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  She had haunted the Job Centre. She had asked a dozen or more Thrush Green and Lulling folk if they knew of a job, but always there was some difficulty. One of the reasons, Nelly felt sure, was her past flightiness. Lulling did not approve of wives leaving their husbands, even such unpleasant ones as Albert Piggott, to run off with oil men as glossy and dashing as the one who had persuaded Nelly to throw in her lot with his.

  There were other reasons too. Most of the people who were lucky enough to have domestic aid, had employed their helpers for years, as Winnie Bailey had her Jenny, and Dotty Harmer and Harold Shoosmith their energetic Betty Bell. Others, who might have looked for help in the past, had long ago come to terms with doing everything for themselves and had found the result far more satisfactory, and far less expensive. One way and another, it was plain that there were no jobs waiting for Nelly.

  As she returned to her house on Thrush Green, on the last afternoon of her employment, Nelly took stock of her position. Financially, she was a little better off than when she had arrived at Thrush Green. Prudently, she had put aside the money she had earned in her Post Office account. By diligent methods, she had been able to abstract some money from Albert, ostensibly for housekeeping, but a certain amount had been added to her own nest egg.

  She owned an ancient gold watch, and a gold locket of hideous Victorian design, and these she knew would bring in a pound or two, if she were really hard pressed. The point was, could she afford to break with Albert?

  She had long ceased to feel for him any affection or loyalty, but he did provide a roof over her head and enough to feed them both. But he grew daily more cantankerous, and Nelly knew that, before long, just such another row as that which had sent her into the arms of the oil man would blow up.

  Crossing the green, Nelly decided that she would give Albert a week's trial. Who knows? Work might turn up to take her out of the house for a few hours a day. Albert might become a reformed character, though that chance was infinitesimal.

  She would bide her time for a little longer, and then make her decision.

  Albert was emerging from the Two Pheasants as Nelly opened the cottage door. For once, she did not start nagging at him.

  Albert was rightly suspicious. What was up, he wondered?

  On the appointed Saturday, Miss Watson was collected by her brother and his wife, and departed to the seaside.

  Little Miss Fogerty had made her farewells the evening before as she helped Dorothy with her last-minute packing. Watching her assistant's deftness in folding garments and spreading tissue paper, Dorothy thought, once more, how invaluable dear Agnes was, and how dearly she would like to invite her to share the schoolhouse. Perhaps an opportunity would occur during their week together, but, on the other hand, there was always this difficulty of Agnes's unselfishness. If only the suggestion could come from her!

  Well, it was no good worrying about it, thought Miss Watson, limping towards the car on that bright morning. Time alone could unravel that problem, and meanwhile she intended to enjoy her much-needed change of air.

  Meanwhile, Miss Fogerty set about a number of jobs which she had been unable to tackle during term time.

  The position of temporary headmistress, in which Miss Watson's sad accident had placed her, had meant putting aside a great many day to day activities which she normally tackled methodically.

  Her mending, for instance, which was usually done after ironing, when she studied her sensible underwear and blouses for splitting seams, holes, ladders or missing buttons, had been neglected. The filling of innumerable forms had taken first place, and there had been parents, representatives from educational publishers, and other visitors to the school, who seriously impeded the steady progress of the work which Agnes so much enjoyed.

  Now was the time to catch up with her own affairs, and she spent the next day or two replying to letters from friends, doing some shopping, taking shoes to the repairer's, and all the other little chores which she wanted to see finished before embarking on the longed-for week with Dorothy.

  But two days before the great day, poor Miss Fogerty received the shock of her life. St Andrew's clock had just chimed four o'clock, and Miss Fogerty was about to switch on her kettle and make a cup of tea, when Mrs White called from below to say that she had just made a pot of tea, and would she like to join her?

  It was while they were sipping the refreshing beverage in Mrs White's immaculate sitting-room, that the blow fell.

  'I've been trying to summon up courage to tell you all the week,' confessed Mrs White. 'Arthur's got promotion, and we're moving to Scotland.'

