Читать книгу A Family Affair - Nancy Carson - Страница 9

Tom Doubleday showed up in the taproom wearing a smart grey suit with a subtle stripe. His plain royal blue tie contrasted well with his white cotton shirt and starched round-edged collar, and the silver chain of his pocket watch hung glistening across his waistcoat.

‘Well, you look smart tonight, Tom, and no two ways.’ Ramona greeted chirpily.

He smiled gratefully at the compliment. ‘Thank you, Ramona. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.’

‘So who’s the lucky lady?’

He glanced around to see if anybody was listening, then leaned forward conspiratorially, as if to divulge some deep secret. ‘Your stepsister,’ he whispered.

‘Clover?’ Ramona’s expression changed and she paused while she took stock of this vital news. ‘She never said.’

‘Would you do me a favour and let her know I’m here?’

Stunned, Ramona left the taproom. In a few seconds she returned, her demeanour unusually aloof. ‘She’ll be a minute or two yet. D’you want a drink while you wait?’

‘Not for now, thanks, Ramona. Later.’ He smiled pleasantly but Ramona did not return it. He turned around while she tended to somebody else’s needs and he nodded at those regulars he was already familiar with. ‘Lovely evening,’ he said to somebody. He scrutinised the ends of his fingers and nervously creased the flap of the brown envelope he was holding that contained the photographs of Ned’s triumph. He wondered what Clover would be wearing.

Of course, she wore the new white dress she’d bought herself. She’d piled up her dark hair in the Pompadour style that emphasised the youthful set of her head and the elegance of her neck.

‘You look beautiful.’

She smiled demurely. ‘I’m glad you approve. Thank you.’

‘I’ve never seen you looking so lovely.’

‘Perhaps you can appreciate why I always hide away from you when I get in from work all grubby in my scruffy clothes. I can look decent. I’d much rather you see me looking this way.’

He looked her up and down admiringly. ‘I’ve seen you decent before – at the wedding, if you recall. But decent is a bit of an understatement, Clover. You look delicious enough to eat. Come on, let’s go for a walk so the world can witness me at the side of somebody so lovely.’

She smiled again and felt her colour rise at his compliments.

‘You don’t mind walking out, do you?’ he asked and she shook her head. ‘There might not be much opportunity to talk later. What time did Ned say he would get here with his family?’

‘About nine.’

‘That gives us an hour. Shall we head for Buffery Park? It’s a lovely evening.’

‘If you like. Give me a minute, though, to get my hat on.’

She went out again and returned wearing a beautiful Leghorn hat, trimmed with field flowers. She wore it tilted slightly to one side, in the manner of the fashionable women she’d seen in pictures in newspapers. Tom said how elegantly she wore it as they stepped out of the Jolly Collier into the warm evening sunshine of George Street and she felt like a queen. They talked at first about Ned’s achievement that morning and how Amos made her laugh with his irreverence. Before they knew it they were near the hothouses of Buffery Park.

The flowerbeds were ablaze with colourful blooms. Clover said how she wished they could have a garden at the Jolly Collier instead of the dreary brewery that overlooked and overwhelmed the rear of the pub.

‘Do you like living in a public house?’ Tom asked.

‘I don’t know any different,’ she replied, stepping over a crack in one of the paviours to avoid bringing bad luck. ‘But I like all the company we get. I see different people all the time. It’s nice getting to know lots of people.’

‘Yours is a decent pub, you know, Clover. It has a reputation for being a good house, as well as for the beer.’

‘Yes, I know. It’s because of my mother, I suppose. The way she’s always run it.’

‘Do you get on all right with her?’

Clover chuckled. ‘She’s a funny woman.’

‘Oh? How is she funny?’

‘In the sense that she seldom smiles, her attitude to folk. She has some funny ideas, mostly about me, it seems. She’s not been so bad since she’s married again. Jake keeps her in check.’

‘What do you think of him?’

‘I like him. He’s very placid, very down-to-earth. He’s certainly good for my mother. Good for me, too. Before he came along I wouldn’t have been allowed to walk out with you, without somebody else with us.’

‘A chaperone? God, how old-fashioned.’

‘Like I say, she’s a funny woman – old-fashioned – a dyed-in-the-wool Victorian. But Jake’s changing all that. Ramona was always allowed to go out apparently, so now I am as well.’ She smiled with the satisfaction of having won some great privilege.

