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Angel

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2018
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“I hope she’s a Catholic,” I remarked casually.

“Yes, she is. And she’s all of seventeen.”

“That fits,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. No more David Murchison! He’s found a new bit of female clay to mould.

After I’d cleared the uneaten gateau away and made a pot of tea, Mrs. Delvecchio Schwartz and Flo materialised. Oh, dear. The family didn’t know what to make of them! One didn’t talk, the other’s grammar wasn’t the best, and the most that could be said for their unironed dresses was that they were clean. Flo, barefoot as always, was clad in the usual snuff-brown pinny, while her mother sported orange daisies on a bright mauve background.


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