(9/20) Tyler's Row Read online

  'Yes, indeed. James introduced him to me. By the way, how did you get on?'

  'Very well. I like his no-nonsense manner. He's not a bit as I imagined him.'

  'He's invited Vanessa and me to lunch while he's in Caxley,' Amy said. 'Has he asked you, by any chance?'

  'Alas, no. Any hopes you had of match-making, Amy, are in vain. Nice though he is, I doubt if Gerard is really interested in matrimony.'

  Vanessa put down her cup with a crash, and sprang to her feet.

  'How I do hate to hear people being picked over! I thought Mr Baker was the kindest, most honest, sweetest person I'd met for a long time. Not a bit like most grown-ups.'

  She stalked to the door, slammed it behind her, and left us gazing at each other.

  'Well!' I exclaimed.

  Amy shrugged her shoulders and reached for another cigarette.

  'The young,' she said indulgently, 'are excessively trying.'

  At Tyler's Row, Peter Hale was echoing Amy's thoughts. Before him stood a pile of school reports, for it was almost the end of term.

  'Any news of the old chap next door?' asked Peter, pausing in his task.

  'The hospital says he's comfortable,' replied Diana, looking up from her weekly letters to the boys.

  'We all know what that means! Tubes stuck everywhere, a bed like rock, and being woken at five just when you've dropped off.'

  'He's going to be there for a week or two,' she added. "I'll go and see him one evening. I don't suppose he'll have many visitors.'

  'What about things next door?'

  'Mrs Willet's tidied up, and I've cancelled milk and papers and that sort of thing.'

  'Not much more we can do then. It seems unnaturally quiet, doesn't it?'

  Diana nodded. The windows were open, and only the sound of birds twittering, and a bee bumbling about the cotoneaster, could be heard.

  Peter sighed.

  'Well, can't sit here gossiping with these blasted reports waiting to be done. I often wonder what would happen if I put the literal truth. "The idlest boy I have ever met in over thirty years of teaching", for instance. Or "Is trying, in every sense of the word".'

  'You would be assaulted and battered by enraged parents,' Diana told him.

  'Or what about: "Needs a thorough caning for dumb insolence—and not always dumb".'

  'Get on with them,' advised Diana, 'and keep those happy dreams to yourself.'

  There was silence for a time while their pens worked steadily. Then Peter paused again.

  'How's Mrs Fowler? She's remarkably quiet too. Is it because her old sparring partner's away?'

  'Could be. She doesn't speak to me these days. But the dog's back, much to our Tom's annoyance.'

  'Don't say he's starting a private war! I couldn't stand that.'

  'Well, he goes through there quite often, and I should imagine he's sailing pretty near the wind. Mrs Fowler isn't above giving him a sly belting for trespass, particularly if he upsets her animal!'

  'We must try and keep him in.'

  'A cat? Impossible! He must just take his chance.'

  They resumed their work, but Peter's mind wandered to other things. It was time Diana knew about the results of the doctor's tests. She had been wonderfully calm and cheerful during this waiting period, but if she were as worried as he was, then the suspense must be appalling. He could not bear to contemplate anything which would mar their happiness, or endanger Diana's health. Perhaps, he thought, they had been too lucky. Good health had always been theirs, and taken quite for granted. This shadow, which had fallen across them during the last few weeks, was something which a great many people lived under all their lives. It was a sobering thought.

  'We must get away during the holidays,' he said suddenly.

  Surprised, Diana looked up.

  'But I thought we'd decided that it would be too expensive after the move? You know we've spent far more than we intended, and we've still got stage two of Bellamy's to face. That's bound to be even more crippling than stage one.'

  'I know all that, but I still think we should get away for a few days. Somewhere not too far. We'll throw our stuff in the back of the car and push off to Wales or the Yorkshire Dales. Somewhere away from Tyler's Row, and the confounded neighbours.'

  'If you feel like that, we will,' said Diana. 'I'd love it, of course. We seem to have had so many niggling little worries since we came here. It would do us good to go and forget them, and come back quite fresh.'

  'Right. Towards the end of August perhaps. Or early September.'

  He picked up his pen again and attacked the next report.

