(10/13) Friends at Thrush Green (13 page)

Charles rattled away, and was sorely tempted to tell him about Bertha Lovelock's alarming intentions concerning her will. But one of his favourite precepts was: 'Least said, soonest mended', and with that in mind he simply gave a brief account of Bertha's growing eccentricity and poor Violet's worries.

'And I've news for you,' said Anthony. 'Gladys Lilly's daughter Doreen turned up the other day, and I very much hope that she will decide to come back to Lulling.'

'What has been happening to her? And why didn't she go back to her employers? Didn't they live near you?'

'Indeed they did—and still do. But I don't think she had the pluck to go back after deserting them. She seems to have left the so-called husband, but she looked pretty pathetic, so did the child. I did my best to persuade her to go back to her mother, but all she would promise was to get in touch by telephone.'

'I believe Dimity heard that she had,' said Charles.

'At the moment she says she is staying "with friends". I only hope they are female,' commented Anthony. 'I have promised to give her her fare home, and she says she will be in touch. We fitted her out with some clothes from the church box, and the boy too, but she wouldn't give us the "friends'" address. Do you know if her mother is on the telephone?'

'I can find out, but I doubt it. Maybe a neighbour is.'

Anthony looked at his watch, then rose and went to the window to survey the garden which had once been his.

Charles looked at his handsome back in its well-tailored dark suit. His silver hair was as abundant as ever, his bearing youthful and his face unlined. How soon, Charles wondered hopefully, would he be made a bishop? Somehow it seemed inevitable, and how well Anthony's elegant legs would look in gaiters!

'The garden looks better than ever,' said Anthony. 'Do you know, I think we were happier here in Lulling than in any other living. We loved everybody here.'

'It was reciprocated,' Charles assured him, as they made their farewells.

Harold Shoosmith carried out his duties at the coffee morning with the general approval of Thrush Green.

'Well, if it couldn't be the rector,' one of the inmates of Rectory Cottages was heard to remark to her neighbour, 'then you couldn't do better than Mr Shoosmith.'

And this, Harold reckoned when told the tale, was high praise indeed.

Although the morning was overcast, and the Youngs' garden was already showing signs of autumn, it stayed dry and pleasantly warm. Butterflies rested on the Michaelmas daisies, opening and shutting their dappled wings. A pair of collared doves strutted about among the visitors, alert to any crumb which might fall.

Mrs Curdle's old gipsy caravan, which now had a permanent resting place in the Youngs' small orchard, was being used as a bring-and-buy shop that morning. Ben, Mrs Curdle's grandson, and his wife Molly were in charge, and pots of jam and marmalade, lavender bags, handkerchiefs, homemade fudge and all the other familiar bring-and-buy objects were changing hands at a brisk pace, while the small drawer, where old Mrs Curdle had kept her takings for so many years, was in use again and chinked steadily with a stream of coins.

Winnie Bailey had suggested to Margaret Lester that they should go together since it would be a good opportunity for the headmaster's wife to meet people. She was then going to Winnie's for lunch.

Certainly the newcomer seemed to be enjoying herself, and talked animatedly to those she met. She was quite pretty, Winnie decided, when she forgot her troubles and joined in the general activities. It was important, Winnie felt, that Alan's wife should be seen to be pleasant and approachable, for a man in his position would be very much in the public eye, and his family under scrutiny. As the widow of the local doctor, Winnie knew that the wife of a leading resident played a part as vital as the man himself.

It was a relief to her to see the pleasure with which her friends greeted Margaret. She had been so much of a recluse since moving in, suffering from those mysterious headaches, that very few people had met her. Now everyone was anxious to welcome her to the small world of Thrush Green.

Muriel Fuller seemed particularly effusive in her greetings, and went to some length to say that she had called at the school house on several occasions and had been perturbed to hear of Mrs Lester's indisposition.

Winnie, seeing that the two were getting on so well, excused herself and went across to Ella and Dimity.

'And what news of Charles?'

