Flat on their bellies, they got ready, jaws working in anticipation. There it came, its mighty wheels shaking the earth, the noise deafening them…Splatch! Splatch! Splatch! Jimmy got in one direct hit, Johnny none. Tony a number he couldn’t count. The tractor rumbled past, its driver ignorant of the assault, and the twins, collapsing from their efforts, rubbed their faces down into the warm grass again. But not Tony. Tony continued, at short intervals, to spit at a point in the road, and it was more than unfortunate that Miss Collins’s light and sprightly step should bring her around the corner to that point and afford a direct hit for Tony, low it must be admitted, but nevertheless direct.
The squawk emitted by Miss Collins had the power to shoot the twins out of the ditch. They had no need to wait and enquire what had happened, their flying legs, followed by those of Tony, showed without doubt how well informed they were.
Miss Collins, after rubbing at her thick lisle stockings with a handkerchief which she then threw away in disgust, stormed up the drive to the garage and into it, to be confronted by Old Pop sitting on the box with his paper and his pipe.
Old Pop did not look at Miss Collins; he appeared deeply engrossed in the paper which, he realised, was upside down but which he couldn’t right without giving himself away. From the garage door he’d had a view of the bend of the road hidden to the twins, and had not only witnessed the whole affair but had anticipated it, and now he was shaking with suppressed laughter.
‘Where…where’s Peter?’
‘Eh?’ Now Old Pop lowered the paper, folding it as he did so. ‘Oh! Mornin’, miss. You want Peter?’
‘Yes. You heard me.’ Miss Collins looked around the garage with a really ferocious glare.
‘Ain’t here, miss.’
‘Well, where is he?’
‘Farm…mending tractor. You want petrol or summat?’
As the vicarage ran to neither a car nor a motor-mower this was obviously a stupid remark, and was met with compressed lips by Miss Collins, until she sprang them apart to declare, ‘I’ll put a stop to this.’
‘What, miss?’ Old Pop had risen solicitously.
‘This.’ Miss Collins pointed to the wet stain on her stocking, ‘Though it’s no good talking to you, you’re as bad as they are, and…and, that dirty old’—now she was spluttering in her anger—‘your father, who eggs them on. But I’ll put a stop to it once and for all, I’ll see Constable Pollard, I’ll get the police to deal with this, I will. I will.’
‘I wouldn’t do that, miss, t’ain’t Christian.’
Miss Collins swallowed, drew herself up to her full height, and looked for the moment as if she were about to demonstrate on Old Pop the complaint in question. Then swallowing twice more she turned about and seemed to leave the ground and fly, so quick was her departure.
The happenings in the village during the day were usually reiterated in the Hart at night, and there had certainly been enough events in the past few hours to keep the conversation at a high pitch of stimulation. For had not Miss Collins bearded the major’s wife in the street? Major, so it was rumoured, had been larking on the quiet with the guest at the Hart. What was more, ’Melia Fountain had gone for Bill for not keeping his eyes at home, and then the ‘Pudd’ twins had spat on Miss Collins and she had gone to Pollard and reported them. But the best piece of all concerned Peter Puddleton, for he had been seen coming out of the wood at eleven o’clock last night with the lady who was setting the village on fire. Mrs Booth said she’d had to come downstairs and let her in and had given her the length of her tongue. That was a funny one that, as the Booths were known never to get upstairs afore twelve at the earliest. Ma Booth apparently didn’t cotton on to her guest. And now the guest had gone to Newcastle. Everybody knew she had gone to Newcastle for she left a message with the Puddleton twins to tell Peter, and they had told him in front of Dan Wilkins, but they hadn’t said when she was coming back.
The question that was covertly going round the room now was: Who was really getting her favours—Harry Puddleton? Bill Fountain? Major? Or Peter? It was a big laugh when you came to think of it. But the laughter subsided when Peter made his appearance, yet the greetings thrown to him were even heartier than usual.
