LITMIR.BIZ

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why didn’t I think of that?’

      ‘Simple,’ she told him. ‘You are used to commanding people. Now it is time to grovel and plead for help. I am going to change into my one other dress and my ugly but serviceable walking shoes.’

      ‘Just near neighbours,’ he told her a half-hour later, as they went down the front steps.

      Sally peered into the bush by the front door. Penelope the Statue was now recumbent, and Starkey was busy on her with a sledgehammer, pounding her into smaller chunks to haul away. ‘That’s a good start,’ she said. ‘We are moving towards respectability.’

      ‘I wonder if lemon trees would grow in this climate,’ her husband said as they walked down the weed-clogged lane. ‘I would like lemon trees flanking the door.’

      ‘We can ask our nearest neighbour.’ Sally pointed to the end of the lane. ‘The banker?’

      ‘Yes. The estate agent apologised over and over for that particular neighbour. He feared I might take exception to settling in the vicinity of a Jew. I assured him I could stand the strain. Hypocrite!’

      They came to the end of the lane. ‘Now we stop and look both ways,’ he said, amusement in his voice. ‘Such a quiet neighbourhood! Come, my dear, let us visit our neighbour.’

      The lane was far tidier than their own, which the admiral pointed out to her with some glee. ‘I expect the man would like our rutty mire to look more like his entrance. I think the estate agent had it all wrong, Sophie dear; we are the liability.’

      ‘Speak for yourself, Charlie,’ she teased, happy to see him in more cheerful spirits.

      ‘Let us be on our best behaviour. You say Jacob Brustein, founding father of Brustein and Carter, is banker to half the fleet? I love this man already.’

      He knocked on the tidy door, then pointed to the small box beside the door. ‘It’s a mezuzah, Sophie. If we were Jewish, we would put a finger to our lips and then touch it.’

      Sally looked around with interest and envy. While not as large as the ramshackle house across the road, it was everything the admiral’s was not. From the honey-coloured stone, to the trellis of yellow roses, to the delicate lace of the curtains in the front room, she saw perfection. I am too impatient, she thought, as she watched a cat in the window stretch and return to slumber. This effect is achieved over the course of many years.

      The door was opened by a pleasant-looking housekeeper. The admiral removed his hat. ‘I am Admiral Bright and this is my wife, Sophia. We have come to call on Mr Brustein, if he is available to visitors.’

      ‘Come inside, please,’ she said, opening the door wider. Sally could hear the faintest of accents. ‘I will see.’

      The housekeeper left them standing in a hall lined with delicate watercolours. ‘This is elegant,’ Sally whispered.

      ‘Makes our place look like an exhibitioner’s hall,’ the admiral whispered back. ‘At least the parts that don’t look like a brothel.’

      ‘Hush,’ she whispered, her face flaming. ‘Behave yourself.’

      A moment later she heard footsteps, light but halting, and turned to see a leprechaun of a man coming towards them, leaning heavily on a cane, his face lively with interest. He wore a suit even older than her husband’s, and a shawl around that. White hair sprang like dandelion puffs around his head, except where it was held in place by a skullcap. As he came close, she saw that he barely came up to her shoulder. She curtsied; he gave her an answering bow.

      ‘Well, well. It’s not every day that an admiral comes to call,’ he said, his accent slightly more pronounced than the housekeeper’s. ‘And his pretty lady.’

      Charles bowed, then held out his hand. ‘Sir, I am lately retired and I think I am your nearest neighbour. Admiral Bright at your service. This…um…pretty lady is my wife, Sophia.’

      ‘Charming. Admiral, you have an account with me.’

      ‘Along with most of the fleet, I think,’ Bright said. ‘Two months ago, I bought that excuse for an estate that has probably been offending your eyes—not to mention your sensibilities—for decades.’

      The old man nodded. He gestured them into the sitting room, where Sally had seen the lace curtains. The cat in the window opened one eye and then the other, then left the window to twine around Jacob Brustein. He gently pushed the cat away with his cane. ‘Go on, Beelzebub. If you trip me up, I’ll be less than useless.’

      Sally picked up the cat, which went limp in her arms and started to purr.

      ‘He is the worst opportunist in Devon,’ Brustein said, indicating the sofa. ‘But he brings me mice every day, thinking I am unable to catch my own. One cannot ignore benevolence, in whatever form it takes.’

      They sat. Jacob nodded to the housekeeper, who stood at the door, and she left. ‘You have come calling?’

      ‘We have indeed,’ Bright said. ‘My wife assures me that is what people do on land. Since I have spent the better portion of twenty years at sea, I must rely on her notions of what is right and proper.’

      Brustein turned his kindly gaze on her. ‘Then you are probably in good hands.’

      ‘My thoughts precisely,’ Bright replied.

      Sally was spared from further embarrassment by the arrival of the housekeeper, this time with tea and small cakes. She set the tray down in front of Sally, who looked up to smile, and noticed tears in the housekeeper’s eyes. I wonder what is wrong? she thought. She glanced at the old man, who seemed to be struggling, too. Uncertain what to do, she asked, ‘Wou-would you like me to pour, Mr Brustein?’

      He nodded and wiped at his eyes.

      ‘I hope we have not come at a bad time,’ Bright said. ‘We can come another day.’

      With that, Brustein took out a large handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously. He tucked it back in his coat, and settled the shawl higher on his shoulders. ‘This is an excellent day. You will understand my emotion when I tell you two that you are my first neighbourhood visitors.’

      Sally gasped. ‘Sir, how long have you lived here?’

      ‘More than thirty years, my dear.’ He indicated the tray in front of her. ‘Would you pour, please? As for the cakes…’ he shrugged ‘…I suppose it is too early for such things.’

      It was, but Sally decided she would tug out her fingernails by the roots, rather than embarrass the man. ‘They are very welcome, Mr Brustein.’ She picked up the teapot, determined not to barter with the old fellow’s dignity for one second. ‘One lump or two, sir?’

      Brustein looked around elaborately. ‘The housekeeper would insist I get nothing but one. Since I do not see her, three.’

      She did as he asked, then looked at her husband, who watched Brustein with a certain tenderness in his eyes that surprised her. ‘And you, Charles?’

      He shook his head. ‘None. Just tea. And one cake.’

      Their host noticed this exchange. ‘You have not been married long, if your wife does not know your tea habits, Admiral.’

      ‘True,’ Bright said, accepting the tea from her. ‘Peace allows a man certain privileges he never enjoyed before, or so I am learning, eh, Sophie dear? No one ever visited you? Well, the old rogue across the road was no bargain, so you were none the poorer there.’

      ‘People have always been willing to bank with us,’ Brustein said, after a sip. ‘But visit?’ He shrugged.

      ‘I’m embarrassed for my other neighbours,’ Bright said. ‘Shame on them.’

      Brustein shrugged again, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture more eloquent than words. ‘But you are visiting me now, are you not?’

      ‘We’ll

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