Death of a Delft Blue

letter. At her employer’s request, she added a postscript to the effect that they proposed to visit Leyden Hall again with the object, chiefly, of bullying Binnie and of interviewing Florian. A brief acknowledgment of the letter was the only reply.

‘Poor Gavin!’ said Laura, handing his scrappy little typescript to Dame Beatrice. ‘I bet he’s sweating himself footsore and still got nothing to show for it. He’ll be hopping mad, I expect. He does loathe failure and it’s a great pity if ever he does fail — and, of course, it has to happen sometimes — because he’s so very thorough and he does work so terribly hard. I only hope he’s having his proper meals.’

‘Well, we seem to have cleared up most things here,’ said Dame Beatrice, amused and somewhat touched by this unusual evidence of wifely concern, ‘and now that dear Robert knows what we intend, we may as well get to work before the more unpleasant of the autumn weather sets in. It can be extremely cold near the North Norfolk coast. I noted that in your letter you spoke of “bullying” Binnie. Is that the best line to take with her, I wonder? It works wonderfully well with some people, but leads to stubbornness in others.’

‘I wonder how cagey that wee bird is?’ said Laura.

‘How strangely, and yet, (one can’t help feeling), how aptly you choose your words, child. Ah, well, get George to have the car ready by nine tomorrow morning. We will lunch in Norwich and descend on the household at the witching hour of three in the afternoon.’

‘You won’t let them know we’re coming?’

‘This time I think not. Avenging angels do not need to advertise their function in advance.’

‘ “The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,” in fact?’

‘Perhaps, but I hope to be more successful than were the troops of — I don’t think it was Midian, was it?’

‘I’m not versed in the classics,’ said Laura, with a derisive grin. ‘Oh, well, here’s to the maiden of bashful fifteen — not that they are nowadays — in other words, let’s go and bully Binnie.’

Laura had always liked East Anglia for its wide expanse of sky, its rare and brilliant light, its infinite variety of scenery, the enormous length of its coastline, its agriculture (with the exception of the fields of sugar-beet — quite the ugliest crop known to man, in Laura’s opinion) and the extraordinary number and splendour of its churches.

She loved the Broads, the slow Suffolk rivers, the windmills, (what remained of them), the Essex creeks, the Roman forts, the city of Norwich with its Cathedral and its castle, the wild birds and beasts, and, in contrast, the unashamed Bank Holiday atmosphere of Great Yarmouth.

Dame Beatrice knew all this, and as, in any case, they were obliged to spend a night in Norfolk, she decided to extend their stay to two nights, and told Laura to book rooms at the hotel on the salt-marshes where she had once given tea to Opal, Ruby and Petra.

Laura took binoculars with her, intent upon bird-watching. In the early morning she was out on the quay when a pleasant-faced youth in a dinghy called out to her:

‘Want to go as far as the Point? Tide’s just right and there’s quite a decent breeze. Do you sail?’

Laura did sail. She removed heavy shoes and her socks, turned up the ends of her trousers and stepped aboard. The tide was just on the ebb and there was a good depth of water in the narrow creek.

The Point proved to be a steep bank of shingle facing the open sea, but it was possible to beach the boat on a small spit of sand which the ebb tide was uncovering. They got out and pulled the dinghy well up. They sat on the shingle and the boy produced chocolate.

‘You seem to know this place well,’ Laura remarked.

‘I ought to,’ the lad replied. ‘I’ve lived here all my life. My father’s the rector.’

‘We’re only here for a couple of days.’

‘On a visit?’

‘Well, in a way,’ said Laura, who hated lying. ‘We’ve got to see some people who live at a place called Leyden Hall.’

‘Friends of yours?’

‘No, not really. I met the girl in Holland this summer.’

‘Oh, Binnie! Nice girl, but over-enthusiastic for my liking. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but she does gush a bit, doesn’t she?’

‘Brother, you said a mouthful,’ said Laura, grinning. ‘She’s engaged to be married, I hear.’

‘Yes. I shall have to dig into my jeans for a wedding present. One thing, nowadays one can always give a record, which solves the problem nicely. I play tennis sometimes in the summer with her and her brother and my sister. Oh, look! There’s a skua chasing a tern! Quick, or you’ll miss them!’

Laura focused her binoculars.

‘Fine!’ she said.

‘Did you get them all right?’

‘Yes, thanks. You must be old Hawk-Eye in person.’

‘Well, living here, I suppose I’ve had an advantage. There’s a bird-sanctuary, you see, and my father has always been keen, and has been teaching me ever since I was a small kid.’

‘Does he play tennis too?’ asked Laura, anxious to get the conversation back on to the rails.

‘Oh, yes. He’s quite good. Binnie, of whom we spoke just now — Binnie Colwyn-Welch, you know — oh, yes, of course, you do know her — drives over to our church sometimes and my father likes to find out who’s who in the congregation. He thinks it makes people feel more at home, I suppose. Personally, I think most people, unless they’re particularly involved in church affairs, prefer to remain anonymous. However, Binnie, being the bright thing she is, liked letting her hair down and getting to know us, so that’s how the tennis came