English.
Therefore, it has not been difficult for me to learn your language, so excellent was my teacher.”
Who’d taught him English? If Tomás had been there forty years, it seemed he must mean Strafford.
“You worked for Senhor Strafford?”
“Yes, senhor. I had that honour.”
We’d passed through the drawing room into the hall. Tomás led me along the gallery to a large, airy room on the western side of the house, with picture windows overlooking the vineyard. At one end of the room was a grand piano and, above it on the wall, an oil painting of a savannah landscape. In the centre of the room stood a table, laid with bowls and plates for a salad lunch. There was an air of newness here, more of Sellick and less of Strafford.
I tried to draw Tomás out before he left me. “You admired Senhor Strafford?”
“Senhor Strafford was a gentleman.”
“Thank you, Tomás. That will be all.” Sellick’s voice came abruptly from behind us. Tomás nodded gravely and padded away.
40
R O B E R T G O D D A R D
There was a hint of curtness in his dismissal, dispelled at once by Sellick’s warmth and courtesy to me.
“I see you have the Memoir with you, Martin. Set it aside for a moment and help yourself to some lunch. I trust you will excuse the informality of the arrangement.”
“It looks delicious. All this is really too generous of you.”
“Not at all. I have put a business proposition to you. The least that I can do is offer some meagre hospitality whilst you consider it.”
There was, needless to say, nothing meagre about his hospitality. I took some grilled tuna from a platter and some of the rice, potato and vegetable salads that accompanied it. Sellick poured me some vinho verde and offered me a seat by the window. This had been slid half-open to a wisp of cooling breeze in the midday heat. Below, the vines stood in silent ranks. This was the siesta hour and no sound broke the peace.
I’d set the Memoir down on a coffee table between us. “Have you made much progress?” Sellick asked. “You see that I cannot contain my curiosity.”
“I’ve just finished the first chapter: Strafford’s just been elected to Parliament. It’s a fascinating read.”
“I hoped that you would find it so. Has it helped you to form a view of my earlier proposition?”
“It’s confirmed my first reaction—that I’d be delighted to accept. I feel sure it’s an opportunity I don’t deserve. But, if you’re prepared to back me, I’ll try to justify your confidence.”
“I’m most gratified to hear you say so, Martin. Let’s drink to your investigation.”
As we touched glasses to toast our agreement, I thought of Helen again, for the second time that morning: Helen, my dear ex-wife. She’d always performed that ritual when wine was served with a meal. I remembered her tight frown of annoyance whenever I drank from the glass prematurely, now with none of the impatience I’d have felt at the time. It was odd to think of her with so little venom, odder still that Strafford’s college friend, Gerald Couchman, should share her surname. For Couchman was not a common name.
“You look pensive, Martin.”
P A S T C A R I N G
41
“The Memoir’s given me a lot to think about. To be honest, I can’t wait to get back to it.”
“I understand and will not delay you. But before you do, you might be interested in seeing Strafford’s study. You’ll remember I referred to it last night.”
“That would be very interesting.”
“Straight after lunch then.”
When we’d finished our meal, Sellick led me back to the hall and up the stairs to a large room on the southern side of the house. When he opened the shutters, light flooded onto a scene that took me straight back to Strafford. Sellick explained that he never used the room himself and had left it as it was when he arrived. The view from the window was of the garden and, beyond that, the sea. Motes of dust floated in the sunlight and the
Therefore, it has not been difficult for me to learn your language, so excellent was my teacher.”
Who’d taught him English? If Tomás had been there forty years, it seemed he must mean Strafford.
“You worked for Senhor Strafford?”
“Yes, senhor. I had that honour.”
We’d passed through the drawing room into the hall. Tomás led me along the gallery to a large, airy room on the western side of the house, with picture windows overlooking the vineyard. At one end of the room was a grand piano and, above it on the wall, an oil painting of a savannah landscape. In the centre of the room stood a table, laid with bowls and plates for a salad lunch. There was an air of newness here, more of Sellick and less of Strafford.
I tried to draw Tomás out before he left me. “You admired Senhor Strafford?”
“Senhor Strafford was a gentleman.”
“Thank you, Tomás. That will be all.” Sellick’s voice came abruptly from behind us. Tomás nodded gravely and padded away.
40
R O B E R T G O D D A R D
There was a hint of curtness in his dismissal, dispelled at once by Sellick’s warmth and courtesy to me.
“I see you have the Memoir with you, Martin. Set it aside for a moment and help yourself to some lunch. I trust you will excuse the informality of the arrangement.”
“It looks delicious. All this is really too generous of you.”
“Not at all. I have put a business proposition to you. The least that I can do is offer some meagre hospitality whilst you consider it.”
There was, needless to say, nothing meagre about his hospitality. I took some grilled tuna from a platter and some of the rice, potato and vegetable salads that accompanied it. Sellick poured me some vinho verde and offered me a seat by the window. This had been slid half-open to a wisp of cooling breeze in the midday heat. Below, the vines stood in silent ranks. This was the siesta hour and no sound broke the peace.
I’d set the Memoir down on a coffee table between us. “Have you made much progress?” Sellick asked. “You see that I cannot contain my curiosity.”
“I’ve just finished the first chapter: Strafford’s just been elected to Parliament. It’s a fascinating read.”
“I hoped that you would find it so. Has it helped you to form a view of my earlier proposition?”
“It’s confirmed my first reaction—that I’d be delighted to accept. I feel sure it’s an opportunity I don’t deserve. But, if you’re prepared to back me, I’ll try to justify your confidence.”
“I’m most gratified to hear you say so, Martin. Let’s drink to your investigation.”
As we touched glasses to toast our agreement, I thought of Helen again, for the second time that morning: Helen, my dear ex-wife. She’d always performed that ritual when wine was served with a meal. I remembered her tight frown of annoyance whenever I drank from the glass prematurely, now with none of the impatience I’d have felt at the time. It was odd to think of her with so little venom, odder still that Strafford’s college friend, Gerald Couchman, should share her surname. For Couchman was not a common name.
“You look pensive, Martin.”
P A S T C A R I N G
41
“The Memoir’s given me a lot to think about. To be honest, I can’t wait to get back to it.”
“I understand and will not delay you. But before you do, you might be interested in seeing Strafford’s study. You’ll remember I referred to it last night.”
“That would be very interesting.”
“Straight after lunch then.”
When we’d finished our meal, Sellick led me back to the hall and up the stairs to a large room on the southern side of the house. When he opened the shutters, light flooded onto a scene that took me straight back to Strafford. Sellick explained that he never used the room himself and had left it as it was when he arrived. The view from the window was of the garden and, beyond that, the sea. Motes of dust floated in the sunlight and the
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