‘So you’ve had no chance to meet sweethearts?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she answered coyly, half teasing. ‘There have been one or two boys I’ve been sweet on…’ She looked away for she found herself blushing again. ‘How about you?’ she said, diverting him. ‘How many sweethearts have you had?’

‘Oh, hundreds…’

He grinned first and they both burst out laughing.

‘Oh, you have to be truthful, Tom,’ she said. ‘Have you really had lots of sweethearts?’

‘About two.’

‘You mean two hundred?’ she suggested mischievously.

She loved how he laughed at that, how his eyes crinkled at the edges so deliciously.

‘Just two,’ he answered. ‘A girl from Sedgley who was my sweetheart for two years and a girl from Brierley Hill.’

‘Oh? What went wrong?’

‘Well…with the girl from Sedgley there were too many instances where we didn’t see eye to eye. Too many arguments over nothing, too many unreasonable requests, too many times I was taken for granted when I’d gone out of my way to do things for her and her family. There was too much incompatibility, Clover. We would never have made each other happy. So I ended it.’

‘And the girl from Brierley Hill?’

A couple of sparrows descended into one of the flowerbeds they were approaching, twittering angrily at each other as they squabbled over a worm, then just as rapidly took flight again, the one hurtling after the other.

‘Maud…’ He sighed. ‘Maud didn’t play quite by the rules. While I was conscientiously trying to nurture our relationship she sought extra attentions in the arms of one of my friends.’

‘She was being unfaithful?’

‘Yes, she was being unfaithful. Seriously unfaithful as it turned out. Six weeks after we split up she married the bloke, already pregnant. And the child certainly wasn’t mine.’

‘I imagine you were upset, Tom.’

‘I was engaged to be married to her. I was in love with her. Yes, I was upset.’

‘And you had no idea what was going on behind your back?’

‘Not then. Oh, looking back now I can see there were lots of clues, but I was oblivious to them. I imagined her not wanting me to touch her was a passing phase – something all women go through. I thought the reasons she gave not to see me sometimes on our regular nights were genuine, and I never challenged them. Oh, there were lots of little things – insignificant on their own, but when you view them as a whole, a different picture develops.’

‘It’s a shame you had to go through all that…Good for me, though, Tom…Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.’

‘No, I don’t suppose I would.’ He smiled cheerfully to indicate he was over the trauma. ‘The trouble is, Clover, when something like that happens, you tend to lose confidence in yourself, in women, in human nature. I’d never allow it to happen again. I’d know the symptoms another time and at the first signs I’d…well, I’d just walk away.’

‘Only right, Tom,’ she agreed. ‘A couple has to be committed to each other if they want their relationship to work.’

They fell silent for a few moments while they each digested what the other had said. The shadows were lengthening and the low sun, directly in front of them, was promising a rhetorical bedtime for itself.

‘How old are you, Tom?’

‘Twenty-five. And you?’

‘You should never ask a girl how old she is,’ she said feigning indignation. ‘But I’ll tell you anyway. I’m twenty. I was twenty last month.’

He laughed at the way she changed direction so quickly. ‘That’s a nice age gap between a man and woman, five years. Don’t you think?’

‘I hadn’t thought about it. Ned’s two years younger than you.’

‘Ah, Ned, eh? Good old Ned…I must say, he seems a decent sort. The sort who wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘He’s too wrapped up in what he’s doing to hurt anything,’ Clover mused. ‘So how did the photographs turn out?’

He waved the envelope that contained them. ‘Let’s sit on that bench over there and I’ll show you.’

‘Are they good?’

‘They’re fine.’

‘Do you live with your folks, Tom?’ Clover asked, changing tack again.

‘Yes, I do. I have a sister, Lily, the same age – no, a year older than you. She’s getting married soon, so she’ll be leaving home to live with her new husband. I have another sister, called Frances who is already married and pregnant, and a brother called Cedric who is married with children.’

‘So where do you live? Nobody’s ever mentioned it.’

‘Stafford Street, towards the top. By Top Church. That damned great clock of theirs often wakes me up in the middle of the night, striking.’

She laughed, a sympathetic laugh. ‘You poor old thing.’

By this time they had reached the bench that looked out onto shrubberies where rhododendrons blossomed in profusion. Clover dusted off the bench with her handkerchief to protect her new white dress, then sat down expectantly, her back gracefully erect, her knees drawn towards Tom. Tom sat down casually and opened the brown envelope. He drew out the pictures and handed them to her.

