He had heard much of Sir Hubert Handesley's "unique and delightfully original house-parties" from a brother journalist who had returned from one of them, if the truth be told, somewhat persistently enthusiastic.
"Who will be there?" asked Nigel, not for the first time.
Nigel stared across a patchwork landscape of little fields and hillocks to where a naked wood, fast, fast asleep in its wintry solitude, half hid the warmth of old brick. You can see the beginnings of Frantock over there to the left." Good-looking bloke, too women adored him, reflected Nigel, mentally wagging his head-still flattered and made up to him although he was getting on in years…forty-six or seven.Ĭharles Rankin returned his young cousin's ruminative stare with one of those twisted smiles that always reminded Nigel of a faun. One never knew much of what went on behind that long dark mask of his. They were doing it in such grandeur, too! He leant back in his first-class corner seat and grinned at his cousin opposite. He was actually on his way to Frantock, and in "colossal form" at the very thought of it. At twenty-five he had outgrown that horror of enthusiasm which is so characteristic of youth-grown-up.
N IGEL BATHGATE, in the language of his own gossip column, was "definitely intrigued" about his week-end at Frantock.
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