‘Sorry, Dad,’ he said with a clear-eyed realization that explanation was impossible.
The Vicar felt sorry for his son – he looked abashed – but he also felt ashamed of him. The boy had no conception of the seriousness of life. Even his apology was cheery and impenitent.
They moved towards the Vicarage, each making enormous efforts to find excuses for the other.
The Vicar thought: ‘I wonder when Bobby will find something to do… ?’ Bobby thought: ‘Wonder how much longer I can stick it down here… ?’ Yet they were both extremely fond of each other.
CHAPTER 3 A Railway Journey
Bobby did not see the immediate sequel of his adventure. On the following morning he went up to town, there to meet a friend who was thinking of starting a garage and who fancied Bobby’s co-operation might be valuable.
After settling things to everybody’s satisfaction, Bobby caught the 11.30 train home two days later. He caught it, true, but only by a very narrow margin. He arrived at Paddington when the clock announced the time to be 11.28, dashed down the subway, emerged on No. 3 Platform just as the train was moving and hurled himself at the first carriage he saw, heedless of indignant ticket collectors and porters in his immediate rear.
Wrenching open the door, he fell in on his hands and knees, picked himself up. The door was shut with a slam by an agile porter and Bobby found himself looking at the sole occupant of the compartment.
It was a first-class carriage and in the corner facing the engine sat a dark girl smoking a cigarette. She had on a red skirt, a short green jacket and a brilliant blue beret, and despite a certain resemblance to an organ grinder’s monkey (she had long sorrowful dark eyes and a puckered-up face) she was distinctly attractive.
In the midst of an apology, Bobby broke off.
‘Why, it’s you, Frankie!’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages.’ ‘Well, I haven’t seen you. Sit down and talk.’ Bobby grinned.
‘My ticket’s the wrong colour.’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Frankie kindly. ‘I’ll pay the difference for you.’ ‘My manly indignation rises at the thought,’ said Bobby.
‘How could I let a lady pay for me?’ ‘It’s about all we seem to be good for these days,’ said Frankie.
‘I will pay the difference myself,’ said Bobby heroically as a burly figure in blue appeared at the door from the corridor.
‘Leave it to me,’ said Frankie.
She smiled graciously at the ticket collector, who touched his hat as he took the piece of white cardboard from her and punched it.
‘Mr Jones has just come in to talk to me for a bit,’ she said.
‘That won’t matter, will it?’ ‘That’s all right, your ladyship. The gentleman won’t be staying long, I expect.’ He coughed tactfully. ‘I shan’t be round again till after Bristol,’ he added significantly.
‘What can be done with a smile,’ said Bob;by as the official withdrew.
Lady Frances Derwent shook her head thoughtfully.
‘I’m not so sure it’s the smile,’ she said. ‘I rather think it’s father’s habit of tipping everybody five shillings whenever he travels that does it.’ ‘I thought you’d given up Wales for good, Frankie.’ Frances sighed.
‘My dear, you know what it is. You know how mouldy parents can be. What with that and the bathrooms in the state they are, and nothing to do and nobody to see – and people simply won’t come to the country to stay nowadays! They say they’re economizing and they can’t go so far. Well, I mean, what’s a girl to do?’ Bobby shook his head, sadly recognizing the problem.
‘However,’ went on Frankie, ‘after the party I went to last night, I thought even home couldn’t be worse.’ ‘What was wrong with the party?’ ‘Nothing at all. It was just like any other party, only more so.
It was to start at the Savoy at half-past eight. Some of us rolled up about a quarter-past nine and, of course, we got entangled with other people, but we got sorted out about ten. And we had dinner and then after a bit we went on to the Marionette – there was a rumour it was going to be raided, but nothing happened – it was just moribund, and we drank a bit and then we went on to the Bullring and that was even deader, and then we went to a coffee stall, and then we went to a fried-fish place, and then we thought we’d go and breakfast with Angela’s uncle and see if he’d be shocked, but he wasn’t – only bored, and then we sort of fizzled home. Honestly, Bobby, it isn’t good enough.’ ‘I suppose not,’ said Bobby, stilling a pang of envy.