personable young man came forward to meet her.
‘Miss Pride? I’m Patrick Ferrier. I hope you had a good journey.’
Miss Emily was well-disposed towards the young and, she had good reason to believe, a competent judge of them. She inspected Patrick and received him with composure. He introduced a tall, glowing girl who came forward, rather shyly, to shake hands. Miss Emily had less experience of girls but she liked the look of this one and was gracious.
‘The causeway is negotiable,’ Patrick said, ‘but we thought you’d prefer the launch.’
‘It is immaterial,’ she rejoined. ‘The launch, let it be.’
Patrick and the chauffeur handed her down the steps. Trehern stowed away her luggage and was profuse in cap-touching. They shoved-off from the jetty, still watched by idlers among whom, conspicuous in his uniform, was a police sergeant. ‘ ‘Morning, Pender!’ Patrick called cheerfully as he caught sight of him.
In a motor launch, the trip across was ludicrously brief but even so Miss Emily, bolt upright in the stern, made it portentous. The sunshone and against it she displayed her open umbrella as if it were a piece of ceremonial plumage. Her black kid gloves gripped the handle centrally and her handbag, enormous and vice-like in its security, was placed between her feet. She looked, Patrick afterwards suggested, like some Burmese female deity. ‘We should have arranged to have had her carried, shoulder-high, over the causeway,’ he said.
Major Barrimore, with a porter in attendance, awaited her on the jetty. He resembled, Jenny thought, an illustration from an Edwardian sporting journal. ‘Well-tubbed’ was the expression. His rather prominent eyes were a little bloodshot. He had to sustain the difficult interval that spanned approach and arrival and decide when to begin smiling and making appropriate gestures. Miss Emily gave him no help. Jenny and Patrick observed him with misgivings. ‘Good morning!’ he shouted, gaily bowing, as they drew alongside. Miss Emily slightly raised and lowered her umbrella.
‘That’s right, Trehern. Easy does it. Careful, man,’ Major Barrimore chattered. ‘Heave me that line. Splendid!’ He dropped the loop over a bollard and hovered, anxiously solicitous, with extended arm. ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ he cried.
‘Good morning, Major Barrimore,’ Miss Emily said. ‘Thank you. I can manage perfectly.’ Disregarding Trehern’s outstretched hand, she looked fixedly at him. ‘Are you the father?’ she asked.
Trehern removed his cap and grinned with all his might. ‘That I be, ma-am,’ he said. ‘If you be thinking of our Wally, ma-am, that I be, and mortal proud to own up to him.’
‘I shall see you, if you please,’ said Miss Emily, ‘later.’ For a second or two everyone was motionless.
She shook hands with her host.
‘This is nice,’ he assured her. ‘And what a day we’ve produced for you! Now, about these steps of ours. Bit stiff, I’m afraid. May I – ?’
‘No, thank you. I shall be sustained in my ascent,’ said Miss Emily, fixing Miss Cost’s shop and then the hotel façade in her gaze, ‘by the prospect.’
She led the way up the steps.
‘ ‘Jove!’ the Major exclaimed when they arrived at the top. ‘You’re too good for me, Miss Pride. Wonderful going! Wonderful!’
She looked briefly at him. ‘My habits,’ she said, ‘are abstemious. A little wine or cognac only. I have never been a smoker.’
‘Jolly good! Jolly good!’ he applauded. Jenny began to feel acutely sorry for him.
Margaret Barrimore waited in the main entrance. She greeted Miss Emily with no marked increase in her usual diffidence. ‘I hope you had a pleasant journey,’ she said. ‘Would you like to have luncheon upstairs? There’s a small sitting-room we’ve kept for you. Otherwise, the dining-room is here.’ Miss Emily settled for the dining-room but wished to see her apartment first. Mrs Barrimore took her up. Her husband, Patrick and
‘Miss Pride? I’m Patrick Ferrier. I hope you had a good journey.’
Miss Emily was well-disposed towards the young and, she had good reason to believe, a competent judge of them. She inspected Patrick and received him with composure. He introduced a tall, glowing girl who came forward, rather shyly, to shake hands. Miss Emily had less experience of girls but she liked the look of this one and was gracious.
‘The causeway is negotiable,’ Patrick said, ‘but we thought you’d prefer the launch.’
‘It is immaterial,’ she rejoined. ‘The launch, let it be.’
Patrick and the chauffeur handed her down the steps. Trehern stowed away her luggage and was profuse in cap-touching. They shoved-off from the jetty, still watched by idlers among whom, conspicuous in his uniform, was a police sergeant. ‘ ‘Morning, Pender!’ Patrick called cheerfully as he caught sight of him.
In a motor launch, the trip across was ludicrously brief but even so Miss Emily, bolt upright in the stern, made it portentous. The sunshone and against it she displayed her open umbrella as if it were a piece of ceremonial plumage. Her black kid gloves gripped the handle centrally and her handbag, enormous and vice-like in its security, was placed between her feet. She looked, Patrick afterwards suggested, like some Burmese female deity. ‘We should have arranged to have had her carried, shoulder-high, over the causeway,’ he said.
Major Barrimore, with a porter in attendance, awaited her on the jetty. He resembled, Jenny thought, an illustration from an Edwardian sporting journal. ‘Well-tubbed’ was the expression. His rather prominent eyes were a little bloodshot. He had to sustain the difficult interval that spanned approach and arrival and decide when to begin smiling and making appropriate gestures. Miss Emily gave him no help. Jenny and Patrick observed him with misgivings. ‘Good morning!’ he shouted, gaily bowing, as they drew alongside. Miss Emily slightly raised and lowered her umbrella.
‘That’s right, Trehern. Easy does it. Careful, man,’ Major Barrimore chattered. ‘Heave me that line. Splendid!’ He dropped the loop over a bollard and hovered, anxiously solicitous, with extended arm. ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ he cried.
‘Good morning, Major Barrimore,’ Miss Emily said. ‘Thank you. I can manage perfectly.’ Disregarding Trehern’s outstretched hand, she looked fixedly at him. ‘Are you the father?’ she asked.
Trehern removed his cap and grinned with all his might. ‘That I be, ma-am,’ he said. ‘If you be thinking of our Wally, ma-am, that I be, and mortal proud to own up to him.’
‘I shall see you, if you please,’ said Miss Emily, ‘later.’ For a second or two everyone was motionless.
She shook hands with her host.
‘This is nice,’ he assured her. ‘And what a day we’ve produced for you! Now, about these steps of ours. Bit stiff, I’m afraid. May I – ?’
‘No, thank you. I shall be sustained in my ascent,’ said Miss Emily, fixing Miss Cost’s shop and then the hotel façade in her gaze, ‘by the prospect.’
She led the way up the steps.
‘ ‘Jove!’ the Major exclaimed when they arrived at the top. ‘You’re too good for me, Miss Pride. Wonderful going! Wonderful!’
She looked briefly at him. ‘My habits,’ she said, ‘are abstemious. A little wine or cognac only. I have never been a smoker.’
‘Jolly good! Jolly good!’ he applauded. Jenny began to feel acutely sorry for him.
Margaret Barrimore waited in the main entrance. She greeted Miss Emily with no marked increase in her usual diffidence. ‘I hope you had a pleasant journey,’ she said. ‘Would you like to have luncheon upstairs? There’s a small sitting-room we’ve kept for you. Otherwise, the dining-room is here.’ Miss Emily settled for the dining-room but wished to see her apartment first. Mrs Barrimore took her up. Her husband, Patrick and
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