by Miss Read
'That's all right then. As long as you are happy, dear, I am too. Did you notice the rather nice scent on my handkerchief? Winnie Bailey gave it to me last Christmas, and I thought it would be a gesture to use it today. And have you noticed, dear, in books and plays, that the heroine never seems to have a handkerchief at all, and is obliged to borrow one from the hero? I mean, who on earth ever goes out without a handkerchief? It's quite unthinkable. Although I once knew two sisters who shared one. At parties you heard them say to each other: "Have you got The Handkerchief?" So insanitary, we always thought. They were odd girls.'
Not the only ones, was Connie's private comment as they mounted the hill to Thrush Green. Dear old Dotty, she needed more attention daily, thought Connie indulgently, and she would make sure that she had it.
Winnie Bailey apologised for it being what she called 'a hen party' in her drawing room. Ella Bembridge and Dimity Henstock were there and Phyllida Hurst from Tullivers next door.
'You wouldn't have kept Frank away,' said the latter, 'if he had been at home. The poor dear's at a publishers' conference in Leamington.'
'And Charles,' added Dimity, as the only other married woman present, 'is at a diocesan conference. Do you think men like conferences, or do they just enjoy getting away on their own now and again?'
'I've never liked to enquire,' replied Phyllida. 'Have you heard about Nelly Piggott?'
An animated discussion followed, and the general feeling was that such employment might be the making of Albert's rather shaky marriage.
'Perhaps,' ventured Dimity, 'Doris Hodge would be happier with a nice little job.'
'The worst of it is,' said Ella, 'that nice little jobs are jolly hard to come by. I met that objectionable Frances Thurgood this week, and she was telling me that Janet is getting quite desperate searching for some employment.'
'Can she do anything?' asked Connie.
'Nothing as useful as Nelly Piggott, but she's got strings of art qualifications for what they're worth. What about Doris? Any hope as a barmaid again?'
'I gather not,' said Winnie, i agree that they are thrown too much together, and Percy is a difficult man, you know. His first wife thoroughly spoilt him, and Doris doesn't. It's as simple as that.'
Later that day, when all the ladies had departed and Winnie and Jenny were clearing up in the kitchen, the subject was raised again.
'How are things going at the Hodges'?' asked Winnie, cake tin in hand.
'Haven't you heard?' replied Jenny. 'He had a letter this week, so Mrs Jenner told me, to say Doris is not coming back.'
'Oh Jenny!' sighed Winnie, i am sorry.'
'Not as sorry as I am,' said Jenny grimly. 'I only hope he doesn't try his tricks here again.'
And Winnie was relieved to see that her brave Jenny was prepared to repulse any invaders of her territory.
14. Thundery Conditions
THE SUMMER weeks slipped by. The honeysuckle flowers had fallen and clusters of garnet berries took their place. Hard little knobs of green replaced the bramble blossom, and the wild late summer flowers, knapweed, agrimony and scabious, enlivened the verges.
Everything was beginning to look shabby. The grass was turning brown. A few leaves were already floating down from the trees. The combine harvesters were at work in the fields, and the lucky people with greenhouses were enjoying a bumper crop of tomatoes.
In the vicarage garden at Lulling Charles Henstock and Caleb were busy.
Caleb was pushing the lawn mower at a leisurely pace, and the smell of freshly cut grass floated pleasantly about the place. Charles was engaged in trimming the edges of the flower beds with his long-handled shears, given to him by Dimity on his last birthday. They were, he noted with infinite satisfaction, a great advance on the old pair of hand shears with which he used to tackle this job. What was even more pleasing was the fact that he didn't get the knees of his trousers stained crawling on the grass.
The air was warm and sultry, and there was no sunshine. Hordes of minute insects, called thunder flies by Lulling folk, filled the garden, tickling Caleb and Charles as they worked. Every now and again the sound of a slap and a vexed exclamation disturbed the peace, as the two men tried to displace their ubiquitous adversaries.
