(18/20) Changes at Fairacre (9 page)

'I met Mrs John on my way here. She tells me that she is obliged to go to Wales. I just wondered if you would like to come and stay with me?'

I had been thinking of this, and other plans, ever since meeting Mrs John. It was true that the workmen were due to tackle my bedroom, but that could be postponed, or I could sleep downstairs for that matter. In any case, the spare bedroom was now in pristine condition should Dolly agree to use it.

But, as I guessed, she would not consider it.

'I shall be perfectly happy on my own. Isobel Annett will pop in, I know, and I have the telephone if I should need help. It's very kind of you, but you have enough to do.'

'Then I have an alternative to offer,' I told her. 'Let me come here to live while Mrs John's away. I can easily drive to school from here, and you would not be alone at night.'

'There's absolutely no need began Dolly, but I cut in with a very cunning argument.

'I shall be terribly anxious about you. You shouldn't be alone for hours at a stretch, and I've worried for months now about your sleeping here on your own. Suppose you fell? Or someone broke in?'

She was silent for a moment, and then began to laugh.

'Very well, you artful girl, you win! And thank you very much, my dear.'

So it was settled, and I made up her spare bed then and there ready for my sojourn. My routine could easily be altered. I should leave Dolly about eight-fifteen each morning, having given her breakfast, and go to Fairacre to let in the workmen, to pick up the post, feed Tibby, and go over to the school. At the end of the school day I could spend half an hour or so in my house, feed Tib again, see all was well, and return to my temporary home with Dolly.

To say that I had been anxious about her was perfectly true, and I felt considerable relief at these new arrangements. I only hoped that Dolly would not find my presence too irksome. As a single woman myself, I knew how precious one's privacy was, and I was determined to bear that in mind.

The following day was the last of the Easter holidays.

Bert and Pearce arrive to tackle my bedroom, and set to work with unwonted briskness. I commented on their progress when I took up their coffee.

'Well, you wants us gone, I expect,' said Bert. 'We likes to oblige.'

'Besides,' said Pearce, 'we've got another job waiting over at Bent. They're getting a bit shirty.'

Bert gave Perce what is known as 'an old-fashioned look', and I guessed that he would be rebuked for his moment of truth when I had left the scene.

But mention of Bent reminded me to ring Amy and to tell her of my temporary change of address.

'Good idea,' said Amy. 'I wonder you didn't think of it before.'

'I certainly did,' I protested, 'but you don't know Dolly Clare. She "won't impose", as she says, or I should have been there months ago. Tell me, how are things with you? Brian still with you?'

'Not for much longer. There's been a general reshuffle at the Bristol place as they've opened a new office in Scotland. Brian starts as treasurer in the Bristol office as soon as things have settled down there. To give the chap his due, he's willing to push off into digs in the Bristol area, so maybe he'll do that. James seems to think it would be unkind to encourage him to go. Still thinking of those heroic cricket matches of long ago, I surmise.'

'Men are trying,' I replied, and was about to tell her of my troubles with Bert and Perce in residence, but fearing that I might be overheard, I forbore to relieve my feelings.

'I was going to invite you to come with me to a charity concert next week, but I suppose you don't feel able to go out in the evenings if you are with Dolly.'

'It's nice of you, but I'm going to stay put while I'm at Beech Green.'

'Fair enough. There'll be other things later on, I'm sure, but it looks as though I shan't see you for some time. I'm going with James to see a new factory in Wales. He's a director of the firm, and I shall be staying on down there with my aunt. She's ninety-two, and will no doubt walk me off my feet.'

'Any more jaunts?'

'I may go up to Scotland later. James is also on the board of this firm Brian's joining, so we may go up to see how the new office is settling down. But that won't be until June. I'll see you before then, I hope.'

'As soon as Mrs John gets back,' I promised, 'we'll get together for a meal somewhere.'

At that moment, Bert appeared. 'Sorry to bother you, miss, but have you got such a thing as an old kitchen knife?'

'I heard that,' said the voice on the telephone. It sounded highly amused.

'See you sometime,' I replied, putting down the receiver.

'Now, Bert,' I said, 'do you really want an old kitchen knife or "
such a thing
as an old kitchen knife"?'

'We wants an old kitchen knife,' explained Bert, looking puzzled.

'Then say so,' I retorted. 'Though to tell the truth, all my kitchen knives are the same age, so you will have to take care of it. What's it wanted for, anyway?'

'There's a bit of something stuck under the skirting board. An old kitchen knife -' He caught my eye. 'I mean, a kitchen knife'd shift it easily.'

He followed me into the kitchen and I found him the desired object in a drawer.

'And bring it back,' I said.

'Yes, miss,' replied Bert meekly.

For a moment he looked exactly like Joseph Coggs, and my conscience smote me.

But not for long.

That evening I telephoned Mrs John and told her my plans, and hoped that she would have better news of her father when she reached Cardiff.

After that, I walked down to see Bob and Alice Willet to ask for their help at Fairacre while I was away at Beech Green.

As always, they were able and willing.

'We'll look after things, don't you fret,' said Bob sturdily. 'And that cat of yourn will be fed regular. If I can't do it, then Alice will, and Tibby'll get double rations if she's on the job.'

'Well, I think animals miss their owners more than we reckon,' contributed Alice. 'I'll see Tib has any little tit-bits like our chicken liver or meat scraps. Cats like fresh stuff.'

Bob cast his eyes heavenwards. 'That cat's got fatty heart as it is,' he told me. 'Wouldn't hurt it to go on a few days' fasting.'

But I knew it would not with the Willets to look after it, and handed over the keys, and explained about the whereabouts of the tinned cat food and the milk arrangements.

