Siddiqui, stooping down to pull up a dandelion growing among the chrysanthemums. He explained to his daughter, who in any case had heard it before, ‘This means not to walk past it but to pull it out so that you
do not actually
pass it.’
‘Yes, Father, I remember. We have so many weeds in our garden – well, Mr Still’s garden – that you could not help passing them. There are only weeds and not any plants.’
Thomas, in his pushchair, was making friendly overtures to a customer’s German shepherd, holding out his arms and shouting, ‘Doggy, doggy.’
Rabia picked him up and his cajoling turned to screams of protest. She carried him towards the temperate house where the café was while pushing the buggy with her free hand, said, ‘Thomas, be quiet now. Stop screaming and stop kicking or you will have no chocolate biscuit with your drink.’
Abram looked on approvingly but waiting, Rabia knew, to see if she carried out her threat. Orange juice came for the still-yelling Thomas and coffee for Rabia and her father. The biscuits on offer today were a particularly delicious variety. Seated in what Rabia called a ‘grown-up chair’, Thomas was now sobbing and reaching out for the biscuit plate. The woman with the German shepherd passed by on the other side of the glass wall.
‘No, Thomas. Drink your juice.’
Rabia moved the plate out of his reach but otherwise ignored his pleas. Abram, pleased with her handling of the biscuit crisis, said, ‘Khalid told me he saw you when he came to take the Christmas-tree booking. He said, but very respectfully, Rabia, that you are beautiful and dressed like a good Muslim lady.’
‘It is not his business, Father, to talk about how I am dressed.’
‘It was very respectful. I am your father and I know what is proper. I could not object. There are not many like Khalid, I can tell you, Rabia.’
‘There may be ten thousand for all I know. They are nothing to me. And now Thomas is behaving like a good boy andthere are not
any
like him he is so good.’ She reached over, took his face in her hands and kissed his fat pink cheek. ‘Now we will go home. And on the way home we shall buy some biscuits just like those and you shall have one at teatime.’
‘It is good to hear you do not let him eat in the street,’ said Abram rather sourly. ‘Children must not be allowed to eat in the street in any circumstances.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
W hat Montserrat saw in the mirror was a petite young woman, slim but not thin, with beautiful breasts and rounded hips, shapely legs and fine ankles. The face she saw was oval, the skin very white, the eyes large and very dark brown, the features symmetrical and the hair a dense mass of black curls. Did she know anyone with as fine a head of hair as hers?
Thea and Henry and Beacon saw a short young woman, about twelve pounds overweight, with oversized breasts (Thea), quite good legs (Henry), far too pale, looked ill (Beacon), nothing special about her features except that the eyes were attractive, if too starey. All agreed that her hair was her best feature; a true black, Beacon said, glossy as ebony, but he only admired the looks of his own ethnic group. Unfortunately, he said, she hadn’t a very nice nature.
‘On the make,’ said June. ‘You know how they say of people – mostly dead people, I must say – that she’d have done anything for anybody. Well, that Montsy wouldn’t do anything for anybody unless it was to her advantage. You’ll see.’
Montserrat’s father and Lucy Still’s father had been at school together and remained friends, though Charles Tresser had lost all his money in some banking scandal while Robert Sanderson got richer and richer. Charles happened to mentionthat his daughter had dropped out of the university he had got her into with some difficulty and Robert suggested the problem of where she was to go and how to earn her living would be solved by her going to work for his daughter who was expecting her
do not actually
pass it.’
‘Yes, Father, I remember. We have so many weeds in our garden – well, Mr Still’s garden – that you could not help passing them. There are only weeds and not any plants.’
Thomas, in his pushchair, was making friendly overtures to a customer’s German shepherd, holding out his arms and shouting, ‘Doggy, doggy.’
Rabia picked him up and his cajoling turned to screams of protest. She carried him towards the temperate house where the café was while pushing the buggy with her free hand, said, ‘Thomas, be quiet now. Stop screaming and stop kicking or you will have no chocolate biscuit with your drink.’
Abram looked on approvingly but waiting, Rabia knew, to see if she carried out her threat. Orange juice came for the still-yelling Thomas and coffee for Rabia and her father. The biscuits on offer today were a particularly delicious variety. Seated in what Rabia called a ‘grown-up chair’, Thomas was now sobbing and reaching out for the biscuit plate. The woman with the German shepherd passed by on the other side of the glass wall.
‘No, Thomas. Drink your juice.’
Rabia moved the plate out of his reach but otherwise ignored his pleas. Abram, pleased with her handling of the biscuit crisis, said, ‘Khalid told me he saw you when he came to take the Christmas-tree booking. He said, but very respectfully, Rabia, that you are beautiful and dressed like a good Muslim lady.’
‘It is not his business, Father, to talk about how I am dressed.’
‘It was very respectful. I am your father and I know what is proper. I could not object. There are not many like Khalid, I can tell you, Rabia.’
‘There may be ten thousand for all I know. They are nothing to me. And now Thomas is behaving like a good boy andthere are not
any
like him he is so good.’ She reached over, took his face in her hands and kissed his fat pink cheek. ‘Now we will go home. And on the way home we shall buy some biscuits just like those and you shall have one at teatime.’
‘It is good to hear you do not let him eat in the street,’ said Abram rather sourly. ‘Children must not be allowed to eat in the street in any circumstances.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
W hat Montserrat saw in the mirror was a petite young woman, slim but not thin, with beautiful breasts and rounded hips, shapely legs and fine ankles. The face she saw was oval, the skin very white, the eyes large and very dark brown, the features symmetrical and the hair a dense mass of black curls. Did she know anyone with as fine a head of hair as hers?
Thea and Henry and Beacon saw a short young woman, about twelve pounds overweight, with oversized breasts (Thea), quite good legs (Henry), far too pale, looked ill (Beacon), nothing special about her features except that the eyes were attractive, if too starey. All agreed that her hair was her best feature; a true black, Beacon said, glossy as ebony, but he only admired the looks of his own ethnic group. Unfortunately, he said, she hadn’t a very nice nature.
‘On the make,’ said June. ‘You know how they say of people – mostly dead people, I must say – that she’d have done anything for anybody. Well, that Montsy wouldn’t do anything for anybody unless it was to her advantage. You’ll see.’
Montserrat’s father and Lucy Still’s father had been at school together and remained friends, though Charles Tresser had lost all his money in some banking scandal while Robert Sanderson got richer and richer. Charles happened to mentionthat his daughter had dropped out of the university he had got her into with some difficulty and Robert suggested the problem of where she was to go and how to earn her living would be solved by her going to work for his daughter who was expecting her
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