The Grail Tree by Jonathan Gash Read Free Book Online Page B

harp and Irish hound mark after the McKinley Tariff Act took effect in America, 1891, so look before you leap.)
    ‘Stop mauling Aunt Martha’s porcelains,’ Dolly snapped. I replaced the lovely Belleek jug with a wrench.
    ‘Are you always so rude, Lovejoy?’ Dolly was still bristling as old Henry entered our merry scene, floating discreetly in like a dandelion seed.
    ‘Yes,’ I answered to shut her up. ‘Hello, Henry.’
    ‘Ah, Lovejoy!’ he beamed. ‘The inherent benevolence of Man triumphs again over the onslaughts of the insensitive!’
    ‘Before we begin,’ Martha interposed firmly, ‘let’s be seated. Conversation over lunch is preferable to all this hovering with empty glasses.’
    We hadn’t been exactly stuck for words but clearly she was expert at scuppering Henry’s theological chat. We trooped into the dining room. I never know what to do with my glass. Other people usually manage to get rid of theirs somehow. Breeding, I suppose.
    The meal was pleasant, served by two friendly women. I tried not to eat like a horse but you can’t help being a born opportunist. Finally, I threw elegance to the wind and ate anything they put in front of me. Old Henry and Martha spun their grub out to keep me company, talking of incidentals. Dolly sat determinedlytrying to disconcert me, elbows on the table and pointedly glancing at her watch. I’d made a hit there, I thought. Henry prattled about his undergraduate days at Cambridge and Martha prompted him if he tended to ramble. I tried to feel along underneath the tablecloth’s hem without anyone noticing what I was doing. It was obviously a two-pedestal table, but a genuine eighteenth-century pedestal-based dining table will have no inlays. Also, simply count the number of pedestals the table’s got. Subtract one. That gives you the number of leaves the genuine table ought to have. I was quivering with eagerness to get underneath and see if the legs were reeded. I ate pressed hard against the table. If the table rim is reeded its four slender legs must be reeded. My bell was donging desperately, but the polite natter would have faltered if I’d dived underneath and fondled all available legs, so I ploughed on through the meal and kept my lust secret.
    ‘Your visitor’s a pleasure to feed,’ Martha’s principal serf said, all fond.
    ‘Marvellous,’ the other chipped in. ‘Instead of your two wee appetites.’
    ‘We do our best,’ Henry said, pulling a face.
    This really puzzles me. Why aren’t women wild because all their work in making grub’s gone up in smoke? I’d cleared the lot. Logically, you’d think they’d be annoyed.
    ‘We shall have to make your visit a regular occasion,’ Henry beamed. He looked like a happy pipe-cleaner. He’d only had a mouthful or two, without enthusiasm. No wonder he never filled out.
    ‘Of course we shall,’ Martha said. ‘It’s a standing invitation and you must ensure that it’s frequently accepted, Lovejoy. See to it. But to work. I have a plan,’she announced. ‘Henry and Lovejoy shall discuss our – er – business walking in the garden. Dolly and I shall keep out of your way.’
    ‘How ridiculous!’ Dolly snapped. ‘That’s . . . antiquated.’
    ‘It’s perfectly sensible, dear,’ Martha corrected blandly. ‘Seeing that I made a perfect mess of last night’s discussion, and that you take after me on your mother’s side. Besides,’ she added, rising, ‘you’re always in such a temper these days. A quiet think will do you good.’
    ‘Aunt Martha!’
    ‘This is our signal,’ Henry confided to me in a whisper, as if Martha had given the obliquest of hints. ‘I’ll show you my barge.’
    ‘Is that thing yours?’
    ‘Yes.’ He sounded so proud of it. ‘Come down.’
    We strolled down towards the river. A few serious anglers were spaced along the opposite river bank. Some sort of fishing competition, judging by the white wooden stakes driven into the bank to show limits. In the