The Grail Tree Read Free Page B

all this mullarky, bonny and light.Good bones. I don’t know quite what it means when people say that, because all bones are good, aren’t they? But it sounded exactly right when I looked at her. Somebody had chosen the wrong earrings for her, pendants too long with a casual dress. The older woman was florid and bouncy, given to sudden shrill burst of laughter through teeth like a gold graveyard. She darted excitedly malicious glances at me with every one of Honkie’s noisy witticisms.
    ‘Milord, the carriage awaits!’ Honkworth yelled. Only Honkie can misquote a sentence that short.
    I swung the handle. Naturally, it didn’t fire till third go, to ironical jeers of all. By then I was red-faced and looking at the ground.
    ‘Remember the speed limit, Lovejoy!’ Honkie yelled.
    ‘Everybody pray for rain!’
    And they say wit is dead.
    I climbed in and clattered off. As the diminutive Ruby began to move I got in a wink at Honkworth’s young blonde, just to set folks wondering. Passing between Honkie’s massive tourer and the laden lorry made me feel I was pedalling a walnut. The swine reached out and patted me on the head as I passed.
    I had to skirt the scene of the pageant to reach the main Buresford road, so I stopped to see if Betty was still about. The field was emptying now. Bunting was being rolled. A few stray coloured papers were blowing across the grass in the early evening breeze. Some village children called ‘Hello, Lovejoy,’ chasing rubbish into plastic bags. I waved. All the trestle tables were gone. Most of the stalls were dismantled. Some blokes from our victorious tug-o’-war team were getting the marquee down, Betty’s husband with them. No sign of her. I’ve heard women take it out on their husbandswhen they’re mad. I wonder if it’s true. He’d soon find out.
    No sign of Mrs Cookson either, so there was nothing for it. Throttle down to get the right feeble spluttering sound, and kerzoom. Off. I’d worked it out by the time I reached the road. Open country, seven miles. Say an hour, with a following wind.

Chapter 2
    T HE HOUSE WAS enormous, snootishly set back from the River Stour just in case any riverborne peasants disturbed the affluent class by nocturnal carousings. Some democratically minded leveller had parked a derelict old barge right against the private river walk. Even warped it to the balustrade with short ropes, I saw with amusement. A great mooring hawser was twined clumsily round an otherwise graceful weeping willow. A drive curved among yews and beech. There was a stylish ornamental pond and a fountain. Thank heaven, she’d avoided plastic gnomes. The mansion itself was beautiful. Even the door furniture looked original. As I puttered up the gravel I examined the house. Definitely Queen Anne, though some maniac had mucked about with the gables. You always get some nutter wanting to gild the gingerbread. The Ruby made it up the slight slope, though it was touch and go.
    ‘Lovejoy!’ She was on the doorstep, smiling. ‘How good of you to come so soon.’
    ‘I’ll just point this downhill.’ I coaxed one last effort from the half-pint engine and turned the car round the fountain. It wheezed thankfully into silence.
    ‘So you got my message.’ She hesitated. ‘Hadn’t youbetter cover your motor up? It looks like rain.’
    ‘I want air to get to it.’ I don’t like admitting it’s not got all its bits.
    The hallway had its original panels, promising elegance and style right through the house. To realize how grim modern architecture is you have to visit a dwelling like this. Once you’re plonked down in a Sheraton chair gazing out through hand-leaded windows set in a balanced oak-panelled room you become aware what grotty hutches builders chuck up nowadays. Even the walls had feelings in this house. Beautiful.
    She went ahead and we were welcomed by the drawing room. I’d have given my teeth for an engraved lead-glass cordial glass, its luscious baluster stem