(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (10 page)

Winnie hastened to break into this family squabble. 'Well, I'm sure you are wise to go next door occasionally. They were so obliging to you when you were all ill. It's a good thing to repay their kindness, by giving them your custom.'

The ladies smiled.

'But to answer your other question,' went on Ada. 'No, we haven't found regular help yet. Nelly Piggott approached one or two people, but they were unable to come.'

'It isn't as though we are asking them to do too much, you know,' said Bertha. 'Just a hand with the silver cleaning.'

Winnie surveyed the occasional tables, laden with silver bric-a-brac, recalled the drawers full of heavy silver cutlery, and the vast tureens and sauce boats in the dining-room, and was not surprised that any cleaner's heart would plummet at the magnitude of the task.

'And scrubbing the kitchen floor, and the back places,' added Violet.

'And taking the gas stove to pieces for a monthly spring clean.'

'And, of course, the windows,' added Violet. 'We do seem to have rather a lot of windows. And Father always liked to see the steps whitened with hearth stone, and we like to keep that up.'

'We
did wonder
,' said Ada meditatively, 'if she would undertake some decorating as well, now and again. Just simple paper-hanging and gloss-painting for the woodwork. You don't know of anyone who would like a light job, I suppose?'

'Well, no,' said Winnie rising. 'But if I hear of any able-bodied person who might suit you, I will let you know.'

She made her farewells, and walked down the steps to the pavement.

'And an able-bodied person,' thought Winnie to herself, as she traversed the High Street in the warm sunlight, 'is what would be needed in that household.'

She approached the steep hill leading to Thrush Green.

'And would they be able-bodied for long?' she wondered aloud, much to the astonishment of a passing collie dog.

The warm spell jolted everyone into activity. The inhabitants of Lulling and Thrush Green, who had been hibernating as thoroughly as the hedgehogs, now stirred themselves to clean windows, wash curtains, throw rugs on to the clothes lines for thorough beating and generally welcome the spring with a spurt of domesticity.

Local telephone lines hummed with invitations to coffee, lunch, tea, a drink, or even a full-blown formal evening dinner. People who could not be bothered to do more than fend for themselves during the bitter winter months, now remembered how much they wanted to see their friends again, particularly as the gardens were at their best, aglow with daffodils, aubrietia and golden alyssum, and mercifully free, so far, from the more noxious weeds which would be rampant in a month's time.

Harold Shoosmith's garden was particularly colourful. Yellow, blue and mauve crocuses like gas flames had burst through the soil beneath the flowering cherry trees and the golden forsythia bushes. His Thrush Green neighbours paused to admire the garden when they passed, and even Albert Piggott had to admit that it was 'a fair picture'.

Harold had kept his word and had taken Dorothy Watson for a trial spin in his own car. He confessed to Isobel, before he called for his pupil, that he was a bundle of nerves, but gained confidence after a mile or so, for Dorothy seemed to be making steady progress, and was careful when changing gear.

Harold's new car was an Audi which Dorothy handled very well, but she gave a sigh of relief when at last they drew up at the Shoosmiths' house.

'Lovely, Harold dear,' she said, 'but I think a
small
car would be more suitable for Agnes and me.'

Harold agreed that there was no need for the two ladies to own a car as large - or as expensive - as the Audi, and that parking would be a lot easier with a vehicle the size of Ben's Fiesta, or even smaller.

'When the time comes,' he offered, 'I should enjoy trying out any that you favour. That is, if you still propose to buy.'

'Yes, indeed. Ben seems to think that I am getting on quite well. I only hope he's right.'

'I'd trust Ben's judgement.'

By this time they were in Harold's house where Agnes and Isobel were comfortably ensconced.

'And what news of the house-hunting?' enquired Isobel.

'Very little news, I fear,' replied Dorothy. 'Except that the particulars from Better and Better have been more plentiful with spring on the way, and rather more realistic.'

