Silly old fool, he thought. Doesn't know what she's talking about. Robin was a Mason all right. Reminded him of himself at the same age. He used to be a great reader too. And imaginative.
'Come on, Robin,' he called, 'your grandmother wants her dinner.'
'Really, Phil,' said Lady Althea, half-amused but rot entirely so, 'you make me sound like the wolf in Red Riding Hood.'
She walked leisurely through the lounge, aware of the many heads that were turned in her direction, not because of her husband's remark, which few people had heard, but because she knew that, despite her sixty-odd years, she was the best-looking and most distinguished woman present. She looked around for the party from Little Bletford, deciding as she did so how she would seat them at dinner. Oh, there they were in the bar-all, that is to say, except Babcock. She dispatched her husband in search of him, and moving into the restaurant summoned the head waiter with an imperious finger.
Her seating plan worked out very well, and everyone appeared satisfied. Miss Dean did justice to the five- course dinner and the wine, though possibly it was a little tactless to lift her glass as soon as it was filled and say to her left-hand neighbour, the Rev. Babcock, 'Let us wish dear Father a speedy recovery, and I am sure he knows how sorely we all miss him here this evening.'
It was not until they were embarking upon the third course that she realised the full import of her words, and remembered that the young man talking to her was not a social worker in the midlands at all but a clergyman himself, acting as deputy for her own beloved vicar. The glass of sherry in the bar had made her light-headed, and the fact that the Rev. Babcock did not wear a clergyman's collar had somehow confused the whole situation.
'Be very careful what you eat,' she said to him, hoping to make amends for any small hurt her words had caused. 'The Colonel says that fruit and salad are not advisable. The native people do not rinse them thoroughly. I think roast lamb would be a wise choice.'
Edward Babcock stared at her use of the word native. Did Miss Dean imagine herself in the wilds of Africa? Just how out of touch with the world of today could you get, he wondered, living in a village in southern England?
'In my rough-and-ready fashion,' he told her, helping himself to ragout of chicken, 'I believe we do more good in the world by seeing how the other half lives than by just sticking to our own routine. We have quite a number of Pakistanis and Jamaicans in our club, amongst our own local lads, and they take it in turn to prepare a meal in the canteen. We get some surprises, I don't mind telling you! But it's a case of share and share alike, and the boys enjoy it.'
'Quite right, padre, quite right,' said the Colonel, who had heard the tail-end of this remark. 'It's absolutely essential to promote a spirit of goodwill in the Mess. Morale goes to pieces if you don't.'
Jim Foster pushed Jill Smith's foot under the table. The old boy was off again. Where did he think he was- Poona? Jill Smith retaliated by bumping her knee against his. They had reached the stage of mutual for-want-of- anything-better-attraction when bodily contact brings warmth, and the most harmless remark made by others suggests a double meaning.
'Depends what you share and who you share it with, don't you agree?' he murmured.
'Once married a girl has no choice,' she murmured back. 'She has to take what her husband gives her.'
Then, noticing Mrs Foster staring at her across the table, she opened her eyes, wide and innocent, and bumped Jim Foster's knee once more to cement duplicity.
Lady Althea, glancing round the restaurant at the occupants of the other tables, wondered if Jerusalem had been such a good choice after all. Nobody of much interest here. Perhaps there would be a better class of people in the Lebanon. Still, it was only for twenty-four hours, and then they would rejoin the boat and go on to Cyprus. She would be content that Phil and darling Robin were enjoying themselves. She must tell Robin not to sit with his mouth open. He was such a good-looking child, and it made him appear half-witted. Kate Foster was surely feeling the heat, she had become very flushed.
'But you should have signed the petition against the manufacture of nerve gas,' Kate was saying to Bob Smith. 'I got more than a thousand names on my appeal list, and it's up to every one of us to see that this frightful business is stopped. How will you like it,' she demanded, banging on the table, 'when your children are born deaf, maimed, and blind, because of this terrible chemical that will pollute succeeding generations unless we all unite to prevent its manufacture?'
'Oh, come,' protested the Colonel, 'the authorities have everything under control. And the stuff isn't lethal. We must have a certain amount in stock in case of riots. Somebody has to deal with the scallywags of the world. Now, in my humble opinion…'
'Never mind your humble opinion, Phil dear,' interrupted his wife. 'I think we are all getting a little too serious, and we haven't come to Jerusalem to discuss nerve gas, or riots, or anything of the sort. We are here to take back pleasant memories of one of the most famous cities in the world.'
Silence was instant. She smiled upon them all. A good hostess knew when to change a party's mood. Even Jim Foster, momentarily quelled, removed his hand from Jill Smith's knee. The question was, who would be the first to speak and set the ball rolling in a new direction? Robin knew that his moment had arrived. He had been awaiting his opportunity all through dinner. His scientist father had told him never to introduce a subject or speak about it unless he were sure of his facts, and he had taken good care to be well-primed. He had consulted the courier-guide in the foyer before dinner, and he knew that his facts were correct. The grown-ups would be obliged to listen. The very thought of this was delicious, giving him a tremendous sense of power. He leant forward across the table, his spectacles slightly out of balance, his head on one side.
'I wonder if any of you know,' he said, 'that today is the 13th day of Nisan?' Then he leant back in his chair for his words to take effect.
The adults at the table stared back at him, nonplussed. What on earth was the child talking about? His grandfather, trained to be prepared for the unexpected, was the first to reply.
'The 13th day of Nisan?' he repeated. 'Now, my lively lad, stop trying to be clever and tell us what you mean:
'I'm not trying to be clever, Grandfather,' replied Robin, 'I'm just stating a fact. I'm going by the Hebrew calendar. Tomorrow, the 14th day of Nisan, at sunset, is the start of Pesach, the Feast of Unleavened Bread. The guide told me. That's why there are so many people staying here. They've come on pilgrimage from all over the world. Well, everybody knows-at least Mr Babcock does, I'm sure-that according to St John and many other authorities Jesus and his disciples ate the Last Supper on the 13th day of Nisan, the day before the Feast of Unleavened Bread, so it seemed to me rather appropriate that we should all just have finished our supper here this evening. Jesus was doing precisely the same thing two thousand years ago.'
He pushed his spectacles back on his forehead and smiled. The effect of his words was not so stunning as he had hoped. No burst of applause. No exclamations of wonder at his general knowledge. Everyone looked rather cross.
'H'm,' said Colonel Mason, 'this is your province, padre.'
Babcock did a rapid calculation. He was used to problems being fired at him on the Any Questions programme he gave quarterly at the youth club, but he wasn't prepared for this one.
'You have evidently read your gospels thoroughly, Robin,' he said. 'Matthew, Mark, and Luke appear to disagree with John as to the exact date. However, I must admit I had not checked up on the fact that tomorrow is the 14th day of Nisan, and so the Jewish holiday begins at sunset. It was rather remiss of me not to have talked to the guide myself.'
His statement did not do much to clear the air. Miss Dean was frankly bewildered.
'But how can this be the day of the Last Supper?' she asked. 'We all celebrated Easter early this year. Surely Easter Day was the 29th of March?'
'The Jewish calendar is different from ours,' said Babcock. 'Pesach, or Passover, as we term it, does not necessarily coincide with Easter.'
Surely he was not expected to enter into a theological discussion because a small boy enjoyed showing off?
Jim Foster clicked his fingers in the air. 'That explains why I couldn't get Rubin on the telephone, Kate,' he said. 'They told me the office in Tel Aviv would be shut until the 21st. A public holiday.'
'I hope the shops and bazaars will be open,' Jill exclaimed. 'I want to buy souvenirs for the family and friends back home.'
