An Unofficial rose

Chapter Nine

'THE sons of the Prophet are hardy and bold and quite unaccustomed to FEAR! sang Pe

The sun was shining, but in a feeble unconvinced sort of way, making a lot of pale bright light. A brisk east wind was blowing. Call this a summer! thought Pe

Today he was certainly feeling a little more touchy than usual; but perhaps that was simply on account of the charades: there had been charades last night at the Rectory, and he had not distinguished himself. Pe

He looked across at the other tower of Grayhallock. That other tower, which he had never entered, exercised a looking-glass fascination on his mind. Its shallow stairs and sweep of white-painted metal banister, the replica of his own, seemed like the approach to Bluebeard's chamber. No one had ever suggested that he should mount the other tower, though equally of course no one had forbidden it; and although he had often, deceiving himself with: casualness, wondered whether he might not just stroll up to Miranda's room, he could not confront the idea of passing Randall's door. Now that Randall was gone it seemed no easier. It was not just that he was constantly told that his uncle was expected back from one day to the next. The nature of that departure, the raised voices and banging doors which he had heard, so much appalled him, and in an obscure way so frightened him, that even Randall's empty room seemed a haunted place.

He turned back into his own familiar little room. He had made his bed neatly. The box of soldiers was still untouched under the bed. The veteran car book stood on the shelf next to his copy of Such is Life. The German dagger lay unsheathed on the counterpane. The privations of this room was the best thing about being in England. At home he had to share a room with Bobby. Though now, with another Graham baby on the way, perhaps his father would build the a

«Young man,» said Ahdul, «Has life grown so dull that you're anxious to end your CAREER? »

Bias, offensively Australian. Yes, the Grahams were a clan to be reckoned with. His grandfather had been a railway union organizer, his great-grandfather had been a drover in Queensland, his great-great-grandfather had been deported from England for persistent Trade Unionism, his great-great-great-grandfather had been a Chartist, his great-great-great-great-grandfather had been a Leveller. (The last three items, entered with little concern for chronology, were unfortunately speculative.) His great-great-great-great-great-grand— father —.

The German dagger, at which he had been gazing unseeingly, suddenly took possession of his consciousness in a painful way. He thought at first that the pain was simply the realization that he must shortly part with it to Miranda. Then he realized that it was a special pain compounded of this, and of a thrilling alarming consciousness that this would make an excellent pretext for mounting the other tower to her room.

«Foul infidel, know you have trod on the toe of Ahdul the Bulbul EMIR! »

He picked up the dagger and drew the beautiful thing lightly through his fingers. It was sharp, polished, dangerous, marvellously integrated and sweetly proportioned. He could not remember when he had loved an object so much. It was even better than the visionary revolver which he had once desired. He caressed its smooth black hilt and traced the enamelled swastika with his finger-tip. He would never see its like. He sighed and went to the window and looked again at the other tower. The wind had dropped a little and from somewhere behind the house a cuckoo was calling its hollow hesitating note. Cuucuckoo. Of course there was no question but that he must give it to Miranda. A

As he thought this his glance strayed and he saw Miranda below him, having just issued from the front porch. She was carrying a shopping-bag and had now set off along the drive toward the front gate. For a moment he wondered whether he should not take the chance of ru

When he got outside Miranda had disappeared, but he ran a little way along the road which led to the village, and slowed down when he saw her ahead. The road led downhill with the rose nursery upon the left, and he could see Bowshott and one of the men working between the lines of bushes. The farther roses merged into a multicoloured blur. They were all in flower now. He wondered where Miranda was going, and concluded that she was bound for the village shop, which was odd since Miranda detested shopping. At this point she turned round, saw him, and waited.

When Pe

'I'm not looking for Hatfield, said Miranda. They began to walk on slowly together, she swinging the bag.

'Well, not now I suppose, said Pe

'I didn't look for him, said Miranda. 'I don't like cats. I prefer hedgehogs. She said this in a judicious way which Pe

By way of making a joke Pe