(19/20) Farewell to Fairacre Page 11

  In actual fact, Deirdre Lynch was dressed in a particularly smart purple outfit with amethysts to match, and Amy and I looked positively dowdy in contrast.

  Henry was in buoyant spirits, and inclined to be rather facetious.

  'I told you what a ray of sunshine Miss Read has been,' he said to Deirdre. 'I don't know what I should have done without her to guide me through the darkness.'

  She smiled vaguely, not appearing to hear half that was said, and I wondered if she were deaf perhaps.

  She contributed little to the conversation, until Amy mentioned some Irish friends. Evidently they were neighbours, and our visitor became more animated.

  'Not that I go out much now,' she said. 'So many little upsets, you know. Our local pub was bombed last week, and four people blown up.'

  Some little upset, was my private thought!

  'That's why I am beginning to wonder about coming to live over here.'

  Henry, startled, dropped a piece of cake on the floor, and bent to retrieve it. His face was pink when he returned to an upright position, but whether with shock or stooping, it was impossible to say.

  'What! Permanently?' he spluttered.

  'It seems a good idea. I have lots of friends here - you included, Henry dear - and I think a cottage just like this one would be a perfect place to live.'

  Henry began to look very unhappy, and champed his cake moodily.

  'I thought I could stay with you while I looked around,' continued Deirdre. She turned to me.

  'Do you know of anything?'

  'Not at the moment.'

  Amy came to the rescue with her usual aplomb. 'Why not get The Caxley Chronicle while you are over here? Always lots of houses for sale. And we've some very reliable estate agents in this area. I'm sure you would find something.'

  Henry choked, and gave a malevolent look in Amy's direction.

  'I don't think it will be convenient for you to stay with me,' he said, when he had regained his breath. 'I'm particularly busy over Easter. This egg hunt, you know, for the children. You are giving me a hand with that, aren't you?'

  He turned an appealing face to me. I felt a twinge of guilt.

  'We are going away together,' put in Amy quickly. 'We shall be in Shropshire for a few days over the Easter weekend.'

  Henry looked stricken. 'But I was relying on you,' he wailed. 'I don't think I can manage without your help.'

  Deirdre looked smug. 'I shall be there to help, Henry. I don't plan to return to Ireland for some time yet.'

  'More tea?' I enquired brightly.

  'I believe a robin is looking for a nesting place in my garden,' said Amy, backing me up in my rescue attempt.

  Henry continued to look furious. 'Too early,' he said tersely.

  When they had departed, Amy lit a cigarette, and sank back on the sofa with a sigh.

  'Well, what a to-do. That man is heavily smitten with you, my love, and you'll have to do something about it. If I know anything about these affairs, our Deirdre has got her eye on him, and he knows it. You'll have to come to his rescue. You could do much worse. He's a very nice fellow, I've always thought, and absolutely devoted to you.'

  'Oh, shut up, Amy!' I snapped. 'Henry must fight his own battles. I'm not taking him on.'

  Amy laughed so heartily that I was forced to join in.

  'Let's get out the map and plan our route to Bridgnorth,' she suggested. 'It's time you had a break, I can see.'

  'Hear, hear!' I agreed warmly.

  Two days before we broke up for the Easter holidays, the trip to the Cotswolds took place in perfect weather.

  The stone villages glowed warmly in the spring sunshine and every now and then we crossed the River Windrush, with the willows drooping freshly green branches above it.

  Most of the children were already acquainted with the birds of prey and their attendants and all were greeted as old friends. There was no shortage of volunteers to offer arms as perches to the great birds as they showed off their capabilities.

  The Cotswold Wildlife Park was enjoyed with equal enthusiasm by the children, but my pleasure was somewhat marred by Henry's behaviour.

  As soon as we took our places in the bus, Henry sat beside me. Deirdre sat in the seat behind, and occasionally leant forward to speak to him. He was not very forthcoming to Deirdre's comments, but talked brightly to me, virtually ignoring his visitor.

