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'Lor!' she said, clutching the Brasso to her heart. 'You fair frit me, you did!'

  'Sorry, Mrs Bell,' said Frank. 'Is Mr Shoosmith in?'

  'Down the garden, by the bonfire. Shall I give him a holler for you?'

  'No, no. I'll go and see him.'

  Sure enough, Harold was tending a small bonfire, whose smoke was drifting in the leisurely breeze towards Lulling Woods. Looking at him, with his wife's surmises in mind, Frank had to admit that Harold was wearing very well, and was still remarkably good-looking.

  And tidy too, thought Frank, a little enviously. Harold always looked immaculate, even when tackling a messy job, as he was doing now. He himself, Frank knew, would be crumpled and smeared with smuts, his hands black, and his gardening clothes deplorable. Phil despaired of him at times. She had often told him so.

  Harold turned to replenish his fire and saw his old friend.

  'Hallo, there! What's the news?'

  'Unanimous approval of your bright idea! Will you get in touch with Isobel? Or shall we?'

  Harold looked a trifle discomfited.

  'I think you should deal with her directly, Frank. By all means say I thought of it, if you like, but I'm sure it's best to have a word with her yourselves.'

  'Very well. I'll write today, and perhaps she can ring me when she's studied the suggestion, and we can fix up things then.'

  'Fine, fine!' replied Harold. He looked as though he might say more, thought better of it, and changed the subject.

  'And when do you fly? Do you want a lift to the airport? I'm a free man, you know, and only too pleased to take you.'

  'In just over a fortnight, and it would be marvellous if you can take us to Heathrow. You're sure about this?'

  'Positive—or nearly so. Come inside, and we'll have a look at the diary. In any case, it will only be one or other of these dam' committees I seem to have dropped into. I shouldn't be missed.'

  Betty Bell was busy setting out cups upon a tray as they went through the kitchen.

  'I'm getting you two gents a nice cup of coffee,' she said. 'Here, or in the study?'

  'In the study, Betty,' said Harold hastily. 'We've something to look up.'

  When alone, Harold usually took his elevenses with Betty, allowing her incessant chatter to flow over him. Today he felt that it would not be fair to inflict all the local gossip on his old friend.

  'Okey-doke,' said Betty, to their retreating backs.

  The diary for the week in question read: Monday, Vestry meeting 7.0. Wednesday, Dentist 10.30. Scouts' Concert 7.30. Thursday, Remember B and B, Friday and Saturday were clear.

  'I wonder what "Remember B and B" means?' pondered Harold.

  'What's B and B? Bed and Breakfast?'

  'Hardly,' said Harold, his brow puckering with concentration.

  'Betty and Someone Else beginning with B?'hazardedFrank.

  Harold shook his head.

  'If you were Irish,' went on Frank conversationally, 'I should suggest "Remember the Battle of the Boyne", but I suppose that's no help?'

  'None,' said Harold. 'However, to get back to our muttons. You said Friday, June 23rd, I believe? Well, that's completely free, so count on me as a willing taxi-man.'

  At that moment, Betty came in, bearing the tray with two steaming cups and a plate with gingernuts on it.

  'Ah, Betty!' cried Harold. 'Put it here, my dear, and tell me something. Why have I got to remember "B and B" on June 22nd?'

  'Coffee morning at the rectory,' said Betty promptly. 'Bring and Buy stall. You promised something to Mr Henstock when he came last week.'

  Harold smiled his relief.

  'I don't know what I'd do without you,' he told her, as she turned towards the door. 'Every home should have a Betty Bell.'

  'Or a wife,' commented Frank. But Harold made no response, except to pass the coffee cup.

  A day or two after this meeting, little Miss Fogerty paid another visit to the hospital.

  Miss Watson was propped up on a bank of snowy pillows, surrounded by flowers and 'Get Well' cards. She was wearing a pale pink bed jacket, knitted by Agnes as a Christmas present a year or two earlier, that lady was pleased to see. That feather-and-shell pattern had been remarkably difficult to master, she remembered, but it certainly looked most attractive.

  'It's so light and warm, Agnes dear,' said Dorothy, stroking the garment. 'And much admired by the nurses.'

