by Hazel Holt
Even though we’d got there quite early, the showground was crowded. There were some holiday-makers, but mostly it was locals. They were either congregated around the livestock section, leaning knowledgeably over the pens, or in the huddle of horse-boxes, giving a final shine to the already sleek coats of horses, which either stood patiently, apparently bored by the whole business, or plunged about nervously, a hazard to be skirted with care.
Michael and I wandered around the pens for a while admiring the animals (‘Who does that Exmoor shorthorn remind you of?’) until he saw a friend and darted off (‘See you back at the car for lunch’). I walked slowly round the stalls, looking at the pottery and woodcarving – such a lot of it, now that so many young people seemed to have set up little workshops in a hand-to-mouth attempt to leave the rat-race in the cities.
‘It all looks the same now, doesn’t it?’
Rosemary, with Delia in a pushchair, paused beside me, looking at a trestle table set out with wooden table-mats, toast-racks, napkin rings, and a few overpriced pieces of furniture.
‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘And the pottery, too, everywhere you go, from Windermere to Tintagel.’
‘I’m just looking for the sheepskin place to see if they’ve got a pair of mittens that will fit Delia.’
I walked along beside them, Rosemary having some difficulty in easing the push-chair over the ruts in the grass and Delia hurling a blue woolly lamb to the ground to see how often we were prepared to pick it up for her.
‘Jilly’s with Jack watching the judging,’ Rosemary said, ‘but Delia got bored. She’s too young, really, but Jilly wanted to come because we always do. Actually, it’s not too bad because we’re in the Enclosure and we can at least get a drink and something to eat in the Members’ Tent. Where are you?’
‘Oh, we’re with the common herd,’ I replied. ‘Peter and I used to be Members, but that’s one of the things I’ve sort of let slip since he died. Actually, I only came this year because Michael wanted to.’
‘Well,’ Rosemary said, looking around her at all the booths and stalls, ‘it’s certainly a bit different from when we used to come here as children.’
‘Goodness, yes,’ I replied. ‘Then judging was the important bit and seeing your friends and the only display was a few tractors and the odd farm implement. Oh, and the Beer Tent! Now it’s all police motor-cycle display teams and hamburger stands!’
‘Well,’ Rosemary said, ‘it’s still a place to see one’s friends,’ She gestured to where Oliver Stevens was standing, apparently lost in contemplation of a new disc harrow.
‘He’s looking very Lord of the Manor today,’ I said, smiling. ‘Look at those immensely hairy tweeds – he must be boiling! And where on earth do you think he got that marvellous fawn bowler hat?’
As we came towards him, Oliver turned and raised the bowler with a flourish.
‘Ladies!’ he said. ‘How delightful to see you. Dunster Show is like Paris. If you stand still long enough everyone you know will eventually pass before you.’
‘I mustn’t stand still at all,’ Rosemary said as Delia, bored with too much grown-up conversation, began to kick determinedly at the footplate of her push-chair. ‘I’d better get Madam here back to the car before she becomes vocal. We hope she may become an opera singer – certainly the power of her lungs would easily fill La Scala without any sort of amplification.’
‘The trials of being a grandmother,’ Oliver said, looking rather relieved that they had gone.
‘Oh, she loves it,’ I replied.
‘It would have been pleasant to have had a child,’ Oliver said, ‘if it could have been born aged sixteen or so, with all the difficult years behind one.’
‘There speaks the childless man.’ I laughed. ‘Up to sixteen is the easy bit!’
It was nice to feel comfortable with Oliver again, now that I knew he wasn’t a murder suspect any more and that what I’d told Roger about our conversation on the train hadn’t made trouble for him. Certainly Oliver himself seemed to have forgotten the whole incident. We chatted for a while until Sally suddenly materialized beside him.
‘Oliver darling,’ she said, slipping her arm through his with her usual proprietorial air, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s the middle-weight geldings next and I want you to see that chestnut of Harry Picton’s.’
She was dressed in impeccable riding gear – the boots alone must have cost a small fortune – and looked even more relentlessly county than Oliver.
‘Oh, hello, Sheila.’ She belatedly acknowledged my presence.
