by Miss Read
Privately, I thanked my stars that I had not been among those present, and changed the subject by offering more coffee and enquiring which route they had taken to Fairacre.
Miss Crabbe was still fighting her oat cake, and was now attempting to snap it into pieces before transferring the morsel to her mouth. I began to feel quite sorry for her.
'Do leave that if it is too hard,' I said.
'Indeed no! It is absolutely delicious, and full of nourishing roughage,' said the lady. 'I am a great believer in Fibre.'
'I have bran with everything,' volunteered Hilary, who had finished her half biscuit. I offered the oat cakes, but she declined.
Coffee over, I took them round the garden. I do not think they really noticed anything, they were so agog with the mental stimulation of the past course.
However, they seemed to be content to sit on the garden seat to continue their discussion, and I excused myself as the telephone rang.
It was Bella George.
'I was coming to see you,' I said. 'Are you still game to tidy up the school before term?'
'Yes indeed, that's why I rang. But I thought I'd better find out if Mrs Pringle was definitely not returning. I shouldn't like to get across that lady.'
I was in firm agreement with Bella's feelings, and said so.
'No,' I told her. 'Mrs Pringle told me herself that she can't manage the job at the moment, so it will be marvellous if you can help out.'
'You haven't heard about The Upset then?'
'With Minnie?'
'Yes.'
'Mr Lamb told me that Mrs Pringle had threatened Minnie when she expressed an interest in applying for the post.'
'That was a while ago. She's been up since evidently, and is still talking about putting in for the job.'
'Well, she wouldn't get it,' I said flatly. 'The work's beyond Minnie, so you need not worry on that score.'
'I see. Well, I'll be along tomorrow and put things straight. I do hope someone turns up for the regular work. What about Mrs John?'
I told her about the coming baby.
'Oh dear! So you're without help too?'
'It looks like it. But I'm not too worried.'
'See you tomorrow then,' said Bella, and rang off.
I took the opportunity of clearing away the coffee cups and straightening the sitting room. Upstairs must wait.
Through the window I could see my two visitors engaged in earnest conversation still. The clock now said a quarter to twelve, and I wondered if I should offer them lunch. And if so, what?
Those of us who live alone do not have cold joints, or large stews standing ready in the larder.
On this occasion, I had one chop which I had intended to grill, with some lettuce from the garden as a side salad. All that I could manage, if the worst came to the worst, was an omelette which should suit Miss Crabbe, the non-flesh-eater, with a somewhat more interesting salad with chives, radishes, spring onions and any other snippets from the garden added to the lettuce.
I mentally reviewed the bread situation (poor), the cheese situation (disastrous, mouldy cheddar only), the fruit situation (two black bananas, and some sharp apples). Of course, I thought, I could always open a bottle of gooseberries.
I returned to my guests.
'It will soon be twelve o'clock,' I said brightly. 'Would you like to stay for lunch? Or I could take you to the Beetle and Wedge for a sandwich, if you prefer?'
My enquiries were met with a flurry of agitation.
'Nearly twelve? Good gracious, Hilary, we must set off at once!'
Miss Crabbe had leapt to her feet, and Hilary was scrabbling about for her handbag.
'No, no! Most kind of you to offer us lunch, but we have an evening engagement in Cambridge, and must be on our way.'
I did my best to look regretful.
'We are very much refreshed by your delicious coffee and oat cakes,' said Miss Crabbe, as they entered the car. 'By the way, do call and see us if you are ever in Cambridge.'
I thanked her, and helped to guide the car out of my somewhat awkward drive, before returning to my neglected duties.
The lamb chop was delicious, and all the more enjoyed because it was eaten in blissful solitude.
20 The End of Summer
TRUE to her word, Bella appeared the next day and got down to her scrubbing, dusting and polishing.
At mid-morning I went across with our coffee, and we sat on the desks and I admired the tortoise stoves, already gleaming like jet, and the glittering brass rail round the fireguard.
'It looks marvellous,' I told her.
