room and the reception desk, which were all in the old building, could be reached without crossing over in the open air. Unless it was raining, however, most of the guests preferred to come out on to the terrace of the annexe, descend a short flight of steps and reach their objectives by crossing a corner of that courtyard which acted also as a car park.
This route was being taken by Dame Beatrice when a boorish man, thrusting past her on the steps, knocked into her and, with his momentum and his greater weight, caused her to lose her footing. She might have sustained a fall had not a dark-skinned, supple boy, who had been seated on the bottom step, leapt up and fielded her.
‘Well!’ she said, as he set her on her feer in the courtyard. ‘Whom must I thank for that?’
‘Gamaliel,’ said the youth, ‘but I like to be called Ubi.’
‘Where?’
‘Yes,
‘So far as I am concerned, you are world champion already. You have saved me from a very unpleasant fall.’
‘Yes, you are too old to be falling downstairs.’
‘I’m afraid you spilt your drink when you leapt up. You must let me get you another.’
‘No, because you would have to bring it out here. I am not allowed in the bar.’
‘Why, what have you done?’
‘Oh, nothing, and it is not my colour, in case you thought so. I am under age.’
‘Really? I should never have guessed it.’
‘No,’ said Gamaliel, well pleased. ‘Nobody thinks so, but there it is. I am sixteen years old and, of course, a man, but they do not allow me in bars. It is really very silly, because out here, if somebody brings me a bottle or a can, I can drink as much as I like.’
‘I hope that is not
‘Oh, no. I am very abstemious. Garnet would buy me anything I asked, but I am in training, also studying for my O levels.’
‘Oh, really? Good fortune attend you.’
‘It will. Either I pass and stay on at school to be head boy, or I fail and leave school and take up my career. My career is to be gold medallist at the next Olympic Games and then professional boxer like Muhammad Ali and into the big money.’
‘Splendid. I will get you your drink if you will tell me what you would like.’
On her way round to the bar she saw Bluebell, who was beginning to pack up her traps preparatory to returning to Seawards to cook the supper. In the bar was a thin man whose Viking head was supported on a scrawny neck balanced on an emaciated body. She ordered the beer for which Gamaliel had asked and a glass of sherry for herself.
As she made for the door the thin man caught up with her. ‘Let me take the sherry and open up for you,’ he said. He stopped when they reached Bluebell. ‘Ready to leave?’ he asked. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Gamaliel beamed when he saw the brimming tankard.
‘Garnie,’ he said, ‘you must always catch old ladies when they fall downstairs. That is the way you get free beer.’ He tipped up the tankard, half-emptied it, lowered it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and added, ‘Is it correct to drink a lady’s health when she buys you some beer?’
‘Certainly, Ubi.’
‘Should she reply?’
‘That is up to her.’
‘What is your name, dear old lady?’
‘Beatrice Lestrange Bradley.’
‘I drink your health.’
‘And I yours.’ She took a sip of sherry.
‘We must be off. Blue is ready to leave,’ said Garnet. Dame Beatrice, glass in hand, followed them with her eyes until they turned the corner. A car came round from the village street and turned into the car park. Three women got out.
‘We’re not stopping,’ said the largest and handsomest of them. ‘Just called by to ask whether you’ve settled in all right. Why are you drinking out here?’
‘Because a man too young to be allowed in the bar has just saved me from a tumble down these stone steps.’
‘Good for him. Who is he?’
‘The future boxing champion of the world. And now, let me speed you on your way, or you will be missing your dinner in Falmouth. Goodbye, Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg; goodbye, Miss Boorman, my dear. Enjoy your sightseeing.’
‘I’ll be back in a fortnight,’ said the member of the trio who had spoken. ‘I’m like the poor; you have me always with you.’
‘
