The Graceful Solution

A Life-Changing Suggestion

Briony had spent the past six weeks walking closely with death. Her mother had died first; she was buried. Her father followed five weeks later. On the ninth day after his cremation, and with the image and sound of the blue velvet curtains gliding closed in front of his coffin still fresh in her mind, she walked purposefully into a local travel agency and went to stand directly in front of the counter. She was on a mission. She had just twenty-five minutes left of her lunch break and didn’t have time to look through the rows of brochures displayed on the stands behind her, each one claiming to hold the answer to her current problem, which was that she was in serious need of a break. She was determined to get away. Right away. Right away from death - and all things to do with it.

‘Yes?’ The busy manageress looked up from her half-typed letter. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so. I want to go away. Somewhere not too crowded and where there’s some lovely scenery. And I want to go on Saturday.’

The manageress’s mouth opened as her eyebrows shot up, reactions which surprised her, because she was used to surprises in her line of work. ‘Saturday? This Saturday? The day after tomorrow?’ she asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.

Briony held her ground. ‘Yes.’

‘Er, well, that all depends - ’

‘And I’ve only got sixty pounds,’ interrupted the young woman, staring so unwaveringly down at her.

The junior clerk, who had been busy filing in the back office, poked her head around the door, curious to see what the client looked like and keen to hear how Old Bossy Boots was going to deal with her.

‘And I’d like to go somewhere in the U.K.,’ Briony added, attempting to be helpful, at the same time wondering if she had posed the woman a bit of a challenge. It had been an unseason-

ably wet summer, but she would just have to take her chances. And she really didn’t feel like going through all the palaver that organising an overseas trip usually involved.

Having quickly regained her composure, the manageress asked, ‘I see. Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something. How many is it for?’

‘One, just me. And I’m open to suggestions, although I don’t want to go anywhere too busy, but near enough to places of interest.’

The manageress shifted her focus and pointed to one of the brochure stands behind the prospective client, who, she now decided, was slightly younger than the impression created by her severely drawn-back hairstyle. ‘Well, in that case, why don’t you take a look at some of the holiday cottages? I can recommend Cottage Hideaways, the large blue one on the second shelf down.’

‘Sorry, I should have said, my car’s in the garage so I won’t have my own transport, and I don’t want to stay anywhere too far from any facilities ...’ Her voice trailed off as the manageress’s frown deepened. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The junior clerk, still peeping around the office doorway, smirked. She was sick of having to put up with the old girl’s frequent boasts that, ‘The client hasn’t been born yet that I can’t satisfy.’ Now how was she going to sort this one out?

The manageress swivelled her head around and gave her junior a fierce stare. ‘Trudy! Have you finished that filing yet?’

As though blaming her for her trouble, Trudy shot Briony a withering look. ‘Yeah, well I had to answer the phone and you wanted your coffee, and the flipping duplicator’s playing up again.’

‘Never mind all that. For goodness sake, just get on with it!’

Reluctantly, the girl turned and resumed her hated task, all the while straining to listen to what was going on in the front.

The manageress turned her attention back to her client. ‘And will you be requiring full-board?’

‘Not necessarily. Half-board would do; it all depends on the price. And I don’t want to share. I must have a single room.’ Briony had shared once too often, and usually ended-up regretting it.

The manageress tapped her pencil on her notepad. Today’s ‘To Do List’ stared challengingly up at her; so far only two items had been crossed out. Still, she was a seasoned hand at dealing with such awkward clients, and she would not allow this one to spoil her hard-earned and unblemished record. She hesitated, then wondering if it might not be the most suitable solution for this particular client standing so expectantly in front of her, nevertheless, decided to give it a try. Putting on her most confident and don’t-challenge-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about tone, she declared, ‘Then it will have to be a coach tour. Most companies will be finishing this week, but there are a few that have a slightly longer season.’

Now it was Briony’s eyes that opened wide as she repeated, obviously taken aback at the idea, ‘A coach tour?’ Images flashed across her mind of rows of elderly, freshly- permed women, sitting beside their brown-and-beige-clad, pipe-smoking husbands, looking down from their elevated positions as they glided past on one of those comfortable looking coaches.

‘And I think I’ve got the very thing,’ added the manageress, standing and walking quickly around the counter to select two copies of the same brochure from one of the stands. The company was well established, but with luck, might still have a few seats left to fill. She also happened to know that it was one of the very few that didn’t charge single room supplements when there were still rooms available in the hotels. She handed one copy to Briony and returned to her seat. ‘You know you’re rather late, but you might be lucky enough to get a cancellation.’

