Authors: Anne Weale
Mrs. Shannon looked puzzled. ‘Apologizing, Mr. Gilchrist?’
‘Yes - for the annoyance you may be caused while my house is going up. The noise, for instance.’
‘Oh, we quite understand. It’s very nice of you to consider us.’
‘Well, I hope you won’t overhear too much unedifying language,’ he said, with a smile. ‘The members of the building trade are inclined to express themselves rather forcibly. But I’m afraid there’s not too much I can do about that.’
Mrs. Shannon twinkled at him. ‘Jenny tells us you’re hoping to be in residence by the late summer.’
‘If things go according to plan. I’m using some new techniques which are faster than conventional methods.’
‘Yes, we’ve heard you have some revolutionary ideas,’ Jenny put in coldly.
‘Do I detect a note of censure, Miss Shannon?’
Before she could answer, her grandmother gave her a reproving look, and said quickly, ‘You have children, Mr.
Gilchrist?’
‘I’m not married,’ he told her pleasantly.
This seemed to startle Mrs. Shannon, but it did not surprise Jenny. She had already assessed him as the type of professional bachelor who amused himself with a series of decorative girl-friends, but who was far too much of an egoist to commit himself to marriage. What did astonish her was that her grandmother should be disarmed by his palpably calculated charm.
‘I imagine one of my problems is going to be finding someone to run the house for me,’ he said. ‘Is it easy to get domestic help in the village, Mrs. Shannon?’
So that was it, Jenny thought angrily. He was ingratiating himself in order to make use of them.
‘Well, most of the local women who want a job go to work at the turkey packing station. But if you like I can put it about that you will be needing a daily later on,’ her grandmother offered.
‘Would you? That’s very kind of you.’ He slanted a challenging glance at Jenny. ‘I was afraid I might find the established residents rather hostile towards an outsider. I’ve already met some antagonism — but I daresay I shall survive it.’
‘Oh, I think on the whole the village is a friendly little place,’ Mrs. Shannon said cheerfully, unaware that his last remark had been a barb aimed at her granddaughter. ‘The trades people are always delighted to see newcomers settling among us. Some of the very old people are inclined to be reserved with strangers, but television has had a broadening influence.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Is there much social life in the village?’
‘Not of the kind which would appeal to you, Mr.
Gilchrist,’ Jenny informed him sweetly.
‘No? How do you know?’ he asked equably.
She managed to hold his eyes. ‘There’s a weekly Bingo session at the Methodist Rooms, and a “hop” every other Friday at the Church Youth Centre.’
‘I must admit I’m not a Bingo devotee, but I daresay I shall find some congenial pursuit,’ he said, with a gleam of devilment.
Jenny bristled. Was he actually having the nerve to try and flirt with her? Hot colour surged into her cheeks, and she bent to pick up her bag and pretended to be looking for something in it.
‘I have an appointment at two, so I must go now. It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Shannon.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Good-bye ... good-bye, Miss Shannon.’
Watching his tall erect figure as he made his way between the tables towards the entrance, her grandmother said, ‘I can’t understand why you have taken such a dislike to him, Jenny dear. I think he’s a most affable young man, and extremely personable.’ She chuckled suddenly. ‘I wonder if Fenella has seen him about. If she has, it won’t be long before he finds himself invited to one of the Warings’
dreadful overcrowded wine and cheese parties.’
‘I should think he and Fenella would be ideally suited,’
Jenny said witheringly. ‘He’ll probably throw wine and cheese parties too. There’ll be car doors slamming half the night, and jazz blaring till all hours ... and probably his smart friends will peer through the fence for a glimpse of the quaint old country parson and his family.’
On Sunday, neither James nor his mother attended morning service and Jenny considered calling on them on her way home from church. Then she decided that, in view of his abrupt departure on Thursday night, it might be wiser to wait until he sought her out.
She spent all Monday stripping the old wallpaper in her grandparents’ bedroom. On Tuesday she filled in the tracks in the plaster, sized the walls, and washed down all the paintwork in readiness to start the more enjoyable part of the operation on Wednesday.
