‘At least we shall be spared his conversation this evening. He has a previous engagement. Lest he offer to put it off, I told him you would be desolated but had already arranged to dine in your rooms and go to bed at nine. So away he went.’
‘Good. In that case I shall dine en famille and go to bed when it amuses me. I have yet to meet Mr Smith, remember. Is it too much to hope that he will stage another fight?’
‘It seems he only gets drunk when his remittance comes in.’ Dikon hesitated and then asked: ‘What did you think of the Claires, sir?’
‘Marvellous character parts. Overstated, of course. Not quite West End. A number-one production on tour, shall we say? The Colonel’s moustache is a little too thick in both senses.’
Dikon felt vaguely resentful. ‘You captivated Mrs Claire,’ he said.
Gaunt ignored this. ‘If one could take them as they are,’ he said. ‘If one could persuade them to appear in those clothes and speak those lines! My dear, they’d be a riot. Miss Claire! Dikon, I didn’t believe she existed.’
‘Actually,’ said Dikon stiffly, ‘she’s rather attractive. If you look beyond her clothes.’
‘You’re a remarkably swift worker if you’ve been able to do that.’
‘They’re extraordinarily kind and, I think, very nice.’
‘Until we arrived you never ceased to exclaim against them. Why have you bounced round to their side all of a sudden?’
‘I only said, sir, that I thought you would be bored by them.’
‘On the contrary I’m agreeably entertained. I think they’re all darlings and marvellous comedy. What is your trouble?’
‘Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ve just discovered that I like them. I thought,’ said Dikon, smiling a little in spite of himself, ‘that the tableau on the verandah was terribly sad. I wonder how long they’d been grouped up like that.’
‘For ages, I should think. The dog was plainly exasperated and young Claire looked lethal.’
‘It is rather touching,’ said Dikon and turned away.
Mrs Claire and Barbara, wearing their garden hats and carrying trowels, went past the window on tiptoe, their faces solemn and absorbed. When they had gone a little way Dikon heard them whispering together.
‘In heaven’s name,’ cried Gaunt, ‘why do they stalk about their own premises like that? What are they plotting?’
‘It’s because I explained that you liked to relax before dinner. They don’t want to disturb you. I fancy their vegetable garden is round the corner.’
After a pause Gaunt said: ‘It will end in my feeling insecure and ashamed. Nothing arouses one’s self-abasement more than the earnest amateur. How long have they had this place?’
‘About twelve years, I think. Perhaps longer.’
‘Twelve years and they are still amateurs!’
‘They try so terribly hard,’ Dikon said. He wandered out on to the verandah. Someone was walking slowly round the warm lake towards the springs.
‘Hullo,’ Dikon said. ‘We’ve a caller.’
‘What do you mean? Be very careful, now. I’ll see no one, remember.’
‘I don’t think it’s for us, sir,’ Dikon said. ‘It’s a Maori.’
It was Rua. He wore the suit he bought in 1936 to welcome the Duke of Gloucester. He walked slowly across the pumice to the house, tapped twice with his stick on the central verandah post and waited tranquilly for someone to take notice of him. Presently Huia came out and gave a suppressed giggle on seeing her great-grandfather. He addressed her in Maori with an air of austerity and she went back into the house. Rua sat on the edge of the verandah and rested his chin on his stick.
‘Do you know, sir,’ said Dikon, ‘I believe it might be for us, after all? I’ve recognised the old gentleman.’
‘I won’t see anybody,’ said Gaunt. ‘Who is he?’
‘He’s a Maori version of the Last of the Barons. Rua Te Kahu, sometime journalist and MP for the district. I’ll swear he’s called to pay his respects.’
‘You must see him for me. We did bring some pictures, I suppose?’
‘I don’t think,’ Dikon said, ‘that the Last of the Barons will be waiting for signed photographs.’
‘You’re determined to snub me,’ said Gaunt amiably. ‘If it’s an interview, you’ll talk to him, won’t you?’
Colonel Claire came out of the house, shook hands with Rua and led him off in the direction of their own quarters.
‘It’s not for us after all, sir.’
‘Thank heavens for that,’ Gaunt said but he looked a little huffy nevertheless.
In Colonel Claire’s study, a room about the size of a small pantry and rather less comfortable, Rua unfolded the purpose of his call. Dim photographs of polo teams glared down menacingly from the walls. Rua’s dark eyes rested for a moment on a group of turbaned Sikhs before he turned to address himself gravely to the Colonel.
‘I have brought,’ he said, ‘a greeting from my hapu to your distinguished guest, Mr Geoffrey Gaunt. The Maori people of Wai-ata-tapu are glad that he has come here and would like to greet him with a cordial Haere mai.’
‘Oh, thanks very much, Rua,’ said the Colonel. ‘I’ll tell him.’
‘We have heard that he wishes to be quiet. If however he would care to hear a little singing, we hope that he will do us the honour to come to a concert on Saturday week in the evening. I bring this invitation from my hapu to your guests and your family, Colonel.’
Colonel Claire raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes and mouth, and glared at his visitor. He was not particularly surprised, but merely wore his habitual expression for absorbing new ideas.
‘Eh?’ he said at last. ‘Did you say a concert? Extraordinarily nice of you, Rua, I must say. A concert.’
‘If Mr Gaunt would care to come.’
Colonel Claire gave a galvanic start. ‘Care to?’ he repeated. ‘I don’t know, I’m sure. We should have to ask him, what? Sound the secretary.’
Rua gave a little bow. ‘Certainly,’ he said.
Colonel Claire rose abruptly and thrust his head out of the window. ‘James!’ he yelled. ‘Here!’
‘What for?’ said Dr Ackrington’s voice at some distance.
‘I want you. It’s my brother-in-law,’ he explained more quietly to Rua. ‘We’ll see what he thinks, um?’ He went out to the verandah and shouted, ‘Agnes!’
‘Hoo-oo?’ replied Mrs Claire from inside the house.
‘Here.’
‘In a minute, dear.’
‘Barbara!’
‘Wait a bit, Daddy. I can’t.’
‘Here.’
Having summoned his family, Colonel Claire sank into an armchair, and glancing at Rua gave a rather aimless laugh. His eye happened to fall upon a Wild West novel that he had been reading. He was a greedy consumer of thrillers, and the sight of this one lying open and close at hand affected him as an open box of chocolate affects a child. He smiled at Rua and offered him a cigarette. Rua thanked him and took one, holding it cautiously between the tips of his fingers and thumb. Colonel Claire looked out of the corners of his eyes at his thriller. He was long-sighted.
‘There