Fantails by Leonora Starr Page A

for her to be away from work out of working hours, as she had been in London. He had taken her over with the house in Harley Street, eight years ago, capable, middle-aged, and pleasant. No sense in altering a satisfactory relationship by altering its basis without need. Familiarity need not necessarily breed contempt, according to the old adage, but in his experience it could and often did breed irritation.
    He ground his cigarette out in an ashtray. Some men would have tossed it in the garden, but Hugh hated mess. He’d have a word first with Miss Liskard, then set out on the afternoon round. His calls this morning had included two at farms; one on a gamekeeper with a nasty septic foot; one at a country vicarage to see a child with measles; one on a charming elderly lady living alone in a corner of a great house, full of courage and humour; one on a retired general with a passion for heraldry; one on a young mother and her first baby, an eight-pound son. All of them kindly, friendly, pleasant people, genuine and simple hearted. All of them free from the poses, complexes, and inhibitions such as he came across too often among the wealthy women patients who consulted him in London. His round had taken him through a village where old cottages of rosy brick with curved Dutch gables clustered about a green where fat white geese were grazing; by farms where redpoll cows stood in the shade of ancient oaks, knee-deep in buttercups, and women in print frocks of blue or pink fed calves and chickens in the apple orchards; by quiet streams where willows leaned to look at their reflections. He had left London taut and strained. Already life had taken on a simpler, saner aspect. He had begun to feel smoothed out and relaxed. He had begun to think that there were more advantages in coming here than the benefits to John...
    To-day was Wednesday, and on Wednesday afternoons it had been Dr. Sinclair’s habit to visit only a few urgent cases, keeping as much time as was possible as leisure for himself. Hugh had decided to continue with the custom. On Wednesdays after tea, patients permitting, he would take John on the river or to the sea, or on some other ploy a small boy might enjoy.
    Returning home towards five o’clock he found John and his aunt finishing tea. He asked how they had spent the afternoon. “We went out to investigate the shopping possibilities when John had had his rest,” said Lucia, and went off into a long account of how the butcher had been none too civil when she asked for kidneys or sweetbreads to be delivered every Tuesday. “He actually asked me if I didn’t know there was a peace on!”
    Not a very entertaining afternoon for John, thought Hugh, glancing at his small son’s drooping shoulders. “Like to come out with me, John, when I’ve swallowed down this hot tea?” he suggested. “I’ll take you to the river if you like.”
    John nodded, his face radiant. “There might be tadpoles!”
    “Not at this time of year, dear. Tadpoles come in spring,” said Lucia repressively. She was annoyed that Hugh evidently intended to go out alone with John.
    “There won’t be tadpoles, but there may be minnows. We’ll have a look, and if there are, we’ll go to-morrow with a jam-jar and a net and see if we can catch some,” Hugh said.
    “You won’t forget we go to beddy-ba at six?” Lucia reminded him. “It’s so important that we stick to our routine, isn’t it?”
    “Routine times have to change, though, as a child grows older. And these long light evenings are the best part of the summer. It’ll do John no harm to stay up till half-past six or even seven. He only lies awake threshing around,” said Hugh.
    “Threshing around,” John echoed him, “an’ playing. Mary at the Swan gave me a little tin. I filled it up with spit, but it had all run out by morning.”
    “And there’s my bath,” said Lucia. “I have it before dinner, after I’ve put John to bed.”
    “I’ll put him to bed if we come