Amanda rather considered this a matter for congratulations, but said diplomatically,
‘You just haven’t found your own style yet, that’s all. A lot of people do prefer someone who’s ... quietly intelligent and kind and modest.’
Pamela looked at her piercingly.
‘Like you.’ she pronounced.
‘Well … thank you ….’
‘But none of the people who prefer it seem to be boys,’ observed Pamela with catastrophic honesty. ‘And I don’t want to be ... quiet. I want to be … oh, flamboyant and … Gran says my trouble is that I hold everything in. I’m like a pot with the lid jammed on tight and she worries one day it‘ll fly off and I’ll do something wild and —’
‘Now then, you two!’ a hearty voice echoed through the room. ‘Good to see you getting on.’
‘Hello, Great-aunt Cynthia.’
‘Hello, Miss de Havillande,’ Amanda greeted her politely.
‘Well done, Pamela, helping out. Unlike some,’ Cynthia uttered pointedly. ‘You’ve got all you need, Amanda?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘If you require some muscle, just call for Moffat. Hillers and Humpy will be here tomorrow.’
Oh good grief, thought Amanda. ‘Miss de Havillande?’
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘Please hide the gramophone!’
Amanda didn’t think she could bear another week of the 1920s hit, Black Bottom, played at ear-splitting volume. It was Humpy’s current favourite.
‘Gwendolen has already thought of that. And she’s got him a … a … let me see, what did she call it? … Ah yes. A vinyl turntable with wifi headphones. It’s in the study all ready for him.’
‘Thank you,’ said Amanda, with heartfelt gratitude. Cynthia took herself off and Amanda found a job for Pamela. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for the girl. She knew all too well what it was like to feel overwhelmed in a world where she did not fit.
Amanda vividly recalled that, when she was eight years of age, Old Mr Jackson, the Cadabra’s irascible next-door neighbour, had let his granddaughter come to stay over the Easter Holidays. Poppet was 10, had a head of golden ringlets and eyes of such bright blue that they looked barely natural. Poppet could sing and do tap and ballet, with which gifts she did not hesitate to bless the neighbours. What she lacked in vocal accuracy she made up for in volume.
Suffering a certain amount of insecurity, which Amanda was unable to perceive, Poppet felt the need to issue a constant stream of unfavourable comparisons with her peers. It began on the first day, as Amanda was making the journey from the house up the garden path to the workshop.
‘My name’s Poppet Jackson. What’s yours?’ she demanded from the other side of the fence.
Amanda felt uneasy but saw no reason not reply politely,
‘How do you do? My name is Amanda Cadabra.’
That was greeted by a crow of scornful laughter.
‘That’s not a name!’
‘I assure you it is,’ Amanda replied earnestly. ‘I can provide documentary support.’
There was a confused pause followed by, ‘I can sing and dance. What can you
do?’
‘Erm …’
This was the herald of things to come, until Amanda sought counsel from Grandpa.
‘If only I could ignore her but it doesn’t seem …’
‘I know, bian, we don’t want to upset our Old Mr Jackson, do we now?’
‘But what can I do? She never stops. She’s got some sort of radar that tells her when I’m outside the cottage!’
‘You want my advice?’
‘Please, Grandpa.’
‘It’s this: be Granny.’
Little Amanda raised her chin, let her eyelids droop just a shade, drew herself up to her full four-foot-two height and pronounced with flawless articulation:
‘Good morning, Poppet.’
Suddenly she collapsed with giggles.
‘Oh I can’t do it. I’d much rather think: “be Grandpa” and not mind her.’
At the end of the holidays, Poppet was collected by her doting parents, to be restored to The Eastbourne Theatrical Academy for the Aspirational, never to be seen in the village again. Mr Jackson remained adamant in the face of his son’s pleas to receive the child back into his abode.
Amanda had received a lesson that, although unpractised at the time, was later to stand her in good stead: be Granny.
At 16 years of age, she was preparing to take the practical exam for accreditation by the London Guild of Furniture Restorers. Grandpa warned her that she might find the examiner a little traditionalist. Woodworking in general had been mostly the province of men for centuries. He gave his granddaughter his previous advice: be Granny.
Accordingly, Amanda adopted a measure of Senara’s air of assurance and self-possession. She carried out the exam tasks, not only to the satisfaction of her assessor, Mr Coping, but to such a degree that he wrote to Perran. The letter said it was nice to see such confidence in one so young, that young Amanda was a chip off the old block and had done her grandpa proud.
She had returned home to flop onto the sofa and exclaim to Perran:
‘I can do it. I can be Granny. But I can’t keep it up for long. It’s exhausting!’
Chapter 6
Doubt
Thomas carried the plates into the dining-room, and his father followed with a well-chosen Chianti Colli Sinesi and two glasses.
‘How was the mighty metropolis?’ Kytto Trelawney asked.
‘I didn’t see much of it.’ Thomas put the shepherd’s-pie-laden plates in place and sat down. ‘Just the usual, Crouch End with Mum and Sunken Madley for an interview.’
Kyt knew better than to question Thomas about his ongoing investigations, and contented himself with pouring the wine his son had brought.
‘A very strange interview,’ Trelawney junior said meditatively.
Clearly, Thomas wanted to talk. Kyt calmly put down the bottle, seated himself, and picked up his knife and fork, patiently waiting for what might follow. It surprised him when it came.
‘This divination thing I’ve inherited from the Flamgoynes, Dad. This clan talent .’
‘Yes?’
It came out in a mixture of embarrassment and relief at confession,
‘I can see them, you know.’
‘Ah,’ smiled his father. ‘You see dead people?’
This brought forth a grin. ‘Transitioned,’ Thomas corrected.
Kyt laughed. ‘Quite. Senara and Perran Cadabra, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Helpful?’
‘I think so.’ Thomas explained about the missing link. ‘It has to be someone who
