Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (5 page)

I thought of Delia scrubbing down the shelves and laughed. “Yes, there is that, but there’s the feed and the equipment—saddles are a horrendous price, so Rosemary tells me. Apparently Roger is quite happy to look for a pony for Delia, and Jilly, who’s not at all keen, keeps producing advertisements from Delia’s horsey magazines to prove how hideously expensive everything is. And then, of course, they grow out of things so quickly—ponies as well as riding boots!”

“True.”

“Anyway, Charlie seemed really worried. I’ve never seen him so down; you know how cheerful he usually is. And, come to think of it, when I saw Jo that time I went to Bristol, she looked very anxious about something and she did say she was there on business. Perhaps that was something to do with the stables.”

“Trying to raise a loan do you think? Surely it can’t be as bad as that. I mean, they own the land, don’t they?”

“Oh yes. Well, I’ve never heard anything about it from either of them, but I’m sure Esther told me they used what money was left when Charlie had to sell up, to buy the whole setup, all those years ago, which I’m sure included the land. But they’d hate to have to sell a single field—well, I’m sure Jo would. Though I think, from what he said, Charlie would be perfectly happy to carry on in quite a small way.”

“Jo’s a perfectionist,” Thea said. “She loves whatever she does and has to be the best—no half measures for her!”

“I know. I often wonder if that’s part of the reason she gave up the stage. I mean, she’d done all the great classic roles and, after a certain age, there aren’t that many parts for a woman. I don’t think she could have borne to—well, come down from those heights.”

Thea considered this for a moment and said, “You may be right. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. Jo’s never been one for talking about herself.”

“No. Come to think of it, all we know about her life since she left Taviscombe we’ve heard from Esther, and Jo would never tell her anything really personal like that!”

Alice, who had just come back into the room, said, “When I have
my
pony, it can go and live at the stables with Cracker, can’t it, Mummy?”

“Oh dear,” I said to Thea, “it’s started already. How long will you be able to hold out!”

Chapter Four

Every year I mean to buy my spring bulbs nice and early, but, what with one thing and another, I never seem to get around to it. When I finally do, there’s practically nothing left except the rather forlorn piles of peeling daffodils, scruffy hyacinths and dried-up crocuses that have been picked over and discarded by other shoppers. Since I had a free afternoon for once, I went straight round to the garden center while the whole bulb situation was still uppermost on my mind.

Confronted by tempting boxes of newly arrived stock, I quite lost my head, filling the brown paper bags provided with practically every variety and every color on offer. I was just trying to decide between the merits of dwarf and parrot tulips when a voice behind me said, “You’re going to be busy with that lot!”

Rapidly brought down to earth, I turned to answer Esther Nicholson. “Yes, I know,” I said lightly. “I do seem to have gone a bit mad.”

“But,” she went on, “I don’t suppose you still do your own gardening—it’s not so easy when you get to our age.”

“As a matter of fact,” I said, annoyed at being classed with Esther, who is at least five years older than I am, if not more, “I do
all
the garden. Well,” I added with a nod towards the truth, “except the heavy digging, of course. Reg Carter does that for me.”

“Oh, do you find him satisfactory? We used to have him, but he wasn’t very reliable.”

“I’ve always found him absolutely fine,” I said, conveniently forgetting the times I’d been maddened by his erratic timekeeping. I do find that conversation with Esther tends to bring out the worst in me. “Anyway,” I went on, “how are you and Gordon?” I put my wire basket with the bulbs in it down on the floor, knowing from past experience that Esther always answers such trivial questions very fully.

“Oh, Gordon’s been very busy. A lot of council stuff, you know, and then there’s the Rotarians, of course. He’s president this year and he’s having to organize the trip to Belgium.”

“How nice. Are you going?”

“I suppose I shall have to. I wouldn’t have bothered if he hadn’t been president, but you know how it is; it’s expected of you. We’ve got to go through the Channel Tunnel and I can’t say I fancy that—I mean, all that way under the sea! And Brussels, that’s not very exciting. One of the trips is round the European Union buildings—not what you’d go abroad for, is it?”

“There’s all that lovely Belgian chocolate,” I suggested.

