(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (10 page)

'Well, it appears that we can expect a visitation from them soon. Ray is getting so bored with being unable to do much, and a neighbour has offered to take them for a drive. Why Kathleen has never had the commonsense to learn to drive,
I do not know.
Scatterbrained, I know she is, and completely lacking in mechanical skills, but sillier people than she drive cars after all, and it would have been a help to Ray now and again.'

'Are they coming soon?'

'It's left to us. I suppose we'd better say they're welcome.'

Dorothy's voice sounded anything but welcoming.

'But not until we've broken up,' she said firmly. 'One thing, this neighbour refuses to have the dog in his car, sensible fellow, so we shan't have a repetition of their last disastrous visit.'

She rose from her chair.

'I shall make tea today, Agnes, you look tired. Shall we have Earl Grey for a change? So refreshing.'

'That would be lovely, Dorothy,' replied Agnes.

Nelly Piggott descended the hill the next morning with the roses in her basket.

There had been a few harsh words between herself and Albert after Percy's departure, but nothing seriously amiss. Nelly's conscience was clear, and she told Albert so in plain terms.

Albert, knowing Percy, guessed that for once Nelly was telling the truth about this unwelcome admirer, and after ten minutes of bickering the quarrel petered out.

Nelly was extremely cross with Percy but had no intention of confronting him. Better to tell his sister, Mrs Jenner, with whom she went to bingo occasionally, and let her pass on the message to silly old Percy.

Nevertheless, it was rather a comfort to Nelly to know that she could still inspire devotion. She had always had admirers, and was romantic by nature. She passed over the roses to Mrs Peters with a twinge of regret.

That lady was far too engrossed with the plans for Joan Young's buffet lunch to do anything but accept them with perfunctory thanks, and Nelly was not called upon to give any explanation of her gift.

The roses were put into a copper pitcher and had pride of place in the front window of The Fuchsia Bush for two days, where they were much admired by the customers.

Meanwhile, preparations proceeded apace. Mrs Peters was a born organiser, Nelly an enthusiastic supporter, and the two waitresses were sufficiently stirred by this change in routine to agree to don clean overalls and welcoming smiles for their part in the project. All that everyone prayed for now was a fine day.

The weather forecast was equivocal. There might be showers, there was a chance of sunshine, it would probably be overcast, temperatures would be normal for the time of year, winds would be light.

The morning dawned grey and still. Joan Young, a bundle of nerves, could only manage a cup of coffee for breakfast, and was soon outside surveying the preparations.

Molly and Ben Curdle had cleared their garage so that the produce stall and the plants could be displayed under cover. The gipsy caravan, which had once been Ben's grandmother's home, now stood nearby in the orchard, and this today housed the white elephant stall, including some of Ella's handiwork.

The dining room and drawing room were given over to the food, to be spread on long tables for the visitors to help themselves. Both rooms had french windows opening to the lawn and it was Joan's earnest hope that the weather would allow her patrons to sit outside, balancing plates and glasses, and dropping crumbs at their will. All the garden chairs which could be mustered were disposed under trees or near the small ornamental pool, and very pretty and welcoming it all looked.

She could do no more. Now it was over to Mrs Peters, as yet untried, and the Wine Bar in whom she had confidence from past experience.

Edward had volunteered to take the money at the gate and to collect the tickets of those who had gallantly bought them beforehand. At twelve o'clock, he was ensconced before his card table, while Mrs Peters, Nelly, Gloria, Rosa, Joan Young and Molly Curdle were hard at it in the kitchen, dining room and drawing room.

A hazy sun began to shine and everyone's spirits lifted as the first few friends came up the drive, and were directed to the paddock, today the car park, by Ben Curdle.

They had catered for one hundred guests. All seemed to have excellent appetites, and to intend to eat their three pounds-worth of the delicious offerings set before them. Nelly was gratified to receive compliments on her veal and ham pie, the quiches, the spiced beef and other delicacies. Mrs Peters, flushed and happy, watched the delectable trifles, mousses and flans vanish gardenwards.

