(20/20)A Peaceful Retirement Page 3

  'No indeed,' I said.

  'Not yet, but later,' John said, at the same time. We exchanged amused glances.

  'You don't want to get entangled with our family,' he continued, attacking his asparagus soup with relish. 'Hard drinkers, and womanizers too.'

  I was conscious of the attention of the minister and his wife.

  'That's not true,' said John.

  'What? What? Speak up, boy. Why, my brother Ernest got through two bottles of rum a day, and three wives. No, I tell a lie. Four wives, counting that flibbertigibbet that called herself a masseuse, and out-lived him.'

  I noticed that the minister had cleared his plate rather quickly, and was asking the waiter for the sweet list. His face was somewhat flushed, although his glass had only been filled from the Perrier bottle on the table.

  'Are there many other residents at the nursing home?' I enquired loudly.

  'Forty, I believe. Don't see a lot of them. Mostly old women. Want to play cards for pennies, and I like high stakes myself. Always was a betting man, specially on the horses.'

  Our turkey arrived and about half a dozen dishes with various vegetables, gravy and cranberry sauce. At the next table a waiter was setting plates of trifle before our neighbours.

  'No, I shouldn't marry John here,' continued Uncle Sam. 'Not a good choice. Besides drink and women, there's a lot of nasty diseases in our family. That cousin of ours, lived near Portsmouth. Naval chap, remember him?'

  He turned to John. He had dropped a large dollop of cranberry sauce down his shirt and I wondered if I should do some repair work.

  'I don't think I knew a naval cousin,' said John.

  'What? What? You must remember him. He was always picking up some foul disease abroad. Had rows of bottles on his wash stand. Can't think of his name, at the moment.'

  The minister at the next table beckoned the waiter over.

  "We will have coffee in the drawing-room,' he said firmly. 'Pray bring the bill there.'

  He helped his wife from the chair, and they passed with dignity into the adjoining room.

  If ever backs could register disapproval, theirs did. Frankly, I should have liked to join them.

  Uncle Sam tackled apple pie and cream while John and I, replete and exhausted, watched him. John insisted on having coffee at the table, no doubt mindful of the minister and his wife recovering in the next room.

  By the time our meal was over, there was a watery spell of sunshine, and John suggested a drive before taking the old gentleman back to the nursing home.

  'Splendid idea! Let's go and look at the race-course. It's years since I saw it.'

  And so we drove some miles to the windy downs. By now Uncle Sam was quieter, content to watch the countryside and the trees beginning already to show signs of autumn.

  There was a wide grass verge overlooking the race course, and here he insisted on getting out. He was very unsteady on his feet, but he seemed pleased to stand there, supported by John and me, while he relished the view before him.

  The sun was out now, and great clouds threw their scurrying shadows across the grass. We all breathed deeply the exhilarating downland air, but it was chilly, and we soon returned to the car.

  I think that secretly Uncle Sam was content to get back to the warmth and safety of the nursing home. He was beginning to look tired, and although he begged us, at the top of his voice, to stay for the rest of the day, we excused ourselves and made our farewells.

  He shook hands energetically with John and took me into his arms to implant a very messy wet kiss on both cheeks. I was rather touched at such exuberance in a ninety-year-old.

  A nurse appeared and took his arm.

  'Now, Mr Jenkins, you've had a lovely outing and now it's time for your blood pressure pill.'

  We watched the pair making for the lift, and then turned away.

  'What a darling,' I said.

  'I could do with a blood pressure pill myself,' observed John. 'What about you?'

  'I think that cup of tea is more my mark,' I told him, as we pointed the car towards Beech Green.

  ***

  We were quiet on the way home, not only because we were tired, but I think we were both dwelling on the problems of old age. The home was lovely, even luxurious, and the staff obviously dedicated and efficient. And yet it was sad.

  I remembered the white hair, the frail limbs, the shaking heads, the walking frames and the distant bells ringing for help. It was good to reach John's house, and to see that tea was already set out on a low table by the fireplace.

