Harbinger of Spring

by Hilda Pressley

  ‘A bus?’ Sara suggested.

  ‘There isn’t one without your walking miles to the main road, and even then the service is very limited.’

  ‘If you can drive I can lend you a car,’ Mr. Barker said.

  ‘Thank you very much, Mr. Barker. It’s kind of you. Shall we go? I don’t want to take up too much of Mr. Carrigon’s time.’

  The house locked again, they stepped into the launch. Back at the boatyard, Sara was shown the car she could borrow. She familiarized herself with the controls, then followed the lawyer’s car into Wroxham, turning off as she had been instructed into an almost-empty car park at the back of a surprisingly large store. A minute’s walk took her to a bank where she arranged to cash cheques, then she had an excellent lunch in an hotel overlooking the river.

  Shopping for food and personal necessities she found ‘remarkably easy, everything she needed being within a minute of the crossroads of the village.

  The boot of the car loaded, Sara sat in the driving seat and paused before starting the engine. Wroxham had really surprised her, not only by the size of its stores and shops, many under the one ownership, but by the signs of great river activity she had seen from the upstairs dining room of the hotel where she had lunched. Viewed from there she had seen numerous inlets that widened into docks where scores of spruce-looking cruisers and tall-masted yachts were as close together as cars in a city car park. On the banks of the river, and on the land between the inlets, there was a rash of wooden sheds of a considerable size. But the rash did seem to be confined to one area, and beyond it the river banks were heavily wooded.

  Wroxham was more like an inland port than a large village and she could assume that it would be very congested during the summer months.

  She started the engine and drove slowly out of the car park. On the main road she set a modest pace of fifty miles an hour and saw only two other cars by the time she reached the boatyard.

  Mr. Barker came out of his office as she stepped out of the car. ‘Everything all right, Miss Seymour?’

  ‘Perfectly. I do envy you your quiet roads and easy shopping facilities.’

  ‘The road can hum a bit in the summer, especially at weekends.’

  ‘I suppose so. I’ve got rather a load of parcels. I’m afraid I’m going to be something of a trouble to you.’

  ‘No trouble at all. Most of my lay-up work is done and if I go home too early I’ll only be mooning about the house and getting in the way of the wife.’

  He opened the boot of the car and carried shopping bags to the launch. Sara brought an armful herself and attempted to step on board with them, but the launch bobbed under her foot and she almost fell into the river. She laughed.

  ‘You must think me an awful fool.’

  ‘Hardly. You’re just not used to the ways of boats yet. In a day or so you’ll behave as if you were born to them.’

  ‘Shall I? I doubt it.’ She paused. ‘Would you mind very much calling me Sara? In London we use first names almost right away. Not that I’m saying you should do as we do, but—’

  ‘That’s all right, Sara. We’re free enough with people who like us that way. My name’s Ted. Now, do you get aboard the launch and I’ll pass the rest of the parcels to you.’

  In a few minutes the remainder of the packages were on board and Sara suddenly developed nervous qualms. In about a quarter of an hour she was going to be alone in Fenchurch Mill, cut off except for a road she had yet to see and which was apparently not fit for motor-cars. Marooned was almost the word for it. In a sort of panic she stepped back on to the quay and walked to Ted Barker who was locking up the car.

  ‘Mr. Barker—Ted, I think I’ve changed my mind about staying at the Mill tonight. I ought at least to talk it over with my father. I know I’m causing you a lot of trouble, but could you possibly drive me into Norwich to catch a train home?’

  He gave her a critical look. ‘If that’s what you want it’s no trouble to me. I don’t blame you for not wanting to stay in the Mill all by yourself. You should have a friend to stay with you. Television and the telephone aren’t bad company, but a human being is much better.’

  ‘I’m not really afraid of being alone. It’s just that—when you take the launch away I shall be completely cut off.’

  He laughed. ‘I wasn’t for a moment thinking of leaving you marooned. I was going to tow one of our two-seater launches with us and leave it with you after I’ve shown you the controls.’

  ‘But—but I’m a town bird! I can hardly be persuaded into getting into a row-boat on the Serpentine.’

  ‘Town birds come here in their hundreds in the summertime,’ he told her. ‘And after a few minutes’ instruction they’re off on their own for the whole day. We give them lifejackets, but they mostly won’t wear them. Still, don’t let me persuade you to stay. We’ve time to take your parcels to the Mill and get you to Norwich for the five-thirty train.’

  Sara hesitated for a moment, then came to a decision. ‘Yes—I’m just being a coward. I’ve got to get used to boats some time, and living in the Mill alone. Since you’re so kind about helping me over the first hurdle I might just as well plunge in at the deep end.’

  He nodded. ‘Or take the bull by the horns. And by this time tomorrow you’ll find it a mighty tame animal. Just a minute while I hitch another launch astern of us, then we’ll be off.’’

  Sara had never met anyone so helpful in her whole life. He not only helped her to carry in her parcels, he showed her how to bring a gentle warmth flooding through the house from the discreetly-installed oil fired central heating. Then very thoroughly he instructed her in the handling of the smaller launch he was leaving for her use. Just before he left, they had had a cup of tea in the kitchen and she had asked him about the road leading to the Mill.

