'I'll double your salary.'
'We'll give you the run of the house till you find a place of your own.'
'All this might be rather inconvenient,' I interjected quickly. 'My wife's working every night. Important private case.'
'Then bring her for the day,' insisted Mrs Wattle. 'How about lunch on Saturday?'
'Yes,' agreed Dr Wattle, 'We shall be terribly upset if you don't.'
I felt the script had somehow got out of hand. Perhaps it might have been easier simply to have married Avril.
4
The following Saturday morning the Wattles' house was twittering with expectation.
'I'd better be off,' I announced, as the roast pork and stuffing sizzled in the oven. 'Her train's due in twenty minutes.'
'Do greet her with these chrysanthemums, Gaston.' Mrs Wattle pushed a bunch the size of a sheaf of corn into my arms. 'They're fresh out of the greenhouse, and I'm sure she'll love them. And I'm quite sure we're both simply going to adore her.'
I parked the car in the station yard, bought a platform ticket, and thoughtfully munched a bar of chocolate from a machine. I sat on a bench and read the paper until the train arrived. Peering through the passengers, I soon spotted the familiar red hat.
'Hello!' I called. 'Hope you didn't have a beastly journey.'
'It was stinking.'
'Welcome to Porterhampton.'
'And what a dump, too!'
'The city has several charming features, I assure you. Though I shan't be able to provide much of a conducted tour, as your train home's at nine-ten.'
'Thank God for that. What on earth have you got in your arms?'
'They're chrysanthemums, from the greenhouse.'
'You look as though you've lost your street barrow.'
'I think we'd better get off the platform. I might be spotted by one of my patients.'
I led Petunia Bancroft to the car.