Briony accepted the brochure reluctantly. ‘But aren’t they more for pensioners? I’m not quite there yet,’ stopping short at saying that she might feel like one, and becoming alarmed at the disturbing thought that she might even look like one.

‘Actually, they’re becoming quite popular with younger people these days; family groups too. Take a look. There might be something that appeals to you.’

Half-heartedly, Briony began to leaf through the pages, until her attention was caught by one in particular:-

New for 1971:-

All Wales. Central mountains, Snowdonia, North,

West and South Coasts and Wye Valley. 7 days £42.

Every Saturday from May 8 to October 2.

Scanning the details, she found herself becoming interested in the short descriptions of the places the tour visited:-

The Cotswolds, the Elan Valley reservoirs, Bala and

the Valley of the Dee, the Horseshoe Pass, Swallow

Falls, Betws-y-Coed, Beddgelert, Caldey Island.

Wonderful, atmospheric and romantic sounding places; places that she had only ever heard about, or seen pictures of in magazines. She sat down and studied the more detailed itinerary.

Two more silent minutes passed before the manageress, who had completely rearranged her list, and trying, but failing, to control her impatience, asked rather sharply, ‘This Saturday then? And how long for?’

Briony looked up and across at her. Yes, why not? She would have all her transport, accommodation, meals, and even entertainment laid on. And if she did end up being the only thirty-something on the bus, then so what? She didn’t mind old folk, actually, in many ways she preferred them to her own age group. She nodded, ‘Okay, I’ll give it a whirl. And I’d like to go for at least a week, but ten days would be better.’

The manageress gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘And what part of the country?’

Briony turned to the front of the brochure and glanced at the map of the United Kingdom; thick red lines showed the main routes of the areas covered by the company’s tours. ‘Er, maybe somewhere scenic, but not too busy. The one on page eighteen sounds very appealing, but it’s only for seven days.’

The manageress turned to the back of her copy of the brochure, her pencil already hovering over the telephone dial. ‘Why don’t I phone their booking office and see what’s available?’

Knowing that the woman was talking sense, Briony nodded. ‘Alright. Would you mind?’ After all, she could be in there all day, deliberating and deciding, and then come out with nothing at the end.

The manageress lost no time and began to dial.

Briony emerged from the office fifteen minutes later, the envelope containing her copy of the booking form and a return ticket to King’s Cross Station safely tucked inside her handbag. Her first two choices had been fully booked, but the third hadn’t sounded too bad. At least she was going away. Bemused, and laughing inwardly at what she had just let herself in for, she hurried back to the hospital. Her mission accomplished.

Still sulking over the filing, Trudy reluctantly admitted to herself that the old girl had done it again. Although how that woman was going to cope with being cooped-up for so long with a load of old fuddy-duddies was beyond her.

Chapter 2

Getting on Board

Briony’s train pulled into King’s Cross ten minutes late; she was relieved that she had already taken such potential hindrances into account by taking an earlier train. She caught the tube to her destination: Victoria Coach Station. The air inside the terminal was filled with exhaust fumes, and the sound of dozens of engines idling, hissing, revving and roaring, seemed to attack her already delicate state of mind. People were talking loudly, whilst some felt it necessary to shout. Individuals, pairs and small groups stood around in queues as others jostled and hurried past, most of them struggling with heavy suitcases and an assortment of hand luggage. Many were obviously excited, quite a few looked concerned, several appeared to be confused, and one or two looked nauseas.

It took Briony several minutes to find her boarding bay. And there it was - the vehicle she would be spending many hours in for the next ten days of her life; travelling to places she had never been to, and surrounded by people she had never met. The display panel on the front of the coach announced the tour’s title:-

Mountains, Coast and Lakes of Wales

Emblazoned in burgundy print across the light beige livery on the vehicle’s side, were the words:-

Halcyon Tours

Beside it, smartly dressed in the company’s black and burgundy uniform, stood a man busily checking the details of a small queue. She went over to join them, and was slightly taken-aback at noticing how young he was, and guessed that he was in his mid-to-late thirties; she had been expecting someone at least middle-aged.

‘Booking form?’ he asked, holding out one hand whilst clasping a clipboard in the other.

She handed him the document.