  Miss Fogerty grew pink with pleasure.

  'I'm so glad. But, tell me, how are you getting on? And when will you be able to come home?'

  'I could come out on Sunday next, but I think I shall stay a few days longer.'

  She began to pleat the top of the sheet, and looked very near to tears, Agnes was horrified to see.

  'You see, Ray came yesterday. Poor Kathleen was in bed with one of her migraine attacks.'

  And very convenient those migraine attacks could be, thought Agnes tardy.

  'So that she couldn't come, of course,' went on Dorothy. 'And it seems that they had arranged a holiday for the next two weeks, so that they can't have me there.'

  'Come home,' urged Agnes. 'You know that I can help, and the district nurse would call daily. I'm sure we could manage.'

  Miss Watson sniffed, and then blew her nose energetically.

  'I do hope I'm not getting a cold,' she said, muffled in the handkerchief. Miss Fogerty was not deceived.

  'You are the kindest soul on earth,' said Dorothy, recovering her composure. 'I've done quite a lot of thinking since Ray came, and if I stay here for another few days, gaining strength, I think I really will be able to manage at home. Perhaps someone could slip in at midday and get me a light lunch?'

  Agnes thought at once of Nelly Piggott, but decided not to mention her just yet.

  'If you would let me stay at the schoolhouse,' said Agnes diffidently, 'I could be with you at night, and bring you breakfast before going over to the school.'

  'Oh, Agnes dear,' cried Miss Watson, the tears returning and now rolling down her cheeks unchecked. 'Oh, Agnes dear, could you? Would you mind? There's nothing I should like more.'

  'I should love it,' said Agnes truthfully. 'We'll have a word with Sister and arrange a day next week.'

  'And get the taxi from Lulling,' said Dorothy, already becoming more like her efficient, headmistress self. 'And we'll go back together. What a wonderful day it will be!'

  She sighed happily, and wiped away the tears without subterfuge.

  'It's only the relief, Agnes dear, and being so wobbly, you know. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to you, my dear. It's at rimes like this that one realises who one's true friends are.'

  'Then that's settled,' said Agnes, 'and as soon as the doctor says you may leave, we'll go back to Thrush Green.'

  'I can't wait! And now, Agnes dear, tell me how it's all going at school? Are the children behaving well? Is that wash-basin mended yet? Have those Cooke boys really got the mumps? Are there many forms from the office? How's the supply teacher managing? And has the piano-tuner been this term?'

  Miss Fogerty was still answering questions when the nurse arrived to take Miss Watson's temperature.

  'It's up a bit,' she commented as she shook the thermometer.

  'I'm not surprised,' said her patient. 'It's excitement, of the nicest kind, that's done it.'

  15. Early Summer

  THE quiet mild weather which had ushered in June, now turned to a spell of gloriously hot sunshine.

  Miss Fogerty looked out her sensible cotton frocks and Clark's sandals. Dotty Harmer spread sacks over the chicken run to provide her charges with extra shade. The rector took his lightweight clerical grey from the wardrobe, and Dimity hung it on the line to remove the faint smell of moth-balls. "Winnie Bailey and Jenny erected the swing seat, and agreed that although the cretonne was shabby it 'would do another year'.

  And, across the green, Nelly Piggott embarked on a mammoth washing spree, hauling down curtains, whisking off blankets and bedspreads, and even snatching up
rugs from the floor to thrust into the soap suds.

  Albert loathed it all, but recognising an irresistible force when he met it, resigned himself to the tornado of energy which whirled about him, and took advantage of the sunshine to do a little light tidying of the churchyard. Here, at least, there was peace.

  He was engaged in picking a few weeds from the top of the stub wall which surrounded the graveyard when Dotty Harmer stopped to speak to him.

  She was an arresting sight at the best of times, but today's summer outfit appeared to consist of a straight low-waisted frock, style circa 1920, made, it seemed, of deck-chair material, and ending just above the knees. A conical straw hat, like a coolie's, surmounted her thatch of grey hair, and lisle stockings, heavily wrinkled, led the eye down to a pair of grass-stained tennis shoes. She was accompanied by the faithful Flossie, now the picture of canine good health.

