(7/13) Affairs at Thrush Green (8 page)

'No, I haven't come across him, I'm afraid.'

'Well, he's based with us for a little while, but at the moment he is looking up relatives and old friends before getting down to serious house-hunting. We expect him back in a week or two. No doubt he'll call to see your aunt before long.'

'That will be nice,' said Connie.

They had now reached the open front door. The wind had blown in a few dead leaves from the lime trees. They skittered about the tiled floor like small crabs.

'Well, thank you again,' said Connie, holding out her hand. 'Come and see us when you can. We both enjoy visitors.'

Justin watched her hasten down the street, a trim athletic figure. Dotty was lucky to have her, he thought.

He bent to pick up the dead leaves and put them carefully in the waste paper basket when he returned to his office.

He suddenly remembered the shortbread, and rang for Muriel.

'Yes, Mr Venables?' she asked deferentially.

'Muriel, I should have said this many years ago. The shortbread is always delicious. Miss Harmer told me to tell you how much she enjoyed it this morning, as I have too hundreds and hundreds of times. Much appreciated, Muriel, believe me.'

'Oh sir!' faltered Muriel, turning pink. 'Thank you. I'm so glad—'

She broke off and hurried from the room, and straight to the privacy of the staff lavatory where she mopped her tears.

Why was it, she thought fiercely, that one could stand any amount of scolding and censure without a qualm,-and yet dissolve into tears at a few words of kindness?

She tidied her hair, stuffed her damp handkerchief up her sleeve, and after a colossal sniff, returned to her duties with a gladsome mind.

6. Spring Fevers

THE MISSES Lovelock were delighted to hear that Kit Armitage had returned.

'I thought I recognised that back,' said Violet triumphantly. 'So upright, still so straight and soldierly! He always had a most impressive carriage.'

Miss Ada looked at her younger sister with faint dislike.

'I can't recall Kit's back being anything very different from any of the other young men's.'

'Oh, I always admired his stance when we played tennis,' said Violet. 'He always threw the ball a tremendous height in the air when he served. D'you remember, Bertha?'

Bertha nodded. Pencil in hand she was engrossed in the crossword, but her cheeks were a little flushed. There was no doubt about it, the return of Christopher Armitage was causing a stir in this particular household.

'He was always very athletic,' observed Ada. 'Wasn't he Victor Ludorum one year at the Grammar School? And once he turned twenty cartwheels at a tennis party here. Someone said he couldn't—Justin maybe—and I remember he put down his glass and took off his jacket, and went over and over all round the lawn.'

'I suspected at the time that he had partaken of too much punch. If you remember we let that maid we had at the time mix up a second batch, and she was very free with the gin.'

'Kit was never the worse for drink,' protested Miss Violet. 'Just high spirits, on that occasion, I feel sure.'

'Well, I don't suppose he turns many cartwheels nowadays, ' said Bertha. 'Nor Dotty either. What a dreadful affair that was!'

'She only turned
two,'
Ada pointed out, 'and it was Kit who dared her to. Besides, her bloomers were perfectly respectable and substantial, which was a blessing, I must say, in the circumstances.'

'Well, we were all young then,' said Violet indulgently, 'and what a lot of fun we had in the old days! It will be good to see Kit again and revive happy memories.'

'We must invite him to lunch when he returns,' agreed Ada. 'What a pity he lost his wife so long ago! She was a pretty girl, I remember.'

'I always thought she was rather fast,' commented Miss Bertha. 'A typical Londoner, and she certainly came without her gloves to Sung Eucharist once.'

'Perhaps she forgot them,' said Violet.

'A lady,' replied Bertha severely, 'never forgets her gloves.'

And thus rebuked, her sister fell silent.

The winds of March, which Shakespeare's daffodils enjoyed, was not welcome to Albert Piggott at Thrush Green.

For one thing, they blew an unconscionable number of leaves into the church porch of St Andrew's and needed to be swept out by Albert himself.

When young Cooke had taken on most of the church duties of a heavier nature, digging graves, tending the coke furnace and so on, it had been arranged that Albert would be responsible for sweeping the church floor and the porch. When a really stiff breeze came along, no matter from which quarter of the globe, the leaves managed to eddy in drifts against the church door, under the stone benches which flanked the porch, and often into the church itself. Albert found it all very trying.

March winds also made him cough. Albert's bronchial equipment had always been sub-standard, even Doctor Lovell admitted that, and Albert's habitual dolour exaggerated his condition. He was not given to suffering in silence, and intended to let the landlord of The Two Pheasants have a detailed account of his respiratory ailments as soon as he went in there for his midday meal of a pork pie, pickles and beer.

But that was not all that he had to worry about on this particular morning. For once, Willie Marchant the postman, had brought him a letter. It was hand written, and Albert opened it with caution.

The message was short. It was signed 'Charlie Wright' and Albert's face registered disgust, as well as its habitual gloom, as he read.

Dear Albert,

Nelly has had a bad turn and is in hospital here. Thought you ought to know as you are her next-of-kin.

Charlie Wright

'"Next of kin" indeed!' said Albert aloud. 'And a fat lot of good that is!' Didn't he take her on? Didn't this dratted oil man, this wife-stealer, have first claim on Nelly?