‘Miss Briony Beresford. Welcome Miss Beresford. You’re on seat number twenty. Your case …’ He took her suitcase from her, tied a label onto the handle, then stored it away in the luggage hold behind him.

She climbed on board and manoeuvred her way along the narrow aisle until she reached her seat, eight rows back from the driver’s position. A quick inspection of her space revealed that all was clean and tidy. Satisfied, she removed and folded her jacket, pushed it into the overhead shelf, then settled down. She wondered who would be occupying the seat next to her, and hoped that he, or she, would prove to be a polite and thoughtful travelling companion. A fidgeter, nail-biter or chatter-box could ruin this break. Some of the other passengers were chatting and introducing themselves, and she decided to join in. Sliding onto the empty seat next to her, she leaned forward and peered around at the profiles of an elderly couple sitting directly in front.

‘Hello. I’m Briony. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Pardon?’ came the man’s terse reply as he turned his head to look at her, frowning.

‘I said, hello. I’m Briony Beresford, and I’m pleased to meet you.’ She looked past him, only to be met with an equally deep frown from his companion.

‘Yes, well, hello,’ came the very unenthusiastic reply as he turned his face towards the window and made a great show of studying the view outside. The couple’s whole manner revealing their disagreeable, ‘Leave us alone; we aren’t interested in you, and we don’t want to know anything about you,’ attitude.

Well! Thought Briony, sitting back. How rude. Talk about antisocial.

More people were boarding; without exception, they all looked to be at least twenty years her senior - and all in pairs. Although the coach door was open, she began to feel uncomfortably warm, and now the air was being tainted with the smell and faint vapour of pipe smoke. She reached above and pointed the air nozzle in her direction.

‘It won’t work until we’re under way,’ came a man’s voice from behind.

She turned around to look at the voice’s owner, and was relieved to see that he was not the pipe-smoker. Hoping for a friendlier response, she smiled and said, ‘Just getting it ready. And hello. I’m Briony.’

He poked his hand through the gap between the seats. ‘Malcolm Burrows. And this good lady’s my wife, Peggy.’

Thinking that it was just as well she didn’t suffer from back problems, she twisted even more in her seat and shook the elderly man’s hand. ‘Hello Malcolm. Briony Beresford. How far have you come today?’

‘Ramsey. And you?’

‘Allensborough. Not quite as far as you,’ she replied, standing now to reach his companion’s outstretched hand.

‘We stopped overnight,’ commented Peggy. ‘You know, just in case. We aren’t into rushing around these days. But they organised the whole thing; got us a really nice room in a hotel nearby, and not too far away.’

Briony did her best to look suitably impressed.

Malcolm added, ‘Food was alright. Full English breakfast. Can’t be bad.’

They were disturbed by the arrival of a few more passengers who went to sit opposite the couple.

The driver appeared at the front, his clipboard still in his hand. An expectant hush descended. Smiling, he said, ‘Good morning everyone. Welcome to Halcyon Tours. I’m Reuben Zimmerman, your driver-courier. You’ll see there’s still plenty of empty seats, but they’ll get filled as we go along. There’s just one more job I’ve got to do, so please stay on the coach while I go to sign-off at the office, then we’ll soon be on our way.’

He turned and almost skipped down the steps. Apart from Briony, everyone’s attention returned to their own situations. She watched as he stopped to talk to another company driver. Something amused him, and he laughed. Some good teeth there, she thought, plenty of calcium, and probably got that tan from sitting behind that windscreen for hours on end.

‘He sounds a lively one,’ Malcolm commented.

‘Well, he’d better not rush us around,’ quipped Peggy.

‘Don’t fret, Peg. They’re not all the same.’

The antisocial woman, sitting immediately in front of Briony, hissed loudly into her male companion’s ear, ‘Oh good Lord, he’s Jewish! With a name like that, he’s got to be one.’

‘Ssh!’ came the man’s equally loud response.

‘Don’t you tell me to shush! It’s … it’s disgusting! How dare they put us with someone … like that! Driving us around all week. Our safety in his hands. It’s unthinkable!’

Briony held her breath. Realising just how easy it was to eavesdrop in this situation, and not wanting to, but unable to help herself, her whole attention now shifted onto the couple.

