Perfectly Correct (10 page)

‘Oh aye,’ she said. ‘Laugh at an old woman. But you’ll burn my van and my things, won’t you, lad? When I go?’

‘When you go I will,’ he promised. ‘But I don’t reckon it’ll be this month.’

‘Pretty girl,’ Rose remarked, nodding at the cottage.

Andrew looked surprised. ‘She’s hardly a girl,’ he said. ‘Miss Case.’

The old woman shook her head. ‘You’ve not looked,’ she said positively. ‘Under the lah-di-dah and the books and the big head. She’s a pretty girl. Do nicely for you, get you the cottage back and all. Your dad always regretted selling it.’

Andrew shook his head, smiling. ‘Tell my fortune?’ he suggested mockingly. ‘Will I marry a rich girl? How many babies?’

‘Time you were wed,’ the old woman said determinedly. ‘Your liver can’t stand you being a bachelor much longer. And that’s the very girl for you.’

‘She’s got a man of her own,’ Andrew objected. ‘And a job at the university.’

Rose screwed up her wrinkled face in disgust. ‘He’s a nothing! Hardly a man at all. And he does nothing for her, you take my word for it. And that job of hers is a bit of nothing too. What she needs is a good man and a couple of chavies. Then you’ll see.’

‘How d’you know he does nothing for her?’ Andrew asked curiously. ‘Have you been eavesdropping?’

‘I know what I know,’ Rose said, retreating rapidly into sibylline wisdom.

‘If you’ve been hanging around under the windows listening, or opening letters, or spying, you’ll get into real trouble,’ Andrew cautioned her. ‘I won’t help you stay here if you’re pestering Miss Case.’

‘Miss Case! Miss Case!’ the old woman jeered. ‘Her name’s Louise, and if you had any sense you’d take her up to the farm into the big bedroom and start as you mean to go on.’

Andrew flushed a deep brick red. ‘That’s enough,’ he said. He stood up but kept his head stooped to allow for the low roof of the van. The van rocked like a ship at sea when he moved to the door and stepped into his Wellington boots. The dog sat up and sniffed cautiously at his boots and trousers.

‘Don’t you like the look of her then?’ the old woman demanded tauntingly from the interior. ‘She’s got a pair of cream pyjamas in pure silk, and a long silky dressing gown to match. And every night she’s alone in that big bed of hers with nothing but a book to keep her warm.’

Andrew patted the dog and then straightened up. ‘She’d never look twice at me,’ he said very quietly. ‘She pays me as an odd job man. She’d never look twice at me.’

‘She’s burning up for you,’ the old woman alleged. ‘I hear her at night, all on her own. She cries into her pillow for sheer loneliness. In her silk pyjamas, in that big bed.’

Andrew stared at Rose like a puzzled large animal. ‘Well, that isn’t right,’ he said fairly. ‘A pretty girl like that, crying herself to sleep.’

Rose nodded. ‘Throwing her young years away on her books and that feeble bloke,’ she reminded him.

Andrew shook his head again as if someone had told him of a new and wasteful farming practice. ‘That’s not right,’ he repeated. ‘Not right at all.’

Rose gleamed at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She needs a man to give her babies, before it’s too late for her.’

Andrew nodded. ‘Yes, I can see that she’d need that.’

‘And someone to love her,’ Rose said, her voice a seductive spellbinding whisper. ‘A man to take her to bed and see her right, keep her warm at nights and make her laugh. It’s not right that she’s stuck with that girl’s blouse Toby Summers.’

Andrew hitched his trousers and glanced towards the house. ‘She could surely do better than him,’ he said fairly.

‘She could do no better than you,’ Rose stated. ‘And I’ve told her so as well.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She smiled,’ the old woman said mendaciously. ‘She smiled and blushed.’

‘Oh,’ Andrew said. ‘Really?’

‘Blushed like a little rose.’

Andrew Miles walked thoughtfully up the orchard through the garden gate to his Land-Rover parked in the drive. An old but shiny Rover was parked behind him, blocking him in. Captain Frome got out.

Andrew gave a small grunt of annoyance and straightened his cap on his head.

‘Good day!’ Captain Frome said cheerily. ‘Glad to see you’ve got that hurdle up. Good man! I brought a chain and padlock up for the young lady. We really have to batten down the hatches!’

Andrew nodded and opened the door of his Land-Rover with a loud creak.

‘I’ve heard the most nonsensical rumour,’ Captain Frome went on heartily. Louise and Miriam appeared at the front
door; he lifted his hat to them. ‘Heard that you might be thinking of renting a field to some bunch of weirdos. A great convoy of them are headed this way. You wouldn’t give ’em house room, would you?’