A good many people had come from Lulling in a coach organised by Mrs Thurgood, a wealthy widow and a regular churchgoer at St John's.

It was she who had fallen out with poor Charles Henstock, soon after his induction, over the kneelers which she was determined to replace against all opposition. Luckily, the quarrel was in the past, and now she and Charles were the best of friends, the relationship being cemented by the marriage of her daughter Jane to a young man, John Fairbrother, to whom Charles had introduced the girl.

Mrs Thurgood insisted on inspecting the kitchen, much to Joan Young's and Mrs Peters' annoyance, but the lady was renowned for her autocratic ways and allowed to snoop without comment, at least of an audible nature, but meaning glances were exchanged behind the lady's back, and later Joan told Edward just what she thought of such behaviour.

Trade was brisk at the stalls. Ella was delighted to find that almost all her weaving and wickerwork had been bought, and even the wispiest geraniums seemed to be snapped up at the plant stall.

At the end of the day, Edward counted his money, and that taken at the stalls, and added it to the ticket money already banked. To everyone's amazement and gratification it came to nine hundred and seventy four pounds and a halfpenny.

After paying Mrs Peters and the Wine Bar there would still be a handsome profit.

'Well,' said Joan, when everyone had gone home and she was sitting on the sofa with her shoes off, 'that's a good beginning for the Heart Appeal and the Church Roof Fund.'

It was the beginning of much more, if she had only known.

7 Summer Visitors

WORK on the new homes was almost finished, and Edward Young was proud of his handiwork. After the rectory fire, there was much conjecture about possible purchasers of the site. Eventually, an old-established charity, which owned similar sheltered accommodation elsewhere, bought it, and worthy local people were appointed trustees.

The vicar of the parish was one, and as for many years Mrs Thurgood's husband had been a generous benefactor to the foundation, it was thought proper to appoint his widow as another at Thrush Green. Justin Venables was another of the trustees.

John Lovell also took a keen interest in the project, for he was one of the trustees who would not only help to select the first lucky residents, but would keep an eye on their health. After much discussion, it had been decided to call the new homes Rectory Cottages.

There would be seven houses to allot, for the end house was reserved for the warden and his, or her, spouse. Applicants for this joint post were to be interviewed very soon, and already some twenty hopeful couples had sent in their application forms. It could be a pleasant job for the right people, but the trustees had agreed from the start that they must look for a couple who were energetic and healthy and particularly sympathetic to the needs of the elderly people in their care.

By the time the closing date had arrived, the trustees met to go through the list in order to whittle it down to four, or possibly five, applicants.

It had not been easy. There were one or two couples who could be eliminated from the start, either because of age, or because one or other would be of no use in a post which demanded the help of both partners. One likely woman, who had trained as a nurse and had a good deal of experience in old people's welfare, had a husband who almost seemed to boast, on the application form, that he had no idea how to fit a tap washer, mend a fuse, or mow a lawn. He added that he had spent most of his life in India and expected such things to be done for him.

In another case, the man seemed an intelligent handyman, but the wife admitted to prostrating attacks of migraine and crippling arthritis. In the end, the trustees sent out four letter to couples they would like to interview, and seventeen to the unsuccessful applicants.

The plan was to install the wardens first before the residents arrived. It looked now as though all should be in readiness by the first of October when, with any luck, the weather would be pleasant enough to see everybody settled comfortably before the onset of a Cotswold winter.

The rector, who was one of the trustees, was particularly interested in one couple who were going to be interviewed. She was the daughter of his old friend Mrs Jenner who lived along the Nidden road, and her husband was an ex-policeman.

The couple had married before Charles Henstock's time, and he had never met them, but Mrs Jenner had often talked about them when he and Dimity had lodged in her comfortable farmhouse after the devastating fire which had made them homeless.

He spoke to John Lovell about them after the meeting.

'Well, I never met the girl,' said John, 'but I remember Donald Bailey speaking highly of her when she was nursing at the Cottage Hospital. She became a sister there, and then got this post in Yorkshire where she met her husband. If she's anything like her mother, she'd be ideal.'

