Sensible Life by Mary Wesley

Author:Mary Wesley [Wesley, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4994-7
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-10-02T23:19:00+00:00

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE CHILL WHICH STRUCK Flora with Cosmo by the river and made her run was the realisation that her visit was almost over; she was due back at school in three days. When Cosmo and Hubert were in Perthshire she would be back in the ambience she detested. Still, there were three more days.

“Hi, stop,” said Nigel, who had watched her running towards the house. “Come here a minute, spare me a mo.” He caught her wrist.

Nigel was sitting on the terrace in the evening sun with The Times newspaper on his lap, a half-empty glass of whisky on the table beside him. He looked glum. “Sit down.” He pulled her down onto the seat. “I want to show you something.”

“What?” She was impatient to go up to her room and change into evening dress, wallowing first in a hot bath. Too soon this luxury would be lost; she would be forced to share a bath with another girl, have only three a week. She tried to jerk her wrist free. Nigel held on.

“Wait a minute, this is important.” He held her with his left hand, the tumbler of whisky in his right. The smell of whisky mingled with the scent of jasmine growing against the house. “Watched you run,” Nigel said. “Good legs, not knock-kneed like Mabs. Mabs is knock-kneed, have you noticed?”

“No.” She twisted her wrist in his grip.

“Look,” said Nigel. “I’ve got The Times newspaper here.”

“So?”

“So I am going to do you a kindness, teach you how to read it. No, don’t run away. This is important, young Flora. If you want to understand what makes people tick, you read this paper.”

“What people?”

“The Leighs, stupid, and their ilk. You are not of their ilk so you had better understand them.”

“Are you of their ilk?” she asked on a rising note.

“I am. The ‘ilk’ is financial, dear girl. I am also a bit drunk. Where was I? Oh yes, you had better take this opportunity while it lasts, as they say in the advertisements. Are you ready?”

“If it doesn’t take too long.” She was grudging.

“The rudiments won’t take long, the actual experience takes a lifetime. Right. Don’t run away, promise?”

“I promise.” (Whose dress shall I borrow tonight, Mabs’ green or Tashie’s blue?)

“Right, then.” Nigel released her hand and picked up the paper. “Here we are, pay attention. This is the hatch, match and despatch column. Births, deaths, marriages, right?”

“Right.”

“Imagine you are pleased to read here that, let’s see, Admiral Bowing has died. He may be your uncle, see, and with luck he has left you a packet in his will. Always look at the deaths first, they can cheer you up no end. Got that? Now the births. Some foolish friend has started a family, or added to one. You write and congratulate or condone, must do that, that’s what friends are for. You with me?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, turn over to the Court page, engagements. Miss Mabs Leigh is engaged to, oh dear,” Nigel drained his glass, “Nigel Foukes. And from time to time the engagement is broken off.

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