Gresham drove slowly through the winding country lane to Upper Chagford, then turned into the narrow driveway of Judson Manor which ran for a good half-mile through splendidly kept gardens. These were first laid out by Owen Harrowby, one of the assistants of the famous 'Capability' Brown who designed the gardens at Blenheim Palace.
We skidded to a halt on the loosely laid gravel in front of the impressive front steps of the imposing mansion built some sixty years ago by Sir Michael Bailey, a local merchant banker who had made a fortune in the railway building mania of the 1840s.
The Riley chugged up alongside us while a grave-looking old butler opened the front door and descended the half-dozen steps to welcome us as Gresham jumped out to help Katie out of the car.
'Good afternoon, Miss Katie,' intoned the butler. The sweet girl returned his greeting and went on: 'Fielding, these are the two gentlemen, Mr. Scott and Mr. Carmichael, who will be staying with us over the weekend. Mr. Scott will have the Blue Room and Mr. Carmichael the room opposite.'
The old retainer gave us a slight bow and said: 'Welcome to Judson Manor, gentlemen: let me take you upstairs. Hobart will take your cases up to your room and Janet will lay out your clothes.'
Then he turned back to Katie and said: 'Mrs. Matlock says that luncheon will be at two o'clock as you instructed.'
Katie nodded her approval. 'Very good, Fielding. Now, where are all the others? I suppose the Hansen twins are playing tennis, Miss Susie is still busy catching up on her correspondence while Mr. Pethick is out somewhere with his camera and Mr. Dennison is sitting in the drawing-room nursing a whisky and soda!'
Fielding allowed himself a tiny solemn smile. 'Yes, Miss Katie, the Danish ladies are indeed playing tennis. However, the two gentlemen went out together for a walk about half-past twelve but have yet to return.'
'H'm, knowing those two I would surmise they walked only as far as the Dog and Duck,' she commented as she led us into the house. After we had washed off the dust of our journey, Teddy and I went down into the sitting- room to join Katie in a glass of sherry.
'Ah, here are Andrew and Teddy, Susie, let me introduce them to you,' said our hostess to a most attractive girl who was sitting with her on a brown Chesterfield.
Susie could have been no more than eighteen with long tresses of light gold dusted hair, a cheeky little face with a flawless complexion and luscious red lips that glowed with promise. She was wearing a white close-fitting blouse through which her small but perfectly formed breasts jutted out like two firm apples ripe for the mouth. From the way his jaw dropped as Katie made the introductions, it was crystal clear that Teddy was bowled over by her pretty cousin. I wondered fleetingly whether any pairing-off had already occurred before our arrival. Then two identical slim flaxen-haired girls dressed in tennis shirts and short white skirts came into the room.
'Alexa, Erika, did you enjoy your game?' asked Katie. 'Come in and meet our two new arrivals, Andrew Scott and Teddy Carmichael. Gentlemen, I am sure you cannot wait to meet these ravishing blonde beauties who are my lovely Danish chums, the misses Alexa and Erika Hansen from Copenhagen.'
I rose to my feet, overwhelmed by the vivacious twins who, I was shortly to discover, had been blessed with sunny natures as appealing as their pretty faces with their laughing blue eyes, delicate little noses and rosebud mouths which were simply made to be kissed.
'Good afternoon, ladies,' I stammered. Alexa, whose eyes were perhaps a touch larger and of a slightly lighter blue than those of her sister, answered in an impeccable if slightly accented English: 'Good afternoon, Mr. Scott. Would you and everyone excuse us for fifteen minutes? We just need to wash and change after our game.'
Moments later Ian Pethick and Jack Dennison, the other two male members of the party, arrived back from (as Katie had correctly surmised) the Dog and Duck. Ian was a handsome wiry fellow of about my age with a rather serious disposition, whose main hobby was stamp-collecting although later, at the luncheon table, Katie whispered to me that Ian had the reputation of being a superb cunnilinguist. Anyhow, his family had been friendly with the Judsons for many years. Jack was slightly older, having just celebrated his twentieth birthday, and was more broadly built, with a bronzed complexion and twinkling grey eyes.
