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Authors: R. F. Delderfield

Tags: #School, #Antiques, #Fiction

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BOOK: The Spring Madness of Mr Sermon
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182

error of imagining it bothers youngsters! It doesn't, any more than the losses on the Western Front clouded your dreams at sixteen, Sermon! What one tends to forget after forty is that Mankind is an extremely adaptable animal. After all, he survived the Dark Ages, the Black Death, Passchendaele and Adolf Hitler, and I wouldn't mind wagering he'll find a way out of all this more or less intact. As I see it, one's job as a schoolmaster is to improve his chance in any way one can!"

"How does one contribute ?"

"I only know one way," said Grey, slowly, "by distilling into every word of instruction a few grains of tolerance aimed at broadening minds and enlarging personal horizons. There's the bell, I must go but you'll come again? Get Rachel to run you over any time you wish and I mean that! Goodbye now!" and he scurried off and disappeared almost at a run, diving into the arch that gave on to the quad.

Mr. Sermon drove slowly down the drive and stalled the engine turning into the narrow lane that led to the main road. While he was groping for the unfamiliar starter a sound came to him from beyond the beeches. It was the Choral Society singing 'Greensleeves', a melody that Sebastian had always loved and one which, for a reason unknown to him, conjured up memories of all that was most pleasant and rewarding in the years he had spent in and about schools. He listened for a few moments, the car half in and half out of the drive and then, feeling almost drunk with nostalgia, he restarted the engine and drove on into the dusk.

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CHAPTER SIX

Mr.
Sermon Dons a Uniform ...of Sorts

sebastian
arrived back in Kingsbay about eleven o'clock and left Rachel's car where it would be handy to the garage people. He felt pleasantly tired as he walked up The Coombe to the house on the edge of the links, reflecting that one way and another it had been a very full day. As he entered the gate he promised himself a nightcap, half-hour with the daily paper and then bed. But routine was eluding Mr. Sermon these days.

He was in the act of putting his key into the door when a bulky figure stepped from the shadows and Sebastian saw, with a sharp in-take of breath, the gleam of mountings on a policeman's helmet. A deep voice said: "Mr. Sermon? Mr. S. M. Sermon?" and when the fact was acknowledged, "Do you mind if I step inside a moment, sir ? I'd rather like to have a word with you."

Mr. Sermon had a law-abiding man's dread of policemen, any kind of policeman. He opened the door and groped for the hall light with trembling, fumbling fingers and together they went into the sitting-room where Sebastian glanced irrelevantly but guiltily at the armchair he had shared with Olga. The policeman seemed friendly, however, and beamed at him so that Mr. Sermon groped in his pockets and offered him a cigarette, feeling as he did so that he was

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passing a bribe. The policeman accepted the cigarette, took off his helmet and mopped his brow.

"Warmish night, thunder about," he said, pleasantly.

And what kind of thunder, thought Sebastian gloomily. Then, pulling himself together, "Is it about that business on the beach this morning?" although why he should half-apologise for saving a child's life he could not imagine.

"No, sir," said the policeman, pulling hard on his cigarette, and then, with the air of a man anxious to come to the point, "We . . . er . . . we've been asked to locate someone of your name. Had a call through this morning and just missed you when you left the beach!"

Sebastian's stomach turned over. This was it! This was where Lane-Perkins finally caught up with him! Somewhere in the pocket of this man's tunic was a folded summons to appear in answer to charges of assault and battery. Perhaps it was more serious than that, perhaps Lane-Perkins had sickened and died from the effects of brain lacerations and his attacker was on the point of being arrested for manslaughter. He said, weakly: "What is it? Who . . . who wants me?"

"Your wife!" said the policeman simply and now it was he who sounded apologetic.

Sebastian's heart gave a leap but when it settled again he felt in command of himself. His wife. Sybil. Tracking him down as if he was a common criminal! Great God, this was monstrous-unless of course she was acting as decoy for the father of the injured boy and he passed his hand over his face and found that he was sweating very freely.

"Look here, officer, what is all this ? I'm here on a holiday and I'm not in any sort of trouble that I know of. My wife isn't ill, is she? I mean, was it she personally who was enquiring after me?"

The policeman did not seem much concerned with the subject of the enquiry. He relaxed as though glad to be sitting down smoking instead of alone in the dark on his beat.

"Oh, I wouldn't say there was anything to worry about, sir," he said kindly, "but we have these kind of enquiries every now and again. Routine you might say, not even strictly in the line of duty." and he took out his notebook, rubbed his nose thoughtfully and

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thumbed through one or two pages. "Here it is, call from a London suburban station. Your home district, I imagine, Wyckham Rose-no Rise."

"That's where I live, or rather where I did live," said Mr. Sermon. "Can't a man take a bit of a holiday without the police having to check his movements?"

"Well, I don't know about that," said the policeman defensively, "but I have to do what I'm told and the Sergeant gave me instructions to pop round here and see if you were the person concerned. I take it your wife was worried about you. Can't think of any other reason she would have asked us to check up, can you?"

"No, I certainly can not!" said Mr. Sermon sharply and suddenly his fright subsided and in its place came a fierce resentment that he should be harried in this fashion. "The fact is, officer," he said, "I left rather hurriedly ... I ... I needed a holiday and I needed to be by myself for a spell! Hang it, this is a free country, isn't it ? I had no idea wives had the right to ... to ask policemen to check on their husband's movements, unless maintenance comes into it, of course!"

