Ash nodded, and tapped the satchel that hung at his hip.
Isis emerged from the crowd long enough to give me a sisterly kiss on the cheek and to extract a promise that I would come to the theatre with her, such things now being possible in this new and glorious summer. I’d have left there and then, but it took Ash’s relatives a good part of an hour to say goodbye to him and it was almost dusk when we got away. As Ash and I walked back to the Jag, I turned and saw that Father Thames’s people had hung hurricane lamps from the branches of the ancient yew. At least two fiddles were playing, and I heard a clackety sound that I can only assume came from a washboard. There were figures loping and dancing in the yellow light, and the seductive, melancholy music that gets played at any party you haven’t been invited to. I wasn’t sure, but with a pang I thought I saw Beverley Brook among the dancers.
‘Will there be dancing in London?’ asked Ash. He sounded as nervous as Beverley had been.
‘Definitely,’ I said.
We got into the Jag and headed down the A308 for the M25 and home.
‘Will there be drinking?’ asked Ash, displaying a fine sense of priorities.
‘Have you ever been to London?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Ash. ‘I’ve never even been in a town before. Our dad doesn’t hold with that sort of thing.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s basically just like the country,’ I said. ‘Only with more people.’
THE END