Patricia and Malise Read Free Page A

protégé, (although rewarded to have interested him in the works of Bertrand Russell and to have, therefore, something with him to discuss – in however a stately way) was dreadfully disappointed by the appearance of his brother. He was not entirely sure what he had expected. What he saw was a boy, low-browed, ruddy-cheeked, and lacking in coordination. Shy, awkward and unhappy. A poor replica of the Adonis he had come to worship.
    Nothing much developed for any of them during that term. Mr Scarlatti’s disappointment, Malise’s interest in atheism and Christian’s lonely misery were the features that distinguished it from other terms.
    At home, Alyson made suggestions as her husband listened obediently.
    â€˜Don’t you think, dear, it’s time that Malise mixed with some of the young round here? He will, by the time the Christmas holidays come round, have that lovely kilt and I am willing, as you know, to drive him to any local hops.’
    She had actually already heard about a ‘hop’ to take place during Christmas week. It was to be thrown by Mrs Ruggles (the one who Alyson had boasted to about her two hundred acres) and it was known that Mrs Ruggles was frantic to gather in some boys to partner her daughter and two of her nieces. Some suitable ‘lads’.
    The term moved slowly for both boys. For Christian because he was homesick. For Malise due to impatience after hearing from Alyson that he had been invited to no fewer than two ‘hops’ in the holidays, by which time his kilt would have arrived.
    â€˜They say’ Alyson had written ‘That the Ruggleses live in some style and it will be a good introduction for you in this part of the world.’

 
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7
 
    The evening of the ‘hop’ came round. As luck went, it was on a Monday evening and Alyson, having driven Malise to the Ruggles’s house, was able to get back in time to listen, with Christian, to their favourite programme after making him a mug of Ovaltine.
    Earlier, Alyson had learnt that reels were going to be danced and had passed the news on to her stepson by postcard. Malise had, with the help of Mr Scarlatti – who strained every muscle in his body in order to please – discovered a Scottish reel expert to teach steps in secret towards the end of the term. He learnt how to dance some of the more popular ones and became particularly expert at reversing.
    With Alyson at the wheel, they followed a drive, flanked by iron railings, to a sweep in front of a house that had once been a small manor – added to before the first war to produce several handsome panelled rooms and some columns at the front.
    Once inside, Malise was much taken by a large hall from which a staircase wound up. A great fire roared. There were several heads of game on the walls, bunches of holly hanging from them. A tall tree stood in the well of the stairs, an angel on the top. He was greeted by Mrs Ruggles – all curls and teeth – as Alyson slipped away.
    The hostess, as were others, were astounded by Malise’s appearance. More handsome than any had, or had ever expected, to see. He was contented in his kilt. All guests were offered fruit cup and vol-au-vents. ‘To warm you up’ Mrs Ruggles said although both the cup and the vol-au-vents were cold. Mr Ruggles was nowhere to be seen.
    After the introductions (there were more girls than boys and one or two of the girls wore white frocks and coloured sashes – ready for reels) they were all summoned into a large room in which the carpet had been rolled back. There was a huge radiogram in there and by its side stood a lad, the gardener’s son who manned it, dropping in eight records at one go.
    The music began and Mrs Ruggles touched Malise’s arm. ‘The one with the blue sash. You can partner her for the Gay Gordons.’ She was already a bit rattled and picked out the first girl who looked