‘Now who told you that?’ Andrew asked curiously.

Captain Frome slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Village gossip,’ he said. ‘It’s quicker than jungle drums. I’ve been telling everyone you’re too good a man to get mixed up in that kind of racket.’

Andrew smiled slowly. ‘Could you move your car, Captain?’ he said gently. ‘I have to get home. Pigs need feeding.’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ Captain Frome said. ‘We can’t keep the … er … pigs waiting, can we? But I can tell the neighbourhood watch that you’re not involved?’

Andrew got into the Land-Rover and slid open the window. ‘You keep them informed,’ he recommended pleasantly. ‘Is Mr James still the chairman?’

‘Yes. James, good man, a responsible landlord. He’s promised to close the Olde House down for the day if the convoy comes through.’

‘You can ask him when I can come back and drink in his pub,’ Andrew said. ‘It’s been three years last Christmas, and they open all day now on Saturdays. It would suit me.’

‘My dear fellow,’ Captain Frome said. ‘I’ll certainly mention it. Especially if you’re … er … holding the line up here. What were you … er … banned for?’

‘Patting his wife’s bum,’ Andrew admitted. ‘But I was drunk.’

‘Good Lord,’ the Captain said. ‘Well, I see. I see James’s position too, actually …’

‘Three years for a quick feel?’ Andrew demanded. ‘That’s got to be wrong.’

‘Well, I hardly know,’ the Captain dithered. ‘I mean, a chap’s wife!’

Andrew started the engine and crashed the gears. ‘Not very often I ask the neighbourhood watch for anything,’ he said reasonably. ‘And it’s your lot who want me to chain up my fields. And she isn’t what you would call a looker.’

‘Yes,’ the Captain said uncertainly. ‘Well. Good man. Consider it done.’

Andrew smiled a winning smile and waited for the Captain to back his Rover out of the way before turning the Land-Rover and driving off.

Miriam and Louise, still standing in the doorway, watched him go. ‘Damn,’ Louise muttered. ‘I haven’t paid him. I’ll have to go up to the farm later.’

The Captain approached them. ‘Good day!’ he said, lifting his hat.

‘This is Miriam Carpenter – Captain Frome,’ Louise said politely. ‘Will you come in?’

‘No, thank you. I’ve just stopped by to check on your old lady,’ Captain Frome said. ‘And if I may, I’ll check that your gates are secure.’ He reached into one capacious pocket and brought out a large padlock and chain. ‘This is for your paddock gate, and this …’ he produced another smaller version‘… this is for your garden gate.’

Louise looked blank.

‘The neighbourhood watch has set up a special fund to buy these,’ he explained. ‘We’re taking the threat very seriously. Wistley is a precious piece of architectural heritage. We can’t have hordes of hippies running all over it. And the dirt, and the litter!’

‘No,’ Louise said uncertainly.

‘So here’s a leaflet the police have given us on fighting the
convoy menace with a special hotline number to telephone if you see or hear anything suspicious, here’s your padlock and chains, and with your permission, I’ll just pop down and see your old lady.’

‘Why, this is a military operation!’ Miriam commented, her voice carefully neutral.

The Captain glowed, his purpose in life restored. ‘It has to be!’ he exclaimed.

He raised his hat again and bustled down the garden path towards the orchard. Miriam raised an eyebrow at Louise. ‘I wouldn’t live in the country for a million pounds,’ she said firmly.

They watched the Captain as he approached the van door. Warned by some innate intelligence, the dog stood up and barked loudly. The Captain, one eye on the dog, opened the gate and went into the orchard but kept well back from the van.

‘Hello?’ he shouted. ‘Hello?’

Rose appeared, magnificent in purple silk, at the head of the steps. ‘You’re trespassing,’ she said at once.

The Captain was lost for words.

‘Move on,’ she commanded. ‘You’re upsetting my dog. He’s a valuable dog, highly strung.’

‘Good God!’

She favoured him with a wicked knowing grin. ‘Trespassing,’ she said again. ‘I know your sort. Give them an inch and they take a mile. You’re on my land.’

‘I have permission from the landowner, Miss Case.’ The Captain gulped air. ‘I just wanted a word with you.’

‘You’re on my land,’ Rose proclaimed. ‘Trespassing on my land. It’s her garden but my orchard. And you’re trespassing on my site.’

‘This is outrageous!’ the Captain exclaimed.

