The Corfu Trilogy Read Free Page A

lying in the sun. Roger stiffened, glared at them, and let forth a torrent of deep barks. The mongrels were immediately galvanized into activity, and they sped after the cab, yapping vociferously. Our pose was irretrievably shattered, for it took two people to restrain the raving Roger, while the rest of us leaned out of the cab and made wild gestures with magazines and books at the pursuing horde. This only had the effect of exciting them still further, and at each alley-way we passed their numbers increased, until by the timewe were rolling down the main thoroughfare of the town there were some twenty-four dogs swirling about our wheels, almost hysterical with anger.
    ‘Why doesn’t somebody
do
something?’ asked Larry, raising his voice above the uproar. ‘This is like a scene from
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
.’
    ‘Why don’t
you
do something; instead of criticizing?’ snapped Leslie, who was locked in combat with Roger.
    Larry promptly rose to his feet, snatched the whip from our astonished driver’s hand, made a wild swipe at the herd of dogs, missed them, and caught Leslie across the back of the neck.
    ‘What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?’ Leslie snarled, twisting a scarlet and angry face towards Larry.
    ‘Accident,’ explained Larry airily. ‘I’m out of practice… it’s so long since I used a horse whip.’
    ‘Well, watch what you’re bloody well doing,’ said Leslie loudly and belligerently.
    ‘Now, now, dear, it was an accident,’ said Mother.
    Larry took another swipe at the dogs and knocked off Mother’s hat.
    ‘You’re more trouble than the dogs,’ said Margo.
    ‘Do be careful, dear,’ said Mother, clutching her hat; ‘you might hurt someone. I should put the whip down.’
    At that moment the cab shambled to a halt outside a doorway over which hung a board with ‘Pension Suisse’ inscribed on it. The dogs, feeling that they were at last going to get to grips with this effeminate black canine who rode in cabs, surrounded us in a solid, panting wedge. The door of the hotel opened and an ancient bewhiskered porter appeared and stood staring glassily at the turmoil in the street. The difficulties of getting Roger out of the cab and into the hotel were considerable, for he was a heavy dog and it took the combined efforts of the family to lift, carry, and restrain him. Larry had by now forgotten his majestic pose and was rather enjoying himself. He leaped down anddanced about the pavement with the whip, cleaving a path through the dogs, along which Leslie, Margo, Mother, and I hurried, bearing the struggling, snarling Roger. We staggered into the hall, and the porter slammed the front door and leaned against it, his moustache quivering. The manager came forward, eyeing us with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Mother faced him, hat on one side of her head, clutching in one hand my jam jar of caterpillars.
    ‘Ah!’ she said, smiling sweetly, as though our arrival had been the most normal thing in the world. ‘Our name’s Durrell. I believe you’ve got some rooms booked for us?’
    ‘Yes, madame,’ said the manager, edging round the still grumbling Roger; ‘they are on the first floor… four rooms and a balcony.’
    ‘How nice,’ beamed Mother; ‘then I think we’ll go straight up and have a little rest before lunch.’
    And with considerable majestic graciousness she led her family upstairs.
    Later we descended to lunch in a large and gloomy room full of dusty potted palms and contorted statuary. We were served by the bewhiskered porter, who had become the head waiter simply by donning tails and a celluloid dicky that creaked like a convention of crickets. The meal, however, was ample and well cooked, and we ate hungrily. As coffee was served, Larry sat back in his chair with a sigh.
    ‘That was a passable meal,’ he said generously. ‘What do you think of this place, Mother?’
    ‘Well, the
food’s
all right, dear,’ said Mother, refusing to commit