Margaret Baumann - Design for Loving (1970)

by Margaret Baumann

  But to Sharon it was perfectly clear how things would work out. It was time to hurry back to her studio and she felt relieved to cut the conversation short. Mrs. Haslam, a cardigan over her shoulders, went with her to the door of the inn. She said a little wistfully that she would love to see that beautiful old Clough Head once again while she and Matthew were in Roxley.

  'If Neil can find time, perhaps he'll take us out there.' She took Sharon's hand in both hers and gave it a little squeeze. 'I'm afraid this sad business has unsettled him - just when we thought things were shaping so well. We really saw him taking root here and doing something about that old manor house! I know you were quite taken by the place.'

  So much left unsaid, so much delicately conveyed. Sharon withdrew her hand quickly and hurried off.

  Neil's parents were hoping Jennifer would go out of Neil's life again. She had let him down so, badly once and they saw her only as a disturbing influence, the ruin of all his peace of mind. But they didn't see what I saw, thought Sharon with a bursting heart. He still loved Jennifer - and she had never ceased to care for him. How long would it be before he took her to look at Clough Head and the two of them began to weave their dreams round the old house ?

  Easter was upon them. The verger at the abbey, sweeping up confetti, complained there had never been so many weddings. And what with weddings and special Easter services, Adam was so busy helping out Mr. Longford that she scarcely saw him. There were definitely to be no leisure courses at the Institute during the summer term and that meant she didn't see Neil, either. But she fulfilled her promise to write regularly to Jennifer, illustrating her letters with amusing pen drawings, and in the brief replies she was kept in touch with the patient's progress.

  There was no complaint about the pain and discomfort; but between the lines it was obvious that time hung heavily, that she lived for Neil's week-end visits and almost dreaded leaving hospital because she doubted if he would be able to visit her at home in quite the same way. Sharon understood that perfectly and sometimes a hot impatience seized her. She wanted to cry out to Jennifer: You had all heaven in your hands and threw it away! Instead, on a sudden impulse, she asked if the idea of spending a few weeks of convalescence at her cottage appealed to her. She scarcely expected a telegram in reply, but it was waiting for her when she got home next evening. Thrilled to bits arrive by car Sunday — Jennifer.

  That meant Neil would be up north at the week-end and she would be travelling down in his car. What more natural? But she was torn with jealous misery, regretting her impulsive invitation and hating herself for regretting it. Had it really been for Jennifer's sake or for the bitter-sweet pleasure of seeing Neil every day? All this seethed in her as she heard the car stop at her gate on Sunday afternoon. She could hardly force her limbs to move, her hand to turn the doorknob. But when Neil came up the path carrying his awkward burden, one leg grotesquely outstretched and her face____ dear God, her face!… all the bitterness melted, she felt empty of everything save compassion.

  Neil had to stoop to pass under the cottage lintel. He carried Jennifer straight through to the little studio which Sharon had turned into a guest-room and laid her very gently on the divan. Then he straightened up, grinning. 'Made it! As they say in these parts, nobbut just!'

  'I'm still in plaster here and there and pinned here and there.' Jennifer spoke with difficulty because of her stiff face. 'But I'm sorest where they took the skin for grafting. I'm afraid your doctor is going to find me an awful nuisance.'

  'He'll be looking in to see you this evening.' Speaking wasn't very easy for Sharon, either. 'If there are things I can't manage I'm sure he'll find us a nurse.'

  'But if you knew,' said Jennifer, 'what heaven it is to be here!'

  Neil, not grinning now, gave Sharon a long steady look. He said quietly: 'Bless you.'

  It rather worried her that during her working day she would have to leave Jennifer so much alone and she was setting off home with all speed on Monday evening when she saw a small van parked not far from the mill bridge. Adam was pacing up and down. His face lit up with relief at the sight of her and he came loping across.

  'We finished work early tonight because Uncle Ezra wants a word with you.' He jerked his head, towards the van. 'I'll open up the back.'

  Sharon's heart gave an apprehensive lurch. Now what ? Adam opened the rear doors of the van and there sat the dour old man in his wheelchair. He gestured irritably. 'Get in. Or do you want me to shout it out loud?'

  Adam helped her up and she felt rather as if she were visiting the caravan of a gipsy fortune-teller at the fair.

