by Nicola Slade
‘Don’t be too fancy. Paperbacks in a cardboard box at a pound if they’re good ones, fifty or twenty if they’re run of the mill. Here, hang clothes on this airer; I brought two along. I don’t think we’ve anything worth charging more than a fiver for, the better stuff’s going on the stall tomorrow.’
The other stall-holders, plus early punters, descended like flies and Finn found herself wrapping china in newspaper and arguing with stroppy customers.
‘I know that’s not the latest Danielle Steel,’ she informed an aggressive woman. ‘But it’s only ten pence, so what on earth do you expect?’
Beside her she heard Charlie remonstrating with another woman.
‘It’s Poole Pottery, very collectable.’
‘But it’s chipped.’
‘Madam, I’m only charging twenty-five pence.’
The customer sloped off in a huff and five minutes later Finn spotted Charlie talking up the same vase.
‘Poole Pottery, madam, one of tomorrow’s antiques, only two pounds fifty.’
‘I don’t know.’ She peered at the chip. ‘Will you take a pound as it’s chipped?’
‘Certainly,’ he grinned, wrapping it for her. ‘See,’ he whispered to Finn. ‘You can’t pitch the price too low or they get suspicious. This way they get to barter and think they’ve got a bargain.’
It was exhausting. By twelve o’clock only stragglers were left walking round the car park and some of the other sellers had packed up and gone home. The organiser came over to Sue who was closeted with Bobbie, counting the takings.
‘Thanks a lot for coming, Sue,’ she said. ‘Done all right?’ Without waiting for an answer she brushed her straggling grey fringe out of her eyes and went on, ‘Look, one of our parishioners has volunteered to do a run to the town dump, so anything you don’t want to take home with you, just bung it in his van. The white Transit over there by the gate, see?’
‘What a relief.’ Sue turned to Bobbie and nodded. ‘We were wondering where on earth to jettison the rubbish. Come on you two, let’s shove everything into these boxes and get them on to the van.’
‘Have you filled up on hotdogs or shall I buy us lunch?’ Finn asked as they drove out between the wrought iron gates.
Charlie looked self-conscious, hesitating before he answered.
‘Are you starving? Because, if you’re okay, I promised Pa I’d get back and help them finish sorting the stuff for tomorrow. You know, pricing it and wrapping it.’
She gave a resigned laugh.
‘Why did I even bother to ask? You know I’ll help.’ She turned her gaze away from the ancient stone bridge over the river and grinned at him. ‘I just can’t believe myself, you know. If anyone had told me a few months ago that I’d be spending my spare time hanging out with my sister and her insane crew. Or that I’m best friends with a weird old biddy who knocks around with a delinquent angel.’
‘What? Miss B’s angel? How do you know he’s a delinquent?’
‘She told me.’ Finn giggled then quietened down. ‘I feel really sorry for her you know. Julia says she was trapped underground in the war when a bomb demolished a house; she’s not been quite right ever since. Look, stop at the newsagent’s just here, I’ll buy us an ice cream Mars bar each.
‘Yes, Ursula,’ she returned to the topic as they sat in the parked car overlooking the village school playing field, reluctant to plunge back into their world of elderly society, ‘I saw her yesterday at lunchtime in Ramalley. I forgot I hadn’t told you, she was hanging about outside the police station looking really weird, in a real state. She wouldn’t tell me what was the matter but I managed to persuade her to come into the shop and have a cup of tea. That’s when she told me about her angel.’
At this point Charlie interrupted her. ‘Tell me about the angel later on,’ he said firmly, finishing his Mars bar and reaching for her. ‘Just at the moment I’m bored stiff with other people, mad or sane, and with the kind of people who go to car boots. Where did they come from, under a stone? I’m fed up, in fact, with everyone except you and me …’
For five minutes they were far too pleasurably occupied to bother about anybody else’s heavenly visitations. When at last they drew apart Finn sighed and stretched herself like a cat.
‘Look, Charlie,’ she pointed out, laughing. ‘We’ve steamed the whole car up.’
‘That does it,’ Charlie announced firmly, kissing the tip of her nose. ‘I’m sick of this messing about like a couple of seventeen-year-olds; snogging in cars has never been my style. I know I’m foul-tempered and I don’t deserve you but … stay with me tonight, Finn? Pa won’t interfere.’
