I Remember You Read Free Page A

intelligent boy, he had been offered a part scholarship, as a weekly boarder, to—School, and his mother couldn’t afford for him to take it up. Leonora had stepped in, enjoying the slightly surprised murmurs of approval that greeted the announcement that she was paying for his education. She would do it every year, she said, fund the brightest pupil from the school through to their graduation, as a memorial to her father.
    But to Leonora’s immense displeasure, Adam had gone to the bad. His mother had died, suddenly, when he was almost eighteen, dropped dead in the street of a brain aneurysm. A terrible thing and a shock to everyone, but Adam had gone to pieces. He had failed, soon after his mother’s death, to get the results he needed for Cambridge, and he had gone on failing ever since. He didn’t seem to care about that fine mind of his after that; he would rather loll about on the street chatting and laughing like a common idiot, not like the gentleman he should be. She had had such high hopes for him, had seen it as her chance to create something out of nothing, and it had failed…Leonora Mortmain blinked, realizing she was staring rather too intently out of the window at the young man.
    She rang the bell with fury, shaking her head querulously. Too tiresome to think about all that now.
    ‘Mrs Mortmain?’ Jean Forbes bustled into the room. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Mortmain?’ The ‘Mrs’ was a courtesy—no one quite knew why or where it had started, but no one dared call her ‘Miss’ now. Much less ‘Ms’, though some would have loved to have tried.
    ‘I am well,’ said Leonora, collecting herself once more. She looked out of the window, searching for composure. Her eye fell upon a girl in jeans and a light blue top, ambling slowly along the street towards where Adam Smith stood with Mick from the Feathers. ‘Tell me, who is that?’
    The inhabitants of Langford believed Jean Forbes put up with a great deal. Leonora Mortmain didn’t pay well, and she was an extremely difficult woman, who almost went out of her way to be unpleasant. Poor Jean, people said. That awful, dried-up old crone—imagine having to live with her! Did you hear, she tripped Ron Thaxton up with her walking stick, because he was in her way? She told Jan Allingham that she believed charity should be in the home and nowhere else, when she came round collecting for Cancer Research. The list went on and on.
    For her part, Jean knew they said it—on certain days, she couldn’t blame them for saying it. But luckily for Leonora, Jean’s nature was good and kind and, most importantly, patient. ‘You rang very loudly. I thought you were—’ she began.
    ‘What?’ snapped Leonora. ‘I asked you who that—’ She jabbed the window with a long finger, painted magenta and crowned with a thick gold and garnet ring. ‘—was.’
    Jean looked now as if she were about to say something, but she thought better of it, and leaned out of the window. The girl and Adam had recognized each other, and were embracing, laughing heartily as they did so. He patted her on the back, lifting her up so her feet were off the ground as Mick went inside, leaving them chattering happily together. Jean screwed up her eyes.
    ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Isn’t that Frank and Emily’s daughter?’
    ‘And whom might they be?’ asked Leonora Mortmain.
    ‘Tess,’ Jean said. ‘I’m sure that’s Tess Tennant. Ah! Bless her! Sweet girl. The doctor’s daughter. Dr Tennant? He came when you had that problem with your foot. You used to like her, remember, she went off to become a Classics teacher. She and Adam were such friends. Looks like she hasn’t seen him for a while.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Of course! Didn’t Carolyn Tey tell me that she’s joining Langford College in acouple of weeks? She’s the new Classical Civilization tutor there.’
    ‘Is this true?’
    Jean blinked. ‘Well, yes, of course it’s true. Do