‘Thank you, Mr Gribbon,’ she said. ‘One has to make a bit of an effort. I have just been elected as the president of our local group so I want to look my best. We’ve finally managed to dislodge the last president. It’s been so difficult having Mrs Bullock in the chair, what with her not being able to hear much.’
‘Well, you look very colourful,’ he told her, thinking that the scarlet jacket with wide lapels edged in the sort of black braid one sees on lampshades was way over the top.
‘So how did the match go this morning?’ the school secretary asked.
‘Match?’
‘The football. Who won?’
‘We did,’ said the caretaker. ‘Three-nil. That’s four wins in a row. The Stubbins lad scored all the goals. I can’t say as how I like him, big, surly lump that he is, but by the heck he’s a good footballer. You wouldn’t believe with all the bulk he’s carrying that he could be so light on his feet. I reckon he’ll end up playing for some big club in the Premier Division and driving a fancy sports car by the time he’s twenty.’ He sighed. ‘Such is life.’
‘He’s been a different boy since he returned, has Malcolm Stubbins,’ observed Mrs Scrimshaw. ‘Of course, he’s been put on a trial period by Ms Devine and should he step out of line, he’s out the door.’
‘I don’t forget when he used a can of spray paint on the back wall of the school,’ grumbled the caretaker. ‘It took a full morning to clean off the mess. ’Course he denied it and got away with it but I knew it was him. If it had been up to me—’
‘Look, I must go,’ said the secretary, ‘I shall be late. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr Gribbon.’ Mrs Scrimshaw negotiated the desk, headed for the door and scurried off down the corridor, her high heels clacking on the polished wooden floor.
‘Well, I’ll be—’ said the caretaker out loud as her saw her exit though the door at the entrance to the school.
The school secretary was wearing red shoes.
Elisabeth arrived at the Royal Oak that evening to find David Williams waiting for her at a corner table in the lounge. The place was crowded and noisy. She looked her usual immaculate self, dressed in a white satin blouse and tight blue skirt with her blonde hair swept up in a tortoiseshell comb.
‘Good evening, Elisabeth,’ he said, rising to his feet to greet her. He had an easy, confident smile.
‘Good evening.’
‘You look very nice,’ he said, pulling out a chair for her to sit.
‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘So do you.’
He coloured a little. ‘I’ll get the drinks in. What would you like?’
‘Just an orange juice for me,’ she said.
‘Nothing stronger?’
‘No, an orange juice will be fine.’
Mr Williams headed for the bar.
‘How do, Mrs Devine,’ came a loud and cheerful voice from the public bar. She looked up to see the weather-reddened face of Fred Massey. He waved.
‘Hello,’ she shouted back, then closed her eyes and sighed. He was heading in her direction.
‘Out on the town, I see,’ he said.
She gave a small pained smile. It was just her luck that Fred Massey of all people should be there. It would be around the village now like wildfire.
‘I didn’t know this was your local, Mr Massey,’ she said.
‘It ain’t, but I’ve been barred from the Blacksmith’s Arms for getting in a barney with Albert Spearman. He must think my brains are made of porridge trying to pull a fast one. He sells animal feed and the last lot he tried to load off on me was duff. It was Clarence, my nephew, who took delivery. If I’d have been there Albert Spearman wouldn’t have got away with it, I can tell you. He’s looking after the farm is Clarence until I’m back on my feet. Well, supposed to be, but he’s more trouble than he’s worth. Anyway, Albert Spearman palmed him off with a load of rubbish. Didn’t think I’d notice. Well, I did, and we had a set-to in the pub and I’ve been barred.’
‘I see,’ said Elisabeth, trying to look interested.
‘Things got a bit heated when he made a clever comment about my accident – said I were like Long John Silver and I was as much a pirate as he was. I didn’t prod him very hard with my crutch. Anyway, the landlord won’t have me in the pub so I come here now.’
Mr Williams returned with the drinks.
‘How do,’ said Fred, eyeing the man up and down.
‘Good evening.’
