(16/20)Summer at Fairacre

by Miss Read

  'Do children still wear knitted leggings?' asked Amy, studying a photograph in my ancient book. 'Or "winter bodices", as it says here?'

  'Well, not in this weather,' said Gerard. 'Have you ever known a summer like it? Why, it must be warm even in Norfolk! If it stays like this we should get the outside shots of Aloysius's cottage done in two days. We start on Thursday, incidentally.'

  'Come and have supper with us on Wednesday,' said Amy, 'and I hope you will come too,' she added, turning to Miriam.

  'I should love to. Thank you very much.'

  'Let's take our drinks into the garden,' I suggested, it's too good an evening to stay indoors.'

  Amy drew me aside as Gerard and Miriam went to inspect my rose bed.

  'Gerard seems remarkably animated and attentive,' she said, somewhat severely. 'I had planned to let him partner you on Wednesday, but I must see if Horace is free.'

  'Oh, Amy,' I cried impatiently, 'what does it matter? It's good to see them getting on so well, and being an extra woman won't worry me, I assure you.'

  'I like the table symmetrical,' said Amy, 'but there it is. At least, James will be with us. He tries to be home these days, particularly when I'm entertaining.'

  'Good,' I said. 'I could stay away, you know,' I offered nobly, 'if you really will worry about the table plan.'

  'Rubbish!' said Amy. 'Of course you must come. No doubt Gerard will be himself again by then.'

  There seemed little to comment upon after this remark, and after a few turns about the garden, Amy and Gerard made their farewells.

  'Well,' exclaimed Miriam, when they had gone, 'what an extraordinary encounter! You know, I do remember him now. He was terribly kind to me on that occasion. I was horribly shy, and he took the trouble to look after me beautifully in the early part of the evening. Later, Martin turned up, and I fear I paid all my attention to him for the rest of the ball. Unforgivable really.'

  She looked unhappily contrite.

  'All young people are a bit heartless,' I comforted her. 'Here, don't forget the knitting book. You quite inspire me to start knitting for Christmas myself.'

  I awoke suddenly that night to a windowful of stars. Their brilliance was unbelievable, as bright as in a clear October sky.

  There was no moon to be seen, but for the first time in my life I saw the room lit with a soft light from the stars, and recalled the old skipping rhyme which the children still use:

  Moonlight, starlight,

  Boney won't come out tonight.

  I wonder if they know who Boney was, I thought. Tomorrow I must remember to tell them.

  I climbed out of bed to survey the shadowy garden. Everything was hushed, not even a hedgehog stirred, and every leaf was motionless. I stood enchanted for several minutes, thanking the stars above me for the delight of living in Fairacre, until my feet grew chilly, I reminded myself that I must get up in time for school, and so returned to bed, and an untroubled sleep.

  As is so often the case, I arrived first at Amy's, but did my best not to sniff the air like the Bisto Kid Amy said I resembled.

  'I'm so glad I've got you to myself for a minute or two,' she greeted me. 'The most incredible news! I rang Horace after visiting you, and do you know what?'

  'He's ill?'

  'No, no! He sounded horribly robust.'

  'Got a post abroad?'

  'No again! Just let me tell you instead of making these wild guesses. I really am terribly upset, and on your account, I may say.'

  I stayed obediently silent.

  'D'you remember that secretary person, Eve Masters? He took her to that Save The Children do, I remember you telling me?'

  'Of course I do.'

  'Well, they are engaged!'

  Amy suddenly became solicitous.

  'Would you like to sit down? It must be a shock.'

  'Not to me it isn't, Amy. But I expect it is to you. What about your table arrangements?'

  'Don't give it another thought. And really you are so brave. I'm devastated. I mean, I always hoped that you and he—'

  'I didn't,' I said, 'and frankly I'm delighted to hear the news. I take it they are already booked for this evening?'

  'Her parents are coming down to meet him properly, and they've booked a table at The Green Man in Caxley. I only hope they don't choose duck. My helping was unalloyed rubber last time James took me there.'

  She gave me a quick kiss.

