Summer in February by Jonathan Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

stance. As he did so, Joey Carter-Wood, sensing a poem was on the way, smiled. Alfred began:
    ‘Steadily, shoulder to shoulder,
    Steadily, blade by blade,
    Ready and strong,
    Marching along,
    Like the boys of the Old Brigade’
    ‘Eh, isn’t that right, Ev?’
    ‘Yes, that’s how it goes, A.J.’
    A.J. released Gilbert, moving towards Joey.
    ‘Joey, Joey Carter Hyphen Wood, don’t be so coy, man,even if you are a toff. Get your hands dirty for once, there’s a good chap, put some more coal on the fire, would you, that’s
     good Welsh coal, Monmouth’s Wales isn’t it, Ev, well near enough, we need more fire, we need more punch, we need more life
     in here.’
    Joey knelt down by the coal scuttle.
    ‘And where’s your sister, Joey, thought she was coming?’
    Joey started to put some pieces on the fire, a task at which he showed no skill at all. The tongs slipped off the damp coal.
    ‘No, it’s tomorrow she’s coming.’
    ‘Staying long?’
    ‘Depends.’
    ‘What?’
    Joey turned his flushed face up from the fire.
    ‘I said it depends.’
    ‘Depends on what?’
    ‘On how she gets on down here. Generally, I mean. All round.’
    A.J. shouted at him:
    ‘Generally, all round? What does that mean? Talk straight, man.’
    ‘I’m sorry, A.J., I’m not in the mood for this.’
    ‘I mean, she paints, doesn’t she, your sister, and she’s coming down to learn from the Professor in Newlyn, so what’s the
     problem?’
    Whatever the problem was Joey was not suddenly about to unburden himself. Instead he rose to his feet and joined, a little
     shyly, Dolly and a group of models. Alfred suddenly found himself spun round in a masculine grip. It was Laura Knight, her
     aquiline nose next to his. He tried to pull back but she held him tight.
    ‘Laura, God, what a drinker, you’re back for more already.’
    ‘No, I want you to leave Joey alone, he’s far too sensitive for you, and I want you to do what you promised.’
    Alfred laughed uncertainly.
    ‘What promise? What are you talking about?’
    ‘You know perfectly well what promise, and it’s the perfect moment for you to deliver it.’
    Discountenanced, Alfred pulled himself away from Laura’s grip.
    ‘It’s the perfect moment for drinking, I know that.’
    ‘No, you’re not getting away with this, you’re always changing the subject when it doesn’t suit you, and Gilbert and I heard
     you promise, down at the cove yesterday, oh yes we did, you promised you’d do it tonight, yes, yes you did,
and
with make-up, and that’s why we’re all here, well, one of the reasons.’
    ‘Oh, I thought you were escaping Harold.’
    ‘But of course if you haven’t the courage, Alfred, if you’re only a braggart—’
    ‘Anyway, you’re wrong, Laura, I wasn’t at the cove yesterday.’
    ‘Yes you were!’
    ‘No, I wasn’t, I was riding with the Western Hounds over at Zennor, all day as a matter of fact, and something quite remarkable
     happened there.’
    ‘All right, the day before then, this silly drink of yours is doing it, but that’s not the point, the point is we were all
     sitting on the rocks watching that big steamer go towards the Lizard, weren’t we, Gilbert?’
    ‘Laura’s right,’ Gilbert said. ‘I heard it loud and clear, then you started talking about Roger Fry.’
    ‘Shut up, Ev, what the hell do you know about Roger Fry!’
    Gilbert was the first to admit he knew nothing at all about Roger Fry, except that he was a painter against whomAlfred Munnings spent half an hour each day fulminating, so he poked a circle of lemon down under the surface of his tumbler,
     then watched it float slowly back up the punch to join the other fragments of fruit. Alfred’s sudden irascibility embarrassed
     rather than nettled Gilbert. Besides, Laura had resumed her attack with fresh vigour, smiling, with her long teeth showing.
    ‘Anyway, we’re not talking about Roger Fry now, we’re talking about the importance of poetry, but if you can’t