But on Wednesday the sun was shining again, the chestnuts were bursting into bud, and Mrs. Shannon said at breakfast, 'Why not rest from your labours today, dear?
There’s no point in overdoing things, and it’s much too nice a day to stay indoors.’
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right. I am rather stiff,’ Jenny admitted. ‘I think I’ll ring up Sue and ask if she’s free to lunch today.’
Later in the morning, she caught the bus to town and had lunch with Susan Ellis who had been her closest friend at school.
It sometimes puzzled Jenny that, when so many adolescent friendships petered out once schooldays were over, the bond between Susan and herself was as strong as ever, and this despite the fact that nowadays they met infrequently, and led lives which could scarcely be more dissimilar.
True, they kept in touch by letter, but Jenny felt that this in itself was rather remarkable as her letters to Susan, though regular, must make very dull reading compared with the irregular but fascinating bulletins which reached the Rectory by airmail from the various exciting places where her friend had lived since leaving school.
Susan arrived at their rendezvous wearing, as Jenny learned presently, French underwear and tights, an English dress, and a Spanish leather bag matched with Belgian shoes. She shopped for her clothes all over Europe, and always brought home a surprise present for Jenny.
Although Susan had been in England for nearly three weeks
- but mainly in London - and they had had several long chats on the telephone, this was their first meeting. Her homecoming present on this occasion was a red leather belt from Barcelona where she had spent the past winter.
‘It’s beautiful, Sue. Thank you. Oh, it is nice to see you again,’ Jenny said warmly.
‘Not for long, my pet. I’m taking off again on the seventeenth.’
‘So soon? Where to this time?’
‘A girl I met in Ibiza last summer has moved to the next island, Menoca, and opened a boutique in Port Mahon. It’s very successful, apparently, and she needs an assistant,’
Susan explained. ‘So my plan to spend a summer on all three of the Balearic Islands, and a winter in Madrid and Barcelona, is working out perfectly.’
‘What kind of boutique is it? Souvenirs for the tourists?’
Jenny inquired.
‘No - snazzy resort clothes,’ said Susan. ‘In fact the kind of assistant Belinda needs really is someone like you, someone who can design and sew as well as sell clothes.
How about it, Jenny? When the summer term ends, why not come out and join us for six weeks, or is it eight weeks you people have now?’
‘Seven and a half, to be exact. But on August the fourth I’m driving Granny to Derby to stay with her sister. She’s spending a week there, and then I’m going to fetch them and old Aunt May is coming to us for a week or two.’
‘Can’t your grandfather ferry them?’
‘No, he doesn’t like long journeys now. He uses the car in the parish, but heavy traffic bothers him.’
‘Couldn’t the travelling be done by rail??
‘Well, it could, but it’s a rotten journey: two changes, and a lot of hanging about. I don’t think Granny would go if she had to go by train.’
Susan said, ‘It doesn’t seem right that you can’t take advantage of your long holiday because of all these old people. They depend on you too much, it seems to me.’
‘But I’m not like you, Sue,’ countered Jenny. ‘I don’t mind staying put. I prefer it.’
‘I think that’s wrong - at your age,’ her friend persisted.
‘You’ll regret it when you’re married and tied down.’
‘Settled down,’ Jenny amended mildly. They had had this argument before, many times. It was impossible to convince Susan that Jenny was not trapped at the Rectory, but lived there willingly and contentedly.
‘Tied down or settled ... the fact remains that marriage is the end of freedom, and I’m sure it’s much easier to sink into the domestic rut if one has been around and met people, and generally made the most of life.’
‘I’m not sure about that. It could make it more difficult.’
Susan changed tack, and began to paint an alluring picture of the pleasures in store for her on the Spanish island. From her point of view, working in Belinda’s boutique was a chore made worthwhile by the seven-nights-a-week round of patio parties, and the chance to sunbathe, skin-dive and water-ski during the long Spanish lunch break. To Jenny, it was the boutique which was most tempting. It revived all her early ambitions.