  Soon he appeared with the teapot and the promised Battenburg cake, and we began to be more cheerful.

  He insisted on running me home, and gave me a farewell kiss as he drew up at my gate. It was, I noticed, much more acceptable than his uncle's.

  'Thank you, my darling, for being such a support today. I suppose you couldn't make that a permanent part of your life?'

  'Not really,' I said as kindly as I could, as I climbed out of the car. 'But thank you all the same for the nice thought, and the outing, and that perfect tea.'

  He drove off looking, I thought, remarkably cheerful for an oft-rejected suitor.

  3. Italian Interlude

  THE LONG-AWAITED visit to Florence with Amy and James lay only three days ahead, and I had packed and unpacked my case at least five times to include or reject some item or other of my luggage.

  Should I need a swimsuit? Unlikely, I decided, removing it. On the other hand, the pool was supposed to be a major attraction of the hotel. Perhaps? I put it back.

  This sort of wavering went on for several days, and was most exhausting. I know that seasoned travellers simply pop in their essentials in twenty minutes flat, but I am not a seasoned traveller and, in any case, I like to be prepared for any eventuality. Air travel has made things worse for people like me. I might have been all right in Victorian times with a string of bearers humping a dozen or so pieces of my baggage on their heads. How simple it would have been to shout: 'Hey, could you put this hip bath on the last man's back?'

  The evening before our departure I checked the case yet again, and also the contents of my small hand-case and handbag.

  Domestic arrangements such as leaving keys and enough food for the cat - actually enough for three cats — had been made with kind Isobel Annett, who had also promised to report any such mishaps as burglary, fire or flood to the appropriate authority in my absence.

  Mrs Pringle had insisted on coming for her usual Wednesday cleaning session, although I had begged her to have that day off.

  'I won't hear of it,' she informed me. 'Miss one week in a place like yours, and there would be too much to cope with come the next Wednesday.'

  I pointed out that there would be nobody in the house to make it dirty.

  'What about that cat, traipsing in and out with mud on all four paws? What about any rats or mice he might see fit to bring and let lie rotting on the carpet? Then there's flies and wasps at this time of the year, not to mention birds as fly down the chimney.'

  I gave in before this picture of my home as a teeming menagerie. As usual, Mrs P. had triumphed.

  I had decided to go to bed early. We were to start for the airport at the civilized hour of 9 a.m., but I felt it wise to have a good night.

  At half-past eight, as the sunset turned everything to gold, someone rapped at the front door.

  On opening it, I saw to my dismay, that it was Henry Mawne, and he was looking singularly unhappy.

  'Do come in, Henry,' I said. I should like to have added: 'But don't stay long,' but common civility restrained me.

  He settled down in an armchair as though intending to stay for hours, and accepted whisky and water with a wan smile.

  'Anything wrong, Henry?' I enquired. I hoped my tone was sympathetic. I was really trying to hurry the visit along so that I could get to bed early.

  'Everything!' sighed Henry.

  This did not bode well for my early-bed plans, but I made suitably dismay
ed noises.

  'It's Deidre, she's pushed off.'

  So the rumours had been right, I thought. In a village they usually are, but what could be done?

  'She's bound to come back,' I said.

  'I don't want her back,' replied Henry petulantly. He sounded like a four-year-old rejecting rice pudding.

  'What went wrong?' It was best to get on with the story, I felt.

  'Everything,' said Henry again. 'I should never have married her.'

  He cast me a look so maudlin that I felt some alarm. For pity's sake, I thought, let me be spared another man needing my attention! I have neither the looks nor the temperament to set up as a femme fatale, so it did seem rather tough to have silly old Henry making sheep's eyes, especially when I needed a little peace.

  'She's a very selfish woman,' said Henry. 'She never thinks about my side of things. Take breakfast, for instance.'

  Should I be up in time to get mine, I wondered?

