(12/13) The Year at Thrush Green (9 page)

'Thank you, sir, but I'll look around for a bit. Perhaps when I get back from Scotland?'

'That would be ideal. I shall look forward to it, Mr Andersen,' said Charles, turning back to the church.

'Mr Andersen with an E, and "skedule" not "schedule",' said Charles to himself, as he drove back to St John's. 'And what a nice fellow! I hope he comes again, and I can be of help.'

Across the road from St Andrew's church, Nelly Piggott noticed the stranger wandering about the churchyard. He stopped every now and again, and seemed to be copying the inscriptions on some of the tombstones into a little notebook.

Nelly, who had always had an eye for male beauty, was impressed by the blonde good looks of this ambling giant, but had other matters on her mind which took precedence that morning.

For one thing, she was cooking a small turkey with all its accompaniments. For another, she had a great deal to think about the job at the Fuchsia Bush. And lastly, but by no means least, she thought about the pathetic news of Charlie's departure from this life.

She had said nothing to Albert about this matter, but had rung the Leicester number and spoken to Jean Butler. As far as Nelly could make out, that good woman had virtually looked after Charlie for the best part of a year, and though she talked of him as 'a lodger', she had evidently received no payment from him.

It was typical, thought Nelly, as the tale unfolded, that Charlie should land on his feet. Obviously, the old charm was still there. Jean Butler had been in tears, and spoke of her late lodger with true affection.

Nelly told her that it would be impossible for her to leave her job to attend the funeral, and expressed her sympathy. She almost added that they were in the same boat, but managed to resist the temptation. She was also careful not to give her address or to express the hope that they might meet one day. She rang off, glad that she had ended the affair with such discretion, but shocked by the description of Charlie's sufferings.

He had, Jean Butler told her, 'just wasted away'. He had cut his foot which had turned septic. Gangrene had set in. It had not responded to treatment, and his foot had been amputated. All through this time Jean Butler had seen him daily. According to her, he had remained brave and cheerful to the last, and had promised to take her to a dance as soon as his new foot was fitted.

It was this last flash of Charlie's spirit which particularly upset Nelly, and the poignancy of it haunted her thoughts.

It was perhaps as well that the day-to-day running of the Fuchsia Bush was now entirely in her hands, for Mrs Peters remained in hospital. Mrs Jefferson, Rosa, Gloria and the now-healed Irena backed up the establishment and two temporary girls had been taken on to help with the running of the place. There was little time for tears, and for this Nelly was grateful.

She had also found some comfort in confiding in Mrs Jenner, one of her weekly bingo companions. Mrs Jenner was much respected in the neighbourhood. For years she had been the local midwife, and was the mother of Jane Cartwright who ran Rectory Cottages with her husband Bill.

Mrs Jenner had lived all her life in the old farmhouse along the road to Nidden. Percy Hodge, her brother, still farmed there, but lived next door with his new wife Gladys. When Charles and Dimity Henstock had become homeless overnight following the fire at Thrush Green rectory, it was Mrs Jenner who had come to the rescue, and given them lodgings at the farmhouse.

As soon as Nelly had rung on that sad evening, to say that she would not be at bingo, Mrs Jenner guessed that something serious had happened.

'Come up here one evening soon,' she said to Nelly. 'Just you and me for a nice chat.'

'I'd like that,' said Nelly. 'Can we make it on Friday?'

Albert was ensconced in the Two Pheasants when Nelly walked through the dusk of evening to visit her friend.

As the tale unfolded, Mrs Jenner listened with growing sympathy. Like most Thrush Green residents, her first impressions of Nelly had been censorious. It was generally agreed that she was noisy, pushing and 'a bit common', that damming phrase which had blighted so many villagers' characters.

Her affair with Charlie, the oilman, whose van visited the area once a week, was soon being discussed with much headshaking.

Not that Albert, as the injured husband, merited much sympathy, and when Nelly scandalized the community by going to live with Charlie, some people said openly who could blame her with that old misery Albert for a husband?

But latterly things had changed. Nelly's success at the Fuchsia Bush, her unfailing cheerfulness, and her exemplary cleanliness had made her neighbours willing to admit that there was a lot to commend Nelly Piggott.