  'Sure you are all right? You look wonderfully calm. I would have been piping my eye in the circumstances.'

  'You are not as flinty-hearted as I am, Amy,' I told her, as her other guests came to the door, inveterate match-makers are bound to get their fingers burnt,' I added primly as she went to open the door, and then had a fit of laughter as the appalling pun hit me.

  'My mother,' said Amy, 'would have said you've been sleeping in the knife drawer! Too sharp by half!'

  Still chuckling, she opened the door to admit the rest of her party.

  15 Summer's Bounty

  THE golden weather continued. For week after week the sun had gilded all with glory, and it came as quite a shock to realise that July was upon us, and still the sun shone.

  Soon it would be end of term, with all that that involved for a schoolmistress, and soon our Miss Briggs would be married to Wayne, and I must look out my maps to find the best route for my ageing car to take to Leamington Spa for the happy occasion.

  Already some of the cornfields looked ready for cutting, and scabious and knapweed were taking the place of the Queen Anne's lace, or cow parsley, which had frothed along the road verges. The heavy storm recently seemed to have accelerated the progress of natural growth, and I grieved to see a few early asters and dahlias in bud in some of the cottage gardens. I had no desire to end this blissful summer with an early autumn.

  The children had never looked so bonny, tanned as they were with constant sunshine. This should set them up properly for next winter, I told myself. Colds and coughs should be cut to a minimum with all this intake of Vitamin D, or whatever it was, with which sunlight was stuffed. I too felt on top of the world, and relished wearing light clothing and shoes for such a length of time. Usually, one's cotton frocks see the light for a few days and are then returned to the cupboard, while warmer garments are thankfully donned again. This summer all was changed, and I almost believed Mr Willet when he told me that the summers of his boyhood were ever thus.

  The first brood of swallows were already accomplished fliers, and now the parents were busy building a second nest. For some reason, the first one in the front porch was deemed unsuitable, and there was much chattering and twittering as they inspected other sites.

  To my dismay, they chose to build their second nest on a horizontal bundle of draining rods, which were lodged on brackets near the roof in the back porch.

  'Knock it down,' advised Mr Willet. 'You get your drains blocked, and you'll be scuppered. Shall I bash it down for you?'

  'No, please! Not after all their hard work. We can't do that.'

  'I could,' said Mr Willet sturdily. 'You're too soft by half. I suppose if you gets trouble with your dratted drains, I'll be the fool that pushes my rods up here on my bike to see to 'em.'

  'It may not happen.'

  'It'd better not! Well, if that's how you want it, let's leave the little perishers. And if I gets a hernia I hopes as how you'll visit me in hospital.'

  But he smiled as he said it.

  Within a day or two of Amy's party a van and a car duly arrived outside Tyler's Row.

  Four men, and a great quantity of paraphernalia were unloaded, including miles and miles of cable, and a number of interesting lights on stands.

  The inhabitants of Fairacre tended to pause by the gateway of the Hales' place, as they went ostensibly about their business of shopping, posting letters, or simply taking their daily constitutionals.

  Speculation ran rife about the true nature of their activities.

  'Mr Hale ain't having 'em anywhere indoors,' said
Mr Willet. 'And I don't blame him. They look a proper lot of down and outs. Not a tie between 'em!'

  'They do say they might need extras. Wouldn't it be lovely to be on the telly?' said his wife.

  'Mr Hale wouldn't let them cut off a branch of his apple tree what was in the way of the cameras. He can be awkward, you know. Him being a schoolmaster, I suppose. Does seem to spoil your nature,' went on Mr Willet.

  'Thanks,' I said.

  Mr Willet appeared unmoved by my sarcasm.

  'That chap Baker what takes an interest in Loyshus, he's about.'

  'I know,' I said.

  'Is he hanging his hat up to Miss Quinn, would you know?'

  'Not that I know of,' I said frostily, inwardly marvelling, yet again, at the village's uncanny interest in other people's private lives.

  'Well, I only asks because he's been at Holly Lodge once or twice. Lost his wife in an air crash, I'm told.'

