Engine capacity

She began to walk towards the door and Bruce followed her, looking, with his trained surveyor’s eye, at the state of the house’s stonework. Work had recently been done on the front, where several new mullions revealed their presence by their colour. He noted, with approval, the fine tracings that the stonemasons had incised on the new sections – a nice touch, he thought – and expensive. Once inside, he looked about the entrance hall, taking in the floor, where engineered oak had replaced what must have been there before, but done so tastefully and again expensively. He looked up towards the high ceiling, and saw the elaborate cornice with its Greek-key design. He noticed the fine Chinoiserie walkingstick stand. He saw the dog’s bed with its tartan blanket.

Jenny’s father appeared in a door at the far end of the hall. He clapped his hands together. “Darling, spot on. Exactly when

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. A trap? A deliberate solecism?

Harry said, “I see you have a Morgan. Nice car.”

Bruce smiled diffidently. “Not everybody likes them, but I do.” He glanced at Jenny.

“Oh, I think they’re terrific cars,” said Harry. “Have you seen the three-wheeler they’re making again? They used to have that wonderful little car, and now they’re in production again.”

Bruce had seen one. “Yes. But they don’t have a hood, do they? I’m not sure how practical they are.”

“Oh, immensely impractical,” said Harry. “That’s their charm.” He paused. “Yours is a Plus 4 -110, isn’t it?”

Bruce froze. Was it? “Yes,” he said. “I like that model.”

“Nice,” said Harry.

Jenny interrupted. “Why do men always talk about cars? There’s not much “Three.”

Harry frowned. “But I thought … I thought that the Roadster was 3.5 litre. Are you sure?” Bruce decided to brazen it out. “Yes. It’s three.”

Harry, he noticed, gave him a sideways glance. But then the older man said. “Well, I suppose you must know what your own engine size is.”

Bruce laughed. “Oh well, these are technical details.” He looked at Jenny apologetically. “I won’t talk about cars. Promise.”

She seemed pleased. “Good.” Harry now said, “My wife’s in Egypt, I’m afraid. She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

“Egypt?” said Bruce.

Harry did not answer. “Mrs Thing’s cooked dinner for us,” said Harry.

Jenny scolded him. “You shouldn’t call her that. You shouldn’t.”

Harry was unabashed. “It’s affectionate. You see, I find her name difficult to get my tongue round. It’s Polish.”

“She’s called Mrs Wiśniewski,” said Jenny. “You wouldn’t find it hard if you at least tried. You should get her to teach you how to say it properly.”

“Thing’s easier,” said Harry. “And she doesn’t mind. She laughs when I call her that. She knows I can’t manage Wis … whatever.”

“She works here,” explained Jenny. “And she’s a terrific cook.”

“Her son does my IT,” said Harry. “He’s a nice boy. A bit unkempt, but who isn’t these days? Wears very odd glasses. He’s been going to Telford College to do some computer course and he knows what’s what. He keeps everything running – e-mail, the cloud, the works. Terrific geek.”

“Daddy!”

“Geek is not a term of abuse,” Harry protested. “It can be compliment.” He rubbed his hands together. “But we shouldn’t stand here in the hall. Let’s go through to the drawing room and then in due course we’ll see what Mrs Thing has prepared for us.”

He led the way through into the adjoining room. Bruce glanced at Jenny, and winked.