'I like a bit of a shine-up,' she answered, stirring her coffee dreamily. 'I was talking to Jack last night, and he says he don't mind if I want to help out for another week, say, until you get a new cleaner.'
'That's very noble of him. I appreciate that. As a matter of fact, things are slightly more hopeful. Mr Roberts called in yesterday to say that he has a new stockman starting at Michaelmas, and his wife wants a job. So maybe she will take it on.'
'And Bob Willet said he'd do the stoves when the time came, if need be. That's something I really couldn't take on.'
'I've got all my scouts out,' I said. 'The vicar, the Annetts, Miss Clare, Mrs Mawne and Mrs Partridge. Between us all, someone will turn up. Meanwhile, if you really feel you can come after school for a day or two, I'd be more than grateful.'
As it happened, I saw Mr Willet in the churchyard that afternoon, and went to thank him for his offer of coping with the stoves.
'Lord, that's nothing!' he replied, ceasing his slashing at the long grass, and subsiding on to the flat tomb of Hezekiah Bootle who departed this life in 1832, respected by all.
'I'll see you and the kids keep warm,' he went on. 'I always enjoy a nice bit of stoking. Keeps hot, don't it?' he added, pushing back his cap, and scratching his head.
'A wonderful summer,' I agreed. 'I can't remember a better one.'
We sat side by side in the sunshine. Bees fondled the clover at our feet, and a pair of collared doves pattered about on the gravel path, looking like two curates dressed in clerical grey. High above us, a flock of rooks winged their way westward, their harsh cawing muffled by distance.
It was very peaceful. A country churchyard takes a lot of beating on a sunny afternoon, and I can never understand people's aversion to such places.
We brooded in companionable silence for. a time, until Mr Willet sighed, and reached for his bill hook.
'No real news then, I take it, about Bella's job?'
I told him about Mr Roberts' new stockman.
'Oh, I knows that couple! Lived over Springbourne way some years ago. Yes, she'd be a bonny worker if she'd take it on. Fat girl. Name of Martha. Don't get many Marthas these days.'
He creaked to his feet.
'Well, I'd best stir me stumps. Don't you worry about this cleaner business. Someone'll turn up, you'll see.'
I roused myself too, and we parted company.
It was the last day of the holidays and it ended very pleasantly for me with a little party at Holly Lodge, where Henry Mawne's nephew David and his wife Irene, sister of Horace Umbleditch, now lived.
The older Mawnes were there, and also David's boy Simon, as well as the vicar and his wife, and a sprinkling of friends from Caxley.
'It's really to celebrate Horace and Eve's engagement,' Irene told me, as she took my coat. 'But they are not here yet. I can't think what has held them up. I do so hope they haven't forgotten. They are so befuddled with love, I wouldn't put it past them.'
Luckily, at that moment there was a scrunching of tyres, and the couple arrived. I made my way into the sitting room, while Irene welcomed them.
'I've always loved this house,' said the vicar, coming up to me with a tray of glasses. 'And everyone who has lived here has enjoyed it. I know Miriam Quinn finds it a real haven after a day's work in that busy Caxley office. You know her good news, I take it? Unfortunately, she is still away, but I think her engagement to G
erard Baker is now general knowledge.'
I said that I had heard something about it, and thought it was marvellous news. Henry Mawne came up at that moment, and said that he had been keeping a sharp look-out in the Daily Telegraph for a notice, but nothing had been seen.
'They are keeping it quiet,' said Mr Partridge, 'but the wedding will take place around Christmas, I gather. Miriam wants to arrange things easily for her employer, I know, although she intends to keep on her job after the honeymoon.'
'I like a winter wedding,' announced Mrs Mawne. 'Plenty of fur and velvet. So pretty always. I suppose they will marry at St Patrick's? I always feel a registry office ceremony is rather like a visit to the bank.'
'Yes, yes. The wedding will be here, I'm happy to say,' said the vicar. 'Her brother Lovell will take part of the service, of course. I look forward to meeting him.'