Mrs Jenner had been one of the first to offer friendship, and her example had prompted others to welcome Nelly into Thrush Green society.

On that April evening the bond between the two women grew stronger than ever. Although Mrs Jenner deprecated Nelly's passion for the flibbertigibbet Charlie, she was wise enough to recognize that love can strike in the most uncomfortable and unpredictable ways, and that really Nelly was perhaps more sinned against than sinning.

Certainly, as Nelly poured out her tale, with her tears, sitting in Mrs Jenner's wicker armchair, her hostess was almost as moved as her sorrowful guest.

She fell back on the common panacea in times of stress. 'I shall make us a nice pot of tea, dear,' she told Nelly.

And she did.

It was about this time that Edward Young came across Jane Cartwright, as they had both gone to post letters in the box by the wall of the Youngs' house.

'Ah!' greeted Edward. 'Just the person I wanted to see.'

Jane smiled happily. She had no inkling of what was in Edward's mind, but she had always looked upon him as a good friend.

She put her two letters in first, and Edward thrust a fat bundle of mail in after hers.

'It's about that room of yours. I hear it's considered inadequate.'

Jane's heart sank. From his tone she realized that he was annoyed, and knowing his reputation for 'touchiness' she felt dismayed.

However, she was a brave woman, and answered straightforwardly. 'It's perfectly adequate for its purpose,' she said. 'I don't know who started these rumours. I've heard them myself, so I know they may have worried you. If we have a party, of course, which doesn't happen very often, I suppose we could do with more space.'

Edward grunted. 'So there's nothing to complain about?'

'Indeed not. We love the building and the added conservatory.'

Edward looked slightly mollified. 'Anyone else spoken to you about this affair?'

'Well, the rector asked me what I thought. I told him exactly what I have told you. He seemed relieved. He said we couldn't really afford to make any enlargements.'

'That's quite true. And I'm glad he was relieved. I am too. I did my level best to make those buildings absolutely right at the time.'

Jane was glad to see that he seemed calmer. 'You did a first-class job there,' she told him, 'and we all appreciate it.'

They parted company with relief on both sides.

***

During April the trustees of Rectory Cottages met in the Henstocks' dining-room at Lulling.

The meeting was at eight o'clock and Dimity had provided coffee and drinks for the assembled company. Having supplied her guests she retired to the vicarage sitting-room and watched a gardening programme on television. She found it very peaceful.

In the dining-room next door, the even tenor of the Usual Business had also gone its peaceful way, until Charles, as chairman, had enquired if there were any other business, and Mrs Thurgood raised her voice.

'I am greatly perturbed to hear that the communal room is too small,' she stated.

All eyes turned towards her. Charles, who had expected this matter to be raised, found that his attention was caught by Mrs Thurgood's hat.

Usually that lady's hats were high-crowned affairs with wisps of veiling or silk swathed around them, reminiscent of Queen Mary's toques of Charles's youth. But this evening she was wearing a round straw hat with an upturned brim and two streamers of ribbon hanging at the back. It seemed rather a youthful style for such a formidable figure, and Charles felt that it was vaguely familiar.

'Any comments?' he asked the assembled company, still secretly puzzling about the hat.

'I don't think,' said Harold Shoosmith, 'that the room is really too small. I had a word with Jane Cartwright and one or two of the people at Rectory Cottages, and everyone seemed quite happy with the present arrangements.'

Mrs Thurgood bridled, and the two streamers quivered. Light dawned on Charles. Of course, the hat was exactly like those worn by Edwardian children at the seaside! A sort of summer sailor's hat! He smiled with relief.

Mrs Thurgood shot him a disapproving glance. For two pins, Charles thought, she would tell him that it was 'no laughing matter'. But the lady's attention was directed to Harold.

'That is not what I heard,' she said firmly. 'It was Captain Jermyn himself who mentioned it to me.'

There was a visible relaxation of tension. Captain Jermyn, a crusty old veteran of two world wars, was known to be an inveterate troublemaker.

Charles rallied to Harold's support, making a mental note to consult Dimity about the hat when the meeting ended.

'I too have spoken to several people, and all seemed to find the room adequate.'

