(3/13) News from Thrush Green (23 page)

Dulcie, unduly skittish, kicked up her heels every time that Dotty approached her. Dotty, red in the face, greeted Jeremy shortly.

'Get Daisy undone, boy, will you? And give her some of that stuff you've brought to stop her row.'

Jeremy obediently accomplished this task. In the comparative peace that followed, Dotty captured the younger goat, and sighed noisily with relief.

'Where's Dulcie going?' asked Jeremy.

'To be mated,' said Dotty flatly.

'What d'you mean -
mated
?' queried Jeremy.

'Married, then,' said Dotty, hitching up a stocking in a preoccupied way.

'
Married
? But only
people
get married,' exclaimed Jeremy.

'I know that,' said Dotty, nettled. Dulcie began to tug powerfully at her lead.

'But you said—'

'Here, you clear off home,' said Dotty forthrightly. 'I'm up to my eyes this morning, as you can see.'

The boy retreated very slowly backwards.

'Will she have baby goats when she's been mated?'

'
Kids,
you mean,' said Dotty pedantically. 'Do use the right expressions, child.'

'Well, will she?'

'What?' said Dotty, stalling for time.

'Have baby goats. Kids, I mean?'

'Maybe,' said Dotty, with unusual caution. Difficult to know how much children knew about the facts of life these days, and anyway it wasn't her business to enlighten this one.

'Can I have one when they come, Miss Harmer?' begged Jeremy longingly. '
Please,
can I?'

Dotty's slender stock of patience suddenly ran out at her heels like gunpowder. Her voice roared out like a cannon.

'Look, boy! I don't know
if
she'll have kids,
when
she'll have kids, or if your mother would let you have one if she
did
have kids! Your're far too inquisitive, and a confounded nuisance. Get off home!'

She raised a skinny, but powerful, arm, and Dulcie, sensing joyous combat, lowered her head for action. In the face of this combined attack, Jeremy fled, but even as he ran determined to come again as soon as things at Dotty's had returned once more to their usual chaotic normality.

Meanwhile, he decided, slackening his pace as the distance between Dotty's and his own breathless form increased, he must set about persuading his mother that a little kid would be very useful for keeping Tullivers' grass down. But, somehow, he sensed that that would be an uphill battle.

Frank arrived the following weekend, in the midst of a torrential rainstorm. Ella Bembridge, struggling to shut an upstairs window to keep out the deluge, was the first to see the beautiful sleek Jaguar creep through Harold's gateway. She knew whose it must be, for Dimity had told her all about Harold's friend, his redoubtable Violet, and the fact that he was a busy editor. If Frank had been aware how much was known about him already at Thrush Green he would have been very surprised.

'What a welcome for you!' exclaimed Harold, opening the front door. 'Come in, my dear fellow, before you are wet through.'

He showed his friend to his bedroom and went downstairs again to prepare drinks. From the kitchen, delicious smells of lunch emanated.

'Not quite up to Violet's standards, I'm afraid,' said Harold, when his friend reappeared, 'but pretty good, nevertheless. By the way, Mrs Prior and her boy are joining us for lunch.'

'How nice!' said Frank. 'Whereabouts is her house?'

Harold pointed out Tullivers through the veils of slashing rain.

'If this doesn't stop, I must fetch her,' said Harold. 'It will save her getting out her car. She could get soaked just going to her garage.'

It occurred to Frank that Harold was rather unduly solicitous.

'Mine's out already,' he said. 'We'll fetch her together.'

But, as it happened, the storm swept away before Phil and Jeremy needed to set out, and by the time they arrived, the sun was turning the puddles on Thrush Green to dazzling mirrors.

Betty Bell, who had heard quite enough of the paragon Violet to be put on her mettle, brought forth a superb steak and kidney pudding swathed in a snowy napkin. The Brussels sprouts, the braised celery and the floury potatoes were all at the peak of perfection, and a truly enormous orange trifle, decorated with almonds and crystallised orange segments, made Jeremy sigh with ecstasy.

'And if that Violet can do better than that,' said Betty grimly to herself as she returned to the kitchen, 'I'll eat my hat!'

