The Governor's Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

LADY’S IMPORTS; MAH WONG, FOOD SUPPLIERS: DAS AND SONS, GENTLEMANLY CLOTHING …
    But already Mr. Frith was giving good advice again. He laid his hand on Harold’s knee.
    â€˜When H.E. asks you if you like the claret,’ he said, ‘have a guess at Barton. That’ll please him. Leave him to tell you what year.’
    Mr. Frith’s earlier nervousness momentarily returned to him.
    â€˜You do drink, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t notice in the bar just now.’
    â€˜I’m very fond of a good claret,’ Harold told him.
    It was quite untrue: he knew next to nothing about any kind of claret, but it sounded convincing, and he was pleased with himself for having said it.
    Mr. Frith was pleased, too.
    â€˜That’s a relief,’ he said. ‘H.E.’s very proud of his cellar. Hell of a job getting the stuff out here.’
    The car was slowing down by now and there was a military feeling in the air. Two ebony sentries in ivory-white uniform came smartly to attention, and the car turned into the long drive under the jacaranda trees.
    The feeling of having been there before, of somehow belonging to the place, returned to Harold more sharply than ever.
    â€˜Just the way I knew it would be,’ he found himself thinking. ‘Just like my dream.’
    Seen at close quarters, the Residency was a vast, blanc-mange edifice, with a lofty Colonial portico and a row of highly-polished antique cannon facing nothing down the drive. The guard all wore a broad scarlet sash across their tunics, and carried gold shoulder-tabs. The sentries, two of them, standing alongside the cannon, had their bayonets fixed.
    Mr. Frith strode in across the threshold. Fortified as he now was, he showed himself completely at his ease. He was beaming.
    â€˜Don’t bother about the Book,’ he said. ‘That’s only for outsiders.’
    Together they went on, under the big crystal chandelier, across the tennis-court-sized area of blue carpet, and began to mount the staircase. It was a long staircase, and the climb did not agree with Mr. Frith. He was breathing rather heavily by now, and small beads of perspiration had begun to break out along his forehead.
    At the top, the A.D.C. was waiting, his charming, slightly-tired smile at the ready. A slim young man with a lock of brown hair that he was constantly thrusting back from his forehead, he was undoubtedly good-looking in a smooth, orthodox sort of way. It was only on closer inspection that the features seemed somehow too regular, too standardised. It was as though if any one of them should get bent or damaged or mislaid it could be quite readily replaced—at Harrod’s or Fortnum’s, probably.
    But already he was stepping forward.
    â€˜Mr. Stebbs?’ he asked. ‘His Excellency’s expecting you.’
    The introduction was marred only because Mr. Frith did not raise his right foot quite high enough to clear the top step. At one moment he was politely ushering Harold forward and, at the next, he had catapulted him into the A.D.C.’s arms.
    The A.D.C. appeared entirely oblivious.
    â€˜Evening, Tony,’ Mr. Frith said. ‘You well?’
    The A.D.C. turned again to Harold Stebbs.
    â€˜It’s not a dinner party,’ he explained. ‘It’s entirely stag. You might call it a working session really—the book you know. H.E.’s going off on tour tomorrow. That’s why we’re in the Library. H.E. does hope you’ll excuse us.’
    The corridor along which they were passing was wide, high and apparently endless. The blue carpet seemed to go on for ever. A pair of tall double-doors stood open on one side, revealing a big, shadowy interior. It made the whole house seem somehow emptier and more lifeless.
    Mr. Frith had caught up with them by now. After pausing for a moment to inspect himself in front of the mirrors, he had recovered all his old self-possession. He was