  ‘There can’t be much wrong with it,’ he answered, ‘except that it’ll be overgrown with grass and weeds. It must be all of three years since there was any traffic over it.’

  ‘Was my aunt ill all that time, then?’

  ‘No. At least I don’t think so. She had a companion housekeeper who didn’t say very much to anyone, but as far as I can make out the old lady had just withdrawn from life and died very suddenly. My wife could probably tell you more about it.’ He grinned. ‘You women seem to have a knack of gathering information. I tell you what. I’ll ring you about eight o’clock then put my wife on to speak to you. That should pass half an hour away for both of you.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me! If this road is only overgrown, why shouldn’t I hire or buy a car and drive a way through it?’

  ‘Drive through it! I’m afraid you don’t quite understand how quickly nature can reclaim what belongs to her. I wouldn’t even try to walk that road.’ He hesitated. ‘I do know a man who would clear it for you if you can afford it.’

  Sara laughed. ‘I don’t know whether I can afford it or not. About how much would it cost?’

  ‘I couldn’t say definitely. I’d be thinking in terms of fifty or sixty pounds.’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I don’t see why I should balk at that figure. The road will have to be opened some time. Will you get in touch with the man for me?’

  ‘Of course. I’d better go now.’

  As Sara saw his launch turn the bend into the river and disappear from sight she thought again how naturally he had proffered help and how generous and practical he had been with it. Were all Norfolk people like that? If so it must be a wonderful county in which to live. She went indoors and switched on the lights against the gathering gloom. As she carried things up to the guest room she intended making hers, she was already feeling at home in the house and it occurred to her again that she must guard against becoming too attached to it. It might be a wrench leaving so charming a house. To reaffirm her link with London as it were, she went into the hall and telephoned her home.

  It was Mrs. Worthing who answered. ‘Sara! What time train are you catching? I want to have a meal ready for you.’r />
  ‘I’m not catching a train tonight. Is Father at home?’

  ‘No. And he won’t be until the small hours. He’s going to some fellowship dinner—I forget which. When are you coming home?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It may be weeks, and then only for a short time.’

  Sara went on to explain the terms of the will, then began to rhapsodize about the house. Mrs. Worthing cut in,

  ‘But, Sara—right on the edge of a river? Isn’t it awfully damp?’

  ‘Great-aunt Esther was ninety when she died and she’d lived here for years and years. Listen, I want you to pack some clothes for me and send them care of Barker’s boatyard, near Barton Turf.’

  ‘Boatyard? I thought it was some kind of windmill you were at.’

  ‘It is, but for the moment everything has to come to me by river.’

  ‘Good heavens! I don’t know what your father’s going to say about it all.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll worry unduly. Now take down my telephone number in case he wants to ring me in the morning before I ring him. ‘

  Sara rang the boutique next and heard Desmond Morris’s languid, effeminate drawl.

  ‘Sara and Desmond Fashions. Everything for the younger—’

  ‘Des, it’s Sara. I’m not buying, I’m selling. Listen. It’s rather sad, really. I’ve been left a windmill and a big old house.’

  ‘What’s sad about that? I mean—you told me you’d never even heard of the old lady. Am I terribly, terribly rude if I ask how much it’s worth?’

  Although Sara was usually quite open with Desmond, now for some reason she gave a guarded answer.

  ‘I haven’t been into that yet and there are certain conditions attached. One is that I live in the house for thirteen weeks before it can become mine—meaning, of course, before I can lease or let it.’

  ‘Strings, eh? I should get that condition filled as soon as possible, then sell out.’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d get over the residential clause right away, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘I’d suffer anything in the cause of you making money. Think what we could do with more capital. When can we talk about it?’

  ‘Well, it looks like being a few days, perhaps a week before I can get home again. Of course you could come to Norwich if you like, on Sunday. I’d meet you at the—’

  ‘What? Me, in the sticks? I can’t even stand the sight of the grass in Hyde Park! In any case, with you away I’ll be extra busy. I’ll have to take on some dolly girl to help me keep shop.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Well, I’ll see you as soon as I can. ‘Bye now.’

  Sara put the instrument back on the rest feeling a little irritated, although why, she could not understand. Des had been no different from his usual self, outwardly effeminate but with his gritty hardness showing through from time to time.

  She went into the kitchen to prepare herself a meal, and as she moved about she became aware of the deep and penetrating silence, something she had never actually experienced before. It was unnerving, and she paused in the act of slicing a potato to stand listening. Not a sound reached her ears and a slight feeling of panic assailed her. She gave herself a mental shake. She was being silly, childish. But now that she thought of it, this was the first time she had ever been completely cut off from the sound of traffic and human voices. No wonder she felt strange.

  She ate her meal in the kitchen, then went into the sitting room and switched on the television, but no sooner had she settled to watch the programme than the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver and heard Ted’s rather gravelly voice.

  ‘How are you getting along, then?’

  ‘Oh, splendidly, thanks. I’m feeling almost at home.’

