“He said ‘Hay?’” Anne cupped a hand to her ear, in a wickedly accurate imitation of the Harbour Master of Berrybridge Haven. “So I said, ‘It’s no good pretending you can’t hear, Herbert, you old rogue. You’re no more deaf than I am—especially when somebody’s offering you a drink.’ And do you know what he did then?” Anne paused, to give the denouement its full effect. “He slapped my bottom!”
“He didn’t!” Alastair gave a great roar of laughter, in which everybody joined, with the exception of Colin.
“Herbert adores Anne,” Rosemary said to Emmy. “She’s the only person who stands up to him and says exactly what she thinks. I wouldn’t dare.”
“So if the boat’s not pumped dry next weekend—just watch out. There’ll be trouble,” said Anne darkly. But her eyes were laughing over the rim of the pint mug.
In contrast to Anne’s vivacity, Colin was silent and grave. He looked the picture of a young intellectual, with his pale face and untidy brown hair. His features were pleasant enough, and there was a lively intelligence in his dark eyes. Only in his hands and his jawline—both of which were strong and square—was there a hint of stubbornness and power. He seemed torn between pride in Anne’s animation and a certain disapproval of those very qualities which he obviously found so attractive.
“Get on with your drink,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re talking too much.”
“I always do. I can’t help it.” Anne turned her kitten eyes to Henry. “I hear you had a dreadful day on the mud. Steep Hill, of all places. I’m sure it’s haunted.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Anne!” Colin’s voice was brusque and angry.
“No, but really,” Anne went on, quite unperturbed, “when we were coming into the river in the dark last Sunday night, we passed the very spot where—where it happened—and I swear I heard something. I swear it.”
“What did you hear?” Henry asked, intrigued.
“I don’t know.” Anne wrinkled her nose. “Just a sort of something. And I said—”
“Shut up, Anne,” said Hamish suddenly. To Henry’s surprise, Anne shut up. She buried her nose in her tankard and looked abashed. David glared at Hamish, but the latter had already started talking to Alastair about the new boat, and apparently did not notice.
A few minutes later, Anne said gravely to Henry, “You never knew Pete, did you?”
“No,” said Henry.
“I loved him,” said Anne. Colin’s face darkened with sudden anger, and he slammed his glass just too forcibly onto the table. Anne added quickly, “Now don’t start bristling like an old bear, darling. You know what I mean. I just loved him in a friend
ly way, as darling David loves me.”
David said nothing, but turned away to the bar and ordered another drink. When David picked up his beer tankard, Henry saw that his hands were trembling again.
The hands of the big white-faced clock on the wall crept towards eight o’clock, and The Berry Bush began to fill up. Herbert arrived in garrulous mood.
“Fine tickin’ off I had from your young lady,” he remarked to Colin, winking incessantly. “Proper little spitfire. I wouldn’t be in your shoes, I can tell you.”
“I must say, we were both very upset to find Mary Jane in such a state, Herbert,” said Colin pompously. “I know you have a lot to do, but—”
“Leaks like a bloody sieve,” said Herbert, promptly and defiantly. “Pumped ’er every day. I can’t help it if she’s rotten. You want your garboards recaulking, that’s what you want.” He managed to make it sound like an unmentionable insult.
Colin flushed angrily. “I don’t need any advice from you on how to look after my boat,” he said.
“Some people...” remarked Herbert ominously, to the bar in general. He turned his back rudely on Colin, and went over to inflict himself on Hamish and Alastair. Anne, Colin and David drifted over to the bar and began a lively conversation with a venerable, grey-bearded fisherman whom Henry had heard alluded to as Old Ephraim.
“Poor Colin,” said Rosemary. “He’s so nice really, but he does put people’s backs up. Anne can tear a strip six feet wide off Herbert, and he just adores her all the more. But Colin only has to remonstrate mildly, and—”
“I know,” said Henry. “Anne has the very rare gift of being able to speak her mind without offending anybody.”
“I don’t know either of them, of course,” said Emmy, “but—well, they seem rather an oddly assorted couple to me. Do you think they’ll be happy?”
Henry glanced crossly at Emmy. It always annoyed him deeply when his wife made what he considered to be a typically female, platitudinous and prying remark such as this. In his masculine estimation, she was letting herself down by conforming to the conventions of her own sex. Rosemary, however, pondered the question gravely.
“I wish I knew,” she said. “We’ve often wondered ourselves. But of course, it’s entirely their business. They keep on having the most monumental fights, and every time we expect to hear that the whole thing is off. But a couple of days later they’re together again. I suspect that it’s always Colin who climbs down and apologises.”
“What does Colin do?” Henry asked.
“He’s a barrister,” said Rosemary, “and absolutely brilliant, by all accounts. Of course, he’s young yet, but everybody is convinced he’s going right to the top. Sir Colin Street, Q.C., without a doubt. I sometimes wonder if that’s why Anne—” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m being bitchy. I don’t really mean that at all.”
The bar door swung open, and the burly figure of Sir Simon Trigg-Willoughby came in. He greeted Rosemary warmly.
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Benson,” he boomed. “Pity you don’t spend more time down here. Priscilla was saying only the other day that we never see you up at the Hall.”
Rosemary introduced Henry and Emmy, and then said, “It’s so difficult when we’re only here for weekends, Sir Simon. But this time we’re on holiday—two whole weeks. So we’d love to come and see you while we’re here.”
“You do that, Mrs. Benson. Priscilla will be delighted. She doesn’t get out much, y’know. Does her good to see some young faces about the place. Come whenever you like, and bring these good people with you. Any time. Any time at all.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Rosemary.
“Nonsense. A great pleasure. Of course,” added Sir Simon, with a smile, “I know you sailing folk. Never waste a good day ashore. We’ll expect you the first time it rains. You’ll have to come when the sun’s shining, though, if you want to see the way the west terrace has been repaired. A beautiful job. And the Adam Room is completely restored now. Only got rid of the workmen last week.”
“Oh, yes—I’m longing to see that.” Rosemary turned to Henry and Emmy. “The Adam Room is marvellous—one of the finest in England. Sir Simon’s just had a lot of work done on it.”
“Well, Mrs. Benson, the invitation’s open. Come soon.”
Sir Simon made his way over to the bar, obviously not ill-pleased by the gratifying number of raised caps and tugged forelocks that accompanied his progress. Emmy and Rosemary became engrossed in a discussion on eighteenth-century architecture. Anne was talking to Herbert and Old Ephraim—a process which evoked much cackling and thumping of mugs on the table from the two old men. Colin had joined Hamish and Alastair, and the plans were out of their envelope again. Henry spotted David Crowther sitting by himself on one of the high-backed wooden settles, and made his way over.
“This new boat of Hamish’s seems to be causing quite a stir,” he remarked as he sat down. “Alastair seems very critical of it.”
David looked up and said, “It’s Hamish’s business what he does with his own money.”
“Of course it is,” said Henry, embarrassed at being misunderstood. “And I’m sure that his uncle—”