Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (6 page)

That evening, when I was cooking Foss’s fish in the microwave, I suddenly thought of what Esther had said about Simon looking worse after his holiday, and I wondered if he’d gone to London to try to get back with his girlfriend (What was her name? Annie? Rosie? something like that) and she’d turned him down. Perhaps he’d had enough of being the good son at home and wanted, at the age of—what was it?—thirtysomething, to get a life of his own at last. Certainly he’s devoted himself to Esther and Gordon for a very long time. Not many young men of his age would have done as much.

The ping of the microwave put an end to these unprofitable thoughts. Foss, attracted by the smell of fish, suddenly materialized at my elbow on the worktop and Tris, who doesn’t like fish, turned up nevertheless, knowing that I wouldn’t dare feed one without the other. I put some fish into Foss’s saucer and took it over to the tap to run a little cold water on it to cool it down. I removed Foss from the sink, where he had been keeping an eye on things, and put him and the saucer down on the floor. In response to Tris’s impatient whine, I shook some dry food into his dish, gave a perfunctory squirt of air freshener to dispel the fish smell and took myself off to the sitting room for a quiet glass of sherry before I started making my own supper.

 

Rosemary and I set off in high spirits for our lunch together. It was a beautiful day and the drive across the moor to Lynton was especially fine with the moorland clothed in purple and gold.

“A real Mrs. Alexander day,” I said to Rosemary.

“A what?”

“You know, the hymn ‘All things bright and beautiful’ . . . ‘the purple-headed mountain’ bit and all that. She wrote it when she was staying down here.”

“Oh yes, at Dunster, wasn’t it?”

“Yes—‘The rich man in his castle, the poor man at the gate’—the verse we’re not allowed to sing nowadays. Silly nonsense—I ask you, who’s going to be offended by it? It’s of its period. I mean, half of literature’s politically incorrect if you look at it the wrong way!”

“I suppose so.”

“Anyway, I always sing that verse silently under my breath when we have the hymn.”

“It’s very popular at funerals nowadays, have you noticed?”

“Yes, you’re right—I suppose people think that, without
that
verse, it’s sort of ecologically friendly!”

In spite of the good write-ups it had had, the restaurant wasn’t very full, but we were early.

“They make a great thing about all the produce they use being locally sourced,” Rosemary said, looking at the menu. “I suppose that’s a good thing, unless you want an avocado. What are you going to have?”

“I don’t know. I can never make up my mind until I know what other people are having. What are you?” I asked.

“I’ll have the steak and ale pie,” Rosemary said. “I’m getting very lazy about making pastry nowadays, so that will be a treat.”

“I think I’ll have the meatballs. I haven’t had one for ages and homemade ones are very delicious. Mother used to do them for Father—he adored them—but I’ve never attempted them; they’re really complicated to make. And a glass of wine, do you think?”

We gave our orders to the waitress and sat peacefully drinking our wine.

“Can you remember the name of Simon’s girlfriend?” I asked Rosemary. “You know, the one who went to London. I was trying to think of it the other day.”

“Oh, you mean Julie Phillips, Harold Phillips’s daughter. Why?”

“I was just wondering why they broke up. They seemed very devoted and I thought they were on the verge of getting engaged, when she suddenly went away.”

“I never really knew. I must say they did seem perfectly suited, so I was surprised. I believe they had a row about something and she went and got herself a job in London.”

“It seems a bit drastic. What could the row have been about?”

“I don’t know. I did ask Jack if he’d heard anything, but you know what men are like; they haven’t any idea of what’s happening right under their noses!” Rosemary said.

“It does seem a shame.” I looked at my watch. “They’re taking a long time with our food.”

Eventually the waitress appeared with two of those large soup plates that are the trendy thing to serve food in nowadays and we looked at their contents in disbelief. The food was absolutely disgusting.

“Steak and ale pie be blowed,” Rosemary said. “It’s a ladle full of stew with a piece of puff pastry—
bought
puff pastry,” she said, trying a piece of it, “plonked down on top.”

I poked at the small cannonball of brown, compacted matter sitting on a bed of lumpy mash, surrounded by grayish gravy. “Mine is even more horrible,” I said. “I’m not even going to attempt it.”

