Lucia Triumphant by Tom Holt

Author:Tom Holt
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: tilling, ef benson, lucia, downton abby, postwar england
Publisher: Coffeetown Press
Published: 2013-09-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The next morning historical interest seemed to be at a peak in Tilling. Major Benjy, on his way to the Club to resume his studies, passed Lucia’s motor-car as he went through the Landgate. He was on foot and the front wheel of Lucia’s Rolls-Royce, going through a puddle, sprayed him with water. At once the motor stopped and Lucia got down. The Major was in a quandary. Lucia did not exist; on the other hand, her motor quite palpably did, and even a non-existent motorist must be allowed to apologise for inflicting puddle-water on an innocent pedestrian. It would have been easier, reflected Major Benjy, if Cadman, the actual driver of the vehicle, had got down to apologise, but that, in strict terms, would have been rather impolite. The Major resolved on a compromise. He would speak to Lucia if necessary, but he would not, if he could possibly help it, remember her name.

‘My dear Major Mapp-Flint!’ cried Lucia, and her respectful use of his rank and full surname seemed to strike exactly the right note. ‘I am most terribly sorry. Are they wet through?’

Such politeness and sincere concern was most disarming and the Major suddenly found that he could remember that her name was Mrs. Pillson.

‘Not at all, Mrs. Pillson,’ he said loftily, ‘a mere splash, that’s all.’

‘But it was too careless of Cadman. He shall be fully reprimanded; and your poor trousers! Do have them cleaned and send me the bill.’

That sounded, or could be made to sound, as if the Major’s trousers never saw the inside of a cleaner’s from one year to the next, but he let it pass. He found it hard to be rude to such a polite and charming lady as Lucia was making herself this morning.

‘No need, I assure you. Fine day,’ he added sociably.

‘It is indeed. Are you off to your admirable studies? How diligent! And I am about the same business, in a way.’

‘Really?’ Was she, too, off to indulge in secret drinking? He doubted it.

‘I am going to the Cartulary—the depository of ancient manuscripts—oh, of course you must know that already—at Bodiam Castle. No doubt you have used it yourself. No? You must. Invaluable documents, sources, original papers. I must get them to send you one of their Catalogues of Manuscripts. So sorry about the trousers.’

She waved gaily and returned to her vehicle. The Major, a damper but scarcely a wiser man, continued on his way. The High Street was unusually busy today and shoppers were swarming like excited bees from group to group. Cries of ‘No!’ and ‘Oh, how fascinating!’ echoed between the buildings, betokening some news or other, and the Major resolved to find out what was going on.

‘Good morning,’ he boomed, advancing on Diva and the Wyses and raising his hat. ‘Bit of a respite from the rain, eh? Any news?’

Diva, for some unexplained reason, flushed a deep red. Mr. Wyse fidgeted with his ebony cane, while Susan Wyse picked nervously at one of her gloves.

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