Down an English Lane (48 page)

Gordon Cameron came onto the coach to welcome them to the hotel, as he had done before; and Andy, once again, was in the entrance hall assisting Moira in giving out the keys and then carrying the luggage.

‘Hello again, Maisie,’ he greeted her cheerily. ‘It’s good to see you. You decided to give us another try then, did you?’

‘Oh, more than that, Andy,’ she replied. ‘I’ll
definitely be here for the rest of the season; well, every three weeks. We’ve been doing some shuffling around of jobs and I’m a full-time courier for the moment. By order of Henry Galloway, of course.’ She did not want to make it too obvious that it had, in truth, been just as much her idea.

‘Well, that’s great; couldna’ be better.’ He handed her the key. ‘Same room as before, Maisie. Come along noo, and we’ll get your luggage upstairs.’

He paused at the bedroom door, putting down her bag and small case. ‘And I’ve been thinking to myself, how would it be if we were to sing a duet or two this time, you and me? Only if you’re agreeable, you ken…’ His blue eyes regarded her intently.

As if I could possibly refuse, she thought. Her heart gave a leap as she looked back at him, then quickly looked away before she should flounder or begin to blush. ‘Of course I will,’ she replied. ‘That’s a very good idea. “The Heather on the Hill”, do you think? The audience seemed to enjoy that one.’

‘Aye, so they did. We’ll sing that tonight, if that’s OK with you? And I have one or two others in mind… We’ll get together with my mother, shall we, later tonight and see what we can sort out? It makes a nice change to sing duets instead of solos, and it’s a wee while since I had someone to partner me. Cheerio then, Maisie; see you later…’

Who else had he sung with? she wondered as, once more, she started to unpack her belongings.
And did he sing at other times and in other places, as well as to entertain the guests at the hotel? In a church choir, maybe, or an amateur operatic group? She knew so very little about him…

They discovered that they both liked the songs of Ivor Novello and Jerome Kern, and they tried a few later that evening; much later, in fact, when most of the guests had left the lounge or were having a last drink at the bar at the other end of the room. Maisie sang the melody line most of the time, whilst Andy harmonised above or below her. She soon realised he was quite an expert musician. He could read music perfectly, having learned to play the piano as a child, he informed her; whereas she, Maisie, had acquired her knowledge by degrees, mainly through her involvement with the church choir. Jeanette accompanied them most proficiently and was generous with her praise.

‘Your voices blend beautifully,’ she told them. ‘Anyone would think you’d been singing together for ages. Well done, Maisie…and you too, Andy,’ she laughed. ‘It makes a nice change, though, to hear a different voice.’

‘Very well, then; Ivor Novello tomorrow night, after the Scottish dancing, and Jerome Kern on Friday. Is that OK with you, Maisie?’ asked Andy.

She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s fine with me…’ She was feeling quite dazed and more than a little tired. It had been a long and exhausting day – but then most of them were – but pleasantly so. She knew it was
time for her to retire to bed. She drank the remainder of her fruit juice, then she stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me I really must go now. I have a few things to sort out before the excursion tomorrow. Thank you for playing for us, Jeanette… And thank you too, Andy; I’ve enjoyed it.’

‘Goodnight, my dear,’ said Jeanette. ‘I’m sure you must be very tired. Sleep well; see you tomorrow…’

‘Yes…goodnight, Maisie, and thank you too,’ said Andy.

She smiled at them and left. It was not quite true that she had things to sort out for the following day. All was in order, but she knew that she must get to bed now and try to sleep. Her head was buzzing with tunes and full of jumbled impressions of the day and, most of all, of thoughts of Andy. They were getting on well together, she and Andy, she mused as she lay down between the crisp white sheets. They had decided to sing ‘Waltz of my Heart’ and ‘Fold Your Wings’ by Ivor Novello the following night. She was glad that ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs’ had not been mentioned… In a surprisingly short time her mind closed down and she slept until the morning.

The weather during the last week of June was not nearly as sunny as the first week of the month had been. Their views of the Trossachs and Loch Katrine were somewhat obscured by the low-lying mist and drizzle. But the passengers, on the whole, were cheerful, taking the weather in their stride as
they knew they had to do in Scotland. It was unusual to go a full week without rain.

And so they enjoyed even more the comforting warmth of the hotel in the evenings; the good food and pleasant company and the masterly entertainment by the singers and dancers.

