The Sweetest Thing

by Susan Sallis

  ‘Oh, that’s good. The only thing is, Maria, he is coming up the garden path this very moment and I can’t remember his name. Did he give it to you?’

  Maria was flustered. ‘I can’t quite recall. Marcus something. The Reverend Marcus . . . would it be Vallender?’

  Rosemary subdued an urge to shake her old neighbour and nodded briskly. ‘That’s it. Of course. Now don’t go rushing away, Maria. Sit down here and I will make another pot of tea. I think there’s some cherry Madeira cake in the tin.’

  Maria sat down, twittering. ‘The clergy always like a slice of cake with their tea, and I wouldn’t say no.’

  There was a knock at the back door and Rosemary opened it and smiled.

  ‘Vicar. How nice. My neighbour has just told me to expect you. This is a treat.’

  He came in and made a thing about wiping his feet. She thought she need not have worried about his name as ‘vicar’ would do nicely, and anyway he said immediately, ‘Call me Marcus and I will call you Rosemary. I’ve taken a liberty, haven’t I? Arriving without prior invitation. But Monday is my day off and the weather has been so nice I thought I would drive along some of the quieter roads and see where they took me.’ He shook her hand and then went ahead of her and shook Maria’s hand. He sat down in Rosemary’s chair and stretched his legs. ‘This is marvellous. Just marvellous. When I saw your brooch flashing in the sun, it was like a signal. In fact, I think it was a signal.’ He looked at her roguishly and she was appalled as she realized he thought she had been deliberately signalling to him that she was home. As if she had given him the glad eye or something. And now she had to lug round the chair from the desk . . . she was damned if she was going to make more tea and cut the cake.

  Maria twittered again. ‘Rosemary was just saying that she would make more tea. Such a treat to have a gentleman caller. This little development – four houses – is home to three widows and one married couple and they are always out and about.’

  Rosemary sat down with a bump. ‘I expect you are anxious to get back to the vicarage. Perhaps another time would be best for a cup of tea.’

  Maria looked bewildered then disappointed. The vicar – Marcus indeed – said, ‘As I mentioned, Rosemary, Mondays are when I have a day off and I like to make sure I am out and unavailable to everyone.’

  His words hung in the air of the late afternoon. Maria began to look hopeful. Rosemary stood and picked up her tray. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said and went into the kitchen.

  Never had she made tea and cut cake and put out crockery and cutlery on the trolley with such force. She was tired and anxious and wanted time and privacy to talk to Dr Thomas when he phoned. She knew that not long ago she would have thought this situation funny and tried to grab back that attitude. But it passed her by and she went into the scullery, closed the kitchen door behind her and said viciously, ‘Damn! Damn, damn and damn again!’ Then went back into the sitting room and smiled. Maria was reassured and Marcus had noticed nothing amiss so he simply went on luxuriating in the sun, which now beamed into the window and probably flashed messages from her brooch to the rest of the county. He was a hungry vicar and blamed the round of golf as he finished the last slice of cake.

  ‘This is most pleasant, most pleasant.’ He had just given them a discourse on brass rubbing; Maria’s eyes drooped. ‘We must do this again, Rosemary. Perhaps a little drive somewhere next week.’ He gave that roguish grin again. ‘Didn’t I tell you only yesterday that the church needed help?’

  Maria twittered sleepily. Rosemary raised her brows. This really was going too far. ‘Do you mean you need help? May I ask what is wrong, Marcus? Are you perhaps not managing very well? Are your problems domestic or spiritual?’

  She could have gone on and on and he interrupted quickly. ‘Nothing is wrong, dear lady.’ He looked slightly disconcerted. ‘I was speaking metaphorically. Perhaps, however, I do lack companionship.’

  Maria was asleep. Rosemary said in a low voice, ‘I wonder whether you would consider dropping in here on a Monday now and then? My friend Maria here, she rarely gets the opportunity for a drive and I could see how keen she was when you mentioned it just now.’

  He was master of the situation again. ‘Why not? We could go to Stratford next Monday if you like.’