“Not with Gordon’s heart and his cholesterol level, there isn’t. No, I really don’t feel like going anywhere just now.”

“Really?”

“Between ourselves, I’m worried about Simon. He’s working too hard, brings stuff home, up till all hours with that computer of his. I’ve seen the light on in his room at two o’clock, or three, even. I told him, you’ll wear yourself out; you’ve got to get your proper rest. But of course he never listens; says he’s fine. But he’s looking really washed-out.”

“But he’s just been on holiday, surely . . .” Esther gave a short laugh. “Much good it did him. He looked even worse when he got back. I said to him I don’t know what you’ve been doing up in London, my lad, but it’s certainly done you no good at all! But all he said was he had some late nights seeing friends.” She sighed. “All those BBC types, friends of Vicky’s, I suppose. He was staying with her. I hoped she might have talked some sense into him, but she’s just the same; no idea of looking after herself. I’ll be glad to have her down with me for a week—give her regular meals, not all these ready meals and takeaways that they seem to live on. Indian and Chinese—well, I tried Indian food once; you couldn’t taste anything, it was so hot! As for Chinese—well, goodness knows what’s in
that
! And now they all seem to be eating Japanese stuff, raw fish, if you can believe it! You can’t tell me that’s natural, or healthy either.”

“Well,” I said, hoping to stem the culinary tide, “you’ll be able to give her some lovely home-cooked food when she comes to stay.”

“Roast lamb—she’s always liked my roast lamb, and of course it’s local, so we know where it
comes
from, and a nice cabbage from the garden and one of my apple tarts—the Bramleys will be just about ready by then.”

“I’m sure she’ll love that,” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other and trying to look interested.

“Mind you,” Esther went on, “I’m not prejudiced. When we go to France or Italy I always like the food there—well, almost all, some of it’s a bit rich—but we’ve had some very nice meals in Paris and Florence. I always avoid the veal, of course—those poor little calves—but that’s more Germany and Austria, isn’t it? Escalopes and so forth.”

“Yes, well . . . ,” I said, tentatively trying to make a move.

“But”—Esther leaned towards me as if to increase the confidential nature of what she had to say—“the person I’m most worried about is Jo.”

“Really?”

“She’s not herself at all. She’s getting very vague; hardly seems to take in anything I say to her. It looks as if her mind’s elsewhere half the time. And she doesn’t remember half the things I’ve been telling her about. I told her about our trip to Brussels only last week, but when I mentioned it yesterday she obviously hadn’t taken in anything I’d said! I’m beginning to wonder if she’s going into Alzheimer’s. She’s quite a bit older than I, you know.”

“Surely not! She always seems so full of life and so much on the ball!”

Esther shook her head. “I think Charlie’s worried about her too, though he denied there was anything wrong when I asked him.”

“I’m sure everything’s all right,” I said reassuringly.

“Well, we’ll see. Goodness, is that the time? I mustn’t stand here chatting to you like this!” Having neatly put me in the wrong, she swept off to the checkout, where she caused a considerable holdup by having to go back to the shelves to hunt for a certain type of insecticide, which, it turned out, had been banned by the EU some months ago.

 

When I got home I put the bulbs carefully away in the larder (you’re supposed to keep them cool) until I could empty the planters. I’d just put the kettle on when there was a ring at the door; it was Rosemary.

“Sorry to descend on you like this,” she said, “but I was on my way back from Porlock and I thought I’d just pop in to see if you feel like coming out for lunch one day this week. It’s been a really tiresome couple of days and I feel the need for a little treat.”

“Oh dear, what’s happened?”

“Well, it’s Mother mostly—when is it not! She’s been in one of her redecorating moods.”

“Not painting and wallpapering!”

“No, not quite as bad as that, but curtains and covers. She says she can’t
bear
to live with the present ones any longer.”

“But she had those only eighteen months ago. I distinctly remember your having to go to Exeter to get some fabric she’d seen in a magazine.”

“Don’t remind me! No, this time it’s something that chum of hers, Mrs. Watson, saw in a shop in Taunton. So I had to go and get a sample for her to see—several samples actually, because Mrs. Watson’s description was so vague it could have been any one of half a dozen.”