There followed a hushed, rushed, and obviously strained conversation. Briony looked out of the window, hoping that the subject of their shock and dismay would stay away until the couple had had enough time to come to terms with whatever was alarming them. She began to wonder if they were right. That name, Reuben Zimmerman, certainly sounded Jewish. Very Jewish. And now she wondered if the man’s dark complexion was due entirely to the nature of his work. Well, so what if he was Jewish? What did that have to do with his ability to do his job? There was also the fact that, since becoming a Christian five years ago, she had developed a new interest and respect for all things Jewish. After all, Her Lord and Saviour had chosen to come to Earth as a Jew.

Several minutes passed before there was a sudden flurry of activity as the pair stood and hurriedly began to gather their belongings together. With horror, Briony realised that they were leaving. She was incredulous. How could anybody be that prejudiced? A sudden feeling of righteous indignation swept over her, and she leaned forward, and said, ‘Excuse me.’

Unnoticed by the three of them, the driver had just stepped back on board.

The man turned and stared down at her, his face flushed with anger or embarrassment, she couldn’t tell.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, not caring who heard her.

‘Mind your own business!’ the woman replied, glaring down at her.

‘You’re not leaving, are you?’

‘Be quiet! It’s got nothing to do with you,’ ordered the woman.

‘You are, aren’t you? But why?’

‘That’s enough,’ said the man, struggling to pull their overnight bags from the overhead shelf.

‘Is it because the driver might be a … a Jew?’

The bags freed, the woman exclaimed, ‘Will you mind your own business!’ putting her hand on her husband’s back now in an attempt to push him along the aisle.

Briony couldn’t help herself, as she called after them, ‘Well then, you might be interested to know that Jesus is a Jew!’

There was a shocked silence as, making their way to the front, the couple noticed the driver for the first time. They pushed past him, as the man said, ‘We’re not staying; my wife’s not feeling too well,’ before quickly making their way down the steps. Once outside, the man called, ‘We’ll have our luggage - now, if you please!’

All eyes focused on the driver. He stared down at the couple, then, as though coming to terms with something, turned his attention back to the coach’s interior. ‘It appears that we’ve got a slight problem. Please remain where you are for now.’ He reached up to operate the door control which hissed shut behind him.

Briony watched as what looked like a heated discussion began outside. At one point, the woman put her hand on her forehead, then moved it to her chest a few seconds later, when she appeared to have a coughing fit. The man began to thump her, none to gently, between her shoulder blades.

Being a nurse, Briony wondered if she should go out and offer to help, but then she felt sure that this was all play-acting. The only thing wrong with the woman was a bad case of antisemitism. It was all she could do to stay where she was, as she saw the woman glare angrily at her husband before transferring her hands into the small of her back.

‘She’ll make her bloody mind up in a minute!’ came a man’s voice from somewhere behind her. ‘Lot of fuss and nonsense. So what if he’s a bloody Jew? As long as he can drive the damn bus, I don’t care if he’s from Timbuctoo!’

Feeling that the mention of ‘a bloody Jew’ had been completely uncalled for, Briony turned to see who the owner of the voice was.

‘Hear! Hear!’ called another voice, a woman’s this time. ‘I hope he doesn’t let them get back on. I don’t fancy putting up with shenanigans like that all week.’

‘Nor me,’ called another female voice.

The hiss of the door sounded again.

Now Briony felt she had the right to speak. After all, everyone else was voicing their opinion, why shouldn’t she? Standing and looking around, she said, ‘I really can’t see what the driver being a Jew … if he is, has got anything to do with it. Haven’t we learned anything from the war?’

‘Just a few more minutes, folks,’ came the driver’s voice from behind her now. ‘Thank you for your patience.’ He turned and left, this time leaving the door open - and Briony feeling more than a little embarrassed.

The passengers began to talk amongst themselves, quietly this time. She wondered if she had overreacted and maybe should apologise; the last thing she needed to do was to alienate the people she would be spending time with all week, and at such close quarters. Still unsure, she felt someone touch her shoulder. She turned to see Peggy smiling at her.

‘Don’t take it to heart, dear. It’s a right shame, but it’ll get sorted.’

Malcolm nodded his agreement. ‘They won’t be back, mark my words. And good job too. Look, he’s getting their cases.’

‘This is madness!’ Briony exclaimed, ‘I can’t believe that it really is just because he might be a - ’

‘Naa! I reckon they’ll put them on another tour,’ interrupted Malcolm.

The trio outside began to walk away. She noticed that the driver was carrying both cases, and smarted at the realisation that not only had they just insulted him, but now they expected him to act as their lackey as well.