  ‘She would love that. I’ll tell her as soon as she wakes up. I hate to be a killjoy now, Marcus, but I am expecting a very important phone call this evening and I would like to take it in private. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course. And I will see you next Monday.’ He stood up, picking up his panama from the desk. He looked really pleased with himself. Maria woke up and twittered and stood up too.

  Rosemary said, ‘Probably not. But Maria adores Stratford – don’t you, my dear? Marcus is going to call for you next Monday and drive you there – or anywhere else you fancy.’

  Maria was overwhelmed. There was little Marcus could do about it. He armed her across to her own house and Rosemary waved to them both and then shut the door. Almost immediately there came a knock from the kitchen. It was too soon for Marcus to have galloped round to the back garden. She opened the door cautiously nonetheless. It was Dr Thomas.

  She looked at him blankly. ‘I thought you were going to telephone?’

  ‘Was I?’ He looked around. ‘Mrs Vickers, may I come in for just a moment? I’m on the run!’ She stood aside and he slid sideways through the door. ‘I met a chap in the club house. Pompous type. Selly Oak or somewhere like that. Dog collar. He insisted on giving me a lift home and he went off to get his car well over an hour ago. I hoped very much he had forgotten all about me and I was walking back home, which I had intended to do in the first place, when I saw him outside Mrs Selby’s door. If he’s going back to the car park, there’s no way he can miss me and, frankly, I would prefer my own company.’ He laughed and after a moment so did she, then she led the way into the hall and they watched through the window as Marcus tipped his hat at Maria and continued towards the club house.

  ‘He’s been here for over an hour.’ Rosemary went into the sitting room, unclipped her brooch and indicated the tea things. ‘He officiated at the christening of my grandson yesterday. The Reverend Marcus Vallender.’

  ‘I think you’ve got that wrong, Mrs Vickers. Challenger. He introduced himself as Marcus Challenger.’

  She laughed helplessly. ‘That’s about the hundredth thing I’ve got wrong over this weekend.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s probably got a network of middle-aged women who will make him tea and listen to him pontificate! Anyway, he wanted to come again next Monday, which is his day off, and I’ve managed to fix him up with Maria.’ The bonnet of a small car gleamed suddenly in the low sunshine and then disappeared down the lane. Dr Thomas stared at her for a moment and then roared with laughter.

  ‘All this drama in such a quiet village! And what’s this about a phone call?’

  ‘Do sit down – would you like some tea, I can make another pot very quickly.’

  He sat down but shook his head at the raised teapot, so Rosemary put it down among the cake crumbs and said carefully, ‘I thought I might have a word with you about a friend of Connie’s. I stayed with Connie and William on Saturday and Sunday nights, to help with the christening – did I mention that?’

  ‘Yes. And several people told me about it last week. Did it go well?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. As you know, the Reverend Challenger did not sparkle but he tried.’

  ‘And was trying.’ They both smiled.

  Rosemary said, ‘A friend of Connie’s has a little . . . girl. I can’t remember the name. But she is anxious because she and her husband have recently discovered a history of some kind of brain disorder in the family. An uncle, I believe.’ She described what Connie had called a ‘seizure’ as best she could. ‘She is so afraid it could be hereditary.’

  ‘So you rang me for an appointment and my wife explained about Mondays being my day off and said I would telephone you later.’ Dr Thom
as spoke as if this was a regular occurrence. He waited for Rosemary’s embarrassed nod. ‘Well . . . I cannot advise a friend of an ex-patient, Mrs Vickers. You must know that. But if we are discussing something entirely hypothetical all I can say is that there would probably be two causes for this kind of seizure. The patient could well have sustained brain damage during birth, or indeed afterwards. This might lead to epilepsy. Or the impairment could be inherited. It does sound, from your description of the seizure, as if it is epilepsy.’ He stopped. ‘I’m drifting from the hypothetical to the particular. I would strongly suggest that Connie’s friend visits her GP as soon as possible.’

  Rosemary thanked him and he stood up and went into the hall. ‘Good to see you, Mrs Vickers, thank you for sanctuary!’ He grinned as he opened the door then said seriously, ‘Is Connie’s friend hypothetical too? Forgive me, but you arrived back earlier today and phoned for an appointment immediately.’

