(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (7 page)

'I've no idea how to set about finding a suitable agency,' complained Richard, fastening his seat belt.

'Just look in the yellow pages, dear,' advised his aunt, and waved him farewell.

She returned to the kitchen where Jenny was busy washing up the tea things.

'My scones went down well evidently,' she said with satisfaction.

'They did indeed,' her mistress assured her. She went on to explain Richard's mission, and Jenny's eyes grew wider every minute.

When, at last, Winnie reached the end of her tale, Jenny summed up the whole proceedings in one word.

'Cheek!' said Jenny.

Nelly Piggott, toiling up the hill from Lulling to Thrush Green after her day at The Fuchsia Bush, noticed Richard's car, which was waiting to enter the busy road to Oxford.

The roses caught her eye first, and then the particularly sulky look on the driver's face.

'Proper nasty tempered, that one,' thought Nelly. 'Wonder what he's doing in these parts? A rep, no doubt, and with them flowers in the back probably no better than he should be.'

She paused to get her breath halfway up the hill, and remembered her faithless Charlie who had so cruelly turned her out of home when his roving eye had lit upon another woman more to his liking. She dwelt on his infamy with martyred pleasure. The fact that he had taken her in when she had left Albert, her husband, some months earlier, she chose to forget.

All in all, she supposed, both men had treated her fairly well, and Albert had been remarkably amiable when she had returned to him. She would enjoy frying the chops for him which were in her basket. Cooking was the true joy of Nelly's life.

As she reached the top of the hill she could see Edward and Joan Young's fine house beyond the chestnut trees, and recalled the earnest discussion she and Mrs Peters had had that afternoon about veal and ham pie, salmon mousse, roast turkey, spiced beef and a score of other dishes suitable for a particularly select cold buffet. She was going to enjoy getting that lot ready!

Crossing behind the old people's homes, and now mercifully on the flat, Nelly came face to face with her husband's old friend Percy Hodge, who farmed a mile or so northwards off the Nidden road.

'Wotcher, Perce? Nice drop of rain yesterday. Do your crops good.'

'Done the potatoes a bit of good, I suppose, but too late for the wheat and barley. Be a poor yield, I shouldn't wonder.'

'You farmers never stop grumbling,' said Nelly. 'I'm glad I'm not married to one.'

She stopped hastily, remembering the truant Doris. Perhaps she'd said something to upset poor old Perce?

Had she known, he was thinking that Albert did his share of grumbling too, and a fine bonny woman like Nelly might have been better off with a farmer after all.

'Well, I must get on,' said Nelly, somewhat flustered. 'Albert's waiting for his tea.'

'He's a lucky chap to have someone to cook it for him,' replied Percy lugubriously. 'Some of us have to cook our own.'

Nelly felt that the conversation was taking a dangerous turn. Percy Hodge was full of self-pity, and she didn't want any attentions from him. He'd been enough nuisance to that poor Jenny of Mrs Bailey's until she'd boxed his ears.

What a tiresome lot men were, thought Nelly, approaching her door. It made you wonder why they had been put into the world in the first place. If she'd had any hand in arranging matters at the Creation, she would have made sure that there would have been only one sex. Life would have been much simpler.

'And about time!' said Albert, when she closed the door behind her. 'I was getting fair weak with hunger.'

Nelly managed to stay silent, but she banged the frying pan viciously on to the stove to relieve her feelings.

Before Albert's chops were done, an upsetting telephone call came to the schoolhouse a few yards away.

Agnes and Dorothy were enjoying the newspapers, and the comfortable thought that it was Friday evening, and the much-blest weekend stretched ahead, when the telephone rang.

Dorothy answered it, and a few stray phrases were heard by Agnes.

'How serious is it? ... Well,
of course,
we were in school. You must have known, Kathleen! ... Which hospital? ... Most inconvenient ... Yes, of course, I shall go. I shall set off tomorrow morning ... No, no, don't put yourself to any trouble. I can find a room.'

