Junction X by Erastes (digital ebook reader .TXT) 📗

take her by the hand and say sorry, but I don’t think either of us would have understood why I’d said that.

“I can’t imagine,” she said almost dryly. “I’ll see you this evening.”

“I’ll probably be eating out, so don’t expect me.”

“Of course.”

Mary at least remembered she had a father and kissed me messily before running after her mother. For a while, it sounded as if the hordes of Genghis Khan were rampaging downstairs until the front door slammed and silence reigned at last.

I pondered between Val’s Wolseley and the Bentley and decided on the latter. Best to make an impression. Besides, my clubs were already in the boot from the weekend before.

I drove under the bridge and towards the seafront. It was another hot day, and the road was busier than usual with people going to the beach; the car was stuffy and over-warm, and not for the first time I considered splashing out on a convertible. On English days like this, it seemed the thing to do.

Phil’s house, when I eventually found it after weaving around and past the new estate at the far end of the seafront, surprised me. He had always said that he loved the individuality of his house in The Avenue, and yet he had moved into a detached white 1930s monolith that was exactly the same shape and size as its neighbours. The drive was wide and swept around a cubist fountain at the front. With the sun shining off the gleaming house, I was glad I’d worn sunglasses. Smiling, his teeth as white as the house, Phil burst from the front door like a mad dog.

“About time, too.” He flung an arm around my shoulders and led me into the house, bellowing for Claire. In spite of my dislike of art deco, I had to say that the house was impressive, with light wooden floors, a white wrought iron staircase, all the rooms bright, almost dazzling. A very different atmosphere from the dark mock Tudor of The Avenue. He led me into a sunny room with wide rounded French windows where Claire sat, all neat tweed and shining black hair. With a smile, she rose from a wickerwork chair to kiss me.

“What do you think?” Phil asked. He gestured outside to where the lawn sloped up away from the house, masking the road, and giving the impression that the house was right on the seafront.

“Nice.” I said. I felt a pang of jealousy that surprised me. It wasn’t the house, nice as it was, it was the aspect. I loved The Avenue, had done since we’d first seen it, but I’d often wished that it was facing the sea.

“Typical Ed,” said Phil, “understatement as an art form.”

“How are the twins?” Claire asked.

“Less of a handful than they were. They are being inflicted on London today.”

She laughed, but it was only with her mouth. “Tell Valerie I’ll ring her and invite her and them over.”

“She’ll like that. The twins will love it.”

“Right, no point hanging around here,” Phil interrupted. “Shall we go?”

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“Doubt it. We’ve got some catching up to do, eh, Ed?” He walked out without any further conversation and I felt suddenly embarrassed, as if I’d seen them arguing. I smiled weakly at Claire and followed Phil to the car.

“Shall we take yours?” he said. “It’s a bit of a struggle getting two sets in the Healey.”

“All right.”

Phil was quiet on the short drive along the seafront, his face serious and thoughtful, the animation only returning when I turned the wheel and drove into the laurel-edged entrance to The Sands. I hadn’t been down the drive before, and was impressed as we pulled up outside the clubhouse. Although my first impression of the place, with its low slung yellow brick and far too many glaring white windows, was that it was a modern monstrosity and quite out of place in its leafy setting, I couldn’t deny it certainly reeked of money.

Phil got out, grinning at my glance at the building, probably mistaking it for admiration. “Come on, I’ll sign you in, if you can keep from looking like a tourist for five minutes. I need a drink.”

A valet appeared and waited for me to get out of the car. I handed the keys over with a little trepidation. I didn’t usually let anyone drive the Bentley, not even Valerie.

Phil grabbed me by the arm, “Come on, get the clubs out. My throat feels like a badger’s crotch.”

I opened the boot, and a second uniformed youth arrived. “Allow me, sir,” he said as he lifted the bags out with seemingly no effort, placed them on trolleys and wheeled them away for storage. I couldn’t help but be impressed once more, but by then Phil had lost all patience and was towing me toward the entrance.

Seated with a pint in the leather and chrome luxury of the Members’ Bar I knew that I’d made a good decision. This was just the place to pick up new clients. Mentally, I prepared myself for the lively debate with Valerie when I announced my unilateral decision.

Phil slid in beside me, the dark clouds that his face had held completely gone. “So, now I’ve got you to myself, what made you decide to join?”

I shrugged. “You’re always saying I don’t do myself any favours when it comes to currying favour.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d come around. You took longer than I anticipated though. The number of times Claire told me to call you…” He laughed, and I tried to glare at him but failed miserably. It was just good to be back to normal with him.

“The new owners moved in next door yesterday. A couple and their son.”

“Really? Wonder why they left it empty so long?”

I’d wondered that myself but hadn’t thought I should ask the Charleses, in case it was a sensitive matter. “They seem nice. He works at the car plant and she works in the hospital.”

He looked surprised, then finished his