(19/20) Farewell to Fairacre Page 12

  I followed him into the kitchen, and was impressed with the competence with which he dealt with setting out the tray and coping with the kettle and teapot, and all the other trappings.

  'I don't rise to making my own scones yet,' he said, offering me the dish when we had settled by the fire. 'I get these from Lamb at the Post Office.'

  This reminded me of the postcard he had put up, and I enquired about Arthur.

  'Well, he turned up. I set him to cutting back a patch of scrub at the end of the garden, and he seemed to make some headway. I think I'll give him a trial run.'

  'Watch your tools then,' I warned him, 'or anything else he can put in his pocket. Our Arthur needs a lot of beer, and he has to make a bit of money on the side for that.'

  He said that he would be vigilant, and went on to enquire about my holiday.

  I waxed enthusiastic about Bridgnorth and the country around it, and told him about a veteran car museum that James had taken us to, and about the ancient but glittering Lagonda I had fallen for.

  'That's the sort of thing I miss,' he said, when I had run out of breath. 'The companionship and the fun of shared outings.'

  'But you have made friends here,' I said, 'and you know Henry from the old days.'

  'A little of Henry's company goes a long way,' he said. 'He can be very tiresome at times.'

  I felt sorry that I had mentioned Henry. I had no wish to make mischief, but surely the two men were not vying for my favours? It was an uncomfortable thought.

  I was soon enlightened.

  'It would be very kind of you to agree to accompany me now and again on a little expedition. You know that I relish your company, and I should appreciate it so much.'

  One cannot very well say, 'As long as the relationship remains friendly and not romantic', but that was in my thoughts.

  Aloud I said that I should enjoy an outing with him now and again, although the next term would keep me unusually busy while it lasted.

  'But then you'll be retired,' he said eagerly, 'and have time on your hands. You are bound to feel a little lost - even lonely - when you first retire.'

  I did not like to point out that I had never yet been lonely in my life as a single woman, that I enjoyed my own company, and that I was looking forward to many hours of solitude. He might feel that I was criticising his own recent feelings, and I did not want to appear censorious. Luckily, he turned to another subject.

  'I'm thinking of getting a dog. I thought of the Caxley Dog Rescue place. Do you know anything about it?'

  'Not personally, but I'll consult Bob Willet. He'll know.'

  The Easter holidays flew by at their usual surprising speed, and I was left contemplating all those jobs I had been going to tackle, and had not.

  The curtain linings still remained unshortened, and the bookshelves uncleaned, but the bath tap had had a new washer and the refrigerator had been defrosted. I told myself that half the jobs had been tackled, and that was a better record than some of my school-holiday schedules.

  As was usual, the first day of term dawned sunny and clear, and I thought how lovely it would be to potter about in the garden with the birds fluttering about collecting food for their nestlings, and to enjoy the scent of spring flowers. However, duty called, and I set off to face my last term at Fairacre school.

  Mrs Pringle's leg must have 'flared up' again, as I noticed that she was limping about her dusting routine, a sure sign of trouble. What dire happening was I to hear of now, I wondered?

  'I'm off to the doctor this evening,' said Mrs Pringle. 'I was knocked down by that Arthur Coggs.'

  'Good heavens! How was that?'

  'I went out late last night to put a birthday card in Lamb's letter box to catch first post this morning. It's my Auntie Margaret's eightieth tomorrow, and I want her to know I've remembered her. I'm in her will.'

  'So how did you meet Arthur?'

  'He was stepping out - or rather, falling out - of the Beetle and Wedge, and he was in a real drunken state. He bumped into me, and it's a wonder I didn't fall to the ground and break a hip. What's more, he never said a word of apology! Jogged my bad leg something cruel.'

  I rendered my sympathy.

  'That Arthur Coggs has been too flush with money lately for his own good. I date it from when he started work at that friend of yours up Pig Lane. He must be paying him over the odds. Everyone's talking about it.'

