Read Online The Last Two Weeks of Georges Rivac by Geoffrey Household - Free Book Online Page B

asked.
    â€˜One and a ’alf times. ’Ussies, both on ’em! Not that ’e’s no better ’imself. Ah, I wouldn’t mind being young agin in these days, what with them pills and all.’
    â€˜Daisy!’
    â€˜There! You ’aven’t changed much, Master Georges! Still talkin’ to ’em over the gate and then ’opping it, I bet!’
    Rivac explained his visit by saying that he had business in London and longed to see the old place at the beginning of summer. He did not mention Zia, intending that they should meet accidentally once he was convinced that it was safe to be seen together. Such caution seemed ridiculous; it was impossible that he could be traced and unbelievable that the leafy peace of Alderton could be invaded by barbarities. Still, one must not forget that Kren had been obliterated without disturbing any diplomatic niceties, and he himself could be just as badly wanted.
    He brought up with Daisy the question of nearby inns where a guest would find reasonable comfort. She flatly refused to let him stay anywhere but under her roof and was easily led on to speak with contempt of neighbouring innkeepers. There wasn’t one, she said, with an idea beyond the bar takings except the White Hart at Alderton Abbas which took a few summer visitors; if they had a full house she used to go over herself to cook the dinners.
    After Daisy’s high tea—a triumph of variegated starches which even a Frenchman, he thought, would admire provided he didn’t have to eat it oftener than once a month—he strolled out into the field behind the garden with two hours of the pastel evening light of May to enjoy and took the path to his grandmother’s home, snugly tucked away in a loamy bottom between trees. It was up for sale again with an air of being unloved and gloomy. He had gathered from Daisy that the last owners had used it as a weekend retreat from London and after one disastrous Sunday when the septic tank had leaked into the well—a surprise for them which Daisy found richly comic—had run from it as if the devil was after them. From there, after a sad glance, he took the bridleway to the Manor Farm. White gates opened and shut as easily as hotel doors. He remembered that in former days it was simpler to climb them than to wrestle with old Longwill’s chains and pins, giving a heave which always loosened the pivot and stopping to replace the lot.
    The south side of the house facing open country was worthy of a picture postcard. Brick, mouldings and gables had returned to the era of high farming when they were new. He found that the broad, flag-stoned terrace which had been hidden behind a straggling hedge of wych elm swallowed up by bramble was now in full view over newly-planted yew. He could imagine squire and parson, bewigged and flushed with port, damning his eyes for impertinence as he watched them lurching up and down the terrace. What he did in fact watch was Paul Longwill sitting alone with a book and a bottle of claret, contentedly rid of one wife and a half. The velvet jacket, the dark hair thick over the ears and beautifully groomed, the cushioned and comfortable wrought iron chair and the general air of exquisite leisure were intimidating. Rivac reproached himself for shyness and gently called: ‘Er—Paul!’ As evidently he was not heard, he tried again vulgarly loud.
    Paul Longwill jumped and rose with dignity. Seeing who it was, his public manner changed at once to private affection.
    â€˜Georges, come round by the gate! Georges, how good to see you!’
    For ten minutes they laughed over memories of early youth. Then Paul got up to fetch another bottle and Georges was free to marvel at the admirable taste with which the house had been restored.
    â€˜I don’t remember that coat of arms over the door,’ he said when his glass had been refilled. ‘Did it turn up during the repairs?’
    â€˜It could have