“And?”

“And, of course, none of them were right for her and, of
course
, it was my fault for being so stupid and not finding the right one. Honestly, Sheila, I almost
said
something, but what’s the use? It’s water off a duck’s back with Mother!”

“Here,” I said, passing her a cup of tea and pushing a plate of chocolate wafers towards her, “comfort food! So what happened?”

“Oh, she thought she might like that William Morris willow pattern fabric, so I dashed out and ordered some and phoned little Martha Cronin to come and measure up, all very quickly before she could change her mind.”

“She might still change it.”

“No, not now—money has been spent!”

“Poor you! And, yes, I’d love to come out to lunch. Would Thursday be all right? We might go to that new place in Lynton. They say it’s very good and it’s a nice little run to get there.”

Rosemary leaned back in her chair and bit into a biscuit. “I mustn’t stay too long; I’ve got to go and pick up Delia from the stables. She wants to get in as many rides as she can before school starts again and the nights start drawing in.”

“I know—it’s frightening how quickly the days get shorter. I always feel that after July it’s downhill all the way to winter! Is Delia having a ride or a lesson?”

“Oh, a lesson. She’s mad about jumping just now and Jo is a wonderful teacher.”

“How do you think Jo is these days?” I asked.

“She seems fine. Why do you ask?”

“When I saw her last she looked a bit drawn and pale, and I’ve just had a dismal conversation about her with Esther.”

I told her what Esther had said and Rosemary laughed. “I should think Jo
hadn’t
been listening to Esther going on about Brussels! I mean, the only thing to do when Esther gets going is to think about something else until she stops. And, anyway, you know what she’s like about saying how worried she is about everyone!”

“Well, she was certainly going on about Simon and Vicky as well.”

“Oh, poor Simon—that boy is a saint. Anyone else would have moved out ages ago, but I think he feels it’s only his being at home that keeps that family on some sort of even keel. So, what’s the worry this time?”

“Oh, bringing work home, up till all hours at his computer—that sort of thing.”

“Actually,” Rosemary said thoughtfully, “I’m not really surprised—about bringing work home, I mean. Simon’s good at his job, very thorough and reliable—Jack said he could trust him to cope with anything—but, because he’s so thorough, he is a bit slow. The way things are nowadays, with everyone expecting things to be done absolutely at once, he may very well feel he’s getting behind and needs to catch up at home.”

“It really is dreadful,” I said, “the way there’s no
time
to do things properly. Not just business but doctors, even, having only ten minutes to give to each patient—though, thank goodness Dr. Macdonald belongs to the old school and jolly well gives it as long as it takes!”

“Still,” Rosemary said, “I do hope Simon isn’t overdoing things. He’s got enough to put up with at home without having worries at work. I know Esther always exaggerates, but even so, I don’t like to think of him looking ill.”

 

I was able to judge for myself at the weekend when I went with Thea to collect Alice from the stables. As we drove up, a car parked beside us and Simon got out. He greeted us cheerfully and said, “It’s such a beautiful day, I thought I’d have a ride and blow the cobwebs away. It’s ages since I’ve been out.”

“I didn’t know you rode,” I said.

“It would be difficult not to with Jo and Charlie around. They insisted on giving me lessons when I was practically a toddler! I’m not very good—nothing fancy, just a bit of mild hacking.”

“Well,” I said, looking appreciatively at his tweed jacket, boots and riding hat, “you’re certainly properly turned out.”

He laughed. “Jo wouldn’t allow anything less.”

We all went into the yard and looked down into the ring where Alice, now off a leading rein, was performing quite creditably with Liz.

“Is that your little girl?” Simon asked Thea.

She nodded. “Jo’s idea, of course; she’s a great enthusiast! But Alice loves it.”

“Good for Alice,” Simon said. He waved his hand and went off into the stables.

“Well,” I said, “he looks all right to me.”

“Who does?”

“Simon—Esther said she was worried about him and that he wasn’t looking well.”

“Oh, Esther! She’s never happy unless she’s got something to worry about. Simon’s perfectly fine. Oh, Alice is coming in now; shall we go and meet her?”