him Henry, Hatty.”
“One lump,” I said.
“Oh dear, oh dear, I had such a good memory once.”
“The water’s boiling, dear.”
The kettle was on a spirit ring close to a big brown teapot. She began to pour out.
“Oh, I quite forgot the strainer,” she said.
“Never mind, Hatty.”
“It’s because of my clients. I never strain theirs, so I forget when I’m alone.”
There was a plate of ginger-snaps and I accepted one for politeness’ sake. “From the Old Steine,” Aunt Augusta told me. “Ye Olde Bunne Shoppe. You don’t get gingersnaps like that anywhere else in the world.”
“And now they have turned it into a betting shop,”
Hatty said. “Pluto, dear? Was it Pluto?”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t Pluto. I think it began with a T.”
“I can’t think of anything classical beginning with T.”
“There was a point to his name.”
“There certainly was.”
“Historical.”
“Yes.”
“You remember the dogs, dear. They are in the photo too.”
“It was them gave Curran the idea.”
“The Revered,” Aunt Augusta repeated again, and they laughed in unison at their private memory. I felt very much alone, so I took another ginger-snap.
“The boy has a sweet tooth[51]”, Hatty remarked.
“To think that little shop in the Old Steine survived two great wars.”
“We’ve survived,” Hatty replied, “but they aren’t turning us into betting shops.”
“Oh, it will need an atom bomb to destroy us,” Aunt Augusta said.
I thought it was time to speak. “The situation in the Middle East is pretty serious,” I said, “judging from today’s Guardian.”
“You can never tell,” Hatty said, and they were both for a while buried in thought. Then my aunt picked out a tealeaf, put it on the back of her hand and slapped it with the other; it clung obstinately to a vein which was surrounded by what my mother used to call grave-marks.
“Can’t get rid of the fellow,” Aunt Augusta said. “I hope he’s tall and handsome.”
“That isn’t a stranger,” Hatty corrected her. “That’s the thought of a departed you can’t get out of your mind.”
“Living or dead?”
“It could be either. How stiff does he feel?”
“If he’s living I suppose it could be poor Wordsworth.”
“Wordsworth is dead, dear,” Hatty said, “a very long time ago.”
“Not my Wordsworth. It’s stiff as wood. I wonder who a dead one could be.”
“Poor Curran perhaps.”
“I have thought a lot about him since I came to Brighton.”
“Would you like me to do a professional cup, dear, for you and your friend?”
“Nephew,” Aunt Augusta corrected Hatty in her turn. “It would be fun, dear.”
“I’ll make another pot. The leaves have to be fresh and I use Lapsang Souchong[52] professionally, though I drink Ceylon – Lapsang gives big leaves and good results.”
When she came back after washing the pot and our cups my aunt said, “You must let us pay.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear, not after all we’ve been through together.”
“With the Revered.” They giggled again.
Hatty poured in the boiling water. She said, “I don’t let the pot draw. The leaves speak better fresh.” She filled our cups. “Now toss the tea away, dear, in this basin.”
“I’ve got it,” my aunt said. “Hannibal.”
“Who’s Hannibal?”
“The elephant that trod on Curran’s toe.”
“I do believe you’re right, dear.”
“I was watching the tea and it came to me suddenly in a flash.”
“I often notice that with the leaves. Things come back. You are watching the leaves and things come back.”
“I suppose Hannibal’s dead too.”
“You can’t tell, dear, with elephants.”
She picked up my aunt’s cup and studied it closely. “It’s interesting,” she said, “very interesting.”
“Bad or good?”
“A bit of both.”
“Just tell me the good.”
“You are going to do a lot of travelling. With another person. You are going to cross the ocean. You are going to have many adventures.”
“With men?”
“That the leaves don’t say, dear, but knowing you as I do, it wouldn’t surprise me. You will be in danger of your life and liberty on more than one occasion.”
“But I’ll come through?”
“I see a knife – or it might be a syringe.”
“Or it could be something else, Hatty – you know what I mean?”
“There is some mystery in your life.”
“That’s nothing new.[53]”
“I see a lot of confusion – a lot of running about this way and that. I’m sorry, Augusta, but I can’t see any peace at the close. There’s a cross. Perhaps you find religion. Or it could be a double-cross.”
“I’ve always been interested in religion,” my aunt said, “ever since Curran.”
“Or it could be a bird, of course – a vulture perhaps. Keep away from deserts.” Hatty gave a sigh. “Things don’t come to me so easily as they once did. I exhaust myself with strangers.”
“But you’ll take one look at Henry’s cup too, dear, won’t you? Just one look.”
She poured my tea away and looked in the cup. “Men are difficult,” she said. “They have so many occupations beyond a woman’s knowledge and that affects the interpretation. I had a client once who said he was a bevel-edger. I don’t know what he meant. Are you an undertaker?”
“No.”
“There’s something that looks like an urn. Do you see it there? On the left of the handle. That’s the recent past.”
“It might be an urn,” I said, looking.
“You will do a lot of travelling.”
“That’s not very likely. I’ve always been rather stay-at-home. It’s quite an adventure for me coming as far as Brighton.”
“It’s in the future you’re going to travel. Across the ocean. With a lady friend.”
“Perhaps he’s coming with me,” Aunt Augusta said. “It’s possible. The leaves don’t lie. There’s a round thing like a target. There’s a mystery in your life too.”
“I’ve only just discovered that,” I said.
“I see a lot of confusion too and running about. Just like in Augusta’s cup.”
“That’s