  'I like a cooked one, bacon, eggs, sausage, you know what I mean. Deidre has a couple of slices of that straw bread with marmalade. I don't mind her having it, but why shouldn't I have what I want?'

  'Do you cook it?'

  He looked flabbergasted.

  'Of course not. Old Mrs Collins always cooked it when I lived alone, before she started the housework. And that's another thing. She cut down Mrs Collins' hours, so she comes from ten until twelve.'

  "Well, I expect she can manage with less help,' I said diplomatically. 'Your house always looks immaculate.'

  'And she spends money like water,' continued Henry, swirling the contents of his glass moodily. 'Ordered a revolving summer house the other day. I put a stop to that, I can tell you. That's what really brought things to a head.'

  'I'm sorry about this, Henry,' I said briskly, 'but there's really nothing that I can do. You and Deidre must sort it out. You've both got plenty of sense.'

  'I wondered if you could speak to her for me? I've got her phone number.'

  What a nerve, I thought!

  'Henry, I shouldn't dream of coming between husband and wife. In any case, I'm going away tomorrow.'

  'Oh dear, that's most upsetting. I was relying on you.'

  I began to get really cross. The selfishness of the man!

  'I'm off to Florence, first thing.'

  'How lovely! And such a short flight!'

  He settled back in his chair, and held up his empty glass questioningly.

  I took it and put it firmly on the table. Henry looked surprised.

  'I'm certainly looking forward to the break,' I told him, 'but I've some packing to do now, and I'm going to turn you out.'

  He rose reluctantly.

  'I'm sorry if I've held you up.' He sounded huffy. 'You see, you are always the first person I think of when I'm in trouble. You mean so much to me.'

  'Thank you, Henry, but this time things are different. You must get in touch with Deidre as soon as possible, and get her back. I'm sure you will be able to put things right between you.'

  I opened the front door, and Henry paused. For one moment, I feared he was about to kiss me, but he thought better of it.

  'Well, I hope you enjoy Florence,' he said wistfully. 'I wish I were coming with you.'

  He set off down the path, his back registering the fact that he was a broken and misunderstood man.

  I waved cheerfully as he unlocked his car, and then closed my door with great relief.

  Come with me indeed! It would be good to be free of him for a blessed week.

  Prompt as ever, James arrived in the car the next morning, and carried my case down the path while I locked up.

  I bade farewell to Tibby who was too busy washing an elegantly outstretched leg to respond, and followed James to the car.

  It was a blissfully sunny morning. The early mist had cleared, and the sun shone from a pale blue sky. All three of us were in great spirits.

  We had no difficulty in getting to the airport and, having left the car in the long-term car park, James coped with all the necessary formalities, while we two pampered women went to see what the bookstall had to offer.

  The magazine section displayed rows of journals most of them with covers showing bosoms and bottoms in highly uncomfortable attitudes. Some of the ladies were embellished with chains and whips, and the males adopted aggressive attitudes, unless they were entwined in passionate embraces with nubile females.

  Amy studied the display with distaste.

  'I really cannot fathom today's hysterical obsession with sex,' she remarked. 'One would think it was an entirely new activity.'

  She selected Homes and Gardens, and I contented myself with the Daily Telegraph so that I could tackle the crosswords.

  James joined us and surveyed the matter on offer.

  'Good grief!' was his comment. 'I thought people grew out of that by fifteen. Where's the Financial Times?'

  'Is the plane going to be on time?' asked Amy as we turned away.

  'Only forty-five minutes late,' said James.

  'Not bad at all,' replied Amy indulgently. "What about a cup of coffee?'

  My first impression of Florence was of all-pervading golden warmth. The buildings, the walls, the pavements, and the already changing colour of the trees from green to gold, gave the lovely city an ambience which enfolded one immediately.

  Our hotel was in the oldest part of the city, not far from the Duomo, Florence's cathedral called so prettily Santa Maria del Fiore. The magnificent dome could be glimpsed, it seemed, from every quarter of Florence.