‘Think it over,’ said Susan, as they parted, although she had little hope that the other girl would consider it. She would have been surprised to know that, for the first time, she had succeeded in piercing her friend’s resistance. All the way home to Farthing Green, Jenny did ponder the proposition.
At the village, she got off the bus at the Market Cross and saw James's car parked in the yard next to his surgery.
Again, she debased whether to pop in and see him. It seemed foolish to be shy because he had kissed her good night. But after some moments of indecision, she crossed the green and walked home.
As she approached the gap in the hedge she heard the rhythmic blows of an axe from the building site, and was appalled to see that one of the lovely old beeches was being felled. Already all the branches had been lopped. Now a workman was hacking out a v-shaped incision at the base of the massive grey trunk.
For a minute, she could hardly believe her eyes. In fascinated horror she watched the man swinging the axe, each blow driving deeper into the heartwood. Then a fury of white-hot anger boiled up inside her. That insufferable man! This was his doing. It was vandalism – sheer ruthless vandalism. That beech was more than a hundred years old; one of the loveliest trees in the grounds. And now it was being destroyed at the order of Simon Gilchrist.
As she stood there, the woodman stepped back and called out something to the other men on the site who had left their own work to watch. Then he walked round the riven trunk and began to assault the other side.
In a moment, she realized sickly, the great tree would start to totter.
She could not bear to see it. Turning away from the gap, she hurried along the road and up the Rectory drive. In all her life she had never felt such fierce impotent rage.
‘Granny?’ she called, from the hall.
There was a murmur of voices in the sitting-room, and the clink of china.
Casting her parcels on to the hall chest, Jenny burst into the room, white-faced and shaking.
‘Oh, Granny, have you seen what they’re doing? That hateful man! I told you ... but you wouldn’t listen.’
Mrs. Shannon was pouring tea from her treasured Georgian silver teapot. The round table was laid with a lace-edged Madeira cloth, and the cups and saucers were the translucent Crown Derby ones, too fine to be used every day. It was clearly a special occasion.
‘Jenny! - What in the world is the matter?’ her grandmother exclaimed in astonishment. ‘What man? What are you talking about?’
‘I imagine your granddaughter is referring to me, Mrs.
Shannon,’ said a negligent voice from the other end of the room.
Jenny whirled, chin out, eyes sparkling.
In front of the bookcase stood the Rector, with a rare first edition in his hands. Beside him was Simon Gilchrist.
‘Yes, I am!’ she blazed at him furiously. ‘I think you’re ...
utterly contemptible!’
‘You forget yourself, Jennifer,’ her grandfather inter-vened sternly. ‘Mr. Gilchrist is our guest. I—’
From outside the house a thunderous crash made the sash windows rattle in their frames. Mrs. Shannon gave a little cry, and the Rector jumped and nearly dropped his book.
Jenny saw her grandmother’s alarm, and moved swiftly to comfort her. ‘It’s all right, Granny. Don’t be frightened.’
‘Oh, dear - it gave me such a start.’ Mrs. Shannon pressed her hands to her chest. ‘It sounded just like that aeroplane which crashed in the field during the war.’
‘It was the beech tree,’ Jenny said flatly. ‘Didn’t Mr.
Gilchrist tell you? He’s cutting all our lovely old trees down.’ She looked at him across the room. ‘It will give us a better view of his masterpiece of Space Age architecture,’
she added, with icy scorn.
‘Only one tree, Miss Shannon,’ Simon Gilchrist said blandly.
‘And I’ve explained the reason for it to your grandparents.
I’m sorry the crash alarmed you, Mrs. Shannon.’
‘You needn’t apologize, Mr. Gilchrist. You did warn us.
But I didn’t realize what a very loud noise it would make as it fell.’
‘It is my granddaughter who must apologize, Gilchrist,’
said the Rector severely. ‘Your behaviour astonishes me, Jennifer.’