Nerissa was out with her father. She was his only daughter and his youngest child and though he couldn't have said he loved her better than his sons, he loved her differently, partly because she was the girl he had longed for and partly because her skin was almost as dark as his. His sons had their mother's features and skin lighter than his own. They were tall and handsome and successful at what they did and he was proud of them, but they didn't look like members of his tribe-its women were famouslybeautifu-l-as Nerissa did and his old mother did. So,f or no religious or ritualistic reason but just because they always did, he took the day off and he and Nerissa went to thes heltered housing in Greenford where his mother lived and, also for no particular reason except that they always did, took her a flowering plant from Africa and the best mangoes they could find (not, alas, sun-ripened and with juice-dripping golden flesh) and a bunch of pink and red and gold banksias rom the Cape, though this was not her part of that continent but the best they could do.
In the car on the way Nerissa tied up her head in a wonderful white and pink and emerald turban because this was what, in Grandma's eyes, women who dressed properly went out in, and she wore an emerald green caftan with a ruby border and looked like a chief's wife. "When they had made Tom's mother happy and in her company had eaten and drunk all sorts of things Nerissa knew she would have to compensate for by starving herself, they got back in the car and drove to wherever they were going for their day out. Somewhere different each year. Last time it had been the Thames Barrier and the Maritime Museum at Greenwich and this time it was Hampton Court Palace. Before they got there Nerissa unwound the turban, tied her hair back in a ponytail and put on big sunglasses so that she wouldn't be recognized. She kept the caftan on.
While they were walking round looking at things, the day having turned out to be warm and fine, Nerissa told her father, the words coming out in a rush, that she had fallen in love withDarel Jones.
"But you don't know him all that well, do you?" said Tom.
"I suppose not. I haven't seen him since we all went therefor dinner. But I know. I know I've been in love with him for years and years. Ever since they came to live next door."
"Is he in love with you, my darling?"
"I wouldn't think so, Dad. Not for a moment. If he was he'd do something about it. He wouldn't just ask me to dinner with all you lot there as well."
They had lunch in an Italian restaurant in Hampton, discovered by Tom who was good on restaurants. "While theywere eating their zabaglione-or Tom was eating his and Nerissa was pretending she couldn't finish hers-he told her that as she was so beautiful and he, personally, thought she was pretty nice as well, neither her appearance nor her characte rcould be responsible for Darel's indifference.
"I suppose it could just be a case of Dr. Fell," said Tom.
"Who'sDr. Fell?"
"I hope not," said Nerissa, "because if that's it there'll be no putting it to rights."
"Love's a funny thing. Your mother was beautiful, still is in my opinion, but I don't know why I fell in love with her, and God knows why she fell in love with me. Your grandma would say things were a lot easier when the suitor and the girl's parents arranged the match and the chap got a flock of goats and some bushels of corn with his bride."
"Darel couldn't keep goats in Docklands," said Nerissa,"and I don't suppose he'd know what to do with bushels ofcorn. He did say that if got harassed by that man who's stalking me I was to call him and he'd come. Any time of the day ornight, he said."
"Are you being harassed?" Tom sounded anxious.
"Not really. I haven't seen him for a week."
"Well, if you do, call Darel and kill two birds with onestone."
Nerissa thought about it. "I don't want to actually look forward to the guy coming back."
"Think again," said Tom. "Maybe you do want to."
Early next morning Queenie and Olive met at St. Blaise Houseand held a two-woman conference. Both were indignant that Gwendolen had gone away without letting them know. They sat in the drawing room, having spread two clean table napkins across the seat of the sofa, drinking an instant coffee brew that Olive had made and eating pastries from the confectioner's box Queenie had brought with her, neither of them much fancying food that came out of Gwendolen's kitchen.
"This room is filthy," said Olive. "This whole house is filthy."
She had sterilized the cups with boiling water and Dettol before filling them with coffee.
"Well, dear, we know that but we don't have to live here, thank goodness, and if you're thinking of having a whole house clean-up while poor Gwendolen is away, I wouldn't. You know what she was like when we tackled her kitchen. I think we should mind our own business."
"I can't understand her going away at all. In all the years I've known her she's never been away."
"And she's never mentioned friends in Cambridge."
"No, but the professor may have known people there. In fact, it's quite likely."
"That may be," said Queenie, "but why has she never said? And, you know, dear, people of her age"-Gwendolen had been ten years older than she and twelve years older than Olive-"take absolute ages to prepare themselves for going away to stay anywhere. I remember my dear mother when she was in her eighties taking a good two weeks to get herself ready and she was only going to my brother. And she discussed the pros and cons every day before she finally went. Should she leave in the morning or the afternoon? Which train should shecatch? Could she ask my brother to meet her or would he do that anyway? You know the sort of thing. And Gwendolenwould be just the same. No, she'd be worse."
"Well, I don't know. Drink your coffee before it gets cold."
"I'm sorry, Olive, but I can't. It tastes of disinfectant.
Do you think she's got an address book about anywhere? Wecould look in that. She must write down people's addressessomewhere."
They walked about the room, remarking on the grime and the cobwebs, and were pulling books out of the bookcase and blowing dust off their spines when Mix came down into the hallway. He had been on his way downstairs, starting once more on his quest to find a thick stout plastic bag, when he heard them come into the house. At first he had retreated into his own flat, then, later, decided it would be best to confront them and, most importantly, ask them to return the house key.
A few moments before he entered the drawing room, Olive had found Gwendolen's ancient address book in a drawer among scraps of paper, broken pencils, safety pins, elastic bands, antique 15 amp electric plugs, and about fifty used checkbooks inwhich only the stubs remained. When Mix came in she lookedup from the entries under B, which was as far as she hadreached, and said, "Oh, good morning, Mr. Cellini," in an unpleasant tone…
"Hiya," said Mix.
"We were just wondering if you happened to know the name of the friends Miss Chawcer is staying with."
"No, I don't. She didn't say."
"We're very anxious to know," said Queenie. "It's so unlike her to go away without a word." She gave Mix one of the smiles that had been so winning when she was eighteen, and laid her hand on his arm. After all, he was a man. "We thought she might have confided in you."
He made no answer. "Can I have the key back?"
"What key?" Olive said sharply.
"The key to this house. You won't need it now she's okay."Yes, we will. We need to come in and see to the place while she's away. And another thing. I shall give this key up to Miss Chawcer and no one else. Is that understood?"
"Okay, keep your cool." Mix turned away and said over his shoulder, "You don't want to send your blood pressure up at your age."
This was unwise of him, though Olive appeared to react not at all. She said nothing to him or to Queenie even when she heard the front door close behind him but sat down on the napkin-covered sofa by the table and continued to turn thepages of Gwendolen's address book.