‘I think so,’ Rose said quickly. ‘Harassing an old woman who has done nothing more than come home to die.’

‘Die?’

‘And trespassing!’

‘How can I be trespassing?’ he demanded. ‘Miss Case admitted me to her property.’

‘This is not her property,’ Rose said slowly and clearly. ‘It’s mine as it happens. Now clear off.’

Captain Frome, his mind whirling, took one step forwards. At once the dog flung itself to the far end of its thin leash and rattled out a volley of loud threatening barks. Captain Frome retreated behind the garden gate. The dog subsided on to his haunches and beamed the wide white-toothed satisfied grin of a dog whose bluff has not been called.

‘I shall be taking this up with the authorities,’ Captain Frome warned from the shelter of the closed gate. ‘And I daresay the police will be taking a close interest in you. If you think your friends are going to follow you to Wistley for some sort of orgy you have another think coming, Madam.’

Rose stared at him. ‘You’re barmy, you,’ she said. ‘There’s never been an orgy in Wistley. It’s not that sort of place. Or at least it never was until you came here. I think it’s disgusting at your age.’

The Captain’s forehead flamed scarlet. He made an odd popping noise in his throat. Then he turned from her and stamped up the garden path, past the front door, slammed into his Rover and wound down the window.

‘Outrageous,’ he called to the two women in the doorway. ‘Miss Case, I warn you that woman is laying some kind of claim to your property. I shall be looking into it at once. She says she has come here to die. Most unhygienic. We
had that sort of thing in India. We won’t have it in Wistley. I shall inform the police and the neighbourhood watch. And I advise you in the meantime to keep a very close watch on your personal property, anything moveable. Washing on the line, parcels in the porch, garden tools, anything. I know these people.’

He started the engine with an angry roar and backed the car quickly out of the drive.

‘What?’ Louise said as he drove away. ‘Did he say she was claiming my property?’

Miriam watched the departing car with irritation.

‘Did he say she’d come home to die?’ Louise asked.

‘Oh, what does it matter what he says?’ Miriam demanded irritably. ‘He’s just a little tinpot colonel. He’s just saying anything to upset you about an old lady who’s doing no harm at all.’

‘She’s a thorough nuisance,’ Louise said with spirit. ‘And he’s a responsible citizen and practically the squire of the village.’

The rest of the weekend passed rather awkwardly. Toby, joining the two women at teatime on Saturday, found them in a state of unspoken tension. Miriam thought that Louise was selfish and materialist. Louise had never before come into conflict with Miriam’s determined beneficence. As soon as Toby learned that the old woman had told Captain Frome that she was terminally ill he confessed his interest in her, and unpacked from his car his little tape recorder, and his brand new box of blank index cards.

‘I’ve got interested in her childhood,’ he said. ‘She has a connection with the Pankhursts. I want to get her on the record.’

‘The Pankhursts?’ Miriam exclaimed. She glanced at Louise, who knew more than any of them about the early suffrage movement.

‘It’s very rambling and incoherent,’ Toby said swiftly. ‘But I thought I’d give her the benefit of the doubt and take some notes.’

‘Shouldn’t Louise …’

‘Or you, Miriam?’

‘I wouldn’t want either of you to waste your time,’ Toby said firmly. ‘Not at this stage. I’ll show you my notes if I get something that makes sense, and then discuss it with you both. It’s probably nothing.’

He slid towards the front door, doing his best to conceal his excitement but he could not help but be aware that Rose’s imminent demise was the best thing that could have happened. Rose would be dead before the royalty cheques arrived, and her papers – records, diaries, and cuttings – would belong exclusively to him. There would be no danger of a later, better-informed scholar asking Rose more searching questions and obtaining better information. Toby would have cornered the market in the old lady’s memory, and once she was dead, no-one could come after him and check up and argue.

‘I’ll go down and see her, then,’ he announced, ignoring the frosty atmosphere. ‘I’ll be a while. But I’ll cook dinner for us all when I come back.’

Neither woman looked up as he left. Louise was reading
Lady Chatterley’s Lover
in the hopes of it inspiring some insight into the Lawrence essay. Miriam was reading the
Guardian
which Toby had brought with him.

‘So long,’ Toby said cheerily. ‘And tough shit,’ he added as he closed the front door and they could not hear. The greatest disadvantage in Toby’s lifestyle of having a wife
and a mistress who were close friends was that when he did not enjoy the blissful pleasure of two women, liking each other and indulging him, he suffered the huge discomfort of two women, irritated with each other and furious with him. Toby had ridden out worst storms. He would survive this one.