  'I heard,' said Dotty, coming straight to the point, 'that your wife is looking for work. I wonder if she has heard that the Miss Lovelocks need temporary help?'

  'Well, no, miss,' said Albert. He took off his greasy cap and scratched his lank hair. 'She ain't said nothin'. Maybe you'd like to tell her? She be washin'.'

  'I can't stop now, I'm afraid. I have to meet the bus, at the bottom of the hill, but perhaps you would pass on the message?

  'Very well, miss,' said Albert, unusually respectful. She might look a proper clown, but she was a lady for all that. Got a touch of her old Dad about her, that made you mind your manners, he thought.

  He watched her figure receding into the distance, and turned back to the wall again. Yes, he'd tell Nelly when he went into dinner. Nice bit of cold fat bacon he had seen in the larder. A slice or two of that with pickled onions was something to relish, whatever the doctor said. It was a comforting thought.

  The sun warmed his back as he pottered about his leisurley activities. He dwelt, with pleasure, upon the possibility of Nelly bringing in more money to the household. But best of all was the thought that he would be free of her company for a few hours. He only hoped that they would occur during opening time.

  Edward Young had been busy with plans for converting the stable block into a roomy bungalow, and also for altering the top floor of their house into a self-contained flat.

  The latter was a fairly straightforward job, for the attics had been divided into three good-sized bedrooms just before the 1914–1918 war. Old Mr Bassett remembered that his nurse had slept in one and, in those spacious days, the cook had had another, while two housemaids shared the third.

  There was water already there, and the large dormer windows looked out upon splendid views. It could provide a lovely home for a single person, or perhaps a young couple. It was a conversion which Edward had had in mind for some time, and he submitted both plans together to the local planning committee.

  The Bassetts preferred the stable block. For one thing, it was a ground floor abode, and for another, they were at a short distance from Joan and Edward, and both households could be independent, although close enough in an emergency to help each other.

  Doctor Lovell's surmise that his patient would be stimulated by the plans now afoot, was fully justified. Robert took on a new lease of life, and pottered out to the stables with his foot-rule, planning where favourite pieces of furniture could be placed, how wide the windowsills could be, and other pleasurable activities. He now took a little exercise, or dozed in the sunny garden. His appetite improved and Milly and the family watched his return to health with the greatest satisfaction.

  As soon as he was really fit, he and Milly proposed to return to Ealing to settle their affairs and to dispose of the business and the house.

  Meanwhile, it was enough to enjoy the sunshine of Thrush Green, and to know that the future looked bright with hope.

  Isobel Fletcher had replied with gratitude to the Hursts' letter, and said that she would not be free to accept their kind offer until early July, as prospective buyers seemed to be numerous, and there were several matters to arrange with her solicitor and the bank manager.

  Williams and Frobisher had sent only one possibility, and it so happened that it was a house in which an old friend of her mother's had once lived. It had a long drive and far too much ground, and Isobel had turned it down as its upkeep would be too expensive. She hoped that she would have better luck while she was staying at Tullivers.

  It was arranged that Winnie Bailey would keep the key, until Isobel was free to come, and that she would order milk, bread and groceries for her temporary next-door-neighbour.

  Isobel rang Harold, as well as the Hursts, when she had made her decision.

  'It was such a kind thing to think of,' said Isobel. 'What put it into your head?'

  Harold could hardly say: 'The strongest desire to have you nearby,' but said that Frank had expressed some doubts about leaving the house empty, and knowing that she intended to return to her house-hunting, the two thoughts had gone together, and he hoped sincerely that it had not been a liberty.

  'Far from it,' said Isobel warmly. 'I am terribly grateful to you, and I shall look forward to seeing you again before long.

  'And so shall I,' responded Harold, from the heart.

  Nelly Piggott lost no time in calling upon the Misses Lovelock in Lulling High Street.

  The sun was still warmly bathing Thrush Green in golden light when she set out from her home. It was half past six, and Albert was already next door at the Two Pheasants, despite Nelly's protestations.

