and he felt multiple ears listening to the conversation.
“I was hoping you could tell me more about her,” said Amina. “I was thinking of going over to see her. I heard she wants some parttime help in the shop.”
“You did?” said the Major who couldn’t see quite see her in a shop apron, stacking tins of spaghetti rings and being polite to old ladies. On the other hand, she could hardly be worse than the grumpy nephew. “I can tell you Mrs. Ali’s a lovely woman. Very nice shop,” he said again.
“Of course, it’s not what I want to do long term—shop work.” She seemed to be talking to herself, the Major thought. “And it’d have to be school hours or I’d have to bring George with me.”
“I hope you get the job,” said the Major. He looked away toward the door and raised an eyebrow to acknowledge an imaginary passing acquaintance—an invisible Alec to help him escape the room. “I must be getting along to find my partner.”
“D’you think you could give us a lift after your game?” said the young woman. The Major knew he should answer, but he found he had no idea how to parry such a bold request from a stranger. He simply stared at her. “Only it’s two different buses from here to Edgecombe,” she added. “We’ll probably have to hitchhike.”
“Oh, I couldn’t let you do that,” said the Major. “Not safe at all, hitchhiking, especially with the boy.”
“Thank you, then,” she said. “I’ll wait and go with you.”
“I may be some time,” he began.
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of work here,” she said as the slack-postured lunch girls filed back from the kitchen. “They’ve offered us lunch and then we can just wait for you in the lobby.” Several faces perked up as she said this and the Major had the horrible sensation of being caught making an assignation. He fled as fast as possible, determined to retrieve his golf bag and wait discreetly somewhere outside until Alec arrived.
“Ah, there you are,” said Alec. “Is there a reason you’re loitering in a hedge, and do you realize that ancient bag of yours rather gives the whole thing away?”
“I am not loitering,” said the Major. “I am simply indulging in a few moments of pastoral solitude—together with my very distinguished bag, which you covet and of which you therefore feel compelled to make fun.” They both looked at the bag, a well-oiled leather bag that had belonged to the Major’s father and that bore a small embossed leather patch from the Lahore Gymkhana Club. It reclined on a vintage wooden-wheeled carrier with a bamboo handle and was a source of some pride to the Major.
“I thought maybe you were trying to avoid the secretary. I hear he’s looking for you.”
“Why would he be looking for me?” said the Major as they set off toward the first tee.
“Probably wants to sort out about your son,” Alec said. “I hear there was some mix-up when he came in the other day?”
“My son?” asked the Major with surprise.
“Didn’t you know he was here?” asked Alec, his eyebrows stretching like two rabbits getting up from a nap.
“Well, yes, no, of course—I mean we talked about his taking out a membership,” said the Major.
“He stopped by on Sunday. I happened to be here. I think the secretary was just a little surprised. You hadn’t mentioned it to him and then…” Alec paused, fiddling with the heads of his clubs as he chose his driver. The Major detected a small discomfort in his face. “Well, look, Pettigrew, he’s your son, so perhaps you should have a word with him.”
“ What do you mean?” asked the Major. He felt a sensation in his stomach as if he were descending in a slow lift. “Was this last Sunday?” Roger had called to apologize for not visiting, but they had been tied up all day getting the widow Augerspier moved out of the cottage. They were too exhausted, he had said, to do anything but drive straight back to London.
“Yes, Sunday afternoon. The fact is, he seemed to think he could just sign something and be done,” said Alec. “Rather got the secretary’s back up, I’d say.”
“Oh, dear,” said the Major, sighting away down the fairway with his club. “I suppose I forgot to mention anything. I’ll have to smooth things over.”
“I think it got smoothed over,” said Alec. “Lord Dagenham’s niece, Gertrude, came in and it was all kissy- kissy and so on. Secretary seemed quite mollified.”
“That was very nice of her,” said the Major. “I mean, I hardly know the woman. I suppose my help with the dance is appreciated after all.”
“At the same time, you might want to mention to Roger that we don’t allow those newfangled club heads.”
“He brought clubs with him?” asked the Major, unable to hide the dismay in his voice.
“Oh, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting to be able to play,” said Alec diplomatically. “Probably thought of running his kit by the pro, only since it was Sunday the pro shop was closed.”
“I’m sure that’s so,” said the Major, miserably wondering if there was a limit to Roger’s self-absorption. “I’ll have a chat with him.” He savaged his ball with a clout that sent it arcing high and into the rough on the right of the fairway.
“Oh, rotten luck,” said Alec and the Major wondered if he meant unlucky in golf or unlucky with offspring. Both, the Major felt, were accurate today.
Amina and George were not in the Grill when the Major finished his round. He made a halfhearted effort to look around the tables and thought he might be able to avoid all obligation with a quick dash through the lobby.
Her voice reached him through the lobby doors and caused several members to raise their heads from their chocolate sponge puddings.
“No chinless flunky in a bow tie tells my son to wait by the servants’ entrance.”
“It’s not ‘servants’,’ it’s ‘service’ entrance,” corrected the diminutive club secretary, a piggy-eyed man who wore his green club blazer like holy vestments and was now hopping from foot to foot in unseemly anger. “The main entrance is for members and their guest only, not workers.”
“No one tells my son he’s a servant, or a ‘worker’ neither!” Amina was holding George behind her and now dropped her heavy gym bag on the floor right at the secretary’s feet. He leaped back in shock. “We were asked to help out and no one is going to treat us like dirt.”
“Young woman, you are an employee,” stuttered the secretary. “You will not speak to me with such insolence, or you will be terminated with cause.”
“Bloody terminate me, then, you old git,” said Amina. “Better do it fast. From the color of your face, you’re going to drop dead any second.” The secretary’s face had indeed flushed an unusual purple, which extended up to the scalp under his thin sandy hair. It clashed with his tie. The Major was frozen to the spot with horror at the argument. Roger’s gaffe was enough earn him a stern lecture from the secretary, and now his name was linked with this young woman’s rudeness. He had not suffered such a confrontation in thirty years.
“I demand that you leave the premises immediately,” said the secretary to Amina. Puffed up to his maximum chest capacity, the Major thought he looked like a plump squirrel.
“Suits me fine,” said Amina. She picked up her bag and swung it onto her shoulder. “Come on, George, we’re out of here.” She held George’s hand and stalked out of the front door.
“But that door’s for members…” came the secretary’s feeble cry.
The Major, who had been frozen to the spot, now became aware that to the diners behind him, he might seem to be cowering behind the Grill door. He feigned peering at his watch and then patted his pockets as if he might be looking for some forgotten item and turned on his heel to go back through the Grill and out onto the terrace. His only hope was to bundle the girl and her son into his car and leave without anyone seeing.
Amina was waiting for him in the car park, leaning on a concrete post with her arms wrapped across her chest. He noticed that she was not wearing a warm enough coat and her hair had begun to wilt in the chill drizzle. George was squatting at her feet, trying to protect his book from the rain. There was no avoiding her, so the Major waved as if nothing had happened. Amina hoisted the huge gym bag onto her thin shoulder and joined him at his car.
“I thought you had gone,” he said as he unlocked the car. “I looked all over for you.”
“Got kicked out,” she said, tossing her heavy, clinking bag in the boot on top of his clubs. “Some flunky in a
