Page 68 of Next in Line

‘Chapeau,’ said Christina, raising her glass. ‘So, what’s next on your hit list?’

‘Have you heard of the Newlyn School?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ admitted Christina.

‘A group of artists who worked in Cornwall at the end of the last century, and are just coming back into fashion. I’ve got my eye on a painting by Albert Chevallier Tayler that’s coming up for sale at Cheffins in Cambridge. If I can pick it up for around three thousand, it would be a bit of a coup,’ said Beth as Ross leapt in the air and cried, ‘Howzat!’

A man in a long white coat pondered for a moment before raising a forefinger high in the air to indicate the fall of the second wicket.

‘William’s side seem to be doing quite well,’ said Christina. ‘Not that I have the slightest idea what I’m talking about.’

‘That’s never worried you in the past,’ teased Beth as the batsman who’d scored a half-century left the field to cries of ‘Well played, sir,’ ‘Bravo,’ and ‘Fine innings!’

‘I hadn’t realized,’ Beth went on, ‘that all the contacts and knowledge I’ve acquired over the past ten years could be turned into a profit. What’s more, I’m more relaxed and have more spare time to spend with the children.’

‘What’s that called?’ asked Christina as a ball soared high over the boundary rope and the crowd cheered loudly.

‘It’s a six,’ said Beth. ‘They happen quite regularly when William puts himself on to bowl. The truth is, I’ve made more in the last three months than a police superintendent earns in a year.’

‘Don’t tell William,’ said Christina.

Beth decided this wasn’t the time to tell Christina that she told her husband everything. ‘Time for tea,’ was all she said. ‘And don’t even think of stealing the sandwiches,’ she added as they joined William, the two teams and their guests in the tea tent, although she feared Christina was more likely to try and steal one of the younger players.

‘Are you winning?’ Beth asked when William offered her a cucumber sandwich.

‘No idea. You often can’t tell who’s going to win until the last ball of the day, which is part of the game’s charm.’

‘You should be able to knock off the hundred and sixty-three needed to win the match,’ said the commander as he poured himself a cup of tea.

‘It’s a fairly challenging score,’ said William. ‘We’ll need to bat well.’

‘It would have been a lot less challenging if you hadn’t put yourself on to bowl,’ said Beth.

‘I remain confident,’ said William, ignoring the jest, ‘that’s assuming Paul gets his usual fifty.’ He looked across the tent to see his opening batsman chatting to Christina.

‘You’d better go and rescue the poor fellow,’ said Beth when she spotted Paul being woven into her web, ‘or he might never reach the crease.’

William strolled across to join Paul, who couldn’t take his eyes off the forbidden fruit. ‘Get your pads on, Paul, you’re opening the batting.’

‘But I usually bat four or five, skipper,’ he protested.

‘Not today you don’t. You and Ross will be opening.’

Paul reluctantly left them to go and pad up. ‘See you later?’ said Christina.

‘Much later, I hope,’ murmured William.

‘Whatever do you mean, William?’ asked Christina, unable to hide a smirk.

‘I need my best batsman to keep his eye on the ball, not on you. If you want to help, try and pick up that chap over there,’ he said, pointing to a large, beer-bellied man scoffing a cream cake.

‘Why him?’

‘He’s their opening bowler. Known as the dirty demon, so do your worst,’ he said, before walking off.

‘Not my type,’ said Christina as she watched Paul putting on his pads.

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