After lunch, the three friends sat and talked over coffee, while Jeremy lay on the floor with volumes of
Punch
around him. It was a happy relaxed little party, mellowed by Betty's superb cooking and Harold's good wine, but Frank was alert enough to notice the attentions which his old friend Harold gave to the young woman, and thought that they were perhaps a trifle warmer than ordinary civility dictated. Could this confirmed bachelor, now approaching sixty, have designs on his promising new contributor?

It looked highly probable, thought Frank, sipping his coffee, but who would have suspected it?

Just before three, Phil and Jeremy departed.

'We'll look forward to seeing you both tomorrow about half-past six,' said Phil. 'I've asked the Baileys to come in to meet you. And Richard.'

When they had gone, the two friends settled by the fire again.

'An attractive girl,' said Frank cautiously, 'and very sound as a writer. I have you to thank for introducing her to me, Harold.'

'We're all very fond of her here,' replied Harold. 'I can't make up my mind if her husband's sudden death was a good thing or not. She was dreading the court proceedings, and telling the boy, of course. A messy business-but she was terribly shocked by his death. I wonder if she'll ever get over it.'

'Be married in six months,' said Frank robustly, producing a pipe and ramming home a generous pinch of tobacco. 'Got any eligible young men nearby?'

A faint look of distaste crept over Harold's face, and was observed by the wily Frank.

'There's Richard. You know him, I believe?'

'Slightly. I see him at the club, but he's such a crashing bore about his insides I give him a wide berth, I don't mind admitting.'

'Phil seems to like him, nevertheless.'

'Does she?' said Frank thoughtfully.

They leant back in their armchairs, pondering on the idiosyncrasies of women.

'I shouldn't think he stands a chance,' said Frank, at length. 'She's too much sense to take on a fellow like that. Why, he thinks of no one but himself!'

Harold brightened a little.

'That's how I feel. How I
hope,
perhaps I should say. But then, after all, they are much of an age, and she might think that marriage would improve Richard.'

'Any woman who marries a man expecting to improve him,' said Frank tartly, 'deserves all she gets - and that's disappointment. No, Phil won't be so foolish, I feel positive.'

He tapped his pipe briskly on the bars of the grate.

'But you say you
hope
she won't marry Richard, Harold,' he went on. 'Perhaps I shouldn't ask, but tell me, are you at all interested?'

There was a little silence before Harold replied. Outside, the rooks cawed above the chestnut avenue, and the sound of distant church bells told of a Saturday afternoon wedding.

'Yes, I am,' said Harold very quietly, looking down at his clasped hands. 'But to be truthful, I find it hard to sort out my feelings. I love my present way of life. I'm not at all sure that marriage would suit me, and in any case, I can't see that it would be fair to ask a young woman like that to take on a man of my age.'

'You're only five years my senior,' pointed out Frank. 'I still look upon myself as a spry young-middle-ager.'

'You've always been young for your years, anyway,' answered Harold. 'I've knocked about such a lot, I sometimes feel older than mine.'

'Try your luck,' said Frank spontaneously.

'Too early yet,' replied Harold. 'Let her get over her tragedy first, I think. Besides, do I really want to get married? That's the test, I think. Surely I should be more whole-hearted about this affair? What do you think, Frank? You know I value your opinions.'

Frank took a long pull at his pipe.

'I hate to give any advice in a case like this. But I do just wonder, Harold, if your kind heart and old-fashioned sense of chivalry are rather pushing you into this offer of marriage. To my mind, you are a perfectly-balanced person on your own - self-sufficient without being self-satisfied, a truly rare combination. You may well find that matrimony complicates your well-ordered existence, and puts more of a strain on you than you had imagined. On the other hand, as I know full well, marriage can make a than. I miss Margaret more than I can say.'

'That I can understand. She was a fine woman in every way. But not having been so blessed, I've no experience. No, Frank, reason tells me that it would not be fair to Phil - she'd probably spend the last few years of my life as a nurse - appalling thought! And I don't think I really want to give up my selfish way of life.'

'Put the whole affair out of your mind for a month or two,' said Frank. 'You'll both know your feelings better by then.'

