Free The Forgotten Story by Winston Graham

and the competing bum-boats and tailors’ cutters tried to slip quietly out of the port without arousing suspicion in the breasts of their rivals. Once the news became public it was a free-for-all race to the incoming ship to reach it first and bespeak it for re-victualling and supplies.
    Nothing more was seen of Tom Harris. He had apparently given up his erring wife as a bad job. As for Patricia, she pursued her light-hearted way, being taken out in turn by several good-looking young men, though the perceptive might have detected an element of determination in her gaiety.
    The one obvious cloud in her life now was Joe. Joe appeared to be sickening for another bout of his old complaint. He carried on his unfailing routine without break, working in his office in the mornings and sitting the rest of the day behind the counter of his shop, fierce and intractable and dry. But although the spirit remained indomitable the flesh was weak: he could eat practically nothing, and his small terrier eyes had sunk deeper into a face narrow and hollow and grey. His appearance began even to affect the attendance at the restaurant on Friday and Saturday nights. People did not like to be jolly with a sick man serving their food.
    Aunt Madge pressed him to take a couple of weeks in bed to see if that would help, and everyone joined her in urging him to see a doctor; but he refused to do either. If he took to his bed who would carry on the supervision of his numerous interests? And a doctor would only prescribe sickly potions which would do him no manner of good. Besides, doctors were expensive; they were the luxury of a rich man. One did not throw away one’s shillings soliciting useless advice.
    And doctors, he argued, could not rid him of a fluke-worm. He knew what to take and was taking it. Plenty of purgatives and a starvation diet. When the attack subsided he’d soon pick up again.
    In August the town was visited by Poulton’s Players, a company of itinerant troupers who toured the south-west with their melodramas. This was an event of popular importance in the life of the community. Ma and Pa Poulton being respected figures and their return visits awaited with pleasure. Not for Poulton’s Players the inconvenience of performing in strange halls with makeshift scenery and unpredictable lighting. Snail-like, Poulton’s carried their house on their back in the shape of a tent, and this was erected on the Moor and the plays given before a select audience for which suitable seating accommodation was provided – easy chairs and couches for the patrons who came in evening dress from the big houses of the town, grading finely down to hard wooden benches for those who had not the money to afford better.
    Patricia went to an early performance with one of her friends and enjoyed it so much that she persuaded her father to let Anthony go with her on the following night. Anthony had never been to a play in his life, and they set out together bubbling over with excitement at the thought of it all.
    The Moor was centrally situated and they had only a short distance to walk. Patricia was wearing a blue dress trimmed with velvet which showed up her slender waist, and a feather boa. Her face was pretty and piquant under a small straw hat. They were talking animatedly as they walked, when Pat suddenly gave a little exclamation and was silent. The boy saw that on the other side of the street and plainly bound for the Moor himself was her husband.
    At the moment Tom Harris turned his head and saw them; he stopped and crossed the street, hat in hand.
    His manner was more friendly than it had been last time.
    â€˜I wonder,’ he said, ‘if you would care to admit to your society a member of the ancient borough of Penryn,’
    Patricia, after a moment’s embarrassment, evidently decided to meet him on his own ground.
    â€˜Well, Tom,’ she said. ‘So you’re going to the play too. I thought you would not