Billie's Kiss by Elizabeth Knox Read Free Book Online Page A

napkin.
    During this performance everyone at the table was silent, but once James was back in his own chair he resumedspeaking. He was telling his son’s friend, Elov Jansen, about his kippering houses down at Southport. How far forward the construction was. ‘I’ll show you the plans after breakfast, shall I? There’s a new pier, jetty, and half a dozen houses for my managers. While you’re here we must get up a party to Southport. Overland, so you can appreciate some of the fine Palaeolithic sites between here and there.’
    Elov nodded, bewildered. His food had long since ceased to steam; he hadn’t been able to tell when he might be called on to make an alert response.
    James Hallow turned to Murdo and told him that the divers he’d sent for were not expected till the following day. There were times when it really was no virtue to be so out-of- the-way .
    Elov Jansen gratefully turned his attention to his plate. Murdo watched the boy. Elov was, like Rixon, bruised beneath the eyes, waxy and unsteady. He seemed relieved that he had lost his host’s attention, and reassured by the quiet sobriety of Lord Hallowhulme’s latest remark.
    Hallowhulme took a forkful of sausage into his mouth and chewed with mighty appetite, as though giving a demonstration of chewing. The fork’s tines thrust into a mound of rice and clashed on the plate. All James’s big noises and deliberate movements seemed to be saying ‘Come on, buck up’ to all of them. He swallowed, and started talking again. It was a shame, he said, that all those fellows on the pier hadn’t thought to use their hats. ‘Use their heads, and use their hats.’ He waited a decent interval, and with increasing delight, to be sure that no one knew what he meant – knew what he knew .‘A hat makes a capital life preserver,’ he said, and then put down his fork to poke a finger in the air. ‘Provided it’s the stiff sort, silk or beaver or thick felt – a straw boater just wouldn’t be up to the job. No – a stiff hat and a pocket handkerchief are all a person needs to make a life preserver. At a pinch.’ James pushed his plate and cutleryaside to mime, and the invisible objects of his lesson immediately assumed real dimensions, real substance. He was pink with enthusiasm. ‘First you spread your handkerchief on the ground, then put the hat on it, brim down. Then you tie the handkerchief, careful to keep the knots upward and in the centre of the crown.’ He looked up, in turn, at his son Rixon, Rixon’s friend Elov, and at his daughter, Minnie, who was listening with a calm politeness that was obviously a cue to the bewildered Elov Jansen. ‘Then’ – James half rose from his chair, making his demonstration – ‘seizing the knot in one hand and keeping the opening of the hat upward, you can fearlessly plunge into deep water despite being unable to swim.’ He sat down again, dusted his palms together, to dissipate the particles of the imaginary hat and handkerchief. ‘There’s not enough emphasis in education on learning all the little tricks and devices that make us able to render assistance to our imperilled fellow creatures,’ James said. ‘There are boys and girls all over this island getting their catechism off by heart – in one of two flavours – but frankly, I think that the churches, having them for an hour on Sunday morning, should teach a few practical matters not related to mending nets, sowing barley, or cutting peat.’
    Elov opened his mouth to say something. ‘But –’ Then he jumped.
    Rixon had prodded him under the cover of the table. Rixon knew not to say a word, knew that it made no difference if you disagreed, agreed, asked a question, tried to turn the subject – there was endless potential energy in his father’s talk, and one word, one touch, would only set it rolling on