Read Online Bilgewater by Jane Gardam - Free Book Online Page B

say. I present you therefore with my obedience to Thomas Hardy, my attempt at naked truth, the thoughts I really thought, the fantasy I really had.
    Though it’s not somehow as good as
Ulysses
.

C HAPTER 6
    T he next day brought no sign of her. She didn’t appear in our class and I didn’t see her in prayers. “Whatever happened to that girl?” Penelope Dabbs sniggered. “Was she an illusion?”
    â€œPerhaps,” said Phyllis Thompson with a meaning look. She’s full of meaning looks. Though nobody understands the meaning, which is bad luck on her. “She’s something to do with Marigold.” (I’m usually Marigold at my own school if I’m anything unless they have a brother at St. Wilfrid’s and know.) “Who is she, Marigold?”
    â€œShe’s the Headmaster’s daughter. I knew her when I was little for a bit.”
    â€œShe’s rather weird,” said Phyllis Thompson.
    â€œShe’s rather much,” said someone else, “she talks class.”
    â€œClass,” said Penelope. “Where’s she been all these years?”
    â€œBeing kept out of the way of the likes of us,” said Doris Nattress, “in case she gets talking North.”
    â€œShe’d talk how she wanted, that one,” said Phyllis, “wherever she was. She’d do what she wanted.”
    For a moment everyone was united with envy.
    â€œMaybe she’s been in prison somewhere.”
    â€œShe’s not old enough.”
    Everyone shrieked. “Her hair’s too long.”
    â€œBut Dartington is a prison, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo it isn’t. That’s Dartmoor. Dartington’s a posh school where they do as they like. They’re all wicked and then they turn out terribly well in the end.”
    â€œSounds like Enid Blyton.”
    They howled and screamed with mirth. I was unamused.
    Wednesday came, Thursday. Then Thursday evening I was up with Paula as usual and Paula’s telephone cleared its throat and she picked it up. “She’s eating her supper,” she said. Then, “Oh, all right then.” She put the phone down and seized my plate and ran with it to the oven. “Message,” she said, “You’re to go and take it down there. Go on quick. They’re hanging on on your father’s phone.”
    I went off to the study, waded through everyone’s outstretched feet, blinked my way through the pipe smoke to the desk where the phone was off the hook waiting for me.
    â€œHullo?”
    â€œMarigold?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMy
dear
. It’s Girlie Gethrun heah. Yes. Girlie, Grace’s mother. Isn’t it lovely? She’s heah! Coming to your school next week. Such fun! Much beh then bah school. Your fah
so
Sensble. Mech mah sef-raant.”
    â€œWho is it?” asked Uncle HB.
    â€œSome mad woman,” I said.
    â€œâ€”so abah six-thirty then?”
    â€œWhat? Sorry?” (Puffy and Old Price had got started on zeppelins close to my right ear.)
    â€œWill six-thirty be all right?”
    â€œAll—? Oh, yes,” I said, “lovely.”
    The line clicked off. “Oh heavens,” I said, “I’m in a mess now.”
    â€œNonsense, nonsense,” said father gently dusting a wine glass with an antimacassar.
    â€œBut I am,” I said, “I’ve been asked to something at six-thirty but I don’t know what or which day or where.”
    â€œAh,” said father. He paused near the chess set and put down the wine glass. I drifted up. Time passed. Father moved a rook and looked at us all with a face of beatific joy.
    â€œAha, aha,” said father—and I do not wonder, for he had set down the rook. It was the most brilliant move. It was one of the cleverest things he had ever done. It was a game that had been concerning both of us for several weeks and a sticky game up to now. With sheer admiration I sank down and