I waved the waitress over and asked for the bill. She looked at our untouched plates.

“Not worth waiting half an hour for,” Rosemary said.

“I’m sorry,” the waitress said. “Nobody’s ever complained before. Would you like to speak to the chef?”

“I think that would be a waste of time,” Rosemary said grimly.

Outside, we looked at each other and started to laugh. “So much for our treat!” I said. “Come on, let’s go and get some fish-and-chips!”

Chapter Five

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a good plum year,” I said to Michael when he called to leave me some eggs. “The Early Rivers are quite ripe now—some of them are dropping—and the Victorias won’t be far behind.”

“We could come over at the weekend and help pick them, if that’s all right,” he said.

“That would be marvelous. I do hope Thea will be able to use a good lot of them. I suppose I’ll have to make some jam. I’ll try to make a bit of room in the freezer for the Victorias, but there are so many, and this year everyone will have plums and it’ll be difficult to get rid of them!”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find some takers. Anyway, I’d better get off—I’m due back in the office.”

“Thank Thea for the eggs—I’m so glad they’ve started to lay!” I said.

“Yes, she’s really thrilled. Mind you, with the price of feed and corn, I suspect each egg will be worth its weight in gold.”

“Still, better than a pan of fowl food on the stove. I can still remember the ghastly smell when I was a child and my aunt Edith kept chickens!”

“I can just remember her. She used to keep her hat on when she came to lunch with Grandma.”

“Ladies did then. Extraordinary to think of it now.”

The fruits of the earth are wonderful, of course, but when I contemplate the bowed-down plum trees and their harvest, soon to be followed by the apples and pears, not to mention the abundance of runner beans and courgettes, all clamoring to be picked
now
, then I do wish nature would arrange a decent interval between these things.

 

I was in the pet shop—well, it’s more than that really, selling horsey things and feed for a variety of animals—looking at the notice board. It’s always full of interesting things. Advertisements for horse boxes and hay and Muscovy ducks and chicken houses, alongside requests for (“good”) homes for kittens (“two marmalade boys and a sweet tabby girl”) and rescue dogs (“Patch—likes riding in cars”) and notices of charity rides and dog shows. I was just considering a small poster that read ADVANCE NOTICE: MOUNTED GAMES WORLD PAIRS CHAMPIONSHIP when Jo came in and stood beside me.

“What is it?” she asked. “The double horse trailer or the retired greyhound?”

“Neither,” I said, laughing. “I do rather long for a retired greyhound, but my two would never allow it! I love looking at these advertisements—such richness!”

“There’s certainly a lot going on,” Jo said. “That reminds me, we’re having an open day at the stables next Saturday afternoon. Is there any chance of Alice coming for a lesson then? I think it might encourage people to bring their young ones if they see her. I know it sounds a bit commercial, asking you like this, but I do really want to get as many people as possible interested. I just came in to put up a notice.” She indicated a flyer in her hand.

“I think it’s a splendid idea and I’m sure Alice will be delighted. She’d like to live at the stables if we’d let her!”

“That’s marvelous. If you’d have a word with Thea, I’ll ring her about times when I’ve got everything sorted out,” Jo said.

“Fine. Oh, by the way, I don’t suppose you’d like some plums. I’ve got a lot of really nice eating Victorias—it does seem such a shame to freeze them.”

“Lovely. They’re Charlie’s favorite. He’ll be delighted. We’ve got only apple trees and a few unproductive pears.”

“Right, I’ll bring them on Saturday, then.”

 

As I knew she would be, Alice was thrilled at being part of the open day.

Thea was equally pleased though rather less vocal. “Michael keeps muttering about making Alice into a terrible little show-off,” Thea said, “but I know he’s delighted that Jo wants her there!”

I picked out the nicest plums for Charlie and took them along with me on the Saturday. There were quite a few people there, watching Delia and several other girls putting the horses over the jumps in one of the fields.

“They look pretty good, don’t they?” Rosemary said. “Not exactly Horse of the Year Show, but quite professional.”

“Absolutely splendid,” I said. “I do hope it brings Jo in some more customers. Is Jilly here?”

