Miss Hargreaves by Frank Baker Read Free Book Online Page B

which I look forward to reading to you.
    ‘Well, dear, I hope you are in good health and will be able to find time to show me something of your native town and countryside. I may be an old woman, but I still like to get about.
    ‘Till Monday, then,
    ‘Ever most affectionately . . . ’
    Futile rage possessed me. I screwed the letter up and threw it at a passing bus, next minute ran out into the road to recover it, feeling it might be useful as evidence in some way or another. What in God’s name could it all mean? One thing I decided then and there: I’d tell father the whole truth. He’d understand more than mother and Jim.

    Squeen, father’s assistant, was there when I arrived at the shop after Matins. Squeen is naturally thin; you lose him sometimes in the dark corners of the shop. It wouldn’t surprise me to find him flattened out under the
Encyclopaedia
Britannica
.
    ‘Mr Squeen’s glad to see Mr Norman back,’ he said. ‘And did Mr Norman enjoy his visit to the passionate Celtic Isle?’
    He’s got an irritating habit of avoiding the use of the first and second persons in his speech.
    ‘Ripping,’ I said.
    Going straight to the phone, I called up Henry. Squeen sat on a pair of steps and examined his finger-nails.
    ‘Mr Squeen surmises,’ he surmised, ‘that there are more books in this shop than there are people in the Isle of Erin.’
    ‘Shut up, Squeen,’ I said. That’s one thing about him; you can shut him up. Father bullies him unmercifully.
    I heard Henry’s voice.
    ‘Oh, is that you, Henry? Look, I’ve had a letter from the old devil. It mentions the bath.’
    ‘You mean the visit to Bath?’
    ‘No. I don’t. Small b-a-t-h. Mr Archer’s bath. Henry, I think I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. She’s arriving at Cornford to-night at eight-fifteen. You’ll simply have to come to the station with me.’
    ‘Can’t. We’re all going to the Clovertree Dance–don’t you remember? You’ll have to leave the old dear to herself.’
    ‘I daren’t. We
must
be there. You’ve got to help me.’
    ‘I don’t believe there’ll be anybody there, you know.’
    ‘I can’t risk it.’
    ‘Well, what do you intend to do if she
is
there?’
    ‘I’ve thought it all out. I shall pack her off to the Swan. If she’s troublesome, I shall get her certified.’
    ‘She might get
you
certified, old boy. Have you thought of that?’
    ‘You might be a bit more helpful.’
    ‘Read me the letter.’ I did so. ‘H’m,’ he said, ‘I can’t say I care for that bit about luggage in advance.’
    ‘No. Neither do I.’
    ‘All right,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll come with you. We can go on to the dance afterwards. The girls won’t mind if we’re a bit late.’
    ‘What do you think it all means, Henry?’
    ‘Black magic, it sounds like. Why don’t you try making a wax image of her and sticking pins into it? Use drawing-pins. They stay in easier.’
    He rang off and father came down, balancing a set of Tolstoy against his chest.
    ‘Too much of Tolstoy,’ he muttered, ‘nothing but Tolstoy upstairs.’ He shouted suddenly to Squeen. ‘Squeen, make a set-to to-day and rout out that Kelmscott
Shakes
. And sort out all that Tolstoy.’
    ‘Father,’ I said, ‘I want to have a serious talk with you. I’m very worried.’
    ‘Sit down, boy. Have a cigarette. Woman?’
    I nodded. My father nodded too and jabbed his cigarette-holder in and out of his moustache. It’s a big moustache, rather fine. The holder’s a long one; amber.
    ‘Women,’ said my father, ‘have never really been my cup of tea. They do not understand major issues, and their passion for realism is something I have never felt agreeable to. Nevertheless, the race,
as
a race, would crumble without them. Squeen, you devil–where are my slippers?’
    Squeen brought him his velvet slippers and father, slipping his feet into them, stretched himself out in his revolving desk-chair. It’s in a corner of the shop, at the back, away