Where had Curzon, the giraffe with the bitten ear, disappeared? The answer to this one suggested itself almost at once: Sonya had missed it and Veronica had contacted Lena and asked her to send it to them, which Lena had done… So Lena did have a forwarding address
…
Where was it she had heard ‘Lavender’s Blue’ played? And why did she think it was extremely important that she should remember… Had it been on the radio? She felt sure she had been sitting in the library… Had Mrs Cathcart hummed it, perhaps? Unlikely. Colonel Haslett? No, she didn’t think so. Colonel Haslett often hummed but it was usually some Gilbert and Sullivan tune – or ’Colonel Bogey‘.
Antonia shut her eyes. Watch out for that ring, Miss Pettigrew had said.
Suddenly she sat up. She had heard the familiar cackling and shuffling noises outside the door, heralding the imminent arrival of the club committee. They didn’t come in at once, though, but started a discussion outside, over whether the sign on the door should be changed from Vacant to Meeting in Progress, or whether doing so would put off any legitimate latecomers. Eventually it was decided to change the sign, and three people entered the room.
Mrs Compton, Mr Reece and Commander Bridges.
They appeared greatly surprised to see Antonia and even more surprised when they heard that she had been waiting since three o‘clock. ’Oh dear. We did say half-past, didn’t we, Douglas?‘ Mrs Compton said. She was a tall willowy woman of indeterminate years, dressed elegantly in a light green suit with darker green facings, whose immaculate coiffure the unlikely colour of ’Dutch gold’ added to her height and sophistication.
Commander Bridges, thus appealed to, went very pink. He attempted to solve the dilemma between his conscience and manners by saying that it had been half-past three to start with – and that went back at least five years – they must be living in the past! He made it sound like some sort of a joke. He tugged at his intricately tied cravat and beamed and nodded at Antonia. He was clad in a dark blazer and grey trousers. He was seventy-six but looked younger, though sitting down and getting up were a problem. Antonia saw him glance down nervously at the Louis Quinze. He hated being helped either way. Given the option, he would have remained standing.
Mr Reece asked Commander Bridges if he knew the latest cricket score.
‘This room needs changing,’ Mrs Compton observed, looking around with a critical expression, holding her chin between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Don’t you think? I don’t know what it is. Something – I don’t know. Don’t you think?’
‘We did it only recently, Arabella,’ Mr Reece said cheerfully. He was a large, stout man in his early sixties, with a pleasant red face, wearing tweeds. He looked like a gentleman farmer but was in fact a magistrate. ‘Can’t afford to do it again. The budget -’
‘Ah, the budget.’ Mrs Compton sounded scornful.
‘Afraid so. It’s tighter than ever,’ Commander Bridges said. ‘Heaven knows how we manage.’
‘Refreshments coming up,’ Mr Reece announced. He rubbed his hands. ‘Jolly good.’
A waiter had wheeled in a trolley. Commander Bridges started easing himself into the chair. They all looked away delicately. ‘Two messages,’ the waiter said. ‘One from Mr Beeson, the other from Lady Franks. Apologies, et cetera. They aren’t coming, so start without them.’
Mrs Compton waited until he had left the room and said triumphantly, ‘This is the third time. I detest counting, but it is the third time. I do think, Douglas, you should say something. It’s not as though we have all the time in the world!’
Commander Bridges harrumphed. ‘Yes, yes, of course, Arabella.’
‘Muffins. Crumpets.’ Mr Reece had started lifting lids. ‘Can I tempt you, anyone? Arabella? Antonia?’
Antonia said she would like a cup of tea and a muffin.
‘It is too hot for muffins,’ Mrs Compton said.
‘Sausage rolls. May I tempt you? Douglas? Ladies? The sandwiches look good.’
Mrs Compton said, ‘No, nothing to eat. Just some tea.’ She sighed. She opened her handbag in a portentous manner which suggested that some life-saving piece of equipment might be inside, but which merely resulted in her producing her reading glasses.
‘A muffin, Robert, thank you… A cup of tea too, yes. Thank you.’
‘It’s too hot for muffins,’ Mrs Compton said again.
Antonia took a covert glance at her watch.
‘Let’s start, shall we?’ Commander Bridges said, smiling amiably over his cup. ‘The librarian’s report… Antonia, would you like to -’
‘The last report was rather inconclusive, I thought,’ Mrs Compton interjected. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘It was the meeting that was inconclusive,’ Mr Reece said.
‘I don’t understand what you mean, Robert.’
Antonia waited politely. The room was getting warmer by the minute. She could see the sun and the blue sky outside. Also the tree – an elm, not an oak. (She wished she didn’t keep seeing the oak at Twiston.) Shouldn’t they open one of the windows? Her eyes shut and opened. It wouldn’t do for her to doze off! For some reason she found herself thinking of the Vorodins and their plan. That carefully premeditated abduction. All very ingenious, but – plans sometimes went wrong, didn’t they? That was an interesting line of thought. What if the Vorodins had arrived and found that Sonya wasn’t there? Just imagine that that was what did happen. Now, where could Sonya have gone? Well, she had liked hiding -
‘Let’s start, shall we? Antonia, are you ready?’ Commander Bridges said.
‘Yes. Sorry.’
Antonia raced through her report. Every now and then she glanced up. Commander Bridges kept beaming at her. Mrs Compton was looking round the room and shaking her head. Mr Reece was eating a sausage roll with a great deal of concentration.
When she finished, Commander Bridges said, ‘Well done, Antonia. That was jolly thorough.’
‘I have a request,’ she said. ‘I do need more bookshelves and journal racks.’
‘How much money do you want?’ Mr Reece asked with a smile, brushing crumbs off his waistcoat with his napkin. ‘I think we could rustle up seventy or eighty pounds, can’t we, Douglas?’
‘Yes, yes. I think we can. Shelves are important.’
Mrs Compton heaved another sigh but raised no objection. Antonia felt herself relax.
The letting of the library to non-club members, to outsiders, for social functions, such as book readings and small wedding receptions, was discussed next. It was always a controversial point. The general feeling was against outsiders. Members, most of them diehard traditionalists, resented intrusions from the outside world intensely. But the fees the club charged were not to be sneezed at, Mr Reece pointed out – they provided them with a goodish income.
As for book donations…
‘I am totally against book donations. Totally. They are so…’ Mrs Compton – the widow of a Whitehall official – searched for a word. ‘A bit like a jumble sale, don’t you think? A lot of the books people donate are in an appalling state. No better than second-hand junk, really.’
‘No, not all the books -’ Antonia began.
‘I’ve seen them! Then there is the kind of books some people leave. Don’t you remember when the Gloucesters came – that VE Day? When the Duke picked up a book and it turned out to be -’ Mrs Compton broke off. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Arabella, that was ages ago,’ Mr Reece said.
‘It was I who had to write a letter of apology afterwards.’
The incident in question had taken place before Antonia’s time -