At that moment, the two chief guests arrived, David hastened to greet them, and then made a short but charming speech, asking us to drink to their happiness.
It was good to see Horace looking so smug and cheerful, and his wife-to-be seemed equally content with her lot.
'This is our last fling before term starts next week,' Horace said, in answer to David's speech. 'And nothing could be nicer than an evening with good friends.'
Speeches over, we began to circulate, and I was pleased to see Simon again. He looked much stronger and happier than when he had been my pupil for a short time, and he gave me a cheerful grin as he proffered a tray of tempting tit-bits.
'When does term start for you?' he asked.
'Tomorrow,' I told him.
'Then Uncle Horace has the edge on you. He doesn't go back until Thursday.'
'Lucky chap,' I said. 'And when do you start?'
'Not till the following Tuesday.'
'Hardly worth going back,' I teased him.
'It will soon be Christmas.'
'Stop chattering, Simon,' called David. 'There isn't a nut to be had over here.'
'Back to my duties!' said my old pupil, and departed.
Elizabeth Mawne hove in sight and I enquired politely about the aged aunt in Ireland who had been the unknowing source of my troubles, and Miriam's, with Henry early in the year.
'Perhaps you know I managed to get her into a nursing home?'
I said I did.
'Well, as you might guess, she's taken a great dislike to it, and is raising merry hell according to the matron, and threatening to go home.'
'But can she? I thought—'
'Of course she can't. We sold up everything, and really I'm at my wits' end to know what to do. Henry refuses point-blank to have her with us, and I think he's right. I can see I shall have to have another trip to Ireland to sort things out.'
My heart sank at the thought of Henry left yet again to his own devices. Should I have to be alert for unwelcome visits? Lucky Miriam, I thought! At least, she would now have the protection of a fiancé. It almost made one take to matrimony for sanctuary from lonely grass widowers. However, as Amy had pointed out, with some callousness, Gerard and even Horace were now out of my reach, and I saw no other possibility looming up. On the whole, of course, I was not sorry.
'Old age is a problem,' I said. 'I frequently think about my own, and wonder which will crack first, mind or body.'
'Good heavens!' cried Elizabeth. 'You won't crack at all. Henry's always telling me you are the sanest person he's ever met. You'll go whole and uncorrupted to the grave, believe me.'
I was much taken aback.
'Well, I'm very touched by the compliment,' I quavered, 'and now I must go and see the happy pair.'
Still reeling from Henry's kind opinions, I threaded my way to speak to Horace and Eve. Perhaps, poor old Henry was not such a bad chap after all, I decided.
Nevertheless, I hoped Elizabeth's absence would be brief.
I walked home through the peaceful village, and encountered Mr Lamb, exercising his dog.
After a boisterous welcome from the latter which left me with laddered tights, and my best fifteen-denier ones at that, Mr Lamb gave me good news.
'I've heard of another likely candidate for the cleaning job,' he told me.
'You are kind. Everyone's been scouting round, and things do look more hopeful. Who's this one?'
'Wife of one of the postmen. They're at Beech Green, and she used to work at that electrical factory this end of Caxley. But it closed down at the end of last month, and she could do with some cash. Nice woman. Plenty of common sense and elbow grease.'
'She sounds marvellous.'
I told him about the possibility of the stockman's wife.
'So now there's real hope of someone soon. I shall miss Mrs Pringle though, awkward though she is. But I can't see her coming again.'
'Would you have her if you could?'
'Yes. She's served the school well for donkey's years, despite being such—'
I searched for a phrase which would be truthful but not libellous.
'Such a wicked old faggot?' suggested Mr Lamb, hauling his exuberant charge away from my ruined tights.
'That's it.'
'Well, now you can have some choice perhaps. I think I know the Springbourne girl, Martha Someone, and I know Reg's missus would work well too. Good luck, anyway.'
He set off at a brisk pace, with the dog panting at the delay, and I went home thinking how helpful my neighbours were in times of trouble.