‘Oh!’ She was suddenly seized by an unaccountable shyness. ‘I’d like … yes, Charlie, I’d like that.’
His dark eyes lit up with anticipation, then, aware of her confusion, he gently stroked her scarlet cheek. ‘It’ll be magic,’ he said happily, turning the key and driving into the village where he parked in his own drive.
‘What were you saying about Ursula’s angel?’ he asked as they walked hand-in-hand across the green to Bobbie’s narrow Edwardian semi. ‘You were telling me how come he’s a delinquent. Isn’t that an oxymoron, a delinquent angel?’
‘Pedant,’ she thrust at him. ‘I do know what you’re talking about and no, it’s perfectly possible to have a bad angel, look at Satan. Not that Ursula’s is that bad, anyway.’ She looked up at him and gave a tiny shrug. ‘What the hell are we doing, discussing degrees of wickedness in angels? No, Ursula reckons her angel keeps giving her rather suspect advice but she’s so pleased to see him she just does as she’s told. I think she’s just a born doormat, bomb traumas or not.’
Pushing at the open front door they went in and joined an excited throng in the kitchen. Bobbie, her sad, thin little face pink with happy importance, was bustling around with a tray full of glasses. She pressed one each on to Finn and Charlie.
‘No, please,’ she insisted. ‘It’s champagne, Delia brought it round. We’ve done so well, but I won’t tell you, I’ll leave it to Delia.’
‘Glasses charged?’ Delia was in her element. ‘Righty-ho, chums. Raise your glasses to the first successful fundraising efforts of our gallant association, Hope Springs!’
They all drank the toast, Charlie raising his eyebrows across the room at his father who was also looking surprised at his first sip, but pleasantly so.
‘What?’ hissed Finn. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Moët,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Lady D must have coughed up, unless they’re frittering their profits on classy booze.’
‘But how much did you make?’ Jonathan Barlow had slipped out when his wife wasn’t looking.
‘Didn’t I say?’ Delia Muncaster looked surprised. ‘Silly old bat. They took sixty-nine pounds seventy-three pence, all told. That’s not bad for a load of junk.’
‘It’s incredible!’ Julia was all admiration. ‘How on earth did you manage it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Finn began, but Sue interrupted her.
‘Well, Finn generously donated a lot of designer clothes which went like hot cakes with the some of the ladies, as well as a load of make-up. And Charlie was brilliant at selling to middle-aged women. I even saw him beat one up on the price of a coffee maker, the price was seven-fifty and she ended up paying nine for it! And Bobbie did a fantastic job with the books. I’d suggested fifty pence but she bullied people into paying more for most of them.’
‘It was a great effort,’ said Delia heartily. ‘Especially on top of the money we made from our busking. Thank you, Sue, for suggesting it and for organising it so successfully. I only hope tomorrow’s show does as well.’
‘Pity Rosemary couldn’t have helped, she’d have enjoyed it,’ Sue said. ‘Margot was sulking because of this morning’s performance.’
Delia looked a question.
‘Poor old thing,’ sighed Julia as she carefully wrapped a Stuart Crystal vase in newspaper. ‘You can’t help feeling sorry for her,
she’s getting worse, though she still has moments of lucidity. But of course Rosemary’s tied worse than ever. Margot got as far as the bus shelter today, stark naked, too! Thank God for the day centre, that’s all I can say.’
At five o’clock Delia called a temporary halt. ‘Time for a tea-break, don’t you think?’ she asked brightly, rummaging in her big black leather handbag.
‘Not your sort of tea-break,’ Julia scolded. ‘You drink yourself to death if you like, the rest of us have some respect for our livers, even if you don’t. Bobbie, can you bear to make another pot of tea? There’s only us six now and I don’t suppose Delia will drink tea. I’ll nip home, I made a coffee and walnut cake this morning, just the thing.’
Bobbie’s face shone even more with sheer delight. Finn went to help her with the mugs and plates.
‘Oh, it’s such fun,’ she gleefully told Finn, who had followed her into the kitchen to help with mugs and plates. ‘I was so lonely and in despair when I joined the group and now look at me. Surrounded by friends, useful again, having fun and when we’ve saved all that money we’re going to—’
She pulled herself up abruptly, shot a guilty look at Finn and busied herself with finding paper table napkins to set on the tray.