  'Well?' Ezra Kershaw glowered at her under shaggy eyebrows. 'What's going on between you two? Why does Adam never bring you to see me?'

  'You made it plain I wouldn't be welcome,' said Sharon hurriedly.

  'Rubbish. You should fix a regular night. The housekeeper would put on a bite of supper and light you a fire in the front room. Yon new piano scarcely gets played on, these days. And when I think Adam bought it with that bit of money he had from his mother, the waste turns my stomach sour.'

  Adam, dark red, mumbled that he had little time to play the piano since he was called on so often to take over the organ at the abbey services. On top of that he was giving a few pupils lessons in their own homes. But he didn't mention the long hours he was forced to put in at the wire works! In any case, Uncle Ezra wasn't listening to him. He was still glaring at Sharon.

  'Well? How about it? Seemingly you've both done trailing up to the Institute, till autumn at any rate. If you're courting, I'd rather it was done under my eye. I don't want any hole and corner affair.'

  'Oh!' Sharon cried out furiously. 'It's nothing of the sort.'

  'Then what sort is it? Still keeping the lad dangling, are you, till you see how my money's left? Well, I'll tell you this: I'm going to have an hour with my solicitor when I can find time, and I'll give both a shock.'

  Sharon returned his glare with interest. 'If that's what you think of us, Mr. Kershaw, I have nothing more to say. I have a visitor staying with me and I must get home, so you will please excuse me.' It was unfortunate she had to scramble down in such an undignified manner!

  Adam locked the rear doors. He gave her a miserable look.

  'I'm sorry. If I'd have known he was going to say these things, I'd have driven him straight home, no matter how hard he banged on the side of the van!'

  The angry sparkle went out of Sharon's eyes. 'Oh, Adam, I'm afraid he makes things very hard for you - and you're always so gentle with him!'

  Adam said desperately: 'When can we meet?'

  'Soon. I'm up to the eyes with my visitor.' She spied Hazel Ormerod just turning out of the little side-road, walking very fast and swinging a music case. 'Look, there's Hazel on her way to Mr. Longford's for her singing lesson. She must just have dashed in home and out again without any tea. It would be a kind deed to offer her a lift and it isn't really out of your way, is it?'

  Adam looked anything but pleased. However, as he climbed into the driving seat he motioned to Hazel and she was in beside him like a shot.

  'Thanks ever so,' she said in her new, soft voice. 'If I'd known you'd be passing by in your Rolls' - she squirmed and giggled - 'I could have had my tea.'

  Adam dug into his pocket and from the indescribable cache of oddments brought forth a chocolate wafer. 'Here, munch this.'

  Sharon watched them drive off, then turned homewards. Ours isn't any hole and corner affair, she was still protesting inwardly. But, as Uncle Ezra said, what sort was it? She shrank from admitting that she wasn't dealing fairly with Adam, but the moment was approaching when he had to know the truth about her change of heart - or was it simply the fact that she had outgrown a young love affair too long taken for granted? However it read, the truth would hurt them both; it would cost her the friendship she had valued most. And the future would be empty indeed.

  For Jennifer Hyde, too, the future at this moment seemed to hold nothing; but she loved
the cottage and seized on the smallest everyday events with passionate delight, as one who had been very near death. She greeted Sharon with news of the first lilies of the valley, the first spotted flycatcher swooping on a dance of midges.

  'Aunt Ada would be thrilled,' she said suddenly, mentioning Canada for the first time. 'She coaxes so many wild birds to her tray: cardinals, goldfinches, chickadees - bluetits to you - and even a red pileated woodpecker, what do you think of that? But her pride and joy is the lawn, all twenty-four square yards of it! That's something you take for granted here, never in Canada. If you saw Aunt Ada trying to protect hers from the winter frost, sprinkling it in summer, mourning when it turns brown, as all grass does out there.' She gazed out of the window. 'I used to dream about the green of an English lawn and the hundred greens of a woodland in spring. Canadian maples in the fall are a glory. But spring is short and summer fierce and winter too long. And the green isn't our English green.'

  After that she was silent for a long time, her eyes shadowed with memories.

  Sharon needn't have feared the invalid would be left too much on her own. Besides the regular calls of Dr. Eastwood and a nurse who came in to renew dressings and help with the tricky business of a bath, there was a constant stream of visitors.