  'He and Miss Quinn knew each other years ago,' I admitted. 'He was at college with her brother.'

  I always work on the principle that it is as well to let others know a limited amount. It keeps their minds occupied with the little that one is prepared to be known publicly. With any luck—a forlorn hope usually—the nub of the matter will remain hidden.

  I pondered on this little snippet of information as I sat in the garden that evening. Mr Lamb, of the Post Office, had brought me a basket large enough to have been a baker's, and filled to the brim with gooseberries.

  I set about topping and tailing them with my best nail scissors. They seemed to be the only sharp pair in the house.

  It was very pleasant sitting there, with Tibby rolling about at my feet. A starling had taken up a most peculiar position at the far end of the lawn, either sunning itself, with wings outstretched, or engaged in that odd activity called 'anting'. I was too ignorant to know exactly.

  There was a distant crackling from the vicar's bonfire next door, where he was busy burning hedge cuttings. Occasionally, a wisp of blue smoke drifted across my garden towards Mr Roberts' corn. I knew the vicar himself would be in charge of this operation. He has a horror of setting fire to things, and with everything tinder-dry it would have been easy to set alight not only the corn, but the brittle hedges and trees, and even a neighbour's thatch. We have seen these tragedies in Fairacre when other people, not as careful as Mr Partridge and Mr Roberts, have burnt their stubble when the wind has been high.

  How on earth, I wondered, was I going to store all these gooseberries? I supposed that I could make some jam and jelly. Gooseberry jelly is delicious with cold meats of every sort. But there is a limit to the amount of such preserves that a lone spinster can get through.

  I decided to bottle some and to freeze some, but there would still be a vast quantity left. Mrs Coggs sprang to mind. She should be presented with jam and some of the bottles. Homemade gooseberry jam should go down well with all those hungry mouths to feed, and if the fruit were bottled in a good syrup then Mrs Coggs' desserts would need the minimum of cooking attention. The only difficulty would be smuggling it to Mrs Coggs without Mr Lamb knowing.

  Thus settled, I turned my mind again to Mr Willet's speculation. Would Miriam ever consider giving up her happy solitude at Holly Lodge? Certainly, she seemed very animated in Gerard's company, and Amy herself had remarked on her vivacity and Gerard's attentiveness. Mind you, I reminded myself, Amy was no fair judge of the situation, biased as she was towards my own single state which she was constantly hoping to rectify. The behaviour of poor Horace Umbleditch, who had rushed into an engagement with the school secretary, had much offended Amy, who had ear-marked him for me.

  As I had pointed out gently, Horace was now approaching forty, and presumably knew what he was doing. Personally, I wished him well, and the little I had seen of Eve Masters pleased me. They should make a success of marriage.

  Somehow I could not imagine Miriam taking Gerard seriously. She seemed dedicated to her career, worked harder than anyone else I knew, and relished her little abode behind the holly hedge. Irene and David Mawne were ideal landlords, ready to help if need be, but respecting Miriam's strong desire for privacy.

  No, on the whole, I decided, as I snipped the last top and tail and shook the fruit level in the basket, Miriam would remain as she was. She liked her own company as dearly as I did.

  I staggered into the house and put the basket on the cool bricks of the larder floor. Tomorrow would be time enough to tackle them.

  There was a knock at the back door. There, on the doorstep, stood Mrs Pringle. She was carrying a basket in each hand.

  They contained gooseberries.

  'Come in, come in,' I invited, trying to look enthusiastic about the gifts she was bearing.

  The lady smiled graciously and stepped in, putting the baskets on the kitchen table. I must be careful, I thought, not to open the larder door in her presence.

  'I knows you likes a few gooseberries,' said Mrs Pringle. 'And it seems to have been a bumper crop this year.'

  'It does indeed,' I agreed. 'Now come and sit down, to rest your leg, and tell me how things are going.'

  Mrs Pringle seemed in a remarkably amiable mood, and I wondered if, by any chance, she had made up her mind to return.

  Much as I wanted it, I refused to ask her outright. Let her make the running, I thought.

