Read Online Bond Street Story by Norman Collins - Free Book Online Page B

He was perfectly entitled to live his own life. Especially his love-life. No one could deny him that. On the other hand, without him Mr. Privett was left lonely and unattached. And a couple of Sundays later Mr. Privett paid the penalty for his friend’s unfaithfulness.
    With no Mr. Bloot to keep him company, Mr. Privett simply stayed at home and moped. He hadn’t the heart to do anything. He just sat in the kitchen in his shirt-sleeves, reading the
News of the World,
and getting in Mrs. Privett’s way. The thought of going up to the Highgate Ponds crossed his mind more than once. He felt rather guilty about not going. He knew that the others up there would be expecting him. For years now a fair wind and fine sailing weather had found him there on Sunday mornings, taking his place on the bank along with the owners of the Sunbeams, Irises, Swallows and the rest of the fleet. If he didn’t go this morning it would be the third Sunday in succession that he had missed. But somehow without Mr. Bloot to keep him company he hadn’t the heart to set out.
    Not that Mr. Bloot was anything of a model yachtsman. He didn’t know a spinnaker from a jib. But he liked to take the fresh air. And he made an impressive figure simply standing there, waiting for the winner to come in.
    This morning there wasn’t even Irene for Mr. Privett to talk to. She had plunged out of the house just after nine-thirty as though on the way to an emergency. At one moment she was still in bed, obviously over-sleeping. At the next, she was downstairs, dressed all in her tennis things and gulping down a cup of tea that was too hot for her. Then, just as Mrs. Privett caught up with her and asked if she would like something proper—a rasher of bacon or a grilled sausage—Irene had gone again. The one-gun salute from the front door was all that was left of her.
    Her departure saddened Mr. Privett more than it did his wife. Mrs. Privett merely winced a little as the door shut, and then began clearing away the breakfast things. But Mr. Privett was left staring into space. It was this morning that he had set aside for a special talk with Irene. He had promised himself that he would reason with her, gently and lovingly, about the Rammell’s vacancy. Admittedly, the Staff Department hadn’t actually writtento Irene yet. But Mr. Privett had a strong psychic presentiment that there would be a letter in the morning. Then it would be necessary to strike. And strike instantly. So long as Irene was merely being difficult within the family, it didn’t really matter very much. But suppose she persisted in her attitude, and wrote back a snubbing off-hand kind of note to the Staff Supervisor? That was what really alarmed Mr. Privett.
    For once, the
News of the World
was not much consolation to him. It told him that Tuesday was a poor day for engaging in financial transactions, and warned him vaguely of domestic troubles later in the week. Journeys also, he learned, were better avoided. The whole paragraph was vaguely alarming. Even with no financial transactions in prospect and no journeys that he could possibly want to make, the bit about domestic troubles was obviously addressed to him. He put down the paper and called through to Mrs. Privett who was washing-up in the scullery.
    â€œYou don’t think we’ve done anything to upset Gus, do you?” he asked. “He didn’t use to keep away like this.”
    But Mrs. Privett was busy.
    â€œWhy don’t you go and sail your boat?” was all she said.
2
    As it turned out, Mrs. Privett could hardly forgive herself. It seemed that only by a last-minute whim of Providence had she been saved from being her own husband’s murderess. Because when she spoke to him, Mr. Privett was so thoroughly dispirited that without a word he went upstairs to get ready.
    Not that the matter of getting dressed for model-yachting was ever simple. There was so much to be remembered.