This sudden determination which had overcome him was due principally to the fact that he had been so captivated watching Samantha’s face and the way she laughed and flirted with Sir Magnus, the way her teeth gleamed white as milk when she smiled, the warm colour of her hair, that he had inadvertently drunk a pint of ale belonging to Sir Magnus, which had been heavily laced with cherry brandy.
‘I will,’ he said, striding to the door and turning to glare at Rosy, ‘return with my decision soon.’
Endeavouring to look as fierce and implacable as Sir Magnus cross-examining a hostile witness, Adrian strode back to the table. Black Nell was just telling Honoria that she could see her married to a very rich man with fourteen children. Mr Filigree was down on hands and knees conducting a whispered conversation with a stag beetle. Sir Magnus, his arm round Mr Pucklehammer’s shoulders, was joining him in a spirited rendering of ‘Soldiers of the Queen’, to which Ethelbert was doing what he fondly imagined to be an oriental belly dance, and Lord Fenneltree was still lying in a trance on the grass, listening to Lord Turvey.
‘Where’s Samantha?’ barked Adrian. At least he had meant to bark but he had to clear his throat several times before he could articulate the words.
‘Samantha,’ said Honoria in surprise, looking round. ‘I expect she’s gone into the house.’
‘Good,’ snarled Adrian. He somewhat spoiled the effect of this by almost tripping over Mr Filigree as he marched towards the Unicorn and Harp. He strode into the big stone-flagged kitchen with its dark beams and its friendly row of gleaming pots. Samantha was standing at one end looking out of the window. Adrian made his way down the length of the room and stood just behind her. He cleared his throat.
‘Samantha,’ he said trenchantly, ‘I have got to talk to you.’
‘Why don’t you shut up?’ said Samantha fiercely.
‘Now, it’s no good adopting that high-handed attitude with me,’ said Adrian, taken aback. He stuck his hand inside his coat in a Napoleonic gesture.
‘If you don’t shut up and go away,’ said Samantha wheeling on him, her face flushed, her eyes glittering dangerously, ‘I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
‘Come, come,’ said Adrian backing away a bit, ‘you’re behaving like a child.’
‘And you,’ snapped Samantha, ‘are drunk.’
‘I am not drunk,’ said Adrian, stunned. ‘I am as sober as anyone else.’
‘You’re drunk,’ said Samantha cuttingly, ‘otherwise you wouldn’t have had the courage to adopt that highhanded tone with me, as though . . . as though you were speaking to a horse.’
‘A horse,’ said Adrian aghast, ‘I never spoke to you as though you were a horse.’
‘Exactly,’ said Samantha, ‘as though I was a very old and very badly trained horse.’
And to Adrian’s intense consternation she burst into tears.
‘Oh, don’t do that,’ said Adrian in agony. ‘I’m sorry . . . I apologise . . . only please don’t cry.’
‘I’m not crying,’ said Samantha, the tears pouring down her cheeks.
‘Well, what are you doing,’ said Adrian with desperate joviality, ‘having a bath?’
Samantha looked slightly taken aback and then, astonishingly, chuckled through her tears.
‘You are a fool,’ she said affectionately.
Adrian felt as though somebody had driven a red hot skewer through his heart and twisted it.
‘Oh, Samantha,’ he said, ‘I do love you so.’
Samantha looked at him. ‘Well, that’s good,’ she said at last, ‘it makes the feeling mutual.’
‘You mean,’ said Adrian incredulously, feeling as though he had been lifted into the stratosphere by a balloon, ‘you mean that I . . . that you . . . that you and I . . . that you . . .’
‘Well, you’ve taken long enough about telling me,’ said Samantha.
‘Do you mean to say,’ said Adrian, ‘that I . . . that you . . .’
‘You know,’ said Samantha, looking up at him, ‘if you go on stammering like that, we are never even going to get to the honeymoon.’
Adrian pulled her into his arms and kissed her warm mouth. Then he kissed the tears (which were surely the largest and finest tears that any woman had ever shed) from her cheeks, and then he kissed her mouth again because he couldn’t really believe that it had felt and tasted like rose petals.
‘You mean to say that you’ll marry me?’ he said huskily.
‘Well, it may be new information to you,’ said Samantha, ‘but I made up my mind to marry you the moment I saw you lying on that sofa the night you arrived after the train accident.’
Adrian looked at her incredulously – then he kissed her again.
‘I must tell somebody,’ he said.
He rushed through the kitchen and out of the back door of the Unicorn and Harp.
‘Hoy!’ he bellowed.
The tranquil and slightly inebriated scene under the oak trees was galvanised. Even Lord Fenneltree sat up.
‘I am going to marry Samantha!’ shouted Adrian.
‘Do you mean to say you’ve only just discovered that,’ said Sir Magnus, with disgust.
‘But . . . how did you know?’ said Adrian puzzled.
‘I’m not going to divulge,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘There are some trade secrets which one doesn’t bruit about.’
‘You’re going to marry Sam?’ said Mr Filigree, getting to his feet with a start, and completely forgetting about his conversation with the stag beetle.
‘If you approve,’ said Adrian.
‘Approve,’ said Mr Filigree. ‘Why, it’s simply marvellous news. It means that Rosy will be an in-law.’
‘You don’t by any chance have any champagne, do you?’ said Adrian, light-heartedly.
‘An excellent thing,’ said Sir Magnus. ‘Champagne and cherry brandy are the perfect things for a toast.’
They all trooped into the big kitchen and, while Mr Filigree got out the champagne, which was slightly warm but none the less welcome for that, Honoria and Black Nell kissed Samantha enthusiastically and then Honoria burst into tears.