Maisie’s and Andy’s duets were received with great enthusiasm. ‘You make a lovely couple,’ several of the coach passengers told her confidingly. One of them, a middle-aged spinsterish lady, surprised her by asking, in a whisper, when she returned to her seat, ‘Is there something between you and that young Andy, my dear? Is he your young man?’

‘Oh no,’ replied Maisie, feeling her cheeks turn a little red. ‘Nothing like that. I only met him a few weeks ago. We just decided it might be nice to sing together, that’s all.’

‘Mmm, I see…’ the curious lady replied. ‘If you say so, dear; but you’re a bonny lass and he’s a lovely young man.’ She smiled coyly at Maisie, who just laughed and shook her head.

That was on the last night after she and Andy had sung the Jerome Kern songs, ‘I’m Old-fashioned’ and ‘The Folks who live on the Hill’, both chosen because of their appeal to a rather mature audience.

Then, later on, Maisie sang her solo, ‘How are Things in Glocca Morra?’… ‘with apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for choosing a song that is not
Scottish, but Irish, simply because it happens to be one of my favourites.’

She followed it with ‘Wish upon a Star’ from one of her all-time favourite films,
Pinocchio
.

If she wished upon a star would her wishes come true? she wondered, when she was home again at the end of the tour. Andy had once again kissed her lightly on the cheek and said, ‘See you in three weeks’ time, Maisie? And you’ll be thinking up some fresh songs, eh?’

‘Yes, Andy, I will…’ she had replied.

Once again her mind was full of the memories of her three days at the Cameron Hotel. Whilst she was there she felt joyful, filled with an exhilaration for life and kindliness towards the world at large, and especially to her coach passengers. She knew only too well the reason she felt that way, but she was trying to warn herself to be sensible, to proceed with caution. She had been careful not to smile too effusively at Andy, or to allow her eyes to linger too long when he looked at her in a tender way when they sang together. It was the way all duettists glanced at one another when they were singing a song full of sentiment and passion. It didn’t mean there was anything special between them…did it?

Had she imagined, though, the look he cast in her direction when he sang, on his own, the Jerome Kern song, ‘The Way You Look Tonight’, one that
they had both agreed was one of their favourites?

She had felt, indeed, that she had looked her best that night, in her full-skirted summer dress of pale green with a dazzling white collar, and with her dark hair freshly shampooed to bring out the highlights. Her mirror had told her that she was attractive – it wasn’t conceited to think that way, was it? – as she had applied her coral lipstick and a touch of green eye-shadow to her eyelids. She had needed no face powder as the summer sun – on the days that it had decided to shine – had brought a rosy bloom to her cheeks.

She was cautious, though, possibly too cautious, about wearing her heart on her sleeve. She knew she had been guilty of doing so before, over Bruce. Others had noticed how she felt; Anne and Audrey and her mother… And she suspected that Christine, also, had guessed at her feelings for the man she was going to marry; that was why the young woman had been so cool and unfriendly towards her. But had Bruce himself known of her feelings, she wondered? No matter, though; Bruce was in the past. She had fallen in love with Andy now; she was sure after her second meeting with him that it was so. But it was up to the man to make the first move in what was known as the mating game, and the girl must wait for him to do so. That, she had always been told, was what nice respectable girls did…and so she would wait and hope.

There were other matters, however, to occupy her mind. In five weeks’ time it would be Anne Mellodey’s wedding, and Maisie had made arrangements to have the week prior to that at home, first in Leeds and then in Middlebeck. Sheila, the other courier, would do the London tour that week.

She and Anne had visited Schofield’s store in Leeds ages ago, soon after Anne had told her about the engagement, and had chosen their dresses; an elegant bridal gown of ivory silk brocade, and a bridesmaid’s dress of pale blue silken taffeta.

There remained just one more visit to Scotland, in the middle of July, before the early August wedding. By that time the trees would be in full leaf – spring, and therefore summer, came somewhat later north of the border – and the hedgerows burgeoning with blossom. Maisie found herself looking forward to it with an intensity she had not known before.

Andy asked her to go out with him that week. On the Friday morning, Maisie’s free day, they set out soon after breakfast, taking the road northwards. They travelled beyond the Trossachs to Loch Tay, and then onwards to Loch Tummel and Loch Rannoch, his red MG Midget eating up the miles.

‘I remember singing about these places at school,’ said Maisie. ‘Loch Tummel and Loch Rannoch… How does it go? I don’t think I’ve heard you sing that one, Andy.’

‘Aye, “The Road to the Isles”,’ he nodded. ‘I could include that one tonight.’ He started to sing…

Maisie joined in the last line with him thinking that never in her life had she felt quite so happy.

