leaning back in the armchair with his eyes shut.
“I’ve told the agents I want to let it anyway,” he said.
“They’re sending people to see it at the week-end.”
“It’s a pity,” Ossie said. “Old boy, I think you’re wrong.” Daniel opened his eyes and grinned. “You can’t try and argue seriously with me with that dish-wiper thing tied round your waist. How on earth d’you get it to meet at the back? Turn round. Oh, I see. Pins.” He seemed more interested in the tea-towel which was wrapped round Ossie’s waist like a flag round a lucky-dip barrel than in talking about the cottage.
Saturday was a trying day. Three lots of people arrived to see the cottage, each time when Ossie was just going to put food on the table. Daniel quite liked the first ones, and was affable to them. They said the right things about the cottage and were more interested in the garden than the plumbing. Because he did not like the others, he put the rent up ludicrously, and when they asked to be shown round, wandered away saying: “Well, there you are. You can see for yourself what there is.”
On Sunday came two middle-aged spinsters, who made Ossie want to laugh, but Daniel, surprisingly, took to them at once and clinched the let without any ado. One spinster had long, untidy hair, a hand-knitted dress, pottery brooches and a great many little bags and reticules. She went round the cottage with oohs and ahs of delight and sank on her knees to a clump of chrysanthemums. The other one had short neat hair which accentuated her square jaw and bull neck, and wore a suit made of some kind of sackcloth, shoes with sporrans and plaid golf socks up to the knees over her stockings. She went round the house grunting at it, and fondled the dog in the way that he liked. Ossie was afraid they might be thinking of starting a teashop in the cottage, but no, they simply wanted to live there.
The hand-knitted one was Miss Adelaide Mallalieu, and the sackcloth one was Miss Freda. Daniel was enchantedwith them and insisted that they must stay to tea. Ossie went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While he was waiting for it to boil, he thought for the hundredth time how silly it was not to have an electric kettle like he had in the flat. He had always been meaning to buy one for Daniel. Now, of course, it was too late.
When he carried the tea things through, Miss Adelaide was saying: “I’m afraid you’ll miss this dear little place dreadfully, Mr. Brett. How can you bear to leave it?” Ossie nearly dropped the tray when he heard Daniel say, quite easily: “Well, you see, my wife was killed here.”
Miss Adelaide’s eyes filled with tears. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. Miss Freda leaned forward with the face of a trustful mastiff and said brusquely, but without embarrassment: “I’m sorry. What happened?”
Ossie would never have dared ask Daniel a thing like that. He had never heard anyone ask it, and he had never heard Daniel talk about the way his wife had died, but now he began to tell the Mallalieus as naturally as if he were used to talking about it every day. Adelaide sat looking at her lap, and Freda sat with her knees wide apart and her knickers showing, muddy feet planted on the rug, nodding and grunting while he told them about Jane and the electric kettle, and how he had to prise her dead hands off it when he found her.
“Go on, Ossie, pour the tea out, old boy, before it gets cold,” he said, for Ossie was sitting paralysed at the thought of how he might have come gaily home with an electric kettle.
Afterwards, Daniel was rifling through his desk for some papers relating to the house. He found them among a jumble of unpaid bills, and Miss Adelaide took them over to the window, for the light was fading.
“Oh, excuse me.” She turned round. “There’s something personal got in among these.”
“What is it? ” asked Daniel from the desk, where his attention had been caught by a
“I’ve told the agents I want to let it anyway,” he said.
“They’re sending people to see it at the week-end.”
“It’s a pity,” Ossie said. “Old boy, I think you’re wrong.” Daniel opened his eyes and grinned. “You can’t try and argue seriously with me with that dish-wiper thing tied round your waist. How on earth d’you get it to meet at the back? Turn round. Oh, I see. Pins.” He seemed more interested in the tea-towel which was wrapped round Ossie’s waist like a flag round a lucky-dip barrel than in talking about the cottage.
Saturday was a trying day. Three lots of people arrived to see the cottage, each time when Ossie was just going to put food on the table. Daniel quite liked the first ones, and was affable to them. They said the right things about the cottage and were more interested in the garden than the plumbing. Because he did not like the others, he put the rent up ludicrously, and when they asked to be shown round, wandered away saying: “Well, there you are. You can see for yourself what there is.”
On Sunday came two middle-aged spinsters, who made Ossie want to laugh, but Daniel, surprisingly, took to them at once and clinched the let without any ado. One spinster had long, untidy hair, a hand-knitted dress, pottery brooches and a great many little bags and reticules. She went round the cottage with oohs and ahs of delight and sank on her knees to a clump of chrysanthemums. The other one had short neat hair which accentuated her square jaw and bull neck, and wore a suit made of some kind of sackcloth, shoes with sporrans and plaid golf socks up to the knees over her stockings. She went round the house grunting at it, and fondled the dog in the way that he liked. Ossie was afraid they might be thinking of starting a teashop in the cottage, but no, they simply wanted to live there.
The hand-knitted one was Miss Adelaide Mallalieu, and the sackcloth one was Miss Freda. Daniel was enchantedwith them and insisted that they must stay to tea. Ossie went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While he was waiting for it to boil, he thought for the hundredth time how silly it was not to have an electric kettle like he had in the flat. He had always been meaning to buy one for Daniel. Now, of course, it was too late.
When he carried the tea things through, Miss Adelaide was saying: “I’m afraid you’ll miss this dear little place dreadfully, Mr. Brett. How can you bear to leave it?” Ossie nearly dropped the tray when he heard Daniel say, quite easily: “Well, you see, my wife was killed here.”
Miss Adelaide’s eyes filled with tears. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. Miss Freda leaned forward with the face of a trustful mastiff and said brusquely, but without embarrassment: “I’m sorry. What happened?”
Ossie would never have dared ask Daniel a thing like that. He had never heard anyone ask it, and he had never heard Daniel talk about the way his wife had died, but now he began to tell the Mallalieus as naturally as if he were used to talking about it every day. Adelaide sat looking at her lap, and Freda sat with her knees wide apart and her knickers showing, muddy feet planted on the rug, nodding and grunting while he told them about Jane and the electric kettle, and how he had to prise her dead hands off it when he found her.
“Go on, Ossie, pour the tea out, old boy, before it gets cold,” he said, for Ossie was sitting paralysed at the thought of how he might have come gaily home with an electric kettle.
Afterwards, Daniel was rifling through his desk for some papers relating to the house. He found them among a jumble of unpaid bills, and Miss Adelaide took them over to the window, for the light was fading.
“Oh, excuse me.” She turned round. “There’s something personal got in among these.”
“What is it? ” asked Daniel from the desk, where his attention had been caught by a
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