Despite these interruptions, Charles's flow of thought continued. He was in a philosophic mood, brought about, no doubt, by the rhythmic nature of his present labours and the soporific atmosphere of a warm August afternoon. He had put aside, as best he could, his earlier worries. Mrs Thurgood's absence from church could not be helped, sad though it was. It was true that several families had transferred their presence to other establishments, but on the other hand Charles had welcomed several newcomers.
The person who had rifled the poor box, or rather the box asking for help with the fabric of St John's church, had not been found. The police had strongly suspected a young man who lived in one of the riverside cottages by the Pleshey, but he was able to prove that he had been practising his bowling at the nets on the local sports' ground when the felony occurred, and the police were obliged to look fruitlessly elsewhere. Charles had long ago put the matter behind him. A stronger box had been put in its place, and the alms were collected nightly by the rector himself. One could do no more.
On the whole, as the months passed, he began to feel more at ease, although he was still deeply conscious of his own shortcomings when he compared himself with Anthony Bull. But there it was. Anthony was Anthony, charming, a trifle flamboyant, able to talk and laugh easily with all and sundry, an inspiring orator and as handsome as a matinée idol.
He could not hope, nor did he wish, to compete. He could only pray that his parishioners would recognise his own sincerity, his loving care of them and his desire to serve them well. He wanted to be accepted as himself, and not constantly compared to his predecessor. Only time, Charles sighed to himself, scratching his tormented neck, could put that right, he feared. Patience was all.
He straightened up, and saw Dimity approaching with the tea tray. He hurried to help her.
'I thought it would be nice to have it out here,' said Dimity.
'Perfect, my dear. Although there are no end of those horrible little thunder flies.'
'They're worse in the house,' Dimity told him, lifting the milk jug. 'Quite static in there, like veils of treacle.'
' "Veils of treacle," ' echoed Charles. 'Can you have veils—?'
'You know what I mean,' said Dimity. 'One has to push through them. Out here they do at least move about a bit. Call Caleb, would you? I'm sure he's as parched as we are.'
And still pondering on his wife's extraordinary description, Charles went across the newly-striped lawn to fetch Caleb to the feast.
Some half a mile away, in the kitchen of The Fuchsia Bush, Nelly Piggott found the thunder flies as irritating as the rest of Lulling.
She had just spread coffee-flavoured water icing carefully over a large square of spongecake, and was now placing halved walnuts at equal distances on the sticky surface. Her intention was to cut the whole into twenty squares, each suitable for a delectable portion to be eaten with coffee or tea by the lucky customers.
The thunder flies seemed bent on committing suicide upon Nelly's masterpiece. She moved it from the kitchen table into the larder, but there seemed to be no escape from the maddening little midges.
'Nothing for it but to pick 'em off with a knife point,' said Nelly to Mrs Peters when she came into the kitchen. 'I'd best open that extra tin of home-made biscuits, ma'am, for this afternoon.'
'Yes, that would be best,' agreed her employer, looking doubtfully at Nelly's icing. 'With any luck these wretched midges should clear away as soon as a storm comes, and I think that's on the way already.'
She vanished again into the shop and Nelly was left to her own devices.
She had not been so happy in years, thought Nelly, putting out biscuits. Albert, although no ray of sunshine, was comparatively good tempered, and certainly did not upbraid her about her absence
with the oil man, which she fully expected from him. Perhaps he was mellowing with age? Perhaps he felt, as she did since her time in hospital, that peace at any price was the best guideline? No one could call Albert's cottage a love nest, but at least it was a port in a storm.
The main thing was that she was really blissfully happy whilst at work, and she was in The Fuchsia Bush's kitchen promptly at eight-thirty each morning and content to stay there for as long as Mrs Peters needed her. The café closed when afternoon teas were over, and the arrangement had been that Nelly could leave as soon as the cakes and sandwiches were ready, and the kettles on the stove, sometime before four o'clock. Two part-time kitchen helpers came from one o'clock until five-thirty, so that there was no need for Nelly to remain, but more often than not it was nearer five when she departed.