‘You’re looking very professional, Sally,’ I said. ‘What are you showing today?’
‘I’ve got quite a nice little mare and foal.’ Sally, when talking about horses, was always a different person. ‘And I have hopes of my new hunter. Class Thirty-two – but they’re running late, of course.’
‘Don’t they always!’ I said, as the tannoy suddenly leapt into life and demanded the presence of all weight-carrying cobs in the collecting ring.
They moved away and I decided that what I really wanted was somewhere to sit down. I was walking towards the bales of straw around the smaller of the two rings when I nearly collided with Will Maxwell.
‘Sheila!’ he said. ‘Just the person! Come and have a drink before the lunchtime rush!’
I felt flustered and awkward. I hadn’t really prepared myself to come face to face with Will. But within moments, as we picked our way through the thickening crowd, somehow we were back on our old footing. I simply knew (no sort of logic or reason) that Will couldn’t have killed anyone, whatever the provocation, any more than I could myself. It was a tremendous relief – I hadn’t admitted, even to myself, how important my friendship with Will really was. Still, now that I knew the extra dimension of tragedy surrounding Lucy’s death, I felt even more strongly that I could never mention it to him, as I knew that he would never speak of it to me.
The refreshment tent was already quite crowded and I waited outside while Will fought his way in for the drinks. It was pleasant standing in the lee of the tent, out of the wind. The sun was really quite hot and the sound of the Taviscombe Silver Band playing its usual selection from The Gondoliers, together with the sweet smell of trampled grass, made me nostalgic for all the Show days of my youth. I stood there, mindlessly content, watching the people passing by when I was suddenly aware of a tall figure in black coming towards me. It was Father Freddy. My cheerful mood vanished and I looked around for some way of escape. but it was too late.
‘Ah. Sheila, my dear. Such an agreeable occasion. A little crowded, perhaps,’ he added, as a small girl, imperfectly in control of a determined-looking Exmoor pony, bore down upon us. We moved quickly out of the way and with a despairing cry of, ‘Oh Gosh, I’m frightfully sorry...’ she plunged on.
‘Oh dear,’ I laughed. ‘Little girls and horses!’
The tannoy burst into life again.
‘Will Major Amherst, who is judging Class Thirty-four, please come to the Committee Tent!’
‘Are you here on your own?’ Father Freddy asked.
‘Michael’s about somewhere,’ I said, ‘and Will Maxwell is in there getting me a drink. How about you?’
‘Eleanor has very kindly invited me to have lunch with her in the Members’ Tent. I was just making my way across to the Enclosure to meet her.’
‘Oh, good. She’s better, then? I thought she might not be well enough to come.’
‘Better than she was, but not, I thought, really her old self, if I might put it like that.’
‘That wretched flu thing does leave one feeling pretty down,’ I said, ‘and of course there’s Robin...’
‘She took it very hard,’ he said gravely.
We stood for a moment in silence and I was relieved when Will appeared carefully carrying two drinks.
‘I put the tonic in with the gin,’ he said, ‘because it was easier to carry, and there’s lemon but no ice.’
He handed m
e a glass and smiled at Father Freddy.
‘Hello. It’s a really good turn-out this year, isn’t it? Absolutely all one’s chums. What can I get you, Father?’
‘No, thank you, Will. I am on my way, as I was explaining to Sheila, to have lunch with Eleanor
‘And there she is,’ Will said waving. ‘Eleanor! Over here!’
Eleanor didn’t look quite as ill as she had done when I saw her last, but she still looked pale and drawn. For years she had never seemed to change, but today she looked her age. It wasn’t just a physical ageing, lines and wrinkles and so forth, but the bounce and vitality had gone and the old school-girlish manner was subdued.
‘Eleanor, my dear,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
She gave me a ghost of her former smile.
‘I’m fine, right as rain, really.’
‘I’m so glad to see you here,’ I said.
‘Couldn’t miss a Dunster Show,’ she replied. ‘We’ve always come. Cousin Ernest used to be on the Committee.’
‘How’s Jessie?’ I asked.