  At the first opportunity, I changed my place, making sure that I was adequately hemmed in by children. When we stopped, however, to go round the falconry or the park, Henry appeared at my side. So, I noticed, did Deirdre.

  I escaped every now and again, excusing myself saying that the children needed attention. It was all rather irritating, and done, I felt sure, to annoy Deirdre in which, I was glad to see, he did not succeed.

  She stayed close to Henry throughout, and on this occasion was actually wearing one of the gauzy scarves draped attractively round her head. I was getting rather fond of Deirdre, I decided, looking across the eagles' enclosure where I had found temporary sanctuary.

  She was obviously good-tempered, impervious to Henry's rudeness, and implacably intent on winning him with her charms.

  And good luck to her, I thought. Perhaps, by the time I returned from my break with Amy and James, she would have succeeded.

  What a relief that would be!

  CHAPTER 10

  Romantic Complications

  I was particularly glad to welcome the Easter holidays. Although I could not complain of anything definite about my health, and managed, I thought, to perform my duties as well as ever, I was conscious of being a little below par.

  For one thing, I did not sleep as soundly as I had before my strokes, and I tired more quickly if I undertook gardening or furniture shifting. However, I still enjoyed my meals and my walks around the fields and lanes of Fairacre and Beech Green, and reckoned that I was in pretty good shape.

  Nevertheless, it would be good to get away. When one is at home there are innumerable little jobs waiting to be done, and out of sight would be out of mind, thank goodness. The bookshelves that needed a thorough cleaning, the curtain linings that needed shortening, the refrigerator that needed defrosting and the bathroom tap that dripped steadily could all be left behind while I kicked up my heels with Amy.

  And besides these domestic annoyances there were more personal irritants. Henry Mawne was one, Minnie Pringle's unsatisfactory marriage was another. The unexplained tension among the Cottons was another. It would be a real relief to leave all these problems behind me for a day or two.

  On the last day of term Mrs Pringle dropped a plate on the lobby floor, and was unusually upset by this misfortune.

  'There! That's the third,' she exclaimed crossly. 'Yesterday it was a pudding basin, and before I come along here today the handle of one of my best cups come away in my hand.'

  She stooped to retrieve the pieces.

  'My aunt gave it to me years ago,' she went on, red in the face from her exertions. 'A beautiful tea set it was too, though the teapot lid went to glory years ago, and there's only four cups left, but you have to expect that with a teaset over the years.'

  I said that there was no need to worry about the school plate. I would re-imburse the kitchen department and explain the matter.

  She looked a little more cheerful. 'Well, there's an end to it now, I daresay, as the three's done.'

  'The three?'

  'Everything always goes in threes. Like three blind mice, and three-in-one-and-one-in-three.'

  I felt that mice and the Trinity were in strange juxtaposition in this theory, but forbore to comment.

  'Like your strokes,' she continued. 'You've had two, and I'll wager - if I were a betting woman that is - that you'll get a third.'

  'Well, really—' I began indignantly, but was ignored.

  'Always in threes' repeated the old harpy. 'It was the third as took off my Uncle Ebeneezer in the end. You want to watch out.'

  She was out of the door befor
e I could think of a suitable response.

  As usual, she had had the last word.

  That evening, as I was busy ironing some clothes before packing them for the holiday, a shadow fell across the ironing board, and there was John Jenkins making his way to the back door.

  'Oh, I see you're busy,' he exclaimed.

  'Nothing urgent,' I assured him. 'Do come in.'

  We went through to the sitting-room, and John settled down as though he intended to stay some time.

  He refused tea, coffee, sherry and whisky, and looked about him very happily.

  'I was just passing, you know, and I realised I wasn't sure what date we'd fixed for you to see my cottage. What about this weekend?'

  I explained that I should be away.

  'Pity. I've invited Henry and his girlfriend to supper. He seems in a bit of a tizzy about his visitor. I thought she seemed rather a good sort.'

  'So did I.'