It seemed to suit Albert too. One of Nelly's perks in the new job was a certain amount of spare food which Mrs Peters allowed her to take home. Very often Nelly had no need to cook a meal for Albert on her return, and for this she was grateful, for a long stint in the kitchen, much as she enjoyed it, and the walk up the steep hill to crown the day, did seem to take its toll of Nelly's strength, and made her realize that she had still not fully recovered from the operation.
Her one fear was that as soon as Mrs Jefferson reappeared then her job would come to an end. So far, Mrs Jefferson's injuries had taken their time in mending. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good,' Nelly had quoted silently to herself, when she heard how slowly her predecessor was recovering. The broken ribs had led later to bronchitis, and this in its turn to a troublesome and painful cough. It was obvious that the patient could not expect to return to her duties, and lifting heavy objects and other arduous kitchen duties were going to be beyond her for some time.
Mrs Peters considered herself extremely fortunate in having Nelly in the kitchen, and never ceased to be grateful to Ella and Dimity for suggesting her.
There was no doubt about it, Nelly was superior in every way to Mrs Jefferson, but Mrs Peters had no intention of depriving her old friend of the job and would welcome her back just as soon as she was fit.
If only, thought The Fuchsia Bush's owner, she could employ them both. But would the business stand it? And would the two ladies work together in harmony?
Well, time enough to worry when her former cook returned, she told herself. Something would turn up, no doubt. It generally did.
Kit Armitage returned from his visit to Wales looking remarkably refreshed.
Mrs Jenner was delighted to welcome him back, but within half an hour of his home-coming she had poured out the story of her sister-in-law Doris's perfidy.
'But surely she'll come back?' said Kit. 'Isn't it just a little tiff?'
'To my mind, she's finished with Perce. I can't make up my mind if he wants her back or not. He misses his comforts, that I do know, and asked me if I'd take him in. He's fond of my cooking.'
'And are you going to have him here?' asked Kit, feeling some alarm.
'Dear me, no! I'm in my seventies, and I'm not taking on a silly chap like Percy, brother or no brother. He's old enough and ugly enough to look after his own affairs, as our mother used to say, God rest her. I've never worried Perce with my troubles, and apart from offering him a meal if he blows in at the right time, I'm not making a rod for my back.'
Kit heartily approved of this downright approach to the problem, and said so.
'So you see,' went on his landlady, 'this will make no difference to your arrangements. I only hope you'll be able to stay for a long time to come. You've been the Perfect Lodger, if I may say so.'
'You're very kind,' replied Kit, 'and you make me so comfortable I could easily be persuaded to stay for ever. But I really must find myself a house. Prices go up every month, and I'm determined to put my shoulder to the wheel now, and get settled.'
'Well, don't hurry on my account,' said Mrsjenner.
There was the sound of someone wiping feet on the door scraper at the back door.
'I'd better go. Probably Perce with some vegetables. He's just in time for a cup of coffee. It's my belief he keeps one eye on the clock.'
And downstairs she went to greet the grass widower.
Kit's first port of call was to see Connie and Dotty.
He found the two ladies shelling peas in the garden, with Flossie at their feet eagerly snatching up any stray pea and munching it with enjoyment.
'That's an odd taste for a dog, isn't it?' he asked, when he had greeted the ladies and was settled in a decidedly rickety deckchair.
'That's nothing,' Dotty told him. 'We had a sweet little cat once who enjoyed peppermints. Not the really strong ones that Papa had for his indigestion, but the mild sort. Sometimes I made her peppermint creams, for a treat. Quite simple, you know, just icing sugar and a few drops of peppermint essence. No doubt you made them yourself as a child.'
Kit confessed that he had never tried his hand at peppermint creams.
'But I did make Everton toffee once,' he said, 'and ruined the saucepan. It went black before my very eyes.'
'Tell us about Wales,' said Connie. His appearance had given her so much delight that she had felt herself blushing, much to her horror. It was really absurd at her age, she scolded herself, to behave like someone of sixteen, and she could only hope that he put her rosiness down to the sun. With any luck, he had not noticed, but men, usually obtuse, were often disconcertingly sharp, just when one would rather they were not.
