Low Pastures by Bill James

Author:Bill James [James, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448305728
Google: Mzn5zgEACAAJ
Amazon: 1448305721
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2022-04-05T07:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

W ork on the extension to Low Pastures wasn’t quite finished, but Ralph had ordered the display cabinets of china to be put in place. He would fetch a couple of bedroom chairs and liked to sit with Margaret in the new room for a serious rest period now and then. That phrase ‘new room’ amused her. She said it was what the Methodists in history called their very plain chapels, to distinguish them from the more ornate buildings of the Church of England. This kind of simplicity pleased Margaret. She hated any sign of prettifying. He believed she felt almost as pleased with these interludes as he did, although she could be a bit sharp about all the developments occasionally. That’s how Margaret was and he’d put up with it. This sort of waspishness seemed to keep her going.

As a matter of fact, her type of directness was in operation this evening. There was a softer side, but it did no harm. Ralph thought this tidy little gallery was the kind of place where a man ought to sit appreciatively with his wife at well-earned good moments in their marriage. He believed these were not scarce.

Ralph’s fondness for china and porcelain was instinctive, though in these last few years he had read up quite a bit about some of the famous houses, as they were termed, such as Sèvres, Nantgarw and Dresden. Margaret had known some of this background already in that way of hers, and Ralph felt a duty to catch up. He didn’t mind her being a fraction or two ahead of him in some aspects of life, but nothing vast or humiliating.

This evening they were talking about education for their children. Ralph had wondered if it would be a good idea – no, a suitable, obligatory, almost no-choice idea – an idea to send them away as boarders to a famous, high-achievers’ school. He had the name of one near Brighton on the south coast, Roedean. In his view, it was an inevitable decision for a family like his, owners of a fine property now, once home for the lord lieutenant of the county or, at a different period, the Spanish consul. The right schooling was a matter of proper status, part of the overall social rating. Most probably the school had a scarf with its colours on so in the winter at least anyone in the know could tell if a child had been to Roedean and was certain to have good table manners.

‘You’d be welcome to view my Nantgarws.’ Ralph could imagine himself framing this offer to someone he’d met at a Roedean parents’ occasion. It would be naff to make the invitation more gushing than in the simple, unextravagant ‘welcome’, because people likely to be at such a function didn’t normally talk oily and high-falutin’ stuff such as ‘extremely welcome’ or ‘more welcome than I can possibly say’. And obviously – very obviously – if you were welcoming somebody it couldn’t be more than you could say, because you were saying it.

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