Glenna and Acacia giggled.
Leslie blushed: "Forgive me... I'm so naive and inexperienced"
The two women exchanged a knowing look: "Very inexperienced..." Acacia said softly to Glenna who nodded.
"Well, if I really wanted to meet the man of the day" Lorenzi said slowly, studying the words, "you could come this evening to the party I will throw to the nautical club. I might even need help..."
''A party? To the nautical club?" Leslie said, feigning a strong emotion "Me? But I can't... I'm not a member..."
"Nonsense. You will be my assistant. I think there will be no problems.''
Acacia and Glenna looked at Leslie with malevolent air. Under her contemptuous air one could see that she felt a great satisfaction for having managed to slip into that exclusive place, which was normally precluded to her.
"I don't think I'm coming" Acacia said, shrugging her shoulders. "Generally when I go to the nautical club, I'm bored to death with all those old men who play and look a little too much under their skirts."
"Wrong" Lorenzi replied savagely, "Let those who know it let you know" he added slyly," you have an interesting opportunity in this country and you have to take advantage to have some fun... The circle seems to me to be the ideal place"
"If you say so" Acacia concluded with little conviction.
"So can I really come tonight?" Leslie asked.
“ Of course, darling. Let's meet at the entrance at 9pm. I will arrive at that time and will enter with me. Obviously..." he added haughtily "It will be important to have a suitable outfit for the situation"
"Don't doubt" said Leslie, anticipating her a little too long. "I'll be very adequate to the situation," he concluded enthusiastically.
Gianna let herself go in the armchair. While the other two ladies whispered scandalized by the awful figure of Leslie inviting herself so impudently to a party that did not concern her, the Italian noblewoman found herself thinking: "Let's hope so. I wouldn't want to make a fool of myself...''
Chapter 6
"What are the orders?" Edward asked, entering with a little too much vehemence into the neat and ordered kitchen of Mrs. Clarke, the cook. His eyes were bright and his cheeks purple. He looked him up and down and shook his head. Not that she was disappointed that the butler at Willow Manor served quite generously at the bar: it was rather from the consideration of the social status of the house in which he provided his services. That attitude seemed to her a form of ingratitude towards Mr. Davis which, if it could not be said generous, was nevertheless right and this fact was not so obvious among the newly arrived rich settled in Hornsea in recent years.
"Here's the shopping list" said Mrs. Clarke, waving a sheet of paper. Then he added: "Will you drive to town?"
"Why? Is something wrong?" Edward asked aggressively.
"Forget it" Mrs. Clarke sighed. Looking back, he added: "At least when Mr. Davis is at home..."
"Would you suggest that I can't do my homework?" Edward growled.
''Go, go, otherwise you'll queue in the shops. Many families arrived yesterday and I saw a lot of people around shopping''
"Good for you. Where do I go?" the butler asked.
Meanwhile, Mr. Davis entered the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mrs. Clarke. Edward..."
The two froze, smiling embarrassed. Davis never happened to enter the kitchen. He usually limited his presence to the part reserved for him, namely the living rooms, the library, the dining room, his study. Davis looked at them amused. The list had fallen to the ground so he picked it up.
"The shopping?" He asked Mrs. Clarke.
"Edward was leaving to go..." the cook hastened to answer.
Davis read the list: "Today Edward can devote himself to some other task. I am going out’’
"But Mr. Davis..." replied Mrs. Clarke, almost offended.
Davis smiled at her then put his fingers on his lips: "It's not good to contradict your employer..." he said jokingly.
Edward looked at him puzzled: "You're in a good mood this morning..." he began to say.
"...without considering the fact," continued Davis, interrupting him and looking at him with a strange grimace, "which I believe to do a meritorious work for the pedestrians of Hornsea... Can I take your car Edward?"
Edward flushed with anger but immediately recomposed himself and, after rummaging in his pocket, handed Davis the keys.
"Here, hold on" he said, not without a hint of bad grace.
Davis, unflappable, took the keys, waved a greeting and left the kitchen.
When the two heard the gravel of the courtyard crunching under the tires of the car that was moving away, Edward sat down at the kitchen table and punched the floor.
"Am I wrong" he said bitterly," or did you give me a drunkard?"
"Why do you get angry with Edward? It is true" said Mrs. Clarke acidly as she started with her chores, opening the doors and pulling out the bowls and cooking utensils, "and if you do not know what to do you could also help me clean the vegetable."
''You wash the vegetables. I go to the garden," snapped Edward and stood up.
"Mrs. Roberts said the garage would be put in order,” he shouted after him.
"Yes, yes" the annoyed man replied, and slammed out the front door.
"You can't say that Mrs. Clarke isn't a precise woman" he said aloud to himself Mr. Davis. The list contained in minute calligraphy and specifies everything that had to be purchased including the indications of the shops.
When he arrived in front of Sullivan's bakery, Davis parked by the side of the road and entered the shop. The effect that made its entrance on the customers was that of a fighter landing on the square of a city.
The shop was full of ladies who were waiting to chat about this and that. The entry of Davis silenced them all: some of them furtively, some brazenly, each turned to him and began to scrutinize him. Only the chirping of Mrs. Clements continued to be heard, served at that moment, who had obviously not noticed anything.
"Again that cereal loaf, Klara" he said, then leaning towards the saleswoman: "Perhaps my brother will visit me today. And he loves my stuffed potatoes to die for''
"I've heard of them, they are famous" Klara replied gently. Mrs. Clements swelled with pride: "Did you really hear about it?"
"They make twelve pence, Mrs Clements. Sure: they say they are unique"
"Thank you Mrs Klara, you are a love" said old Mrs. Clements, laying a handful of small change on the counter.
Behind
