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'Yes, thank you,' said Agnes shortly. She did not propose to discuss dear Dorothy's condition with this woman. 'And the post is already filled, Mrs Piggott. Betty Bell is with us now, so that I'm afraid I can't help you.'

'She suit you all right? That Betty Bell?'

'Perfectly,' said Agnes firmly. She rose to indicate that the meeting was ended, but Nelly remained firmly wedged in the armchair.

'I hear she works at Mr Shoosmith's too,' she remarked. 'I wonder she finds time to do two jobs.
Property,
that is!'

The implications of this snide observation were not lost upon Agnes. Really, the woman was insufferable, and there were all those essays waiting to be marked, and her hair to wash, and the hem of her skirt to be repaired where she had caught it as she had tidied the bottom of the handwork cupboard. What a nuisance Nelly Piggott was, to be sure!

'She is a very hard-working girl,' said Miss Fogerty sharply, 'and manages her various jobs excellently. Not only does she go to Mr Shoosmith, I think you'll find she helps Miss Harmer as well, and we are all quite satisfied with her work.'

Agnes remained standing, and Nelly, facing defeat, struggled from the armchair.

'Wouldn't take much to satisfy Miss Harmer from what I hear,' said Nelly, 'but there it is. If there's nothing I can do at the school, I'll have to look elsewhere.'

She began to arrange the scarf around her fourth chin.

'Don't know of anyone, I suppose, as needs help?'

'I'm afraid not,' replied Agnes, a trifle less frostily now that she saw her visitor departing. She opened the door to the landing and ushered Nelly through it.

'Well, if you do hear of anything you know where I live,' said Nelly, descending the stairs heavily.

'I will bear it in mind,' promised Agnes, now opening the front door.

'Ta ever so, dearie,' said Nelly, sailing down the path.

Shuddering, Miss Fogerty returned to her interrupted peace.

14. Comings and Goings

IT was Charles Henstock who first told Harold Shoosmith that Phil was accompanying Frank on his trip to the United States.

'I knew Frank was off, and said I'd keep an eye on the garden for him, but I didn't realise that Phil could go too. Do them both good to have a change, and Jeremy will enjoy being off school.'

'They come back early in September, so the boy won't miss much,' replied Charles. 'It will be strange to see Tullivers empty.'

'Empty!' echoed Harold, a splendid idea bourgeoning. He decided to visit Frank and Phil Hurst that very evening, and found them in the garden when he did so.

June had come in with what the Irish call 'soft weather'. Skies were overcast, but the air was mild and the wind gentle. Frank's roses were beginning to make a fine show, and both he and Phil were hoeing round the bushes.

They put down their tools to greet Harold.

'Don't let me stop you,' he said.

'Thank God you've come, and given us an excuse to have a break,' replied Frank feelingly. 'I'll get drinks.'

He vanished into the house, and Harold and Phil seated themselves on the grass. A robin, matchstick legs askew, watched them with his head on one side.

'I suppose you realise that you are doing that poor chap out of his worm supper, now that you've stopped hoeing?'

'He's had enough already,' said Phil. 'It's a wonder he doesn't pop.'

Frank arrived with the drinks.

'Heard that Phil and Jeremy are coming with me?' asked Frank, smiling.

'I have indeed. Wonderful news. Charles told me.'

'So we'll be even more glad than before to know you are keeping an eye on things,' said Frank. 'I don't like leaving the place empty, but there it is. Luckily, we've got good neighbours, like you and Winnie, to look out for any baddies around.'

Harold put down his drink carefully.

'It's that really which brings me over this evening.'

'How do you mean? Are you going away too?'

'No. I shall be here. I just wondered if you would consider Isobel Fletcher having the house for part of the time. She intends to come back towards the end of June, I gather, unless she's fixed up beforehand.'

'Sounds splendid,' said Phil enthusiastically. 'But would she want to be bothered?'

'Frankly, I've no idea,' confessed Harold. 'It v/as just a thought. I know she doesn't want to impose on Ella any further, and doesn't particularly relish staying at an hotel. Anyway, perhaps it's cheek of me to suggest it.'

'Not at all,' said Frank heartily. 'I should feel much happier if someone were staying in the place, and I can't think of anyone more suitable. Shall we let you know definitely tomorrow? Then you can get in touch with Isobel, or we will, if you'd rather we did.'

'That's fine,' agreed Harold. He picked up his glass with a satisfied sigh. 'Of course, she may have found something already, but I doubt it. It would be marvellous to have her here, right on the spot.'

Phil looked at his blissful expression with sudden awareness.

'So convenient for the house-hunting,' explained Harold hastily, 'and I'm sure she would be a most careful tenant while you are away.'

'It was a very good idea of yours,' said Frank, 'and now come and have a look at the jasmine you gave us. It's nearly reached the roof.'

Phil collected the glasses and carried them indoors.

'So that's how the land lies,' she said to herself. 'Now who would have thought it?'

Later that evening, when Jeremy was safely asleep upstairs, Phil told Frank about her suspicions. Predictably, he was scornful.

'Old Harold? And Isobel? Rubbish, my dear, you're imagining things! Why, I've known Harold for donkey's years, and he's always been the happiest of confirmed bachelors. He's not likely to change now. Why should he?'

'I don't suppose there's any particular
reason
why he should want to give up his bachelordom, but I'm sure I'm right about this. After all, you were getting on perfectly well on your own when we first met, but you embarked upon matrimony without a qualm.'

'That's different. You are a most attractive woman.'

'So is Isobel. I can quite understand Harold's change of heart.'

'You're incurably romantic, my darling. It comes of writing for all those women's magazines, I expect. So you are all in favour of enticing Isobel here to further the course of true love?'

'I am indeed. To be honest, that's only the secondary consideration. I'd like someone to be in the house basically.'

'And you've no scruples about leaving defenceless Isobel to Harold's amorous bombardment?'

It was Phil's turn to snort.

'I should think Harold's ardour has subsided to manageable levels in his sixties. And Isobel must have had plenty of experience in warding off unwanted suitors in her time.'

'So you think Harold will be unwanted? Poor old Harold!'

Phil reflected.

'I can't speak for Isobel, of course. She may not want to marry again. She has no family to consider now, and she has lots of friends and a comfortable income. She may well turn down any offer from Harold. That's the pity. I'm afraid he would be very upset.'

'I expect he's taken harder knocks than that in his time,' commented Frank.

'Maybe,' agreed his wife, 'but you know what Jane Austen said? "It is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage".'

Frank laughed.

'I'll let you, or rather, Jane Austen, have the last word. One thing I've learnt in life is that a man is no match for a woman in affairs of this sort. So, we invite Isobel?'

'We invite Isobel,' agreed Phil.

The sun was slowly dispersing the clouds as Frank walked across to Harold's the next morning.

The chestnut avenue was now in full leaf, and the white and pink candles were in flower. Outside the Two Pheasants Bob Jones's hanging baskets made a brave show, the geraniums quite untouched by those frosts which Albert Piggott had forecast earlier.

A yellow Mermaid rose was in full bloom on the sunny side of Harold's house, and the borders on each side of his path glowed with violas, pinks and double daisies. It all looked remarkably spruce, thought Frank. Surely, Harold could want no more than this for happiness? He had made a perfect life for himself in the place of his choice. Was it likely that he would embark on the complications of married life?

He had no need to knock at the door, for Betty Bell, with Brasso and duster in hand, burst out as he approached.

'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.