Chapter TwelveDerek Burdon looked across the table at Candida. It was a big old-fashioned affair well furnished with drawers, and with such aids to industry as a large blotting-pad, a massive double inkstand, and plenty of pens and pencils. There was also an old-fashioned portfolio full of papers. He said in an exasperated voice,
‘It’s all very well to say we ought to get on with it, but I ask you!’
‘Do you?’
He laughed.
‘Well, I suppose I don’t really. This sort of thing just isn’t my line of country, you know. Well, I mean to say—is it? The old dears don’t seem to realise that they might just as well expect me to play the cathedral organ or to fly a plane! As a matter of fact I wouldn’t mind learning to fly, but they wouldn’t expect me to do it right away without learning how, now wo
