Chapter 3

To Isobel's surprise Gerry took the initiative on the visit to meet Larry. She had thought that as a barrister's client it would have been her responsibility. He rang her the following Monday.

"Isobel, it's Gerry. My hockey starts at two-thirty on Saturday week. I don't like to have a big meal or alcohol before a match so that if you do decide to come on up to Marlborough with me it'll be a skimpy lunch for me and I shall be champing at the bit to get on."

Isobel was amused. He was putting pressure on her to make a decision as to whether to watch him play hockey or not. Frankly, she was not that interested in hockey and her inability at the game still rankled slightly given the enthusiasm for it at school. On the other hand, she found herself slightly surprised to realise that she would quite like to see Gerry play.

"Is it a county or a Pitsbury match?"

"County against Berkshire."

"OK. I'll come. Why don't I do a picnic and then you can eat as much or as little as you want and not be tempted by alcohol?"

"Would you really do that?"

"Yup! It won't be anything special: no foie gras or anything."

"Isobel you're an ace and do please keep it simple: just bread and cheese and a tomato or something."

"Expect nothing else."

"Um, Isobel, thank you. Um, would you like to come out for supper with me afterwards?"

"No, Gerry, thank you all the same but you'll be whacked and I don't want you to have to make an effort for me."

"It wouldn't be an effort."

"Yes it will. It's a sweet offer but no. In any case you'll have to be up early on Sunday morning to take the dogs for that brisk walk you were telling me about."

"Oh Lord! Portia strikes again. Anyway, I shall pick you up and do the driving. Where in Carlton Parva are you?"

"There are three cottages between the manor gate and the church. Mine's the middle one."

"On the same side of the road."

"Yes. There ain't no houses the other side of the road: bloomin' cliff."

"Ah! I'll pick you up at twenty to ten then and confirm with Mr Corsellis that we'll be there at ten."

"Do you know where his house is?"

"No, Miss Harris. I shall ask him for directions."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Stupid of me, sir. Haven't you got one of those smart sat-nav things?"

"No actually. I've been in other people's cars with them and don't like them. I think the display is a distraction, particularly with the plethora of road signs we now have for idiots, and the voice interrupts conversation if you've got a passenger."

"I agree with you, Gerry. I don't like them either and particularly when they direct socking great lorries through our village. We had a complete blockage a few weeks ago when some walloping great truck couldn't get through because of peoples' cars parked outside their houses."

"Well, there you are. Anyway, Isobel, I must go. I'll see you on Saturday week at twenty to ten and you can do the map-reading. 'Bye."

The telephone went down before she could riposte. She smiled. He was fun.

He collected her punctually and took her without any map-reading straight to Arthur Corsellis's house. Larry was small and very shy initially. Isobel was at a loss. She knew nothing about young children and particularly about bringing them out of their shells. She watched Gerry with admiration. He smiled at Larry friendlily and shook his hand solemnly.

"Are you doing anything special this weekend?" he asked him.

"Yes. We're going to go to the tank museum tomorrow."

"Are you just? I think you'll enjoy that. I certainly did. You'll probably be able to have a ride on one but don't try sitting on the gun as you'll probably fall off."

Larry laughed. "That would be silly."

"It would and I don't think you're a silly boy."

Larry shook his head.

"Let us show you round," suggested his father, "and then you can see Larry's collection of cars."

It was a small semi-detached house with only two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Downstairs there was a narrow hall, really little more than a passage past the staircase. At the back was a small kitchen with a window over the back garden. There was a through room the other side of the staircase with a high broad arch dividing the sitting room from the dining room which had a door into the kitchen. There was a long narrow back garden laid to grass apart from an apple tree and a plum tree at the far end.

Larry had some twenty model cars, all old models, which he was very knowledgeable about. There was a Lagonda, an MG TC, a Hillman Minx, a tiny Austin Seven, a Morris Oxford and many others. Larry knew their dates and their top speeds. Gerry responded enthusiastically.

Isobel though was taken with the paintings that were stuck to the wall with Blu-Tak. They were clearly done by a child but he clearly knew about perspective and his colouring was delicate, not the vivid colours normally used by a small child. There was one she was particularly taken with of a cottage and trees.

"Where's this, Larry?" she asked, "or did you make it up?"

"No. It's through the window."

Isobel looked and there was the cottage with two trees. Larry had painted three more.

"You've done some extra trees though."

"Yes. I like trees."

Isobel looked at Mr Corsellis who was smiling proudly. "He's very good," she said.

He nodded. "He takes after my mother. I'll show you later."

"When we go to see Granny we do lots of painting together," added Larry excitedly. "She's taught me lots of things."

Larry had relaxed and, although he did not make a nuisance of himself, joined in the conversation.

They went back downstairs for coffee and Mr Corsellis showed Isobel an exquisite watercolour of a road leading over a stone bridge to a churchyard in early autumn. The colours were breathtaking.

"Golly!" breathed Isobel. "She's brilliant. Has she ever exhibited?"

"No. I think she's brilliant too but she's never shown anything. She's a very private person."

Suddenly, Larry gave Gerry the opening he needed. "Are you an engineer like Daddy?" he asked.

"No. I'm what they call a barrister. Do you know what that is?"

Larry shook his head.

"Well, sometimes people have arguments, complicated ones and can't agree so they go to court."

"What's court?"

"It's a building with a meeting room and there's a man or a woman called a judge who's in charge. The people who can't agree tell the judge about their problem and he thinks about it and tells them what to do. Sometimes the argument is so complicated that one or both of the people ask a barrister to explain their problem for them to the judge. That's what I do."

"You must be very brainy."

"Thank you, Larry, but not all that brainy. I've had special training and quite a lot of practice."

"What sort of problems?"

"All sorts. Let's see. The police might bring a man to court who they think has stolen something but he says he hasn't. The judge has to decide who's right."

Larry nodded. "I bet the police are right."

"Nearly always."

"What else?"

"Umm, let me think. Yes. Sometimes when a boy or girl's parents have divorced, like yours, they can't agree how their children should be brought up and so one of them asks the judge to say what should be done."