‘Bobbie?’ Finn hastened to reassure her. ‘It’s all right, Julia told me.’
‘Oh, good. But of course we’ll be giving some of the money to charity,’ Bobbie said defensively. ‘In fact, all the left over cash will be donated, we all agreed on that.’ She counted plates as Julia turned up bearing a large cake, and accompanied by Ursula Buchanan.
Finn caught Charlie’s eye on her return to the dining room and, remembering their plans for the evening, retired with him into a corner, blushing furiously as he reached down and surreptitiously took her hand in his.
Julia noticed the electricity between them and drew her own conclusions. She was about to murmur an invitation on her own account to Jamie Stuart when Delia drew attention to Ursula.
‘Why don’t you put those bags down, Ursula, they look very heavy. Are they for the fair tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ Ursula’s answer was faint, then she gulped and spoke up. ‘I’ve had a look round for some family bits and pieces I could donate. I hope they’ll be acceptable.’
Jamie Stuart hurried forward to relieve her of her burden and Julia and Bobbie carefully unpacked her offerings.
‘But, Ursula,’ cried Julia. ‘This vase is Royal Worcester, and so is this dish, they’re far too valuable to give.’ A murmur from Bobbie drew her attention. ‘Oh my goodness, what’s this? The most beautiful embroidered linens. Ursula, you mustn’t give away such lovely things.’
‘Oh but I must, my dear.’ Ursula stood her ground, pink with pleasure at this reception. ‘They belonged to my father’s mother and they’ve just been sitting there in the house all these years, doing nothing.’
‘But what about Henrietta?’ Julia put it into words and the others all nodded anxiously.
‘Henrietta didn’t make any fuss at all when I packed up the bits,’ Ursula replied boldly, and with perfect truth, though her head started to dodder even worse than usual. ‘Besides, they’re all Buchanan family items, not from her side of the family, so that’s all right.’ She looked round at the group. ‘I want to pay my way,’ she said, her voice sounding much firmer now. ‘I don’t have the cash but I can at least make a contribution in this way.’ She sat down shaky but determined. ‘There’s lots more stuff in the house that we can sell if tomorrow’s stall goes well.’
Julia put an arm round the frail shoulders and hugged her.
‘It’s a magnificent gesture, Ursula,’ she said gently. ‘I gather they get quite a lot of dealers looking in at the local fair – you know, from Winchester and Reading, London even. I’m sure somebody could surf the net and find out a rough idea of what price we should put on these things. Any volunteers?’
Hugh nodded, rather importantly and was rewarded by a feline grin from Delia Muncaster.
‘Excellent,’ she announced, striking him a hearty blow on the shoulder and baring her teeth even more terrifyingly as he buckled at the knees. ‘Tell you what, when you’ve found some prices, why don’t you drop in to Rosemary’s? Don’t ring her, you never know if the telephone will wake her mother, just call in and take her a bottle of fizz to cheer her up. Here, there seems to be a bottle left. Good God, how on earth did that happen? I must be slipping.’
The party broke up then, Hugh stepping out with a spring in his step, obviously picturing his arrival on Rosemary’s doorstep armed with a bottle of Moët.
Delia poured herself an encouraging tot of gin to give her strength to tackle the two hundred yards to her own house and Bobbie and Ursula found themselves left in the chock-full dining room.
‘Oh, Ursula,’ Bobbie spoke in her usual diffident tones as Ursula fluffed and fussed at the door, ‘I wondered if you … I mean I was thinking about what you said at the first meeting. Do you remember? That you’d love to have a cat?’
‘Oh, I would—’ Ursula was stopped in her tracks. ‘But oh dear, I don’t think I …’
‘That’s what I mean.’ Bobbie’s words tumbled into confusion. ‘Oh dear, I’m not explaining this very well. What I wondered was, why don’t you and I share a cat? It could live here, at my house, but it would belong to both of us, and you could come over and spend time with it whenever you wanted. What do you think? I could never have a pet while I was working all day and out so much on guiding business in the evenings, but now I’ve plenty of time and it would be such fun, wouldn’t it?’