He thrust the letter into his pocket and went across to deal with the dead leaves which were as troublesome as Nelly herself. He felt no stirrings of pity for his ailing wife. She'd chosen her bed, hadn't she? Well, she must lie in it. Let this Charlie do the coping. It was no business of his. He would ignore the letter.

But he found that he could not ignore the matter completely. As he swept morosely, coughing occasionally, and taking a rest every now and again on one or other of the stone benches in the porch, he began to wonder about Charlie's message. Did the fact that he had informed him that he was next-of-kin mean that Nelly was likely to snuff it? In which case, did it mean that any property belonging to her would then come to him?

It was one thing to let the oil man who had lured away his Nelly have the responsibility of looking after her 'in sickness and in health', as it said in the marriage service—not that Nelly and this Charlie had bothered with such niceties—but quite a different kettle of fish if the dratted fellow came into Nelly's bits and pieces, simply because he didn't write back as, he supposed glumly, a husband should.

Sitting, resting his head on the broom handle, Albert pondered this problem. True, Nelly had never had much in the way of possessions, but there had been a gold wrist watch and a brooch from Italy she was fond of, and come to think of it, there was a Post Office savings book that she kept mighty quiet about in her handbag.

On the other hand, if it meant going all the way to Brighton to see her in hospital, he was inclined to forfeit her assets and let the pair of them sort out their troubles. Why should he bother about them? A fat lot they'd troubled about him, that was for sure!

He brushed a spider from his knee and began to sweep it, with the leaves, into the corner of the porch. Although he told himself that he would take no action over the letter, he still suffered a small nagging doubt.

Perhaps old Jones could give him some advice? Two heads were better than one, they said. Over his pub dinner he would mention it, in a casual way, to the landlord, and see what transpired. No need to rush his fences, and if he had to reply after all, then Molly could give him a hand with the writing.

Somewhat comforted he fetched a shovel and bucket to collect the leaves, and even chirruped to a robin who had come to investigate the activity.

On the Saturday morning following the arrival of Albert's letter, little Miss Fogerty lay prone on her bedroom floor at the school house, and conscientiously went through the exercises prescribed by Doctor Lovell.

He had been sympathetic about her aching joints some months previously, and had forborn to tell her automatically to lose a stone in weight as he did to three-quarters of his patients suffering from anything from gout to gall-bladder troubles. Miss Fogerty, who could not weigh much over six and a half stone, was exempt from this ritual prescription, but was given some tablets to help alleviate the pain, and a sheet which set out some simple exercises for strengthening muscles.

Agnes Fogerty did not like to tell her medical adviser that the tablets tended to make her head swim, and that she had cut down the dose privately to half. The exercises, she believed, were certainly strengthening her legs, although they seemed to strain something in her back at the same time.

However, she was philosophical about this unwelcome side effect, and after adjusting her lisle stockings, she gazed at the ceiling, and began to raise and lower each leg in turn.

It was extraordinary how similar that damp patch was to the map of Wales! A lovely country, and one she hoped to visit again when at last she and Dorothy retired. She counted to ten, and then resumed the exercise.

Such a pity that retirement had needed to be postponed! Perhaps if she had been at Barton now the good sea air would have put paid to all these aches and pains.

Time for bicycling, and very strenuous it was too. It was all very well for Doctor Lovell, half her age and athletic too, to loll back in his chair at the surgery and issue his instructions, but really it was no joke when one was in one's sixties and with kneecaps cracking like pistol shots!

Puffing heavily, little Miss Fogerty lay still and surveyed the carpet under the bed. Betty Bell kept things beautifully-no dust at all, and only one hair grip which she had lost only two days ago. It was quite interesting seeing the world from a different angle, and rather pleasant lying on the carpet. How nice to be a cat!

She pulled herself together hastily, and set herself to cycle another two minutes before tackling her standing routine.

There, that was done! She scrambled to her feet with the help of the bedstead, and stood quite still until her head had stopped spinning. Then she went close to the wall and kept one steadying hand on it while she rose and fell on her toes. Doctor Lovell had said earnestly that he wanted to restore suppleness, as far as was possible, so that she could run again quite easily.

Agnes had not liked to tell the dear man that she had not run anywhere for the last ten years, and had no intention of starting again now, but she was fond of her adviser and respected his faith in her possible prowess.

She did her exercises zealously, studying a still life in water colours executed by one of Dorothy's college friends. It depicted a bowl of fruit with a few vegetables lying beside it, and Agnes was not wholly enamoured of it. Certainly, the grapes were superbly done, and the bananas were recognisable, of course, so yellow and curved, as they were, it would be hard to disguise them, but the carrots looked anaemic and those green things which must be artichoke heads were not the right green.

Dipping briskly from left foot to right, Agnes recalled her own efforts at vegetable painting. Cabbages, she remembered, had responded wonderfully to a mixture of veridian green, a spot of crimson lake and a little Chinese white. The result had been a most successful soft colour, and her art teacher had congratulated her on the effect. Very gratifying it had been.

Agnes felt that her legs had suffered quite enough, and began to rotate her arms gently. She wandered to the window, and surveyed the little world of Thrush Green as she worked away.

A stranger was walking purposefully across the grass towards the Youngs' house. He was tall and soldierly. He had no hat and his hair was thick and silvery.