  She was flummoxed again. ‘No – of course not,’ and then was quite literally saved by the bell. The telephone rang at her elbow and she raised her eyebrows apologetically and closed the door.

  ‘Hello?’ she said with some caution. Today was proving much too eventful.

  ‘Rosemary? This is Arnold Jessup. You’re home safe and sound then?’

  She stared at her reflection and was annoyed to see her hair was an absolute mess. And what on earth was Arnold Jessup doing telephoning her? She had met him once or twice as far as she knew and his reputation was well borne out by his performance with Greta Heatherington. And hadn’t he called her Mrs Vickers at the christening?

  ‘Yes, thank you. I do come and go to Number Five quite often, you know.’

  ‘Quite. It was just . . . there was a lot to do and I thought you might feel your homecoming was rather an anticlimax. Mrs Flowers swept me out of the office rather brusquely and suggested I telephone you to see how you are.’

  ‘Who is Mrs Flowers?’ She knew very well who Mrs Flowers was. She had been a good friend to Connie during her three years at Jessup’s.

  ‘My secretary. She knows everything. She is very fond of Connie and William. And you are Connie’s mother.’

  ‘Oh. That is . . . kind. Most kind.’ For some reason Rosemary felt herself relax tremblingly.

  ‘It went well, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, it was wonderful. He didn’t cry once, did he? And those beautiful eyes . . .’ She remembered those beautiful eyes and felt her heart lift. There was nothing wrong with baby Frank. Nothing at all. She propped her hip against the hall stand and smiled at her reflection. ‘Actually, it’s been quite hectic since I got in.’ She felt a need to confide in someone. ‘That pious vicar called. His name is Marcus Challenger but I thought it was Vallender – not that it mattered as he insisted we should be Rosemary and Marcus. And he wanted to come again next Monday . . .’ She giggled, ‘And I palmed him off on my neighbour who is already besotted with him and makes lovely gingerbread. And then my local GP dropped in. He’s just this minute gone, actually.’

  Arnold Jessup did not appear to need filling in. He seemed to be listening intently to her laughter and when it stopped he said, ‘Why don’t we try that little pub on the Stratford road? They do the most wonderful risotto – do you like risotto?’

  ‘I adore it. But I think I must be tired after the weekend and everything and my hair is such a mess—’

  ‘We won’t make it late and I’ll drive, of course. I’ll be with you at seven thirty.’ He put his receiver down and she stood there looking at hers disbelievingly. This was how he must talk to Mrs bloody Heatherington. She gasped because she rarely used the word bloody and never inside her head. She would ring back and tell him that she couldn’t possibly . . . He lived ‘over the shop’, as Connie had always put it, so she knew his phone number by heart and she dialled three digits and then stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. This was how he must talk to Greta Heatherington.

  She replaced the phone and went to clear up the tea things. Then she ran a bath and added to it from a bottle of something she’d had from Maria at Christmas. And she sat there, head back, eyes closed, until the water became chilly. She spent ages on her make-up and then started on her hair. It had completely lost its set. She scooped it back severely and made a small bun at the back of her head so that her nape showed. She still had a good neck. And to confirm her absolute difference from anyone else he might know, she put on a strapless cotton frock and topped it with one of Connie’s old school cardigans. He arrived and if she had wanted to confuse him she would have been delighted by his suppressed gasp and then his total appreciation. Except that, by then, she had realized that though there was nothing at all wrong with baby Frank, he still did not belong to William.

  Arnold actually took both her hands and held her at arm’s length, surveying her with an enormous grin that went from ear to ear.

  ‘I did not realize that you were beautiful, Rosemary Vickers. You are always so just right for whatever occasion you are gracing. And now . . . a mixture of siren and schoolgirl. Enchanting. Completely enchanting.’

  ‘Mr Jessup, I realize now that I really am so tired. Perhaps . . . a quick drink?’

  He tucked one of her hands into the crook of his elbow and they began to walk towards his Riley willy-nilly.

