(11/20) Farther Afield (13 page)

The other letter was from Mrs Partridge, the vicar's wife, and I thought how uncommonly kind she was to take time from all her commitments to cover three pages to me with all the news of Fairacre.

Mrs Pringle's bad leg had flared up again and Dr Martin had been to see her. However, she was still at work, both in the school and the school house. (I could foresee that I should have to express my gratitude and admiration to the martyr, when I returned, in terms as fulsome as my conscience would permit.) The Mawnes had held a coffee party which raised twenty-eight pounds, and would no doubt have raised more but it rained, which damped things. (Not surprising.)

Mr Mawne had high hopes of my returning with plenty of pictures of the hawk. Had I had any luck? The Coggs twins had gone down with measles, but appeared to be playing with all and sundry, as recommended by modern medical men -such a mistake; it would never have been allowed in their own nursery – so no doubt my numbers at school would be much depleted when term began.

She ended with high hopes for my complete recovery and kind regards to Amy.

'I am to pass on Mrs Partridge's kind regards,' I said, turning to her. She was engrossed in a letter of her own, and did not reply for a minute or two.

'Very sweet of her,' she remarked absently, looking up at last. She waved her own letter.

'From Vanessa. She wants a silk scarf trimmed with little gold discs. You can wear it over your head, she says, and somebody called Bobo, or maybe Baba – the child's handwriting is appalling – Dawson, brought one home from Greece recently and looks "fantastic" – spelt with a "k" – in it.'

Amy looked enquiringly at me.

'Have you seen such a thing?'

'There are lots in the hotel shop.'

'Must be white, black or a "yummy sort of raspberry pink",' said Amy, consulting the letter.

'I think I saw a black one.'

'Then we'll snap it up as soon as the shop opens,' said Amy decisively. 'I'm not trying to track down "a yummy sort of raspberry pink". By the way, Gerard's been up to Scotland again. It does look hopeful, doesn't it?'

'He's bound to be there quite a bit,' I pointed out reasonably, 'if he's doing this book on Scottish poets.'

Amy snorted.

'He's staying at Vanessa's hotel, and she sounds delighted to see him. I should say there's definitely something cooking there. Here, would you like to read her letter?'

'Read all about Fairacre in return,' I said, as we exchanged missives, and I settled back in the armchair to decipher Vanessa's sprawling hand. Amy certainly had the best of this bargain, I thought, remembering Mrs Partridge's immaculate copperplate.

'This Hattie May,' I said, struggling laboriously through the letter, 'she had tea with. Does she mean
the
Hattie May who was leading lady in all those musical comedies just after the war?'

'Must be, I suppose. She faded out after she married, I remember.'

'Well, Vanessa says that she is now a window – widow, presumably – and happily settled in a cottage near their hotel. I think I saw her in everything she did. What a dancer!'

'Come to think of it,' said Amy, putting down Mrs Partridge's letter, 'she mentioned her when she stayed with me last. Hattie May was living in the hotel then and looking for a permanent home. Nice of her to invite Vanessa out. I sometimes wonder if the child is lonely up there. Scotland always seems such an empty sort of country.'

'That's its attraction. Anyway, Gerard told you that there were lots of young men who were being attentive, and I can't imagine a stunning-looking female like Vanessa being short of companions,'

'You're probably right,' agreed Amy. 'And anyway, I imagine Gerard is to the forefront of the attentive ones. I hope he can persuade Vanessa to become a little more literate when they are married.'

'Amy!' I cried, 'you are quite incorrigible! Let's go and change.'

'And then,' said Amy, 'we must do Vanessa's shopping. I have a feeling I shall never be paid for it.'

We had a splendid dinner, as usual, with lamb cooked in a particularly succulent sauce made with the magnificent Cretan tomatoes and a touch of garlic. Afterwards we pottered round the shop and Amy bought a black scarf for Vanessa and some silver pendants for presents.

My purchases were more modest and consisted of attractive tiles which I hoped would be acceptable to Mrs Pringle and other kind souls who had made the holiday possible. Amy was admiring one of the beautiful gold plaited belts, and resisting temptation with remarkable strength of will. They were certainly expensive, and I hoped that she would not weaken and buy one, as I fully intended to get her one myself as a little thank-offering for her generosity over the past few weeks.

