(9/13)The School at Thrush Green (22 page)

'I doubt it. And to tell the truth, I'm not so sure the work is the real trouble.'

She looked around the hall, dropped her voice, and spoke conspiratorially to Nelly. 'I think she's fretting for that useless chap of hers. He's out again, we do know that. One of his pals told us. I've told Doreen time and time again to keep clear of him, but you know what girls are!'

Nelly and Gladys sighed heavily together over the shortcomings of susceptible females.

'Things were different in our young days,' agreed Nelly. 'We took heed of what our parents said. And I was always told to bring home any young man who was being attentive.'

'Quite right,' approved Gladys.

But there were quite a few attentive young men in the youthful past of both ladies who had certainly not been presented to their parents. And these they dwelt on, secretly and fondly, as they settled down to bingo.

***

Isobel had been busy on her neighbours' behalf and had arranged for the ladies to visit Ursula's house at the weekend.

She had offered to take them down in her car, but Dorothy was looking forward to her first long drive in the Metro, and turned down Isobel's invitation politely but firmly.

However, on Friday evening she spoke to Isobel over the hedge. She sounded somewhat agitated.

'Oh, Isobel! So glad to catch you. Poor Agnes is not too fit. In fact, she's been very much off-colour all this week, and I'm afraid she won't be able to face the journey tomorrow.'

'Oh dear! Well, shall I take you? I think we ought to go as Ursula has planned everything.'

'No, no! But if you don't mind coming with me, I should be most grateful. I feel quite competent about the
driving
, but should anything happen to the
engine,
I must admit total ignorance, although Ben did explain how it worked.'

'Well, I shan't be much better,' confessed Isobel, 'but I could always go for help. And of course I should love to keep you company, and introduce you to Ursula.'

It was Harold who pointed out later that this was the heaven-sent opportunity to broach the delicate subject of the tabby cat.

'I suppose so,' said Isobel doubtfully. 'On a straight piece of road where she won't get too agitated.'

And so, soon after ten o'clock on a glorious June morning the two ladies set out, leaving Agnes to enjoy the peace of the school house and a possible visit from the cat.

It was true that she had been remarkably quiet, even by her standards, since her outburst. The headache had never really departed. She was sleeping badly, and occasionally found herself trembling violently.

She did not intend to bother Doctor John Lovell with these minor ailments, recognising only too well that they were the result of all the worry over the cat, the future, the extra labours involved in clearing out the debris of many years' teaching, and general anxiety about her relationship with Dorothy, as retirement drew ever closer.

But she was relieved not to have to make the journey. She was quite sure that Dorothy was a good driver, but then there were so many people on the roads who were not. She did not mind admitting that she was most unhappy in the passenger seat, and foresaw all sorts of appalling situations involving hospitals, firemen cutting one out of the wreckage, bodies and blood strewn over the road, followed by interminable court cases about two years later, when one could not reasonably be expected to remember a thing, not to mention permanent injury with possibly one or more limbs missing.

While Agnes was quietly pottering about with the duster, hoping for a few minutes with the cat, Dorothy and Isobel were enjoying the countryside on their way south, and the latter was trying to pluck up courage to approach the subject of Agnes's unhappiness.

Luckily, it was Dorothy who brought up the matter.

'She's too conscientious,' said Dorothy. 'Everything has to be done perfectly, and of course she gets over-tired. I shall be mightily glad when we've finished at the school. Of course, we shall find it all a great change, and I think Agnes worries more than I do about missing the children. She needs something to love. More than I do, I must admit.'

Isobel took a deep breath. The road was straight, and there was very little traffic.

'That's why she is so devoted to the stray cat,' she began.

'I know she is fond of it - ' said Dorothy.

'But I don't think you realise
how
fond,' broke in Isobel, and began to tell her about the sad scene she had encountered behind the garden hedge.

Dorothy listened in silence, and then drew in quietly at the next lay-by.

'Tell me more,' she said, her expression very grave. She shifted sideways in her seat so that she could study Isobel's face as she unfolded the tale.

Isobel, taking the bull by the horns, spared her nothing, even recounting Agnes's anguished doubts about their future happiness together.

'It's so little to ask,' went on Isobel, 'and there is so much to lose. She would be most unhappy if she really took this idiotic step of staying behind. From the practical point of view, I don't think she could manage financially. And then she would be so lonely.'