‘Jessie?’ Eleanor paused for a moment. ‘Jessie’s much better. She’s here today somewhere. I think she said she wanted to see the WI produce stall.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’ Will asked.
‘No thanks, Will, we’d better be getting along.’
As she and Freddy Drummond moved off together, Will looked after them and said, ‘Two souls out of time.’
I was startled.
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘Haven’t you noticed? Those two – they don’t really fit into this day and age, do they? I suppose that’s why they get on so well together.’
‘I agree about Father Freddy,’ I replied. ‘In fact, I was saying that very thing only the other day. And, yes, in a way, I do see what you mean about Eleanor. Not just the Angela Brazil schoolgirl bit, but there is something curiously old-fashioned about her. An attitude of mind, perhaps. She’s always been a bit, well, unreal.’
‘Being brought up by Cousin Ernest didn’t help, I imagine,’ Will said thoughtfully.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘He was an odd sort of man. A very cold fish. I used to try and get out of going to tea with Phyllis and Eleanor when I was young in case he was there.’
‘Was he disagreeable, then?’
‘No, it wasn’t that,’ I said. ‘I can’t explain, really. He was very generous – tremendous going-home presents at parties and Phyllis and Eleanor had everything that money could buy in the way of toys and things. And then, when they were older, those very splendid tennis parties. He was always very affable, but there was no genuine warmth, there was always something under the surface. And – I’ve only just thought of this – he was always there. You know how it is when you’re young, you don’t want grown-ups around all the time. But he always seemed to be keeping an eye on us. It was a bit inhibiting!’
‘What was Phyllis like?’ Will asked.
‘A very odd girl,’ I replied. ‘Difficult and nervy, their old nanny used to say. Withdrawn, almost. But of course not surprising, perhaps, with her mother dying quite young. She and Eleanor were very close when Eleanor was small, but when she was in her teens Phyllis withdrew even from her. She became quite obsessed about that boat of hers – went off on her own for days at a time. I expected Sir Ernest to object to that, but strangely enough he seemed to accept it. Then, of course, as you know, there was that accident.’
As I said the word I thought of Lucy and felt deeply embarrassed, but Will didn’t seem to make the connection and simply said, ‘Yes, it must have been awful for them – Eleanor and Sir Ernest.’
‘Yes,’ I said slowly, ‘I’m sure they were very upset. But we didn’t see much of them because they went abroad immediately afterwards, and when they came back they never mentioned it.’
‘No,’ Will said, ‘I can see that they might not.’
‘They did travel quite a bit,’ I said hastily to change the subject, ‘after Sir Ernest retired.’
‘I came across them in Vienna once,’ Will said, ‘years ago, in the days when I was being a journalist. There was some sort of Foreign Office scandal – a young man, who’d been with Sir Ernest before he retired at one of his postings, in Italy, I think it was. He defected and my paper sent me out to get a comment.’
‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘Do you think Sir Ernest was a spy-master.’
‘I wouldn’t think so; there was never any suspicion of that,’ Will replied. ‘But I remember thinking at the time how curiously unmoved he was about the whole affair. When I first approached him and said I was from the press he was very abrupt. He wouldn’t speak to me. Foreign Office training, no doubt, but when I mentioned this man and the suspicions about him he changed completely and gave me a perfectly good interview. I suppose as long as he wasn’t involved himself he didn’t mind.’
‘Oh, I’m sure Sir Ernest would have been very upset if anything threatened to dent his own perfect image,’ I said cattily.
‘There was something – I never quite pinned it down,’ Will said. ‘Something that wasn’t quite right about him.’
‘I would have liked to think that he was a spy,’ I said, ‘if only because that would rationalize my feeling of dislike for him!’
Will laughed, and taking my glass disappeared once more into the Refreshment Tent. When he emerged Michael joined us and we made our way over to the car for lunch. As I unpacked boxes of food and flasks from the boot I happened to look across the lines of cars and saw Jessie, leaning on the bonnet of an old Morris Minor. She was bent over and looked as if she might be ill. I thrust the sandwich box into Michael’s hands and said, ‘Can you carry on here? I’ll be back in a minute.’