His father, Peter saw, was not in the bar, nor was Bill. But as he took a seat on the broad window ledge Bill came in, and, after nodding briefly here and there and calling for a drink, he came and joined Peter. And it was plain to see that he was not in his usual form; there was no grin fastened on his face tonight.
After taking the top off his beer he nodded and remarked, somewhat dolefully, ‘Hallo, lad.’
‘Hallo,’ said Peter, and as a conversational rejoinder he added, ‘been a grand day.’
Bill, lifting his drink again, took another draught and said, ‘For some, likely.’ And on this simple, yet significant, statement he rested for a moment; then moving nearer to Peter and in a really subdued tone for him he went on ‘Been a hell of a day for me, all through that damned eel.’
Peter, his face crumpling with enquiry, said, ‘The eel?’
‘Aye, seems like I shouted out her name in me sleep, then that old bitch, parson’s sister, collared the wife this mornin’ and told her I was off last night sneakin’ through the wood. And who to see?’ He leaned nearer. ‘You won’t believe it, but the wife’s got a bee in her bonnet. She thinks that it was Miss here I was after.’ He raised desperate eyes to the ceiling. ‘Talk I’ve done this day till I’ve been near blue in the face tellin’ her ’twas the eel that took me through the wood and that it was her name that was Slinky Jane. “Eel, be damned for a tale!” she says, and if I told that to a cat it would scratch my eyes out; and I was a clever dyed-in-the-wool so-and-so to think up such a thing: “Go and see for yersel,” I says, “’tis in the lake.” And you know what, Peter?’
Peter shook his head just the slightest, and Bill wiped his entire face with his hand before resuming, ‘She went and came back as mad as Downey’s bull. You know what?’ Bill’s face looked pitiable now. ‘The twins were there and they swore there was no eel in the lake. They played at the lake all the time they said, and they’d never seen no eel. Can you believe it?’ After staring at Peter with popping eyes Bill wiped the sweat again from his face. ‘And that’s not all, no, not by a long chalk. You know what those limbs of Satan told her when she asked them if young lady came to the lake? “Aye,” they said. “And who else?” she asks. “Sometimes our Peter or me Da,” they says, “and sometimes the major, and sometimes—and sometimes Mr Fountain.” “And what do they do?” she asks.’ Bill paused and stared at Peter over the handkerchief that half covered his face, and his voice dropped to a groaning whisper as he said, “They just laugh and lark a bit,” they said. My God!’—Bill’s face was lost for a moment behind his handkerchief—‘I could kill the pair of them.’
It was in Peter now to laugh, to throw back his head and bellow, but he could see that Bill was in a stew and was seeing no funny side to the affair.
‘Wednesday night, an’ all,’ Bill began again. ‘Always take her in to a show, Hexham, Wednesday night, but she wouldn’t budge.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘One thing I do know, I’ll never put me foot inside that wood again as long as I live.’
Bill took a long drink, and Peter, looking at the mountain of flesh, wondered just how far a woman could become self-deluded. Love, in this case, had not a thousand eyes, he thought, but must be stone-blind. A woman who could imagine that Bill could be found attractive to anyone like Leo must be both blind and daft. Yet he had always thought Mrs Fountain a very sensible woman. Looking at Bill, he wanted to laugh again and he was pleased that he could feel like this. It was good to find something to laugh about in this business. The whole thing should be funny, an eel and a girl, and a village getting them all mixed up. But somehow it hadn’t turned out like that.
Last night he had held her in his arms; he had felt her body almost melting into his; he had buried his lips in her hair; and what had he felt? Only
a sadness. She had seemed to inject him with the sadness that was filling herself. Where had she gone today? Newcastle, the message had said. Why hadn’t she come and told him herself? She could have done so. And no word of when she was coming back. What if she didn’t come back?
This thought brought him to his feet, and Bill, looking up at him, quickly asked, ‘What, off already?’
‘Aye. Think I’ll take a trip into Allendale.’
