Snow White and the Giants by J. T. McIntosh Page B

at sight of Jota she started and shot

a quick glance at me which could only be described as unfriendly. "I

thought I told you . . . " she said.

"Sorry," I said rather awkwardly. "I knew you were going shopping. I

thought you'd have left."

I had to put it that way, because when we came in I knew she hadn't

left. Her Austin mini was still in the drive.

"Hello, Sheila," said Jota easily. "You look more wonderful than ever."

Sheila said nothing. She picked up her shopping bag and went out,

slamming the front door.

"You should have phoned, you know," Jota told me. "Don't you know anything

about women? It's nothing to do with whether she loves me or hates my

guts. Maybe she wouldn't have prettied herself up anyway. You should have

given her the choice, to be here or not, to be dressed up or just -- "

"Let's change," I said irritably. I didn't want a lecture from Jota,

of all people, on Sheila, of all people.

Jota was staring past me at the stairs. I turned. Dina was descending

slowly, dressed in an old pink evening dress of Sheila's.

"She saw an old Goldwyn picture on television the other day," I murmured.

"Beautiful girls coming down wide staircases." Raising my voice, I called:

"Dina -- would you like to go and stay with the Carswells?"

She stopped playacting at once, lifted her long skirt and ran down the

rest of the way. "Now?" she said eagerly.

"If you like."

She turned. "I'll go and pack."

"Wait, Dina. Aren't you going to say hello to Jota?"

"Hello," she said, and started for the stairs.

"She's lovely," Jota 'said. "No change? I mean -- "

"I know what you mean," I said shortly. "No change."

"That," he said, "is a great pity."

"That," I replied,. "is an understatement."

"What I mean is -- "

"I know what you mean."

He seemed to feel I should be more forthcoming. "Naturally I'm interested,"

he said. "Dina's my cousin."

I added nothing, however, and the subject was dropped.

The probable camp site being on the other side of the river, we rowed

across the placid Shute in a rubber dinghy. Seldom used, the boat was

invaluable at times, the nearest bridge being at Shuteley.

We made a considerable detour in order to be able to approach the place

wherd we expected the camp to be from the far side, and we stopped

talking as we neared the spot. Sound can carry unexpectedly in the open,

especially near water.

Of course Jota, Gil and I had played as kids all around Shuteley, and

the countryside had changed less than the town, which hadn't changed

much. There were some places where we knew every bush, every tree and

every stone, and this was one of them.

Along the riverside east of the probable camp site there was a jungle

of undergrowth, and it was through this that we approached. A slight

breeze rustled the leaves and cloaked any noise we might have made.

The camp was exactly where we expected and the giants didn't know we

were there. At least, if they did they were pretending they didn't,

and that seemed out of character.

At first sight their camp was like any other. There were two large tents

and five small ones. Most of the boys and girls I had already seen were

there, and there were some I was sure I hadn't seen. The sixteen who

had been in The Copper Beech the evening before, plus Greg, were not,

therefore, the whole company.

In the shade of a canopy two girls were reading magazines. Four of the

men lay on the grass sunbathing, and on the other side of the big tents,

three girls lay drowsily in the afternoon heat. Two or three more sat

on the river bank, not bathing, merely dangling their toes in the water.

Two who were missing were Miranda and Greg. The chance link produced a

sudden stab of jealousy in me. Was Miranda Greg's girl?

Such things happened. They kept happening. A girl talked as if a

certain man was as far as she was concerned the person least likely to

succeed. And then you found out . . .

On the face of it, Miranda didn't like Jota much and liked Greg