  Adam looked in one evening with a pile of classical records. All arms and legs as usual, he tripped over the humpty and when he set down his records on top of the bookshelves, Tony's portrait was sent flying. Then there was Miss Frith with Barbiole and Mrs. Hallsworth with hothouse grapes.

  'I only hope you didn't get sick and tired of them in hospital.'

  'Oh, I had so few visitors, there was no chance,' said Jennifer, and smiled.

  'My dear, how could I be so clumsy…'

  'My parents were there at the worst time and I'm grateful for that. Sharon nobly sent flowers and Neil came at the week-ends, which meant everything. Other patients would drop into my room for a chat, when I got to that stage, and one of them left me some grapes. But a young doctor sat on the edge of my bed and ate the lot! I remember he said, 'If the visitors stopped bringing grapes, we poor housemen would starve!" '

  They all three laughed. Mrs. Hallsworth's eyes went to the records.

  'I guess the LPs belong to Adam Kershaw. Am I right? Yes, I thought so! If the poor lad played them at home, that terrible uncle would be down on him like a ton of bricks for wasting his money. Sharon is his refuge from all the slings and arrows.'

  Sharon felt herself flushing under the kindly, searching look. She said in a bright tone: 'Mr. Ben had wonderful news for me today.'

  'My goodness, yes! I meant to congratulate you as soon as I arrived.' She turned to Jennifer. 'We're talking about a new carpet based on our little park here in Roxley. The repeats are very clever indeed and the colours are simply delightful. It has aroused a lot of interest at the Design Centre. People crowd round and discuss it. And they don't fight over it, as they do oyer pop art. They really enjoy the fun! My husband thinks it may well win an award for sheer originality. A feather in Sharon's cap - and his.'

  She said she would have Ben bring round the new pattern book - 'an immense thing or I'd offer to bring it myself' - and Jennifer must come up and see the famous Wild Rose carpet in her bedroom when the doctor permitted.

  'With a little coaxing, Sharon might show you her working sketches. The little park, for instance, and the new floral design. Speaking of grapes, by the way, how is our Greenhouse coming along? Ben pulls faces, but I

  still think it could be a winner.' She went away laughing.

  Sharon had gone rather quiet when her working sketches were mentioned. She had given up the missing sketch for lost, but that queer uneasiness persisted in her mind and she had vowed that the sketches which were Hallsworth's property should never again leave her studio. Jennifer would have to be content with the pattern book. Furnishing her dream house of the future? Just as she herself saw every design, in her mind's eye, against the setting of Clough Head!

  The day after Mrs. Hallsworth's visit, Mrs. Collins, one of her students, looked in to see her. She was very excited and Sharon put this down to the news that a piece of work she had submitted in the much-discussed embroidery contest had been given an honourable mention.

  'How splendid!' said Sharon, genuinely delighted.

  'Of course, I wasn't expecting to win a prize. I've miles to go before I'm as good as all that.'

  'It was a beautiful piece of work, though I wasn't supposed to comment when you showed it to me. I liked the variety of stitches you used to give it interest. We ought to have a meeting of the class to celebrate. If Miss Frith's French people can hold a party, why shouldn't we? And of course I'll see that Mr. Topliss puts a paragraph in the Gazette.'

  'That's kind of you,' said Mrs. Collins, fidgeting.

  'Were the results out this morning? I've been so busy, I haven't even opened the paper.'

  'I brought a copy with me,' said Mrs. Collins, producing it like a conjuring trick. 'They've given over the whole of the women's page to the contest, with the judges' comments and photographs of the prizewinning entries in each section.'

  Sharon took the paper over to Jennifer's couch so that they could look at the page together. She ran rapidly through the first three sections: 'Child's Garment,' 'Cushion Cover in Machine Embroidery,' 'Tablecloth in White or Coloured Drawn-thread and Cut-out Work.' Then, with a quickening of interest, she folded the paper over to get a clear view of the three winning entries in the 'Picture for Framing' section. The first prize had gone to a design of sunbirds hovering over hibiscus blossom.

