Mr. Campion's Abdication by Mike Ripley

Author:Mike Ripley [Mike Ripley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2017-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

Tales from the Tap Room

The return journey from Frinton and driving in the dark had tired Campion more than he would care to admit and he was grateful to see the lights of Heronhoe Hall as he turned into the driveway. Lugg, in contrast, had a spring in his step once he realized he had arrived in time for dinner and, even if it was a meal of cold cuts, they were, after all, Harrods’ cold cuts.

Perdita and Lavinia busied themselves in the kitchen where they were joined by Lugg, who proved more a hindrance than a help, while Campion and Rupert settled in mismatched armchairs near the fire in the front room and Oliver Bell rattled glasses and blew the dust off a bottle of dry sherry.

Campion asked if Precious was around as he wished to reassure her that he had returned her van intact from his expedition into darkest Essex.

‘I’ve asked her to join us for dinner,’ Oliver said, pouring sherry. ‘She’s using the telephone at the moment. Which reminds me: Lavinia took a message for you from an Inspector Chamley this afternoon about Sam Salt, the journalist who covered the original dig. It seems he simply disappeared the day after the visit of Edward and Mrs Simpson and nobody’s seen him since.’

Mr Campion replied with a non-committal, ‘Interesting,’ and then turned to his son. ‘But how are things with our thespian versions of the famous lovers?’

‘We spent an afternoon being cold, bored and forgotten. Our beloved director disappeared with the cameraman and we came back here when the diggers packed in,’ Rupert said grumpily. ‘God knows when we’ll do any actual filming.’

‘I’m told it can be a long and boring process,’ said Mr Campion, taking off his spectacles and massaging the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb, ‘but that doesn’t sound like any way to treat their stars.’

‘We’re hardly stars, Pop; we don’t even have any lines. According to Oliver, we just stand on the lip of the trench looking regal and pretending to chat with the diggers. We’re set dressing, that’s all we are.’

‘Some of us have always felt like that,’ muttered Lugg, ‘or even salad dressing, come to think of it.’

Oliver laughed politely but Campion said, ‘Don’t encourage him.’

‘Did your trip to Frinton bear fruit?’ Rupert asked and Lugg could not resist.

‘Found a real old fruit. Overripe, yer might say.’

‘Ignore him,’ said Campion. ‘Those aren’t really words; they’re the sound of his stomach rumbling.’

‘I’ll see if dinner is ready,’ Oliver offered. ‘It’s pot luck, I’m afraid, but the pot is of very high quality and thanks to your generosity, Mr C., we have wine as well.’

‘Please don’t open a bottle on our account,’ Campion demurred. ‘Lugg and I are going out later on a bit of a pub crawl.’

Lugg’s face contorted briefly. ‘We are? Fair enough.’

‘Not without me, you ain’t.’ The voice was young, female, fearless and undoubtedly American. ‘That was the deal, remember? You had the use of my van on condition you took me to one of your Great British pubs.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.