by Miss Read
'Her mother lives at Wimbledon, but they don't hit it off together awfully well, and in any case she's getting on. She must be well into her fifties.'
'And I'm well into my seventies,' said Winnie, with some asperity. She was about to remonstrate further when Richard spoke again.
'Of course, Timothy might be a problem. He'd have to come with Fenella.'
'Timothy?'
'Yes, he's four now. By Fenella's first husband. Full of life, is Timothy.'
Winnie began to feel slightly dizzy.
'But where will you be, Richard, when this child is born?'
'Oh, that's the point! I have to do a tour of Australia in about three weeks' time, so that's why I'm trying to get things settled before I go. I talked it over with Fenella, and I told her that you had Jenny to help in the house, and John Lovell practically on the premises if anything went wrong, and it all seemed ideal to us.'
Maybe, thought Winnie, with growing astonishment at these plans, but far from ideal for Jenny and for me! How right Donald had been when he described Richard as the most self-centred individual he had ever met! His calm assumption that two elderly ladies would disrupt their lives to accommodate his wife and two children, while he left all his responsibilities behind, astounded her.
She put down her cup very carefully, and took a deep breath.
'Richard, Fenella and the new baby, and the little boy, are your responsibility. You must have known about this situation for months, and should have made plans properly. To my mind, you should have cancelled the Australian trip, and been with them at this time.'
'But that would have been quite impossible, auntie. The contract was signed a year ago. Besides, I wanted to go.'
There speaks Richard, thought Winnie.
'In any case, it is impossible for me to take on your responsibilities. Now that Jenny lives here, we have only one spare bedroom, and really no facilities for coping with a mother and new baby, let alone Timothy.'
'Well,' said Richard, looking much taken aback, 'I really didn't foresee this!'
'Then you should have done. I am in my seventies, and Jenny not much less. I look forward to meeting Fenella and the family before long, but to expect us to cope with the present problem is remarkably naive of you and – I must say it, Richard – uncommonly selfish too.'
'Then what am I to do?'
'You must make arrangements for a younger and better qualified woman than I am, to care for your family, if you must go on with this tour, which I consider ill-advised and again extremely selfish. Suppose something goes awry with the birth? How are people to get in touch with you? How will Fenella feel, trying to cope with everything? I'm getting crosser every minute with you, Richard. Have another cup of tea.'
He passed his cup in silence. Winnie found herself breathing heavily. All this was most upsetting. It was against her kindly nature to refuse help at such a time, but the facts were as she stated, and Richard was putting her into an impossible situation.
'So you won't have them?'
'I can't have them, and that's top and bottom of it. It would have been more thoughtful of you to have broached this subject months ago. I could have told you then, as I've told you now, that Jenny and I are beyond it, and you would have had more time to make other plans.'
'I'm very disappointed. I shall have to think again.'
'You most certainly will,' agreed Winnie, with some spirit. 'I advise you to try and get someone to live in for a month or so to look after things. No doubt the local district nurse will call as often as she can, but there should be somebody there – you, preferably – to cope with the day-to-day running of the household.'
Richard began to look sulky, reminding Winnie of the time when he had been refused a sixth chocolate biscuit at the age of five. He did not seem to have matured much in some ways.
'You've made things very awkward for me, Aunt Win. I really don't know what to do next.'
'There are plenty of agencies in your part of London,' Winnie told him, 'who will be only too pleased to send you someone who can cope with the nursing and the housework. I remember going to Kensington with my mother years ago when we needed a cook-general.'
'But it will cost money,' protested Richard.
'Naturally,' agreed Winnie. 'If you are expecting skilled and reliable service you must be prepared to pay well. Personally, I should have thought it a small price to pay for help in the circumstances.'
Richard looked at his watch.
'Too late to do anything today, I suppose. I think I'd better get back to town and discuss things with Fenella. I'm afraid she will be as disappointed as I am. I know she was looking forward to a week or two here to recuperate.'
Winnie refused to be browbeaten.
