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Authors: Ruth Rendell
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open mouth. ‘Love Rab,’ he said, wiping a spoon on his nanny’s hair.
Montserrat could have sworn tears of joy had come into Rabia’s eyes.
‘Where can I get someone to mend the banister, Rabia?’
‘Maybe Yellow Pages.’
‘Yeah, but I can’t find them.’
‘My cousin Mohammed, he is very, very good carpenter. Better than carpenter,
joiner.’
‘How can I find him? You know his mobile number?’
‘Of course, Montsy,’ said Rabia. ‘I have it by heart.’ She gave it to Montserrat, then expecting the other girl to forget, wrote it down on the shopping-list pad. ‘I have all relations’ and friends’ numbers in my memory.’
‘Wow, I wish I had.’
‘Yes, it is a gift.’ Rabia smiled modestly, picked up Thomas and hugged him, contriving to smear his mouth all across her blouse. ‘Now we shall both have to put clean clothes on, my darling. Will that be fun?’
Evidently it would, for Thomas roared with laughter.
A message had to be left on Mohammed’s voicemail. He called back when Montserrat was in the Dugong, having a drink with Jimmy and Henry.
‘I am coming on Saturday the sixth,’ said Mohammed.
‘The sixth of
November
?’
‘That is the next sixth, isn’t it? Between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.’
‘You mean someone’s got to be in all day?’ Montserrat knew that someone would be her. ‘Can’t you say morning or afternoon?’
‘You take it or leave it, my dear. You will get top-class job.’
‘Oh, OK, if I must,’ said Montserrat.
The paediatrician at number 3 would require Jimmy no more that day so his driver was having a stiff gin and tonic. Henry, needed by Lord Studley in Whitehall at five thirty, thought it best to stick to elderflower water. He could have a real drink with Huguette that evening, possibly a few glasses of burgundy and a nip or two of Campari which was what Montserrat was having with orange now.
‘If anything goes wrong at number 7,’ she was saying, ‘and Rabia is separated from that child, she’ll break her heart.’
‘What d’you mean, goes wrong?’ Henry thought the elderflower water would be improved by a spot of gin but he dared not.
‘Well, if they split up. You never know, do you? Lucy wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of Rabia.’
‘She’ll be all right,’ said Jimmy. ‘I hear she’s getting married to that guy who drives the flowerpot van.’
Montserrat didn’t like her news to be capped, especially by something more positive and dramatic. She got up, said she’d see them at the next Saint Zita Society meeting which couldn’t be long delayed now that June and the Princess were back from Florence. And there they were, their taxi drawing up outside number 6. It was one of those big taxis, like a little bus with sliding doors, and obviously needful for the quantity of luggage which began to spill out on to the pavement. Montserrat hurried down the area steps in case she was asked to help with carrying it in.
I n common with Damian and Roland, the Princess and the noble family of Studleys, neither Lucy nor Preston Still ever did anything in the house which could be categorised as a menial or horny-handed task. The paediatrician, on the other hand, much to Jimmy’s disgust, rather enjoyed knocking a nail in here and there, mending a fuse, or putting a washer on a tap. Jimmy would have agreed with the sentiments in Belloc’s verse:
Lord Finchley tried to mend the electric light
Himself. It struck him dead and serve him right.
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.
There were of course exceptions to this rule and on Saturday morning Preston Still, having twice grabbed at the faulty banister, felt it wobble in his hands and nearly let him fall down the basement stairs, carefully examined the structure of banisters and rail with a view to doing a temporary repair. Sixth of November! Couldn’t something better than that have been arranged?
Montserrat said it couldn’t and stood by,
Montserrat could have sworn tears of joy had come into Rabia’s eyes.
‘Where can I get someone to mend the banister, Rabia?’
‘Maybe Yellow Pages.’
‘Yeah, but I can’t find them.’
‘My cousin Mohammed, he is very, very good carpenter. Better than carpenter,
joiner.’
‘How can I find him? You know his mobile number?’
‘Of course, Montsy,’ said Rabia. ‘I have it by heart.’ She gave it to Montserrat, then expecting the other girl to forget, wrote it down on the shopping-list pad. ‘I have all relations’ and friends’ numbers in my memory.’
‘Wow, I wish I had.’
‘Yes, it is a gift.’ Rabia smiled modestly, picked up Thomas and hugged him, contriving to smear his mouth all across her blouse. ‘Now we shall both have to put clean clothes on, my darling. Will that be fun?’
Evidently it would, for Thomas roared with laughter.
A message had to be left on Mohammed’s voicemail. He called back when Montserrat was in the Dugong, having a drink with Jimmy and Henry.
‘I am coming on Saturday the sixth,’ said Mohammed.
‘The sixth of
November
?’
‘That is the next sixth, isn’t it? Between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.’
‘You mean someone’s got to be in all day?’ Montserrat knew that someone would be her. ‘Can’t you say morning or afternoon?’
‘You take it or leave it, my dear. You will get top-class job.’
‘Oh, OK, if I must,’ said Montserrat.
The paediatrician at number 3 would require Jimmy no more that day so his driver was having a stiff gin and tonic. Henry, needed by Lord Studley in Whitehall at five thirty, thought it best to stick to elderflower water. He could have a real drink with Huguette that evening, possibly a few glasses of burgundy and a nip or two of Campari which was what Montserrat was having with orange now.
‘If anything goes wrong at number 7,’ she was saying, ‘and Rabia is separated from that child, she’ll break her heart.’
‘What d’you mean, goes wrong?’ Henry thought the elderflower water would be improved by a spot of gin but he dared not.
‘Well, if they split up. You never know, do you? Lucy wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of Rabia.’
‘She’ll be all right,’ said Jimmy. ‘I hear she’s getting married to that guy who drives the flowerpot van.’
Montserrat didn’t like her news to be capped, especially by something more positive and dramatic. She got up, said she’d see them at the next Saint Zita Society meeting which couldn’t be long delayed now that June and the Princess were back from Florence. And there they were, their taxi drawing up outside number 6. It was one of those big taxis, like a little bus with sliding doors, and obviously needful for the quantity of luggage which began to spill out on to the pavement. Montserrat hurried down the area steps in case she was asked to help with carrying it in.
I n common with Damian and Roland, the Princess and the noble family of Studleys, neither Lucy nor Preston Still ever did anything in the house which could be categorised as a menial or horny-handed task. The paediatrician, on the other hand, much to Jimmy’s disgust, rather enjoyed knocking a nail in here and there, mending a fuse, or putting a washer on a tap. Jimmy would have agreed with the sentiments in Belloc’s verse:
Lord Finchley tried to mend the electric light
Himself. It struck him dead and serve him right.
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.
There were of course exceptions to this rule and on Saturday morning Preston Still, having twice grabbed at the faulty banister, felt it wobble in his hands and nearly let him fall down the basement stairs, carefully examined the structure of banisters and rail with a view to doing a temporary repair. Sixth of November! Couldn’t something better than that have been arranged?
Montserrat said it couldn’t and stood by,
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