'Dorothy wrote to them,' explained Agnes, 'about how silly it was to send us details of top floor flats or bits of castles. Such a waste of everyone's time.'

'Well, we've all been through it,' said Isobel. 'Harold always says that after forty-three viewings he simply settled for forty-four, which was this one, because he had cracked completely.'

'You were let off comparatively lightly,' Harold reminded her. 'Only a dozen or so, and then I persuaded her to marry me. I still don't know if I or the house was the real attraction.'

'Fifty-fifty,' his wife told him, with a smile.

'Well, we don't know any nice single men in Barton,' said Dorothy. 'And certainly not one who would offer us marriage. I think we shall simply have to rely on Better and Better.'

'I'm looking forward to visiting you there when you've settled in,' said Isobel. 'I visited it on a couple of occasions when I took my neighbour in Sussex to visit her aunt there. It was an awkward cross-country journey by train, so I ran her across. We had a splendid picnic on the way, I remember, which she insisted on preparing. Asparagus, strawberries and cream! Delicious!'

'Why don't we have grand picnics like that?' queried Harold.

'Because you prefer thick ham sandwiches, or a ploughman's in a pub,' said Isobel.

She rose and beckoned to the ladies. 'Now come and have a proper look at the garden. Harold's done wonders.'

And the party moved out to enjoy the last of that day's spring sunshine.

On the following Wednesday, Ada, Bertha and Violet Lovelock walked to The Fuchsia Bush. Nelly Piggott herself placed their lunch before the Misses Lovelock.

Miss Ada had ordered fillet of plaice, Miss Bertha lasagne and Miss Violet braised beef. As the youngest of the three sisters, she was well aware that she would have to face some criticism when she returned home. Braised beef was more expensive than plaice or lasagne. Miss Violet was content to face her sisters' strictures later. In any case, she was not only used to them, but would be fortified by good red meat.

'There you are then,' said Nelly encouragingly, 'and I hope you enjoy it.'

The ladies inclined their heads.

'Not got suited yet, I suppose?' went on Nelly.

'I'm afraid not,' murmured Ada.

'Marvellous, innit? All this unemployment they keep on about, and yet no one wants a day's work.'

'Quite,' said Bertha.

'Could we have some mustard?' asked Violet. 'English, please.'

'Well, I won't forget to look out for someone,' said Nelly, as she departed in search of home-produced mustard. 'But it'll be an uphill job, I warn you.'

Through the window of The Fuchsia Bush the life of Lulling High Street pursued its peaceful way. Young Mr Venables, retired solicitor of Lulling, and now in his seventies, was chatting to an equally venerable gentleman beneath the pollarded lime tree immediately outside the restaurant. Several dogs were trotting about on their daily affairs, and young mothers were gossiping over their prams.

On the other side of the road, the greengrocer had put out some boxes of early annuals on the pavement below the rich display of apples, oranges, forced rhubarb and melons.

Velvety pansies, glowing dwarf marigolds and multi-coloured polyanthus plants all tempted the passers-by, particularly those gardening optimists who were dying to get down to some positive work after the months of winter idleness.

Among them was Ella Bembridge, close friend of Dimity, Charles Henstock's wife, and an old friend of the Lovelock sisters.

She was stooping over the boxes, her tweed skirt immodestly high, and a plume of blue smoke from one of her untidy cigarettes wreathing above her head.

Violet, who was facing the window, noticed her first, and wondered idly if their old friend would also be lunching at The Fuchsia Bush.

She did not wonder for long. Ella straightened up and plunged across the road towards the restaurant. A startled motorist screeched to a halt, stuck his head out of the window, and presumably rebuked Ella.

Violet saw Ella give him a dismissive flick of her hand, as she gained the kerb. Her expression was contemptuous. The motorist, muttering darkly, drove on.

'Well, well! Hello, hello!' she shouted boisterously. 'Got room for one more at your board?'