'I'm quite sure she will understand, Richard. Are you driving straight home?'
'Yes, of course. My lecture tomorrow isn't until the evening.'
'Then, in that case, I will pick her some roses. They are particularly fine this year. And you must wait while I write a note to go with them.'
Richard followed her into the garden as she snipped among the rosebeds. He still seemed upset, but Winnie ignored his restless pacing to and fro.
A quarter of an hour later, he was in the car, the roses, beautifully shrouded in tissue paper, on the back seat, and Winnie's letter in his pocket.
'I've no idea how to set about finding a suitable agency,' complained Richard, fastening his seat belt.
'Just look in the yellow pages, dear,' advised his aunt, and waved him farewell.
She returned to the kitchen where Jenny was busy washing up the tea things.
'My scones went down well evidently,' she said with satisfaction.
'They did indeed,' her mistress assured her. She went on to explain Richard's mission, and Jenny's eyes grew wider every minute.
When, at last, Winnie reached the end of her tale, Jenny summed up the whole proceedings in one word.
'Cheek!' said Jenny.
Nelly Piggott, toiling up the hill from Lulling to Thrush Green after her day at The Fuchsia Bush, noticed Richard's car, which was waiting to enter the busy road to Oxford.
The roses caught her eye first, and then the particularly sulky look on the driver's face.
'Proper nasty tempered, that one,' thought Nelly. 'Wonder what he's doing in these parts? A rep, no doubt, and with them flowers in the back probably no better than he should be.'
She paused to get her breath halfway up the hill, and remembered her faithless Charlie who had so cruelly turned her out of home when his roving eye had lit upon another woman more to his liking. She dwelt on his infamy with martyred pleasure. The fact that he had taken her in when she had left Albert, her husband, some months earlier, she chose to forget.
All in all, she supposed, both men had treated her fairly well, and Albert had been remarkably amiable when she had returned to him. She would enjoy frying the chops for him which were in her basket. Cooking was the true joy of Nelly's life.
As she reached the top of the hill she could see Edward and Joan Young's fine house beyond the chestnut trees, and recalled the earnest discussion she and Mrs Peters had had that afternoon about veal and ham pie, salmon mousse, roast turkey, spiced beef and a score of other dishes suitable for a particularly select cold buffet. She was going to enjoy getting that lot ready!
Crossing behind the old people's homes, and now mercifully on the flat, Nelly came face to face with her husband's old friend Percy Hodge, who farmed a mile or so northwards off the Nidden road.
'Wotcher, Perce? Nice drop of rain yesterday. Do your crops good.'
'Done the potatoes a bit of good, I suppose, but too late for the wheat and barley. Be a poor yield, I shouldn't wonder.'
'You farmers never stop grumbling,' said Nelly. 'I'm glad I'm not married to one.'
She stopped hastily, remembering the truant Doris. Perhaps she'd said something to upset poor old Perce?
Had she known, he was thinking that Albert did his share of
grumbling too, and a fine bonny woman like Nelly might have been better off with a farmer after all.
'Well, I must get on,' said Nelly, somewhat flustered. 'Albert's waiting for his tea.'
'He's a lucky chap to have someone to cook it for him,' replied Percy lugubriously. 'Some of us have to cook our own.'
Nelly felt that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. Percy Hodge was full of self-pity, and she didn't want any attentions from him. He'd been enough nuisance to that poor Jenny of Mrs Bailey's until she'd boxed his ears.
What a tiresome lot men were, thought Nelly, approaching her door. It made you wonder why they had been put into the world in the first place. If she'd had any hand in arranging matters at the Creation, she would have made sure that there would have been only one sex. Life would have been much simpler.
'And about time!' said Albert, when she closed the door behind her. 'I was getting fair weak with hunger.'
Nelly managed to stay silent, but she banged the frying pan viciously on to the stove to relieve her feelings.
Before Albert's chops were done, an upsetting telephone call came to the schoolhouse a few yards away.
