Free The Norfolk Mystery (The County Guides) by Ian Sansom

and preserve.’ He checked his watch. ‘Forty-three minutes to departure, Sefton. I have a few things to attend to. You’ll need an overnight bag.’
    â€˜I’m not sure I—’
    â€˜Cook’ll sort you out with something.’ He checked his watch again. ‘Forty-two minutes. See you anon.’

    Forty-two minutes later – or near enough – I made my way outside, where Morley was supervising Miriam packing the car.
    â€˜Forty-
five
minutes, Sefton,’ he said, without glancing at a watch. ‘Forty-
five
.
Tempus anima rei
, eh?
Tempus anima rei
. You’re putting us behind schedule. Don’t do it again. Now, you’ll be wondering, of course, about method,’ he continued, picking up on the threads of the conversation we’d had forty-five minutes earlier, as though nothing else had intervened between. ‘No, not there, Miriam!’
    â€˜Why, what’s wrong with there?’
    â€˜There,’ he said. ‘Clearly, it fits
there
.’
    Miriam slightly readjusted some bags packed around the large brass-bound travelling trunk that was strapped on the back, numbered ‘No.1’.
    â€˜Do you need a hand at all?’ I said.
    â€˜
Forty-five minutes!
’ said Miriam mockingly, tightening straps. ‘You have us all behind, Sefton.’
    â€˜You know the word
verzetteln
, Sefton?’ continued Morley.
    â€˜No, I’m afraid I don’t, sir.’
    â€˜From library science. “To excerpt”. To arrange things into individual slips or the form of a card index.’
    â€˜I see.’
    â€˜Place for everything.’
    â€˜And everything in its place,’ said Miriam, handing me an old Gladstone bag. ‘You’ll be needing these, Sefton.’ The bag was stuffed to overflowing with clothes and dozens of notebooks.
    â€˜Ah. The notebooks,’ said Morley. ‘Jolly good. Notebooks are the fundamental equipment for those who devise things,’ said Morley. ‘Are they not, Miriam?’
    â€˜Yes, Father.’
    â€˜One should always avoid haphazard writing materials, Sefton. Remember that.’
    He then gestured towards the car, and daintily climbed into the back seat, whereupon, to my astonishment, Miriam began fitting a wooden desk around him, transforming the rear of the vehicle instantly into a kind of portable office. Safely wedged into his seat, Miriam then hoisted, seemingly from out of nowhere, a small, lightweight typewriter onto a couple of stays on the desk, and stood back to admire her handiwork.
    â€˜Home from home,’ said Morley.
    â€˜Do you like my dress, Sefton?’ said Miriam.
    â€˜Very nice,’ I said, bewildered, as so often in their company. ‘Brown.’
    â€˜It’s “donkey”, actually,’ she said.
    â€˜Donkey? Is that a colour?’
    â€˜Of course it’s a colour. Have you ever seen a donkey?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And what colour is it?’
    â€˜It’s—’
    â€˜
Donkey
is the colour of donkeys, Sefton.’
    â€˜Well—’
    â€˜Enough tittle-tattle, children,’ said Morley. ‘Do we have everything, Miriam?’
    â€˜Yes. Of course. Now, you’ve remembered I’m going to London later, Father?’
    â€˜But—’
    â€˜I told you yesterday. Margaret Whitwell is having a party and she absolutely insists that I’m there. So Sefton will be in charge of things once I’ve dropped you off. Get in, then, Sefton.’
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜There.’
    I clambered into the back with Morley.
    â€˜You know I don’t hold with these London parties, Miriam.’
    â€˜I know that, Father.’
    â€˜I’m just reminding you, that’s all.’
    â€˜Repetition is a form of self-plagiarism, I think you’ll find, Father.’
    â€˜Anyway. We have everything?