Читать книгу The Crooked Olive Branch - Frederick Munn - Страница 12

Chapter 4

“Tea, Peterkin?”

Until she spoke, Peter had not been aware of Pen who had been sent by her mother to mend fences.

Grateful for the tea, he was still in no mood to receive Pen’s opening gambit at conciliation. “Thanks.” He grunted before adding testily, “This is not Coral Island, Pen.”

“Owl isn’t pleased, and Pussy Cat is very, very sorry.” Pen purred and took his arm.

“Nor are we setting sail in a pea green boat.” Peter shrugged her away.

This ‘slap in the face,’ shocked Pen. “Sorry Peter, I am truly sorry.”

A brooding silence followed, both unaware that all in the know were watching.

From the pavilion Lady Amelia looked on anxiously while Edna and Freda nudged each trying hard not to show their fascination with this real-life drama unfolding before them. Edna was salivating with thoughts of informing the Women’s Guild with all the lurid detail.

“What’s going on with you and Henry?” Peter’s blunt question broke an awkward silence.

Pen was shocked even though she was expecting something of the sort.

“Peter, there’s nothing.” She swallowed.

“You have my promise, there’s nothing between Hal and me.”

“So, its Hal now, is it? What happened to Hank?”

“Henry prefers to be called Hal. He doesn’t like Hank the Yank it being Cambridge speak, just the fun of the crew. I guess he wishes to drop it.”

“You guess? You are even beginning to sound like an American.”

“Look Peter, Hal is good fun I like him a lot but it’s you I love. You I intend to marry.” Peter didn’t reply for some little while. When he did, he managed not to sound too aggrieved.

“Do you realise that walking off with Henry upset my concentration. Your father hoped that I would produce an innings to sink Bendesbury, and I failed.”

Pen who had been up to this last remark, a model of contrition, was angry that this had degenerated into a discussion about a piddling little cricket match. Cricket she had little interest in and no wish to even try to understand it. Here she felt that she had something in common with Henry.

She, however, placed a conciliatory hand on Peter’s.

“I am really sorry darling, truly I am. I will do better in future.”

Peter did not reject this gesture entirely. They remained like that for what seemed an age. Peter broke the silence and the tension. “Where’s Henry?”

“Down by the ford. Why?” Pen replied anxiously.

“There’s something we need to discuss.”

Pen caught her breath. “You’ll not mention our little tiff to him, please.”

Peter removed Pen’s hand from his arm. “I’ll not make promises that I may not keep. I suggest you do likewise.” He turned to go, then relenting, offered her some comfort.

“Actually, it’s to do with a little matter your father and mine have cooked up between them.”

After a very short pause, he added, “Still no promises.”

With these final words Peter headed towards the ford.

Lady Amelia, who had been watching, immediately set off to join her daughter.

“Off she goes on her fool’s errand,” sniggered Edna. “No chance there. You mark my words.” Amelia wrapped her arm around her daughter. “Well?”

Pen was shocked by this seemingly unusual show of affection. She just shrugged and didn’t answer.

“Humble pie, darling.” Amelia continued. “Buckets of it, trust me.”

“Please mummy, just leave me alone.” Pen turned and walked away with Amelia following.

“All right darling, but please don’t throw your life away.”

‘What life?’ Pen thought. It’s your life you’re worrying about not mine. Fortunately, she did manage to keep these thoughts to herself.

Henry, meanwhile, was still trying to sort out his thoughts. It was clear from Lady Amelia’s sortie to retrieve Pen, that his innocent little meander to soak up the glory of this unique scene had had some consequence. Just what, he did not have too much difficulty in imagining. Pen tagging along did not overly disturb him until she became too familiar. Whether to say anything or nothing to Peter was now the decision. He decided that he had nothing to explain.

Peter arrived at the ford to find Henry engrossed in thought.

“Ah! Henry there you are.”

Hal turned around and leaned back on the handrail.

“Hey Pete, what a peach of a place you have here. Cambridge was great, but this is something else.”

“Henry,” Peter began, not acknowledging Hal’s comment. “There is something we should discuss.”

“Hal please, Henry is my Sunday name if you don’t mind. No more Hank. That was Cambridge. As far as I’m concerned it should stay there.”

Peter was completely thrown by Henry’s relaxed attitude. “Hal, it is then.”

“My Pa used to say, ‘if you hear your Ma call me Henry, be sure and make yourself scarce, there’s trouble a brewing.’ He called it his Sunday name, only used when he was in the doghouse.”

Why Sunday name, thought Peter.

Calmed by Henry’s relaxed charm, Peter relaxed. It was the same at Cambridge when they first met. All perceived troubles seemed to melt in his presence.

This plus Henry’s request to call him Hal convinced Peter that his fears were unfounded. There was nothing other than Pen’s inattentiveness at the cricket to concern him.

Relieved, Peter turned to the other problem on his mind. “Henry.” He began.

“Hal” Henry corrected, smiling. “Sure, old buddy, there’s something you want to discuss?”

When Peter had finished telling of the afternoon’s strange encounter Hal didn’t say a word.

He continued looking into the distance along the river as if for inspiration.

Peter waited for his friend’s deliberations. Hal thoughtfully considered.

“These guys seem to me to be a slippery bunch. Question number one, why me?

You Pete we can guess, except for the spying gig. That we get, maybe, but not the whys of involving two greenhorns. Why especially me? They sure would not give me the time of day without reason. We need to figure that one.”

Hal continued looking into the distance, seemingly still trying to work out what this was about.

In the following silence Peter was content to wait for his friend to continue.

Suddenly Hal’s mood changed. Turning, he leaned back once more on the handrail.

“Why not? It could turn out to be a spiffing lark. What say you, old bean?”

“Do you really think so?” Peter asked, ignoring his friend’s attempt to impersonate former university undergraduate colleagues.

“Sure, let’s accept a stake in this affair and give these slippery goats enough rope. They might recycle round to tread in their own shit. Meantime we work out what really gives.”