Agnes and Dorothy were enjoying the newspapers, and the comfortable thought that it was Friday evening, and the much-blest weekend stretched ahead, when the telephone rang.
Dorothy answered it, and a few stray phrases were heard by Agnes.
'How serious is it? ... Well, of course, we were in school. You must have known, Kathleen! ... Which hospital? ... Most inconvenient ... Yes, of course, I shall go. I shall set off tomorrow morning ... No, no, don't put yourself to any trouble. I can find a room.'
She came back, pink and flustered.
'Oh, what a kettle of fish! Really, Kathleen gets more impossible yearly! She's complaining because she's tried to ring us twice today, once at ten and then again at two o'clock. Of course we were in school, and no one but Kathleen would be so woolly-headed as to forget it.'
'But what's happened?'
'Oh, Ray has had an accident with the car,' said Dorothy, in what to anxious little Miss Fogerty seemed a remarkably off-hand manner.
Her hands fluttered to her face.
'But Dorothy, how dreadful! Is he badly hurt?'
'No, no! Kathleen said he has concussion, and probably a broken arm. The hospital people are keeping him in for a day or two.'
'I heard you say you would visit him. Shall I come with you?'
'No, Agnes. I shall catch the morning coach to London, and then take a taxi. Kathleen offered to put me up if I wanted to stay the night. In rather a grudging tone of voice, I thought. But I shall come back during the evening. Really, it is dreadfully annoying. I intended to wash my new cardigan tomorrow.'
'I will do that willingly.'
'It can wait until another day,' said Miss Watson firmly. 'We are going to get in a flummox over Ray's foolishness.'
'But what happened? Did Kathleen say?'
'I think he swerved into one of those islands with bollards in the middle of the road, but Kathleen didn't say what caused it. Fortunately, no one else was involved.'
'What a blessing!'
'Now one thing I must see to,' said Dorothy, reaching for her handbag. 'Of course, the wretched banks will be closed tomorrow, but I think I have enough money to pay my way. In any case, I can use my Post Office book to withdraw some cash. I must say, my Post Office book is a real friend in need.'
'I have ten pounds put by,' said Agnes, 'in my stocking drawer.'
'Thank you, dear, but there is no need. I shall be all right. I'm meeting Kathleen at the hospital, so I shall know more then.'
'Did she get your card?' Agnes asked.
'She did indeed, and sounded very gratified. In fact, she said if it hadn't been for my kind message she wouldn't have liked to worry me about Ray's accident.'
'Now, isn't that nice!' cried little Miss Fogerty, aglow with noble feelings.
Dorothy gave one of her resounding snorts.
'I'm beginning to wonder,' she said.
5 The Longest Day
NELLY Piggott, hurrying to work on the Saturday morning, remembered that today was the longest day of the year.
'June nearly on its way out,' thought Nelly, 'and them blankets not washed yet for the winter. Not that Albert'd notice.'
As she reached the bottom of the hill she noticed Miss Watson, stick in one hand, and a crocodile-skin handbag in the other, waiting to cross the road. Why was she out so early, wondered Nelly? Looked very smart too. A wedding perhaps?
Although she was not averse to making the occasional derisive remark about her two schoolteacher neighbours, secretly Nelly felt great respect for them. The school which Nelly had attended as a child, put discipline at the head of its priorities.
None of the staff could have held a candle to Dotty Harmer's tyrant of a father, but nevertheless due respect to teachers by pupils was expected, and punishment was severe if it was not forthcoming. Nelly herself could remember standing on her chair, a figure of shame before her contemporaries, enduring the while the lash of her teacher's tongue.
'Good morning, Miss Watson,' she said deferentially.
'Ah! Good morning, Mrs Piggott,' replied Dorothy. 'Are we in for a fine day, do you think?'
'I hope so. I only do the morning at The Fuchsia Bush on a Saturday, and I thought I might wash a few blankets this afternoon.'
Dorothy nodded vaguely. She had never washed a blanket in her life. Surely one would need something bigger than the sink for that? Luckily, the laundry took care of their blankets.