Kit launched into an animated account of his holiday, and fished from his pocket a folder of photographs.
The colander of peas was set aside, under the seat in the shade, as the two ladies studied them in turn.
'This is the River Dovey,' he explained, 'and this is one of the tributaries where we did most of our fishing. Here's the Olivers' house. Here's the church. And this is Diana.'
Was it just Connie's imagination, or did his voice sound particularly loving as he handed over the last photograph? The subject was certainly stunningly attractive. Connie noted ruefully the excellent figure, the smooth dark hair and the enchanting smile.
'She looks lovely, ' commented Connie.
'She is,' agreed Kit, tucking the photographs back in the folder.
'And when are you off next?' enquired Connie.
'I'm not,' he assured her. 'I'm now applying myself whole-heartedly to finding a house. There are two in this week's paper which sound hopeful, and I believe the agent has another two possibilities. And Justin has heard of a place south of Lulling, so that gives me plenty to be going on with. '
He hesitated for a moment.
'If it's not too much to ask, would you like to help me? Both of you, of course. I'd be glad of a second opinion.'
'I should love to,' said Connie.
'Well, I won't promise,' said Dotty, i'm making our bread now, you know, and it all takes time. And the early plums need bottling. But, thank you for the invitation. If my duties allow, I should be delighted.'
'Then that's settled,' said Kit, throwing himself back in the chair. A terrible rending sound followed, and Kit gradually subsided through the worn canvas amidst cries of distress from the ladies.
'Are you hurt? That wretched chair! It should have been thrown away years ago,' cried Connie, bending over her laughing visitor who was struggling to rise from the débris.
'No harm done, but look at your peas, ' said Kit, standing upright.
The colander was on its side. At least half the peas had gone, and the back view of Flossie, with her tail between her legs, was vanishing through the hedge.
'We asked for that,' commented Connie.
'Excellent roughage for her,' said Dotty indulgently. 'Dear little Floss! So intelligent!'
Kit was folding up the tattered chair.
'You know, the frame's perfectly sound,' he said, studying it. 'I'll get some more canvas and mend it for you.'
They began to protest.
'No, I'd like to. I may not be a dab hand at pep
permint creams,' he told Dotty, 'but I can mend deck chairs as well as the next.'
'In that case,' said Connie, 'I'll bring out the other three for your attention. They are all at that stage, believe me.'
The prolonged absence of Percy Hodge's wife made itself felt in places farther afield than Mrs Jenner's.
The example of one stone thrown into a pool creating ripples far around it, is nowhere more to the point than in a small community.
Winnie Bailey, and more particularly, Jenny, were both on guard against any unwelcome intrusions by a would-be suitor.
The regulars at The Two Pheasants discussed the affair avidly, and Albert, as a once-deserted husband, had plenty to say.
'She'll come back all right,' he told his listeners. 'Mine did, didn't she? I just bided my time. Acted dignified. Never run after her. She come back, and now she knows when she's well off.'
'You went down to see her in hospital,' put in the landlord. 'As I remember, you was shamed into it.'
Albert feigned deafness. That was the worst of village life, he mused. No one ever forgot any little mistakes you made. You could slip up perhaps twenty years ago, and some know-all would remind you of it.
He button-holed a woe-begone Percy one day and enlarged on the theme of wife-management.
'You mark my words, she'll come to her senses in time! Just don't give way, Percy my boy. Once she sees you can manage all right without her, she'll come running back. Women is awkward creatures. Like to think they can manage without us. But they can't, of course.'
'I don't know as I wholly want her back,' said Percy. 'She's led me a proper dance, and spends money like water. I never had that trouble with my dear Gertie. And her cooking was streets ahead. Marriage is a lottery, Albert, and that's a fact.'
'Don't I know it!' commiserated Albert. 'I've had my share of trouble, and that's why I'm giving you my advice. You let things ride for a bit. You may feel different if she comes back all humble-pie. On the other hand, if you finds you don't want her you could set about a divorce one day.'