‘Oh, yes, they’re really good, Tom…Look at Amos’s expression here. He’s such a nit.’ She laughed at them, at how ordinary they all looked, at their incongruity with what they had achieved together – especially Ned. ‘That’s a good one of Ned. He looks so serious – he always looks serious…God, don’t I look awful?’

‘Actually, I think you look beautiful,’ Tom answered, his voice low. ‘I took the liberty of enlarging that portion of the photo to show just you…the very bottom one…I thought I’d keep it for myself, if you have no objection…’

She pulled it out and glanced at it, then hid her face with it, giggling girlishly. ‘I look so stupid,’ she said self-effacingly, and blushing for she felt his eyes hot upon her.

‘Why do you have such a low opinion of yourself, Clover?’ he asked seriously. ‘You’re really a very beautiful girl.’

‘Lord, I’m not,’ she countered flatly. ‘My nose is too long for a start.’

‘You have the most scintillating nose I’ve ever seen,’ he said sincerely. ‘It was one of the first things about you that really struck me.’

‘About ten minutes before the rest of me came into view, you mean,’ she said with humour brimming in her eyes. ‘Stop laughing, for God’s sake. It’s not that funny.’

‘Yes it is.’ He spread his arms across the backrest of the bench so that one was behind her.

‘You wouldn’t think it was funny if you were stuck with it.’

He couldn’t help but laugh for quite some time. He had never anticipated that Clover Beckitt could be so amusing. ‘You’re a jewel, Clover.’

‘A jewel, eh?’

‘Yes, a jewel. Don’t denigrate yourself. Few girls are as lovely as you are. And you know what’s most appealing about you?’

She rolled her eyes, wondering what gem he would come out with next. ‘Don’t say my nose.’

‘You don’t acknowledge your looks. You’re not affected by them. You’re just natural.’

‘You mean that’s good?’

‘It makes you different, Clover. I get young women all the time in my studio, come to have their photographs taken for their sweethearts or husbands. Most are nowhere near as pretty as you. Yet they have such a bob on themselves, some of them. They really think they’re something special when they’re not at all. You are the exact opposite. That’s refreshing – and appealing.’

Clover tried hard not to blush, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Anyway, I think Ned will be pleased with these. And that Julian chap, the reporter.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I just hope they do Ned some good. I reckon he deserves recognition for what he’s achieved already. It seems there’s nobody else in this country seriously attempting flight. I wonder why it should be left to some ordinary bloke with no great education and little money to do all the groundwork for something as important. Such apathy is unforgivable.’

Clover shrugged. ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’

‘Here we are, the richest country on earth and nobody cares tuppence about aviation, except Ned Brisco.’

‘And me.’

He laughed. ‘Yes, and you.’

‘Are you a wealthy man, Tom?’ she asked.

He looked at her curiously. ‘God, Clover! Why do you ask? Does it make any difference?’

‘No, no difference at all, but you always wear such nice clothes. I mean, look at this suit your wearing…’ she fingered the material of his lapels admiringly and he enjoyed the intimacy of it. ‘You always look so smart. Even when you came to Rough Hill this morning you looked smart.’

‘Well, to answer your question, Clover, I’m not a wealthy man. I wear decent clothes because I come into contact with the public who spend money with me. If I was a scruffy article, people might assume my work would be scruffy. I can’t afford for people to think that. But I’ve worked up a decent little business and I earn enough to buy nice clothes and to put a bit by.’

‘My mother always says you have to put a bit by.’

‘What happened to your father, Clover? If you don’t mind me asking.’

She smiled wistfully as she told him.

‘Do you remember him?’

‘Not really. I’ve got a picture of him. I know what he looked like.’

‘Will you show me sometime? I’d like to see it.’

‘’Course…Hey, what time is it?’

He took his pocket watch from the fob in his waistcoat. ‘Nearly nine, according to this.’

‘Maybe we should head back to meet the others.’ She smoothed the back of her skirt with her hands and stood up, ready.

‘I suppose you’re right, Clover.’ He put the photographs back into their envelope and stood up with her. ‘Look, I might not get the opportunity later, so do you mind if I ask you something now?’

The sun was going down and the sky was shot with streaks of orange and magenta. Distant clouds that had settled on the horizon were caught in the blaze, daubed with the same vivid colours. Tom and Clover started walking, casting long shadows across the neat lawns of the park.