She came back, pink and flustered.

'Oh, what a kettle of fish! Really, Kathleen gets more impossible yearly! She's complaining because she's tried to ring us twice today, once at ten and then again at two o'clock.
Of course
we were in school, and no one but Kathleen would be so woolly-headed as to forget it.'

'But what's happened?'

'Oh, Ray has had an accident with the car,' said Dorothy, in what to anxious little Miss Fogerty seemed a remarkably off-hand manner.

Her hands fluttered to her face.

'But Dorothy, how dreadful! Is he badly hurt?'

'No, no! Kathleen said he has concussion, and probably a broken arm. The hospital people are keeping him in for a day or two.'

'I heard you say you would visit him. Shall I come with you?'

'No, Agnes. I shall catch the morning coach to London, and then take a taxi. Kathleen offered to put me up if I wanted to stay the night. In rather a
grudging
tone of voice, I thought. But I shall come back during the evening. Really, it is dreadfully annoying. I intended to wash my new cardigan tomorrow.'

'I will do that willingly.'

'It can wait until another day,' said Miss Watson firmly. 'We are going to get in a flummox over Ray's foolishness.'

'But what happened? Did Kathleen say?'

'I think he swerved into one of those islands with bollards in the middle of the road, but Kathleen didn't say what caused it. Fortunately, no one else was involved.'

'What a blessing!'

'Now one thing I must see to,' said Dorothy, reaching for her handbag. 'Of course, the wretched banks will be closed tomorrow, but I think I have enough money to pay my way. In any case, I can use my Post Office book to withdraw some cash. I must say, my Post Office book is a real friend in need.'

'I have ten pounds put by,' said Agnes, 'in my stocking drawer.'

'Thank you, dear, but there is no need. I shall be all right. I'm meeting Kathleen at the hospital, so I shall know more then.'

'Did she get your card?' Agnes asked.

'She did indeed, and sounded very gratified. In fact, she said if it hadn't been for my kind message she wouldn't have liked to worry me about Ray's accident.'

'Now, isn't that nice!' cried little Miss Fogerty, aglow with noble feelings.

Dorothy gave one of her resounding snorts.

'I'm beginning to wonder,' she said.

5 The Longest Day

NELLY Piggott, hurrying to work on the Saturday morning, remembered that today was the longest day of the year.

'June nearly on its way out,' thought Nelly, 'and them blankets not washed yet for the winter. Not that Albert'd notice.'

As she reached the bottom of the hill she noticed Miss Watson, stick in one hand, and a crocodile-skin handbag in the other, waiting to cross the road. Why was she out so early, wondered Nelly? Looked very smart too. A wedding perhaps?

Although she was not averse to making the occasional derisive remark about her two schoolteacher neighbours, secretly Nelly felt great respect for them. The school which Nelly had attended as a child, put discipline at the head of its priorities.

None of the staff could have held a candle to Dotty Harmer's tyrant of a father, but nevertheless due respect to teachers by pupils was expected, and punishment was severe if it was not forthcoming. Nelly herself could remember standing on her chair, a figure of shame before her contemporaries, enduring the while the lash of her teacher's tongue.

'Good morning, Miss Watson,' she said deferentially.

'Ah! Good morning, Mrs Piggott,' replied Dorothy. 'Are we in for a fine day, do you think?'

'I hope so. I only do the morning at The Fuchsia Bush on a Saturday, and I thought I might wash a few blankets this afternoon.'

Dorothy nodded vaguely. She had never washed a blanket in her life. Surely one would need something bigger than the sink for that? Luckily, the laundry took care of their blankets.

Nelly slackened her pace, to keep in step with her companion.

'Please don't let me hold you up,' said Dorothy. 'I'm rather slow these days.'

'No hurry for me now, we're nearly there,' Nelly assured her.

'I'm catching the coach,' said Dorothy. 'Rather bad news about my brother.'