  I felt some alarm. Could John have left valuables about despite my warning? Perhaps I should make enquiries when I returned home? Or was this none of my business?

  Ernest appeared at the door.

  'Can I ring the bell, miss? You never said nothing about who could.'

  Clearly John Jenkins' affairs must wait. School affairs now engulfed me, including my old enemy, the double negative.

  As it happened, John rang me as soon as I returned home.

  He had been invited to the book launch of a local writer and would I accompany him?

  As it was the same evening as our Parents' Association meeting at the school I was obliged to decline, but I was sorry. It certainly sounded more fun. However, duty came first.

  I decided to broach the subject of Arthur's temporary affluence.

  'You haven't missed anything?'

  'No. Though I haven't looked thoroughly. Should I?'

  'It wouldn't be a bad idea. Do you keep any money about? It sounded as though he had paper money.'

  'Hang on. I'll have a quick look.'

  I waited, stroking Tibby, who was impatient for a snack.

  John sounded breathless when he returned. 'You're right! Two ten-pound notes missing from my desk drawer. I keep a hundred stashed there for any emergency.'

  'When did you look last?'

  'Can't say. I notice them, of course, when I go to get stamps and so on from the drawer, but if it looks undisturbed I naturally think the hundred is still there. What a fool I am! I should have thought of this.'

  He sounded very put out, as well he might be.

  'But does Arthur ever come inside your house?'

  'I've shown him where the lavatory is in case he needs it.'

  'And he'd pass the desk?'

  'No, but the door is always open into the sitting-room. The desk's in full view of the hall.'

  'Unlocked?'

  'Not now it won't be,' he said grimly. 'I shall tackle him about it, but I don't know if it's a police affair. I should have been more careful.'

  I felt very sorry for him. 'Cheer up!' I said. 'At least you know more about our Arthur Coggs.'

  He gave a snort of disgust. 'And about myself too, alas!'

  PART THREE

  SUMMER TERM

  CHAPTER 11

  Something Unexpected

  The first week of my last term as a school mistress was one of unbroken sunshine unusual for April.

  The early mornings were particularly idyllic. In my garden the daffodils flourished their golden trumpets, and sturdy double tulips glowed in a stone trough by my front door. The lilac bushes bore pyramids of blue-grey buds, ready to burst into fragrant bloom, and everywhere the small birds darted feverishly in their search for food for their young.

  The drive along the leafy lane to Fairacre was equally enchanting. The blackthorn bushes were a froth of white blossom which spilled into the road with every gust of wind, strewing the surface with petal-confetti. Lambs gambolled in the fields, larks sang above and it was almost too much to ask to go into school on such mornings.

  I comforted myself with the exquisite thought that by next spring time I should be able to revel freely in all this feverish excitement of flora and fauna, untouched by the stern finger of duty pointing me to a bleaker path.

  Now that the end of my professional life was so near I looked forward to freedom with ever-increasing pleasure. I even began to wonder why I had not given up years ago.

  'Because you would have starved,' rebuked my sensible half.

  'But think of the fun you've missed,' pointed out my frivolo
us half.

  'Never mind,' I told myself, swinging the car into the school playground. 'It's all waiting for me at the end of term.'

  One such blissful morning I was on playground duty when Eve Umbleditch emerged from my old home and joined me.

  'What a day!' she said, turning her face up to the cloudless sky.

  'Too good to work,' I agreed.

  'Not for much longer, though. I came to ask you to supper one evening soon.'

  I said I should love to come.

  'Now that Andrew's a better sleeper, we feel we can do a little evening entertaining. What about next Wednesday?'

  I promised to confirm this when I got home to my diary, and found it was then time to usher my charges back to school.

  Later that day I rang Eve to say how much I looked forward to the party at Fairacre school house, as it once was, in my time.

  'Good! We've asked John Jenkins as well. He was at the same school as Horace. Isn't it a small world?'

  I agreed that it was indeed.