'And so would I,' said Dorothy. 'I can't imagine why I have been so dense, and so thoughtless. I honestly had no idea that she felt like this. It makes me want to turn round straightaway, drive back, and apologise.'

'Well, we can't do that now,' said Isobel practically, 'as Ursula is expecting us. But I felt that you should know how Agnes is feeling. I love her dearly, and have for years. I should hate her to throw away her future with you.'

'And so should I. I've always enjoyed her companionship enormously. The cat will be invited in tonight, and made welcome.'

Isobel gave a great sigh.

'You know,' said Dorothy, looking at her steadily, 'you must have dreaded telling me all this. What a brave woman you are!'

'It's true,' admitted Isobel, 'and I've still to face Agnes's dismay when she finds what I've done. But I can truthfully say I'm glad it's all in the open now.'

'I shall never forgive myself,' said Dorothy, starting the car, and continuing the journey. 'To have been so
cruel
to my most loyal friend!'

'As long as you make it plain that you are truthfully happy to include the cat in the household,' said Isobel, 'I think everything will sort itself out splendidly. And there's no need to abase yourself too much with Agnes. Least said soonest mended. It would only upset her, and if she realises that you have simply had a change of heart about the cat, all should be well.'

'I shall get Ben Curdle to make a cat flap in the back door,' said Dorothy, adjusting to this new situation with her usual common sense. 'And I propose to buy Agnes a splendid cat basket in Barton, and take it back with us this evening. What about that?'

'You couldn't make a more generous gesture,' Isobel assured her.

Meanwhile, at Thrush Green, Winnie Bailey had just welcomed her nephew Richard, who had arrived, as was usual, quite unannounced.

'I had to return some books to Aubrey Hengist-Williams,' he explained. 'He rang up last night and said that he wanted them urgently. Getting some lecture notes ready for next term.'

'Isn't that the great Professor? I think I've had a glimpse of him on Open University on television when I've been trying to get the right time.'

'Well, he's on television, I know, but that hardly makes him great,' replied Richard. 'Actually, I've always thought him a very silly fellow, and I never have been able to subscribe to his theory on the side-effects of nuclear fission. Have you?'

Winnie smiled patiently. 'Richard dear, I am completely ignorant of nuclear fission, let alone its side-effects, but tell me all about the family.'

She did not like to add that both Richard and Fenella had left in a black mood on the last occasion, but hoped that things were now amicably settled.

'Oh, they are fine,' said Richard vaguely. 'Fenella seems happier now that Roger has gone.'

'Roger? Gone? Where?'

'Spain, I think. He and his wife have made it up, and gone to live abroad permanently. I think I helped in the decision.'

'I must say it seems all for the best,' agreed Winnie. 'Did you persuade him?'

'I punched him on the nose,' said Richard, with evident satisfaction. 'I went into the gallery to get some drawing pins, and he was kissing Fenella's left ear. I didn't like it, so I punched him.'

'Then what?'

'Oh, he bled rather a lot. And all over the gallery carpet which was a nuisance, but Fenella and I sponged it with cold water after he'd gone, and it's not too noticeable.'

'But what did Fenella say?'

'She said we could stand a stool over it, and no one would notice.'

'No. I mean about Roger going?'

'She hasn't said anything about it. I think she was getting rather fed up with him drooping about in the gallery all the time. He was an awful drip, you know. I should have punched him years ago.'

'Yes, well, I can see your point,' said Winnie reasonably, 'but has this made any difference to your future plans? No chance, I suppose, of persuading Fenella to come to Thrush Green to live?'

'Fenella,' replied Richard, 'does not respond to persuasion. I do not propose to punch my wife on the nose, but sometimes I think it would be the only way to make her change her mind.'

'So the school house won't be seeing you as its new owners?'

'I'm afraid not. The fact is, Aunt Win, the gallery is Fenella's life, and I'm away such a lot that it would be foolish and silly to deprive her of it. As far as I can see we shall be staying where we are until I retire. And then too, I expect,' he added resignedly.

'I'm sorry, but not surprised,' said Winnie. 'It was obvious that she did not want to come here, and she would have been resentful about leaving the gallery anyway. I'm sure things have worked out for the best, and now that Roger has gone she may settle down more happily.'

'At the moment she's busy getting an exhibition of abstract art in the seventies and eighties ready for next month.'