Nelly slackened her pace, to keep in step with her companion.
'Please don't let me hold you up,' said Dorothy. 'I'm rather slow these days.'
'No hurry for me now, we're nearly there,' Nelly assured her.
'I'm catching the coach,' said Dorothy. 'Rather bad news about my brother.'
Nelly was agog. A little drama is always welcome.
'I'm sorry to hear that.'
'A car accident. I don't think he is badly hurt, but I'm going to the hospital to make sure.'
'Oh, of course! Blood's thicker than water, I always say. Have you got far to go?'
'No; it's one of the London hospitals. I can visit any time this afternoon.'
'Then you'll be in nice time,' commented Nelly, wondering why Miss Watson should be making such an early start.
As if reading her thoughts, Dorothy replied.
'I propose to do a little shopping while I'm in town. Selfridge's and John Lewis's are so satisfactory.'
They were now at the coach stop outside The Fuchsia Bush.
'Well, I hope you find your brother pretty well,' said Nelly politely, and departed to her day's work.
Really a very nice woman, thought Dorothy, watching her go. Not many of that calibre about these days. Hard-working, well-mannered, kindly – Albert hardly deserved anyone so worthwhile.
On the other hand, of course, one had heard things about Nelly's moral standards.
But before she could dwell on the baser and more interesting side of Nelly's character, the coach arrived, mercifully half empty, and Miss Watson mounted the steps to choose her seat for the journey.
Winnie Bailey had had a troubled night after her encounter with Richard. She did not regret her refusal to take on Fenella and her two children, but she was annoyed with Richard for suggesting it.
And yet she was fond of her nephew, despite his irritating ways, and hoped that he would not have a prolonged fit of the sulks, and cut her out of his life. She was getting too old to cope with harboured grudges, and would like to see Richard, and his wife and family, as she had said.
Well, time would show, she thought philosophically, putting out the milk bottles on the front step.
John Lovell, on his way to morning surgery, hurried across to speak to her.
'Did you ever find that farm, John?' she asked him.
'After a false start or two. The fir tree's gone now, but the house is still there,
and the farm buildings, though everything's a bit run down.'
'Who lives there now?'
'At Trotters? Leys Farm, I mean.'
'Yes. Which do they call it, by the way?'
'Leys Farm. Though an old boy on the road knew it as Trotters, as you do.'
'Nice family?'
'Two middle-aged brothers, and a youngster, a nephew, I gathered. It was he who was groggy. Some tummy bug or other. Violent D. and V. but he had responded well to antibiotics when I called again, so I shan't need to make another visit, unless they ring.'
'No women?'
'Not in evidence. They looked a pretty scruffy lot, despite half a dozen expensive-looking cars in the yard. How are things with you?'
'Fine, John.'
She was half-inclined to tell him of Richard's visit, but already a few patients were entering his waiting room, and Winnie, as a doctor's wife, knew better than to keep him from his work.
She might tell him later, she decided, watching him cross to the surgery. Perhaps she might feel less worried about the affair as time passed.
Downhill at Lulling, the rector decided to take advantage of the sunshine to walk along the tow path of the River Pleshey.
The exercise would do him good, Dimity told him, as she set about preparing a lamb casserole.
'And it might clear my brain,' added Charles. 'Tomorrow's sermon doesn't read very well, I must admit. Perhaps I shall get some flashes of inspiration.'
He always enjoyed this quiet pathway. The willows shimmered their grey green leaves above the water. Their rustling, and the river's rippling, made a tranquil background to the rector's thoughts, and he walked rather farther than he first intended, until he found himself within sight of the cottage which had once belonged to the water keeper, and now housed his old friend Tom Hardy and his equally ancient dog, Polly.
He decided to call on them, and crossed the wooden footbridge to the house. As was his wont, he went to the back door, and there discovered Tom chopping up wood on the doorstep. Polly was lying nearby in the sun, but came to greet him, tail wagging.
