or at least upon the relevant part of his scarlet jumper.
The two removal men had opened the back of the van, and with a flourish of his keys the new neighbour hastened into the cottage. The two ladies now pressed more eagerly against their windows. A small piano came out, followed by a wooden chest and a sideboard of polished mahogany. A single bed then emerged, as well as a divan and a dining-room table. Rolled carpets, lamps, and what looked suspiciously like tapestries, were carried into the cottage. Miss Finch could hear him singing what she took to be a Italian medley in a strong baritone voice. And what was this? A large and empty parrot cage. Several suitcases were then taken inside together with stools, chairs and leather pouffes. Some ornate candelabra were the last to leave the van.
Miss Swallow felt quite exhausted by all the activity. She sat down in her favourite armchair, covered in faded green silk. She did not think she had the strength to make herself a cup of tea. She dared not leave the house, in case he should emerge, but she desperately wanted to consult with Miss Finch. So she called her on the telephone.
‘Maud, what an extraordinary way to behave!’
‘Did you see his car? It is so yellow.’
‘But all that kissing and screaming—’
‘I don’t think he screamed, dear,’ Maud told her. ‘But he was loud.’
‘What are we to make of him?’
‘We will have to wait and see. He was singing Italian songs, by the way.’
‘Is that where he’s from?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. Even before he opened his mouth, I knew he was foreign.’
‘Oh dear. I hope he doesn’t have any habits.’
‘Such as what?’
‘You know. Food and so forth. And late hours.’
‘I saw a parrot cage but no parrot.’
‘It will be in quarantine. Birds carry the most terrifying diseases.’
‘If it squawks, I shall complain. And what about that piano? Sound carries a long way out here.’
‘I really don’t know what to do.’ Miss Swallow was now thoroughly alarmed at vistas of parrots and pianos.
‘We must stay strong, Millicent.’
Early that evening the doorbell to Miss Swallow’s cottage chimed. It was the foreigner. He was standing on the threshold, with a box of chocolates in his hand.
‘Ah, do I intrude?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Mr Cadmus. Theodore Cadmus. Theo.’
‘Miss Swallow.’ She put out her hand to avoid being kissed.
‘These are for you, dear lady. The smallest possible token—’
‘Oh, that is too kind, really.’
‘May I?’
‘Yes,’ she added, with a hint of nervousness. ‘Do. Come in.’
He inched his way along the hallway into the front parlour. ‘Oh, this is delightful. What sweet ornaments and bouquets.’ Miss Swallow had a taste for chintz and porcelain. ‘And who is this gorgeous creature?’
‘Timothy.’
He picked up the marmalade cat and, much to the animal’s discomfiture, kissed it on its nose. ‘Extra special.’
‘May I offer you a glass of sherry, Mr Cadmus? Or wine perhaps?’
‘We will drink our fill of golden sunshine. One of your national poets tells us this.’
‘I’m afraid I only have a Beaujolais from Tesco. Or a Moselle.’
‘I am at your disposal.’ The cat, showing signs of struggle, was put down. ‘The red and the white are for me equally delicious.’
So she brought out the Beaujolais, on the very sound principle that the bottle was unopened, and made a good impression on her visitor. She suggested a chair. She did not know quite what to say to him. ‘Will you be with us long?’
‘Oh, an eternity. I have come to stay. After a storm-tossed life I am come into harbour.’ Whatever could he mean? Stormtossed? It sounded rather exciting.
‘Where do you come from, Mr Cadmus?’ She only just remembered his name. ‘If I may ask?’
‘My very good lady, I come from a small island in the Mediterranean. It will mean nothing to you.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘We are small. We are under two hundred persons.’
‘Rather like Little Camborne.’
‘Oh no, dear lady. Here you have all the blessings of a lovely land. And your lovely hedges.’
‘Hard to prune, I’m afraid.’
‘And yet so beautiful, I could weep. Here. Look. There is a tear.’
Miss Swallow looked alarmed. She wondered if the wine had gone to his head.
‘Did you have a difficult journey, Mr Cadmus?’
‘I beg your pardon, madam?’
‘From that place you mentioned. The island.’
‘No, I came here by way of London, where I have good friends. Travel is nothing to me. I take it in my stride.’
That was a mark in his favour. Miss Swallow admired enterprising men. ‘And why did you choose us?’
‘Little Camborne? I came upon it in a map. Just the tiniest dot in a map of the county of Devonshire. My father had maps of all the counties of England. He was an Anglo-style. Is that the word? And I said to myself, this will be my home. I will call myself a Little Cambornean.’
She laughed. ‘What an extraordinary man you are. I don’t know what to make of you.’
‘Make nothing of me, dear lady. Take me as I am. I am your devoted servant.’ At that he rose to leave. ‘But we will have all the time in the world to exchange reminiscences. I hope this will be the first of many happy occasions.’ He seemed pleased to change the subject. ‘And my other charming neighbour?’
‘Miss Finch.’
‘Finch and Sparrow. A nest of singing birds! We will make delightful music together.’
‘Swallow.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ He looked quickly at his glass.
‘I am Miss Swallow, not Sparrow. Not that Sparrow isn’t a lovely name. It just