  'Oh, I like this. Imagine it in the actual colours - the brilliance of the birds, the soft glowing pink of the flowers. Yes, this had to take the first prize. But if I'd been one of the judges I'd have been torn. This piece in Spanish work, black on white, is magnificent.' She stopped suddenly and gave a little gasp. 'Oh, no!' Her voice trailed off. She went quite white as if she would actually faint.

  Mrs. Collins was looking at her so strangely. She babbled : 'Third Prize : Myrtle Cragill - The Abbey Garden.'

  And Jennifer was laughing softly. 'What fun! It's as if someone had dreamed up a garden for our abbey. Isn't it the most amusing thing?'

  Mrs. Collins said shrilly: "You'll see the judges find fault with the actual work. It's uneven — and nothing much but satin stitch and French knots, after all. What won her the prize is the originality of the design.'

  Sharon was still staring at the picture. In the background was the suggestion of a ruined wall. In the foreground was her little park with not a single detail changed except that the bandstand had become an ornamental fishpond. The paths, the flower-beds, the quaintly trimmed shrubs, the fat speckled thrush - they were all there.

  'Oh, Miss Birch, how could you?' cried Mrs. Collins. Under the rules of the contest…' She burst into tears.

  The visitors who came and went were just a prelude to

  Neil's brief visit every evening. Sharon was listening for his step long before his car drew up at the gate. By that time, their evening meal was cleared away and the cottage in an unnatural state of neatness, for when left to herself she tended to leave books, slippers, artist's materials scattered everywhere. She let him in, they exchanged some remark about the weather and touched on Jennifer's progress. Then she shut herself in the kitchen, sallying forth after a little while with coffee on a tray. And soon after that he left again and the emptiness closed in upon her heart. But tonight she couldn't face him. Besides, it was time he and Jennifer had a little privacy for the many, many things they must wish to discuss. When she heard him coming, she propped the front door open and slipped out the back way, telling Jennifer she had to call on Miss Frith.

  'About a dog?' teased Jennifer. But her eyes were full of concern.

  Sharon certainly walked as far as Miss Frith's, though she didn't go in. She scrambled down between the twisty little oaks and alders and made her own path through the tender new bracken fronds at the river's edge. But
all the walking and all the worrying didn't solve her problem. She still looked white and stricken when she climbed up to the highroad again and found Neil Haslam waiting there with his car parked on the grass verge.

  She gave him a frightened look. 'Is something wrong with Jennifer?'

  'Jennifer is fine. But, by heaven, there is something wrong, and I mean to get to the bottom of it.'

  Sharon said painfully: 'I'm sorry, but it's not your business.'

  'Anything touching the integrity of a member of my staff most certainly is my business.' Still she remained silent. He said impatiently: 'If this makes it any easier,

  Jennifer showed me today's paper and the fancy layout of competition results. And she described your reaction. What the hell has been going on?' He took her by the shoulders and planted her fairly and squarely in front of him. 'Tell me!'

  'The first rule of the contest is that every design and all details of the execution must be the sole unaided work of the contestant. The second rule is that professional work is excluded. You see, the whole idea is to encourage the gifted amateur. And in no such contest before have there been such big money prizes - which are intended to help the amateur to take professional training or travel in search of ideas. The other thing…' Her voice faltered off.

  'Go on.'

  She was trembling between his hands. 'It's my design! Mrs. Collins recognized it at once. The whole thing has become a nightmare… Oh, how I've hunted for that sketch! I've suspected poor Luc Priolly. I even wrote and asked him to return it! And all the time Mrs. Cragill was tracing it off on her embroidery canvas!' She drew a shaking breath. 'Samuel Cragill may genuinely believe it was just a try-out, something I'd used in demonstrating the different stages of a design to my class and thrown away afterwards. That doesn't make it his wife's original work! And if I challenge her, I'm most horribly afraid they'll both swear I gave it to her.'

  'Not the design, my dear chap. But the idea. Certainly,' was what Mr. Cragill said. He and his wife were seated opposite Neil and Sharon in the chintzy living-room, in easy chairs, with the evening sun shining in and the garden outside the windows seeming to shout aloud with exuberant vitality. 'We had our first little chat about it over the hedge. I remember it was shortly after you came to Roxley.' He turned to Neil with an affable air and any one looking in might have thought it a pleasant evening's chit-chat between old, familiar friends. But what Sharon heard was war and rumours of war.