Page 20 of A Shore Thing

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to gloat.

If Curnow’s cows got out, Kit would find himself hoisted as well.

He could hear Deighton distinctly now, bellowing.

“Let’s go again! That was the first of three!”

“He never said three.” Ponsonby elbowed his way up to Kit, flushed like a man in the throes of fatal apoplexy. Or like a ginger on a hot day in a crowded cow pasture.

Kit’s sudden surge of alarm evaporated.

“It’s not very sporting of him.” Ponsonby frowned, then brightened instantly. “If the cheating duffer wants to get knocked down two more times, why not?”

“The joust is over.” Kit pulled Ponsonby out of the path of the parade. The train of hilarious young men was longer now. “God almighty, it’s like Hyde Park in here. Curnow will have my head.”

“All right, then.” Ponsonby nodded. “Joust’s over!” He cupped his hands on either side of his mouth and shouted. “Shove off!”

No one acknowledged him. The parade paraded on.

“Good effort, mate.” Kit clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll convey the news to Deighton direct, though. Might be more effective.”

They struggled through the crowd.

“I shouldn’t tell you this.” Ponsonby yelled directly in Kit’s ear. “She said not to tell you.”

Kit stretched his neck, moving his head as far from Ponsonby’s mouth as possible.

“But it’s a day of glory!” Ponsonby gave a mighty yawp. “Are you ready?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Coover wired back. She’s coming to St. Ives!”

Kit’s head snapped around.

“I don’t believe you can ruin a surprise.” Ponsonby winked. “A surprise is a surprise. Now is as good as later. Watch your feet.” He laughed and tugged Kit’s arm, steering him around a cowpat. “And you know Sisters travel in force. You’ll reunite! And I’ll de-bungle things with Nelly.” Ponsonby’s yawp was mightier than the yawp before.

The roar in Kit’s ears had nothing to do with Ponsonby’s yawps, or the murmurs of the crowd.

Did Lucy plan to berate him, her outrage reinforced by Gwen and Nelly?

His innards shivered, a sickly motion.

Did she plan to expose him?

Before Boxing Day, he’d believed her the last person on earth who’d ever do him harm.

When? He tried to ask but couldn’t speak. Perhaps he hadn’t caught his breath properly. All that frantic pedaling had winded him.

He tried again and managed it. “When?”

“What?” yelled Ponsonby. “When? Oh, I don’t know. It was just a telegram. Not for a little while. At least a week, a week and a half, perhaps. Coover has that opening, remember? The New Gallery? Ouch.”

Ponsonby stumbled to the left, helped along by a shove from the person with whom he’d collided.

And Kit found himself face-to-face with Deighton, so close that the toes of the bigger man’s shoes overlapped his own.

“That wasn’t a joust,” Deighton growled. “That was a farce. The terrain is all humps and ditches and dung. The mud threw me, not you. Let’s meet on the road.”

“Are you sure? The road’s much harder. When you take a cropper, you’re more likely to split your head.”

“I won’t be the one taking a cropper!” Deighton snatched off his cricketing cap and wadded it in his hand. His sweaty blond hair lay flat on his scalp. He looked like a child about to tantrum, except ten times the size. He loomed even closer, grinding Kit’s toes.