She left the belts reluctantly, and we returned to our little house with our purchases. The moon was out, and the night was calm.

We went out and descended the steps through the sweet-smelling night air. The scent of the lilies hung heavily about us. We walked in amicable silence along the sea-shore. Little waves splashed and sucked at the sand, and a flickering silvery pathway lay across the sea to the moon. It was one of those moments I should remember for the rest of my life, I knew.

We were in bed early that night, and Amy was asleep long before I was. Somehow, sleep evaded me. I could not get the memory of Toplou from my mind. That deserted place, with the wind crying in its courtyards, haunted me. And the tired patient face of the monk, so gently smiling and polite, floated before me in the moonlight. He seemed to embody the spirit of his surroundings, the lost splendour and the forgotten ardour.

The experience had shaken me, for it had presented me with the stark surprising fact that single people can be lonely. My own solitary state had always been a source of some secret pride to me. I was independent. I could do as I liked. Now I had seen the other side of the coin, and I found it daunting.

All my old night-time fears came flocking back. Suppose my health gave way? Suppose I out-lived all my friends? And why didn't I set about buying a little house
now,
instead of shelving the idea? Someone else, all too soon, would need the school house when they took over my post. I must start facing things, or the bleakness of the monk's life would be echoed in mine.

Perhaps Amy was right to be so engrossed in match-making. Crippled though she was, at the moment, by the blows to her own marriage, maybe she was being true to a proper urge, something natural and normal, when she took such a keen interest in Vanessa's future. Some inner wisdom, as old as mankind itself, stirred Amy's endeavours. Maybe, in my comfortable arrogance, I was missing more than I cared to admit.

I thought how smug I had been when married friends had told me of their problems; how perfunctorily for instance, I had disposed of Mrs Clark's dilemma. The truth was, I told myself severely, that, as in all things, celibacy has its good and bad sides. Nine times out of ten I was happy with my lot, which was as it should be. If I have to live by myself, it is as well to be on good terms with myself.

On the other hand, this salutary jolt would do me no harm. Toplou had made me suddenly aware, not only of the sadness of the solitary, but the warmth of loving companionship, which Amy had spoken of so movingly, which marriage can bring.

The dawn was flushing the sky with rose, and the small birds were twittering among the orange trees, before I finally fell asleep.

12 The Last Day

T
HE
last day of our holiday arrived much too quickly. My feelings were divided. On one side, I hated the idea of leaving this lovely place, probably for ever, for I doubted if I should be able to come again. On the other hand, the thought of going home to the waiting house and garden, to wicked Tibby and to all my Fairacre friends was wonderfully elating. I remembered Amy's amusement at my excitement on returning home from Bent. But surely wasn't that as it should be? How dreadful life would be if home were not the best place in it.

We decided to potter about the town and hotel rather than make a long excursion. We were to start at the gruelling time of five-thirty the next morning, catching an aeroplane from Heraklion a little before eight. If all went well, we should be home about tea-time.

After breakfast, Amy drove the car back to the garage from which we had hired it, and I was left to my own devices. The first thing I did was to hurry to the shop and select the finest gold belt available, taking advantage of Amy's absence.

Having secreted it among my pile of packing, I took my camera and set out on a last-minute fuming expedition. A small private boatyard adjoined the hotel, and here I had been watching a young couple painting their boat in white and blue, with here and there a touch of scarlet. It was most attractive, and, with the blue sea and sky beyond it, would make a perfect colour photograph.

Then there were close-ups of some of the exotic flowers to take. I might have fallen down badly on Mr Mawne's Cretan hawk, but I intended to have something noteworthy to show the Women's Institute at some future meeting in Fairacre's village hall.

I was hailed by a voice as I passed the Clarks' house. Mrs Clark was sunning herself on the verandah.

'Are you off today?'

I said we were, unfortunately.

'We're staying another week. Do come and sit down. John has walked down to the town to get the newspapers.'

I sank into a deckchair and closed my eyes against the dazzling sunshine.

'I wonder if I shall ever feel sun as hot as this again at ten-thirty in the morning.'

