Down an English Lane (18 page)

Oh crikey! She suddenly realised that she had forgotten to set the table, although she had found earlier, in a kitchen drawer, a white damask cloth, fortunately clean and laundered, and with only a spot or two of iron mould, and two serviettes to match. There were table mats too, with a hunting scene that had only partly worn away, and knives, forks and spoons; not silver or even EPNS, but still quite serviceable.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Bruce, as he saw her dash across to open the gate-legged table. ‘Here, give those to me and I’ll set the table,’ he grinned. ‘My mother has brought me up properly, you know. I’m not one of those men who want waiting on hand and foot, neither is my father.’

‘You surprise me,’ said Christine. ‘I thought you would have had a housekeeper and butler and maids and all that, before the war, I mean.’

‘Good heavens, no!’ he laughed. ‘We’ve never been in that league. We had a housekeeper of sorts at one time. She helped my mother with the cooking and cleaning, but that was ages ago, before the war started. Domestic servants are getting hard to come by these days. Mother still has someone to help her clean, but over the war years she got used to doing
a lot of it herself, and she’s a splendid cook. My father helps with little jobs around the home, and so do I when I’m there. I’ve told you before, the Tremaines are not nobility, not even what you might call landed gentry…’ He had set the table very proficiently whilst he had been talking. ‘Now, is that all? Is there anything else I can do?’

‘No…thank you. Perhaps, when it’s time, you could open the bottle of wine?’

‘Wine, eh? My goodness, we are pushing the boat out, aren’t we? I’ll open it now, shall I, then it can breathe. Have you a corkscrew?’

Fortunately the kitchen drawer had held one of those as well, but she had not known about wine needing to breathe. The cork came out with a satisfying pop. ‘I’ll put it on the table,’ said Bruce. ‘Now – wine glasses?’

‘Oh, yes…’ She had already washed the contents of the dusty box and they were now bright and gleaming. ‘We’re short of nothing we’ve got,’ she laughed, ‘as my gran used to say.’ She was feeling much happier again now that Bruce seemed to have set aside his former displeasure.

‘Righty-ho, I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘The kitchen isn’t really big enough for two and I’d only be in your way.’

Christine remembered, at almost the last minute, to put the plates to warm on the oven rack, to open the tin of peas, to turn up the heat for a final browning of the chips…and then everything was ready.

She put the chips in a separate dish in the centre of the table, having learned from meals at her friends’ homes that this was the correct thing to do, but served everything else directly onto the plates. Bruce declared that it was a meal fit for His Majesty the King. ‘You wouldn’t get anything better at the Ritz,’ he added, scraping the last of his second helping of trifle from his dish, then folding his serviette neatly and putting it to one side.

‘The Ritz…in London?’ asked Christine.

‘Yes, of course…’

‘Why? Have you been?’

‘Er…no, actually I haven’t,’ he laughed. ‘But one day we will. One day, Chrissie, you and I will dine at the Ritz.’ He reached out across the table and squeezed her hand. His eyes were full of tenderness…and desire. ‘Now…how about finishing this bottle of wine?’

She nodded contentedly as Bruce picked up the bottle, then they sat together on the settee each holding a full glass of wine. She began to feel totally relaxed and happy, and amorous, too, as the mellow wine slid down her throat, warming her all over. She knew that Bruce, too, felt just as she did. Before long their empty wine glasses lay discarded on the floor and they were in one another’s arms. And this time Bruce did not hold back, neither from the fear of disturbance – for the very first time he knew they were completely alone – nor from the feeling that what they were doing was wrong.

‘Christine… I love you,’ he whispered. ‘You…you know what I want, don’t you? I can’t help myself. But…only if you want to as well. I don’t want to do anything that…’

She stopped his words with a kiss. ‘Of course I want to, darling, just as much as you do. But…we would be more comfortable somewhere else, wouldn’t we?’

‘In…bed?’ he asked. She nodded.

They crept into the bedroom hand in hand. Any embarrassment or sense of propriety on Bruce’s part had been taken away by the effect of the wine. Christine, too, was in a state of euphoria, but it was what she had been aiming for all along.

They slid between the sheets and he made love to her, gently at first, then more passionately. She knew that it was his first time, but he did not show any sign of hesitance or inexperience, and neither did he appear to realise that, for her, it was not the first time. It was, in fact, only the second, and the first time, she had known straight afterwards, should not have happened. Promiscuity was not one of Christine’s vices. She had been too shocked at her mother’s way of life to go down that road herself. She had been determined that, for her, the time and the place, and the person, must be right. She gave a sigh of happiness. Yes, it had been…just right.

