(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (7 page)

'Our advertisement's in,' she said. 'But no house.'

Dorothy put down her letter. 'Not a
house,
Agnes. Two bungalows and a flat.'

'I know, Dorothy, about the Barton properties. I'm talking about
our
house, this one.'

'What about it?'

'Well, last time our posts were advertised, it said something about a school house. It doesn't this time.'

Miss Watson held out an imperious hand. 'Here, let me look!'

Agnes handed over the paper meekly, noticing, with a wince, that one corner had been dragged across the marmalade on Dorothy's toast.

'Well, how extraordinary!' said that lady. 'What can it mean? Perhaps they just forgot to mention it.'

'Or perhaps the printers made a muddle of it,' suggested Agnes.

'I shall be ringing the office this morning,' replied her friend, 'and I'll see if I can find out about this. Not that I shall learn much if that fiddle-faddling secretary fellow answers.'

'What's wrong with him?'

'Terrified of his own shadow! Never gives a straightforward answer to any question,' said Dorothy trenchantly. 'I asked him only the other day about those desks which have been ordered for two years, and he gets flustered and waffles on about things being
at the committee stage,
whatever that means, and he has no power to tell me.'

Secretly, Agnes felt rather sorry for the man. Dorothy, at her most demanding, could instil great terror.

'Still, never fear, Agnes! I shall do my best to see what lies behind this omission.'

She handed back the paper, catching another corner on the marmalade in transit, and poured herself a second cup of tea.

The bitter east wind did not show any signs of abating, and the old people at Rectory Cottages were once more housebound, and particularly glad of Jane and Bill Cartwright's daily visits.

Tom Hardy seemed much more cheerful after the rector had called. Jane had not had an opportunity of finding out the reason for this improvement, but was glad when the old man volunteered the information.

'Mr Henstock says he'll have my old Polly in his garden.'

Jane was somewhat bewildered. 'Which day is this to be?'

'Why, for ever!'

'You mean that you are letting him have Polly? Can you bear to part with her, Tom?'

'No, no, no!' exclaimed the old man testily. 'Why should I want to give Poll away?'

Jane waited for enlightenment.

'When she's dead,' continued Tom. 'I've been fretting about what would happen to her when she's gone. No decent garden here to bury her, see? All my other dogs was buried proper. Dug their graves myself, and wrapped their poor bodies in their own dog blanket for comfort like.'

Jane was touched by the old man's concern. 'I'm sure we could have found a corner for her somewhere, Tom.'

'Well, now there's no need,' said Tom, with great dignity. 'She'll be comfortable in the vicarage garden, when the time comes.'

Jane looked from the frail old fellow to his equally aged pet lying at his feet.

As if reading her thoughts, Tom spoke again. 'And if I goes first, then Mr Henstock's having Poll,' he said. 'A good man is the rector, and a fine gentleman.'

And with that Jane heartily agreed.

At Winnie Bailey's, Jenny had just come in from the garden where she had been hanging out the tea towels.

'My goodness!' she gasped, crashing the kitchen door behind her. 'Don't you go out today, Mrs Bailey. Enough to catch your death in this wind. I shan't be surprised to find the tea towels in Mrs Hurst's garden when we go to fetch them.'

'I've nothing to go out for, I'm thankful to say,' said Winnie. 'Ella's coming along later, probably early afternoon.'

'Will she stay to tea?' asked Jenny hopefully. She loved an excuse to make scones or hot buttered toast.

'No, Jenny. She's only dropping in the magazines. She won't stop.'

At that moment the telephone rang. It was her nephew Richard.

'Aunt Win, can I pop in?'

'Of course. When?'

'About twelve?'

'Fine. We'll put another two sausages in the oven.'

'Splendid! And another thing!'

'Yes?'

'I'll have Timothy with me. In fact, I wondered if you could have him for an hour or two, while I go along to Cirencester to pick up some books waiting there.'