‘What did you want to ask me, Tom?’

‘If I can see you again – another evening.’

‘Yes, please, I’d like that,’ she answered softly, sincerely, looking into his eyes. ‘When?’

‘Whenever you can. How about Wednesday?’

‘All right, Wednesday. Eight o’ clock again?’

‘Eight o’ clock would suit very well…’

He smiled, took her hand and her heart starting beating noticeably faster.

Clover, her bright eyes alive with the exhilaration of one hour alone with Tom Doubleday, walked buoyantly down the passage and through the door of the snug. When he saw her, Ned looked at her in disbelief and unwittingly stood up. He’d never seen her looking like this, like a princess all in white, with her hair done so elegantly beneath the pretty hat that was adorned with flowers. The Brisco family were already supping their first drinks with Julian Oakley and a mousy young woman who was evidently his wife. Ned looked disconcerted standing there, trussed up in a stiff collar and necktie as he supped a pint of mild ale. Florrie Brisco wore a grey dress that she’d evidently bought when she was a stone and a half lighter, and Old Man Brisco wore a striped shirt with a mismatched, crumpled collar beneath his unpressed serge suit.

‘Clover!’ Ned greeted. ‘Where’ve you been? Your stepsister said you’d gone —’

Then he saw Tom.

He watched Tom follow this princess in. He watched her turn to him and smile enigmatically, as if they shared a thousand secrets. Ned’s mouth fell open with disappointment that was rapidly spiralling into an abyss.

‘I went for a walk in Buffery Park with Tom,’ she said casually, as if it was an everyday occurrence, trying to make his fall gentler. ‘He wanted to show me the photographs he took this morning. They’re ever so good.’

He nodded unsurely. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions too quickly. ‘I’ll get you a drink, Clover. And you, Tom,’ he added, trying to hide any animosity. ‘What would you like?’

‘A half of shandy, please,’ Clover answered.

‘A pint of bitter, Ned, if that’s all right,’ Tom said.

‘Can we see the photos?’ Julian asked, lighting a cigarette. Tom handed him the envelope and Julian opened it with a professional keenness. ‘Oh, yes…This is exactly what I need to illustrate the report I’ve written,’ he said when he’d looked at them. ‘Can I have these, Tom?’

‘You’d best let Ned see ’em first. They’re for him. I could bring some prints round to your office tomorrow.’

Meanwhile, Amos was keen to introduce Clover to his wife. ‘Clover, come here a minute and meet our Ida…This is Clover, our Ida. Dint I tell yer as she was a bit of a bobbydazzler?’

‘What a beautiful frock,’ Ida commented, scrutinising Clover’s lovely outfit. ‘You never work in a foundry?’

Clover laughed generously. ‘Not in this outfit. But yes, I work at the Coneygree – when I’m not helping Ned build his machine.’

‘Dint he do well, eh? Amos is that proud…I wished as I’d sid it meself.’

‘Well, I daresay there’ll be other opportunities, Ida,’ Clover assured her. ‘He’s not going to give up now.’

‘And him getting his name in nex’ wik’s paper and all.’

‘And his picture,’ Clover added.

And so it went on. Amos fetched a round of drinks from the hatch in the passage that opened into the taproom, then Tom paid for a round. The party was beginning to get noisier, the room smokier and soon Elijah joined them. He, too, paid for a round while Jake came in carrying a lighted spill and lit the oil lamps. Mary Ann put in an appearance on her way to the taproom and Ramona joined them later.

‘Ramona, you haven’t met Ned before, have you?’ Clover said.

‘No.’ She looked around. Tom Doubleday smiled his good wishes but she failed to acknowledge him and her eyes settled on the only man other than Elijah who was not ostensibly with a woman.

Clover introduced them and Ned stood up. He shook Ramona’s hand uncertainly and sheepishly avoided eye contact. ‘Nice to meet you, Ramona. Clover’s told me about you.’

‘Nice things, I hope.’

‘Nothing bad.’ He smiled self-consciously. ‘Er – can I buy you a drink? It’s my celebration and I think I’ve bought everybody else one.’

‘There’s no rush, Ned,’ Ramona replied easily. ‘I’ve not long had a drink. Somebody bought me one in the taproom. Tell me about your flying machine first. It sounds really interesting.’ She smiled, a warm, open smile.