  From berating him, Nelly had turned to more womanly tactics, and on this particular evening, dressed in her finery for the forthcoming interview, and fragrant with attar of roses, she bestowed a rare kiss upon Albert's forehead.

  'Just to please me, Albert dear,' she said, in her most seductive tones.

  But Albert was not to be wooed.

  'That soft soap,' he told her, shaking her off, 'don't cut any ice with me.'

  With this splendid mixed metaphor as farewell, he then departed next door, leaving Nelly to collect her handbag and go off in the opposite direction.

  She was not particularly upset by her failure to wean Albert from his beer. Nelly took a philosophical view of marriage. All men had their little weaknesses. If Albert's had not been liquor, it might have been wife-beating, or even infidelity, although Nelly was the first to admit that, with Albert's looks, a chance would be a fine thing.

  She sailed down the hill and along Lulling High Street, relishing the evening sunshine and her own aura of attar of roses.

  The three Misses Lovelock lived in a beautiful Georgian house halfway along the main street. Here they had been born, and the outside and the inside of their home had altered very little, except that there were far more objets d'art crowded inside than in their childhood days.

  The Misses Lovelock were inveterate collectors, and rarely paid much for their pieces of porcelain, glass and silver. Older inhabitants of Lulling and Thrush Green knew this and were always on their guard when the sisters called.

  Nelly pulled lustily at the old-fashioned iron bell pull at the side of the door, and Bertha opened it.

  'I've come about the place, miss,' said Nelly politely.

  Bertha's mind, somewhat bewildered, turned to fish. Had they ordered plaice? Perhaps Violet...

  'I heard you was needing help in the house,' continued Nelly. 'But perhaps you're already suited?'

  'Oh, that place!' exclaimed Bertha, light dawning. 'No, not yet. Do come in.'

  She led the way into the dining-room which, despite the heat of the glorious day, struck cold and dark.

  'If you'll sit down, Mrs Er?'

  'Mrs Piggott,' said Nelly, sitting heavily on a delicate Sheraton chair. It creaked ominously, and Bertha felt some anxiety, not only for the chair's safety, but also at her visitor's identity. For, surely, this was the sexton's wife whose conduct had been so scandalous? Hadn't she run away with another man? Oh dear! What would Ada say?

  'I will just go and tell my sisters that you
are here. You do undertake housework, I suppose?'

  'Yes'm. And cooking. I fairly loves cooking.'

  'Yes, well—I won't be a moment.'

  She fluttered off, leaving Nelly to cast a disparaging eye on the gloomy oil paintings, the heavy velvet curtains and the mammoth sideboard laden with half a hundredweight of assorted silverware. The work the gentry made for themselves !

  Bertha, breaking in upon Ada's crochet work and Violet's tussle with The Times crossword puzzle, gave a breathless account of their visitor.

  Her two sisters lowered their work slowly, and surveyed her with disapproval.

  'But why invite such a person into the house?' asked Ada.

  'But can she undertake housework?' asked Violet, more practically.

  'Because I didn't know who she was,' cried Bertha, answering Ada, 'and she can certainly do housework. I remember Winnie Bailey telling me what a marvellous job she made of Thrush Green School,' she went on, turning to Violet.

  The three sisters exchanged glances of doubt and indecision.

  'And another thing,' continued Bertha, 'I've just remembered that she is a first-class cook. It was Winnie who told me that too.'

  Ada sighed.

  'Well, I suppose we'd better see this person now that she's here.'

  She rolled up her crochet work in an exquisite silk scarf, and put it on one side. Violet placed The Times on the sofa.

  Together the three sisters advanced upon the dining-room. Nelly struggled to her feet as they entered, the chair creaking with relief.

  'Do sit down,' said Ada graciously. The three sisters took seats on the other side of the table, and Nelly lowered herself again into the long-suffering chair, and faced them.

  'Let me tell you what we require,' said Ada. 'Our present helper is looking after her daughter who is just about to be confined. She will probably be home again in six weeks or so.'

  'Yes'm,' said Nelly, surveying the three wrinkled faces before her. Never seen three such scarecrows all together before, she was thinking. Why, they couldn't weigh twenty stone between 'em!