room, saying to himself: ‘Wooing, so tiring.’
*
‘Davey Warbeck is a Hon,’ said Bob as we were all coming down to breakfast next day.
‘Yes, he seems a terrific Hon,’ said Linda, sleepily.
‘No, I mean he’s a real one. Look, there’s a letter for him, The Hon. David Warbeck. I’ve looked him up, and it’s true.’
Bob’s favourite book at this time was Debrett, his nose was never out of it. As a result of his researches he was once heard informing Lucille that ‘
les origines de la famille
R
adlett sont perdues dans les brumes de l’antiquité
.’
‘He’s only a second son, and the eldest has got an heir, so I’m afraid Aunt Emily won’t be a lady. And his father’s only the second Baron, created 1860, and they only start in 1720, before that it’s a female line.’ Bob’s voice was trailing off. ‘Still –’ he said.
We heard Davey Warbeck, as he was coming down the stairs, say to Uncle Matthew:
‘Oh no, that couldn’t be a Reynolds. Prince Hoare, at his very worst, if you’re lucky.’
‘Pig’s thinkers, Davey?’ Uncle Matthew lifted the lid of a hot dish.
‘Oh, yes please, Matthew, if you mean brains. So digestible.’
‘And after breakfast I’m going to show you our collection of minerals in the north passage. I bet you’ll agree we’ve got something worth having there, it’s supposed to be the finest collection in England – left me by an old uncle, who spent his life making it. Meanwhile, what’d you think of my eagle?’
‘Ah, if that were Chinese now, it would be a treasure. But Jap I’m afraid, not worth the bronze it’s cast in. Cooper’s Oxford, please, Linda.’
After breakfast we all flocked to the north passage, wherethere were hundreds of stones in glass-fronted cupboards. Petrified this and fossilized that, blue-john and lapis were the most exciting, large flints which looked as if they had been picked up by the side of the road, the least. Valuable, unique, they were a family legend. ‘The minerals in the north passage are good enough for a museum.’ We children revered them. Davey looked at them carefully, taking some over to the window and peering into them. Finally, he heaved a great sigh and said:
‘What a beautiful collection. I suppose you know they’re all diseased?’
‘Diseased?’
‘Badly, and too far gone for treatment. In a year or two they’ll all be dead – you might as well throw the whole lot away.’
Uncle Matthew was delighted.
‘Damned fella,’ he said, ‘nothing’s right for him, I never saw such a fella. Even the minerals have got foot-and-mouth, according to him.’
5
T HE year which followed Aunt Emily’s marriage transformed Linda and me from children, young for our ages, into lounging adolescents waiting for love. One result of the marriage was that I now spent nearly all my holidays at Alconleigh. Davey, like all Uncle Matthew’s favourites, simply could not see that he was in the least bit frightening, and scouted Aunt Emily’s theory that to be too much with him was bad for my nerves.
‘You’re just a lot of little crybabies,’ he said, scornfully, ‘if you allow yourselves to be upset by that old cardboard ogre.’
Davey had given up his flat in London and lived with us at Shenley, where, during term-time, he made but little difference to our life, except in so far as a male presence in a female household is always salutary (the curtains, the covers, and Aunt Emily’s clothes underwent an enormous change for the better), but, in the holidays, he liked to carry her off, to his own relationsor on trips abroad, and I was parked at Alconleigh. Aunt Emily probably felt that, if she had to choose between her husband’s wishes and my nervous system, the former should win the day. In spite of her being forty they were, I believe, very much in love; it must have been a perfect bore having me about at all, and it speaks volumes for their characters that never, for one moment, did they allow me
*
‘Davey Warbeck is a Hon,’ said Bob as we were all coming down to breakfast next day.
‘Yes, he seems a terrific Hon,’ said Linda, sleepily.
‘No, I mean he’s a real one. Look, there’s a letter for him, The Hon. David Warbeck. I’ve looked him up, and it’s true.’
Bob’s favourite book at this time was Debrett, his nose was never out of it. As a result of his researches he was once heard informing Lucille that ‘
les origines de la famille
R
adlett sont perdues dans les brumes de l’antiquité
.’
‘He’s only a second son, and the eldest has got an heir, so I’m afraid Aunt Emily won’t be a lady. And his father’s only the second Baron, created 1860, and they only start in 1720, before that it’s a female line.’ Bob’s voice was trailing off. ‘Still –’ he said.
We heard Davey Warbeck, as he was coming down the stairs, say to Uncle Matthew:
‘Oh no, that couldn’t be a Reynolds. Prince Hoare, at his very worst, if you’re lucky.’
‘Pig’s thinkers, Davey?’ Uncle Matthew lifted the lid of a hot dish.
‘Oh, yes please, Matthew, if you mean brains. So digestible.’
‘And after breakfast I’m going to show you our collection of minerals in the north passage. I bet you’ll agree we’ve got something worth having there, it’s supposed to be the finest collection in England – left me by an old uncle, who spent his life making it. Meanwhile, what’d you think of my eagle?’
‘Ah, if that were Chinese now, it would be a treasure. But Jap I’m afraid, not worth the bronze it’s cast in. Cooper’s Oxford, please, Linda.’
After breakfast we all flocked to the north passage, wherethere were hundreds of stones in glass-fronted cupboards. Petrified this and fossilized that, blue-john and lapis were the most exciting, large flints which looked as if they had been picked up by the side of the road, the least. Valuable, unique, they were a family legend. ‘The minerals in the north passage are good enough for a museum.’ We children revered them. Davey looked at them carefully, taking some over to the window and peering into them. Finally, he heaved a great sigh and said:
‘What a beautiful collection. I suppose you know they’re all diseased?’
‘Diseased?’
‘Badly, and too far gone for treatment. In a year or two they’ll all be dead – you might as well throw the whole lot away.’
Uncle Matthew was delighted.
‘Damned fella,’ he said, ‘nothing’s right for him, I never saw such a fella. Even the minerals have got foot-and-mouth, according to him.’
5
T HE year which followed Aunt Emily’s marriage transformed Linda and me from children, young for our ages, into lounging adolescents waiting for love. One result of the marriage was that I now spent nearly all my holidays at Alconleigh. Davey, like all Uncle Matthew’s favourites, simply could not see that he was in the least bit frightening, and scouted Aunt Emily’s theory that to be too much with him was bad for my nerves.
‘You’re just a lot of little crybabies,’ he said, scornfully, ‘if you allow yourselves to be upset by that old cardboard ogre.’
Davey had given up his flat in London and lived with us at Shenley, where, during term-time, he made but little difference to our life, except in so far as a male presence in a female household is always salutary (the curtains, the covers, and Aunt Emily’s clothes underwent an enormous change for the better), but, in the holidays, he liked to carry her off, to his own relationsor on trips abroad, and I was parked at Alconleigh. Aunt Emily probably felt that, if she had to choose between her husband’s wishes and my nervous system, the former should win the day. In spite of her being forty they were, I believe, very much in love; it must have been a perfect bore having me about at all, and it speaks volumes for their characters that never, for one moment, did they allow me
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