“Lovely day, sir,” said Ed, the chauffer.
“Yes, isn’t it,” said Mr. Jenkins. He held the morning paper. Stocks had fallen. He thought grimly, a black day for us all.
“It’s nice to see the country again, Ed,” said William, Mr. Jenkins’ son. His grey suit was several shades lighter than the black interior. “It’s beautiful this time of year.”
“Isn’t it, Master Jenkins? Why, it sure is a treat driving this way.” And as an afterthought, “You’ve certainly grown since the last time I drove you.”
“Yes,” said William, “perhaps.” He looked out the window at the swift countryside.
Mr. Jenkins read his paper. The writing blurred, so he turned to William.
“You, my boy, have made us all proud,” he said.
His wife, Olivia, sitting opposite William, said, “We are so very proud of you.” Mr. Jenkins folded his paper a final time.
“You look unhappy, Will,” said Sarah, the cook’s daughter. “What’s wrong?”
Mr Jenkins peered over the paper. “What are you doing here in my car?” he asked.
“Hey boy,” said Jeffrey St John. “This’ll cheer you up. Do you remember the fair? The one we snuck out to see? Who can forget it.” William looked out the window. Mr. Jenkins strangled his newspaper.
“You were a most thoughtful student,” said Dr. Charleston. “We expected great things from you.”
Mr Jenkins looked from one face to the other.
“Listen here now,” he began. “This is my car—“
“Excuse me, but I’m talking to your son at the moment,” said the confectioner.
“Who’s he?” asked a cockney girl. She sat to the right of Dr. Charleston.
“Will’s father,” replied Mrs. Young, the cook.
“He looks terrible,” said Wild Harry. “Are you alright, sir?”
Mr. Jenkins felt his blood pressure rising. He looked to his left: William still looked out the window.
“Who are all you people?” gasped Mr. Jenkins, his eyes wide in alarm.
There was a general silence.
A petite brunette sitting opposite William had kind eyes. She addressed Mr. Jenkins courteously.
“I’m so sorry, how rude of us,” she began. “I’m Amanda.” She indicated with her right hand. “And this is Thomas Champion, Professor Monroe, Helena Jacobson, the twins….”
The black Rolls glided serenely towards Whitehall.
|
etcetera.online