Afterwards they dressed and then, at Bruce’s suggestion, they tackled together the much more prosaic occupation of washing up. The effect of the
wine was beginning to wear off, but Christine still felt as though she was walking on air. Bruce had fallen quiet. She hoped he was not having regrets or feeling guilty. When they had finished their task he hung up the tea towel, then put his arms around her.

‘Christine… I love you so much. You will… marry me, won’t you? Not just because of…you know…because of that. I’ve wanted to ask you for a while; ever since I met you, really; but I thought I should wait until we had known one another a while longer.’

‘Of course I will marry you, Bruce,’ she replied, omitting to say that she had only been waiting for him to ask her. ‘And…please don’t feel that it is wrong to do…what we have done. It means that we belong to one another now, don’t we?’ He nodded, smiling at her with eyes full of love.

‘I was always told that I should wait until I was married,’ she said demurely. ‘I expect you were, too. My gran used to be adamant about that. But it’s hard, isn’t it, when we love one another so much?’

He kissed her again. ‘We’ll get engaged as soon as we can,’ he said. ‘The next time I come we’ll go and choose a ring. But…darling, we will have to be careful, won’t we? You know what I mean… We don’t want anything to go wrong.’

‘You mean, we’ll have to be careful that I don’t get pregnant?’

He nodded. ‘Er…yes.’

‘Well, I think I’ll leave that side of things to you,’ she said. ‘Is that all right, darling?’

‘Er…yes,’ he said again, swallowing hard. ‘I’ve never…you know…bought any. But…yes.’

‘It’s OK just now,’ she went on. ‘I’m due for my period any time, so I know it’s quite safe at the moment.’

He appeared embarrassed at the mention of such an intimate female matter. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said, leading her to the settee. ‘We’ll choose the ring very soon,’ he went on, holding both her hands tightly between his own. ‘I should be able to get over again in a couple of weeks’ time. And then…shall we tell my parents? Or shall we wait until after the party?’

That blasted party! thought Christine. ‘Never mind the party,’ she said. ‘This is more important than being twenty-one, isn’t it? I feel as though I want to tell everybody right now.’

‘Yes, so do I,’ he replied. ‘But we will know that we’re engaged, won’t we, you and me? And that’s all that matters. My mother would be so upset if she couldn’t have her party… I tell you what; we’ll make a surprise announcement when I cut the cake; there’s sure to be a cake. I’ll tell everybody that we’re going to be married, and that it’s an engagement party as well as a twenty-first. How about that, darling?’

‘Yes…terrific,’ said Christine, not very convincingly. She thought for a moment; it might
not be such a bad idea; in fact it could be quite momentous. ‘It’s a wonderful idea, darling,’ she said. ‘How clever of you!’ She would be willing to suffer the celebration with his family and a crowd of people she did not know, just to see the look on Maisie Jackson’s face when Bruce made the announcement. Yes, that would be well worth waiting for.

Chapter Ten

T
he interview for the headship of Middlebeck School was to take place on Saturday morning, the tenth of November, at the Council offices just off the High Street. The post had been advertised immediately after the schools had returned in September, and it was hoped that the person who was appointed would be able to take up the position in January, at the start of the spring term. It was usual to give a term’s notice, but arrangements could sometimes be made between schools to fit in with staffing arrangements. There had been ten applications and a short list of four was drawn up by the end of October.

‘You are on it, of course, my dear,’ Charity Foster told Anne at the end of the afternoon, when they had said goodbye to the children for five days. It was the start of the half-term holiday, often referred to, colloquially, by the parents – but not by the
teachers! – as ‘teachers’ rest’. (Teachers’ rest, Mother’s pest, was a frequently heard remark). But this half-term break would certainly not be a rest for Anne, because she would be moving to her new lodgings.

‘I was allowed to have my say about the short list,’ Charity said as they sat drinking a cup of tea, the first thing they did at the end of every afternoon, sitting by the cosy fireside, after the children had gone home and their respective classrooms had been tidied. ‘But I’ve spoken to the other members of the interviewing panel and they all agree that you must be included. In fact, we were in agreement about all the names on the short list.’

‘So…who else is there?’ enquired Anne. ‘Am I allowed to ask?’

‘I don’t see any reason why not,’ said Charity. ‘You will meet them all at the interview anyway, won’t you? One is an army captain – ex-army, I should say – who was a deputy head in Beverley before he joined up. The other man – he is also a deputy head – is from Halifax; he is married apparently. And then there’s a woman, an Infant teacher, from Doncaster; she’s single, but then, of course, all women teachers were, until fairly recently.’