They stopped for a midday picnic by the shores of Loch Tummel. ‘They call this Queen’s View,’ he told her, ‘because Queen Victoria was so impressed by the view that they named it after her.’

‘Yes, I can imagine why,’ replied Maisie. ‘It really is breathtaking.’

The mountains were higher here, the tops obscured by a capping of cloud, but the lower slopes already purpling with the first blooming of the heather. ‘The Heather on the Hill’…she mused. She had sung about it and now she was seeing it for real.

They picnicked on chicken sandwiches, meat pie, crisp apples and shortbread, with a mellow white wine to add the finishing touch. ‘Just one wee glass for me, though,’ he said. ‘I must get you back safely.’

He talked to her of his plans, one day, to own more than just the one hotel; a cluster of Cameron hotels, say four or five, stretching from Edinburgh to as far
northwards as Dundee and westwards towards Oban. But it was only a pipe dream. Besides, his father was still in control and that was the way Andy wanted it to continue at the moment. Maisie listened and they chatted together easily, but she said nothing of her own dreams. How could she?

When they had finished their meal he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, just once. ‘Thank you, Maisie,’ he said. ‘You are a lovely girl, and a great companion… But we must awa’,’ he laughed, springing to his feet. ‘Duty calls and my colleagues will be baying for my blood if I’m no’ back by three-thairty. There’s a banquet to prepare…’

They packed the basket and travelling rug into the back of the car and set off back to Callander. For the rest of the day Maisie thought about that kiss, so fleeting that there had not been a chance for her to respond to it, to kiss him back… But it was a kiss all the same.

When they said goodbye the following day he kissed her on the cheek, as he had done before. But that was because Bob was there, she told herself, and all the coach passengers. Andy, as she did, realised the wisdom in being circumspect.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A
t nine-thirty on Saturday morning – Saturday, the fifth of August, Anne and Roger’s wedding day – there was a queue as always at Arthur’s Place. The confectioner’s shop had been in existence for many years, before being known by its new name, and was still as popular as ever. Arthur Rawcliffe’s home-baked bread, cakes and pies had a well deserved reputation in Middlebeck and Lowerbeck and queues formed especially early on a Saturday, and on Wednesday too, those being market days in the little town.

The restaurant which had now been open for more than three months was flourishing as well. As Arthur and Lily, and Flo and Harry, had hoped, it had proved to be a popular rendezvous for shoppers taking mid-morning tea or coffee, and also for lunchtime meals. They had done a few evening functions, too, but these required advance
notice; and today, of course, it would be their very first wedding. The shop part of the business would stay open only until eleven o’clock, the customers having been given due warning of this, and the café would be closed all morning whilst the room was prepared for the wedding breakfast, a three-course meal for thirty guests, at one-thirty.

Lily paused for a moment after serving one of their regular customers with a freshly-baked loaf, still warm from the oven, wrapped in tissue paper, and an assortment of ‘fancies’ which she had put into one of their special cardboard boxes with ‘Arthur’s Place’ printed on the top.

‘Yes, it’s a lovely day, isn’t it, Mrs Harrison? Like you say, real bride’s weather. You’re coming to the church, are you, to watch them come out? Yes, I know it’s right on dinnertime, but even so I think there’ll be a good crowd there… Yes, Anne has been at the school for a good while, ever since the start of the war; a very popular teacher… No, we don’t know him quite as well, but from all accounts he has made quite an impact there. You have to speak as you find, don’t you, and I must say Mr Ellison has done very well for my two children… Ta-ra then…’

Arthur’s Place was almost opposite the market square and Lily, as she stood looking out of the window for a moment, had a good view of the crowds of people – women in the main – thronging the stalls, buying their fruit and vegetables, cheese
and eggs and farm produce, sweets and sixpenny toys for the children. It was a scene she never tired of watching; the market was such a happy friendly place.

The road that ran between the market and the shops on the opposite side was always extra busy on a Saturday morning. There was a Belisha beacon with a flashing orange light a few yards away from the confectioner’s shop, which was supposed to make it easier for pedestrians, but special care was still needed when crossing the road. Children in particular were always being warned to ‘Look both ways’; the number of cars on the road had increased dramatically since the end of the war.