'Of course. I haven't met Timothy yet. I shall look forward to it.'

'Good!' said Richard, sounding much relieved. 'See you soon then.'

Winnie conveyed the news to Jenny.

'How old is this Timothy?' she enquired.

'Four, I think.'

'Well, if he doesn't like sausages he can have an egg,' replied Jenny decisively. 'And don't let him wear you out. Didn't we hear he was a bit of a handful?'

'Good heavens! We surely can cope with a four-year-old for an hour or so!'

'Let's hope so,' said Jenny, 'but children today aren't what they were in our young days.'

'They never were,' responded Winnie.

The arrival of Richard's car was first noted by Albert Piggott who was standing at his kitchen window.

He had just returned from a visit to The Two Pheasants, and was watching the dead leaves eddying round and round in the church porch opposite his cottage.

The wind seemed more formidable than ever. The branches of the chestnut trees outside the Youngs' house were tossing vigorously. The grass on the green flattened in its path, and no one seemed to be stirring at Rectory Cottages.

The advent of a car outside Winnie Bailey's was a welcome diversion in the waste of Thrush Green. Albert recognised Richard and was intrigued to see a small boy being helped from the car. The child appeared to be reluctant to get out, but at last the two figures set off for the front door.

Albert watched avidly. Jenny opened the door, and Richard and the boy vanished inside.

'Now, whose can that be?' pondered Albert. 'One of Richard's by-blows maybe?'

But he did Winnie's nephew a disservice. Timothy, had he known it, was the child of an earlier marriage of Fenella, his wife, so that Richard was the boy's stepfather.

To all appearances, he seemed to be taking his responsibilities seriously.

'Must ask Nelly about this,' said Albert to his cat. 'Women always knows about such things.'

The cat, who was engrossed in washing his face, ignored his master's remarks.

'So this is Timothy,' smiled Winnie, surveying the newcomer.

The child was dark-haired and skinny. He looked sulky, and tugged at Richard's hand.

'Say "How do you do",' prompted his stepfather.

'No,' said the child. 'Let's go home.'

The two grown-ups sensibly ignored this, and Winnie poured two glasses of sherry. Timothy sidled to the chair where Richard sat and hoisted himself on the arm.

Winnie noticed that his knees were dirty, and his jersey stained with food droppings of some antiquity. Why, she wondered, was Richard taking charge of the child? The last she had heard about the marriage was that there was talk of a divorce. Obviously, Richard had a responsibility towards his own child of the marriage, but Timothy really had little claim on him.

As if reading her thoughts, Richard spoke. 'Fenella suddenly remembered, when she woke this morning, that she had to take Imogen to the clinic for an injection. Timmy always screams the place down, so I said I'd keep him out of the way.'

Winnie noticed that the child gave a satisfied smirk at hearing of his behaviour at the clinic, and wished that Richard would have more sense than to mention such things before the boy.

'And what time will Fenella be home again?'

'Well, you know what these places are,' Richard replied, shifting in his chair so that Timothy could squash down beside him. 'Every one there wants to be done first, and there seems to be a lot of muddle one way and another. I don't suppose she'll be back until the afternoon.'

'I want my mummy,' whined Timothy.

Luckily, Jenny put her head round the door and summoned them to lunch.

'You'd better wash his hands in the kitchen,' said Winnie.

'I
never
have my hands washed,' announced Timothy.

'You do here,' said Winnie, leading the way.

A lordly dish of sausages, bacon, eggs and tomatoes graced the kitchen table, and Timothy surveyed it as Richard tried to wash the child's hands.

'I don't like sausages,' he said.

'What a pity,' said Winnie, settling herself at the table.

'And I don't like eggs.'

'Oh dear!'

'Nor bacon, nor none of what's for dinner.'

'You will be hungry,' said Winnie matter-of-factly.

She began to serve out. Richard took his seat, and Timothy was hoisted by Jenny on to a cushion in the chair beside him.