‘I don’t really stand a chance, do I?’ said Anne. ‘I’m sure they are all older than me, aren’t they? And much more experienced.’

‘They are older, certainly. The army chappie is
thirty-five, and the other two are in their forties, if you must know! But age makes no difference. It’s the impression you give at the interview that counts the most. So, as I’ve said before, no defeatist talk! You just go in there, Anne, and hold your head up high and give it your very best. Now, I suggest that we don’t talk any more about it just now…

‘Which day are you intending to make your move to your new place?’ Charity smiled affectionately at her. Not giving her a chance to reply, she went on to say, ‘Goodness me, I’m going to miss you so much, Anne. This little house won’t be the same without you.’

‘And I shall miss you as well, Charity,’ Anne replied. ‘But it’s much better that I should make a move now before…well, before I’m forced to leave.’

‘Unless things go your way, and then the schoolhouse would be yours…’

‘You said we weren’t going to talk about it.’ Anne gave a wry smile. ‘No, it’s the sensible thing to do, to get settled in now; and then, if by some chance I do find I can stay…well, I’ll move back again, that’s all. It isn’t as if I have a great amount of stuff to move. Monday morning; that’s the time we’ve arranged. I told you, didn’t I, that Archie Tremaine has very kindly offered to help me?’

‘Yes, you did. What an obliging man he is; what would we all do without him and his shooting brake? He’s always there in an emergency, is Archie.
When the time comes for me to move, though, I shall need to employ a removal firm. Oh dear, it really is the end of an era, isn’t it, Anne? I don’t know how I shall bear to say goodbye to this little place…’

‘Look at it as a new beginning and not an ending,’ said Anne. ‘You were quite cheerful about it all at first.’

‘Yes…so I was, and I know I’m doing the right thing. But the time has actually arrived now, hasn’t it?’ Charity gave a deep sigh. ‘And one of those four people on the list will soon be taking my place here.’

‘And you will be enjoying a well-earned taste of freedom!’ said Anne. ‘No more being governed by the school bell, or having to suffer wet playtimes and mixed up wellingtons…’

‘And lost jumpers and irate parents,’ smiled Charity. ‘And dogs in the playground.’ They both laughed, recalling the havoc that a stray dog could cause, running amok in a yard full of shouting children; quite a common occurrence.

‘Yes, let’s try to look on the bright side, Anne. It’s time for both of us to adjust to the changes.’

‘And we will still be seeing one another at school, until Christmas,’ said Anne. ‘And after that, you won’t be far away, will you?’

It was the companionable evenings that they had spent together, though, that Anne knew she would miss. She looked around at the familiar room; the
glowing fire, the old oak beamed ceiling, and Charity’s dark furniture, gleaming with the patina of age and constant polishing; but she knew too, in truth, that it was time that she moved on. She was in too comfortable a rut, and Charity’s retirement was an opportunity for her to make a change.

Charity’s purchase of the little bungalow, on the estate between Middlebeck and Lowerbeck, had already been signed and sealed, but she would not be moving in there until the end of the autumn term when her years as headmistress would come to an end. Archie Tremaine, helpful as ever, had offered to give her his advice when she was ready to choose a little car; he had even agreed to give her a few preliminary lessons in driving.

And Anne would be moving on Monday to the flat she was renting. It was two rooms, really, plus a tiny kitchenette and a shared bathroom, not a self-contained flat, but she knew she was lucky to have found it. Any property to rent was quickly snapped up nowadays by young couples setting up home together for the first time. The house, quite a modern semi-detached, was in the pleasant, tree-lined Orchard Avenue, about ten minutes’ walk from the school. It was next door to the house where Anne’s teaching colleague, Shirley Barker – Shirley Sylvester that was – lived with her husband and her parents. It was through Shirley that she had heard of the rooms that were to let.

‘Alan and I were very tempted to take them
ourselves,’ Shirley had told her, ‘to give us a bit more freedom. But Mum might have been hurt if we’d moved out. She and Dad have been very good, letting us have the use of the front rooms, but there’s not as much privacy as we’d like, if you know what I mean. We have to share the kitchen, and there’s always a mad scramble for the bathroom in the morning. Still, we shouldn’t grumble, I suppose. We’re paying next to nothing in rent – it would be quite a lot more, of course, if we moved next door – and we’re saving up to put a deposit on a little house. And we want to start a family soon,’ she added coyly.

Alan had not long been demobbed, and he and Shirley were doing what thousands of other young couples were doing in those early post-war days: living with the parents of either the girl or her husband, whilst waiting for a council house or saving up for a deposit on a modestly priced home of their own.

