The Keeper of Lost Things(47)

“It will be my pleasure, young lady. I expect my dog could do with a walk too,” he said, looking at Baby Jane with a slightly puzzled air. “Although, I must confess, I’d almost forgotten I had him.”

Godfrey put on the hat that Grace passed to him.

“Come along, Bomber,” he said to Baby Jane, “time to stretch our legs.”

However offended Baby Jane might have been about being mistaken for a boy dog with her master’s name, she hid it well. Better than Bomber managed to hide his sadness at being mistaken for his father’s bookie. Grace put her hand to his face.

“Chin up, darling. I know it’s tough. Yesterday morning he sat bolt upright in bed and accused me of being Marianne Faithfull.”

Bomber smiled in spite of himself.

“Come on, Ma. We’d best follow them before they get into mischief.”

Outside, the vapor trail of a plane was scrawled across the blue sky like the knobbled spine of a prehistoric animal. Folly’s End House sadly had no folly, but it did have very beautiful and extensive gardens for its residents to enjoy. Grace and Godfrey had moved in just over three months ago, when it became clear that Godfrey’s reason had set sail for faraway climes, and Grace could no longer cope with him alone. He occasionally took a brief shore leave in reality, but for the most part the old Godfrey had jumped ship. Folly’s End was the perfect harbor. They had their own rooms, but help was on hand when they needed it.

Godfrey strolled arm in arm with Eunice in the sunshine, greeting everyone they met with a smile. Baby Jane ran ahead. When she stopped for a wee, Godfrey shook his head and tutted.

“I do wish that dog would learn to cock his leg. Next thing we know, he’ll be wearing lilac and singing show tunes.”

They stopped at a wooden bench by an ornamental fishpond and sat down. Baby Jane stood right at the edge of the pond, fascinated by the flashes and swirls of silver and gold as the koi carp gathered in hope of food.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eunice warned. “It’s not sushi.”

As Grace and Bomber caught up with them, Godfrey was telling Eunice all about the other residents.

“We’ve got Mick Jagger, Peter Ustinov, Harold Wilson, Angela Rippon, Elvis Presley, Googie Withers, and Mrs. Johnson who used to run the launderette in Stanley Street. And you’ll never guess who I woke up in bed with the other morning.”

Eunice shook her head, agog. Godfrey paused for a moment and then shook his head sadly.

“No, and neither will I. I had it a moment ago, and now it’s gone.”

“You told me it was Marianne Faithfull,” said Grace, trying to be helpful. Godfrey laughed out loud.

“Now that, I think I would remember,” he said, winking at Bomber. “By the by, have you placed my bet yet?”

Before Bomber could answer, Eunice directed his attention to a distant figure wearing enormous sunglasses and vertiginous heels, teetering in their direction.

“Oh God!” moaned Bomber. “What on earth does she want?”

It took Portia some while to reach them across the lawn, and Eunice watched her precarious progress with quiet amusement. Baby Jane had jumped, unbidden, into Godfrey’s lap and was warming up her growl. Godfrey watched Portia’s approach with only mild curiosity and no sign of recognition whatsoever.

“Hello, Mummy! Hello, Daddy!” Portia crowed without enthusiasm. Godfrey looked behind himself to see who she was talking to.

“Portia,” began Bomber gently, “he doesn’t always remember . . .” Before he could finish, she had squashed herself next to Godfrey on the bench and tried to take his hand. Baby Jane growled a warning and Portia leaped to her feet.

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Not that vicious dog again!”

Godfrey clutched Baby Jane protectively.

“Don’t you speak about my dog like that, young woman. Who are you, anyway? Go away at once, and leave us in peace!”

Portia was livid. She had driven twenty miles from London with a banging hangover and got lost three times on the way. And she was missing Charlotte’s “designer bags and belts” brunch.

“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, Daddy. You know damn well that I’m your daughter. Just because I’m not here every five minutes sucking up to you like your precious bloody son and his pathetic, lovelorn sidekick. You know bloody well who I am!” she fumed.

Godfrey was unmoved.

“Young woman,” he said, looking at her scarlet face, “you have clearly been out in the sun without a hat for far too long and have taken leave of your senses. No daughter of mine would use such language or behave in such an abhorrent manner. And this man is my bookie.”

“And what about her?” Portia sneered, pointing at Eunice.

Godfrey smiled. “This is Marianne Faithfull.”

Grace managed to persuade Portia to go inside with her for a drink. Bomber, Eunice, Godfrey, and Baby Jane continued on their stroll around the gardens. Under one of the apple trees, a small table was laid for tea and an elegant elderly lady sat drinking from a cup and saucer. With a younger woman who was eating a lemon-curd tart.

“They’re my favorite,” she said as they said hello in passing. “Would you like one?” She offered them the glass cake stand. Bomber and Eunice declined, but Godfrey helped himself. Baby Jane personified dejection. The elderly lady smiled and said to her companion, “Eliza, I think you have forgotten someone.” Baby Jane got two.