'Good old Time,' agreed Harold quietly. 'I'm sure you're right.'

He got up and fetched a map from his desk, closing the subject of Phil Prior.

'I thought we'd drive out to Lechlade for a meal tonight,' he said. 'Which way shall we go?'

The two friends held the map between them and plans for the distant future were forgotten in making those for the evening.

The tiny sitting room at Tullivers just held the six grown-ups comfortably, and Jeremy, as the important seventh, made himself useful in passing salted nuts and other delicious morsels to his seniors whilst managing to dispatch a generous selection on his own account.

Frank found Doctor Bailey a fascinating companion. They were both fishing enthusiasts, and the doctor regaled the younger man with tales of past exploits on the Windrush.

'You must come down again and try your luck on the Lechlade stretch,' said the doctor. 'I've several old friends there who would be delighted to give you a day's sport.'

He nodded across the room to Richard.

'Our nephew there,' he continued, 'isn't interested, more's the pity.'

Richard was making himself particularly charming to Phil. Since their outing, she had taken care not to meet him alone, but was glad of this opportunity to repay his invitation in the company of others.

There was no doubt about it, thought Frank privately, Richard showed up to greater advantage here than in town. And he was a personable young man, and certainly going to be a very successful one. Harold seemed to have a rival here.

He watched his hostess's reaction to Richard's attentions, but could perceive nothing more than ordinary politeness on her part.

The cottage he found charming, and delighted Phil by saying so when she showed him round.

'It's the perfect place to work,' she told him. 'Small enough to keep tidy easily, and gives me a peaceful base when Jeremy's at school.'

'I think I've got an American magazine interested in a longish short story from you, sometime in the future. Perhaps a Christmas story? Like the idea?'

'
Rather
!' cried Phil warmly.

'I'll tell you more when you come up next week,' promised Frank.

That evening he said farewell to his old friend Harold, being careful not to mention the confidences which he had been given earlier.

'Come to me for a weekend in April,' were his last words before setting off, and Harold promised that he would.

Frank drove home speedily, his thoughts full of Thrush Green and its inhabitants.

What did the future hold for them, he wondered?

19 Richard Tries His Luck

SPRING seemed a long time in coming to Thrush Green, and people were getting heartily sick of being housebound.

Keen gardeners, such as Harold, fretted at the delay in planting early potatoes and vegetable seeds. The lawns were as tousled and rough as unshaven old men, and the mowers, oiled and waiting to be used, had to wait still longer as snow showers and cold rain kept the ground soggy.

Molly's father developed a mild attack of bronchitis which meant that her departure must be delayed.

'Done it a-purpose, I shouldn't wonder,' commented Ben, who was chafing at Molly's enforced absence from her own home.

'Just till he's over this,' Molly pleaded. 'I must stay till he's back on his feet, Ben. I don't relish it, you know that, but who's to do for him?'

At the school, Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty looked forward to the end of term. Measles and mumps had taken their toll in February and March, and the bitter weather had meant that play outside was impossible. Tempers became frayed, and the fact that the school was most sketchily cleaned did not help matters.

Mrs Cooke of Nidden, who had come back temporarily 'to oblige', was no Nelly Piggott when it came to elbow grease, and Miss Watson and Miss Fogerty were often to be seen sweeping up the classrooms which, in theory, had already been done by Mrs Cooke.

'But what else can we do?' asked Miss Watson despairingly of Miss Fogerty, two days before term ended. 'I had a word with Molly Curdle. She'd be perfect, of course, living so near and being such a good worker, but she's too tied with George and that dreadful old father to consider it. In any case, it would only be a temporary arrangement again.'

Matters came to a head when Mrs Cooke arrived on the last day of term. She wore a look of smug importance, as she carried her broom into Miss Watson's room. The children had departed, excited at the thought of three weeks' holiday, and bearing home their term's drawings to show their resigned mothers. As most of these were executed in chalk, and were being clutched face down against winter coats, their reception at home might be expected to be bleak indeed.

'I thought I'd tell you straight off,' said Mrs Cooke cheerfully, 'that I'm not to do any more work. Doctor's orders.'