‘Do.’ Bill nodded warningly. ‘Any place is better than the wood. But,’ he added, ‘that’s not your worry. You’re free to go into the wood if you like, but it won’t see me again, eel or no eel. Oh, no!’
Peter grinned down onto the worried butcher and said, ‘So long, Bill.’
‘S’long, Peter.’
Under the covert gaze of the regulars, and of Mrs Booth in particular, he made his way out of the inn, and down past the yard to the bus stop.
There was one other person waiting for the bus, it was Miss Tallow, and she greeted him in her perky fashion as usual.
‘Good evening, Peter, good evening.’
‘Good evening, Miss Tallow.’
No-one ever called Miss Tallow anything but Miss Tallow.
‘Been a beautiful day, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it has, Miss Tallow.’
Miss Tallow coughed, pulled her white cotton gloves farther up her wrists, then said, without any preamble, ‘I do like your client, Peter. The young lady. She came in for coffee yesterday. Oh, it is nice to talk to someone other than the villagers. Not that I am saying anything against the villagers, you know what I mean, Peter.’
Peter stared down at the tiny little woman and nodded his understanding.
‘A most intelligent girl. Remarkable looking, too. Of course, other people may not think so. You can stay too long in one place and your ideas of the world become very narrow, but I found her most exhilarating. We talked of poetry. She knows such a lot of poetry.’
Miss Tallow stared up at Peter, waiting for some retort, and all he could find to say was, ‘Does she?’
‘Yes, very well-versed. It’s a pity she’s only staying a fortnight. If there were one or two more like her here—I mean of her mind’—Miss Tallow made the distinction soberly—‘we could start a literary group. You know, Peter’—Miss Tallow’s voice sank down to her small depths—‘there’s very little culture in the village. Mrs Carrington-Barrett does her best, and, of course, there are one or two others, but the rest…dear, dear!’ Miss Tallow shook her head, then asked brightly, ‘Are you going into Allendale, Peter?’
‘Yes, I was thinking of going there, Miss Tallow.’
‘Ah, here’s the bus.’
The bus rumbled to a stop, Peter put out one hand to help Miss Tallow up, and automatically his other hand went out in surprise and excitement to help Leo down.
Miss Tallow cooed words of recognition, while from the platform the conductor demanded tersely whether Peter was coming or going. And Peter, as if coming out of a dream, exclaimed hastily, ‘No, no. I’m not getting on.’
The bell tinkled sharply; Miss Tallow’s perky face looked through the window and she raised her hand in a little fluttering salute which Leo answered.
They were left standing looking at each other.
‘So you’ve got back?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded gay, and he noticed that her eyes were bright, laughing bright. She looked altogether happier, and he wondered where she had been and what had happened to cause the change.
‘Were you going into Allendale?’
He smiled shyly. ‘Yes, I was.’
‘And I changed your mind?’
‘That’s about it.’
He could not help but notice that she seemed excited, and somehow this depressed him. And then she said, ‘Would you wait until I put my case inside?’ She nodded back towards the inn and, her voice dropping very low, she added, ‘I’ve got something I want to ask you.’
‘Ask me?’
She nodded slowly. ‘We’ll go to the pool, eh?’
‘As you like.’
She held his gaze before turning away, and his neck became hot under her eyes. He watched her moving without hurry towards the inn, and he knew that she would not make her entry unnoticed, nor yet her exit, nor would it go unnoticed that they were making for the wood. Well, what of it; he didn’t care a damn what they thought. And in this frame of mind he did not walk up the road so that their meeting would go unobserved, but he waited for her where she had left him. There was a recklessness in him that he was beginning to enjoy. But when she did rejoin him his recklessness did not move him to words; he could find nothing to say to her. He could only smile at her and suit his long strides to hers.
He should have felt uneasy walking in silence the length of the road with her but he didn’t, and not until they entered the wood did either of them speak. And then it was he who asked, ‘Had a nice day?’
‘Yes, very.’
‘Somehow I didn’t expect you back the night.’