‘What are you crying about?’ asked Ethelbert.
‘I always cry at weddings,’ sobbed Honoria with dignity.
‘But this isn’t a wedding,’ Ethelbert pointed out.
‘It’s almost a wedding,’ she said.
The glasses were filled and Sir Magnus proposed a toast to the happy couple, which was drunk with great enthusiasm. Adrian was just about to kiss Samantha for the fortieth time when he suddenly remembered Rosy.
‘Good heavens,’ he said. ‘I’ve completely forgotten about Rosy. She must have a celebratory drink.’
‘I’ll get her,’ fluted Mr Filigree, ‘the poor dear.’ He billowed his way out of the room.
‘I hope,’ said Lord Fenneltree to Samantha, ‘that you will allow me the privilege of calling here occasionally when you are married?’
‘You will always be one of our most welcome guests,’ said Samantha. ‘In fact, all of you will be.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Adrian.
It was at this point that Mr Filigree reappeared, running as fast as his bulk would allow him. He was pink, panting and perspiring.
‘Adrian,’ he shrilled, ‘Adrian, come quickly.’
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Adrian startled.
‘It’s Rosy,’ squeaked Mr Filigree. ‘When we weren’t looking she pinched the barrel of cherry brandy and she’s gone running off with it.’
Oh God, thought Adrian, it’s starting all over again.
‘Quick,’ said Sir Magnus organising things, ‘we must surround her before she gets too far away. Forward!’
And he rushed out, the tails of his coat flapping behind him, closely pursued by Honoria, Black Nell, Ethelbert, Mr Pucklehammer and the judge, with Mr Filigree wobbling in their wake.
Adrian turned and looked at Samantha.
‘Are you sure you want to marry me?’ he said.
/> ‘Quite sure,’ she said.
‘Even in spite of Rosy?’ he asked.
‘Principally because of Rosy,’ she said smiling.
Adrian kissed her swiftly.
‘Well then, excuse me a minute,’ he said, ‘I must go and catch my only living relative.’
And he ran out into the sunlight in the wake of the others.
A MESSAGE FROM
THE DURRELL WILDLIFE CONSERVATION TRUST
The end of this book isn’t the end of Gerald Durrell’s story. The various experiences you have just read about gave impetus and inspiration to his lifetime crusade to preserve the rich diversity of animal life on this planet.
Although he died in 1995, the words of Gerald Durrell in this and his other books will continue to inspire people everywhere with love and respect for what he called ‘this magical world’. His work goes on through the untiring efforts of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust.
Over the years many readers of Gerald Durrell’s books have been so motivated by his experiences and vision that they have wanted to continue the story for themselves by supporting the work of his Trust. We hope that you will feel the same way today because through his books and life, Gerald Durrell set us all a challenge. ‘Animals are the great voteless and voiceless majority,’ he wrote, ‘who can only survive with our help.’
Please don’t let your interest in conservation end when you turn this page. Write to us now and we’ll tell you how you can be part of our crusade to save animals from extinction. For further information, or to send a donation, write to:
Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust
Les Augrès Manor
La Profonde Rue
Trinity
Jersey, Channel Islands
JE3 5BP
Or visit the website:
www.durrell.org
Bello:
hidden talent rediscovered!
Bello is a digital only imprint of Pan Macmillan, established to breathe new life into previously published, classic books.
At Bello we believe in the timeless power of the imagination, of good story, narrative and entertainment and we want to use digital technology to ensure that many more readers can enjoy these books into the future.
We publish in ebook and Print on Demand formats to bring these wonderful books to new audiences.
About Bello:
www.panmacmillan.com/imprints/bello
About the author:
www.panmacmillan.com/author/geralddurrell
By Gerald Durrell
My Family and Other Animals
A Zoo in My Luggage
Birds, Beasts and Relatives
Garden of the Gods
The Overloaded Ark
The Talking Parcel
The Mockery Bird
The Donkey Rustlers
Catch me A Colobus
Beasts In My Belfry
The New Noah
The Drunken Forest
The Whispering Land
Rosy is My Relative
Two in the Bush
Three Singles to Adventure
The Ark’s Anniversary
Golden Bats and Pink Pigeons
Menagerie Manor
The Picnic and Suchlike Pandemonium
The Bafut Beagles
Marrying off Mother and Other Stories
The Aye-Aye And I
Fillets of Plaice
Ark on the Move
Encounters with Animals
The Stationary Ark
First published in 1978 by Collins
This edition published 2012 by Bello
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com/imprints/bello
www.curtisbrown.co.uk
ISBN 978-1-4472-1451-9 EPUB
ISBN 978-1-4472-1450-2 POD
Copyright © Gerald Durrell, 1978
The right of Gerald Durrell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Illustrations by Gynelle Alves. Reproduced by permission of Gynelle Alves.
Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of the material reproduced in this book. If any have been inadvertently overlooked, the publisher will be pleased to make restitution at the earliest opportunity.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The Macmillan Group has no responsibility for the information provided by any author websites whose address you obtain from this book (‘author websites’). The inclusion of author website addresses in this book does not constitute an endorsement by or association with us of such sites or the content, products, advertising or other materials presented on such sites.
This book remains true to the original in every way. Some aspects may appear out-of-date to modern-day readers. Bello makes no apology for this, as to retrospectively change any content would be anachronistic and undermine the authenticity of the original. Bello has no responsibility for the content of the material in this book. The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not constitute an endorsement by, or association with, us of the characterisation and content.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.
Gerald Durrell, Rosy Is My Relative
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends