Christmas At Thrush Green (27 page)

When Isobel came in a minute or so later, she was glowing with excitement. The baby was due in April, she said, and Dulcie seemed to have got through the morning-sickness stage, and wasn’t it exciting - oh, and they were coming to stay.

‘What? When?’ asked Harold. This was much more interesting than the problems of impending motherhood.

‘On New Year’s Eve. What fun it’ll be.’

‘But I thought Dorothy and Agnes were coming then?’ Harold queried.

‘Well, yes, but we can fit everyone in. It will just mean Dorothy and Agnes sharing.’

‘You know they’d much rather not,’ Harold said. ‘Also, had you forgotten that we’re going out to the Youngs?’

‘No, of course I hadn’t. I’ll ring Joan in a moment. I’m sure they’d love to have Robert and Dulcie.’

‘Well, I think it’s much too much. This house will be groaning at the seams. Could Dorothy and Agnes go and stay somewhere else? What about with Winnie?’

Harold’s suggestion brought Isobel to her senses. ‘No, of course not! I couldn’t possibly push out one of my oldest friends and, besides, they asked ages ago if they could stay. But why not Robert and Dulcie somewhere else? What about with Charles? After all, Charles knows them as well if not better than we do.’

‘But Ella’s staying at the vicarage,’ reasoned Harold.

‘Of course, I’d temporarily forgotten that.’ Isobel frowned in concentration. ‘Still, they’ve got masses of room there. I’ll give Dimity a ring now.’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Harold quickly. ‘Don’t rush into anything yet. Let’s just think this one through.’ And he persuaded Isobel to sit down on the other side of the fire from him.

It was at a dinner party at Lulling Vicarage a few years earlier that Robert Wilberforce had first met Dulcie Mulloy. Robert had contacted Charles Henstock about some letters he had come across from Nathaniel Patten to the then rector of St Andrew’s at Thrush Green. When he said he was coming south from where he lived in the Lake District, Harold and Charles had tracked down the young woman who was the great-granddaughter of the Victorian missionary and arranged the dinner party.

It was as though the couple were made for each other, and when they announced their engagement a few months later, on the day Thrush Green celebrated the centenary of Nathaniel Patten’s birth, the village rejoiced. The young couple now lived and worked in London, and were sublimely happy.

‘I suggest,’ Harold now said, ‘that we ask Charles and Dimity tomorrow, when they come to lunch, if it would be possible for Robert and Dulcie to stay there. I agree there is plenty of room, and we’d be like sardines here.’

‘But what if they’re full up after all - some of Charles’s far-flung cousins descending on them, for instance?’ asked Isobel.

‘Then we shall just have to be sardines,’ replied Harold and picked up his crossword again.

 

‘I thought you were going to light the fire,’ said Dimity, coming into Charles’s study, startling him. ‘Oh, sorry, were you asleep?’ she added when she saw the surprised look on his face.

‘No, no, I wasn’t asleep. I’ve been thinking. About Ella.’

Dimity sat herself down in the pretty upholstered tub chair facing Charles’s handsome mahogany desk. ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about Ella, too. What are we going to do?’

‘Well, we shall obviously have to wait to see what decisions she’s come to while at the cottage. If she’s determined that she’s going to stay there, then I don’t honestly think we can stop her. It’s her life. All we can do is give her as much support as possible.’

‘And what if she’s decided she can’t stay there? What then? Rectory Cottages when there’s a vacancy?’

‘Well, it’s a possibility. John Enderby will be the first to go, I’m afraid to say, but I happen to know there’s quite a waiting list. We can’t let Ella leapfrog the queue.’

‘Not even if you, as chairman of the Trustees, request it?’ asked Dimity.

‘Especially because I’m the chairman. It would be quite out of order.’

Dimity knew Charles was right. It would cause bad feeling all round.

‘So what then? Go into a home specially for blind people?’

‘It’s a possibility, of course, but she’d hate that,’ responded Charles, steepling his fingers in front of him.

Neither spoke for a moment. The sound of sparrows squabbling on the bird table outside the study window was the only noise.

‘We could—’ They both spoke at the same time.

‘Sorry, you were about to say?’ said Charles.

‘No, no, you go. I was only thinking aloud,’ replied Dimity.

‘Well, what about having her here - to live with us here? Or would you hate that?’ said Charles, all the words coming out in a rush.

‘I was about to suggest the same thing!’ cried Dimity. ‘Of course I wouldn’t mind. But what about you? After all, she’s more my friend than yours. Could you cope with her brusqueness, her forthrightness, her . . .’ Dimity’s voice trailed away.

‘Her downright rudeness?’ Charles asked, and smiled. ‘I’m used to it. It’s like water off a duck’s back so far as I’m concerned.’

‘Oh, Charles - do you think she’d agree?’

‘She’d be mad not to,’ replied the vicar. ‘But I suggest we don’t say anything to her until she’s told us what conclusions she’s reached on her own. If she accepts, then we shall have to sit down and work out the details. It will be a big step - for all of us. And now,’ said Charles, ‘I must finish this sermon.’

Dimity got up and smoothed down the folds of her skirt. ‘Lunch at one o’clock suit you? Smoked haddock and poached egg?’

‘Perfect, my dear, quite perfect.’

 

 

It was dark when Paul finally returned home. He and Jeremy had had the sort of day that all lads of their age enjoyed. They had bicycled up and down the nearby lanes, they had called in to see Dotty Harmer’s goats, but had resisted her offer of a ‘nice hot blackberry and nettle drink’. After a lunch of cold turkey and huge baked potatoes, they’d gone to Paul’s den in old Mrs Curdle’s caravan. Jeremy carried Alfie across in an old wicker shopping basket of Phil’s, and they’d taken him in to show to Edward and Joan.

Paul was interested to see his father’s reaction to the dog, and was desperately disappointed when Edward merely said, ‘Yes, nice, very nice,’ but did not even put out a hand to touch the dog. They’d had conversations about dogs before, and Paul knew he was on a losing wicket.

When it became too dark to see in the caravan, they returned to Jeremy’s room in Tullivers and listened to pop music. In due course, Paul stuck his head round the sitting-room door to say he was going home now, and thanked Phil and Frank for lunch.

‘He’s such a nice boy,’ said Phil after the front door slammed. ‘And they’re so lucky to have each other.’

Frank nodded his head. ‘And let’s hope they both stay nice!’

 

Dimity looked out of the drawing-room windows and then got up to draw the curtains against the winter gloom. ‘Do you think we should ring Ella?’ she asked.

Charles looked at his watch. ‘Four-fifteen. Um . . . I think probably leave it until five o’clock and then ring.’

However, the telephone rang just ten minutes later and Dimity went to answer it.

‘Ella, yes.’ She listened, then said, ‘Of course, I’ll see you in about half an hour. We’ll have tea when we get back.’

Charles looked at her enquiringly after she’d put down the receiver.

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Dimity, shrugging. ‘She said nothing, merely that could one of us collect her in half an hour.’

‘Why don’t I go?’ asked Charles.

‘No, I’m happy to go. I can drop off my thank-you letter to Winnie at the same time.’

So it was that half an hour later, Dimity drew up outside Ella’s cottage. The lights in the little sitting-room in the front were on, and Dimity could see the large figure of Ella standing in the window. She turned away as Dimity got out of the car, and was standing at the open front door when Dimity reached it.

‘Thanks, Dim, for turning out again. Come in,’ and she stood aside to let Dimity walk through. ‘Go into the kitchen, it’s warmer there.’

The kitchen seemed neat and tidy. Dimity had dreaded finding burned saucepans, broken plates.

‘See,’ said Ella, reading her thoughts, ‘nothing burnt or broken. I can cope so long as I don’t lose my temper. But I get so frustrated, it’s very difficult not to get cross.’

Dimity leaned on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. ‘How’s the day gone?’

Ella turned to face her. ‘I haven’t reached any sort of conclusion,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t help having this damned wrist in plaster - makes everything twice as difficult. My appointment with Mr Cobbold, the ophthalmologist, is on Monday in Oxford. He’s the chap who I saw before and I expect he’ll advise me what happens next. Can I stay with you until then?’

‘Of course you can. And I’ll take you into Oxford for your appointment.’

‘Don’t bother, I can take the bus,’ Ella said shortly. ‘Or get Bert Nobbs to take me.’

Dimity put her hand onto Ella’s arm and repeated gently, ‘I will take you into Oxford for your appointment, Ella. It’s no bother. In fact, I could be very brave and put my nose into one or two of the sales which will have started.’

‘Rather you than me!’ Ella said, and suddenly flung her good arm round Dimity and gave her a bear hug. ‘Thank you, dearest Dimity, for everything. Now,’ she said, standing back, ‘it’s time you got back to Charles. My re-packed case is all ready upstairs. You fetch that, and I’ll lock up here.’

‘You’re incorrigible!’ laughed Dimity, and made her way upstairs.

 

When they arrived back at the vicarage, Ella took the case from Dimity and plodded up the stairs to her room. Dimity took advantage of her absence to tell Charles what had happened. He was in his study, still working on his sermons.

‘We’re back,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t mention our plan.’ And she told Charles about the imminent appointment with the eye specialist in Oxford, and they agreed that it would be best to say nothing until after that.

‘I’ll go and get some tea,’ Dimity said. ‘Will you join us for it, or shall I bring it in here for you?’

‘I’d like to finish this before supper, so in here, please.’

While Charles worked in his study, Dimity and Ella sat in front of the fire in the drawing-room with their tea and slices of Christmas cake, and chatted as though Ella had not a care in the world.

‘Heavens, is that the time!’ exclaimed Dimity when the little carriage clock on the mantelpiece struck seven, ‘I must go and start getting some supper together.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help, Dim?’ Ella asked.

‘No, it’s all straightforward. You sit there and keep warm.’

However, Ella heaved herself to her feet. ‘If you’re in the kitchen and Charles in his study, I wouldn’t be disturbing anyone, would I, if I fetched that bally cassette thingy and listened to one of the tapes?’

‘No, of course not,’ replied Dimity, delighted that Ella was obviously making an effort. ‘Shall I fetch it for you?’

‘No, thanks, I can manage. Not yet a cripple.’

Dimity ignored the remark, and pointed to a plug in the wall behind the armchair where Ella had been sitting. ‘You can plug it in there, and put the machine on this table,’ and she moved a small table to beside the chair. ‘Give a shout if you need help setting up the machine.’

But she might have been talking to herself. Without a further word, Ella turned and lumbered from the room. Dimity shook her head in exasperation and went to start on the supper.

 

Jean Burwell, drawing the upstairs curtains at Blenheim Lodge that evening, noticed that the wreaths round the necks of the lion and unicorn on the gateposts were not twinkling as they should have been. She mentioned it to her husband who was reading a magazine about boats in the sitting-room.

‘Probably a bulb has blown. Could you check it tomorrow? We want the place to look nice for when the Jervises come to play bridge.’

‘I’ll do it now,’ Derek said, putting the magazine to one side.

But a bulb hadn’t blown.

‘Wanton vandalism, that’s what it is,’ he shouted, as he stormed back into the house. ‘The lion’s wreath has been ripped off and I suspect trampled on! Two bulbs have been smashed on the other wreath. And,’ he said, quite purple in the face and spittle glistening on his lower lip, ‘and the uplighters have been kicked aside again. I’ll kill those Cooke boys, I swear I will!’

Jean looked quite alarmed at this outburst. ‘Calm down, Derek, for heaven’s sake. They’re only Christmas decorations.’

‘The uplighters aren’t. Those bulbs are damned expensive and I shouldn’t wonder if the bracket hasn’t been broken as well. I’ll have to wait to see the damage in the morning, but what won’t wait now is my phone call to the so-called chairman of the PCC.’

Jean tried to stop him. ‘It’s still Boxing Day, dear. You can’t go ringing him on a Bank Holiday.’