Read Online Post of Honour by R. F. Delderfield - Free Book Online Page B

within minutes the Belsize was climbing the hill again, Paul maintaining a discreet silence all the way to Paxtonbury.
    ‘Well,’ said Claire, after an uneventful journey home, and insistence upon the entire family taking a bath to rid themselves of layers of white dust, ‘it was nice of you to buy a motor for us, but I can’t help thinking we should be much cleaner and far safer without one! It would be promising, I think, if you had a mechanical bent like young Tod but you haven’t and never will have, so why not admit it, and stick to horse and trap?’
    ‘That’s a ridiculous stand to take simply because I ran out of petrol,’ he said. ‘It’s high time we got used to motors and I’ll master this if it’s the last thing I do!’
    It almost was; a day or so later, having refused to engage Tod as a chauffeur, he came bumbling down the steep drive, clashed his gears at the gate and shot across ten yards of soft ground straight into the Sorrel, carrying ten yards of paling with him. There had been some heavy rainfall and the water above the ford was five feet deep. The Belsize plunged in nose down, looking like a primeval monster maddened by thirst and only the fact that he had managed to unlatch the door whilst ploughing through the iris bed enabled Paul to free himself before the heavy vehicle sank into the soft mud of the river bed.
    Help came from all directions. Matt, one of the shepherd twins, hauled him ashore and Honeyman and Henry Pitts, summoned from the lodge where they were conferring with John Rudd, managed to get a rope under the rear wheels just before they disappeared from view. When Claire was summoned she found the river bank seething with activity as Home Farm horses struggled with the hopeless task of hauling the Belsize clear. What astounded her was the fact that Paul did not seem cured of his obsession. Instead of going back to the house to change he remained on the bank to supervise salvage operations, snarling at everybody who advised him to get into dry clothes. He was there for an hour or more during which time no progress was made, apart from the motor being anchored by ropes to saplings and the following day, to nobody’s surprise, he had a heavy cold which did not improve his temper.
    Claire said, as she dosed him with whisky and water, ‘What do you intend to do with The Juggernaut if you ever do get it out?’ and he said, grumpily, ‘clean it up, get young Tod to service it and have another go.’
    She said, with unexpected firmness, ‘You’ll leave it right where it is!’ and when he exclaimed in protest, arguing that it was she who prompted him to buy, she went on, ‘That was before I realised you haven’t the temperament essential to anyone setting out to master one of those things! I admire you for trying and I shouldn’t have to remind you that I usually back you to the hilt when you set your mind on doing something, but this is different; the children are involved and I’m obliged to make a stand.’
    ‘Now how the devil are the children involved in my driving a motor?’ he demanded. ‘I’m not likely to let them play with it, am I?’
    ‘Sooner or later you’ll expect them to ride in it,’ she said. ‘It’s only by chance that Simon wasn’t beside you yesterday and if he had been he would have been drowned! Did you think of that while you were prancing about on the bank in wet clothes, catching this cold and working off your bad temper on people who were trying to help you?’
    He had not thought of it but he knew it was true. Up to the last minute Simon had intended to accompany him but Paul, impatient to be off, had made a trial run down the drive whilst Simon slipped inside for coat and scarf. He said, reflecting how specially protective Claire always felt about Grace’s child, ‘You’re right. If anything had happened to him you would have found it hard to forgive me, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘I should have found it impossible, Paul,’ she said,