'We'll all feel better knowing you're with the old lady,' said Bob, accompanying me to the gate. 'I suppose ideally she should have someone living there all the time, but I can't see Dolly Clare standing for that.'

The sun was going down as I passed through the village on my way home. The scent of narcissi and early stocks drifted in the warm air. Soon there would be lilac blossom and mock orange adding their perfume, and then the roses, which do so well in Fairacre, contributing their share too.

Above me, the rooks were winging homeward, black wings fluttering against a golden sky. They were building high this year, I had noticed, a sure sign of a good summer. Dolly Clare had told me that soon after I had come to live in Fairacre. Dolly Clare had told me so many things, just as she had told all those lucky children who had passed through her hands.

There were a great many of us who owed a debt to Dolly Clare. I looked forward to trying to repay her, in a small way, over the next few months.

7 'Love To Fairacre'

THE summer term began with a spell of hot dry weather. Even the wind was warm, and the distant downs shimmered in a haze of heat.

My move from the school house to Miss Clare's had caused the minimum of fuss. Each morning I drove the few miles from Beech Green to Fairacre, having given my old friend her breakfast in bed, and seen to her needs.

Isobel Annett, the wife of the headmaster at Beech Green School and once one of my assistants before her marriage, had arranged to call on Dolly at regular intervals during the day, and other friends also gave a hand while Mrs John was in Wales. I was back around five o'clock having seen to my school and home duties, and we spent the evenings together, before retiring to sleep in adjoining rooms under the thatched roof.

It all worked out very easily, and if Dolly sometimes found so many visitors irksome, she was too well-mannered and sensible to show her feelings. Secretly, I think she was relieved to have support, and was now accepting that she could do less and less on her own. After a life time of independence this must have been a difficult problem to face, but she did so with her habitual grace and good temper.

Sometimes, on these light evenings of early summer we went for a drive, usually threading our way through narrow lanes, fresh with young foliage, up to the cool heights of the downs above Beech Green.

On our way, Dolly would point out various landmarks: 'That cottage,' she would say, 'was where Mrs Cotter lived when I was young. She had ten children, and they all streamed out of that tiny place with polished boots and brushed hair, and the girls in starched white pinafores when those things were in fashion. Heaven knows how she did it on a carter's wage - but she did.'

As we approached a little spinney she would tell me that the very best hazel nuts grew there, and down in a fold of the downs she and Ada, her sister, used to go on September mornings to find mushrooms, in the dewy grass.

And once, as we drove along the lane which eventually led to Caxley, she pointed out an ancient sycamore tree, with limbs as grey and lined as an elephant's, which overshadowed the road.

'I said goodbye to my dear Arnold here,' she said quietly. 'I never saw him again.'

Her hand stole to the locket about her neck, and we drove in silence for a time, our minds troubled by 'old unhappy far-off things, and battles long ago'.

At school, the fine weather was especially welcome. The children relished their playtime outside, I relished their absence from the classroom for a precious quarter of an hour, and Mrs Pringle relished the comparative cleanliness of the school floors. An added bonus for her was the fact that her beloved stoves were not sullied with the inflow of fuel and the outflow of ashes.

She became almost pleasant in her manner, and expressed her approval of my move to Miss Clare's.

'Not that it couldn't have been made months ago,' she added. 'She could have done with help long since.'

I pointed out as mildly as I could that Dolly Clare wanted her independence, and that I had in fact offered my services on several occasions.

'Well, better late than never, I suppose,' she admitted grudgingly. 'And I will say that house of yours is a far sight easier to clean with only Tib in it.'

She bent, corsets creaking, to pick up a drawing pin from the floor.

'That could cause a mort of trouble,' she puffed, putting it on my desk. 'Minnie's Basil had a nasty septic foot after stepping on a tack. Minnie had to take him to The Caxley. Hollered something terrible, she said.'

Knowing Basil as I did, I was not surprised.

'Minnie's going to take all the kids to that new pleasure place they've built the other side of Caxley. Sounds lovely. Switchbacks and a giant dipper, and one of them swimming pools with great tubes you can dive down. The kids'll love it. She wanted me to go too, but I told her my switchback days are over, and I'm not flaunting my figure in a bathing suit even if my leg allowed it.'

It seemed wise to me, but I had to be careful not to agree too enthusiastically in case my old sparring partner took umbrage.

'I'd better bring the children in,' I said, making for the door. Diplomacy or cowardice, I wondered? In any case, the thought of Minnie's children at large on all that machinery made my blood run cold. Which would come off worst, I wondered, the children or the equipment?

'Miss,' shouted Patrick, red in the face with indignation, 'John swored at me. He swored twice. He said -'

'I don't want to hear about it,' I said dismissively. 'Go indoors, all of you.'

'But it was about
you
he swored,' protested Patrick. 'He called you a bad name. He said you was -'

'Never mind,' I said firmly. 'Go back to your desk.'

We had hardly settled down before the vicar arrived bearing a large envelope.

'This really should have come to you,' he said apologetically, after greeting the children. 'I can't think why it was sent to me.'

'Well, you are Chairman of the Governors,' I pointed out.

The envelope contained a sheaf of papers from our local naturalists' society and pictures of a dozen endangered species, as well as innumerable forms for donations, competitions, free tickets for this and that. They all managed to flutter to the floor, much to the delight of the milling crowd who rushed from their desks to rescue them. Such diversions are always welcome to children, and it took some time to restore order.

The vicar smiled benignly upon the scene, and when comparative peace reigned again he asked about Miss Clare.

'I thought I might visit her on my way to Caxley this afternoon,' he said. 'Would it be convenient?'

The Reverend Gerald Partridge, in common with most clergymen these days, was in charge of several parishes, and Beech Green was one of them.