'Of course you will. I've no doubt you'll come again next year, or sometime before long.'

'And what about you?'

'More hopeful, my dear. We are staying on this extra week for the express purpose of looking for something to rent, probably for a few months next winter.'

'So you are still thinking of coming here to live?'

Mrs Clark's expression became a trifle grim.

'John is. He found the most appalling house in Malia. Far too big, needing three servants at least, and crumbling into the bargain. I can't make him realise that, if I do agree to come, we simply must have something we can manage on our own. We shall be far from rich on an army pension, and John still seems to imagine we shall have batmen hovering round us. I've persuaded him to try a short period here before we do anything drastic. I must say, he's agreed very readily.'

'It seems sensible,' I said.

'Well, we have to adapt, otherwise marriage could be a very uncomfortable state.'

She shifted her chair so that her face was in the shade. Her legs, I noticed, were a far more beautiful shade of brown than my own.

'Have you read
Mansfield Park?
' she asked unexpectedly.

'Constantly.'

'Do you remember a passage near the beginning when the Crawfords discuss matrimony? Mary Crawford says something to the effect that we are all apt to expect too much, "but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another – we find comfort somewhere." I often think of that. It's very true, and no marriage will work unless there is a willingness to adapt a little. I've no doubt we'll end very comfortably, one way or the other. The danger is in making long-term decisions too quickly, and I'm glad that I've made John see that.'

She sighed, and wriggled her bare toes in the sunshine.

'Why I should worry you with my affairs, I can't think. It's that sympathetic face of yours, you know.'

There was the sound of footsteps on the path, and John appeared with the newspapers.

'I must go,' I said, after we had exchanged greetings. 'I'm off to take photographs of all the things I meant to take days ago. I shall see you again before we go.'

I left them together, John in my vacated chair. They were smiling at each other.

Plenty of give-and-take there, I thought, going on my way. But I hoped she would win.

We had our last lunch at a favourite restaurant nearby. Here the shrimps seemed to be larger than ever, the salads even more delicious. Two cats attended us, and obligingly cleared up the shrimps' heads and tails. Would Tibby have been so helpful? Perhaps, after her Spartan fare at the kennels...

We sauntered back, replete, to the welcome shade or our little house, and lay on our beds to rest. Outside, the light and heat beat from the white walls. All was quiet, wrapped in the hush of siesta time. Only the sea moved, splashing its minute waves on the beach below us.

'Must remember to put out my air-sick pills,' yawned Amy. 'That's the thing to take shares in, you know. Wholesale chemists. When you think of the handfuls of pills the G.Ps hand out these days, you can't go wrong.'

'I'll remember,' I said, 'when I don't know what to do with my spare cash.'

'My Aunt Minnie,' went on Amy languidly, 'left me some hundreds of shares in something called Nicaraguan Railways or Peruvian Copper. I can't quite recall the name, but something far-flung in the general direction of South America. They bring in a dividend of about thirty-five pence every half year. James says for pity's sake sell 'em, but I don't like to. She was a dear old thing, though addicted to musical evenings, and she left me a beautiful ring.'

'The one you're wearing?'

Amy has a square-cut emerald which is my idea of a perfect ring.

'No. This is part of the product of five hideous rings my dear mother left me. She was left four of them by her older sisters, and every one was the same setting – a row of five diamonds like a tiny sparkling set of false teeth. I sold them when she died, and bought this instead, and put the rest in the Caxley Building Society. Very useful that money has been too, for this and that.'

Silence fell. It was very hot, even in our stone-built house, but I gloried in it. How long before I saw sunshine like this again, I wondered? Amy's eyes were closed, and I was beginning to plan my packing when she spoke again.

'Did you have musical evenings when you were young? Aunt Minnie's were real shockers, especially as she made me accompany the singers, who were no keener on my assistance than I was on their efforts. She had a baby grand, covered with a horrible eastern scarf thing, ornamented with bits of looking-glass, and
nothing
would persuade her to open the lid. Mind you, it would have been a day's work to clear off all the silver-framed photographs, not to mention the arrangement of dried grasses. We all just soldiered on, while Aunt Minnie nodded her head, and tapped her foot in approximate time to the music'