There followed an awkward ten minutes for Briony who had decided that keeping quiet was the best policy. She steadfastly refused to take part in the continuous stream of comments and speculations that were being freely voiced by the other passengers. Peggy and Malcolm tried to draw her in several times, but she only smiled and nodded politely back at them.

‘Look! There they are,’ exclaimed a woman’s voice. ‘Over there. They’ve got someone with them. He’s taking them over to that other coach.’

‘Is it another Halcyon one?’ asked Peggy, who was very short sighted.

‘Yes. Now … now they’re … he’s gone now.’

‘Who’s gone? Where?’ asked an increasingly frustrated Peggy.

‘That man, the other man, he’s gone off. And now the driver, the other one, I think … yes, he’s taking their cases.’

‘And good riddance!’ exclaimed another woman’s voice, loudly.

A white-haired man, nimble for his obviously advanced years, stood and quickly made his way along the aisle, declaring, ‘I’m going to see where they’re off to.’

Briony watched him hurry across the concourse. He paused for a brief second to glance at the information panel at the front of the other coach. Reuben noticed and approached him, and the two had a brief conversation. The man patted Reuben’s shoulder before hurrying back.

‘The Emerald Isle!’ he announced, ‘They’re off to the Emerald Isle.’

‘Got no problem with the Irish then,’ Malcom quipped.

Briony could have added that the woman must have had a miraculous recovery, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

The driver returned a few seconds later. He appeared to be totally unmoved by the whole incident as he thanked everyone for their patience. She listened carefully as he went on to explain that there was a tight schedule to keep and that he didn’t want to be late arriving at their next pick-up point, which would be at Reading.

Peggy called out, ‘We’ll be stopping before then, won’t we, driver?’

He looked over in her direction. ‘We aren’t scheduled for one, but there are several places en route if you’re caught short. Just give me a ten-minute warning if you’re desperate.’

Peggy didn’t sound at all embarrassed, as she replied, ‘Alright dear. Just so that you know.’

‘Well then, let’s get this show on the road.’ he commented, turning to take his seat as a few cheers and handclaps erupted from the more extrovert passengers.

The powerful Volvo engine roared into life.

‘There they are!’ exclaimed a voice in front of Briony, as they pulled out. ‘Over there.’

She had a clear view of the couple as the coach glided past, and saw the man’s face contort into an ugly sneer when he looked over in their direction. She stared hard at him, shaking her head disapprovingly. Whether or not he noticed, she never knew. But then, it didn’t matter. The problem had been solved, and in such a calm and business-like way by the driver, that she felt there was no point in anyone continuing to make a big issue out of the whole unpleasant affair. She was on her way. It had been a long and difficult summer, and at last her much-needed break was beginning.

She sighed and sat back as they emerged from the station’s semi-gloom and out into the bright daylight.

Chapter 3

The Sisters

Despite the heavy traffic, they made good progress through the busy streets of London, arriving at their first refreshment stop at Reading just five minutes later than the scheduled time. Approaching the bus station, Reuben switched on his microphone and spoke over the internal communication system, informing them what time they needed to be back on board. The door hissed open and he went out to stand beside the bottom step, offering his hand to any who needed assistance as they stepped down, which most of the women did.

‘I can manage, thanks,’ Briony said, ignoring his outstretched hand.

He nodded and smiled. She noticed how very brown his eyes were, almost black. Well, that was a good thing in his line of work, she mused, putting her sunglasses on and walking away; sunlight and fair eyes, like hers, were a dangerous combination, especially when one wanted to prevent cataracts in later life.

Most people headed straight for the café, whilst others, including Peggy, were keen to find the public toilets. Briony went to join the café queue. In front of her were two of her fellow passengers, who, she assumed, were related because of their similar features and the almost identical way they dressed. She couldn’t help noticing that they appeared to be in a state of some agitation.

‘You should have spoken up before now,’ said the slightly taller of the pair.

‘But I’ve only just realised,’ replied the shorter one.

‘Goodness knows what state the place will be in when we get back,’ said the first, before adding ominously, ‘If the whole house hasn’t already gone up in flames!’

‘Oh, don’t say that, Daphne. It was all such a last-minute rush, and I couldn’t remember if I’d packed my spare eye-drops; you know I have to have them. And you would keep hurrying me.’

‘And whose fault was that? All that fussing around. And why’d you have to go and turn it on anyway? It wasn’t that cold - ’

‘But it was! I was perished.’