Nelly was agog. A little drama is always welcome.

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'A car accident. I don't think he is badly hurt, but I'm going to the hospital to make sure.'

'Oh, of course! Blood's thicker than water, I always say. Have you got far to go?'

'No; it's one of the London hospitals. I can visit any time this afternoon.'

'Then you'll be in nice time,' commented Nelly, wondering why Miss Watson should be making such an early start.

As if reading her thoughts, Dorothy replied.

'I propose to do a little shopping while I'm in town. Selfridge's and John Lewis's are so satisfactory.'

They were now at the coach stop outside The Fuchsia Bush.

'Well, I hope you find your brother pretty well,' said Nelly politely, and departed to her day's work.

Really a very nice woman, thought Dorothy, watching her go. Not many of that calibre about these days. Hard-working, well-mannered, kindly – Albert hardly deserved anyone so worthwhile.

On the other hand, of course, one had heard things about Nelly's moral standards.

But before she could dwell on the baser and more interesting side of Nelly's character, the coach arrived, mercifully half empty, and Miss Watson mounted the steps to choose her seat for the journey.

Winnie Bailey had had a troubled night after her encounter with Richard. She did not regret her refusal to take on Fenella and her two children, but she was annoyed with Richard for suggesting it.

And yet she was fond of her nephew, despite his irritating ways, and hoped that he would not have a prolonged fit of the sulks, and cut her out of his life. She was getting too old to cope with harboured grudges, and would like to see Richard, and his wife and family, as she had said.

Well, time would show, she thought philosophically, putting out the milk bottles on the front step.

John Lovell, on his way to morning surgery, hurried across to speak to her.

'Did you ever find that farm, John?' she asked him.

'After a false start or two. The fir tree's gone now, but the house is still there, and the farm buildings, though everything's a bit run down.'

'Who lives there now?'

'At Trotters? Leys Farm, I mean.'

'Yes. Which do they call it, by the way?'

'Leys Farm. Though an old boy on the road knew it as Trotters, as you do.'

'Nice family?'

'Two middle-aged brothers, and a youngster, a nephew, I gathered. It was he who was groggy. Some tummy bug or other. Violent D. and V. but he had responded well to antibiotics when I called again, so I shan't need to make another visit, unless they ring.'

'No women?'

'Not in evidence. They looked a pretty scruffy lot, despite half a dozen expensive-looking cars in the yard. How are things with you?'

'Fine, John.'

She was half-inclined to tell him of Richard's visit, but already a few patients were entering his waiting room, and Winnie, as a doctor's wife, knew better than to keep him from his work.

She might tell him later, she decided, watching him cross to the surgery. Perhaps she might feel less worried about the affair as time passed.

Downhill at Lulling, the rector decided to take advantage of the sunshine to walk along the tow path of the River Pleshey.

The exercise would do him good, Dimity told him, as she set about preparing a lamb casserole.

'And it might clear my brain,' added Charles. 'Tomorrow's sermon doesn't read very well, I must admit. Perhaps I shall get some flashes of inspiration.'

He always enjoyed this quiet pathway. The willows shimmered their grey green leaves above the water. Their rustling, and the river's rippling, made a tranquil background to the rector's thoughts, and he walked rather farther than he first intended, until he found himself within sight of the cottage which had once belonged to the water keeper, and now housed his old friend Tom Hardy and his equally ancient dog, Polly.

He decided to call on them, and crossed the wooden footbridge to the house. As was his wont, he went to the back door, and there discovered Tom chopping up wood on the doorstep. Polly was lying nearby in the sun, but came to greet him, tail wagging.

'She remembers you, sir,' said Tom, straightening his back slowly. 'This is a nice surprise, I must say. Come into the kitchen.'

A bench stood against the wall, hard by the back door.

'Let's sit here,' said the rector. 'Too good to go inside.'

The old man sat down heavily with a sigh.