Monsieur Voltaire, or her initials to those of Napoleon Bonaparte. Laura explained to the guide, on her own behalf, that childhood inhibitions forbade her to scribble on walls, the practice being frowned upon in England, Wales and her native land of Scotland. Of Eire and Northern Ireland, she added, she could not speak. The guide expressed disappointment and surprise (in excellent English) and appeared to be politely astonished when the ladies tipped him.
‘Well, now,’ said Laura, when they had emerged into daylight once more, ‘where do we go from here?’
‘Not, at any rate, the way of four monks who perished of hunger in those galleries,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I dislike the idea (desiccated though I am) of being discovered, in the years to come, a dried-up corpse. This reminds me, although the reason for it is elusive, that we were offered no opportunity to inspect the mushrooms which, I understand, are cultivated in large numbers down there.’
‘We inspected the bats, though,’ said Laura. ‘Was your childhood made hideous by the thought that bats might get caught in your hair?’
‘No, child. Was yours?’
‘I didn’t bother. I always had short hair, you see. It is a tactical advantage to have short hair, I always think. Men and boys discovered that long ago. It can’t be tugged at, as pig-tails can.’
‘In my youth, the thing to do was to be able to sit on one’s hair. I could never accomplish it,’ confessed Dame Beatrice.
‘I can’t see the point of it, anyway,’ said Laura.
‘It annoyed one’s aunts if one’s cousins had shorter hair than one’s own, and it induced unwarranted and sinful pride in one’s mother. In my own case, my aunts were spared much heart-burning and sorrow, and my mother was decently humbled. I had a very happy childhood, take it for all in all, for my mother accepted her fate and I myself was compensated by lavish gifts of money from my uncles to make up to me for my obvious inability to emulate their daughters, who could all, without exception, sit on their hair whenever they were bidden to do so.’
Laura laughed and then added that her son Hamish preferred the Spartans to the Athenians.
‘In the matter of hair?’ Dame Beatrice enquired.
‘Well,’ replied Laura, ‘he’s read a book at school which states that Spartan kids had their hair cropped until they reached man’s estate, when they were permitted to grow it to considerable length, but that Athenian boys wore their hair long and had it cut when they were grown-up.’
‘And his reason for desiring Spartan citizenship?’
‘He doesn’t want to grow up.’
‘Abortive, but interesting.’
‘I call it irresponsible. I dread the idea of rearing a Peter Pan. Still, there’s one grain of comfort — at least Hamish doesn’t show any ambition to be an engine-driver.’
‘It is as well. It seems as though there will soon be very few engine-drivers needed,’ Dame Beatrice mildly observed. ‘Engine-driving seems bound to become an overcrowded profession (if Doctor Beeching has his way with the railways) and the sensible thing would be to avoid it.’
‘What do you suggest Hamish should do, then?’ asked Laura, still amused.
‘I have often thought,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘that (so long as one was assured of a small but regular remittance from home) the pursuit of beach-combing has much to recommend it.’
‘Beach-combing?’ said Laura thoughtfully. ‘It must be the ideal life, if you’re gifted that way. But Hamish would be bored. He’s so horribly energetic. I can’t think why, I’m sure. I’m as lazy as Hall’s dog, and Gavin’s idea of relaxation and bliss is to sit in a deckchair and smoke a pipe while somebody else mows the lawn. Well, never mind. What were we talking about before we talked about Hamish?’
‘Bats and long hair, dear child.’
‘Oh, yes. Have we exhausted the subject? I think we must have done, if we’ve been reduced to talking about my son.’
They drove back to Valkenburg. It was about eight miles away, and a holiday town, in a district optimistically entitled ‘the Dutch Alps.’ Dame Beatrice had been instructed on no account to leave it out of her itinerary. She and Laura, therefore, had planned to stay in Valkenburg a matter of several days. Dame Beatrice wanted to collate her lecture-notes, with a view to incorporating them in a book she had been writing, off and on, for the past six or seven years, and Laura, who had offered to help with this project, was bidden to enjoy the scenery and to walk, ride and climb.
Laura was loath to leave her employer. They sat all morning on the terrace of the hotel. It overlooked the rocky gorge of the River Geul and from it Laura could gaze across the tree-clad valley to the mild green hills beyond the church. Dame Beatrice sat at a small table and wrote her book, pausing only for morning coffee, at which point she reiterated her command that Laura should go out and enjoy herself.
‘All right. I’ll go out immediately after lunch,’ Laura promised. ‘Meanwhile, I’m quite content to lounge about here and look at the view and attempt to sum up our fellow-guests.’
No sooner had she said this than it was borne in upon her that some of these fellow-guests were old acquaintances, for out on to the terrace came Binnen, escorted by Florian and followed by Opal and Ruby.
They saw Laura at once, and came towards her. Laura, zealous to preserve Dame Beatrice’s peace and quiet, went to meet them, greeted them with as much warmth as she could muster and led them to a table where they would be (she hoped) out of earshot of her employer. Dame Beatrice, conscious of this kindly manoeuvre, settled again to her writing. Laura collected a passing waiter and suggested cocktails. The family elected to drink Dutch gin.
‘So you came to our beloved Valkenburg,’ said the heavily-built Opal. ‘That is so nice. Nobody should miss it.’
‘Professor van Zestien told us the same thing,’ said Laura. ‘It is very beautiful here.’
‘You must visit the grotto,’ said Ruby, who, in contrast to her sister, was so extraordinarily thin that Laura concluded she must take after her father’s side of the family.
