Free London Transports by Maeve Binchy

whirled around in the wheelchair, stroking this and patting that.
    “Lovely inlay,” she said.
    “We must strip this down,” she said.
    “What a magnificent curtain. Wouldn’t it look lovely on the balcony?” she said.
    So of course Pat, flattered and pleased, hung Auntie Delia’s bead curtain up on the balcony, where indeed it looked lovely.
    That night she asked if they ever heard from Nadia how she was enjoying Washington.
    “No, we’ve not heard,” said Marigold.
    “Nadia doesn’t write many letters,” said Joy.
    “What did she do, I mean what job had she?” asked Pat. Her slight jealousy of Nadia had disappeared, now she had only curiosity.
    “She worked in an antique shop,” said Joy.
    “Managed an antique shop,” said Marigold.
    “Well, she worked there first,” laughed Joy. “But Marigold told her she knew much more than anyone in it, and gave her confidence, so she ended up managing it for Mr. Solomons.”
    “She knew twice as much as Mr. Solomons from the start,” said Marigold.
    “Anyway Mr. Solomons fancied her enormously, so that it didn’t hurt,” said Joy with a giggle.
    “Did she fancy him?” asked Pat with interest.
    “Not until Marigold told her to have some intelligence and fancy him,” giggled Joy again.
    “Oh,” said Pat.
    Marigold seemed to think some clarification was called for.
    “It always strikes me as silly to go to bed with half-drunk people, who forget it, or who feel embarrassed by it, or who do it so often that it’s meaningless, and then refuse to go to bed with someone like Mr. Solomons who would appreciate it, would remember it with affection, and would advance Nadia because of it. It just seems a foolish sort of thing to have a principle about.”
    Put that way, thought Pat, it was unanswerable.
    “But she left him all the same?” she probed.
    “Oh no, she didn’t leave Mr. Solomons,” said Joy laughing. “Mr. Solomons left her. He had a heart attack and went to live in the country, so she managed his place for him, and took a share in the profits.”
    “And had a very nice cut and first refusal on everything they stocked,” said Marigold, stroking the little mahogany cabinet beside her, almost sensuously.
    “So why Washington?” asked Pat.
    “She’s running a little antique shop in George-town now,” said Marigold distantly. “Very different kind of stuff, I’m sure.”
    “She got sort of unsettled, and took the first job she heard of,” said Joy artlessly.
    “Some silly business with a chap who used to restore paintings, very silly really,” said Marigold. And the conversation about Nadia stopped there. It was as clear a break as if “End of Episode One” had been written in fire in the air.
    Out of sheer curiosity, Pat stopped in Solomons’ antique shop. There was no elderly owner type about, so she supposed that the good proprietor’s heart could not yet have recovered from Nadia’s exertions.
    She asked how much they would give her for Aunt Delia’s inlaid cabinet if she were to sell it. She described it very carefully.
    “About five hundred pounds,” said the young man. “Depends on what condition it’s in, of course, but not less I’d say.”
    That was odd. Marigold had said it was pretty but without value. Marigold said she should take great care of it because it might be worth fifty pounds. Imagine Marigold not knowing how much it was worth. A flaw in the lovely, graceful, all-knowing Marigold. A flaw no less.
    “Is Nadia still here?” she asked on impulse.
    “No, why, you a friend of hers?” the man asked.
    “No,” said Pat. “I just know people who know her.”
    “Oh, she left here a few weeks ago. Kevin would know where she is.” He pointed out a young and very attractive bearded bending figure, who was examining the frame of a picture.
    “It doesn’t matter really,” said Pat hastily, thinking this might be the silly young man of Marigold’s description.
    “Hey, Kevin, this lady’s a friend of