‘Then why aren’t you in your vests? I’ve been back in mine for weeks. And look. There he is. Go on, tell him. What he’ll think of us … you … I dread to think.’

Briony turned to look in the direction the taller one was pointing at and saw Reuben walking in their direction.

‘Go on!’ demanded Daphne, sounding very impatient now.

The smaller one gave a squeak and shrank back. Daphne quickly pushed her directly in Reuben’s path, making her almost collide with him. ‘Driver! Driver! Just a moment. My sister’s got something to tell you. Haven’t you, Monica?’

However, it seemed that Monica needed a bit more time to prepare herself.

‘Go on Monica! Speak up, for Heaven’s sake. We haven’t got all day,’ ordered her domineering sister.

Monica whimpered, then amongst much hand-wringing, began to talk so fast that her words came out in an incomprehensible jumble. ‘It was so cold … you know … have them … for my eyes, you see ... I must have … the drops ... suitcase ... kitchen table … cold … the stove … warm … so cold - ’

As soon as he was able to interrupt the torrent of words, Reuben, who had managed to grasp something of the situation, began to ask a series of questions. ‘Do any of your neighbours have a key?’

‘We don’t have neighbours. Thank God! Just think, if the place blows up,’ declared Daphne.

Monica whimpered again.

‘Alright, what about family, or a friend who lives nearby?’

The pair looked at each other.

‘Jessica. She does. But … Oh no! Oh dear! She’s in hospital … having her fourth …’ whined Monica, who now looked as though she was ready to burst into tears.

Reuben patted her shoulder. ‘Please try to stay calm, Miss Biggins. We’ll get this dealt with. What about the husband?’

The sisters looked at each other again.

‘Jessica’s husband?’ he queried.

‘Oh, but she’s not - ’ Monica began, to be quickly interrupted by Daphne, who looked around and scowled at anyone who was rude enough to be listening, especially Briony, who couldn’t help herself. ‘He’ll be in bed, asleep. He works nights.’

The queue moved forward and they were obliged to move with it.

‘Good. Then he’ll likely be in,’ Reuben speculated. ‘Have you got their number?’

‘Seven. It’s number seven,’ replied Monica, looking slightly relieved that she had been able to provide one piece of useful information at last.

‘No. Telephone number. Have you got it?’ he asked.

Once more, the pair looked at each. ‘Well, no. Not here - ’ Monica replied, with a voice now full of dismay. ‘I mean, why would I? It’s not the type of thing one does take with one … I mean … is it?’ her voice trailed off.

‘Okay then, let’s have the address. Number seven what?’ he asked, taking out a small notebook.

The calmer one spoke up. ‘It’s seven. Seven Lindisfarne Road.’

‘And town?’

‘Barnet,’ volunteered Monica, bravely.

‘And his name?’

Monica again found the courage to reply. ‘George Rogerson. But he won’t be happy being woken up. He’s got such a temper - ’

‘Be quiet, Monica!’ ordered Daphne.

‘Alright. Look, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ Reuben said, calmly. ‘I’ll ring my head office and ask them to phone the nearest police station, and get them to go and knock him up. Just give me your address.’

‘102 Gladstone Street. He’s got a car. It won’t take him ten minutes. Do get them to make him hurry. I dread to think of the gas bill we’ll be faced with,’ replied Daphne.

Again, they were obliged to move forward. ‘Alright. I’m sure we can get this sorted out,’ Reuben stated reassuringly, as he began to walk away. ‘Now get yourselves a nice cup of tea and try not to worry.’

Briony’s heart went out to the sisters when she noticed how pale and anxious the meeker one was looking. ‘Why don’t you go and sit down and let me fetch you some drinks,’ she offered, trying to be helpful. ‘Look, over there,’ she pointed, ‘there’s some empty tables. What do you want?’

The sisters stared at her; Monica with surprise, and Daphne as though she had been stung by a bee. Not put off, Briony continued, ‘Do you fancy some of those scones as well? They look nice.’

The pair remained silent, their unspoken message the cause of their lack of response, which was that they had already decided to give this trouble-maker a wide berth.

‘No thank you,’ said Daphne at last, attempting to inch away. ‘We can manage quite well without any help from the likes of you.’

By now they were at the head of the queue. They made their purchases and walked over to one of the empty tables, leaving Briony perplexed as to what the cause of their obvious