  ‘That’s good. I’ll put my Martha on to talk to you. She’ll keep you talking a while.’

  A woman’s voice, clear and ringing, made Sara hold the earpiece a little away from her.

  ‘Is it all right if I call you Sara?’

  ‘Please do. It’s nice of you to be so friendly.’

  ‘That’s nothing. I saw you actually in Wroxham, so I feel I know you already.’

  Sara laughed. ‘But how on earth did you know who I was?’

  ‘I saw you at the wheel of my Ted’s old jalopy. So when he came home tonight I asked how a pretty-looking girl came to be driving his car. He isn’t too handy at lending that old Ford to just anyone.’

  ‘It was very kind of him to lend it to me and I was very grateful to him.’

  ‘Oh, he don’t want no thanks. You got any of your family or friends coming to stay with you for the weekend?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Then if no one turns up on Sunday you just come along to lunch with us. We’re a quarter of a mile past the boatyard from you. A little old flint cottage sort of place.’

  ‘I’d love to if you’re sure I’ll be no trouble.’

  ‘Another plate isn’t ever any trouble. Time was when your aunt used to visit us for tea, but that’s a long ways back and if you’re going to be our neighbour I’d like to get to know you.’

  Sara did not say she would not be a neighbour for very long, preferring to leave that until she had met Martha. She asked a question about her great-aunt and was soon deluged with information and harmless gossip.

  It was over a quarter of an hour before Sara went back to watching television and her thoughts were tinged with regret that her stay at Fenchurch Mill was not a more permanent one. About ten o’clock she made herself a nightcap and took it upstairs with her. The bedroom curtains were not drawn and she saw no reason to draw them. She undressed and slipped on her wrap, then stood at the window sipping her drink. The night was clear and a frosty half moon shone brilliant over the tops of distant trees. On the flattish landscape everything was either silver or black and so far as she could make out there was neither sound nor movement beyond her window. Indeed she had the feeling she was watching a very wonderful theatre set, waiting for the principal characters to make their entrance. Then she yawned and realized she was almost asleep on her feet.

  She slept as soon as her head touched the pillow and wakened to a pink-tinged dawn playing softly on the pale wall opposite the window. She reached for her wrap and swung her feet to the carpeted floor. Then she walked to the window and pushed it open, getting a breath of cold, invigorating air which caused her to gasp. She was reaching out a bare arm to close the window again when from a dense tangle of thicket a little distance away came a vivid flash of light.

  Sara backed almost in alarm. Then she felt puzzled. There had been no sound accompanying the flash of light, so it couldn’t have resulted from any kind of explosion. What then had caused it?

  She went to the window again and was just in time to see a tall man thrust his way out of the thicket and stride knee-deep through dead weed growth in the general direction of the river. Whether or not he was on the Mill property she could not say, but he seemed quite sure of where he was going. As he passed from her view she retained a memory of a man wearing thigh-length waders beneath a grey duffle coat, a floppy waterproof hat on the back of his head, and what looked like a fat telescope under his arm. Just what kind of business he could be on at this early hour she could not imagine.

  Downstairs, her breakfast eaten and the dishes washed and put away, Sara wondered how on earth she was to fill in her time. There was no post to be read and no morning paper to be looked at. She thought for a moment, then ran upstairs and changed into the slacks and thick sweater she had bought yesterday. Then she pulled on the heavier shoes she had purchased at the same time and slipped on her new quilted jacket. She clumped down the’ stairs and stepped out of doors into crisp, cold air. Immediately she moved away from the house she felt a light breeze which seemed to have been stropped to a razor-sharp cutting edge, yet there was no sign of frost.

  Explore a bit, she thought as she came to the quay. She pulled the hood of the launch back and stepped into it, and after two or three att
empts, the engine started into life. When she reached the river she turned in the opposite direction from the boatyard and cruised slowly, interested at least mildly in several pairs of swans which seemed to get out of her way with only the smallest effort. A number of small black birds with bright red beaks highly amused her by their last-minute floundering efforts to reach the safety of the bank. It would have been hard to say whether they paddled or flew, but there was a deal of squawking and wing-flapping in the process.

  Rounding a bend in the river, Sara saw a bird which really intrigued her. She thought it might be a heron, but with its statuesque pose on the rotting stump of a post she was not sure. She watched it intently. Legs stiff, body upright and long beak pointed skyward, it looked like an extension of the stump.

  She came level with the motionless bird, passed it and half turned in her seat, keeping only one hand on the wheel. The bird moved, bending its long neck into a graceful curve as it took to flight. The next moment there was a loud shout and before Sara could turn her head a heavy bump knocked her sideways off the seat. The engine, which had been running at moderate speed, suddenly roared deafeningly while the launch rocked so heavily she was unable to get up. Then the noise was cut off and she squirmed about to find herself looking into a pair of masculine grey eyes blazing with anger.

  ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ he stormed.

  ‘I’m sorry, but—’ Sara began.

  ‘Sorry! I suppose you think that makes everything all right?’

  She struggled from her undignified position and gained her seat. In a voice which vibrated with her own growing anger she flared back,