The two older Misses Lovelock looked up in surprise, and Ada choked delicately on a bone which had no business to be in a fillet of plaice. It was left to Violet to do the honours.

'Of course, Ella dear. Just let me move the water jug and the ashtray. Oh no! You may need that, perhaps.'

'Not for a bit, thanks. How nice to see you here.'

She settled herself with a good deal of puffing and blowing, throwing off her jacket, tugging at her cardigan sleeves, dropping her gloves to the floor, and generally creating as much disturbance as a troop of cavalry.

'Nearly got run down by some fool car driver who wasn't looking where he was going,' she announced. 'Proper menace some of these chaps. I hear Dorothy Watson's learning to drive. Think she'd have more sense.'

Violet, handing the menu to the newcomer, considered this comment. Did Ella mean that she would imagine that Dorothy would have more sense than the male drivers who were menaces? Or did she think that Dorothy ought to have more sense than to have undertaken driving lessons and the probable future ownership of a car? Really, the English language was remarkably ambiguous.

Ella studied the menu briefly and then slapped it down on the table. The salt and pepper pots jumped together.

'What are you lot having?' she said, peering at their plates in turn.

'Don't care for fish in white sauce myself, and that lasagne is no tastier than wet face flannel I always think.'

She studied Violet's half-finished portion. 'Looks good that!'

She caught sight of Nelly hovering by the kitchen door.

'Ah, Nelly!' she roared cheerfully. 'Bring me a plate of Miss Violet's stuff, will you? There's a good girl!'

She turned to her companions in the greatest good humour.

'What luck catching you here! I was just about to call to see if you would like to contribute to the Save The Children fund. Dimity asked me to help.'

Ada and Bertha exchanged looks of horror, speechless at the idea of parting with money.

Violet rose to the occasion.

'Of course, Ella dear. Such a good cause.'

She ignored the glances of her two sisters. If she were to get a wigging anyway for choosing braised beef, then she might just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

No one relished this amazingly warm spell as keenly as little Miss Fogerty. Her bird-like frame suffered severely in the bitter Cotswold winters despite sturdy underclothes and several hand-knitted garments protecting her shoulders and chest.

The sunshine woke her earlier now in the mornings, and it was a joy to come downstairs early to see that the breakfast table was in good order, and to greet whichever Willie was postman for the week.

Willie Bond, large and lethargic, came one week. He was a cousin of Betty Bell's who cleaned the school and also attended to Harold and Isobel Shoosmith's domestic affairs, and to Dotty Harmer's at Lulling Woods.

His counterpart was Willie Marchant, a lanky and morose individual. Nevertheless, he was always polite to Agnes Fogerty, remembering an occasion when she had personally escorted a nephew of his to his home, when the child had been smitten with a severe bilious attack.

'Not many would've bothered,' he told people. 'She's a kind old party, even if she was behind the door when the looks was given out.'

Agnes enjoyed these few precious minutes of tranquillity before the rigours of the day.

There was another reason too for her pleasure in this early morning privacy, for more often than not these days the little tabby cat approached timidly, and sat by the dustbin waiting for his milk.

Agnes did not fail him. She also added a few scraps which she had garnered during the day before, and had taken to purloining any specially acceptable tit-bits from the school left-overs.

She put this largesse on the flagstones behind the dustbin. The cat always ran away, but she noticed with joy that he fled less far away as the days passed, and he returned to Agnes's bounty very quickly.

She stayed at the window as he ate, hoping that Dorothy would not appear before he had finished his meal.

It was not that she was
ashamed
of feeding the poor little thing, she told herself, but there was no reason to upset Dorothy who had seemed to be rather dismissive about their visitor when Agnes had mentioned it.

While she waited she admired the dewy garden. Already the birds were astir, and a pair of collared doves were fluttering by the hedge. A young rabbit sat motionless nearby, and Agnes thought how perfectly the pearl-grey of feathers and fur matched.