'Getting on steadily, and dying to get out and about again.'

'Sure sign that he's on the mend,' commented Winnie.

'And far more difficult to control,' added his wife, 'than when he was really too groggy to go far. With luck, he should be back on light duties next week.'

They had both met Margaret Lester, and agreed that it was splendid to see that she was fit again.

At that moment, Winnie noticed that a car had stopped outside her gate, and a man was walking to her front door. Even at that distance, Winnie could see that it was her nephew Richard who had the disconcerting habit of turning up without warning.

'Oh dear,' cried Winnie, 'I'd better go across and see what's going on. I'll just let Margaret know where I'm going.'

She spoke to the headmaster's wife, and then hurried across the grass. Trust Richard to arrive when there was only one trout apiece for lunch! Why couldn't it have been steak and kidney, or something equally
stretchable
, a casserole perhaps?

Richard was in the kitchen with Jenny sipping coffee, and he greeted his aunt affectionately.

'I'm on my way to pick up Fenella and the children. They've been staying with an old cousin of hers. I must say, I'll be glad to have them back. The place has been like a morgue without them.'

Winnie thought this sounded most satisfactory. Richard's marriage had had its ups and downs, and sometimes Winnie had wondered if Fenella might leave him. She was a strong-minded young woman who ran a picture gallery in London where the family lived. Sometimes Winnie suspected that it was the main reason for keeping the family together, and wished that Richard would provide the home as most husbands did. Fenella definitely called the tune, but Winnie was the first to admit that Richard was a difficult fellow to live with, and perhaps it was as well that Fenella could hold her own.

When the school house had been on the market, Richard had made an attempt to buy it, but Fenella had refused point-blank to leave London and her livelihood.

'Do stay for lunch,' said Winnie.

'No, I'm due at the cousin's at twelve-thirty,' replied Richard. Immediately Winnie ceased trying to think of how to stretch the three trout so it would not have looked too contrived, and relaxed at once.

'Call in on your way back if you can.'

'We'll have to stop for tea with the old lady,' said Richard. 'Fenella says she's very proud of a fatless sponge she makes, and we are in duty bound to sample it and congratulate her. Damn dry it is too,' he added.

'It's all right if it's eaten the same day,' Jenny said stoutly, defending a fellow cook.

'Old Cora must make hers a week before,' said Richard.

'I must go back to Margaret,' said Winnie, kissing her nephew. 'Nice to have had a glimpse of you.'

He had gone when the two ladies returned from the Youngs' garden shortly before lunch.

'Sherry?' asked Winnie, in the sitting-room before lunch.

'Do you happen to have some gin?' asked Margaret. 'I find I can take a little gin,' she explained, 'without getting an attack of migraine. Sherry seems to bring it on.'

Winnie poured her a generous tot, and they sat back to enjoy their drinks. Winnie was a little surprised to see her visitor's glass empty so quickly—and even more so when her offer of 'the other half' was accepted.

Quite soon, Jenny appeared to tell them that lunch was ready, and the three sat down together.

Normally, Winnie and Jenny were content with a glass of water apiece with their meal, but today they had provided a bottle of white wine in honour of their guest. It was empty by the end of the meal.

Jenny brought them coffee in the sitting-room, but would not join them.

Margaret, now rather flushed, rattled away about her new kitchen cupboards, and the pleasure she was getting from her new oven. It was two-thirty by the time she rose to go. She seemed unsteady on her feet, and Winnie said that she would walk across the green with her.

People were clearing up in the Youngs' garden; Winnie could see Ben and Edward carrying trestle-table tops to the shelter of the old stable, and Molly Curdle and Joan Young seemed to be stacking crockery on trays. They waved to them as they-passed.

Winnie left Margaret at the gate of the school house. Children were playing in the playground, and Winnie thought, with a pang, how often she had seen Dorothy and Agnes among their charges. She missed them sorely.

