(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (11 page)

'You must discuss it with Dorothy, of course. As you know, term starts very soon and accommodation here is rather limited. Still, I'm sure that a change of some sort would do you both a lot of good. Shall we go and have a look at the vegetable plot?'

The advance party was already admiring the shallots and some splendid feathery carrot tops. Agnes, much agitated, trusted that Kathleen would not choose the present moment to broach the subject of a holiday at the schoolhouse. Dorothy's reaction might well be forceful, and it seemed a pity to involve the innocent Mr White in a family fracas.

Luckily, Dorothy herself solved the problem by taking Kathleen's arm in a rare spasm of solicitude and leading her to the end of the garden where a plum tree was displaying a bumper crop of half-grown fruit. Agnes, with remarkable aplomb, swiftly directed the men's attention to some new geraniums, well out of earshot of any possible explosion.

'I really think I shall have to sit down for a moment,' said Ray, as they neared the seat recently vacated by Kathleen and herself. The three sat comfortably, and George White kept up a flow of gentle comment about his surroundings, which allowed Agnes to watch the two distant figures under the plum tree.

They seemed to be in earnest conversation, and Dorothy had ceased to support Kathleen by the arm. However, voices were not raised, no physical assault appeared to be threatening, and Agnes breathed again.

A few spots of rain drove them into the house where Kathleen asked if she could go upstairs for a rest. Two aspirins and half an hour in a darkened room often helped her headache. Not that it cured it completely, mark you, that was too much to expect, but such conditions certainly mitigated the agony a little.

Dorothy led the way with a little too much alacrity to Miss Fogerty's way of thinking, and the rest of the party disposed themselves in the sitting room, awaiting Dorothy's return.

'Well, that's that!' she remarked cheerfully, rather as if she had just posted an awkward parcel, when she reappeared.

She turned to her brother.

'Kathleen has just told me how much you both need a little break. Of course, if we had more room here, and more time to entertain you, then it would be nice to have you here. However, you know how we are placed, but perhaps The Fleece could put you up. Would you like to ring them while you are here? Or call perhaps to select a room?'

Little Miss Fogerty could not help admiring the masterly way in which Dorothy cut the ground from beneath her adversary's feet, presenting him with a firm ultimatum at the same time. Nevertheless, she felt sorry for poor Ray, who looked completely nonplussed. Had he been in ignorance of his wife's plans, perhaps?

'We certainly had spoken of a little holiday,' he said at last, 'but I don't think Thrush Green was mentioned. My idea was a few days by the sea somewhere. Kathleen has been run off her feet looking after me, and you know how delicate she is.'

'Yes indeed,' agreed Dorothy, with some emphasis. 'Well then, you won't want to bother The Fleece, I take it?'

'Not at the moment.'

George White, who had been looking uncomfortable during this exchange, suggested that a turn about the green, now that the rain had eased, might be a good idea while Kathleen rested, and before they set off for home.

'I should enjoy that,' said Ray, getting to his feet.

'Then we'll see you later,' said Dorothy graciously.

The men's footsteps died away, the gate clanged, and Dorothy exploded.

'Well, of all the nerve! Really, Kathleen is outrageous!'

'Please, please!' whispered Agnes in much agitation, 'she may hear you.'

'I don't know that I worry particularly about that,' replied Dorothy. 'A born trouble-maker, that one. I think she simply wanted to rile me. And in that, I suppose, you could say she's succeeded.'

She plumped up a cushion with excessive vigour, and punched it back into place on the sofa.

'But not another word will I say,' she announced, breathing heavily. 'Let us go and get the tea tray ready for when the men return.'

True to her word, the rest of the visit passed in outward harmony. The visitors were attended to with every courtesy, and Dorothy and Agnes waved farewell from the gate with their faces wreathed in polite smiles.

Agnes, following Dorothy back to the house, waited for the inevitable explosion after so much dangerous repression.

'I really don't know,' began her friend, 'what passes in the minds of some people. Do they never think of anyone but themselves?'

Agnes took this to be a question of the rhetorical kind, and gave a non-committal clearing of the throat.

'Kathleen knows how we are placed
perfectly well,
' went on Dorothy, now in full spate. 'We have no spare room, no spare time, no spare energy, and yet she expects us to take on an invalid and, worse still, herself – a hypochondriac of the first water. It's too much! It really is! Simply because we are lucky enough to live in Thrush Green, she seems to think that we must be available at all times to share our good air and surroundings with all and sundry.'

She paused to take breath in the midst of this tirade, and Agnes managed to insert a gentle word.

'Don't dwell on it, dear. You know she's probably over-anxious on Ray's account, and that's made her thoughtless.'

'Humph!' snorted her headmistress. 'That's as maybe! But we may as well listen to the news, as I see it is time. At least it might act as a counter-irritant.'

And little Miss Fogerty rose to switch on the set.

Across the green, Winnie Bailey was also considering the question of summer visitors to Thrush Green.

Occasionally, she had a twinge of remorse about her refusal to fall in with Richard's plans, although she knew perfectly well that it would have been impossibly difficult to have coped with a strange young mother, a new baby, and an energetic four-year-old.

