James asked G he what he thought of the local people. ‘Backward’ came his quick, scoffing reply. When he arrived, he couldn’t say enough positive things about them. They welcomed and embraced him. Maybe it’s worn thin and now they don’t like the flash image: the Mazaratti, the large donations of money to the local toddler group, the overt sexiness, the water skiing in black tie, the easy privileged jet setting life of this new family. And, besides, this home has now become the weekend cottage. They have moved to the city during the week to have their three-year-old son educated. The loch side romance did not last long.
We were there in answer to BL’s last call to his tribe: a meeting of all the decedents of his grandfather and my great grandfather. Poor B and MC were the only ones of their generation there: Dad, I, and T were all dead. And their women too ill and tired of life to join in the jamboree. We met at O. I hadn’t been there for 30 years. I had little memory of the grand old place. And I didn’t much like what I heard of B; a difficult, challenging man.