‘You’ll be OK with Mrs Smedley,’ Shirley told Anne. ‘She’s a nice old lady; keeps herself to herself. But it makes sense, she says, to have a lodger now that she’s a widow, and her family left home ages ago. Anyroad, good luck to you Anne. I’m green with envy, though – all that space, just for you! – but it’ll be nice to walk to school with you in the mornings.’

Anne got along well enough with Shirley. She had been on the staff of Middlebeck School when Anne
had joined it at the start of the war, but they had never become bosom friends, just colleagues. There was not the same rapport between them that there was between Anne and Charity, the feeling that the other one was a kindred spirit. Shirley might well have been envious of her fellow teacher’s friendship with the headmistress, but she did not seem to be. She was a somewhat old-fashioned country lass who did her job methodically, day by day, but without a great deal of enterprise or ambition. Anne had the impression that she could not wait to leave and become a full-time housewife and mother, looking after her beloved Alan. They had married before he was called up in 1941, and after that she had refused to go out and enjoy herself with friends, but had stayed at home night after night with only her parents for company. Now that he had returned they spent all their time together, apart from when they were working – Alan had returned to his job as foreman at the local woollen mill – and appeared to have little time for outside friends or interests. Anne, if she were honest, found her rather a dull companion.

Anne was shown into the waiting room in the building which housed the Council offices and realised that she was the last one to arrive. She was ten minutes early – it was still only twenty minutes past nine – but she supposed that the others had all
had a train journey and had given themselves plenty of time.

She smiled and said a quiet, ‘Good morning,’ to the other three applicants before sitting down on one of the leather chairs with wooden arms which were arranged round the large empty table. The four of them looked at one another somewhat awkwardly, half smiling, each of them, it seemed, wondering who would be the first of them to speak.

It was the one whom Anne guessed might be the army captain, although he was not in uniform, who spoke. He appeared though, from his stance – shoulders back and head raised enquiringly – to have a military bearing. ‘I think we ought to introduce ourselves, what?’ he said. ‘I take it we are all here now?’

The other two looked a little unsure, so it was Anne who replied, ‘Yes, we’re all here.’ She realised she might well be the only one with inside information. ‘I believe there are four on the short list.’

‘Ah, so I take it that you are local?’ said the military looking man. ‘On the staff already, are you?’ His shrewd grey eyes looked at her questioningly.

‘Yes… I am, actually,’ she replied. ‘I’m Anne Mellodey. I’ve been at Middlebeck School for six years.’

‘Never mind, we won’t hold that against you.’ The army captain – Anne felt sure he was – laughed
easily. ‘They always include a local person, don’t they? It’s only common courtesy.’ Anne felt her hackles rise, but she told herself not to react. She just smiled and nodded pleasantly. ‘I’m Roger Ellison,’ he went on to say.

‘I’m Graham Perkins. How do, everybody,’ said the other man. He looked a jovial easy-going fellow.

‘And I’m Florence Wotherspoon,’ said the fourth person, a quietly spoken, genteel-looking lady. ‘Miss,’ she added, rather unnecessarily. ‘And I’ll be the last one in, won’t I? It’s the story of my life. I’m always the last on every list.’

‘Never mind, it’s as good a place as any,’ said Roger Ellison ‘And I’ll be first, if they take us alphabetically.’

‘Have you always lived here, in Middlebeck?’ the man called Graham Perkins asked Anne. ‘I must say it seems a delightful little place.’

‘Oh no,’ she replied. Then she laughed. ‘I mean – yes – it is a delightful town, but no, I wasn’t born here, if that is what you mean. Actually, I was an evacuee!’ She grinned. ‘I came up here in 1939 with a group of children from Leeds, and I liked it so much that I stayed.’

‘That’s a good advert for the school and for the town,’ said Mr Perkins. ‘My wife was quite enchanted with the area. We came up here to give it the once-over before I made up my mind about applying for the post. The kids are not all that keen though – we have a boy and a girl – not keen at the
thought of leaving Halifax. But I mustn’t count my chickens, must I?’

‘No, indeed,’ remarked the other lady, Miss Wotherspoon. ‘That is what I am telling myself as well. I, also, think it is quite delightful up here. Such a change from Doncaster where I live. So quiet and peaceful. Do you know, it is the first time in my life I have ever ventured so far north? But now that both my parents have…passed on, I have nothing to keep me there. I’ve been looking out for a nice little country school.’

‘It’s not always as quiet as you might imagine, living up here,’ said Anne. ‘We have our share of excitement from time to time and the town is gradually expanding. And so is the school, of course.’