with her experience of the Mediterranean, could be of great help. The thick uniform worried her, she had to admit. When she started her branch in Tangier they would have to look for something lighter—Branch in Tangier? The ladies were all of a flutter. Perhaps it might be possible to pull Tangier and Malta together in some unspecified way. Lessons would surely be learnt.
They surely could. But, alas,—Chantale sighed—she would not be going to Malta with them.
But that was no problem! No problem at all. There was room for another one on the party. There might even be the possibility of a small grant towards expenses, given the possibilities Chantale’s attendance might open up for the advance of St John in North Africa, if that was where Tangier was.
This was more than Chantale had dared to hope. She had only a very little money of her own and Seymour would go berserk if she exhausted their joint account on some unagreed private initiative.
Fired with enthusiasm for things ambulatory—if that was the right word for an adjective derived from ‘Ambulance’—she even considered the possibility of actually starting a branch in Tangier. It could certainly, on the basis of her experience, do with one.
So Chantale joined the party and went with it by train across France and then by boat across to Malta.
And there, of course, on disembarkation at Valletta, she had been struck by the Arabic language all around her. She felt that, in a way, she had come home.
Chapter Four
He caught sight of her when he returned to the hotel. She was standing in the middle of a group of sensibly dressed, middle-aged women who could only be Mrs Wynne-Gurr’s Ambulance Militant.
He edged towards her; she edged away.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he whispered.
‘Come to join you,’ she whispered back.
‘Yes. I can see that. But—’
‘I thought you would like it.’
‘Well, I do. But—’
‘I thought,’ said Chantale accusingly, ‘that it would be what you wanted.’
‘Well, it is, but—’
‘ Don’t you want me?’ said Chantale, putting him as usual on the wrong foot.
‘Of course I want you! But—’
‘You keep it well hidden,’ said Chantale.
‘Look, I want you. But not when I’m at work.’
‘You wanted me when you were at work in Barcelona.’
‘Not when I was at work. I thought I might sort of fit it in. As a break.’
‘That’s not what you said.’
‘Briefly.’
‘You said forever. And talked me into coming back with you to London. Don’t you want me any more?’
‘Of course I want you. But not when I’m at work.’
‘I don’t often come to you when you’re at work. I
Up in the north.
That was not what Chantale had had in mind. Fortunately, there was a lady visiting Headquarters at the time who came from the sunnier climes of West Surrey. She was, in fact, a member of the West Surrey Branch, tying up a few last things, in Mrs Wynne-Gurr’s absence, Mrs Wynne-Gurr having gone ahead to prepare the way, to do with the scheduled visit to Malta. She and Chantale got talking.
West Surrey seemed a much more suitable place for a visit than darkest Lancashire and this was confirmed in Chantale’s mind when the lady spoke glowingly of the lovely Surrey greensward.
Sword?
Obviously something to do with the Knights, although the lady had pronounced it in a slightly funny way. Dialect perhaps. Chantale spoke English well but would be the first to admit that she hadn’t properly attuned to all the dialect variations of that most exasperating of languages. But, clearly, she was on the trail. She asked the lady if she might attend the next branch meeting. Flattered, the lady invited her to come down on the following Wednesday. Among the matters discussed was the right sort of clothes to be worn for the visit. Here Chantale, with her experience of the Mediterranean, could be of great help. The thick uniform worried her, she had to admit. When she started her branch in Tangier they would have to look for something lighter—Branch in Tangier? The ladies were all of a flutter. Perhaps it might be possible to pull Tangier and Malta together in some unspecified way. Lessons would surely be learnt.
They surely could. But, alas,—Chantale sighed—she would not be going to Malta with them.
But that was no problem! No problem at all. There was room for another one on the party. There might even be the possibility of a small grant towards expenses, given the possibilities Chantale’s attendance might open up for the advance of St John in North Africa, if that was where Tangier was.
This was more than Chantale had dared to hope. She had only a very little money of her own and Seymour would go berserk if she exhausted their joint account on some unagreed private initiative.
Fired with enthusiasm for things ambulatory—if that was the right word for an adjective derived from ‘Ambulance’—she even considered the possibility of actually starting a branch in Tangier. It could certainly, on the basis of her experience, do with one.
So Chantale joined the party and went with it by train across France and then by boat across to Malta.
And there, of course, on disembarkation at Valletta, she had been struck by the Arabic language all around her. She felt that, in a way, she had come home.
Chapter Four
He caught sight of her when he returned to the hotel. She was standing in the middle of a group of sensibly dressed, middle-aged women who could only be Mrs Wynne-Gurr’s Ambulance Militant.
He edged towards her; she edged away.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he whispered.
‘Come to join you,’ she whispered back.
‘Yes. I can see that. But—’
‘I thought you would like it.’
‘Well, I do. But—’
‘I thought,’ said Chantale accusingly, ‘that it would be what you wanted.’
‘Well, it is, but—’
‘ Don’t you want me?’ said Chantale, putting him as usual on the wrong foot.
‘Of course I want you! But—’
‘You keep it well hidden,’ said Chantale.
‘Look, I want you. But not when I’m at work.’
‘You wanted me when you were at work in Barcelona.’
‘Not when I was at work. I thought I might sort of fit it in. As a break.’
‘That’s not what you said.’
‘Briefly.’
‘You said forever. And talked me into coming back with you to London. Don’t you want me any more?’
‘Of course I want you. But not when I’m at work.’
‘I don’t often come to you when you’re at work. I
Similar Books