Both these gentlemen appeared amiable enough. During the course of conversation I discovered that Jack Dennison had palled up during his time at University with Bentleigh Barnes-Williams, an old school chum of mine who was number three in the winning Cambridge team in the Boat Race four years ago.
'I rowed a little myself at Cambridge and stroked my college team,' remarked Jack. 'But I wasn't in the same class as Tony even though he tried to coach me and the rest of the chaps from the river bank. He would always hammer home to us that long slides coupled with a long swing, leg work, steadiness and a firm grip would secure victory.'
'How very true, Jack,' murmured Katie with a wicked grin. 'And this would be very good advice for other sports besides rowing. I would like to meet this gentleman, he is clearly a man who knows what he is talking about.'
'Ah, but it's actions not words that are important,' Jack murmured as Fielding opened the door and announced that luncheon was ready to be served. I was delighted that Katie took my arm and we led the others into the dining-room where we enjoyed a splendid repast of vichyssoise soup, poached salmon, wild roast duck with chestnuts and orange sauce served with a variety of vegetables and potatoes. This was rounded off with ices and fresh fruits, including some early peaches from the greenhouse, all washed down with an excellent Haut Barsac white wine.
'We really should now take a constitutional after that delicious meal,' remarked Ian Pethick. But the two Danish girls pleaded exhaustion after their strenuous game of tennis, whilst Teddy and I demurred on the somewhat spurious grounds that we were tired after our journey from London. Katie suddenly remembered that she had some household chores to perform.
However, Susie said that she would be pleased to stroll round the gardens with Ian and they left us shortly afterwards. Then Alexa and Erika announced that they planned to go upstairs to rest in their room. Teddy made his way to the library where he planned to sit down and finish the novel he had been reading on the train, although he added that he would probably fall asleep inside ten minutes.
'Oh, poor Andrew! It looks as if you're going to be left all on your own,' exclaimed Katie. I hastened to say that this did not trouble me and that I would take the opportunity of writing a short letter to my parents. 'Then, perhaps, we could take a short walk together,' I added hopefully and was delighted when Katie readily assented to this proposal, saying that she would meet me in the hall at half-past three.
On this note the party broke up. I sauntered into the drawing-room and was about to sink down into a comfortable armchair when I noticed a copy of The Sporting Life lying on a small table. I remembered that I had quite forgotten all about the wager I had made a couple of days before after bumping into Sid Cohen, the Jim Jam Clubs bookmaker. I picked up the paper and scanned the results from Kemptoh Park race meeting. I let out a triumphant burst of laughter and punched the air in glee as I read that I was now twenty-five pounds to the good because What a Cracker had won the Headline Stakes by a short head from Fletcher's Folly, the horse on which Teddy Carmichael had laid five pounds to win with Sid. I was sorry for my pal although he enjoyed a generous enough allowance from his father and would scarcely miss the fiver. Still, I made a mental note to buy him a slap-up dinner at the Jim Jam when we returned to London.
However, as I was about the throw The Sporting Life back onto the table, I saw that the newspaper had been covering three sheets of notepaper which had also been left lying there. Now, I would be the first to agree that only cads read other people's correspondence but in my defence I had at least to scan part of the letter to find out who had written it. And furthermore, in this case I can state in all honesty that, once I had ascertained the identity of the scribe and gathered the gist of his raunchy essay, it really didn't matter a jot whether or not I read the uninhibited epistle through to the bitter end.
I glanced underneath the final paragraph and discovered that the author was none other than Ian Pethick and that he was writing to a close friend named Cuthbert about the jolly time he was having at Judson Manor. In fact, as will later be recorded, this letter was never sent but I reproduce it here as it forms a minor but important part of this story. After enquiring about the health of Cuthbert's family, Ian's letter continued as follows:
I must tell you, old chap, that I am having a spiffing time at Judson Manor. Katie is a marvellous hostess and her entrancing young cousin Susie is an equally delightful companion. Sadly, though, neither Jack (the other fellow who had already arrived for the weekend) nor myself have found them responsive to any suggestions of hanky-