I hurried over to where Jessie was still standing.
‘Jessie,’ I called urgently out as I approached her, ‘are you all right?’
She turned sharply at the sound of my voice and straightened up and I had the feeling that my attention was unwelcome to her. As she stood upright and faced me, with a curious mixture of embarrassment and defiance, I saw why. Jessie was unmistakably pregnant.
Chapter Fifteen
I simply didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure if I should comment on her condition or ignore it. I spoke tentatively.
‘Jessie, what’s the matter? You looked as if you might be ill.’
She acknowledged my obvious concern with a half-smile and said, ‘I just felt a bit giddy for a minute, thank you, Mrs Malory, but I’m all right now.’
‘Can I fetch Eleanor? Or would you like me to run you back to Kinsford in the car?’
‘No. No, please don’t disturb Miss Eleanor. I’m all right, really I am, thank you all the same.’
‘Well, let me get you a cup of tea or something.’
‘No, honestly, Mrs Malory, I’d rather you didn’t bother. I don’t need anything. I’ll just go and have a bit of a sit down in Miss Eleanor’s car. You get a bit tired, being on your feet for any time, when you’re like this.’
This tacit admission of her condition emboldened me to say, ‘When is the baby due?’
‘I’ve got another three months to go.’
There was a silence, since Jessie seemed disinclined to say any more and there was no way that I could ask the one thing that I really wanted to know. After a moment I said, ‘Well, if you’re really sure there’s nothing I can do ... Take care of yourself.’
As I walked back to the car my mind was seething with queries. Michael and Will were half-way through the sandwiches when I rejoined them. Michael held out the tin.
‘Here, have a ham one – there’s only a couple left.’
As I took a sandwich automatically, Will looked at me curiously.
‘What’s the matter? You look upset.’
‘I’ve had a bit of a shock,’ I said. ‘That was Jessie over there. She’s pregnant.’
‘What!’
Will and Michael stopped eating in astonishment.
‘Not Jessie! Never!’ Michael
exclaimed.
‘It’s patently true,’ I replied. ‘She’s six months pregnant.’
‘But who’s the father?’ Will asked.
‘I don’t know. She didn’t say and, obviously, I couldn’t ask. Of course,’ I added, ‘that explains what she was doing at the doctor that time and why she’s looked ill.’
‘When did you see her last? Didn’t you notice anything?’
‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘When I met her at the doctor’s she was wearing a mac, quite a full one, and when I called at Kinsford she had one of those old-fashioned wrap-around overalls on, very concealing.’
‘I suppose,’ Michael said thoughtfully, biting into the last of the sandwiches, ‘she chose to come to Dunster Show to let everyone know. I mean, it’s like taking a full-page advertisement in the Western Daily News’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘though she was very embarrassed. So was I, for that matter! And Eleanor didn’t say anything when I saw her earlier.’
I poured the coffee while Will and Michael went on expressing surprise at the news and speculating on the identity of the father, but I couldn’t join in. I felt a wave of great sadness for Jessie. Behind her colourless remarks I had sensed a tremendous feeling of misery and something else that I couldn’t quite define, almost despair.
‘I suppose she’s still only in her mid-thirties,’ Will was saying, ‘and in a way rather attractive – that dark hair and high colouring. It’s just that one never thought of her as having a boyfriend. Perhaps he’ll marry her. Eleanor would miss her if she left.’
‘Perhaps he can’t marry her,’ I said. ‘Perhaps he’s married already.’
‘Well,’ Will replied, ‘I’m sure Eleanor would stand by her. Anyway, Jessie must want the baby or she’d have done something about it by now.’
‘Yes,’ I said doubtfully. ‘But she didn’t seem particularly happy about it. I know that in this day and age the single-parent family seems to be the norm rather than the exception, but Jessie is old-fashioned. I felt that she was ashamed of her condition. But, being old-fashioned, perhaps she wouldn’t think of an abortion.’
‘Poor Jessie,’ Michael said. ‘But never mind, look on the bright side. I bet Eleanor would love to have a baby about the place. It’ll be spoilt rotten.’
