Page 27 of The Gathering Storm

On Sunday morning, Basil was halfway down the stairs when he overheard Violet in conversation with Richard, and paused on the landing out of sight to listen.

‘I’d completely forgotten about church,’ Violet was saying. ‘I really ought to go, and Avis is supposed to read the lesson. But I don’t think there’s a temple, or whatever it is, anywhere near.’

‘I told you, Ma, they’re not observant.’

‘Are you sure they didn’t just say that to be polite? And it would be rude to go, and leave them here.’

‘You and Avis should go. They’ll understand completely. The rest of us will take care of them. I’ll show them over the house or something.’

‘That’s another thing. Now we’ve had them here, they ought to invite us down to their place for a weekend. But they haven’t got a place, have they?’

‘We’ve discussed that,’ Richard said firmly. ‘When you come up, they’re going to invite you to dinner. That will cover it quite nicely.’

‘Oh!’ Violet said. She sounded anxious. Basil could imagine her concern. What would their home be like? Would she feel as out of place in it as they had evidently felt in hers?

Now Richard sounded a trifle impatient. ‘The food is always delicious. Hannah’s a wonderful cook. You’ll enjoy it, Ma.’

Basil decided it was time to interrupt, given that Violet had never cooked a meal in her life and might well question the last statement. He clattered noisily down the last flight with a cheerful ‘Good morning!’ Both of them looked slightly relieved.

Before lunch the sun came out, and they all took a turn around the gardens, naturally separating into pairs according to their speed of walking. Charlotte and Basil soon pulled ahead of everyone else.

‘It’s a good thing Robert didn’t come,’ Charlotte said, after a pause in the conversation. ‘He’s such a snob – worse than you. He’d have done his best to make the Nevinsons feel small.’

‘You are horridly unjust to me. I’m not a snob and I get on with everyone.’

She snorted, then said, ‘What do you think about it?’

‘It?’

‘Richard marrying her. It’s odd, isn’t it?’

‘All marriage seems odd to me.’ He thought for a moment of Gloria. Would he marry her, if she was free? Yes, probably – but he was quite glad the question didn’t arise. ‘She seems a nice enough girl, if a little milk-and-water for my taste. But I believe she’ll inherit her father’s business.’

‘Basil! You don’t say he’s marrying her for her money?’

‘Oh dear, you’re so romantic! A man has to have something to live on. But I’m sure he’s fond of her.’

‘Fond!’ Charlotte brooded a moment. ‘They’re going to live in Ealing,’ she said at last, as though it was the world’s end.

‘Now who’s the snob? Anyway, your company’s moving to Acton. Right next door.’

She brightened. ‘That’s true. I could pop over after work. I was afraid we’d never see him again.’

`My dear child, you live in Bloomsbury. The Piccadilly Line runs from Russell Square all the way to Ealing.’

‘Basil, you can’t call me ‘your dear child’. I’m four years older than you. You sound like the vicar.’

‘I’ll call you Grandmama if you prefer. I’m sure they’ll be all right,’ he went on seriously. ‘Richard knows what he’s doing. He’s the most level-headed chap I know.’

‘You’re right. Thank you. I feel better now.’

‘I’m more worried about you,’ Basil went on. ‘Engaged to an invisible man, don’t know where he is or when he’s coming back. Or, indeed, what he’s doing.’

She didn’t rise to the bait. ‘He’s earning money so that we can get married. Don’t try to annoy me about Milo, Basil, because it won’t work. Oh, did you hear that Henry saw Uncle Jack at Hucclestone?’ Her younger brother was an engineer apprentice with Hawkers at their Gloster factory. ‘He wrote to say that Uncle Jack urged him to take flying lessons, told him that when the next war starts, they’ll need all the pilots they can get. When the war starts, he said, not if. What d’you think of that?’

‘There won’t be another war,’ Basil said. ‘Those old fellows who fought in it can’t let it go, that’s all. It was the best fun they’d ever had in their terribly boring lives, so of course they want to do it all again. But our generation has more sense.’

‘I don’t think anyone would ever mistake you for someone with sense,’ Charlotte said. ‘Ow! That hurt!’