Christmas at Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

Author:Stella Gibbons [Stella Gibbons]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2007-07-04T16:00:00+00:00

Poor, Poor Black Sheep

MR BASIL MERRYN and Miss Pompey Taverner were dining together by the river on a summer evening. The last sunlight had gone from the tops of the elm trees and the first midges were rising from the gliding water as the liqueurs were reached, and by that time they both felt as if it was only a few days since they had last dined in each other’s company. But the sobering truth was that it was ten years.

He had been banished to a job in Brazil by his exasperated family after a sensational divorce case in which he had played a part; and she had lingered on, the last of a set of Bright Young People who had amused and shocked London in the hectic ’twenties, watching one delightful idiot after another marry and settle down to found a family. The papers had stopped putting ‘Pompey’ in inverted commas; they even occasionally used her baptismal name of Annette.

He and she had run across one another that morning in Bond-street. At first he had not recognized in the beautifully dressed woman of thirty-odd the amusingly ugly girl of ten years ago, but then she had drawled: ‘Why, hullo, Baa-Baa!’ and he knew her at once, and they stood there, laughing and shaking hands, a tall woman, and a tall man with the lean good looks sponsored by the more expensive tailoring firms in their advertisements.

‘My dear! We all thought you were rotting in a Mexican jail or something!’

‘I only got back a few days ago.’ He hesitated. ‘My father died. Didn’t you know?’

‘Of course – I’m so sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I suppose you’ll stay, now you are back?’

‘I think so. There are all kinds of things to see to about the estate, of course. I say, it’s marvellous to see you again.’ They had turned together down the expensive street and were strolling along smiling at one another while their friendly eyes took in the little changes that ten years had made. ‘Are you doing anything to-night? Do dine with me, if you’re free.’

‘Adore to,’ she said.

He remembered that this had always been her pet phrase, and that she always made it sound like an absurd dying gurgle at the back of her throat. His restless grey eyes approvingly took in the too-slim lines of her body, for he was very tired of looking at fat South American women and all the girls in London seemed surprisingly plump. It must be these Milk Bars.

‘Is that little place near Henley still in existence? Would you like to go there?’

‘Adore to.’

So it was arranged: and they smiled lingeringly as they parted, both looking forward to a delightful evening.

They had so much to talk about that the time flew by, as they sat on the terrace overlooking the river. How was the Louse? inquired the Black Sheep. Married, answered Pompey, with three children. And Noel? Married. And Barbara? Married, but not so good; a divorce was in the offing. And Judy? Oh, married, with two children.

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