  Her face turned pink with the anxiety of imparting this news. Poor Miss Fogerty's turned white at hearing it.

  She put down her cup with a clatter.

  'Oh no!' she breathed at last. 'I can't believe it! You mean—?'

  'I'm afraid so,' nodded Mrs White, beginning to look tearful. 'I can't tell you how sorry I am about it. You've been a wonderful lodger, and a real good friend too, but Arthur can't afford to turn down this chance. It'll make a deal of difference to his pension, you see.'

  'Of course,' said Agnes. She felt numbed with the shock. What a terrible thing to happen! How soon, she wondered, would she need to go?

  As if reading her thoughts, Mrs White resumed her tale.

  'There's no need for you to worry about leaving just yet. We don't go until the end of August, and Arthur's job starts on the first of September. There's a house that goes with it, and with the extra he'll get we hope to be able to buy our own house, ready for retirement one day.'

  Agnes did her best to collect her scattered wits.

  'I'm very glad for you both,' she said sincerely. 'The future certainly looks bright. It's just that I'm a little taken aback, you know, and at a loss to know where to find other lodgings. I doubt if I shall ever be so happy elsewhere as I have been with you.'

  Mrs White sighed with relief.

  'You've taken it wonderfully. I can't tell you how I've dreaded breaking the news.'

  She turned briskly to her duties as hostess.

  'Now let me give you a fresh cup of tea. That must be stone cold by now.'

  Like my heart, thought poor Agnes, doing her best to hide her feelings. What on earth would she do now?

  Later that evening, she went along the road to Thrush Green and called to see Isobel at Tullivers.

  Her old friend was alone, and Agnes poured out all her troubles. Isobel was almost as upset as she was herself.

  'If only I had found a place here,' was her first comment, 'you could have taken refuge with me. The awful thing is, Agnes dear, I shall probably be back in Sussex by the time you need another home. Does Mrs White know of other digs?'

  'She didn't say anything.'

  'Could you stay at the schoolhouse?'

  'I'm sure Dorothy would let me stay there temporarily, if need be, but I really must find something permanent.'

  'If I were you,' said Isobel, 'I should go and enjoy your holiday, and then come back to face this problem. The best thing to do, I think, would be to put an advertisement in the local paper, as soon as you return.'

  'I thought I might tell the rector. He's so kind. He helped with finding a place for you with Miss Bembridge, you remember, and he would know the sort of place I wanted.'

  'An excellent idea! I'm positive something will turn up before the end of August. Meanwhile, Agnes, you are going to stay to supper with me, I hope.'

  'I can think of nothing nicer,' said little Miss Fogerty, much comforted.

  The intense heat ended, as expected, with a crashing'thunderstorm which began at seven in the evening and continued for most of the night.

  The people of Lulling and Thrush Green waited eagerly for the rain to fall. Water-butts stood empty, flowers wilted, the summer pea pods were shrivelled on their stems, and even the farmers, now that the harvest was largely gathered in, looked forward to a downpour.

  For some hours it looked as though nothing would fall. Crash f
ollowed crash, angry rumblings echoed round the sky, and sheet lightning lit the scene with eerie flashes, but still the rain held off. It was almost midnight before the welcome sound of pattering drops cheered the waiting inhabitants.

  The relief was wonderful. The delicious smell of rain water cooling hot stones and earth was then more appreciated than the most expensive scent. Rain splashed on the parched grass of Thrush Green, and pattered on the great dusty leaves of the chestnut trees. It gurgled down the gutters to Lulling, and formed wide puddles across the road outside St Andrew's church. It sent the local cats, out upon their nightly forays, scampering for home, and encouraged the thirsty wild creatures to venture forth for their first satisfying drink for many a long day.

  The air grew blessedly cool and fresh. The wakeful ones sought those blankets which had been unused for weeks, and snuggled into their beds with thankful hearts.