  'Now here's a boy who works well, plays hard, ought to go to University, and is going to leave now, at sixteen.'

  'Why?'

  'Dad says he wants him in the shop. We've talked to him until our lungs have collapsed, but he's a proper mule-headed individual, so that's that. There are dozens of others who ought to leave at sixteen and get their teeth into a job of work, and they're just the chaps that have besotted parents who imagine them as future dons.'

  'That's life,' said Diana. 'No justice, is there? I think it's much easier to be happy if you recognise that from the start. People always seem to think that they should get what they deserve, and it so rarely works out that way.'

  'Now that's a dangerous outlook,' commented Peter. 'Do you mean to say that no matter how you behave the results are predestined? In that case, why have any rules, or any code of ethics at all?'

  'Not quite that,' began Diana slowly, when the telephone bell rang, and she was spared the task of elucidation.

  'I'll go,' she said.

  Peter heard her making monosyllabic replies, and hoped to goodness she was not agreeing to take on more duties than she could manage at the moment. People seemed to be forever ringing her up wanting gifts for bring-and-buy coffee mornings, or asking Diana to sell raffle tickets, or collect for flag days. Sometimes Peter felt like shooting these people who made such demands on his wife's time and energy. At the moment, particularly, he felt fiercely protective. He waited for her return, pen poised, but reports forgotten.

  Diana appeared at the doorway. She looked perplexed and dazed.

  'It was Doctor,' she said, and her voice trembled.

  Peter's heart sank. He jumped to his feet, scattering the papers on the floor.

  'He says everything's all right,' quavered Diana. 'No danger at all.'

  Her face crumpled, and for the first time for years, Peter watched, with horror, his wife weeping.

  17. Speculation in Fairacre

  THAT night Diana slept without waking, the first full night's rest for many weeks. She awoke to such a feeling of relief and joyousness that she sang as she dressed, and felt as impatient as a child to get on with the wonderful business of living.

  Peter was equally relieved.

  'Thank God, it's all over,' he said.

  'Well, not quite. I can have this ugly thing taken off my neck at any time. It's only a tiny operation, and I'd be glad to have it done. I'll fix up an appointment in the holidays, I think.'

  'Today,' said Peter firmly, 'we're lunching out to celebrate.'

  'And this evening I'll pop in and see poor old Burnaby.'

  'Better ring first,' advised Peter.

  The hospital said that visiting hours were from seven to eight-thirty sharp, only two visitors at a time, the side door only was to be used as the decorators were in, and Sergeant Burnaby was—as ever—comfortable.

  'Welcoming lot,' commented Diana, as the receiver was replaced briskly at the other end before she had had time for further enquiries. 'I was going to ask if I could take him a bottle of something.'

  'You take it,' said Peter. 'If there's any place you need a drop of the hard stuff, it's in a hospital bed.'

  'You don't know anything about hospital beds! You've never been in one in your life.'

  'I had my tonsils out at six, I'll have you know.'

  'But no hard stuff in the locker then.'

&
nbsp; 'Well, no. But I had enough ice-cream to make an igloo. Absolutely delicious, except it hurt like hell to swallow anyway.'

  'I shall take him some Burgundy,' Diana decided. 'And some Lucozadc.'

  'So that he can make a cocktail?' asked Peter, grimacing at the thought.

  'In case he's not allowed to drink alcohol.'

  'You shove it in his locker anyway. He'll find a use for it. No doubt the nurses could do with a glass. Make a change from nips of surgical spirit.'

  'I'm quite sure,' said Diana, 'that the staff of Caxley Cottage Hospital is above reproach. Nips of surgical spirit indeed!'

  'You don't want mc to come too?'

  Peter looked apprehensive. He had a horror of hospitals, Diana knew. She felt she would sooner face the visit on her own, and said so. The relief on Peter's face made her laugh.

  'You can go next time,' she teased him.

  They drove for lunch to a riverside pub, where the swans and ducks scattered bright drops of water as they scurried to collect the largesse thrown to them by children on the green bank. The willows trailed in the current, and now and again a punt floated by, its occupants wearing that vague glassy-eyed expression of bliss, which moving water evokes. Nearby, a weir tossed its frothing waters in roaring cascades, in contrast to the quiet main stream.