“No, Alex has some sort of virus, so she’s had to stay with him. They were afraid Delia might have caught it and wouldn’t be able to come today. She’s been driving them all mad about it, as you can imagine. Roger’s here, though. He’s actually got a weekend off.” Rosemary’s son-in-law, Roger, is now a police superintendent, so his work patterns are rather complicated. “He’s over there talking to Charlie.”

“Oh right—I’ll just go and give him these plums. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Charlie was delighted with the plums and ate one right away. “My favorites,” he said. “The nicest fruit there is and such a short season. Thank you, Sheila. They’re wonderful.”

“It looks as if the open day’s a success,” I said.

“Yes, we’ve had a few inquiries about livery and several bookings for lessons. I think it’ll make a difference.”

“Delia looks splendid,” I said to Roger.

“I was just telling Charlie how grateful we are that she’s taken to riding so enthusiastically,” he said. “It makes her much more bearable to live with. I can’t imagine how parents of other teenage girls survive!”

Just then Gordon Nicholson came up. He acknowledged Roger and me with a brief nod, but addressed himself to Charlie. “I want,” he said, “to talk to you about Tarquin. What is your opinion of him? What is the situation—do we need to call the vet in?”

“It’s only a slight case of laminitis,” Charlie was saying as they went towards the stables. “We can cure it perfectly well by diet.”

Roger and I moved away. “Tiresome man,” Roger said. “I bet Charlie regrets taking that horse on for Dan Webster.”

“I expect he felt he had to, since he’s Gordon’s friend and Gordon’s Charlie’s brother-in-law.”

“I suppose so, but I bet they both want special rates. Gordon’s always been very tight with money and I’ve no doubt he’s told Dan that he can fix it!”

“Poor Charlie,” I said. “He’s too nice for his own good.”

We’d joined Rosemary by this point and she added, “Goodness, yes. Gordon Nicholson is a ghastly man. Mother has all sorts of stories about his business dealings. I know Esther is a bore and a pest, but I can’t help feeling sorry for her, married to a man like that!”

After a while Thea joined us and there were murmurs of appreciation from the visitors as Alice went round the ring on Cracker. “Oh look, isn’t that
sweet
!” “What a dear little pony,” “That little girl is riding it so well; isn’t she clever!”

Thea looked at me and pulled a face. “Thank goodness she’s too far away to hear any of that,” she muttered, “or she’d be even more pleased with herself.”

 

There was quite a storm in the night and it was still raining heavily in the morning. I was annoyed, though not surprised, to find a pool of water on the floor of the larder. That part of the house is a sort of extension, built in Victorian times. It has a slate roof, unlike the original structure, which is thatched. Some of the slates are loose and, when the rain falls from a certain direction, it comes through into the larder. I mopped the floor dry and put down an old saucepan to catch the drips. Whenever this happens I always remember Jane Austen, in one of her letters, bemoaning the fact that the rain had come into the storeroom and soaked everything—in her case it was a blocked gutter.
Plus ça change
. . .

Foss, who believes that no activity can be accomplished without his presence, came in and sat beside the saucepan, watching and waiting for each raindrop as it descended. I left him to it and went to ring Michael, who had promised a while ago to get a ladder and fix the slates.

“Only if you can spare the time,” I said. “I know how busy you are at weekends. It’ll be all right when the rain stops. It’s just that I’m a bit worried about what will happen to the ceiling if it gets really saturated.”

Michael, bless him, came after lunch. Fortunately the rain had stopped, so I wasn’t so worried about him climbing up a ladder and the slates being slippery.

“There now,” he said, coming in again, “I think that’s all right. A couple of slates had slipped, but I’ve got them fixed back securely. Any chance of a cup of tea?”

While we were having it, I said, “I’m so sorry you missed seeing Alice yesterday. Everyone said how good she looked on that pony!”

“I know, but it was the last match of the season, so I had to go. Not that I did much good—out for sixteen, cleaned bowled! But I’ve certainly heard all about it from Alice—at great length!”

I laughed. “Everyone did make a big fuss of her. But I know Jo was pleased. Apparently several people asked about children’s lessons after they saw Alice’s.”