“When did you become such a wit?”
“A coping mechanism, I suppose.”
“I find,” said Arthur, holding up his book, “I have become so used to the sound of Miss Davis’s equipment, that I can’t seem to concentrate on Jeeves without it. I can’t imagine why she’s not at work this afternoon.”
“Actually, she’s with Mother,” said Oscar. “I asked Bethany to look in on her and she’s just rung a few minutes ago to say she’s going to stay a bit longer until I can get over there. I just stopped by here to pick up a book to read to her. Mum likes to hear me read in spite of . . . you know, my voice.”
“Oh, God, Oscar, I’m so sorry. You told me she was back in hospital. Here I am nattering on about silly noises and reading Wodehouse, and you’ve got genuine problems to deal with. How is she getting on?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. They had thought she’d be ready to go home by yesterday, but now they think she might have developed pneumonia, so they want her to stay for a few more days at least.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Would you mind acting as host tonight?”
“Lord, I almost forgot it was Wednesday, and your week to host the BBs as well. Certainly I can take care of it. I’ll ring David. Will you still be able to come?”
“She’s usually asleep by six,” said Oscar. “I’ll tell Bethany about the change of venue.”
Bethany had become a regular at the BB meetings and although Arthur had resented her presence that first week, he had come to enjoy sparring with her over matters of digital media and watching David fail to seduce her.
“Does she spend a lot of time with your mother? Bethany, I mean.”
“She does,” said Oscar, smiling. “She’s been a real friend these past couple of weeks. Don’t know what I would have done without her. Bethany is . . . she’s a breath of fresh air, I guess you would say. I thank God for her every day.”
“I’d say maybe you’re the one with a bit of a crush.”
“No need to get jealous,” said Oscar. “I’m not moving in on your girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” said Arthur, rather more forcefully than he intended. “I have come to tolerate her, yes, and at times enjoy her company, but I’m no more interested in her romantically than you are.”
“That seems unlikely,” said Oscar with a wry smile. He turned and picked up a book from his desk. “Thanks for helping out tonight. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Give my best to your mother,” said Arthur as Oscar disappeared through the doorway. He felt a stab of guilt that he had not given his best to Mrs. Dimsdale personally. She had been in hospital for several days, and Arthur had been so caught up in his own concerns that he hadn’t even thought of going to visit her. On several occasions over the years, Mrs. Dimsdale had invited the BBs to dinner. David had flirted with her shamelessly, bringing a blush to her cheeks, and Arthur had eaten her heavenly trifle and done his best to be solicitous, but even though he had known her since childhood, he had never felt particularly close to her. That was no excuse, he knew, to avoid visiting her in hospital. He would go tomorrow afternoon, he vowed, as he slipped his book back in his jacket pocket. For now he would go home and tidy up in preparation for the BBs meeting, but tomorrow he would visit Mrs. Dimsdale. Maybe Bethany would go with him.
—
Arthur had just pulled a tray of scones out of the oven when David and Oscar arrived on his doorstep simultaneously.
“Thank you for doing this,” said Oscar.
“Don’t be foolish,” bellowed David, striding into the sitting room swinging a bottle of wine. “He’s always happiest when he’s hosting. That way he doesn’t have to leave his little nest. Now, corkscrew, please.”
“I’ve just made some scones,” said Arthur.
“Fine,” said David. “You enjoy teatime, but I am ready for some proper liquid refreshment.” David plopped down into his usual chair and Arthur ducked into the kitchen, appearing a moment later with a corkscrew, three wineglasses, and a plate of scones.
“Four glasses, Arthur,” said David, grabbing the corkscrew and setting to work on the bottle. “Bethany is coming, right?”
“I thought she didn’t drink,” said Arthur, remembering the Diet Coke Bethany had ordered when they first met.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said David. “Of course she drinks. I had a drink with her last night.”
Arthur took a moment to digest this piece of intelligence. He realized that he had come to think of Bethany as something like his own private acquaintance. Outside of her interactions with him, he had imagined, she did nothing but digitize manuscripts, eat, and sleep. But, in fact, Arthur was just one of her many friends in Barchester. She was sitting with Mrs. Dimsdale, and drinking with David, and dining with Gwyn, and who knew what else.
“How’s Mum, Oscar?” said David, once he had poured himself a glass of wine and attacked it with some ferocity.
“Better this evening, they say. Some chance she might be able to go home in a day or two.”
“I was thinking of going to visit her tomorrow,” said Arthur, determined to follow through on his resolution.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate that. She loves to be read to. She’ll listen to absolutely anything. Today, Bethany was reading to her from something called Lives of Twelve Christian Men.”
“Bethany has that book?” said Arthur.
“Yes,” said Oscar.
“I was looking for it in the library this afternoon.”
“Of course I can’t tell you what books Miss Davis checked out because of confidentiality rules, but I can tell you she was reading to my mother about Bishop Gladwyn this afternoon.”
“Seems an odd choice.”
“I don’t know about that,” said David. “From what she told me, she spent the weekend transcribing your stories about the history of the cathedral. In fact, I gather that, thanks to Bethany, you have now completed the grand task of your professional life and that a toast is in order.” David stood and raised his glass.
“Of course,” said Oscar. “With all the worry about Mother, I’d nearly forgotten. Bethany said you’ve finished the guidebook at long last.”
“To Arthur,” said David, “who may be the slowest writer in the history of English tourism, who may require the coaxing of an American assistant to finally give birth to what is undoubtedly a masterpiece, but who knows whereof he writes and who, furthermore, has impeccable taste in women.”
“To Arthur,” said Oscar, and as they lifted their glasses to drink, there was a knock on the door.
“I’m glad you could join us,” said Arthur to Bethany when he had shown her in. He would have liked a moment to take issue with some of the points in David’s toast, but he was nonetheless touched by his friends’ congratulations, in which Bethany now joined.
“Gwyn told me you e-mailed her the manuscript,” she said. “She says she really likes it.”
“Does she? I haven’t heard the first word from her.”
“I went to talk to her after Communion this morning.”