After the leisurely lunch Claire asked to see his study. Just to get a feel of how he ordered the things about himself, she said, and then they sat by the large living-room window with the dark clouds tumbling by and the passing squalls of rain in swirling impact against the glass. Claire placed a small recorder on the tray table but didn’t fiddle with it during the interview, and Pearly wasn’t inhibited by its presence. He enjoyed being the object of her attention with the knowledge that in time thousands of people would read what he had to say. He had warned himself to avoid conspicuous vanity, but it was difficult not to expand his self-esteem in answer to such well-informed, professionally penetrating yet encouraging enquiry from a leading journalist with career experience in France and Canada. Yes, he had a history of some significance in his country’s premier sport, yes, he was the three-term mayor of a prosperous community and with fresh projects to enthuse about, yes, he had a business of his own and house to be proud of, and yes, he had the gift of the gab sufficient to impress most of his fellows as well as himself. Pearly could have talked all afternoon and did indeed through much of it. He found his own life of unfailing interest and accepted that it might well be instructive for other people to be informed concerning it.

Claire stayed for a late afternoon tea, and Helen resumed conversation with her, to the obvious pleasure of both. ‘You’ve talked enough for one day,’ Helen told Pearly. She invited Claire to stay for the evening meal, but Claire was committed to driving further north. Pearly and Helen went out to the car to farewell her and stood briefly hunched under the umbrella in the wind and rain with hands raised as she drove away.

Pearly was pleased with the day. When the magazine came out he would buy quite a few copies to give to family and friends. He particularly looked forward to sending one to Leanne in Cardiff, for his daughter’s good opinion was especially important to him. As he stood in the ensuite that night after cleaning his teeth, he gave himself a thumbs-up in the mirror. ‘You’re doing okay, Pearly,’ he said. He could still hear rain. It had become less spasmodic and torrential, lighter, steadier and so more welcome on the land. He’d ring Richie in the morning. ‘Send her down, Huey,’ Pearly said quietly, addressing his own image.

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