John Lovell also added his mite, saying mildly that he knew his brother-in-law, Edward Young, who had designed the building and the annexe, had taken infinite trouble over the dimensions of the sitting-room. He himself had always thought it pleasantly spacious. 'What's more,' he added, 'it would be horribly expensive to enlarge.'

'We've raised money before,' snapped Mrs Thurgood. 'Jumble sales, fetes, coffee mornings, whist drives—I've helped with all of them
myself.
And I've had another idea recently. Janet, my daughter, would be quite willing to have an exhibition of her abstract paintings, and I'm sure people would flock to see it.'

From the expressions of dismay which were apparent on the committee members' faces, this hopeful vision of queues jostling to see Miss Thurgood's incomprehensible daubs seemed unlikely.

'But where could it be held?' asked someone, playing for time.

'I thought the town hall,' said Mrs Thurgood. 'Of course, the rental of the place would have to come from our funds, but the profits should easily cover that. I propose a fund-raising effort.'

Charles took charge. 'I think we should put Mrs Thurgood's proposal to the vote. Can I have a seconder?'

There was a stony silence, whilst looks were exchanged.

'Well,' said Charles, 'it looks as though we must let the matter rest.'

'
You
may,' said Mrs Thurgood forcefully, 'but I shall not!'

And five minutes later the meeting ended.

In bed that night, Charles asked Dimity if she had noticed Mrs Thurgood's hat.

'It reminded me of the sort of thing my father wore as a boy at Walton-on-Naze, according to family photographs.'

'It's a Breton straw,' Dimity told him.

'A Breton straw?' echoed Charles mystified.

'Sailors wear them in Brittany,' yawned Dimity. 'I had one just after the war. They seemed to be in fashion after D—Day.'

'But surely there wouldn't be any sailors in Brittany wearing hats like that on D—Day,' replied Charles. 'I mean the beaches were swarming with troops, and any Breton sailors would be in uniform. Don't you think that style really goes back to earlier times?'

But Charles received no answer. Dimity had fallen asleep, and Charles shelved these sartorial problems and followed suit.

Edward Young, who was also one of the trustees, had been unable to attend the meeting, which was just as well, for he would have become extremely heated in the light of Mrs Thurgood's assertion that the sitting-room he had so carefully designed was too small. John Lovell, as Edward's doctor, felt particularly relieved that his irascible brother-in-law was absent. Such an atmosphere might well have brought on Edward's shingles again.

Nevertheless, Edward, who still found the rumour rankling, asked several local friends for their opinion. All did their best to reassure him. Most of those asked were genuinely of the opinion that the room was quite all right as it was.

One or two, including Molly Curdle who knew Edward's quick temper, kept any doubts about the adequacy of the room to themselves. Anyway, all agreed that it would cost a great deal of money.

Edward calmed down, and general relief was felt in the Youngs' household.

Edward was gazing from his drawing-room window one fine April morning, and feeling pleasantly relaxed as he surveyed Thrush Green and Rectory Cottages looking particularly fine in the spring sunshine. He admired the tubs of velvety polyanthus and wallflowers which stood each side of the Two Pheasants' doorway. Nearer at hand he saw that the lilac bushes near his own gate would soon be in fragrant bloom. There was no doubt about it. Spring took a lot of beating at Thrush Green!

As he gloried in the view before him, he noticed a small car pulling up near his gateway. A large fair-haired man got out, consulted his wrist-watch, and then went rather hesitantly across the road to stroll on the dewy grass of Thrush Green.

Edward watched him with curiosity. One did not often see strangers on Thrush Green.

Near by, Winnie Bailey and Jenny, busy changing sheets in the front bedroom, also noticed the stranger.

'Now who can that be?' wondered Winnie aloud, stuffing a pillow into a fresh pillowslip.

'Can't see properly,' said Jenny, approaching the window.

'I do hope it's not one of those
travellers'
said Winnie. 'I believe they send out a sort of scout to find out the lie of the land. Thrush Green is just the sort of place for dozens of broken-down vehicles to park, isn't it?'

Jenny was reassuring. 'He looks too respectable to me. Might be one of those reps just stretching his legs before he goes down to Lulling to sell something to the shops there.'