O, These Men, These Men! by Angela Thirkell

Author:Angela Thirkell [Thirkell, Angela]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2017-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter VIII

Wilfred Finds His Feet

The hockey match was like all other Boxing Day hockey matches. The butler’s daughter had been approached by Anna, and after saying that she didn’t seem to fancy it, had been brought to the stage at which she said she didn’t mind if she did.

“You are center forward,” said Anna to Wilfred who had arrived just as the game was going to begin, “and I’m afraid you’ll have to have Dolly Brush for left wing. I know she can run, because I saw her at the sports at the flower show last year. Otherwise I know nothing.”

This, reflected Wilfred, looking at Miss Brush’s inelegant form, as she put her pads on, was just another of the blows that fate gives a man. But Miss Brush could not only run, she could pass a ball and hit it. Wilfred’s spirits rose a little. Against the opposing team, which consisted of two angry female semiprofessionals and the usual country players who get five or six games a season, he and Miss Brush had it all their own way. Julia, who had never played before and had offered her services partly to be with Hugh, partly to fill a gap, was away somewhere at the back where Wilfred never needed to look at her. After a brilliant attack, during which Wilfred and Miss Brush poached shamelessly all over the field, Beechwood won by ten goals to one.

“Jolly good, Miss Brush,” said Wilfred, shaking his left wing warmly by the hand.

“That’s all right,” said Miss Brush.

“You’ll come up and have some tea, won’t you?” said Wilfred.

“Thanks,” said Miss Brush, “but Dad would go off quite a treat if I wasn’t in to give him his tea.”

“Oh, well, if you must,” said Wilfred, secretly relieved.

“That’s all right,” said Miss Brush and departed.

Caroline and Colonel Beaton, striding down from the hills, met the hockey players on their way home. Colonel Beaton attached himself to Wilfred and asked after the game.

“We won,” said Wilfred. “The others hadn’t a chance. The butcher’s daughter, Miss Brush, was the making of our side. A haughty woman, but runs like a hare. Not a bit grateful to the Young Squire for asking her up to tea either. I’d fall on anyone’s neck who asked me out to tea in this god forsaken place.”

“If you talk like that about Beechwood, it makes it easier for me to make a suggestion. I rather need someone to go to Paris and look up some papers for me. I’m doing an article for Hugh’s paper and I meant to go over myself and take Julia, but this engagement has turned everything upside down. If you haven’t any special plans could you go over, say tomorrow? It wouldn’t take you long and you could be back at work just as soon as you meant to.”

Wilfred’s heart bounded. To get away. To go to Paris, which he knew fairly well and adored. To be considered grown-up enough to go and look up papers for a celebrated chap like Beaton.

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