Parsifal took a haversack and his favourite ashplant, descended to the basement and the back door, went through the garden to the stepping-stones in the tumbling little stream and mounted the grass-grown steps cut long ago by the smugglers. At the top an ill-defined path followed the line of the cove and led to the back door in the oldest part of the hotel. He went to the bar and gave his order for the sandwiches and drinks, then he crossed the road which led down to the shore and the fisherman’s boats and climbed the hill which overlooked the tiny harbour. As he walked, the open sea came in sight, but he lost it again when he turned inland to take the path which led to his objective.
The little bare trackway mounted and dipped, mounted and dipped until, at the top of the hill, it reached an open space whose outcroppings of rock offered the chance of a seat and a view, once again, of the sea. Far to east and west, the long headlands ran out into the Channel, helping to shelter innumerable tiny coves, each with its spit of beach. There were also a couple of large, clean, sandy bays, sought after every summer by holiday-makers with children.
Parsifal unhitched his haversack, dropped it upon the ground and seated himself upon a flat outcrop. Around him were bracken and gorse and patches of ciliate heath, the Cornish heather, green-growing but not yet in flower. Far out in the Channel a ship the size of a toy was voyaging from Southampton to Cork. Parsifal took a notebook from the breastpocket of his bush shirt and put down some rough notes and a first line which he intended to extend into a sixteen-line poem for one of the women’s magazines which sometimes took his work.
When he resumed his way the path became rougher and less well-defined. At one place an almost perpendicular descent of ten or twelve feet necessitated sliding down it on the seat of his khaki shorts, but after that the going was easier and it was not long before he came upon a broad stretch of turf and could see the woods which surrounded Campions.
He did not expect to find anybody about except Diana, and there she was in the big, uncared-for garden surrounded by what Parsifal might have thought were Walt Disney’s 101 Dalmatians except that they happened to be dachshunds and numbered only five, the sire, the bitch and three ecstatic puppies.
He paused at the wicket-gate which opened on to the rough lawn, for the whole tribe of dogs had set up a staccato chorus and had lolloped up to the gate at his approach.
Diana followed and screamed at them. Pandemonium reigned until she got them under control and into their wire-mesh cages. Then she came up to the gate again. ‘Well!’ she said. ‘Surprise, surprise!’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Parsifal. ‘If I’m not interrupting anything I’d like to speak to you.’
Diana unlatched the gate. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘What’s it all about?’
Parsifal did not answer until they were seated in a large room which would have been pleasant had it been tidier. ‘I’d better come straight to the point,’ he said. ‘Have you heard that my mother-in-law and Fiona have had a fracas with Mrs Leyden and are going to leave her house?’
‘No, I hadn’t heard. I can’t say I’m surprised after the way she behaved at the dinner party. I have nothing against Gamaliel, but the fact remains that he is ‘family’ only by adoption. I am certain she called us all together to tell us something. That something, or so Rupert and I concluded, was to do with her Will and who was to get what, so long as they behaved themselves. But, except for vague hints and what Rupert and I interpreted as veiled threats, nothing of any interest came out at all. Right?’
‘Right. She took this sudden, and, as you say, irrational interest in Gamaliel and, by this time, may have changed all her plans.’
‘Maria and Fiona must believe that she has, otherwise they would never have quarrelled with her and threatened to leave her house.’
‘It is more than a threat, I’m afraid. They propose to come and plant themselves on us.’
‘Well,’ said Diana, sharply, ‘you’ve got plenty of room for them at Seawards.’
‘We wondered whether, if we took my wife’s mother, you and Rupert would have Fiona.’
‘Oh, now, look here, Parsifal!’
‘Just a moment. Hear me out.’
‘There is no point in my doing that. Your mother-in-law is your business, of course, and I quite see that you must do what you can for her. Fiona, on the other hand, is nobody’s business. Mrs Leyden adopted her unofficially and she is nobody else’s responsibility. If she chooses to quarrel with her benefactor, that’s up to her. She can’t expect any of us to interest ourselves in the matter.’
‘So you won’t have her here if we agree to have Blue’s mother? I wonder what Rupert will say when I put the point to him? After all, this is his house, not yours.’
His tone was so full of meaning that Diana looked venomous, but, instead of the outburst of which Parsifal knew she was capable, all she said was: ‘There are reasons why neither Rupert nor I would want to have Fiona here. You may or may not understand what I mean. If you don’t, there is no explanation I should be willing to give you; if you do, then you should have known better than to suggest such an arrangement.’
‘I see,’ said Parsifal, ‘and I apologise. I’m afraid that, from our point of view, it was any port in a storm.’
‘This port,’ said Diana, ‘is open only to well-found, properly insured vessels, not to drifting wrecks that no underwriter will look at.’
‘I see,’ said Parsifal again. ‘Oh, well, that’s that, then.’ He picked up his haversack which he had dumped by the side of his chair, where it struck no incongruous note in the untidy room, and walked towards the door. ‘I just thought I’d put you in the picture.’
‘Shall you let Gamaliel go and live with Mrs Leyden if that is what she wants?’ asked Diana, before he reached it.
Parsifal turned round. ‘It will depend upon what
It was Diana’s turn to say that she saw.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Oh, well, we have very few expectations for ourselves or our children. She thinks Quentin and Millament come of tainted stock since Rupert’s father did not marry his mother. Unto the third and fourth generation is her contention, I suppose, plus visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children, but it’s hard luck on our two
