in a strange land as I parked the MG outside 189A Hamilton
Street. Mr Cavilleri's handshake was warm and strong.
'How do you do, sir?' I said.
'I'm Phil,' he said.
'Phil, sir.' It was a frightening moment. Then Mr Cavilleri
turned to his daughter. Suddenly they were in each other's
arms, laughing and crying and kissing. I felt like a stranger.
For some time I did not have to speak much. 'Don't speak
with your mouth full,' my family had told me when I was
a child. Phil and his daughter kept my mouth full all
afternoon. I don't know how many Italian cakes I ate. Both
Cavilleris were very pleased.
'He's OK,' said Phil at last.
'I told you he was OK,' said his daughter.
'Well, I had to see for myself. Now I've seen him. Oliver—'
'Yes, sir?'
'Call me Phil. You're OK.'
Later Phil tried to have a serious talk with me. He thought
he could bring Oliver Barrett the Third and Oliver Barrett
the Fourth together again.
'Let me speak to him on the telephone,' he said. 'A father's
love is a very special thing . . . '
'There isn't much of it in my family,' I said.
'Your father will soon realize,' he began. 'When it's time
to go to the church—'
'Phil,' said Jenny gently, 'we don't want to be married in
church.'
He looked surprised, then unhappy. But he spoke bravely.