Chapter 43

The collection of scribbled out phrases told their own story.

"I can't duck out of telling them. Or I shouldn't."

"Write to one of your sisters and let her tell them?"

"That seems a little cowardly."

"Yes." Roger said. "You're right. I wasn't thinking."

There was a pause.

"Sometimes," he said slowly, "when you can't think of a way to do something, in this case write something, it's because the thing you're trying to do isn't the best way to go about it."

"Which in this case means …?" Rowan prompted.

"That it isn't you who should be telling them. It's me. And in person."

A front door occasion, Roger decided. Trennels didn't look much different from the way it had a year ago. Not quite a year really, but near enough. It seemed odd to be arriving on foot.

Mrs Herbert answered the door.

"Good morning."

"Mr Roger …you're injured?"

"Only fishing. My own silly fault." Roger said quickly.

"Did you find…" Mrs Herbert was evidently not quite sure she should be asking.

"I found Rowan. She's quite safe and well. She sends her you her best wishes."

"I supposed you'd like to speak to the Captain."

"If he's home." Roger had expected that only Mrs Marlow would be there, but he had, after all, more than once thought he would like to speak his mind to Captain Geoffrey Marlow. If Mrs Marlow wasn't in the room, he would get his chance. Otherwise, he should possibly be somewhat more restrained. Rowan would probably expect him to be more restrained anyway.

"He's in the study. If you'll follow me…"

"Wing- Commander Walker to see you, Captain Marlow."

There was a very long pause as Mrs Herbert withdrew. Any longer and it would get silly. Roger decided he would have to speak first.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Afternoon."

Another less-than-helpful pause.

"I hope you're well. And Mrs Marlow?"

Geoffrey Marlow grudgingly admitted that they were. Roger was fairly sure that Nicola, who had seemed a conscientious girl, would have written and told Rowan if they weren't. Still, Rowan would expect him to have asked.

"May I take it you know where Rowan is? I had a letter from Giles. It would appear that your brother knows, although why he can't just give Giles the address, I don't know."

"John would never pass on a lady's address to someone else without her express permission." I couldn't care less if that sounded like a reprimand. "Yes, I do know where Rowan is. You would have seen me again a lot sooner if I had still been looking for her."

"And?"

"Rowan is well and safe. We're going to get married, in September. Saturday 23rd at 11.30 to be more exact."

"And if you're asking my permission, I don't see that it's either here or there."

"We need no-one's permission. And Rowan's opinion is the only one I care about. I'm telling you a courtesy."

Captain Marlow inclined his head. But then, there was probably nothing you needed to teach a Marlow about the conversational upper hand.

Roger proffered a piece of paper. It had Rowan's address (care of the Dixons) on one side and the place and time of the wedding on the other.

"Rowan asked me to give you this. Under the circumstances, formal invitations would be rather awkward."

Marlow glanced at it, tore it neatly in two and dropped the pieces in the waste paper basket next to his desk. Just as well then, that Roger had made a second copy on the train, now readily to hand in his pocket.

Roger would not let his voice rise.

"You are a fool, sir, with poor judgement and an almost incredible lack of loyalty to your family. Good afternoon."

As Roger left the room, he thought for a moment that he had overestimated Mrs Herbert's sense of timing, but he had only estimated the speed with which she could walk from the kitchen (he supposed) to the hall. She was there to open the front door for him. He shook her hand.

"Rowan sends her very best wishes," he said again, "and her love to her mother."

Pam Marlow had seen the subtle movement of Mrs Bertie's hand from her apron pocket to the pile of ironed and folded handkerchiefs she then handed over. Mrs Bertie had plenty of opportunities pass on the paper in Roger Walker's handwriting quite openly. Pam wouldn't refer to it directly if Mrs Bertie didn't want her too.