Lily noticed a familiar figure coming away from the market stalls. It was Miss Thomson, ‘Old Amelia’, with a shopping basket over one arm and her other hand clutching a big black handbag. She was dressed in her tweed coat and felt hat although the day was already quite warm; but it was possible that she felt the cold keenly. She looked very frail; Lily had thought so for a while. She walked with a stoop, her head looking down at the pavement rather than ahead at the approaching traffic. A couple of cars passed whilst the old lady stood uncertainly at the kerbside; she was attempting to cross, it appeared, some yards away from the Belisha beacon. Why wasn’t anyone trying to help her, thought Lily? Because nobody had noticed her; they were all engrossed in their own affairs. Lily
decided she would go herself and assist the old lady. She came out from behind the counter.

‘Excuse me…’ she said edging round the small queue of people. ‘I won’t be a minute. I must go and help Miss Thomson to get across the road.’

At that moment a small green car appeared from the direction of the station and the lower end of the High Street. It was not travelling quickly at all – Lily was relieved, later, that she was able to swear to that – but Miss Thomson was either tired of waiting or, more than likely, had not seen it… Whatever the reason, she stepped off the kerb before Lily had a chance to reach her, right into the path of the oncoming vehicle. There was a sickening thud and then a screech of brakes as the bonnet of the car made contact with her small figure. The next moment Miss Thomson was lying spreadeagled on the road, her spectacles askew and shattered, her shopping basket on its side, spilling out apples and oranges and a small cabbage.

Lily gave a cry. ‘Oh no, no…’ and the folk on the pavement, only too well aware now of what had happened, gasped in horror. At the same moment the driver’s door of the little green car opened, and Charity Foster got out. Her face was white and she was already trembling with shock and fright.

‘I couldn’t stop! There wasn’t time; I couldn’t do anything… She stepped right in front of me, so suddenly. The poor old lady… Oh no… Oh dear God! It’s Miss Thomson…’

Lily hurried to Miss Foster’s side and put her arm around her. ‘I saw what happened; I saw it all. You didn’t have time to stop. She stepped right in front of the wheels, like you said. Oh dear, are you all right? No, you’re not, are you?’ Miss Foster was trembling visibly now and beginning to sob, tears of shock, no doubt, for nobody had ever seen the previous headmistress lose control. She was such a sensible, level-headed person, always knowing how to cope in an emergency; but this one, it seemed, was too much for her. She was no spring chicken herself, thought Lily.

The figure on the ground was motionless and one of the few men on the scene knelt at her side. He put his head to her chest and felt at her wrist.

‘I can’t hear her heart, and I can’t feel ’owt neither, but I can’t be sure…’

‘For God’s sake, somebody get an ambulance,’ cried another man. ‘And don’t move the old lady; best not to touch her. Let the ambulance men do it.’

A woman had already gone into the nearest shop, a newsagent’s, and an ambulance and the police had been called. By this time quite a crowd had gathered and the traffic from both directions was at a standstill.

‘I think she’s dead, isn’t she?’ whispered Charity Foster. ‘Look at her…she’s not moving at all. Oh…oh dear, oh God, whatever have I done? People are always telling me that I drive too fast…’

‘Shh…!’ Lily admonished her. ‘You mustn’t say
that!’ Miss Foster was speaking in a quiet voice, almost inaudible with the shock, and no one except Lily could have heard what she said; but Lily realised the danger there might be in admitting to anything at all. ‘Listen to me, Miss Foster… You were not driving fast at all; I can vouch for that. And when the police arrive, which they will, you must not even hint at what you have just said to me. She stepped out right in front of the car, and all these people will say so as well.’

‘The police…’ murmured Charity. ‘Oh dear, I don’t think I can stand it…’

‘Come along now,’ said Lily, ‘come into our shop. You must sit down and rest. It’s been a dreadful shock.’

‘It weren’t your fault, love…’

‘You couldn’t have avoided her; nobody could…’

‘Don’t you worry; we’ll stick up for yer…’

Members of the crowd were quite vociferous in their support of Charity.

‘Take her inside, Lily, and give her a tot of brandy,’ said Arthur, who had just arrived on the scene. ‘I’ll wait here until t’police come, an’ th’ ambulance… Looks to me as though it might be too late though,’ he added in a whisper. ‘Poor old lass…’

The ambulance arrived quite quickly, within ten minutes, and the police at roughly the same time. Miss Thomson’s seemingly lifeless body was lifted gently on to a stretcher and then into the back of the ambulance. One of the men was seen to shake
his head despairingly, but they did not say whether she was alive or dead.

The policemen asked questions of the people at the scene, who were unanimous in their insistence that the driver of the car had not stood ‘a snowball in hell’s chance’ of avoiding her. And when they went into the confectioner’s shop to talk to Miss Foster, Lily told them the same thing.

