“Q. No, P.”
Are you sure? We have to make quite certain we don’t make a mistake. This part is very important.”
“It’s P. How does that help us?”
It’s the answer, Emma, it’s the answer. We must choose a country, and in that country I must buy my house.”
“Don’t you get told more specifically?”
“Certainly not. I told you that the cards don’t do everything. Now, what countries begin with P?”
“Patagonia.”
“Where is that?”
“I’m not too sure, but I think it’s where South America tapers off.”
“Where does it taper off to?”
“Doesn’t it end up somewhere near Terra del Fuego?”
“Terra del Fuego?”
“Yes. But as I said, I’m not certain. Haven’t you got an atlas?”
“I don’t need an atlas to find out where Terra del Fuego is, Emma. It’s practically touching Cape Horn!”
“In a way, yes.”
“Where all those poor sailors were wrecked.”
“Not all of them.”
“And a terrible, terrible climate, I read once.”
“Not exactly salubrious, no.”
“Is that the only country that begins with P?”
“Heavens, no. There are dozens, but I can’t call any of them to mind. Yes, I can. Pakistan.”
“I was out there years and years ago, with my husband. It was very pleasant, but I’m told it isn’t at all the same nowadays. No, not Pakistan. Where else is there?”
“Couldn’t it be a place, a town? There are some lovely ones beginning with P, like Paphos and Papua. As a matter of fact, I misled you, because I remember now—Patagonia is simply a region of Argentina.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going there.”
“Did you know that there are two places in Ceylon called Palampodder and Pallavarayankaddu? What could be nicer than Palampodder or Pallavarayankaddu? If you went there, I’d have to go with you.”
“Countries, Emma, countries.”
“Paraguay.”
“Now, I’ve heard about that. Or was it Uruguay?”
“Both. Do you fancy Paraguay?”
“I don’t think so. It has a kind of wild sound.”
“There’s another place in Ceylon called Pedrotallagalla.”
“How on earth did you learn these extraordinary—”
“Night school. There was a girl from Ceylon who used to reel off names like those, and we were so sure she was making them up that we checked, and sure enough, there they were. Oh—Peru.”
“No.”
“Philippines?”
“Well... they’re islands, aren’t they, and I do love the sea. Can’t you think of anything nearer home?”
“Portugal. How about Portugal?”
“Now that is what the cards had in mind.” Lady Grantly sighed with relief and leaned back in her chair. “Tell me what you know about Portugal.”
“I don’t know anything whatsoever, except that it starts near Vigo and goes down and round the corner and finishes up—”
“I didn’t mean geographically. I was thinking of the climate.”
“No idea, but I think windy summers and wet winters. I don’t think that sounds comfortable, do you?”
“Wind, perhaps not. But rain ... Do you know, Emma, I love rain.”
“A shower now and then, maybe. But I think it starts coming down about October in Portugal, and doesn’t let up until the Spring.”
“So that when it stops, all the trees and the bushes must look fresh and new and beautiful. And there’s a lot of sea, isn’t there?”
“There’s a long coastline, yes. But it’s an Atlantic coastline. That’s the catch, someone told me once. People go out there thinking it’s Mediterranean, and it isn’t; it’s Atlantic, which means waves bashing on the beaches, and storms, and—”
“Are the summers warm?”
“Yes. And dry. Scarcely a drop of rain, as far as I can gather, between April and October. But wind, as I said. Very strong wind. And along the coast in summer, so my informant said, morning mist that doesn’t clear until about eleven, making it pretty cool if not chilly.”
“Are you trying to make me dislike Portugal?”
“You asked for information, and this is it. When I back to London, I’ll go to the Portuguese tourist office and…on second thoughts, I won’t. Why would a tourist office give you a list of the drawbacks? I’ll try and locate this friend, whoever she was, and jog her memory.”
“Portugal. Imagine, Emma. Just a few days in a ship, and—”
“Two. What’s wrong with flying? Two and a half hours.”
“There you are, then. Perfect. Not too far, with sunny summers and rain in winter, instead of fog and sleet and snow. You must do something for me as soon as you get back to London—find me a house out there, and then we shall go out as soon as we can.”
“Not me. You.”
“I would be very upset if you couldn’t find a little time to go out there with me and help me to settle down. I would naturally, pay all your expenses, and I would also make up to you the money you’d lose by giving up your work for a time.”
“Thank you. But Gerald might have something to say if I announced that I was dashing off to what might have been Patagonia.”
“Gerald?”
“You’ve forgotten. Gerald Delmont. I’m going to marry him.”
Lady Grantly merely swept up the cards and replaced them in their case.
“Nonsense, Emma,” she said. “Nonsense.”
To read more of this book, look for The Friendly Air by Elizabeth Cadell on kindle, kobo, and paperback.
Also by Elizabeth Cadell
My Dear Aunt Flora
Fishy, Said the Admiral
River Lodge
Family Gathering
Iris in Winter
Sun in the Morning
The Greenwood Shady
The Frenchman & the Lady
Men & Angels
Journey's Eve
Spring Green
The Gentlemen Go By
The Cuckoo in Spring
Money to Burn
The Lark Shall Sing
Consider The Lilies
The Blue Sky of Spring
Bridal Array
Shadow on the Water
Sugar Candy Cottage
The Green Empress
Alice Where Art Thou?
The Yellow Brick Road
Six Impossible Things
Honey For Tea
Language of the Heart
Mixed Marriage
Letter to My Love
Death Among Friends
Be My Guest
Canary Yellow
The Fox From His Lair
The Corner Shop
The Stratton Story
The Golden Collar
The Past Tense of Love
The Friendly Air
Home for the Wedding
The Haymaker
Deck With Flowers
The Fledgling
Game in Diamonds
Parson's House
Round Dozen
Return Match
The Marrying Kind
Any Two Can Play
A Lion in the Way
Remains to be Seen
The Waiting Game
The Empty Nest
Out of the Rain
Death and Miss Dane
About the Author
Elizabeth Vandyke was born in British India at the beginning of the 20th century. She married a young Scotsman and became Elizabeth Cadell, remaining in India until the illness and death of her much-loved husband found her in England, with a son and a daughter to bring up, at the beginning of World War 2. At the end of the war she published her first book, a light-hearted depiction of the family life she loved. Humour and optimism conquered sorrow and widowhood, and the many books she wrote won her a wide public, besides ena
bling her to educate her children (her son joined the British Navy and became an Admiral), and allowing her to travel, which she loved. Spain, France and Portugal provide a background to many of her books, although England and India were not forgotten. She finally settled in Portugal, where her married daughter still lives, and died when well into her 80s, much missed by her 7 grandchildren, who had all benefitted from her humour, wisdom and gentle teaching. British India is now only a memory, and the quiet English village life that Elizabeth Cadell wrote about has changed a great deal, but her vivid characters, their love affairs and the tears and laughter they provoke, still attract many readers, young and not-so-young, in this twenty-first century. Reprinting these books will please her fans and it is hoped will win her new ones.
Afterword
Note: Elizabeth Cadell is a British author who wrote her books using the traditional British spelling. Therefore because these books are being published worldwide, the heirs have agreed to keep her books exactly as she wrote them and not change the spelling.
Letter To My Love Page 16