She looked anxiously at Ursula, who appeared to have gone into a trance.
‘Are you all right, Ursula?’
‘Oh,’ Ursula breathed an ecstatic sigh. ‘What a wonderful, truly wonderful idea, Bobbie. How clever you are! Could we really do that?’
‘Of course we could,’ Bobbie was delighted. ‘Look, I saw this ad on the notice-board in Waitrose in town. It’s a lady who runs a little cat sanctuary, a completely one-woman venture. I wrote it down, here: “Cats and kittens always needing good homes; please help us to bring happiness to these little ones”.’
She gulped and gazed at Ursula with wet eyes.
‘We could go and see her tomorrow, couldn’t we? I’ll ring now and make an appointment, what do you think?’
Sue Merrill opened the door to an empty house. On the kitchen table lay a note from her husband: “I can’t bear not to be with her, I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, I expect.”
Chapter 8
Julia watched out of her landing window as Finn ran down the drive in answer to a hoot from Charlie’s horn. While getting ready for her own evening’s entertainment she had forced herself not to drop into Finn’s flat to offer big-sisterly advice. Julia Fitzgerald, she told herself firmly, Finn’s a big girl now; she’s not your baby sister anymore.
Left to her own devices Julia laid the dining table, checked that the soup was ready for reheating, the stroganoff ingredients ready for the off and the mini pavlovas looking luscious in the fridge, then she sauntered into her room to change.
My goodness, she thought, slipping into her tobacco-brown silk jersey top and skirt, and fastening a string of amber beads round her neck, talk about a teenager on a date, this really is a first date, isn’t it? The first proper one with Jamie, at least. Oh God, I hope it goes well, for both our sakes.
****
Alone in the house Ursula wondered, for the hundredth time, what to do about Henrietta. For two days she had managed, more or less successfully, to ignore the problem by dint of shutting the dining room door and keeping out of the house as much as possible.
I can’t go on like this. She forced herself to look at the situation. I ought to call an ambulance or the doctor or something. But then they’ll turn me out of the house and where will I go?
There was a faint scent of spice on the air and the familiar rustle of heavenly wings. The angel was lounging in the Windsor chair by the Rayburn
, looking at her with a quizzical expression.
‘Take a look at her Will, Ursula,’ he offered. ‘That’s the first step.’
‘Oh yes, of course, why didn’t I think of that?’ She was relieved. ‘Henrietta always promised Mother and Father that she’d provide for me, now where did she …?
After some ineffectual dithering she discovered the will in Henrietta’s bureau. As she drew the folded document out of the long envelope Ursula’s hands were trembling violently. How much had Henrietta left her? So much hinged on it
‘But … but … I don’t understand?’ It was a wail of terror. ‘Perhaps I’ve read it wrong?’
But she hadn’t. Henrietta Buchanan had left her house, the contents, her securities and all other assets to the restoration fund for Ramalley Priory. There was no mention of the sister-in-law she had kept enslaved for so many years.
The angel watched as Ursula sat in desolate silence, trying to digest this disastrous news.
‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ he remarked after a long, miserable wait. She looked up, her face dull, with only a glint of interest. ‘Yup,’ he went on. ‘You don’t have to tell anyone about this, you know. You could pretend she’s still tucked up in bed upstairs and carry on living here as usual. It’d be like before, but better, because you could please yourself.’
Comprehension began to dawn.
‘But what would I live on?’ she asked, brightening up.
‘You’ve got your pension,’ he said bracingly. ‘And you can go on drawing Henrietta’s as well; you know she signed the back of the book, when she got so lazy, so you could do it for her. You ought to draw some money out of the bank, too, not to look suspicious. That’s not hard, you just have to imitate her signature. You can go in to the branch and tell them she’s very doddery these days, they won’t suspect anything.’
‘Oh, but I couldn’t, that would be dishonest!’
The angel gave her a very old-fashioned look indeed and she had the grace to look disconcerted.
‘You mean I’ve already been dishonest, don’t you?’ she said humbly. ‘Giving those bits of Royal Worcester to the antiques fair. But they really were from my family.’ She thought hard and made a decision. ‘I suppose you’re right and what could they do to me? Only put me in prison and how bad would that be, compared to all these years working for Henrietta?’