  The morning after the storm dawned clear and fresh. The world of Thrush Green sparkled in the sunshine, and everyone relished the slight coolness in the air, and the rejuvenation of all living things.

  Even Albert Piggott gave the green a grudging smile as he walked across to St Andrew's. Here he proposed to spend a leisurely hour or two surveying his domain, safe from Nelly's gaze.

  Nelly had finished at the Lovelocks', and mightily relieved she was to be able to set to and do her own chores without one eye on the clock. The Misses Lovelock had been sticklers for punctuality, and would not have been above docking Nelly's wages if she had arrived late. Knowing this, Nelly had been very particular in arriving promptly.

  She had been paid in full, and wished goodbye by all three ladies. Miss Ada had been gracious enough to say that she would be willing to supply a reference if Nelly required it at any time. Nelly thanked her civilly.

  The snag was that there was still no work available, and the thought of being at close quarters with Albert, day in and day out, was a daunting one.

  She thought about her future as she dismantled the stove and prepared to scour each part in strong soda water. Albert had been at his grumpiest for the past week. The truth was that he disliked the heat, and that Nelly's cooking was again playing havoc with his digestion. He enjoyed venting his ill-humour upon Nelly, and during the thunderstorm whilst they were hoping for rain, he had been particularly unpleasant about Nelly's chances of employment.

  'Can't expect decent folks to take on a trollop like you,' was the phrase that hurt most. It still rankled as Nelly attacked the cooker. The thing was, it was near the truth, and Nelly knew it.

  She began to think of Charlie, the oil man. With all his faults, he had never been unkind to her, or insulted her as Albert did. Looking back now, she forgot his meanness, his dishonesty with money, and the long evenings she had spent alone, trying to keep his supper hot without it spoiling.

  She thought of his attractions, his glossy black hair, the music hall ditties he was so fond of singing, and the good times they had enjoyed together at local pubs. True to her principles, Nelly had stuck to bitter lemon or orange juice while Charlie swigged his whisky, but she had enjoyed meeting his rowdy friends and joining in the songs around the bar piano.

  She paused in her scrubbing and gazed out of the steamy window towards Thrush Green. Not much life here, that was for sure! And what would it be like in the winter, when the curtains were drawn at four o'clock, and Albert had left her for the Two Pheasants next door? A living death, decided Nelly, just a living death!

  She would have done better to have looked for a place where she was. There was far more scope for her talents in Brighton than ever there would be at Thrush Green. She pondered the matter for a full hour, by which time the cooker had been reassembled, and the frying-pan filled with bacon, liver and sausages for the midday meal.

  'Fatty stuff again, I see,' grunted Albert, when his plate was put before him later. 'You knows what Doctor Lovell said. You trying to kill me?'

  'Chance'd be a fine thing,' retorted Nelly. 'The devil looks after his own, as far as I can see.'

  Albert snorted.

  'You'd be a far sight fitter,' went on Nelly, 'if you laid off the beer. All that acid fair eats away the lining of your stum-mick. I was reading about it in my women's paper.'

  'You wants to change the record,' snarled Albert, with heavy sarcasm. 'And if you looked for a job instead of wastin' your time with women's papers you'd be a bit better off.'

  Nelly rose from the table with as much dignity as a sixteen stone woman could manage, and went to the dresser drawer. From it she abstracted a cheap packet of stationery and a ballpoint pen, and made her way upstairs.

  Sitting on the side of the spare bed she composed a letter to Charlie. It was not an easy letter to write, and how it would be received was anybody's guess. It took Nelly nearly an hour to get her thoughts on paper, and when at last she had sealed the envelope and stuck on the stamp, she descended the stairs.

  Albert was fast asleep in the armchair. His mouth was open, and he snored loudly, making a maddening little whining sound as he did so. The dirty dishes still littered the table, and the newly-cleaned stove bore fresh splashes of fat.

  Nelly opened the door, and marched straight across the grass to the post-box on the corner of Thrush Green. She was oblivious of the fresh beauty about her, and the bright new world which the rain had created.

