The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon Read Online Free PDF Page B

protocol. It began and ended with a stealthy fumbling and was never once commented upon, either at the time or later. It was played on a single note without the slightest variation of theme or scale and had developed over the years into a domestic habit, like hanging up a raincoat or putting the cat out before locking up and going to bed. Yet, despite all this, it was never begrudged and therefore it must follow that Sybil was blameless and he alone was at fault, not only in this respect but others. The same timid approach was apparent in his relationship with the Headmaster and other members of the staff, and in his handling of money and authority. Years had gone by and he had never once asserted himself, not as a schoolmaster, a father-or ajiusband and certainly never as a lover! Sybil had provided most of the money and Sybil, immersed in her various social activities, had thoroughly spoiled the children, and all the time he had stood in the wings, patiently but by no means unhappily wielding a titular authority. He had occupied a touchline position ready to cheer but had never entered the scrimmage. Suddenly, and with ruthless weight, the full realisation of what this implied crashed down on him and almost flattened him. If he dropped dead at this instant, he reflected, no one would miss him, for who would rush to replace something that had never really been there ? He was nearly fifty and he might never have existed at all!
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    In the moment of his desolation, the most acute he had ever known, Mr. Sermon looked round for support and in those fleeting seconds he felt closer to his wife than he had ever felt when she lay in his arms. He wanted to run down the slope, cut through the estate, find her and lay his head on her bare bosom. He almost cried out with a yearning to be stroked and comforted, encouraged and reassured and on the crest of this tidal wave of emotion he jumped up and began to descend the downland slope at a fast trot that carried him breathless and weak at the knees through Plane Tree Road and Montgomery Close and out into Beechway to his own front gate.
    And there he stopped dead. The gate was open and the twenty-yard driveway was choked with cars, all kinds of cars, from shiny new Hillmans and Wolseleys to the souped-up sports model driven by young Aubrey Marcheson, cashier at the local Midland Bank. With a loud snort of indignation, Mr. Sermon realised that it was Thursday and that Thursday was the day Sybil entertained the committee of the Wyckham Rise Operatic and Dramatic Society, and that the entire group, plus half a dozen hangers on, were now gathered in the garden room and spilling over into the conservatory and kitchen, nibbling her cucumber sandwiches and jockeying for advantage over one another. He stood at the foot of the drive for a moment almost weeping with disappointment and then, goaded by his new resolution, he threw up his head and marched stolidly up the drive and into the house via the open front door.
    There were far more people about than he had expected. A dozen of them were standing in the garden room, listening to Aubrey Marcheson denigrate an amateur production of The Importance of Being Earnest over at Shute the previous evening. The women were giggling at his improvised commentary and the men stood around and grinned, enjoying the ridicule of a company that had beaten the Wyckham group in the Drama Festival the previous autumn. Aubrey fancied himself as a raconteur and was enjoying the attention his performance commanded. It was, in fact, quite a good performance,
    better than those he gave on the stage. Half watching, with a tolerant smile on her lips, Sybil Sermon wondered if he would do for the autumn presentation of Arms and the Man that she was mind-casting.
    Sybil enjoyed these occasions very much. They relaxed her, giving her a sense of power and patronage that was whittled down at real rehearsals. She glided in and out of the garden-room and back and forth from the