‘Miss Thomson’s sight is not very good, officer. I don’t think she is really fit to be out shopping on her own, but she lives alone and she is fiercely independent. Miss Foster here is dreadfully upset about what has happened, as you can see. She wasn’t to blame…’

‘So everyone says,’ replied the police sergeant, ‘but we have to make our enquiries, you understand…’ He took a statement from Charity and her name and address.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, ‘I remember you. Both of my kiddies were in your class, and very well they did an’ all. Now don’t you worry, Miss Foster. This is just routine…’ He turned to Lily. ‘You know her then, the old lady who was knocked down?’

‘Yes, of course. Miss Thomson; she lives next door to the school, facing the village green.’

‘And…who are her next of kin, do you know?’

‘Well…there is nobody really, as far as I know. She had a sister, but I believe she died some years ago. There may be nephews or nieces, but there is nobody in this area. There are plenty of people,
though, who are concerned about her; the rector and his wife, and the people at the church.’

‘Yes… I see. Well, thank you; that will be all for now. We will contact the hospital with regard to Miss Thomson, but it didn’t look too good for her… We will let you know. Goodbye then, and thank you for your cooperation.’

The crowd had dispersed and Arthur came back in the shop and into the room at the rear where Lily had taken Miss Foster. ‘Now, Miss Foster, what can we do for you? Would you like me to run you home? Your car…’

‘Yes, my car…’ she said. ‘I’ve abandoned it, haven’t I? And to be quite honest, I feel at the moment as though I will never drive again.’ She put her hands to her head. ‘It’s like a nightmare; to think that I was responsible for killing that poor old lady…’

‘Now now, we don’t know that yet, do we?’ said Arthur. ‘She may come round. Any road, you heard what everybody said. You were not to blame; it was just an accident…’

‘Oh, why couldn’t I have stayed at home?’ said Miss Foster. ‘I didn’t really need to go out. I only wanted a few things from the market, so I thought I’d go early and then get back in plenty of time to get ready for Anne’s wedding. Oh dear… Anne’s wedding! And we were all looking forward to it so much. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. And for you as well; you must be terribly busy.’ She shook her head. ‘You haven’t time to be bothering
with me. Oh dear, I feel so confused and woolly-headed, and that’s not like me at all.’

‘Happen it’s the effect of the brandy,’ said Arthur with a wry smile. ‘Now, you just sit there for a few more minutes, Miss Foster, and Lily and me, we’ll decide what’s the best thing to do. Aye, I know we’re busy, but not so busy that we can’t help a good friend. We’ll be shutting t’shop quite soon anyroad…’ Flo and the young girl who came to help on Saturdays had been dealing with the queue in Lily’s absence.

It was decided that Harry, Arthur’s brother-in-law, should run Miss Foster back home to Lowerbeck. She insisted that she would be all right when she had had a sit down and a cup of tea in her own home. As for the shopping she had intended to do, there was nothing that she required too urgently apart from the bread and cakes she always bought at the weekend. Lily wrapped these up for her, and added one of their special meat pies and two sausage rolls, free of charge. When it was time for her to depart for the wedding, which was to take place at twelve o’clock, Anne had very kindly promised to send a car for her. Arthur promised to move her car from the main road to his own parking place at the back of the shop, although Miss Foster was still vowing that she would never set foot inside the vehicle again.

‘Poor old lass!’ said Harry, when he returned from taking her home. ‘Miss Foster, I mean, not the
one as was knocked down. She’s still blaming herself. I hope to God the old woman comes round… Aye, Miss Foster’ll be OK, though, I’m sure. She’s a tough little body, isn’t she, and strong-willed an’ all. She’s determined to pull herself round and go to the wedding…

‘And we’d better get our skates on, hadn’t we; shut up the shop and get on wi’ the meal? I know most of it’s been prepared, but we’ve no time to waste. Eh, dear! What a bloomin’ awful time for it to happen…’

They felt even less like preparing a wedding feast when the police sergeant came round a couple of hours later, with the news that Miss Thomson had died. She had, in fact, been found to be dead on arrival at the hospital.

‘It’s just as well our Maisie’s not here,’ said Lily. ‘I know she had one or two spats with Miss Thomson when she was a little girl, but she’ll be upset, I know…’

Maisie had gone round to Anne’s flat earlier that morning so that the two of them could prepare for the wedding. It was decided that they should not be told about the tragic accident until the wedding celebrations were over. It would not be necessary to tell Anne and Roger at all until they returned from their honeymoon. It would not be right to cast a blight on such a happy occasion.