Sons and Daughters Read Online Free PDF

Peregrine Winters, Maisie. I’ll entertain him in the study, and perhaps you’d make us some coffee in about ten minutes, would you?’
    ‘But it’s afternoon, Edwin, it’s nearly teatime.’
    ‘Mr Winters dislikes tea—’
    ‘Not like tea? It’s not natural.’
    ‘He prefers coffee at all times.’
    ‘What a funny man, but all right, Edwin,’ said Chinese Lady as he went to answer the ring. She knew he’d favour her using their latest kitchen item, a percolator. One more new-fangled contraption, that was what a percolator was. Still, it never threatened to electrocute her, like the blessed telephone used to. Full of those kind of threats, that thing had been until it became friendly towards the end of the war.
    She hoped her husband’s visitor, a man from the Government, wasn’t going to ask him to come out of retirement and return to his job, not at his age.
    Mr Finch, opening the front door, said good morning to the caller, Peregrine Winters, an ex-colleague now in his fifties. The visit had been arranged over the phone.
    ‘Happy to see you again, Edwin old man,’ said Mr Winters, ‘hope you don’t mind sparing me five minutes or so on a Saturday afternoon?’
    ‘A pleasure,’ said Mr Finch. ‘Come in.’
    The visit actually lasted an hour, for after Mr Winters had explained the purpose of his call they enjoyed some very entertaining reminiscences over the percolated coffee. They had both served British Intelligence for many years. When Mr Finch was finally saying goodbye to his ex-colleague at the front door, he said, ‘I’m not sure how my wife is going to react to what’s on offer.’
    ‘Most women are unpredictable,’ said MrWinters, ‘but I don’t imagine Mrs Finch will actually – um – fall down. A delightfully resolute lady, your wife, Edwin. Goodbye now, it’s been a great pleasure to see you again and to chat over old times. We’re both lucky to have survived intact.’
    Following all that, Mr Finch rejoined Chinese Lady who, of course, asked the leading question. Was the Government going to make him return to work? Mr Finch assured her no, not at all. So she wanted to know why Mr Winters had called. Mr Finch coughed, fiddled with his tie, gave her a smile and told her.
    True, she didn’t fall down, but she did quiver all over and turn pale.
    ‘Oh, dear Lord,’ she said faintly, ‘where’s my smelling salts?’
    Mr Finch called on Boots and Polly at their Dulwich home later that afternoon. Their daily maid, Flossie Cuthbert of Peckham, opened the door to him.
    ‘Oh, hello, Mr Finch,’ she said in bright welcome. Flossie was a typical Peckham cockney, perky, cheerful and resilient. With her parents she had endured and survived countless German air raids, raids that had shattered much of Peckham, and reduced many of its older inhabitants to nervous wrecks.
    ‘Good afternoon, Flossie,’ smiled Mr Finch. It was a daily help like Flossie he had in mind for Chinese Lady.
    ‘Come in, sir,’ said Flossie, a smile lighting up her prettiness. ‘Mr and Mrs Adams are expectingyou, except they’re in the garden just now, teaching the twins ’ow to play cricket, and them little angels only seven, would you believe.’
    ‘Cricket at the age of seven is hard going, even for little angels, I suppose,’ said Mr Finch.
    ‘Not half, sir, specially as Gemma can ’ardly keep hold of the bat,’ said Flossie, and led the way through the house to the garden. There, Boots and Polly were engaged with the twins in the rudiments of how to guard three stumps and two bails with a bat. Gemma and James were willing pupils, although helpful hints and sound advice to Gemma went into one ear and straight out of the other. Well, everything was a scream or a giggle to Gemma, born to regard nothing very seriously, except earthquakes.
    ‘Am I interrupting?’ called Mr Finch.
    ‘Well, some interruptions are welcome, old thing,’ said Polly, advancing to meet him. She was fifty-two and still elegant,