  We spoke of things in general, skirting the main topic which was in our minds. That dear old standby, the weather, occupied our polite exchanges for a few minutes, while I was conscious of Mrs Pringle's beady gaze upon the furniture which was normally in her care, and which, I guessed, she hoped to see in an advanced state of dilapidation.

  'And how are things at your end of the village?' I enquired.

  'Well, now, I expect you know as much as I do, but let's see. Mr Mawne seems to be more settled now his wife's back. To my mind, he's a man who needs a woman to keep him company, but then what man don't?'

  I took this to be a rhetorical question, and refrained from comment.

  'Same as that Wayne,' went on Mrs Pringle, leaping from her end of the village to mine. 'He's proper soppy about his Miss Briggs. It's love, you see. Makes the world go round, as they say.'

  A look of maudlin sympathy appeared on Mrs Pringle's face. I was too taken aback by this rare display of tenderness to respond.

  'I take it you'll be going to the wedding?'

  'Yes, I am,' I managed to reply.

  'I loves a wedding myself. No matter if it's doomed from the start, I still enjoy it, though I don't hold with these pregnant girls wearing white. Minnie did, you know. I told her it was a scandal, but she would have it so.'

  'How is Mrs Coggs?' I asked, anxious to steer the subject to safer ground.

  'Doing nicely without Arthur. Though she's been to see him, of course.'

  This was news to me.

  'Yes, Mr Partridge has been up there twice, and taken her with him. She don't say much about how Arthur is, but after all, she must feel sorry for him, and she must love him to stick by him all these years.'

  Privately, I thought that poor Mrs Coggs had little alternative but to stay with her unsatisfactory husband with the tribe of children she had depending on her, but such astringent comment would have passed over Mrs Pringle's head in her present romantic mood.

  And how typical of our good-hearted vicar to visit one of his most notorious back-sliders in prison! He put us to shame with his practical Christianity.

  'I see that nice Mr Baker is helping the telly men,' went on Mrs Pringle. Ah, I thought! Are we now approaching the heart of the matter? Will Miriam Quinn's name crop up?

  It did.

  'I do hear as how he used to know Miss Quinn years ago.'

  'That's right,' I agreed.

  'Well, they seem to enjoy each other's company. My cousin in Caxley saw them in The Green Man one evening.'

  'Really?' I said coldly.

  'My cousin is barmaid there, and having a terrible time trying to slim. She's a convulsive eater, t
he doctor says, and with all them peanuts and crisps laying about it's a rare temptation.'

  Was Mrs Pringle skating away from thin ice, I wondered? She was getting no more information from me, I vowed secretly.

  'Well, there it is,' said the lady, rising majestically, it's the same for high and low, isn't it? Mrs Coggs, Mr Mawne, Miss Briggs and Miss Quinn, all Touched by Love, as you might say.'

  I followed her into the kitchen. There was no trace of a limp, I noticed.

  'Let me empty your baskets,' I said, lifting out the bowl from the sink to take her largesse.

  I accompanied her across the playground to the school gate. She glanced across at the school porch.

  'I take it Bella is still doing her best?'

  'Yes indeed. She's doing a splendid job.'

  A slightly malevolent expression crept over my old adversary's face. It gave me a feeling of relief. This was the Mrs Pringle I knew!

  I walked a few yards down the lane with her. The sun still shone, and there was dust at the side of the road. Pink and white striped bindweed crept along the dusty verge, as pretty as marshmallows.

  'Well, thank you again,' I said warmly, i shall enjoy those lovely gooseberries.'

  Should I ask her outright if she proposed to return? It was on the tip of my tongue to do so, but something held me back. Pride perhaps? Or the remembrance of that wise old adage: 'Least said, soonest mended'?

  We said goodbye, and each went on her way.

  While I was marking the register the next morning, there came a knock at the door, and a young man put his head round.

  'I wondered if we could take a shot or two of the outside of your building?'

  He had a winning manner and seemed clean enough, although Mr Willet was quite right about his lack of a tie.

  Memories of the tale of the person whose carpets had suffered from five hours of programme-making assailed me.