  ‘Call me Arnold, Rosemary. In fact, call me Arnie. And I will call you Rosie. D’you realize that it won’t be long before I retire? Most of my friends are fairly stuffy but they are the only ones I have and I shall want to keep in with them because they will be helpful to William. You are much younger than I am but somehow of my generation. Would you take pity on an old man and be my friend? Only instead of being Arnold Jessup and Rosemary Vickers, we will regress and become Arnie and Rosie.’ He was laughing inordinately. He was so enjoying himself she did not have the heart to freeze him. Besides which, hadn’t he just told her that he would be handing the practice over to William? In which case she could not freeze him. And of course this was the way he talked to Mrs Heatherington and to half a dozen other women probably.

  But she didn’t care. She was completely flummoxed by this time. William and Connie . . . William and baby Frank . . . baby Frank and Lucy Pardoe . . . baby Frank. She could have wept then and there, thrown herself on to Arnold Jessup’s shoulder and wept for all of them and for her dear husband who had been dead for twenty years. If it weren’t for Connie she might have forgotten that she was ever married.

  Arnold Jessup said, ‘Rosie. You’re not crying, are you?’

  And she tucked herself into the passenger seat and said, ‘No. Of course not. Perhaps just a little bit.’ She looked up at him as he held on to the door and smiled much too widely. ‘I was thinking of Francis. My grandson. It came over me how very much I love him.’

  He smiled back at her. ‘Of course you do. When you took him from Connie I almost cried. What a sentimental pair we are.’

  ‘We’re not really a pair, Arnold. We’re connected through William, of course, but you could hardly call us—’

  ‘Arnie. Try to call me Arnie, please, Rosie. It makes me feel young again.’

  ‘Arnie,’ she said in a low voice.

  He shut her door and came round to the driving seat and settled himself in. ‘I looked up this place on the map and it should take about fifteen minutes to get there. I rang ahead and ordered two risottos.’ She opened her mouth and turned to him. He said, ‘Don’t let’s talk. Let’s just enjoy the countryside and each other. Close your eyes and relax completely.’

  ‘How can I enjoy the countryside with my eyes closed?’ She managed to sound tart, almost irritated, but he did not respond and she dared not bring up the word pair again. So after a while she did in fact close her eyes and the next thing she knew they were drawing into an old stable yard with a well and a pump in the middle of it and her mood had changed again, mainly because she was suddenly and desperately hungry. In her head she used another swear word, not as awful as bloody but rather racy in its context. W
hat the hell, she thought. And liked its reckless sound. She said it aloud. ‘What the hell?’ And he switched off the engine, looked round at her and said, ‘Indeed. What the hell, indeed. What have we got to lose?’

  She accepted his crooked arm again and they went into the old pub looking exactly like a pair.

  He stayed the night, sleeping in the double bed with her in the conventional villa in the conventional Worcestershire development for conventional couples. She had no idea how it came to pass. She must have been drunk quite early in the evening, the wine was good and the food was good and he seemed to think she needed to relax so he plied her with both. Unfortunately she could not remember what she said to him. She did remember him saying to her, ‘That doesn’t matter. Not in the least. Not one jot or tattle . . . That doesn’t sound right but you get my meaning. We’ll go down and see this Lucy Pardoe . . . No, all right, don’t panic. Perhaps we’ll go and see her GP. I know about confidentiality but there are ways of getting bits of information.’

  She said, ‘You’ve drunk too much. I’ll drive.’

  He laughed again. ‘You can drive if you can find the car.’ And of course she couldn’t. She could barely walk to the front door when they got back. And then she couldn’t find her key and they crept round to the back door where she kept the key under a mat, only to discover that the door was bolted from the inside. She supported him back to the front – or perhaps he supported her – where there was a porch light. He tipped her handbag upside down and found the key caught in the lining and they crept inside as if they might wake someone up. He closed the door and leaned against it and pulled her to him and she did not stop him. He had probably undressed Mrs bloody Heatherington only last night, but she did not stop him pulling off Connie’s cardigan and unzipping the back of her frock so that it simply fell to the floor.