He began to fish in his pockets. 'She gave me an invitation for you, but I expect I left it with Aubrey's stuff by mistake. I'll send you one by post.'

'Don't trouble, dear. I find a trip to town rather too much these days, and my knowledge of abstract art, of any date, is on a par with my grasp of nuclear fission. So just give her my thanks and love.'

'I must be getting back,' said Richard, standing up.

'Won't you stop for lunch? Take pot luck?'

'No. I promised to take Timothy to the zoo this afternoon. He's fallen in love with a baby giraffe there.'

'That sounds harmless enough,' observed Winnie.

They went to the front gate together, and Richard paused for a moment to look across the green at the school house.

'It would have been fun,' he commented wistfully. 'But not worth losing a wife for, I suppose.'

'Definitely not,' said Winnie. 'You take care of what you've got, my boy. And don't get too pugnacious. One day you might get punched back!'

'If I started on Fenella,' replied Richard, 'I certainly should!'

He climbed into the car, grinned cheerfully, and drove away.

It was half-past nine when the two ladies arrived back from Barton-on-Sea. Dorothy had insisted on taking Isobel to have a remarkably delicious dinner on the way home, after telephoning Agnes to explain the delay, and over it they had discussed the pros and cons of putting in an offer for Ursula's property.

'Do come in,' pressed Dorothy. 'I know Agnes would love to see you.'

But Isobel declined, saying that Harold would be expecting her, and secretly feeling that she would like to have a night's sleep before facing any recriminations which might come from gentle Agnes after her own exposures.

Agnes heard the garage doors slam, and hastened to the window.

She saw her friend coming up the path, and carrying an awkward circular object. It appeared to be made of wickerwork, and was giving Dorothy some difficulty, tucked as it was under one arm.

Agnes hurried to open the door for her, and met her on the threshold.

Dorothy smiled and held out the basket in silence.

'For me?' quavered Agnes, deeply perplexed.

'For our cat,' said Dorothy.

17. Summer Heat

JULY brought a spell of welcome sunshine. The first week was greeted by all in Lulling and Thrush Green with immense pleasure.

The flower borders burst into colour. Oriental poppies, pink and red, flaunted their papery petals above marigolds, godetia, penstemon and pansies, vying only in height with the pink and purple spires of lupins and larkspur.

In less than a week, it seemed, summer had arrived in full splendour. Deckchairs were brought out from sheds and garages, rustic seats were brushed clean, bird-baths needed filling daily, and cats stretched themselves luxuriously in the heat.

Prudent housewives took the opportunity of washing winter woollens, blankets, bedspreads and curtains. Window cleaning was much in evidence, cars were hosed clean of past dirt and lawn mowers whirred.

Out in the meadows around Thrush Green the cattle gathered under clumps of trees, welcoming the benison of cool shade. Their tails twitched tirelessly against the constant torment of flies.

In the sparse shade thrown by the dry-stone walls, sheep rested, flanks heaving rhythmically, in the heat of the day. Butterflies hovered above the nettles and thistles, or alighted on the warm stones to flaunt the beauty of their wings. The air was murmurous with insects of all kinds, and bumble bees crawled languorously from one meadow flower to the next.

In the distance, Lulling Woods shimmered in the heat haze. The little river Pleshey moved even more sluggishly than usual, only the trailing willow branches, it seemed, disturbing the glassy mirror of its placid surface.

At Thrush Green the inhabitants of Rectory Cottages either took to the shade of the chestnut trees or drew their curtains and lay on their sofas. Tom and Polly were among the former seekers after coolness, and sat contentedly surveying the peaceful scene before them. Both man and dog relished the warmth which comforted their old bones, and Tom hoped that this spell of splendid weather would last a long, long time. He intended to stay there, his head in the shade, and his thin shanks stretched out into the sunshine, until the children came out from school and then he would think about returning slowly to make himself a cup of tea at his home. It was a good life, he reflected, and much better than he had found it when he lived by the water in the Pleshey valley. He had been happy enough while he was still active, but looking back he realised that the damp cottage had been partly to blame for his increasing rheumatism. Since the move to higher ground and to the warmth of the new house he had felt very much better, and knew that the care he received there from the kindly wardens contributed to his well-being. Any aches and pains now were due, he knew ruefully, to advancing age, and there was little one could do to fight against that.