Gerald Durrell - Rosy Is My Relative

“Where’s Samantha?” barked Adrian. At least be had meant to bark but he had to clear his throat several times before he could articulate the words.

“Samantha,” said Honoria in surprise, looking round. “I expect she’s gone into the house.”

“Good,” snarled Adrian. He somewhat spoiled the effect of this by almost tripping over Mr. Filigree as he marched towards the Unicorn and Harp. He strode into the big stone-flagged kitchen with its dark beams and its friendly row of gleaming pots. Samantha was standing at one end looking out of the window. Adrian made his way down the length of the room and stood just behind her. He cleared his throat.

“Samantha,” he said trenchantly, “I have got to talk to you.”

“Why don’t you shut up?” said Samantha fiercely.

“Now, it’s no good adopting that high-handed attitude with me,” said Adrian, taken aback He stuck his hand inside his coat in a Napoleonic gesture.

“If you don’t shut up and go away,” said Samantha wheeling on him, her face flushed, her eyes glittering dangerously, “I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Come, come,” said Adrian backing away a bit, “you’re behaving like a child.”

“And you,” snapped Samantha, “are drunk.”

“I am not drunk,” said Adrian, stunned. “I am as sober as anyone else.”

“You’re drunk,” said Samantha cuttingly, “otherwise you wouldn’t have had the courage to adopt that highhanded tone with me, as though . . . as though you were speaking to a horse.”

“A horse,” said Adrian aghast, “I never spoke to you as though you were a horse.”

“Exactly,” said Samantha, “as though I was a very old and very badly trained horse.”

And to Adrian’s intense consternation she burst into tears.

“Oh, don’t do that,” said Adrian in agony. “I’m sorry . . . I apologise . . . only please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” said Samantha, the tears pouring down her cheeks

“Well, what are you doing,” said Adrian with desperate joviality, “having a bath?”

Samantha looked slightly taken aback and then, astonishingly, chuckled through her tears.

“You are a fool,” she said affectionately.

Adrian felt as though somebody had driven a red hot skewer through his heart and twisted it.

“Oh, Samantha,” he said, “I do love you so.”

Samantha looked at him. “Well, that’s good,” she said at last, “it makes the feeling mutual.”

“You mean, said Adrian incredulously, feeling as though he had been lifted into the stratosphere by a balloon, “you mean that I . . . that you . . . that you and . . . I that you . . .”

“Well, you’ve taken long enough about telling me,” said Samantha.

“Do you mean to say,” said Adrian, “that I . . . that you . . .”

“You know,” said Samantha, looking up at him, “if you go on stammering like that, we are never even going to get to the honeymoon.”

Adrian pulled her into his arms and kissed her warm mouth. Then he kissed the tears (which were surely the largest and finest tears that any woman had ever shed) from her cheeks, and then he kissed her mouth again because he couldn’t really believe that it had felt and tasted like rose petals.

“You mean to say that you’ll marry me?” he said huskily.

“Well, it may be new information to you,” said Samantha, “but I made up my mind to marry you the moment I saw you lying on that sofa the night you arrived after the train accident.”

Adrian looked at her incredulously—then he kissed her again.

“I must tell somebody,” he said.

He rushed through the kitchen and out of the back door of the Unicorn and Harp.

“Hoy!” he bellowed.

The tranquil and slightly inebriated scene under the oak trees was galvanised. Even Lord Fenneltree sat up.

“I am going to many Samantha!” shouted Adrian.

“Do you mean to say you’ve only just discovered that,” said Sir Magnus, with disgust.

“But . . . how did you know?” said Adrian puzzled.

“I’m not going to divulge,” said Sir Magnus. “There are some trade secrets which one doesn’t bruit about.”

“You’re going to marry Sam?” said Mr. Filigree, getting to his feet with a start, and completely forgetting about his conversation with the stag beetle.

“If you approve,” said Adrian.

“Approve,” said Mr. Filigree. “Why, it’s simply marvellous news. It means that Rosy will be an in-law.”

“You don’t by any chance have any champagne, do you?” said Adrian, light-headedly.

“An excellent thing,” said Sir Magma “Champagne and cherry brandy are the perfect things for a toast.”

They all trooped into the big kitchen and, while Mr. Filigree got out the champagne, which was slightly warm but none the less welcome for that, Honoria and Black Nell kissed Samantha enthusiastically and then Honoria burst into tears.

“What are you crying about?” asked Ethelbert.

“I always cry at weddings,” sobbed Honoria with dignity.

“But this isn’t a wedding,” Ethelbert pointed out.

“It’s almost a wedding,” she said.

The glasses were filled and Sir Magnus proposed a toast to the happy couple, which was drunk with great enthusiasm. Adrian was just about to kiss Samantha for the fortieth time when he suddenly remembered Rosy.

“Good heavens,” he said. “I’ve completely forgotten about Rosy. She must have a celebratory drink.”

“I’ll get her,” fluted Mr. Filigree, “the poor dear.”

He billowed his way out of the room.

“I hope,” said Lord Fenneltree to Samantha, “that you will allow me the privilege of calling here occasionally when you are married?”

“You will always be one of our most welcome guests,” said Samantha. “In fact, all of you will be.”

“Yes, of course,” said Adrian.

It was at this point that Mr. Filigree reappeared, running as fast as his bulk would allow him. He was pink, panting and perspiring.

“Adrian,” he shrilled, “Adrian, come quickly.”

“Whatever’s the matter?” said Adrian startled.

“It’s Rosy,” squeaked Mr. Filigree. “When we weren’t looking she pinched the barrel of cherry brandy and she’s gone running off with it.”

Oh God, thought Adrian, it’s starting all over again.

“Quick,” said Sir Magnus organising things, “we must surround her before she gets too far away. Forward!”

And he rushed out, the tails of his coat flapping behind him, closely pursued by Honoria, Black Nell, Ethelbert, Mr. Pucklehammer and the judge, with Mr. Filigree wobbling in their wake.

Adrian turned and looked at Samantha “Are you sure you want to marry me?” he said.

Quite sure,” she said.

“Even in spite of Rosy?” he asked.

“Principally because of Rosy,” she said smiling.

Adrian kissed her swiftly.

“Well then, excuse me a minute,” he said, “I must go and catch my only living relative.”

And he ran out into the sunlight in the wake of the others.

If you have read my books with pleasure, may I point out that those books would never have been written if it had not been for the wildlife of the world. Now, all over the world, many of these same animals are in a desperate plight and unless they are helped they will vanish for ever. I am trying to do what I can and I want you to help me. If you have enjoyed my writing, if the animals I have described have amused or interested you, then please join my Trust and help in a cause which I believe to be of the utmost importance and urgency.

We need money to create ideal surroundings for the breeding colonies we will establish . . . to provide scientific laboratories so that the animals can be carefully studied . . . to extend and increase the Veterinary Department so that the animals can have the best possible treatment.