Elisabeth decided not to introduce her companion, but Fred Massey was determined to discover as much as he could.
‘I’m a neighbour of Mrs Devine’s,’ he explained, smiling and revealing a set of misshapen yellow teeth. ‘Fred Massey’s the name. I have a farm in Barton.’
‘I see.’
‘Welshman, are you?’
‘I am indeed.’
‘My grandmother was Welsh. She was called Tudor, descended from a long line of kings so I was told.’
‘A very fine Welsh name,’ said Mr Williams.
‘And you are?’ he asked.
‘Williams. David Williams.’
‘And might I ask what do you do for a living, Mr Williams?’ asked Fred.
‘I’m a head teacher,’ he replied, surprised at the man’s bluntness.
‘Well, we’ve got here the best head teacher in Yorkshire, bar none,’ said Fred Massey, nodding in Elisabeth’s direction.
‘I’ll not disagree with you there.’
‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you. ’Course when I was at school, head teachers—’
‘It is good to see you, Mr Massey,’ interrupted Elisabeth. ‘I’ll let you get back to your pint.’ She gave him a tight smile of dismissal.
‘Aye, well, good to see you too, Mrs Devine, and to have met you, Mr Williams. I hope you both have a very pleasant evening.’ With a smile on his face and a flash of the yellow teeth, he departed.
Elisabeth Devine sat in an easy chair by the window in the sitting room later that evening after David Williams had gone. She looked out across the garden, illuminated by a bright moon. Danny had done a grand job. She was in a thoughtful mood. The person most on her mind was Michael Stirling.
The evening with David Williams had not gone well. With hindsight, Elisabeth thought, she should never have accepted his invitation to join him for a drink. It would have been far better to keep their relationship strictly professional. In the Royal Oak they had been observed for the whole evening by Fred Massey and by several other customers who, no doubt, had been given a blow-by-blow account of who she was. The old farmer would of course be relaying information to those in the village. She could visualise Mrs Sloughthwaite leaning ponderously over her counter in the village store regaling her customers. Elisabeth had wished to leave the pub as soon as possible and had invited David Williams back to her cottage for a coffee, which in retrospect was another thing she now regretted. He had sat on the sofa, his hands cradling the cup, and had suddenly launched into a most unexpected and deeply embarrassing speech.
‘I’m so glad I have this opportunity of speaking to you,’ he had said. ‘My office at Forest View is not the best place to broach such a matter.’
Elisabeth had felt her stomach lurch. She had prayed he was not going to say what she imagined he would.
‘I know we have only known each other for a relatively short time, Elisabeth,’ he had continued, ‘ever since John came as a pupil to the school.’
‘That’s right,’ she had said in a small voice.
‘But I feel I know you. It’s as if I have always known you. When my wife and I divorced,’ he had continued, ‘I went through a very bad patch. We’d been married for twenty years, Susan and I. It wasn’t the most perfect marriage by any means but we never squabbled or disagreed and I thought she was happy enough. It came as a shock when she left. Evidently she’d been having an affair with her boss for some time. I suppose I was so wrapped up in my work I didn’t notice anything.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Elisabeth had said.
&nbs
p; ‘I’ve felt pretty lonely these last few years, as I guess you have too.’
‘Well, I—’ she had begun.
‘I have a great admiration and respect for you, Elisabeth, and have so much enjoyed your visits to the school, but more recently my feelings for you have grown and—’
‘David,’ Elisabeth had interrupted, ‘please don’t say any more. You know how much I appreciate all you do for my son. I think a lot of you and—’
‘I guess there’s going to be a “but” at the end of this sentence,’ he had said sadly.
‘I’m afraid there is,’ Elisabeth had told him.
‘I see.’
‘I’m sorry—’ she had begun.
‘If you need a little time?’
‘No,’ she had said firmly. ‘I would not wish to give you any expectation. I am afraid I don’t share for you the feelings you may have for me.’
‘I see.’
‘We can remain friends?’ she had asked.