The sun had come through and as she made her way back, Winnie sat down on one of the public seats. She felt very tired. The lunch had gone well, and it had been good to see Richard, but there was no doubt that entertaining, even with Jenny's incomparable efficiency, was getting increasingly burdensome. It was old age, she supposed, looking across at Rectory Cottages where even more aged friends lived.

Her thoughts turned to the new one she had just accompanied home on the other side of the green. There was definitely something wrong there. Winnie, as a doctor's wife for many years, was quite accustomed to seeing patients who were over-fond of alcohol, and knew the misery that it could bring to a family.

She roused herself from the bench and returned home. Jenny was on her knees putting away the best china, and looked up from the low cupboard with a welcoming smile.

'Nice party,' she said. 'But my word, she can put it away, can't she?'

It would not be long, Winnie realized, before a great many people would be of Jenny's opinion, and what might that augur for the happiness of the Lester family?

The former occupants of the school house were in the throes of packing for a few days away in Wales. It was Dorothy who took longer over this chore than Agnes. Possibly it was because Agnes owned far fewer clothes, and was not distracted by having to make a choice between six or eight different cardigans, say, or four or five frocks suitable to wear in the evening.

Dorothy too was more clothes-conscious altogether and, as a headmistress, had always made sure that she looked well turned out. Agnes, much less perturbed by her appearance, aimed to be neat, clean and unobtrusive. So when it came to packing, she was at a distinct advantage.

'Now, if I take my black,' Dorothy said, 'it means putting in my black patent shoes which are most uncomfortable and will take up far too much room.'

'I shouldn't take the black,' advised Agnes. 'I think the green, and that pretty new fawn dress should be ample for evenings. Then your brown shoes would look right with both.'

Dorothy looked undecided. 'It means wearing each one twice,' she said.

'I don't suppose anyone will have the vapours if you do,' retorted Agnes with unusual tartness. 'I'm only taking one skirt for evening with two dressy blouses, and people will have to put up with it.'

Dorothy nodded abstractedly.

'In any case,' continued Agnes, 'they will be worrying about their own appearance, not ours.'

'I'm sure you are right,' responded Dorothy, putting the black dress back in the cupboard.

'I'll just go down and check Timmy's provisions,' said Agnes. 'It's so good of Eileen to take him on. He's becoming quite devoted to her.'

When Dorothy appeared downstairs, case in hand, she found that Agnes was about to fill a flask with coffee for their picnic lunch.

'I'm popping along to say goodbye to Teddy,' she announced.

'But I thought Eileen was going in this morning,' replied Agnes, jug poised.

'She is,' agreed Dorothy, 'but I thought it would look more friendly to say we were just off, and leave our telephone number with him.'

'But I left it with Eileen!' protested Agnes.

'No harm in letting them both know where we are,' said Dorothy. 'I shall only be a minute.'

She vanished, to leave Agnes sitting on the kitchen chair watching Tim cleaning his handsome whiskers.

'Teddy this, and Teddy that,' sighed Agnes. 'Where will it all end?'

The coffee morning brought in almost three hundred pounds, a record sum at Thrush Green for such an event. Much cheered, the inhabitants braced themselves for further efforts during autumn, and watched the progress of the new extension with renewed proprietorial interest.

The topic was discussed by Nelly Piggott and her friend Mrs Jenner as they made their way down the hill to Lulling one evening, bound for an evening's diversion at bingo. Nelly thoroughly enjoyed her regular outings, not only for the possible thrill of winning some money, but also for the more practical pleasure in sitting down after a day on her feet at The Fuchsia Bush.

Mrs Jenner was one of the oldest residents of Thrush Green, and sister to Percy Hodge the farmer. She lived a short distance along the road to Nidden, had once been a nurse, and was mother to Jane Cartwright, one of the wardens at Rectory Cottages. In any emergency it was ten chances to one that Mrs Jenner was called first, before the doctor or the vet, or the police or the fire brigade. She was indeed, as the rector often said: 'A very present help in trouble.'