PB (Still Wednesday)

(Here's a thing: I just read somewhere that my children's book, 'The Chess Piece Magician', was discussed at the Bologna Book Fair and there was quite a bit of interest in the book. I don't know what that means exactly, but it feels quite nice to have been discussed.)

INA McALLISTER MOVES LIKE SHE IS DANCING

Mr Struan Courtald sits in a comfortable armchair in Ina McAllister’s kitchen. He has his tie loose and all the silver buttons of his waistcoat unfastened. On one arm of the chair is a small plate with a slice of battenburg cake on it. Ina knows it is his favourite, knows he has a sweet tooth. Always has had. On the other arm of the chair is balanced a cup of tea on a matching saucer.

‘I am glad that you came,’ Ina says.

Mr Struan Courtald nods his head. ‘I am glad I came, too.’

‘Are you really?’

He nods again.

Then they sit in silence for a little time. Ina is holding his hand in hers. It is like they are new lovers. Shy. Trying to think of things to say. Or older lovers, comfortable with the silence between them. Lovers at any rate.

Outside there is more noise than usual with the hammering and the shouting on the green. They seem to be listening to the new sounds with interest.

‘The fair’s here again,’ says Mr Struan Courtald at last.

‘Berlie’s?’ she asks.

‘Name’s the same, but everything else is changed,’ he says.

‘You best drink your tea, love. Not let it get cold.’

Mr Struan Courtald withdraws his hand from hers. She almost reaches for it again to pull it back. Instead she folds her hands together in her lap and leans a little closer to where he sits.

She waits for him to set the cup back in its saucer. Then she speaks again.

‘And how’s Sharon today? Is she behaving? Is she doing as you tell her?’

‘She’s a credit to you Ina, and that’s the truth.’ The words trip easy from his tongue, for he says the same thing to her every visit that he makes.

‘And does she seem happy to you?’

The same question.

Mr Struan Courtald had heard Sharon singing this morning. It is not something that they encourage at The Victoria Hotel, but he’d let it go. She was busy laying forks and spoons and knives at all the tables. He’d watched her. She handled each piece of cutlery with a bright white cloth, examined each knife and fork and spoon carefully to make sure it was shiny and clean. Then she’d set it carefully in its place. He’d taught her how to do it. Here in Ina’s kitchen he’d shown her how and tested her till she got it right. Today Sharon was singing as she did it. Quietly and to herself, except that he was listening hard and he could hear.

‘Yes, happy. She does seem so to me.’

Ina McAllister bends forward and kisses Mr Struan Courtald.

‘I am glad,’ she says. ‘And it’s you we’ve to thank for that, Mr Struan Courtald,’ she adds. Then she is on her feet, and he watches her, and he thinks she moves like she is dancing. That is something he always thinks. Thought it back when Ina McAllister was a maid herself at The Victoria Hotel and Mr Struan Courtald was just plain Struan.

‘You seem happy, too,’ he says.

‘I am,’ she says. ‘I'm happy you called round.’