‘But of course.’ He had looked down, deflated, and replacing the cup on the table had stood up. ‘Well, I guess I should be going. I shall see you as usual at Forest View next week.’ He had reached forward and shook her hand. ‘Goodnight, Elisabeth.’
‘Goodnight, David,’ she had said, and when the door had closed behind him she had taken a deep, deep breath.
‘Do you know who the mystery man is then?’ asked Mrs Pocock when she called into the village shop the following day.
‘Mystery man?’ the shopkeeper repeated.
‘Him who was out with the new head teacher last night. I’ve just seen Edith Widowson on her way to chapel and she said Mrs Devine was out with a man last night. Fred Massey told her.’
Mrs Sloughthwaite leaned over and rested her substantial bosom and chubby arms on the counter. ‘I don’t know why everybody in this village thinks that I’m the foundation of all knowledge.’ Mrs Pocock raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. ‘As you well know, I’m not a one for tittle-tattle, it’s just that people insist on telling me things. I’ve always been a very good listener. It has been said that I should be one of these Samaritans that listen to other people’s problems on the telephone, but I haven’t the time what with running the post office and the shop. Anyway, I’ve no idea who he is.’
‘Well, I was only asking,’ said Mrs Pocock, sounding peeved.
‘All I know is that Fred Massey come in here for his Sunday paper this morning and told me he’d seen Mrs Devine sitting at a corner table in the Royal Oak at Gartside with this man and very cosy they looked too.’
‘Do you think it was the husband?’
‘No, this chap’s name is Williams. He’s a Welshman. Her name’s not Williams, is it?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen him in the village,’ remarked Mrs Pocock.
‘Who, the husband?’
‘No, the fancy man.’
‘He’s a head teacher by all accounts,’ confided the shopkeeper.
‘Really?’
‘About the same age as her and friendly enough, according to Fred Massey.’
‘Do you think he’s married?’
‘Couldn’t say, but it struck me as a bit furtive, them meeting in the corner of a pub in another village.’
‘Imagine.’
‘Well, good luck to her, that’s all I say,’ said Mrs Sloughthwaite.
‘I bet it was a blind date and she’s met him through one of these dating agencies. They’re all the thing these days.’ She chuckled. ‘You ought to think about it yourself and get fixed up with somebody,’ she said flippantly.
‘Not on your life!’ exclaimed Mrs Sloughthwaite. ‘I had enough trouble with the last one. My Stan, God rest his soul, was a good man but as lazy as Fred Massey’s dog. It has to lean against the barn door to bark. I’m better off on my own. You know what Mrs O’Connor says: there are three kinds of men who fail to understand women – young men, old men and middle-aged men.’
Mrs Pocock nodded sagely. ‘Well, you’ve met my other half,’ she said glumly.
‘Least said,’ observed the shopkeeper.
The topic of their earlier conversation walked through the door.
‘So as I was saying, Mrs Pocock,’ said Mrs Sloughthwaite, deftly changing the subject, ‘the Venetian chocolate biscuits are on special offer this week. Oh, hello, Mrs Devine.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Sloughthwaite,’ said Elisabeth. ‘Good morning, Mrs Pocock.’
‘Morning, Mrs Devine,’ said the other customer.
‘I’ve just called in for my order,’ said Elisabeth.
‘It’s all ready for you,’ said Mrs Sloughthwaite, making no effort to get it.
‘And to thank you for all the support you have given over the proposal to close the school,’ added Elisabeth.
‘It’s nice to be appreciated, I’m sure,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘We’re all very pleased with the outcome.’
Elisabeth turned to Mrs Pocock. ‘The governors, of course, have been splendid. I think your petition had a massive influence in changing their minds at the Education Office. Thank you for all your hard work and sterling efforts.’
Mrs Pocock gave a self-satisfied smile, nodded appreciatively and then exchanged a glance at the mention of a certain word.
The shopkeeper began her interrogation.
‘It was good of Dr Stirling to take on young Danny, wasn’t it?’ she asked.
‘It was,’ replied Elisabeth.
‘He’s a very compassionate man is Dr Stirling.’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘And a very good doctor.’
