'Well, if you don't want to lash out too much you can always get her a tin-opener or an orange-squeezer.'
'Not exactly much help in times of trouble, are you?'
'Ellie Smith, is it T'
'Yes.' Morse hesitated. 'It's just that I'd like to buy her something... for herself.'
'Well, there's nothing to stop you giving her a personal present--just forget the wedding bit. Perfume, say? Scarf?.
Gloves? Jewellery, perhaps? Brooch? Pendant?'
'Yees. A nice little pendant, perhaps...'
'So long as her husband's not going to mind somebody else's present hanging round her neck all the time.'
'Do people still get jealous these days, Lewis?'
'I don't think the world'lt get rid of jealousy in a hurry, sir.'
'No. I suppose not,' said Morse slowly. Five minutes later the phone rang. It was the Administrator.
In the Vaults Bar at The Randolph at lunchfime on Friday, September 23, Ellie Smith pushed her half-finished plate of lasagne away from her and lit a cigarette.
'Like I say, though, it's nice of him to agree, isn't it?'
'Oh, give it a rest, Ellie! Don't start talking about him again.'
'You jealous or something? Ashley Davies smiled sadly. 'Yeah, I suppose I am.'
She leaned towards him, put her hand on his ann, and gently kissed his left cheek.
'You silly noodle!'
'Perhaps everybody feels a bit jealous sometimes.'
'Yeah.'
'You mean you do?'
Ellie nodded. 'Awful thing--sort of corrosive. Yuk!' There was a silence between them.
'What are you thinking about?' he asked.
Ellie stubbed out her cigarette, and pushed her chair back from the table. 'Do you really want to know?'
'Please tell me.'
'! was just wondering what she's like that's all.'
'Who are you talking about?'
'Mrs. Morse.'
The sun had drifted behind the clouds, and Ashley got up and paid the bill.
A few minutes later, her arm through his, they walked along Cornmarket, over Carfax, and then through St. Al- date's to Folly Bridge, where they stood and looked down at the waters of the Thames.
'Would you like to go on a boat trip?' he asked. 'What, this afternoon T'
'Why not? Up to Iffley Lock and back? Won't take. long.'
'No. Not for me.'
'What would you like to do T'
She felt a sudden tenderness towards him, and wished t, make him happy.
'Would you like to come along to my place.'?'
The sun had slipped out from behind the clouds, and wax shining brightly once more.
Chapter Fifty-four
Cambridge has espoused the river, has opened its arms to the river, has built some of its finest Houses alongside the fiver. Oxford has turned its back on the river, for only at some points downstream from Folly Bridge does the Isis glitter so gloriously as does the Cam (J. J. SMTHFm LD-W^T pounds STONE, Oxford and Cambridge: A Comparison)
The two rivers, the Thames (or Isis) and the Cherwell, making their confluence just to the south of the city centre, have long provided enjoyable amenities for Oxford folk, both Town and Gown: punting, rowing, sculling, ca- noeing, and pleasure-boating. For the less athletic, and for the more arthritic, the river-cruise down from Folly Bridge via the Iffiey and Sandford locks to Abingdon, has always been a favourite.
For such a trip, Mr. Anthony Hughes, a prosperous ac-countant now living out on Boar's Hill, had booked two tickets on a fifty-passenger streamer, the lffiey Princess, timetabled to sail from Folly Bridge at 9:15 A.M. on Sun- day, September 25.
The previous evening he had slowly traced the course of the river on the Ordnance Survey Map, pointing out to his son such landmarks as the Green Bank, the Gut, the con-crete bridge at Donnington, Haystack Corner, and the rest, which they would pass before arriving at Iffiey Lock.
For young James, the morrow's prospects were magical.