  The hotel had once been the property of a wealthy Florentine family. The taxi driver whirled round the innumerable corners into ever more narrowing streets and at last pulled up with a flourish at an imposing doorway.

  'I'm thankful I shan't have to do much driving in this place,' remarked James, as we alighted.

  The taxi driver grinned.

  'One way! Always one way!' He held up a nicotine-stained finger to add point, and then went to help James unload.

  It was cool inside the building in contrast to the heat of the streets. The thick walls and small windows had been built to keep out the weather and had done so now for three centuries.

  James and Amy were escorted into their room first, and I was ushered down a corridor to an attractive single room which overlooked the little garden.

  It was an unremarkable patch, consisting mainly of some rough grass and shrubs, but my eye was immediately caught by the happenings in an adjoining garden.

  A long clothes-line was almost filled with flapping white sheets, and two nuns were engrossed in unpegging them and folding them very tidily and exactly. They held the corners with their arms spread wide and then advanced towards each other, as if treading some stately dance, to fold the sheets in halves, then into quarters until there was a snowy oblong which they put on a mounting pile on the grass.

  In contrast to their measured ritual of folding, and their solemn black habits and veils, their faces were animated. They smiled and gossiped as they worked. It was a happy harmony of mind and body, and a joy to watch.

  We were more than ready for our evening meal when the time came, and the food was delicious, a precursor of all those we enjoyed at the hotel.

  Later, we took a walk round the nearest streets, mainly for James to find the way from the front of the hotel to its car park at the rear.

  Although he himself would have very little time for exploring, he had hired a small Fiat, to be delivered in the morning, so that Amy and I could do so.

  'Do you know,' he exclaimed when he met us later at the hotel, 'it is exactly three-quarters of a mile from the front door to the hotel car park.'

  'It can't be!' protested Amy. 'It's only at the end of the garden.'

  'One way streets,' replied James, holding up a finger just as the taxi driver had done. 'Always one way!'

  James was picked up each morning at nine o'clock. Two other men who were attending the conference were already in the car when it arrived
, and we knew we should not see James again, most days, until the evening.

  Amy and I found each day falling into a very pleasant pattern. After James' departure to work, we took a stroll to one of the famous places we had been looking forward to visiting for so long.

  We soon discovered that there was enough to relish in the Duomo, Santa Croce and the Uffizi, to keep us engrossed for years rather than our meagre allotment of days available. But we wandered about these lovely buildings, and many others, for about two hours each morning when, satiated with art and history, we would sit in one of the piazzas and refresh ourselves with coffee.

  After that we would return to the hotel, shopping on the way at a remarkable cheese shop. Here, it seemed, all the cheeses of the world were displayed. While we waited, and wondered at the riches around us, we looked at a line which ran across one wall of the whitewashed shop. It was only a few inches from the ceiling and marked how high the water had reached during devastating floods some years earlier. The proprietor told us about this with much hand-waving and eye-rolling, and although we had no words in common we had no doubt about the horrors the citizens of Florence had endured.

  We purchased warm rolls nearby and delicious downy peaches, and thus equipped for a picnic lunch we went to fetch the car.

  We made for the hills usually, visiting a cousin of Amy's mother's in Fiesole on one occasion, but falling in love with Vallombrosa we often pointed the car to that delectable spot which was just as leafy on those golden September afternoons as Milton described it so long ago in Paradise Lost.

  Thick as Autumnal Leaves that strow the Brooks

  In Vallombrosa, where th'Etrurian shades

  High overarch't embow'r...

  Under the arching trees which sheltered us from the noonday sun, we sat in companionable silence enjoying the quietness around us and the bread and cheese in our laps.

  Later, bemused with Italian sunshine and beauty, we would head back to the hotel. Amy negotiated the one-way maze of streets to bring us successfully to the garage at the back of the hotel.

  We walked through the shady and shaggy garden into the dim coolness, there to refresh ourselves with tea, before bathing and changing and settling down to await James's return from his labours.