Patricia and Malise Read Online Free PDF Page A

thrilled. Perhaps he viewed her as a second mother after all. Perhaps the war had softened him towards her.
    They drove slowly and not at all far. Church bells rang and the sun brightened as Dawn and her father stepped from the bridal car to walk the path towards an old flint church. Malise, alongside Alyson, watched from the lane – Malise suffocating an inner wince at the memory of his last and only encounter with the, now top-hatted Mr Willis. They did not see much of the bride as she was surrounded by bridesmaids and fussing females.
    â€˜Shall we go home dear? The service is sure to last an hour at least.’
    Malise, who wore a bright blue open shirt, chosen to match his eyes, wanted to stay and see the group leave the church after the ceremony. He wished to witness Dawn’s triumphant exit as a married woman – groom at her side. He might just catch her eye. Disturb her in some small way before she set off on her honeymoon.
    He suggested taking a walk. It was a fine day and, although Alyson had trouble with her hip and needed the support of a stick, she was pleased that the handsome Captain wished to spend an hour walking with her – so she put up no argument.
    They walked, extremely slowly, through the village, past thatched cottages, their gardens alive with honeysuckle and roses.
    They were once again outside the church where a sprinkling of people gathered to rejoice with the happy couple. Bells rang again. Pauses for photographs. Clusters of bridesmaids in the porch.
    Down the path came Dawn in bridal white on the arm of her husband. Malise stepped near to the spot that they planned to pass. He drew his handsome head high out of and above the blue shirt and stared her in both eyes. He noticed her startle as she smiled to the waiting watchers. He turned to Alyson, much pleased with Dawn’s unprepared look. Keep the bridegroom on his toes.
    â€˜Pretty bride’ he said.
    â€˜Yes. They say she was a little on the fast side. I daresay her people are pleased she has found a nice young man.’

 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
12
 
    Life was dingy at home. Malise became increasingly irritated by the way the farmhouse was run. Packets of pills stood unashamedly propped by the clock on the mantel piece. Nescafé, newly popular, alongside crumpled brown paper bags, lay on the chest in the hall. Little method. Skimpily sliced ham, tinned spam and, most often, a baked potato with a dab of margarine topping it, for lunch. Toasted cheese (Alyson called it Welsh Rarebit) for supper. Seldom wine. Sometimes cider. Food was rationed and bought at the Co-operative Store.
    Malise, with occasional trips to London on bleak trains to Liverpool Street Station, did as little as possible to help but advised on detail as Christian worked, a little half-heartedly, on the farm and in the garden.
    The loss of Christian’s admiration and praise puzzled and disturbed Malise. The younger man had taken to answering back. Not only answering back but to asking peculiar questions.
    â€˜So Malise. Do you see yourself taking a wife?’
    â€˜A wife. Whose?’ Malise still enjoyed a stately joke.
    â€˜Your own I mean. After all. You are the wight age. I need to know because, if you never have childwen, I daresay the farm will go to me. That’s if you die first of course.’
    Malise was dumbfounded by Christian’s attitude and began to wonder whether to look for a suitable bride in London. All the same, whatever Christian’s new views, the idea of sharing his life was unimaginable.
    Advice had been given on clothes by a distant cousin to whom Malise had written and who worked at the House of Lords. In reply to his letter the cousin had suggested Lobb’s in St James’s Street for shoes. That or Ticker in Jermyn Street. He had also recommended a tailor called Lesley & Roberts in Savile Row.
    On day trips to London Malise visited the shoemaker and had a ‘last’ made of his feet