  For Diana, her senses sharpened by happiness and escape from months of tension, the scene was unforgettable. It was, she decided, one of the most perfect moments of her time with Peter.

  The side door of Caxley Cottage Hospital led into a corridor redolent of floor polish and disinfectant. Diana, bearing her two bottles, followed the dozen or so visitors along the passage-way to a central hall which had a signpost standing in the centre.

  She seemed to be the only one going to the Men's Ward, and she wondered, idiotically, if Sergeant Burnaby could be the sole inmate. The ward was not very large, probably less than twenty beds altogether, Diana guessed, at her first quick glance, and Sergeant Burnaby, propped upon snowy cushions which accentuated the habitual primrose hue of his face, was very close to the door.

  He caught sight of her and smiled delightedly, but to Diana's dismay she saw that an elderly couple were sitting one each side of the bed. Mindful of the stern warning that only two visitors were allowed at a time, she began to retreat, but Sergeant Burnaby hailed her with all his usual vigour.

  'Come on in, ma'am! Come on in!'

  Diana did as she was told.

  'I thought I'd better wait outside,' she said. 'Surely you are only allowed two visitors?'

  'Lot of nonsense!' declared the old man. 'Don't take no notice of it. Nobody else does.'

  He waved a hand round the ward, and certainly there seemed to be plenty of patients with a number of friends and relatives around them, nibbling grapes, distributing clean pyjamas, and admiring the banks of flowers.

  'My old friends,' said Sergeant Burnaby, by way of introduction. 'My old comrade Jim Bennett and Alice his sister. I forgot, Jim, you didn't know this was the lady as bought Tyler's Row off of you.'

  'And very nice it is,' said Diana. 'When are you coming back there?' she asked the patient.

  'Can't get no sense out of'em. Might be another two weeks or even longer. It's me chest, see. I'm fine otherwise.'

  'He won't be long in here,' Jim Bennett assured Diana. 'He's a tough old bird.'

  'Have to be,' commented Alice, 'to stand up to life in hospital.'

  Diana took to this calm, fresh-faced countrywoman with her dry wit. She looked the sort of person who could cope with life perfectly, in hospital, or anywhere else.

  'Have you had far to come?'

  'Beech Green. There's a handy bus in.'

  'I go through Beech Green—but, of course, you know,' said Diana. 'Would you like a lift back?'

  'Very much indeed. There's only one bus back, and that's at nine twenty. We're thinking of bed by then, Jim and me.'

  'I've known old Jim,' remarked Sergeant Burnaby, struggling to sit upright, 'for nigh on sixty years. We've bin through plenty together, haven't us, eh? Remember that estaminet near Poperinghe?'

  He began to chuckle at their private joke, and started a fit of coughing. It was so violent that Diana wondered if she should summon a nurse, but Alice Bennett propped pillows at his back, and offered some water, and the old man was quiet again in a minute.

  'Have you been a nurse?' asked Diana, full of admiration for such competence.

  'Done a bit with our parents. They was bedridden for several years, poor souls, but I haven't been trained. Wish I had. It's the life I'd have liked.'

  'Tell us about the village,' wheezed Sergeant Burnaby. 'Any gossip? Any births, deaths or marriages? And what about that old faggot, Mrs Fowler? She dropped dead, yet?'

  Diana did her best to make a diplomatic reply. She told him that Mrs Willet had tidied the cottage ready for his return, that their gardens were full of roses, and various other innocent topics, leaving out Mrs Fowler's name carefully from her account.

  'Pity about me brass,' said the old man. 'I does it every Saturday. It'll be a real mess by now.'

  'Mrs Willet will be pleased to do it I know,' said Diana swiftly. 'If you'll let her, that is.'

  'May as well,' Sergeant Burnaby said. His tone was grudging. Clearly, he did not trust anyone to cherish his brass as he did himself.

  A sister appeared, impressive in her dark blue and white. Diana felt guilty, as though she were a youthful wrong-doer.

  'I think I'd better go, and leave you to talk for a little. I'll be in the car. There's no hurry.'