Naturally, the first day of term dawned as sunnily seductive as one might guess, and it was sad to think of us all confined to the schoolroom when summer remained so beguiling outdoors.
The school looked fresh and gleaming from Bella's ministrations and the children equally radiant from their long days in the open air.
Miss Briggs, whom we now had to call Mrs Richards, was in good spirits, and told me all about the work she and Wayne were putting in on their cottage. It was on the outskirts of Beech Green, and they were lucky to have found it.
'That's one good thing about being in the building trade,' she told me. 'You often get to hear of houses going before they get on to the market. The old couple who had it before us were distant cousins of Wayne's dad, so we heard about it from him.'
I enquired about the house. It sounded as if it were not far from Miss Clare's home.
'That's right,' agreed the girl. 'When we're straight you must come and see it. At the moment it's a proper mess, and we haven't got much furniture.'
'That'll come,' I told her. 'Much more fun to get it bit by bit anyway.'
'My mum and dad married after the war,' she said, 'when things were really tight. Dad always says they set up home with two deckchairs and an orange box for a table. I think we've done a bit better than that, but not much!'
She laughed, and went off to cope with the infants. It was good to see her so content.
Joseph Coggs appeared at my desk, pencil in hand.
'Please, miss, the nib of my pencil's bust itself.'
'So's mine,' chorused three more children.
Term had begun.
Amy called that evening, wearing a most elegant turquoise blue suit and matching hat.
'Heavens, you do look smart!' I cried. 'Have you been to a wedding?'
'No. A rather dreary committee meeting, but all the others always appear dressed to the nines, so I thought I'd better do the same.'
'Well, mind where you sit. Tibby left a mouse on the sofa last week, and it was by sheer chance that I noticed it.'
'You certainly live a primitive life out here at Fairacre,' commented Amy, dusting busily at the seat of an armchair. 'How's term going?'
'Much as usual. Luckily our Miss Briggs, I mean Mrs Richards, is in good form, and I really think I may get a cleaner before long. Everyone's rallying round.'
'Splendid! I came to ask you if you would like to come to the opera with me next month. At Oxford.'
'Lovely! To hear what?'
'La Bohème. Suit you?'
'Perfectly. I can always do with a nice
juicy bit of Puccini.'
'Right. I'll fix up the seats. James will be coming too, and we'll pick you up.
'I shall look forward to that.'
'And the week after, James and I are pushing off for a tour of Scotland, and staying with Vanessa for a few days. I must say, he's being very attentive. I think he fears I might go off on my own again.'
'Well, you gave us all a fright, I must say.'
'Rubbish! And don't expect me to feel guilty, because I don't regret it for a moment. It did me a lot of good, and James too, for that matter. By the way, what news of that crafty Gerard? I shall never forgive him for throwing you over.'
'Amy, you know there was absolutely nothing in it, and I'm delighted to tell you that, as far as I know, he and Miriam are engaged.'
'Well! I didn't see it in the Daily Telegraph.'
'Quite a lot of things don't get into the Telegraph. Their engagement was one of them.'
'Let me know when things are a little more public, and I'll write to them. She's a nice girl. I wonder when the nuptials take place?'
'Quite soon, I gather, from the vicar.'
'I shall have to get a new outfit if I'm invited,' said Amy thoughtfully.
'What's wrong with that present get-up?' I asked, waving at the beautiful suit. 'I hope we do get invited. My hat could do with another airing. But somehow I think that wedding will be a very quiet affair.'
'I should hope so,' said Amy sternly, 'after the way he's treated you.'
'Now Amy—' I began.
'What about a cup of something?' she said swiftly, avoiding a scolding, and we went amicably in search of one.
Next day the storm broke, in more ways than one.
The clouds rolled up during school time, and the air became sultry. Distant rumbling could be heard, but we saw no lightning, and luckily the rain held off.
As before, this sudden withdrawal of sunshine made us all feel chilly, although the thermometer registered a fairly high temperature.
The children went home in dry weather, and Mrs Richards and I returned to our respective homes before the heavens opened, as we fully expected.