'She would indeed,' agreed Charles, remembering the cheerful manner, the down-to-earth commonsense, and the never-failing kindness of his one-time landlady. 'Nevertheless,' he went on, 'one really must try and keep an open mind. We may find that the other couples are even more satisfactory. I must say, some of their qualifications make excellent reading.'

'You can't believe all you see on paper,' observed John. 'I know half a dozen chaps, in my line, with strings of letters after their names. I wouldn't trust 'em with my patients, and that's flat.'

He climbed into his car, hooted cheerfully, and drove home.

The visit of Ray and Kathleen was planned for the last week in August.

'It had better be lunch, I suppose,' said Dorothy resignedly. 'And of course the neighbour who is driving them must come too. Cold, do you think, or something in a casserole, Agnes? You know how unpunctual they are. It's hopeless to expect them to arrive on the dot.'

'I think a casserole would be best,' replied Agnes. 'It may be a miserable day, and in any case you don't want to be mixing mayonnaise or white sauce last thing. A casserole is so good-tempered. It won't spoil if they are a little late.'

'Then we'll make a steak and kidney one,' decided Dorothy. 'Men always like that. It was my dear father's favourite dish. And could you make one of your delicious raspberry trifles?'

And so the menu was half settled, and the ladies were prepared when the day came.

It was a morning of drizzle and mist, a foretaste of autumn. Dorothy congratulated herself upon the provision of such a comforting dish as stewed steak and kidney, as Agnes decorated the trifle with a few raspberries.

Much to their surprise, the car arrived promptly at twelve o'clock. Evidently the kind driver was a punctual individual. The two ladies hastily doffed their aprons and hurried to greet their guests.

Ray appeared to be very cheerful, the only visible sign of the accident being the sling supporting his broken arm. But he was rather pale, and Agnes, ever-solicitous, thought he had lost weight.

Kathleen said that the country was looking lovely, but she always suffered with her head, even on the shortest drive, and would they mind if she took one of her pills?

'Not in the least,' said Dorothy briskly. 'Anything to put you right, Kathleen. Would you like a glass of sherry to go with it?'

Kathleen closed her eyes and looked pained.

Dorothy busied herself with pouring drinks, and ignored what she privately designated 'Kathleen's vapours'. The good Samaritan who had driven all the way was called George White, and was a quiet fellow who commended himself to the two ladies by admiring the schoolhouse garden, and asking to be shown around it later on.

This they did after the lunch had been enjoyed by all, except Kathleen, who had been obliged to leave most of her helping on the plate, in deference to her headache. Ray managed his lunch most competently, and congratulated his sister on supplying the sort of meal with which a one-armed man could cope easily.

Dorothy led the way round the garden with a man on each side. Agnes followed more slowly with Kathleen, who said that the air might do her good if she could manage to totter a few steps.

'Perhaps you would like to sit down for a minute or two,' said Agnes, pausing by the garden seat.

Kathleen sank down with a sigh. Agnes was greatly perturbed on their guest's account. Surely, she could not be feigning illness? Dorothy was always so
trenchant
in her remarks about Kathleen's health, but Agnes, much softer in heart, felt sure that something must ail the poor woman.

She was somewhat surprised therefore when Kathleen spoke with undue firmness.

'About Ray, Agnes. He needs a change badly. And so do I, for that matter. Nursing is so debilitating.'

'I can quite imagine it is,' agreed Agnes.

'I thought perhaps Dorothy would like to have us here for a week or so. The air at Thrush Green is so refreshing. It would do us both a world of good.'

'What, now?' squeaked Agnes, envisaging vast trunks already packed in the boot of the neighbour's car. What would Dorothy say? And in any case where could they sleep? There were only two bedrooms at the schoolhouse, and one could hardly expect a one-armed invalid to cope with a sleeping bag, even if he had had the forethought to pack one. And the thought of Kathleen in anything less than a luxurious double bed was not to be contemplated.

Recovering quickly from this mental battering Agnes had the sense to answer diplomatically.