"Well, in a way, I suppose you came into the category of missing persons," said the policeman gently. "Not that I don't blame you for being a bit upset over it. Must have given you a bit of a turn, I reckon. I told the Sergeant tomorrow would do but you know what sergeants are, he said 'tonight' so here I am. We can leave it at that if you like, sir. I can go back and say you're located, in good health and that's all there is to it. Shall I do that? Would you like it that way?"

Suddenly Mr. Sermon felt rather sorry for him.

"Look here, I'm sorry if I sounded rude," he said. "But I do realise you are 01 Jy doing your duty and there's absolutely nothing personal about my resentment. I suppose it's my own fault in a way, I should have written or phoned and I certainly would have done if I'd realised this kind of thing could happen. As I say, I needed a change and took one. I told my wife I was going and I can't imagine what all the fuss is about or, for that matter, how on earth she located me!"

"I can tell you that," said the policeman with a grin, "but keep

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it to yourself for my sake. You cashed a cheque a day or two ago and your wife got the address from the bank at her end. Quickest way of locating anyone that is and the confidential lark you hear so much about don't seem to operate in banks like it should. You'd be surprised how many maintenance arrears the Justices collect that way but I don't suppose maintenance comes into your case, does

it?"

"No," said Mr. Sermon, emphatically, "it most certainly does not! But thank you for the tip, I ought to have thought of that myself!"

The man stood up but lingered. Obviously he would have been glad to learn more, not as a policeman but as a married man. Beneath his professional phlegm, Sebastian could see his curiosity stirring but years of training prevented him from putting a direct question and unwittingly Mr. Sermon rushed to his rescue.

"Do you mind telling me what steps you'll take to pass this information back to its source?" he asked politely.

"Why no, sir," replied the policeman gratefully and promptly sat down again, stubbing his cigarette and nodding his thanks for the replacement Sebastian offered. "All that'll happen now is I shall tell the Sergeant you're in one piece and any steps you take after that are your concern, not ours. I suppose he'll have to ring through to Wyckham Rise and tell them and they'll doubtless pass the information on to your wife but by that time, you'll have moved on, won't you sir?" and he winked or came very close to winking.

Mr. Sermon smiled as the pressure of humour cracked the crust of his resentment.

"I don't know about that," he said, "I'm very comfortable down here and I've enjoyed myself since I made the break. I certainly shan't jump on a train and go home if that's what you mean but I'll promise you one thing, I'll write straight away and save you chaps any more bother on my behalf!"

The policeman nodded. "Yes," he said, "you'll have to do that, I reckon!" but made it sound as if he thought it a great pity.

Mr. Sermon saw him out and went back into the kitchen, opening the back door and looking out into the night where stars twinkled over the links plantation and the soft wash of the sea came to him from the foot of the hill.

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What an extraordinary thing for Sybil to do, he thought, and then, more tolerantly, but was it? Did she think I might have done away with myself? The possibility intrigued him. Was she, he wondered, genuinely worried about what had happened to him and if so what had become of her pride that she should enlist the police to track him down ? It then occurred to him that she might have received a severe emotional jolt by his abdication, might in fact have changed as much as he had changed himself over the last few weeks. He wished Olga was here, feeling that she might know the answer to this question and thinking of Olga he realised that he was still far from clear in his mind about his feelings for Sybil. There was one thing that he was clear about, however, and the visit of the policeman had helped to get it into sharper focus. He was not going to return to Wyckham Rise to live or to Napier Hall to work! He was not, in fact, going to pick up the fallen threads of his life and follow where they led, to old age in an impersonal suburb. 'I ought', he told himself, 'to announce this at once and perhaps I should write and tell Olga also, for surely this decision is vital to both of them!' It was of Sybil, however, whom he thought most, for he was still unable to come to terms with her bizarre method of locating him, almost as though he was important to her after all. This genuinely astonished him, for never had she given the slightest indication that he meant very much to her, less for instance than did the toothy bank clerk she hoped to cast in her next play!

He stood there thinking a long time, looking up at the stars and sniffing the salty air and then, as the church clock chimed the half-hour, he went back into the sitting-room and opened Olga's bureau, taking a sheet of her printed notepaper and writing: "Dear Sybil, The police have just been here enquiring after me. This is ridiculous! I told you I was going off on a tramp in order to sort things out and I'm perfectly fit, fitter than I've ever been in my life. I've done a great deal of thinking about everything but I haven't come to any hard and fast conclusions except about two things. I won't live in London any more and I won't waste what's left of my life in places like Napier Hall. I may go into the antique trade or I may find something else that suits me. I'm sorry if you were worried but it never occurred to me that you would be, perhaps because you never gave the

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impression I meant very much to you or the children. I hope you are all well and I'll let you know what I intend doing as soon as I know myself."

He read it over and gave some thought as to how to conclude the letter. At first he was inclined to write "Sincerely", but then he thought this sounded rather pettish and in the end he wrote, "Affectionately, Sebastian", sealed and stamped the envelope and put it in his pocket.

He sat thinking for a moment, trying to compose the opening sentences of a letter to Olga telling her all that had happened that day but the shock of the policeman's visit after such an eventful day made composition trying, so presently he gave it up and went to bed.

The telephone rang while he was frying his breakfast and thinking it must be Rachel with instructions about the car he hurried to the phone. It was not Rachel but Mr. Bignall, Town Clerk, who addressed him with mock severity.

"Hullo there! Sermon? You didn't ring, you rascal! Come now, you're too old to be coy. The County Press has been on to me about that rescue and they want a picture."

"They won't get one!" said Mr. Sermon, firmly, thinking of what might happen if his picture appeared in the paper. "I've no patience with all the fuss newspapers make over everything nowadays."

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