Winnie served the three adults and then looked enquiringly at Timothy.

'Are you going to try any of this?'

'No.'

'Very well, we won't worry you.'

Conversation flowed while Richard enquired about his old friends at Thrush Green, and Winnie tried to find out discreetly about Richard's domestic plans. Was the marriage still on or not? What had happened about the proposed divorce? Was Fenella's paramour, Roger Something, still living at the art gallery which was her home? If so, where did Richard fit in? It was all rather bewildering, thought Winnie, who was used to a tidy life.

Timothy, who disliked being ignored, now began to kick the table leg and was restrained by Jenny.

'Would you like to get down?' said Winnie.

'No. I want something to eat.'

Winnie lifted the servers.

'Not that old stuff!'

Winnie replaced the servers.

'So tell me about Imogen,' she said politely to Richard. 'Any teeth yet?'

Timothy began to tug furiously at Richard's arm, and a piece of sausage fell to the floor.

'I hardly know,' said Richard. 'Should she have teeth by now? I don't see much of her.'

By the time the first course had been demolished, Timothy had sunk down in his chair and was sucking a thumb disconsolately.

Jenny cleared away and returned with a steaming dish of baked apples.

'Shan't eat that,' said Timothy.

'Then you may get down,' said Winnie, serving the three adults imperturbably.

The child slid to the floor, and remained seated under the table.

Winnie looked enquiringly at Richard.

'What does he have at home?' she asked in a low voice.

'Oh, he eats when he feels like it. Bananas or peanuts, anything he fancies really. He doesn't have meals with us. He fits in very well with Fenella's work, you see. She has to be in the gallery quite a bit. We don't stop for regular meals as you do.'

When the meal was over, Jenny offered to take the child to play on the green, where there were some swings and a slide. Amazingly enough, the boy went with her, smiling.

'Now Richard,' said Winnie, when they were settled with their coffee, 'I want to know how things are with you. Are you and Fenella making a fresh start? What's happened to Roger? And are you still determined to find a home down here?'

Richard stirred his coffee thoughtfully. 'Well, first of all, Roger's gone back to his wife, but I can't see it lasting long. That's partly why I want to get Fenella away. We might make a go of it, without Roger looming over us all the time.'

'Very sensible. So the divorce is off?'

'Oh yes. So far, at any rate. I think we should consider the children.'

Better and better, thought Winnie. Richard seemed to be growing up at last.

'Mind you,' continued Richard, 'it's not going to be easy to pry Fenella from the gallery. It's her whole life really. Besides, she hates the country.'

Not so good after all, thought Winnie.

'And, of course,' went on her nephew, 'we do live rent free there. We should have to find a pretty hefty amount for a house round here. It needs thinking about.'

'I should imagine it's worth it to save your marriage,' said Winnie. 'And surely, if Fenella sold the gallery it would fetch a substantial sum, in such a good part of London.'

'I suppose so,' said Richard, but he sounded doubtful.

'Well, you must work out your own salvation,' replied Winnie briskly. 'And now you will want to get along to Cirencester. We'll see you about five, I suppose? No doubt you will want to get Timothy home again for his bedtime.'

'Oh, he doesn't have a set time for going to bed. He just has a nap when he feels like it.'

He set off to his car, followed by Winnie. Across the green she could see Timothy on a swing, with the gallant Jenny pushing him lustily.

At least he was happy at the moment, thought Winnie, waving goodbye to Richard, and noticing that Ella was emerging from her gate.

As it happened, it was half-past eight when Richard returned, and by that time Timothy had eaten an apple, a banana sandwich, and had had two short naps on the hearth-rug.

He was in excellent spirits when he drove off with Richard, and looked fit for several hours of activity.

But Winnie and Jenny went to bed early, with an aspirin apiece.

Harold Shoosmith kept his word and spoke to Ben Curdle about driving lessons for Miss Watson.