1982 - An Ice-Cream War by William Boyd Read Free Book Online Page B

got into the Humberette, Gabriel driving.
    “Ready?” he said. “Off we go.”
    They turned right out of the station yard and drove off up the main road from Ashurst to Sevenoaks.
    “How’s the army?” Felix asked, raising his voice above the noise of the puttering engine. “Boring?”
    “How’s school?” Gabriel riposted, not rising to the bait.
    “Over, thank God. And now,” Felix paused, stretching luxuriously, “Oxford.”
    Gabriel glanced at him. “When did you clear that with Father?”
    “Oh he doesn’t bother about me, Gabe. He gave me up as a bad job years ago. Mother told me he didn’t mind.”
    “Lucky old you. But that shirt won’t be popular, I can promise you.”
    Felix took out his cigarette case. “Want one?” he offered.
    “No thanks, old chap, not while I’m driving.”
    Felix lit his and blew smoke at the passing countryside. The bulging hedgerows were bright with flowers, but the leaves on the trees and bushes looked tired and dull. So far, the summer of 1914 had been a good one. The cornfields were bleached and ready for harvest; some fields already contained their line of reapers, scythes swishing rhythmically as they made their slow but steady advance into the ranks of corn.
    They turned off the main road and the hedges rose to overshadow the lane. Driving through shade after the sun made Felix shiver.
    “It’s all so predictable, isn’t it?” he said.
    “What?”
    “Summer. You know: hot sun, corn, birds singing. All that rot.”
    Gabriel looked at him, smiling. “Honestly, Felix, sometimes I just can’t make you out at all.”
    Felix shrugged. “Never mind.” He paused. “Looking forward to tomorrow?”
    Gabriel stiffened slightly, then relaxed. “Of course, you idiot. After all, it was me who asked her to get married, not anyone else. She—that is, Charis—is looking forward to meeting you.” He smiled again. “Can’t think why. I’ve told her all about you. Right clever Dick, my little brother is, I said. Hey !”
    Felix punched Gabriel lightly in the shoulder causing the car to swerve.
    “Watch out, Gabe,” Felix said mock-seriously. “‘Bride-groom and best man in automobile accident.’”
    “Talking about best man,” Gabriel said, “remind me to have a word later on today.”
    “Words of advice from big brother?”
    “Something like that.”
    They drove on another mile before they reached a gate set in a long stone wall. They drove through it and up an avenue of elms towards the medium-sized country house which was Stackpole Manor.
    “Home sweet home,” Felix said.
    The elms gave way to high rhododendrons. In front of the house was a gravelled square and a lawn on which two little girls in pale pink lacy dresses scampered, being chased by a small yapping terrier. Three cars were parked in front of the main door.
    “Good Lord!” said Felix. “Don’t tell me Mother’s started a taxi service.”
    “Just the family,” Gabriel said. “Gathering of the clans. Nearly everyone’s here.”
    “Oh no,” Felix groaned, then, as the two little girls ran up: “Let me guess, these are Albertine’s. What are their names, Gabriel? I can’t remember.”
    “My God, Felix, you can certainly spout rubbish.”
    “Hello, Felix,” said one of the little girls shyly.
    “ Uncle Felix, please, Dora. But hello anyway, Dora. And hello to you, Harriet,” he said in deep, suitably avuncular tones. “If that’s your beastly dog will you please stop it barking like that.”
    Felix stood on the gravel and looked up at the manor house. It was a strange building. The front of the house, which faced to the north, was a classical three-storey Georgian brick facade with a neat pillared portico around the front door and regular rows of sash windows precisely descending in size as they moved higher. However, Felix’s uncle Gerald, the previous occupant, had added what was in effect an entirely new and larger building to the back, obliterating the austere southern