Read Online For the Good of the State by Anthony Price - Free Book Online
Authors: Anthony Price
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! he couldn’t resist those barn doors any more (which had to be not later than mid-fifteenth century now, and were even more inexplicable)—
The same small boy was poking his head out of the gap between the heavy doors, only now he could see that little face more clearly: enormous horn-rimmed spectacles, metal-braced teeth, and head encased in its baseball cap, which bore the legend ‘ Forget—Hell ’, superimposed on the red-white-and-blue starred flag of the Confederate States of America; and, as he observed the tiny apparition, it succeeded in squeezing itself through the gap only to trip on its own feet, to sprawl in the gravel.
Barnet … and bloody Tewkesbury — ?
‘What is it, darling?’ Mrs Audley addressed her son, at her feet, as he searched blindly for his spectacles, which had jumped off his little nose, to fall just short of Tom’s feet.
‘Here—’ Tom bent to retrieve the spectacles, but failed to complete his sentence as he observed the long blonde plait which had fallen out of the baseball cap. Instead, he thought Christ! I’m slipping! I can’t tell the little girls from the little boys now !
‘Thank you.’ Little Miss Audley pushed her spectacles back on to her face quickly, and gave Tom half-a-second’s half-blind acknowledgement before offering her mother another pair of spectacles, which she had been carrying in her hand. ‘Your glasses, Mummy.’
‘What, darling?’ Mrs Audley gazed vaguely at her daughter for another half-second, and then accepted what was being offered to her. ‘Oh—thank you, Cathy dear!’
Miss Audley turned back to Tom. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all.’ Tom searched for something to say. She might be anything from eleven to fourteen, but now that they were both wearing spectacles each was a dead ringer for the other, straight up-and-down and flat as a board, and blonde, yet wholly feminine with it: how could he have failed to see ! ‘Miss Audley—?’
‘My daughter, Sir Thomas,’ answered Mrs Audley. ‘Cathy.’ She nodded at the child. ‘Sir Thomas Arkenshaw, Cathy.’
Cathy Audley gave Tom a fearsomely precocious doubting frown, as baffled as any of her elders and betters, as she offered him her hand.
Smart girl , thought Tom. ‘Miss Audley.’ But to hell with her. ‘Your husband is expecting me, Mrs Audley, I believe?’
After having re-examined his identification through her thick-lensed spectacles, Mrs Audley looked at him properly at last. ‘Yes, Sir Thomas … Cathy, go and tell your father that Sir Thomas has arrived.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ Cathy focused properly on him again also, but again registered doubt. ‘Sir Thomas … Ark-Arken-?’ She began to retreat backwards towards the gap in the barn doors. ‘Arken-what?’
‘ Shaw ,’ completed Tom. ‘Like in “certain”.’
She grinned at him as she slid into the gap. ‘Or “George Bernard”? Or “Tripoli”?’
Tom frowned. Tripoli— ! But by then she had vanished again.
‘I’m sorry, Sir Thomas,’ said Mrs Audley, shaking her head. ‘Sometimes she’s grown up. But sometimes she says things no one but her father understands—I’m sorry!’
‘Don’t be.’ Tripoli ? wondered Tom. ‘She’s delightful, Mrs Audley—like your house.’ Tripoli ? he thought again. Exactly like the house! ‘But what did she mean by “Tripoli”?’
She shook her head again. ‘Heaven only knows! I certainly don’t!’ She laughed, half-regretfully, half-proudly. ‘But please—it’s “Faith”, not “Mrs Audley”, Sir Thomas.’ She gestured towards the porch. ‘Do come inside—David will be with us directly.’
‘Then it’s “Tom”.’ The thought of Audley—not David , and a world away from Father— dragged Tom back to harsh reality. And not Tripoli either—Tripoli was a damnably nasty Libyan memory: he had been scared stiff that one time he’d been in Tripoli, sailing under false colours on a dangerous coast—once in Tripoli was enough, and he was glad
The same small boy was poking his head out of the gap between the heavy doors, only now he could see that little face more clearly: enormous horn-rimmed spectacles, metal-braced teeth, and head encased in its baseball cap, which bore the legend ‘ Forget—Hell ’, superimposed on the red-white-and-blue starred flag of the Confederate States of America; and, as he observed the tiny apparition, it succeeded in squeezing itself through the gap only to trip on its own feet, to sprawl in the gravel.
Barnet … and bloody Tewkesbury — ?
‘What is it, darling?’ Mrs Audley addressed her son, at her feet, as he searched blindly for his spectacles, which had jumped off his little nose, to fall just short of Tom’s feet.
‘Here—’ Tom bent to retrieve the spectacles, but failed to complete his sentence as he observed the long blonde plait which had fallen out of the baseball cap. Instead, he thought Christ! I’m slipping! I can’t tell the little girls from the little boys now !
‘Thank you.’ Little Miss Audley pushed her spectacles back on to her face quickly, and gave Tom half-a-second’s half-blind acknowledgement before offering her mother another pair of spectacles, which she had been carrying in her hand. ‘Your glasses, Mummy.’
‘What, darling?’ Mrs Audley gazed vaguely at her daughter for another half-second, and then accepted what was being offered to her. ‘Oh—thank you, Cathy dear!’
Miss Audley turned back to Tom. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all.’ Tom searched for something to say. She might be anything from eleven to fourteen, but now that they were both wearing spectacles each was a dead ringer for the other, straight up-and-down and flat as a board, and blonde, yet wholly feminine with it: how could he have failed to see ! ‘Miss Audley—?’
‘My daughter, Sir Thomas,’ answered Mrs Audley. ‘Cathy.’ She nodded at the child. ‘Sir Thomas Arkenshaw, Cathy.’
Cathy Audley gave Tom a fearsomely precocious doubting frown, as baffled as any of her elders and betters, as she offered him her hand.
Smart girl , thought Tom. ‘Miss Audley.’ But to hell with her. ‘Your husband is expecting me, Mrs Audley, I believe?’
After having re-examined his identification through her thick-lensed spectacles, Mrs Audley looked at him properly at last. ‘Yes, Sir Thomas … Cathy, go and tell your father that Sir Thomas has arrived.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ Cathy focused properly on him again also, but again registered doubt. ‘Sir Thomas … Ark-Arken-?’ She began to retreat backwards towards the gap in the barn doors. ‘Arken-what?’
‘ Shaw ,’ completed Tom. ‘Like in “certain”.’
She grinned at him as she slid into the gap. ‘Or “George Bernard”? Or “Tripoli”?’
Tom frowned. Tripoli— ! But by then she had vanished again.
‘I’m sorry, Sir Thomas,’ said Mrs Audley, shaking her head. ‘Sometimes she’s grown up. But sometimes she says things no one but her father understands—I’m sorry!’
‘Don’t be.’ Tripoli ? wondered Tom. ‘She’s delightful, Mrs Audley—like your house.’ Tripoli ? he thought again. Exactly like the house! ‘But what did she mean by “Tripoli”?’
She shook her head again. ‘Heaven only knows! I certainly don’t!’ She laughed, half-regretfully, half-proudly. ‘But please—it’s “Faith”, not “Mrs Audley”, Sir Thomas.’ She gestured towards the porch. ‘Do come inside—David will be with us directly.’
‘Then it’s “Tom”.’ The thought of Audley—not David , and a world away from Father— dragged Tom back to harsh reality. And not Tripoli either—Tripoli was a damnably nasty Libyan memory: he had been scared stiff that one time he’d been in Tripoli, sailing under false colours on a dangerous coast—once in Tripoli was enough, and he was glad
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