  She dropped the letter in the box, and heard its satisfying plop as it reached the bottom.

  Well, she'd done it! She'd burnt her boats, thought Nelly, and now she must face the future!

  20. A Proposal

  MISS FOGERTY travelled by coach from Thrush Green to Bournemouth where she was being met. She determined to take Isobel's advice and postpone all thoughts of finding new accommodation until she returned, but she had called on Charles Henstock, before she left for her week's holiday, and told him of her predicament.

  'My dear Miss Fogerty,' said that kind man, his chubby face creased with concern, 'I shall do my very best to find somewhere for you. Try not to let it worry you when you are away. You need a break after all the troubles of last term. Something will turn up, I feel convinced.'

  He had told his wife about the encounter, and Dimity at once thought of Ella.

  'The only thing is she has said so little about taking a lodger recently, that I'm beginning to wonder if she really wants one.'

  'We can only ask,' said Charles. 'Perhaps you could broach the subject?'

  Dimity did, that very afternoon, and as she had surmised, Ella did not appear at all keen.

  'The point is, Dim, I've been thinking it over, and I've got quite used to being alone here, and I'm not all that hard up. I mean, look at my clothes!'

  Dimity looked, and was secretly appalled.

  'I've had these trousers five years, and this shirt much the same length of time, and I can't see myself bothering to buy much in that line. And then I don't go out as much as I used to, nor do the same amount of entertaining as we did when you were here. One way and another, I think I'd sooner scratch along on my own.'

  'But you thoroughly enjoyed having Isobel,' Dimity pointed out.

  'Isobel's one in a thousand and in any case it was only for a week. I just don't want anyone permanently.'

  'In a way,' said Dimity, 'I'm relieved to hear it.'

  'Not that I'd see little Agnes homeless,' continued Ella. 'If she hasn't found anywhere before term starts, I'm very willing to put her up for a bit while she's looking round. I'm fond of that funny little soul.'

  'We all are,' replied Dimity.

  It was soon after this, that Harold walked across to Tullivers to tell Isobel that he had ordered an Alfa Romeo very like her own, and was now bracing himself to part with the ancient Daimler which had played an important part in his life.

  The day was cool and cloudy. In fact, the violent thunder storm had brought the hot summer weather to an end, and there were to be very few sunny days until the autumn.

  He found Isobel busy writing letters. She gave him her usu
al warm smile which affected his heart in such a delightful way, but he thought that she appeared somewhat worried.

  'Anything wrong?' he asked, seating himself at the table where her writing things were littered.

  Isobel put her hands flat on the table with a gesture of despair.

  'A lot, I'm afraid. I was coming to tell you. I shall have to drive home again. There's a muddle about the sale of the house.'

  'Can't the estate agent cope with that? Must you go today?'

  'Either today, or tomorrow morning. The sale's fallen through again.'

  She sighed, and looked so desperately unhappy, that Harold could not bear it. He had never seen her cast down. In all their fruitless searchings for a house she had always managed to maintain a certain buoyancy of spirit which was one of the reasons why he loved her.

  He put a hand over one of hers, and spoke urgently.

  'Isobel, let me help with this. I can't bear to see you so unhappy, and it's all so unnecessary.'

  'Unnecessary?' queried Isobel.

  'I've wanted to say something for weeks now, but it has never seemed the right moment. I don't know if this is—but hear me out, Isobel, I beg of you.'

  He tightened his grip on her hand, and began his plea. Isobel sat very still, her eyes downcast upon their linked hands, and heard him out as he had asked.

  'And will you?' he ended. 'Could'you, Isobel?'

  She smiled at him, and at last regained her hand.

  'Thank you, Harold dear. You must let me think for a day or so. My mind is so confused with all that's happened, I shall need time. But I do thank you, from the bottom of my heart. It is the loveliest thing that has happened to me for a long, long time.'

  'You dear girl!' exclaimed Harold. 'And please don't keep me waiting too long! I warn you, I've been in a state of near-dementia for the past months.'