‘Didn’t you?’ She glanced up at him. ‘It’s odd, but I didn’t expect to come back either.’
‘No?’ Their eyes held, then again they walked on in silence, which lasted until they came to the lake.
As if by common consent they made straight for the edge of the bank and looked down into the water. There was no sign of the eel, and they did not mention her, but after some moments Peter, being unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, said, ‘Well?’
‘Yes? Well?’
Her eyes were cocked sideways at him, and he turned full to her now and said, ‘You wanted to ask me something.’
For a second her gaze flickered over the water, then turning swiftly to him she thrust out her hands impulsively towards him, saying softly, ‘Oh, Peter.’
His nerves were jangling. He held her hands tightly for a moment, then he lifted them and pressed the palms to his cheeks, so drawing her nearer to him, and when her face was beneath his, he said again softly, ‘Well?’
Staring at him, she swallowed, then asked, ‘Could you enter into a game for the next fortnight, Peter?’ Her voice was small.
‘A game?’ His brows contracted slightly but he was still smiling. ‘It would all depend upon what the game was.’
‘Loving me.’ It was an even smaller whisper.
The colour that flooded over his face seemed to sweep the happiness from it. He could feel it rushing down to the soles of his feet, then up again to form a film over his eyes that blotted her from his sight.
This is what he had wanted on Monday night, an affair; and now it was being offered to him and nothing in him welcomed it. To love her, yes. But the time limit which gave it the stamp of the thing he had first desired aroused in him a feeling of revulsion. He was, to say the least, embarrassed at such an approach. In cases of this nature it was the man who suggested the rules, dictated the pace—took, then moved on—and that, to put it in a nutshell, was what she was proposing to do.
‘Peter.’
He saw her face again. Not joyous now, and the apprehension she was feeling came over in her voice as she said, ‘Oh, Peter! You think me awful, don’t you? Fast as they come—a real tart in fact.’
‘No! No, I don’t.’ He was strong in his protest—all his qualms and his ideas as to the fitness of things were brushed aside. ‘I—I think you’re the most wonderful creature on earth. That’s what I think, and it’s true. I’ve never come across anybody like you. I love you, Leo.’ His arms went about her and his thoughts took wings in words and rolled off his tongue: ‘I do love you, and it’s no use saying I haven’t had time yet to get to know you. But I don’t want just a fortnight of you, I want a lifetime.’
She moved within his hold, and his tone changed and he entreated, wistfully now, ‘Leo, listen to me. I know we never clapped eyes on each other until Monday but you know and I know something has happened. And it’s no light thing, nothing you can docket in days. Look at me, Leo’—he pulled her face round to hi
m—‘you must feel this…you must. Look, tell me.’ He was holding her chin none too gently now. ‘Is there another man? I can’t get the idea of that fellow out of me head. Is there? Don’t lie to me, whatever there is, tell me.’
Her eyes, as she looked back at him now, held a dead expression. ‘I give you my word there’s nobody. Nobody,’ she repeated.
‘But there has been?’ He made himself ask this.
Her gaze did not flicker from his and her voice was cool and steady as she said, ‘Yes, there has been.’
He stared at her, refusing to let his mind dwell on this but knowing that later the thought would eat through him. ‘Do you love me?’ he asked.
He felt the uneasy movement of her body again, and now it spoke to him of impatience. And this was verified when she lifted her chin from his hand and said, ‘I asked you to love me, doesn’t that answer you?’
‘No.’
With another movement she indicated that she wanted to be free, but his arms still held her and she looked up into his face again and said, ‘What you mean by love may not be the same as what I mean—I like you’—she brought her eyes from his and looked over the lake—‘I like you a lot, enough to want to make you happy. I cannot promise you a lifetime of happiness which you seem to expect—that would be silly in any case—but I’m offering you something that is sure…a few days. There!’ She looked back into his face again, and her tone had a flippant air. ‘If you don’t want it that way there is no harm done…none.’
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