  'And the Bakers. Gerard and Miriam,' continued Eve. 'Just the six of us. Anyway, as you know only too well, the dining-room won't hold any more.'

  'It's the perfect number,' I assured her.

  'I expect John will bring you,' she added. 'Unless you like to pick him up as you pass Pig Lane.'

  'We'll fix something,' I promised, and rang off.

  Almost immediately it rang again. It was John Jenkins.

  'I hear we've been invited to the Umbleditches. What time shall I call for you?'

  'Well, actually I had thought of picking you up, as I shall be coming your way.'

  'No, no! Wouldn't hear of it. I shall collect you. It will make my day to have you to myself for a little time.'

  'That's kind of you. Shall we say six thirty here?'

  And so it was settled.

  I pottered about the garden doing a little perfunctory weeding until it grew dark, and I went indoors.

  My thoughts turned upon this new friend John Jenkins. There was no deluding myself. The man was getting remarkably attentive, and I should have to make up my mind what to do about it.

  Here he was, in the same vulnerable state as Henry Mawne, a lone man obviously in need of companionship. Was I willing to supply it?

  Occasionally, yes, was my reply to this self-posed query, but notion any permanent basis. He was an attractive man, he could offer a woman good company, protection and a comfortable home, and many a lone female, I felt sure, would be happy to consider marriage. However, I was not.

  As Amy had so often pointed out, I was far too fond of my own company. Further, she was wont to add, I was very selfish, and it would do me good to have to consider someone else in my life. Look how much richer her own life was, she would say, married to James!

  I forbore on these occasions to remind her of her unhappiness when James was away, presumably on business but, I guessed, with some dalliance with other ladies thrown in. Amy was no fool, and knew better than I did, I suspected, about such matters, but she was rock-bottom loyal, and never breathed a word about her doubts.

  She was probably right about my selfishness, but what was wrong with that? I coped with my own worries as well as my own pleasures, without embroiling anyone else in my affairs. I gave help to others whenever I could, as in the case of poor distracted Minnie, and I suppose I could have done a great deal more if I had joined such excellent bodies as the Red Cross or the Samaritans, but I was never one for joining things, and in any case my spare time was limited.

  No, the fact of the matter was that single life suited me admirably, and now that I was in my comfortable middle age I was decidedly set in my ways and would very much dislike sharing my home with someone else. There was a lot to be said for a lone existence, and I recalled a remark of Katherine Mansfield's when she said, 'If you find a hair in your honey, at least you know it's your own.'

  I only hoped that John Jenkins' ardour would cool, and that Deirdre would be successful in capturing my other, rather less troublesome, admirer.

  One could quite see the attractions of the monastic life, I thought, prising Pussi-luv out of the tin.

  Promptly at six thirty on the following Wednesday, John's car arrived. He must have spent hours polishing it. It gleamed from nose to tail, and put my own shabby runabout to shame.

  The evening was overcast but warm, and the heady scents of spring were all around.

  John was cheerful, and not too embarrassingly solicitous, and my spirits rose as we approached my old home.

  'Do you miss it?' he asked as we drew up.

  'Not really. I think I prefer the cottage at Beech Green. For one thing, it is full of happy memories of Dolly Clare, and it is my own. This was only lent to me for the duration of my working life. I was always very conscious of that.'

  'You are like me. I like to feel settled.'

  Luckily, at this juncture, Horace appeared and greeted us. Soon the two men were reminiscing about their old school and the idiosyncrasies of some of the staff they remembered.

  It was good to see Miriam and Gerard again. He was in the throes of producing a television series about diarists, and we all gave him conflicting and confused ideas about the people he should put in. I plumped for Parson Wood-forde and Francis Kilvert. Miriam said John Evelyn was absolutely essential. Eve said that Gerard could do a whole series on Samuel Pepys alone, and we all got extremely excited about the project and bombarded poor Gerard with our ideas.