  She put the two bottles on Sergeant Burnaby's bedside locker.

  'Now, that's handsome of you, ma'am,' said Sergeant Burnaby. His moustaches seemed to tilt up another degree or two.

  'Hope you enjoy it,' responded Diana. 'My husband may call in to see you if you have to stay some time.'

  'Very welcome. Very welcome,' replied the old man. Diana thought he was beginning to look tired, made her farewells, and walked rapidly from the ward before the sister took her name for detention.

  It was very peaceful waiting in the car, and Diana thought how fascinating it was to sit there, virtually unseen, and watch people going about their affairs. A child, left in the next car whilst its parents were inside the hospital, was blissfully unaware of Diana, not six yards away, and was systematically licking the side window, her pink tongue working from top to bottom making wavering stripes of relative cleanliness.

  An old man, cap set dead straight upon his ancient head and a camel-hair muffler making a neat V at his withered throat, was beating time incongruously, presumably to the music of a transistor set inside the car. How odd people were on their own, thought Diana, and wondered if she too was equally enthralling to some other unseen watcher nearby.

  Jim and Alice Bennett soon emerged. Alice took a back seat, and Jim settled with a gratified sigh by Diana.

  'How does he seem, do you think?' asked Diana.

  'Not too good. We managed to get a word with the duty sister on our way out. They won't let him out until he has someone to take responsibility for him. Not fit to live alone again evidently.'

  Diana had a brief vision of trying to look after the old soldier herself with the help of the district nurse. Could she possibly cope? For a week or two, no doubt. Permanently, it would be impossible.

  'Any chance of an old people's home?'

  'He'd hate that,' said Jim. 'No, Alice and I've talked this over in the last few days, and we don't see why he shouldn't come to us.'

  'It's extremely generous of you,' said Diana, trying to keep the relief from her voice.

  'No more'n he'd do for us. We've been through a lot together: I couldn't see him in want, and we've got a good spare room downstairs we can fit up for him with his own bits and pieces.'

  'It's a lot for your sister to take on,' said Diana, stepping on the brakes. A short-skirted mother, giggling with a friend, had pushed her pram well out into the road without bothering to look either way, ob
livious of the possible outcome to her helpless baby.

  'Me?' Alice Bennett sounded surprised. 'Lor, I shan't mind! We can all get along together—three old folk can help each other a lot, and I've always been fond of the old boy. He won't be any trouble.'

  She spoke with such calm cheerfulness, almost as though she welcomed the extra responsibility, that Diana felt ashamed of her own relief. How mean-spirited she was compared with this generous woman! Here was someone who really did love her neighbour as herself, and was happy to serve him, despite the fact that she herself was getting on in years, her house was small, and there could not be much money to spare.

  She dropped the couple at Beech Green. It was beginning to get dark, and as she wound her way back to Fairacre along the shadowy lanes, Diana felt chastened by the difference in her own attitude to Sergeant Burnaby's future, compared with his old friends'.

  Peter's reaction to the news was much more practical.

  'Well, this brings stage two of Bellamy's plan a step nearer.'

  'Do you know,' said Diana, 'I never thought of that.'

  'Savour the situation now,' advised Peter. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good.'

  Rumours flew swiftly about Fairacre. Sergeant Burnaby's condition gave rise to considerable speculation, and the news that he would not be returning to Tyler's Row caused even more.

  'Whatever the doctors say,' Mrs Willet told Diana, 'I reckon the poor old man's suffering from yellow jaundice. It's plain from his looks. My niece looked just the same some years ago, and Doctor Martin had to come six or seven times to get her over it.'

  'I don't think it's that,' ventured Diana. But Mrs Willet, busily polishing windows, was intent on her own theories.

  'My sister knew what it was at once, and as soon as Doctor Martin put his head in the door she told him. Proper cross, he was. He can be pretty sharp when he likes. "And how do you know?" he says to her, sarcastic. "It don't need much learning to see what she's got," my sister said. "She's yellow as a guinea." "I'll do my own diagnosing," he told her, and examined the child. "Well?" says my sister. "Yellow jaundice," he said, and was fair nettled when my sister laughed.'