The other two looked round the sitting-room a little wearily. Everything was in its appointed place, there was not a speck of dirt to be seen anywhere, and the smell of polish was almost thick enough to be tasted.
“It’ll do,” John said. “It’ll have to. Come on— there’s still time for a swim before supper.”
“Right.” Stephen dropped his duster in the box, and stretched. “I say, Pip—there’s one thing worrying me about all this business this holiday.”
“Mmm?” Philip made for the door to get his swimming things.
“What on earth are we going to do next holidays?”
“Darling—where in heaven’s name are your dirty shirts? If you don’t find them soon, I’ll have to close this case, and then you’ll have to arrive in London carrying them over your arm—hardly, the thing, really.” Mrs Cooper peered at the pile of clothes still littering the bed in their hotel room.
“Under my pillow,” Mr Cooper said absently, reading busily. “I say, this is an awful good script Horton has sent us—what do you think?”
“No!” Mrs Cooper said firmly. “We are going home now. Bad enough we had to leave the children for a month. I wouldn’t have the heart to take another part so soon after we get back. We did promise them…” She pulled a pair of trousers out from under the bed. “How on earth did these get there? Oh, darling, isn’t it nice to be going home? I have missed them all, haven’t you?”
“Mmm.” Mr Cooper closed the play manuscript a little regretfully. “Poor little tykes—I do hope it hasn’t been too dull for them these holidays.”
“Oh, darling, it must have been! What could they have found to do, anyway? Poor angels—we’ll have to find all sort of exciting things for us all to do, as soon as we’re back. They must have been bored silly! Where’s your dressing-gown?”
Shilling a Pound Pears Page 16