The Dower House Read Online Free PDF Page A

decks between,’ the man answered in a bewildered tone that implied, What other way is there, for the love of Mike!
    His head remained poking out of the hatchway as he watched them picking an infinitely careful path among the mooring lines, pails, bicycles, boots, meat safes, and other junk that littered the decks. He chuckled at their caution. ‘Beats any old temperance lecture, what!’ he cried. ‘When you get there, just stamp on the deck. I know they’re aboard. TTFN !’
    Marianne looked inquiringly at Willard. ‘Ta Ta For Now,’ he explained. And then he had to explain ‘ta ta’.
    She sighed. ‘I’ll never learn it. You must tell me when I say things wrong.’
    â€˜Sure. But don’t worry. You’ll pick it up in no time. English has no rules, really – not like German. There are just . . . well, different ways of saying things.’
    The deck of the MTB was the height of a man above its neighbour. They had to climb a short ladder lashed to its rail. Somewhere in the bowels of the vessel a wind-up gramophone was playing a Debussy prelude. Willard, afraid that stamping on the deck might jerk the needle, took up a mop and tapped its handle on the chine of the hull. The music stopped. There were vibrations as someone ascended a stair. Moments later a young woman opened the deckhouse door. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were my ’usband,’ she said, in accents more French than English.
    Willard and Marianne glanced at each other. Husband?
    â€˜Mrs Palmer?’ he asked the woman.
    â€˜Naturally.’ She smiled.
    â€˜Mrs Tony Palmer? I didn’t know Tony had married.’ He turned to Marianne. ‘Did you?’
    She shook her head and stared at Tony’s wife, a fine-looking woman with a no-nonsense face. Firm, determined jaw. Frank blue eyes, warily observant. And glossy, raven-black hair.
    â€˜Nicole?’ Willard said suddenly, sure of his guess yet somehow not trusting it.
    â€˜Yes!’ She laughed. ‘And now I know you . Oh, forgive me, but you were much more . . . élégant in uniform. Major Johnson, no?’
    â€˜No – definitely not! It’s Mister Johnson now. And this is my Missiz Johnson – Marianne. Honey, this is Nicole . . . er . . . oh, what kind of fool am I! – I was trying to remember your maiden name. Palmer, of course. Mrs Palmer.’
    The two women shook hands. ‘Come below, please,’ Nicole said, though she made no immediate move from the door. ‘Tony will be so ’appy to see you again, Willard. He talks about you often, you know. But he never says you are married?’
    Willard grinned. ‘He doesn’t know. We only tied the knot last week. He’s met Marianne, when we were with AMGOT , but he doesn’t know we’re married. We’re on our honeymoon now, in fact – on our way back to the States. Are you expecting him home tonight – well, obviously, if you thought we were he.’ ‘He’s only in the Dove, his favourite watering hole.’ Nicole nodded toward the bank. Her eyes flashed with sudden merriment. ‘Oh, let’s go and give him a grand surprise!’
    She grabbed a beret from a peg just inside the door and ushered them back down the ladder. A boisterous black Labrador leaped the gap, almost bowling Marianne over.
    â€˜Xupé!’ Nicole scolded.
    â€˜What’s that name?’ Willard asked.
    â€˜It’s really St-Exupéry. And this is Fifi.’ She helped a small hairy terrier down to the lower level, where it skittered off in pursuit of Xupé.
    â€˜You must be very happy to live so,’ Marianne said, gesturing toward the Little Expectations .
    Nicole pulled a face. ‘Last winter was the worst anyone could remember. I’m not spending another winter here.’ She did not lock anything.
    Conversation was difficult until they reached the