‘What do you want to know?’ he asked, at once feeling comfortable with Clover’s pretty stepsister.

‘Oh, I dunno…How you got started, why you decided to build your own machine. Things like that. I think it’s really interesting. I think you’ve done wonders, Ned, I really do.’

‘D’you want to sit down, Ramona?’

‘Thank you.’ She sat beside him and Ned shuffled along the settle to make more room. ‘You’re a real gentleman, Ned and no mistake. So what a day you’ve had. What a triumph. Are you going to let me see the photos Tom Doubleday took?’

Ned retrieved them and opened the envelope. ‘Here, look. Here’s one of me actually in flight…’

‘My God…’ She looked up from the photograph and glanced at him, catching the pride in his eyes. ‘How did it feel, to be actually flying?’

Ned shook his head. ‘I can’t describe it, Ramona. I haven’t got the words. All I can tell you is the human race should’ve done it a long time ago.’

She looked at him again, her clear brown eyes meeting his with all the appeal she could summon. He could not maintain the eye contact, however. Her look seemed brim full of veneration, of wonderment. No girl had ever looked at him like that before – with such beautiful eyes. He did not know how to react. He glanced towards Clover; she was intent on something Tom Doubleday was saying.

‘So what gave you the inspiration, Ned?’

‘Well, when I was about ten years old my father bought me a book called Progress in Flying Machines. It was written in 1894 by an American called Octave Chanute. Ever since then—’

‘Did they build flying machines that long ago? In 1894?’

‘Even before that. Years and years before.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. In 1809 Sir George Cayley, a man dedicated to aeronautics, built and flew a full-size glider…’

While Ned and Ramona became acquainted, Elijah amused Tom and Clover with tales of his experiences in India. Florrie Brisco, perspiring under her several layers of necessarily unfashionable over and undergarments, familiarised Julian and the plain Mrs Oakley with the fine detail of Ned’s childhood, his youth and his adulthood. As she eulogised over his dietary peculiarities and on the regularity of his bowel movements, Julian yawned. ‘I just hope as he axes young Clover to wed him afore it’s too late,’ Florrie added with a sideways glance at Tom Doubleday.

Julian excused himself and made for the dismal but obnoxiously aromatic urinals at the rear of the pub. A solitary candle standing in an old jam jar afforded meagre light. Julian lit a cigarette off it and unfastened his fly as Tom Doubleday appeared at the door.

‘Tom!’ Julian greeted, his cigarette hanging from his bottom lip while he looked up at the wall directly in front of him to avoid smoke going up his nose. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘I know.’ Tom stood alongside him, keeping a discreet distance. ‘It’s funny how you have to keep running off when you drink beer.’

Julian laughed. ‘Blessed relief. God, that’s better.’ He gave himself a brief shake and fastened his buttons. ‘It’s the volume, Tom. Never could drink much beer. Now whisky – that’s a different kettle of fish. Hey, about them photos. How much shall we owe you?’

‘How many shall you want?’

‘Just two, I reckon. That one of the three of them standing in front of the flying machine, and that one where you’ve caught it in flight.’

‘How much are you prepared to pay?’ Tom asked. He turned away from the wall and buttoned his fly. ‘After all, it’s a bit of a scoop.’

‘How about a guinea a picture?’

Tom shook his head. ‘Three guineas, more like. Surely your newspaper can afford to pay for exclusive photographs?’

They settled on five guineas for the pair and shook hands on it. Tom said he would bring them round tomorrow with his invoice.

When they returned to the snug Ramona was standing near the door strapped to her new accordion. She gave it a squeeze and, with an expectant smile, played a chord to get everybody’s attention.

‘What yer gunna play then, our Ramona?’ Elijah called and swigged his beer.

‘I know,’ she said, at once decisive, and launched into ‘Wait Till the Sun Shines, Nellie’, while Tom and Julian resumed their seats.

The sound of the accordion, like an unrefined organ, filled the little room. Then Ramona sang and her singing voice, like her speaking voice, had an appealing catch in it, far removed from the clear warbles of a soprano or contralto. The only other sounds to be heard were the occasional spit and crack of the fire as the coals shifted further into their basket. When she’d finished everybody applauded noisily. ‘More! More!’ Amos yelled.

