Good Behaviour Read Online Free PDF Page B

after-tea air.
    This was the hour when the men had disappeared into the smoking room and the women gossiped and yawned, and the dogs turned
     and yawned in their baskets. Two of Lady Grizel’s best friends, Mrs Gladwyn-Chetwynd and Lady Skendleby, were together on
     the leather sofa. A haze of frilled blouses rose up from their belted waists to frail high collars, boned to the chin line.
     They sat in a drowse of consideration over their day’s off-course betting, no results known till the next morning’s papers.
     They were a bit uncertain whether or not Mrs Brock was to be introduced to them, so picked up
Racing Form
and the last
Calendar
and went back to Newmarket or Doncaster or Epsom – Mrs Brock was not quite clear on the meeting.
    The group could hardly have been further removed from Mrs Brock standing in the doorway. Lady Grizel got up and went towards
     her, scolding and cuffing the dogs back into their baskets while at the same time agreeing with them that this was something
     of a surprise, an intrusion.
    ‘Quiet, quiet,
will
you be quiet – heavens, you know Mrs Brock – yes, Mrs Brock?’
    A query must have hung visibly on the air, the scented air, the distant air of Lady Grizel’s life among her own friends. But
     Mrs Brock broke through the restraints and skipped the distances. ‘I believe you lost something, Lady Grizel’ was all she
     said as she held out the ring.
    ‘Mrs Brock – how divine! How wonderful!’ All the dogs barked again. The air rang with excitement. Lady Grizel glowed with
     gratitude. The diamonds sparkled hugely. Thebest friends jumped up from the sofa and entered into the drama – ‘But how too clever.’ ‘And what made you look in the dogs’
     dinners?’ they exclaimed, getting the facts wrong at once, and handing the ring to each other without praising it.
    Then Mrs Brock had the inspiration that was to be her joy and her undoing. That was when her feet left the ground and she
     soared into unreality. She ignored all remembrance of her day of exhaustive detective work, the hours she had spent tracing
     every move Lady Grizel had made, as she answered dreamily: ‘I really don’t know myself. I just closed my eyes and let a picture
     float up into my mind.’
    ‘Ha-ha, doggie dindins floatin’ about. Too funny.’
    ‘Chang-Chang heard you say “dindins” – didn’t you, boy?’
    ‘I say, Mrs Brock, would it work out over racing? Would the winner of the 3.30 tomorrow float up to you?’
    ‘Don’t be silly, Violet—’
    ‘It’s such an open race – her guess is as good as mine – look – I’ll read out the runners – you shut your eyes and float …
     Peeping Thomas … ’
    Peeping Thomas, something told her. And told her correctly, miraculously; for this outsider’s win was to remain for ever one
     of the most mysterious upsets to form, embarrassment to the handicapper and legendary boon to bookmakers, as indeed it was
     to Lady Grizel, her best friends, most of the domestic staff at Stoke Charity, and many of those employed on the estate. Taken
     together with the discovery of the ring, this triumph put Mrs Brock in the class of visionaries. Hubert and I would implore
     her to try out her powers at Limerick Junction or Mallow races. ‘No,’ she would say firmly, ‘not again. That time I heard
     the drumming hooves. I saw the flash of colours … ’
    ‘And did you hear the jockeys cursing, Mrs Brock?’ we would ask. We wanted to belong to the whole magic of the vision.
    ‘No, dear, I didn’t. I just heard the great crowd shouting, “Come on – come on, Peeping Thomas.”’
    ‘They don’t usually shout so much when an outsider wins.’
    ‘They did that day. In my ear,’ Mrs Brock stated firmly. Unfortunately, her selection for that year’s Derby finished down
     the course. Although everybody was most generous and considerate about her failure, there was a sense of disappointment not
     entirely appeased when she came up with the second in