‘But,’ cried Miss Rickerby-Carrick, ‘it doesn’t say in the passenger list. It doesn’t say Rev … Now, why is that?’
‘I expect,’ said Mr Lazenby who was helping himself to luncheon, ‘it was because I applied for my reservation by letter. From Melbourne. I didn’t, I think, declare my cloth.’
He smiled at her, composed himself, bent his head for a moment, scratched a miniature cross on his jumper and sat down by Mr Pollock. ‘This looks delicious,’ he said.
‘Very tasty,’ said Mr Pollock woodenly and helped himself to pickles.
Luncheon went forward in little desultory gusts of conversation. Items of information were exchanged. The Hewsons had come up from the Tabard Inn at Stratford-upon-Avon where on Saturday night they had seen a performance of Macbeth which they had thought peculiar. Mr Lazenby had been staying with the Bishop of Norminster. Mr Pollock had caught the London train in Birmingham where he had lodged at the Osborn Hotel. Dr Natouche and Miss Rickerby-Carrick had come from their respective homes. Miss Hewson guessed that she and her brother were not the only non-Britishers aboard, addressing her remark to Mr Lazenby but angling, Troy thought, for a reaction from Dr Natouche who did not, however, respond. Mr Lazenby expounded to the Hewsons on Australia and the Commonwealth. He also turned slightly towards Dr Natouche though it was impossible to see, so dark were his spectacles, whether he really looked at him.
‘Well, now,’ Miss Hewson said, ‘I just don’t get this Commonwealth. It’s the British Commonwealth but you’re not a Britisher and you got the British Queen but you don’t go around saying you’re a monarchy. I guess the distinctions are too refined for my crass American appreciation. What do you say, dear?’ she asked Mr Hewson.
‘Pardon me, dear?’
Miss Hewson articulated carefully into her brother’s hearing-aid and he began to look honest-to-God and dryly humorous.
Miss Rickerby-Carrick broke into the conversation with confused cries of regret for the loss of Empire and of admiration for the Monarchy. ‘I know one’s not meant to talk like this,’ she said with conspiratorial glances at Troy, Mr Pollock and Mr Bard. ‘But sometimes one can’t help it. I mean I’m absolutely all for freedom and civil rights and integ –’ she broke off with an air of someone whose conversation has bolted with her, turned very red and madly leant towards Dr Natouche. ‘Do forgive me,’ she gabbled. ‘I mean, of course, I don’t know. I mean, am I right in supposing –?’
Dr Natouche folded his hands, waited a moment and then said: ‘Are you wondering if I am a British subject? I am. As you see, I belong to a minority group. I practise in Liverpool.’ His voice was superbly tranquil and his manner entirely withdrawn.
The silence that followed his little speech was broken by the Skipper who came crabwise down the companion-way.
‘Well, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I hope you are comfortably settled. We’ll be on our way in a few minutes. You will find a certain amount of information in the brochures supplied. We don’t go in for mikes and loudspeakers in the Zodiac but I’m very much at your service to answer questions if I can. The weather forecast is good although at this time of year we sometimes get the Creeper, which is a local name for River fog. It usually comes up at night and can be heavy. During the afternoon we follow the upper reaches of The River through low-lying country to Ramsdyke Lock. We wind about and about quite a lot which some people find confusing. You may have noticed, by the way, that in these parts we don’t talk about The River by name. To the locals it’s always just The River. It was over this country that Archbishop Langton chased King John. But long before that the Romans made the Ramsdyke canal as an addition to The River itself. The waterways were busy in Roman times. We take a little while going through the lock at Ramsdyke and you might fancy a stroll up the field and a look at a hollow alongside the Dyke Way. The wapentake courts were held there in Plantagenet times. Forerunners of our Judges’ Circuits. You can’t miss the wapentake hollow. Matter of five minutes’ walk. Thank you.’
He gave a crisp little nod and returned to the upper deck. An appreciative murmur broke out among the passengers.
‘Come,’ Mr Bard exclaimed. ‘Here’s a sensible and heartening start. A handful of nice little facts and a fillip to the imagination. Splendid. Mrs Alleyn, you have finished your luncheon. Do come on deck and witness the departure.’
‘I think we should all go up,’ Troy said.
‘Oh ra-ther!’ cried Miss Rickerby-Carrick. ‘Come on, chaps!’
She blew her nose vigorously and made a dash for the companion-way. There was a printed warning at the top: ‘Please note deeper step’ but she disregarded it, plunged headlong through the half-door at the top and could be heard floundering about with startled cries on the other side. Troy overheard Mr Hewson say to Miss Hewson: ‘To me she seems kind of fabulous,’ and Miss Hewson reply: ‘Maybe she’s one of the Queen’s Beasts’ and they both looked dryly humorous. Illogically Troy felt irritated with them and exasperated by Miss Rickerby-Carrick who was clearly going to get on everybody’s nerves. Mr Pollock for instance, after contemplating her precipitate exit, muttered: ‘Isn’t it marvellous!’ and Mr Bard, for Troy’s benefit, briefly cast up his eyes and followed the others to the upper deck. Mr Lazenby, who was still at his luncheon, waved his fork to indicate that he would follow later.
Dr Natouche rose and looked out of the saloon windows at the wharf. Troy thought: ‘How very tall he is.’ Taller, she decided, than her husband, who was over six feet. ‘He’s waiting,’ she thought, ‘for all of us to go up first,’ and she found herself standing by him.
‘Have you ever done this before, Dr Natouche?’ she asked. ‘Taken a waterways cruise?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Never before. It is a new experience.’
‘For me too. I came on an impulse.’
‘Indeed? You felt the need of a break perhaps after the strain of your public activities.’
‘Yes,’ Troy agreed, unaccountably pleased that he did, after all, know of her show and had recognized her. Without so much as noticing that she felt none of her usual awkwardness she said: ‘They are a bit of a hurdle, these solemn affairs.’
Dr Natouche said: ‘Some of your works are very beautiful. It gave me great pleasure in London to see them.’
‘Did it? I’m glad.’
‘They are casting off, if that is the right phrase. Would you like to go up?’
Troy went up on deck. Tom, the boy, had loosed the mooring lines and laid them out smartly. The Skipper was at the wheel. The Zodiac’s engines throbbed. She moved astern, away from her wharf and out into the main stream.
The motorcyclists were still in the lane. Troy saw young Tom signal, not very openly, to them and they slightly raised their hands in return. The girl straddled her seat, the boy kicked and their engine broke out in pandemonium. The machine, curved, belched and racketed up the lane out of sight.
Dr Natouche appeared and then Mr Lazenby. The eight passengers stood along the rails and watched the riverbanks take on a new perspective and become remote. Spires and waffle-irons, glass boxes, mansard roofs and the squat cupola of the Norminster Town Hall were now merely there to be stared at with detachment. They shifted about, very slowly, and looked over one another’s shoulders and grew smaller. The Zodiac, now in mid-stream, set her course for Ramsdyke Lock.
‘He had been operating,’ Alleyn said, ‘in a very big way in the Middle East. All among the drug barons with one