‘I think Clover ought to sing us one,’ Ramona proclaimed, pleased with her success and the attention she was eliciting. She beckoned her stepsister to stand alongside her, knowing her shyness would inhibit her. This was Ramona’s golden opportunity to demonstrate to the two men who meant something to Clover, her own pre-eminence in confidence, talent, and her supremacy over Clover’s innate reticence.

Clover, predictably, shook her head. But attention was suddenly focused upon her and hoots of encouragement prompted her to bury her face in her hands with embarrassment.

‘Come on, Clover,’ Ramona persisted. ‘We want to hear you sing.’

‘I bet you can sing like a lark,’ Tom encouraged, at her side.

‘I can’t,’ she insisted.

But her denial seemed to have no clout.

‘I bet you can. Go on, let’s hear you.’

All at once recognising Ramona’s implicit challenge, vividly perceiving again the difference between them and wishing to obliterate it, Clover emptied her glass. She rose from the settle and went to stand by Ramona. She straightened her back and raised her head defiantly.

‘All right. What shall we do?’ Clover asked.

‘Do you know “Waiting at the Church”?’

Clover shook her head. ‘I don’t know the words. I do know “How’d You Like to Spoon With Me”, though.’

‘But I can’t play that one, Clover,’ Ramona reluctantly admitted. ‘I could never get the music.’

‘Well I’ll start it by myself. See if you can get it as we go along.’

Ramona nodded uncertainly, fearing that her ploy was about to backfire. ‘All right, I’ll try,’ she said.

All eyes were on Clover as she began her soft crooning. The light from the lamp spilled on her young head and rimmed her hair with a soft, dancing yellow glow. Her voice was clear and light, almost soprano in pitch. Everybody fell silent and Clover made no attempt to find favour by singing loud. But when she sang the title, ‘How’d You Like to Spoon With Me’, she made sure the lyric was a personal message to Tom.

Behind her, Ned stood, fingering his necktie, anxious about the woman he adored, anxious about this romance that he could see budding right under his very nose.

When Clover had finished, she paused a moment and coughed, laughing in anticipation. Surprisingly, everybody merely clapped. There was no vocal praise. Clover had taken them all too much by surprise for that. Clapping by itself seemed to demonstrate the most profound admiration.

‘That was brilliant, Clover,’ Elijah said. ‘D’you know any more songs like that?’

‘Maybe one,’ Clover replied, enjoying the limelight for a change. ‘It’s called “Sweet Adeline”. Do you know it, Ramona?’ She was conscious that her stepsister was temporarily in the shade, a situation that would never suit the girl and, with typical unselfishness, Clover wished to bring her to the fore again.

Ramona began to play the introduction. It was a party song and more people joined in with the singing. It was the start of a good old sing-song that had everybody singing at the tops of their voices. Some of the men from the taproom even gathered round the door of the snug and lent their voices too.

When the party was over, Ned lingered deliberately, so that he might impede any progress between Clover and Tom. The thought of them kissing goodnight was abhorrent to him. But Ramona lingered too and was very sweet to Ned, although her charm was largely lost on him. Rather, he began to regard her as a likely chum. Anyway, Ned’s ploy met with success and satisfied, he watched as Clover merely waved Tom off from the front door after closing time.

Ramona and Clover met on the landing when everybody had gone. Clover was returning from the scullery with a ewer of water in one hand with which to wash herself come the morning, a candle to light her way in the other.

‘We had some fun tonight,’ Ramona remarked.

‘Yes, I enjoyed it,’ Clover agreed, resting the heavy jug on the wooden handrail while she secured her grip of it.

‘Did you enjoy your walk with Tom Doubleday?’

‘Yes, I did, thank you.’ Clover was uncertain how much she should divulge.

‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’

‘I’ve always thought so.’

‘Are you seeing him again?’

‘Wednesday. He’s taking me out on Wednesday.’ She smiled at the prospect.

‘Ooh, lucky you, Clover. Is there romance in the air at last?’

Clover shrugged non-committally. ‘I can’t tell. It depends on him.’

‘I think Ned likes me.’ Ramona hunched her shoulders and grinned shyly.

‘Ned?’ Clover queried, somewhat alarmed. ‘Oh, keep away from Ned, Ramona. He’s no match for you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve got Sammy after all. Be satisfied and leave Ned be. I can’t believe you’re really interested in him anyway. Just don’t lead him on.’

‘Why not let Ned decide, eh, Clover? Seems to me you’re in love with Ned after all, for all your denials. Tom Doubleday had better watch out.’