  He appeared surprised. 'Did you now? I think Henry felt you might be upset. He said as much to me. Out of Deirdre's hearing, of course.'

  I began to feel my usual irritation with Henry's behaviour, but managed to answer equably. 'I've no idea why Henry should imagine that I mind at all,' I said.

  'He's very fond of you,' said John. 'Understandably.'

  He looked at me with such a strange expression on his face that I felt alarm overtaking my irritation. Not another suitor? How delighted Amy would be!

  'I'm sorry about this weekend,' I replied briskly. 'Could we arrange another day? I'll get my diary.'

  I had left it upstairs, and although I was glad of a few minutes' respite from John's company, I was not best pleased to discover Tibby stretched out asleep on the eiderdown with a headless mouse alongside.

  I snatched up my diary, left the two to get on with it, and returned to find John leaning on the mantelpiece in a dejected manner.

  'I could come on Thursday or Friday of next week,' I offered. He appeared to rally slightly.

  'Not Thursday. I'm expecting a new fellow to start on the garden that day, and I ought to oversee him.'

  'You're lucky! How did you get him? Jobbing gardeners are thin on the ground these days.'

  'I put a postcard in Fairacre Post Office. This man called the same day.'

  'Do I know him?'

  'He's called Arthur Coggs.'

  'Oh lor'! Our Arthur!'

  'So you know him?'

  'Everyone knows Arthur round here. You'll have to watch him if he does turn up, which I doubt. He's the local ne'er-do-well.'

  John looked grim. I found it preferable to the amorous glance he had earlier given me.

  'I didn't think he looked very prepossessing, I must admit, but I thought I'd give him a try.'

  'Why not?'

  John sat down again, just as I had thought he was about to go.

  'This is where you are such a help,' he remarked. 'You seem to know everybody.'

  'Well, I ought to. I taught most of them over the years.'

  'I suppose it is just being a newcomer in such a tight little community, but I must admit that I feel very lonely at times. The complete outsider.'

  'You'll soon make lots of friends,' I said bracingly. 'What about Friday then?'

  I held up my diary.

  'Friday. That will be fine.'

  He stood up, and held out his hand, which I obligingly took to shake, but was dismayed to find that he did not relinquish mine.

  'You were my first friend here,' he said. 'I shall never forget it.'

  I thought that I could smell scorching coming from the kitchen. For pity's sake, had I left the iron switched on? I could not tug the poor fellow willy-nilly along to see, but I wished he would let go of my hand of his own volition.

  'John,' I said very kindly, I hope, 'I'm as pleased as you are to be friends, and I look forward to seeing the cottage on Friday week.'

  At that he let go of my hand and gave me a wonderful smile. No doubt about it, he was a very handsome man.

  I let him out of the front door. I certainly felt affectionate towards John Jenkins and wanted to see him again.

  Meanwhile, the matters in my kitchen and bedroom needed more immediate attention, and any tender emotions must take second place.

  It was good to be heading north-west to Shropshire on the afternoon of Good Friday.

  We skirted most towns, but the few that we went through seemed busy.

  Amy was rather censorious. 'In my young days,' she said, 'everything shut down on Good Friday. Even the level crossing near our home was closed.'

  'You're thinking of footpaths,' James told her.

  Amy wrinkled her brow. 'Well, perhaps I was,' she conceded, 'but the point is that Good Friday was really observed. Now you can pop into any shop for a pound of tea or a quarter of lamb's liver whenever you like.'

  'The other way round,' commented James, jamming on the brakes to let a pheasant stroll haughtily across the road. 'You'd never buy a pound of tea at a time!'

  'And talking of tea,' said Amy, quite unruffled, 'let's stop soon and have a cup somewhere.'

  On this, we were all in agreement.

  The hotel, when we arrived at around six o'clock, was all we had hoped. It was a solidly built house which had once been a Victorian vicarage, with a pleasant grassy garden and mature trees. The coach house and stables had been turned into attractive rooms, and other additions, such as a large sun room, blended well with the original building.

