Facing the Tank Read Free Page A

telephone manner that could dissolve tiresome contracts and double advances.
    As she said ‘Hi,’ Evan could picture the loose cream cotton and the pearls at her throat and forgot about brownie sickness. ‘How’s Notting Hill?’ she asked.
    ‘Full of rotting fruit skins and old Colonel Sanders boxes. How’s Bloomsbury?’
    ‘Sticky. Now look.’
    ‘I love it when you’re masterful.’
    ‘Don’t be playful, Evan, I’m holding the fort and I haven’t got time.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Not at all.’ She chuckled slowly and he crossed his legs. ‘I’ve found you lovely lodgings in Barrowcester.’
    ‘Is it really pronounced like that?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘This is England. There’s a very motherly landlady who’ll do you a power of good and cook for you and the house is pretty and old. It’s right in the thick of things so you won’t have far to walk.’
    ‘I think I love you, Deborah.’
    ‘Do you want to go tomorrow evening or have you still got work at the B.L.?’
    ‘Sod the B.L. Sorry.’
    ‘That’s quite all right.’
    ‘No. I’ve finished there, but I’ve got to do dull things like wait for dry cleaning and hand over keys to the girl who’ll feed the parrot. I’ll catch the train on Sunday afternoon.’
    ‘Well, make sure you’re at the station on time. I know how unpunctual you are. There’s a train on Sunday at five.’
    ‘Yes sir.’
    ‘Ssh. And I’ll give names and addresses to Jeremy to hand over to you at lunch tomorrow.’
    ‘Good thinking, Batman.’
    ‘Now I must go. Have a good trip. It’s a beautiful place. Very quiet. Jeremy has a cousin there so you must be sure to ask him for her address.’
    ‘Will do.’
    ‘Goodbye.’
    ‘Bye Debs, and thank you.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    Without leaving the sofa Evan replaced the receiver and stretched up to the bookcase for a copy of English Cathedral Towns . So far Barrowcester had only been a name on library catalogues and bibliographical cross references. He reached behind him to switch on a light and settled down with an ill-advised third brownie to read about the place.

2
    Emma glanced at her watch. It was twelve-fifteen. The room before her was full of small boys drawing. She had cheated this morning. She had meant to quiz them on the journeys of Saint Paul but one sight of their unscored little faces had changed her mind. They wanted nothing to do with the ceaseless meanderings of that crazed bigot and she had no desire to force him on them.
    ‘Do you want to hear a really bloodthirsty story?’ she had asked.
    ‘Yes please, Miss.’
    ‘Excuse me, Miss?’
    ‘Yes, James?’
    ‘I thought we were going to do Saint Paul.’
    ‘Ssh!’ said one boy.
    ‘Sneak!’ snapped a second.
    ‘Do you like Saint Paul, James?’ she asked.
    ‘Well …’ James looked uncomfortable. ‘Not much.’
    There was laughter at which she smiled.
    ‘You’ll have to know all about him one day,’ she said, ‘but today it’s Saturday and it’s so sunny and the birds are singing and the flowers are out so I thought …’ She paused in her walking to pick up a small boy’s rude drawing, which she frowned at and crumpled in her palm. ‘I thought we should listen to a really bloodthirsty story.’
    There was more laughter. Blue eyes shining, cheeks radiating health, Emma sat on the front of her desk and read them the story of Jael, Sisera and the tent-peg. Their delight at the description of supper in a lordly dish and brains spilt on sand was her delight and she capped it by letting them spend the last half of the lesson drawing an illustration to the grisly tale.
    ‘Right,’ she now said, ‘time for your lunch.’ There was a wild opening and slamming shut of desk-lids and a buzz of released conversation. ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute.’ Loving her, they were still at once. ‘Put your nasty drawings on my desk and I’ll put the best, nastiest ones on the wall for everyone to laugh at.’ They hurried forward and slammed gory