But she had heard nothing from Richard since his visit, and had received no thanks from his wife for her letter and the roses. It made her rather sad.

She had seen the announcement of the birth of a daughter in the newspaper, and written a little note of congratulation, but that too had elicited no response.

Well, there it was, thought Winnie, she could do no more, and if Richard was still sulking then there was nothing she could do about it but hope that time would heal the rift.

Meanwhile, she decided to go into the garden and collect some geranium cuttings. They could stand in water overnight, and she would pot them tomorrow. A little work with one's hands could be a great comfort when one was worried.

It had been one of Donald's maxims, and Winnie, making her way into the garden, had always recognised its wisdom.

John Lovell too had been gardening that afternoon, and as he was blessedly free from surgery duty that evening, he was studying the paper with his feet up.

His attention was caught by an item concerning car thieves who seemed to be running a lucrative business in London and its suburbs. Only expensive cars were being taken, it appeared, and the police were of the opinion that the cars were stolen to order, disguised in some remote spot, such as a lonely farm with outbuildings, and then fixed up with faked or trade number plates and often shipped abroad.

Doctor Lovell lowered the paper and gazed through the window at his garden. In his mind's eye he saw again the yard at Leys Farm on his second visit.

He had called without warning, simply to check that his patient was progressing satisfactorily. The double doors of a barn had been standing open, and two, or possibly three, large cars were visible. The older men seemed to be at work on them, and the doors of the barn had been hurriedly slammed when the doctor had been noticed.

In front of the house a Porsche stood, and the young man whom John had treated, was busily unscrewing a hub cap.

'Now I wonder?' said John to himself. What would be the best thing to do?

The local police superintendent was a friend of his. The magistrates at Lulling court knew them both well.

Well, he could only look a fool, thought John, making for the telephone. Better that than failing to do one's duty as a responsible citizen.

He began to dial the number.

Down the hill, in Lulling High Street, one light still burned in The Fuchsia Bush.

Mrs Peters had stayed after the shop shut to make up the accounts, and to check an order for one of her wholesale suppliers.

Despite the fact that the café and shop were always busy, and that home-made cakes, scones and biscuits sold briskly every day, there were times when Mrs Peters wondered how long such a business would survive.

Staff wages were a heavy item in her expenditure. Rates and rent added to the burden. The cost of such basic necessities as flour, butter, sugar, coffee and tea had risen astronomically since she first took over the business, and she did not want to price her excellent produce beyond the purse of her loyal customers. It was becoming something of a headache, and short of dismissing one of the staff, or finding some extra way of adding to her income, the worries seemed likely to become more demanding.

She was still studying the accounts when the telephone rang.

'Ah!' said a woman's voice. It was rather a domineering type of voice, thought Mrs Peters, the sort of voice belonging to someone known as 'a born leader'. Could this caller have found a fly in an Eccles cake, and was now about to threaten The Fuchsia Bush with a visit from the Public Health Office? Poor Mrs Peters quailed.

'So glad I found you at home. I presume you live above the shop?'

'Well, no, I don't, but I stayed late to see to some office work,' replied Mrs Peters. 'Can I help you at all?'

'We met at Joan Young's lunch party. My name is Thurgood.'

Light dawned. This was worse than she imagined. Mrs Thurgood, wealthy and influential, could make life unendurable if she had an excuse for complaint.

'I remember,' said she, her mouth dry with apprehension.

'My little party were all most impressed with the catering,' went on the ringing voice. 'I know at least two people who are going to get in touch with you about arranging something similar. That's why I wanted a word with you about a little affair of my own.'

'How kind,' faltered Mrs Peters.

'We are having a christening at St John's church here in Lulling, in about a month's time. The dear rector will conduct the service, of course. He was instrumental in bringing my daughter and her husband together in the first place, incidentally. We are all
devoted
to him.'

Mrs Peters knew, as did all Lulling, of Mrs Thurgood's initial animosity to poor Charles Henstock. She had been a great admirer of Lulling's handsome vicar, Anthony Bull, and had made his successor's early days very uncomfortable. Mrs Peters had heard too of the battle of the kneelers, which had taken place before the engagement of Mrs Thurgood's daughter, but naturally said nothing.

'A charming man,' she agreed.

'We shall be quite a small party, somewhere in the region of twenty to thirty guests, and I wondered if you could cater for us?'

'I should be delighted.'

'It would be a tea party mainly, and of course I should like you to make the cake. Perhaps a few little savouries to have with the parting glass of wine? Shall I come down one day to make arrangements, and discuss the budget?'

'Please do. Shall we say on Tuesday afternoon?'

'That will suit me perfectly. I will be with you at two-thirty,' said the lady graciously. 'So glad you can take it on. My friend is envisaging a large buffet lunch, rather like Joan Young's, in aid of the Lifeboat Institute, but no doubt you will be hearing from her. The other person is planning a golden wedding celebration, I gather, for her parents. No doubt there will be other claims on your time.'

Mrs Peters renewed her thanks and put down the receiver. Her hands were trembling, but her heart was light.

Could this be the beginning of a new venture, and a boost for the dear old Fuchsia Bush's fortunes?

Part Two

Moving In

8 New Neighbours