‘Indeed.’
‘It was tragic when his wife was killed.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Elisabeth, ‘it must have been very hard for him.’
‘It was. Mind you, it’s been two years now since the accident.’
‘Really?’
‘Time can be a great healer,’ added Mrs Pocock.
‘Indeed,’ said Elisabeth.
‘It’s a pity that he’s never got married again,’ remarked Mrs Sloughthwaite.
‘I suppose so.’
‘From what his housekeeper tells me, Clumber Lodge needs a woman’s touch about the place.’
‘Well, I’ll be on my way,’ said Elisabeth. ‘If I could have my order.’
Mrs Sloughthwaite disappeared behind the counter and reappeared with a box full of provisions. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Devine,’ she said. ‘Have a nice day.’
21
That afternoon Michael Stirling sat in an easy chair by the window in the sitting room, looking out across the garden. The boys had done a grand job pruning, weeding and tidying. He should be happy, he told himself. The battle to keep the village school had been won, young Danny had found a home, and his once quiet and distant son was coming out of his shell and looked much happier of late. But he was miserable. The medical journal he had been reading had been set aside and he was in a thoughtful mood. The person most on his mind was Elisabeth Devine.
Mrs O’Connor appeared at the door.
‘Will you be wanting a cup of tea, doctor?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs O’Connor, that would be very welcome,’ he replied.
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ The housekeeper paused at the door and heard him sigh. ‘You look miles away. Is there something wrong?’
He sighed again. ‘Not at all, everything is fine.’
‘Well, as my owld Grandmother Mullarkey often used to say, a happy heart will often sigh.’
‘Tell me, Mrs O’Connor,’ said Dr Stirling, raising a smile, ‘does this amazing Irish grandmother of yours, who likes giving everyone the benefit of her homely advice, actually exist or do you make up these words of wisdom?’
‘Dr Stirling!’ she cried in mock horror. ‘Sure, my sainted grandmother is spinning like a whirling Dervish in her grave at this very moment.’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘And is everything fine with you, Mrs O’Connor?’
‘Well, you might have a word with
young Danny about that weasel of his.’
‘Weasel?’
‘That long, furry, smelly creature he has with him. He never seems to go anywhere without it.’
‘Oh, the ferret.’
‘Weasel, ferret, it’s all the same to me,’ said the housekeeper. ‘It puts the very fear of God into me, so it does, when I see it scuttling about with them sharp teeth and all.’
‘What has Danny been doing?’
‘He keeps taking it into his bedroom. I can’t be doing with it. It’s a horrid animal at the best of times and a bedroom is no place for it. I had a nasty shock when I found it in the bath.’
‘In the bath?’ repeated the doctor. ‘Not with him, I hope.’
‘No, he was washing it,’ the housekeeper told him. ‘There it was poking its pointed little head out of the soapsuds as large as life and twice as natural.’
‘I’ll have a word with him.’
‘Thank you, Dr Stirling.’
‘Danny seems to have settled here very well, all things considering,’ said the doctor.
‘Oh, he’s a fine lad. It’s as if he’s lived here all his life. Apart from that weasel creature, he’s no trouble at all.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’
‘It was very good of you to take the lad in, Dr Stirling,’ said the housekeeper. ‘You’re a dacent man, so you are.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t know about that, Mrs O’Connor,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you get the tea.’
The housekeeper was not yet ready to depart, for she had things to say. ‘I saw Mrs Devine today,’ she said casually.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Dr Stirling, equally casually.
‘She’s a lovely woman, to be sure.’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘And such an attractive, good-natured and intelligent woman. What a blessing it was when she came to the village.’
‘A blessing indeed.’
‘From what Mrs Sloughthwaite says she’s got a gentleman friend.’
Dr Stirling took a sudden interest. ‘Has she?’
‘Another head teacher. A Welshman. Quite the dapper man, so I heard.’
‘I see.’
‘Well,’ said the housekeeper, ‘I shouldn’t think she’ll be short of admirers.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said the doctor.
The Little Village School Page 36