  He bore it all very well, and when we had run out of breath, said mildly that he was not going to use any of those diarists but some unknown Dorset individuals he had come across when reading about various seventeenth-century writers.

  John, with considerable aplomb, changed the subject to gardening while we got over our disappointments and paid more attention to our excellent roast lamb and redcurrant jelly. It was salutory to remember, I told myself, that writers and other creative artists do not relish other people's ideas. They usually have more than enough of their own, and well-meant suggestions only add to the burden of their already over-stocked minds.

  Miriam and I were taken to see Andrew asleep upstairs, in my old spare bedroom, once we had finished at the table. He looked so rosy and angelic, with dark crescents of eyelashes against his velvety cheeks, that it was difficult to believe that I had seen him that morning roaring his head off, in a paroxysm of infant rage, when I had been on playground duty.

  The rain had swept in whilst we were enjoying ourselves and by the time we drove back to Beech Green the roads were awash, hard rain spun silver coins on the tarmac and the windscreen wipers were working overtime.

  We passed the end of Pig Lane, and we soon approached my cottage.

  'Stay there,' commanded John, as we drew up, 'and I'll get an umbrella from the boot.'

  Huddled together we made a dash for the front door, John holding the umbrella over me while I found the key.

  'You must come in,' I said.

  'Thank you,' he replied, scattering showers of raindrops as he closed the umbrella.

  'Coffee?' I asked, as he divested himself of his coat.

  'How nice.'

  I proceeded to the kitchen to do my duties. Frankly, I should have preferred to go to straight to bed, rather than sit making polite conversation, but I reminded myself of the fact that I had been fetched and carried, and protected from the downpour.

  The fire was low, but I put on some small logs, much to Tibby's satisfaction, and we sipped our coffee companionably.

  'I hope I'm not keeping you from your bed.'

  'Not at all,' I said politely, stifling a yawn.

  'It's wonderful to be here. So marvellously cosy. The fire, you know, and the cat, and you just sitting there.'

  I wondered if he would prefer me to stand on my head, or leap about the room in a lively polka, but was too tired to do anything but smile.

  'This is what I miss,' he said earnestly. 'The companionship, the sharing of things.'

  Not again,
I prayed silently. I was really too sleepy to listen sympathetically to any man's description of his loneliness.

  He put his cup and saucer very carefully in the hearth, a move which I viewed with some apprehension. If this was a prelude to a proposal of marriage I must be on my guard. I felt such a longing for my bed that I might well accept him simply to terminate the evening's proceedings, and how should I feel in the morning?

  He rose from his armchair and came to sit on a footstool very close to me. The light from the table lamp shone on his silvery hair. He really was an extremely handsome man.

  'I'm sure you know how I feel about you,' he began, speaking quickly. 'It began when I first saw you. I had a premonition that we were destined to mean a great deal to each other. Do you feel that too?'

  He looked so earnest, and his blue eyes were so pleading that I could quite see how easily I could agree.

  'Well, I must say,' I began weakly, but was interrupted, rather rudely I thought, by my hand being snatched up and squeezed somewhat painfully. Aunt Clara's garnet ring was always rather small, and it was now being ground into my finger.

  'Don't put me off,' he begged. 'Don't turn me down. You mean so much to me, and I couldn't bear it if you said "No". Say you'll think about it, if you need time. But what I dearly want to hear is that you would marry me.'

  It was all said in such a rush, blurted out so urgently that there was no mistaking the sincerity of the offer. I was deeply touched, and withdrew my mangled hand as unobtrusively as I could.

  'Dear John,' I began.

  'You will?' he cried, attempting to retrieve my hand again. 'You'll have me? Oh, I can't tell you—'

  'I didn't say that,' I pointed out. Was I never to get a word in edgeways?

  He checked suddenly, and began to look crestfallen.

  'Do have your coffee while it's hot,' I said. 'I was about to say, John dear, that I am truly fond of you, and it's wonderful for me to receive a proposal at my age. Let me think it over, may I?'