"Can I have a shot at that?" Brat asked, indicating the churn. "I've never handled one of those things."
"But of course you have!" Mrs. Docket said, looking taken aback. "You used to come in special on Saturday mornings to have a go at it."
Brat's heart missed a beat. "Did I?" he said. "I've forgotten that."
Always say quite frankly that you don't remember, Loding had advised. No one can deny that you don't remember, but they will certainly jump on you if you try to make-believe about anything.
"I thought you did this by electricity now," he heard Bee say as she made way for him at the churn.
"Oh, we do everything else by electricity, of course," Mrs. Docket said. "But I can't believe it makes good butter. No more home-made taste to it than you'd get at the International in Westover. Sometimes when I'm rushed I switch on the electricity, but I'm always sorry afterwards. Awful mechanical, it is. No artfulness about it."
They drank hot black tea and ate light floury scones and discussed the children's schooling.
"She's a darling, Mrs. Docket," Bee said as they drove away. "I think she is still of the opinion in her heart of hearts that electricity is an invention of the devil."
But Brat was thoughtful. He must stop himself from volunteering remarks. It was not important about the churn, but it quite easily might have been something vital. He must be less forthcoming.
"About Friday, Brat," Bee said, as they made their way back to Clare and to Wigsell.