  James dropped us off in Bridgnorth the next day while he visited his business friend, and Amy and I pottered about shopping, and found the funicular railway which descended from the town centre down the steep drop to the side of the River Severn.

  We spent the day exploring until James picked us up again as arranged, at about six, in a car park near by.

  'I feel as though I've been on the beach all day,' said Amy happily. 'All blown about in the freshest of fresh air.'

  It was later that evening when James enquired after the new families at Fairacre, and I had a chance to tell him about the odd behaviour of Mrs Cotton.

  He looked grave. 'I can't understand this. There should be no shortage of money. The Trust is very generous, and the whole point of the exercise is to give the children a happy home with the usual little treats such as your school outing.'

  'I know. That's what's so odd. They don't live extravagantly, and I don't think he's a betting man. He certainly doesn't waste his money at the pub. Bob Willet told me that.'

  'Bob Willet? Is he the local tippler?'

  'Far from it! You're mixing him up with Arthur Coggs. Bob is an upright and God-fearing teetotaller, and Mrs Willet keeps him that way. He is also my chief informant on village affairs.'

  'So what's his opinion?'

  'He's as puzzled as I am, I think, though I haven't really discussed the matter much with him.'

  James rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'I'll call one day soon,' he promised. He must have seen my look of alarm. 'Don't worry. You won't be mentioned. It'll be a casual dropping-in to see how things are going. It's quite usual for a member of the board to keep a friendly eye on such matters.'

  I went to bed with mixed feelings. Was I being meddlesome in the Cotton family's affairs? Should I have told James about my fears which were possibly groundless?

  On the other hand, it was good to have James's support, and if there were troubles in that household he was the ideal man to put them right.

  I did not worry for long. Good Shropshire air ensured that I slept soundly for eight hours.

  We returned by a different route, travelling through the border country between England and Wales, more beautiful than ever with the trees decked in their spring finery. Here and there the wild cherries were in early bloom, reminding me of Housman's poem:

  Liveliest of trees, the cherry now

  Is hung with bloom along the bough,

  And stands about the woodland ride

  Wearing white for Eastertide.

  In my Beech Green
garden the daffodils were beginning to break, and there was the scent of spring everywhere.

  The cottage was clean from Mrs Pringle's ministrations, and Tibby greeted me with unusual enthusiasm.

  Altogether, it was good to be back, and the thought of almost a fortnight of the school holidays still stretching before me was an added bonus.

  It was odd to realise that this holiday was the last one before a term. At the end of the summer term I should be at the outset of my retirement.

  I contemplated the matter. Did it alarm me? Did I feel apprehensive about changing my way of life for - who knows? Twenty years of pleasing myself? Of going where I wanted when I wanted? Should I get fed up with my own company? Should I feel that life was aimless without the discipline and structure of a school year which had shaped everything for me for so long?

  I had now had several months to get used to the idea, and it was a considerable relief to find that I now looked forward with enormous pleasure to the years ahead.

  On Friday afternoon I put on my new cardigan suit and set off to have tea with John Jenkins.

  On my way I saw my first butterfly of the season and noticed that the hawthorn hedges were beginning to break into leaf. Lambs skittered about Hundred Acre field on my left, and the sun was warm. I felt in high spirits.

  John's cottage stood back from the narrow road we all call Pig Lane. It must have once been built of brick and flint, as mine is, and so many local cottages are. But some earlier inhabitant had lime-washed it, and the effect was very fresh and pleasing, although the purists might regret the concealment of interesting native brickwork.

  It was somewhat larger than mine, and John had added an elegant conservatory at the rear. This led from his sitting-room, and gave a feeling of light and space.

  Upstairs there were three bedrooms, larger and loftier than my own, and certainly lighter. I congratulated him on having found such an attractive place.

  'My friends say it's really too big, but I need at least one spare bedroom for visitors, and in any case I'm used to big houses. I was brought up in a vast Victorian villa complete with a basement and attics. We must have had over sixty stairs.'