opposite the boating shed. Cyril saw the ramp that came down from the deck. He sniffed. There was a strong odour of food, of meat; and there was that familiar smell, the one that he had smelled in Valvona & Crolla that day – when was it? He had no idea whether it was a long time ago, for dogs have no sense of past time, but he had smelled it in that place.
The smell of sun-dried tomatoes.
He began to make his way up the ramp onto the boat, stopping at the top, on the edge of the deck. Below him was the 192
entry into a cabin in which there were tables and chairs. A group of four people sat at one of these tables. There was food before them, and glasses, and they were talking and laughing. Cyril jumped down and landed in front of the open door. As he did so, the people at the table stopped talking and turned to stare at him.
“Would you believe it?” said a man at the far side of the table.
“That dog’s got a gold tooth.”
“You’re right,” said a woman beside him. “What an extraordinary sight.”
A second man, who was sitting closest to the door, leaned forward to peer at Cyril.
“A gold tooth, did you say?” He stretched out a hand towards Cyril and clicked his fingers. “Come closer, boy.”
Cyril advanced slowly into the galley. As he did so, the man who had called him leaned further forward and patted his head gently.
“I know who you are,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen you in the Cumberland Bar, haven’t I? You’re Cyril, aren’t you? Angus Lordie’s dog. That’s who you are.”
In Bertie’s classroom at the Steiner School, the talk was almost entirely of the forthcoming production of
Miss Harmony’s casting decisions had not won universal approval; indeed, no choice of hers could possibly have secured that, given the fact that each of the girls wished to play the part of Maria and a good number of the boys had their heart set on being Captain von Trapp. The decision that Skye should be Maria at least forestalled an outcome that, by common consent, would have been disastrous – the casting of Olive in the principal role. Bertie’s nomination as Captain von Trapp was, by contrast, approved of by the girls, who were generally relieved that the part had not gone to Tofu; among the girls, only Olive
was hostile to this choice. Although she admired Bertie and considered herself to be his girlfriend (in spite of Bertie’s vigorous denials of any such understanding), it was a bitter pill to swallow to see Bertie so favoured and herself relegated to a yet undisclosed minor role – possibly in the chorus of nuns. A better outcome, of course, would have been for her to be Liesl, the teenage girl who had a dalliance with Rolf, the telegram-delivery boy. That was a role she could have played with conviction and flair, but it had, for some inexplicable reason, been given to Pansy of all people. No boy, whether or not he delivered telegrams, would ever think of falling for Pansy, thought Olive. This was another example, in her view, of Miss Harmony’s bad judgment. It was a good thing, she reflected, that Miss Harmony had become a teacher rather than a film director. Her career as a director would have been an utter failure, Olive imagined, and full of miscastings.
The one respect in which Olive felt that Miss Harmony had made a wise choice was the casting of Larch as a Nazi. That suited his personality very well, she thought, and she openly said as much.
“I’m glad that Larch is playing a Nazi,” said Olive loudly.
“He’ll do that so well.”
Miss Harmony looked at her severely. “Now, Olive, what do you mean by that, may I ask?”
The other children were silent. All eyes were now on Olive.
“Well,” she said, “that’s what he’s like, isn’t he? He’s always threatening to hit people. And we all hate him. Even he knows that.”
Miss Harmony pursed her lips. “Olive,” she said, “Larch is a boy. Boys have different needs from girls. They sometimes need to assert themselves. We must be patient. Larch will learn in the fullness of time to control his aggressive urges, won’t you Larch?”
Larch did not hear the question. He was wondering when the first opportunity to hit Olive would arise.
“He needs to get in touch with his feminine side,” said Pansy suddenly. “My mother says that this helps boys.”
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Miss Harmony nodded her agreement. Larch was indeed a problem, but for the moment there were further decisions to be made. The role of the Mother Superior, a comparatively important part, had to be allocated, and this, she feared, would provide further cause for disappointment.
“Lakshmi,” she said suddenly, “you shall be the Mother Superior. I’m sure that you will do that very well.”
“No, she won’t,” said Olive. “Lakshmi is a Hindu, Miss Harmony. The Mother Superior is a Roman Catholic.”
Miss Harmony sighed. “The fact that dear Lakshmi is a Hindu is neither here nor there, Olive,” she said. “The whole point of acting is that you pretend to be something you’re not. That’s what acting is all about.”
Olive was not to be so easily defeated. “But why are you getting girls to play the girls, and boys to play the boys? Why don’t you make Larch or Tofu be nuns?”
Miss Harmony looked at Tofu. It was very tempting. Making him a nun would certainly help him to get in touch with his feminine side. What a good idea. “Thank you, Olive,” she said quietly.
“That’s a most constructive suggestion. We do have rather a lot
