(16/20)Summer at Fairacre (25 page)

He walked to the car with me. As always his garden was a picture.

'Alice will be sorry to have missed you. She's over at Springbourne, with her cousin Aggie, on some chapel lark.'

'I hope I haven't stopped you from going too?'

'No, no. It's one of these temperance meetings. Aggie's a great one for abstaining. Well, so are we, as you know, but old Ag's a bit fiercer, if you follow me, and she got this chap from the other side of Caxley to cycle out to give a talk on the evils of strong liquor.'

'Well, I hope he gets a drink of some sort,' I said, 'if he's cycling all that way on a hot evening.'

'Oh, he'll get a cup of tea and a Marie biscuit, no doubt. Maybe a Rich Tea if they start living it up. I think Aggie was afraid there wouldn't be many attending, seeing as it's August, and most people are busy gardening, or away on holiday. That's why Alice has gone to swell the numbers. Rather her than me.'

Driving home, I pondered on Mrs Willet's outing. It didn't sound like 'a chapel lark' to me.

Tibby ignored my blandishments when we met, and gazed haughtily into the distance.

That would teach me to neglect a cat!

There was a good deal of clearing up to do before taking off for Guernsey with cousin Ruth.

I tackled washing and ironing, a batch of correspondence, and tidied one or two cupboards with some surprising results. The larder yielded a Christmas pudding which must have stood in a dark corner for at least three years, and the landing cupboard had secreted a box of stationery I had been looking for for months.

Also I had to draft the advertisement for Mrs Pringle's replacement, but felt it would be only prudent to check, yet again, that the lady had retired permanently before sending it off.

Meanwhile, I hovered around the television set waiting for the great moment.

It did not come. At least, it did not come on the day appointed. Peter Hale rang me in the afternoon to say that he had been told there was some strike trouble, and that the programme was now scheduled for the following night at the same time.

I switched off and decided to post my letters and beard Mrs Pringle in her lair. But just as I put my letters in the box, the lady hove in sight with one of her own.

'Hello!' I called. 'I was just about to visit you.'

'And what was that about?'

'Frankly, about the advertisement which ought to go in this week if you still feel unable to tackle the work.'

Mrs Pringle bridled, her face becoming suffused with colour.

'Who says I'm unable to tackle the work?'

'Well, are you, or not?' I asked. I felt like echoing Lady Bracknell and saying: 'This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd!'

'I don't say as I'm a hundred per cent fit, and that new doctor don't seem to relish the idea of me working again, but there it is.'

'But what is?' I persisted. 'You know the post is still yours if you want it, but I must know here and now, one way or the other. I expect you know that Bella can't do the job next term, so we must get someone.'

Mrs Pringle looked smug.

'Yes, I did hear as Bella was finding it too much for her. Not surprising, of course. It's too much for anyone, let's face it.'

'Well, what's the answer?'

'I don't think I'm up to it.'

'Right. That settles it.'

'Don't be too hasty though. I'm seeing the doctor tomorrow, and shall we see what he says?'

I hesitated. Clearly, the old scoundrel was enjoying every minute of this encounter, and I determined not to lose my temper. On the other hand, it was imperative to get the advertisement in before I went away.

As usual, we compromised.

'Very well. Come and see me tomorrow evening, and we'll decide then,' I said. 'But I must post the advertisement this week.'

'It'll be after The Programme,' said Mrs Pringle.

'Fair enough,' I said. 'I'll see you about seven o'clock.'

And so we parted.

***

Mrs John and Teresa came the next afternoon. The sun still blazed, and I thought that she looked tired after her hot walk.

I refreshed her with lemonade, and suggested that she might like to tackle the brass and copper cleaning in the garden, in the shade of the copper beech, while Teresa played on the lawn.

I did some ironing and watched the two outside. Teresa was an attractive toddler, still a little unsteady on her feet, but accepting the occasional tumble with great good humour. She had a large ball which she rolled about happily, and a teddy bear which needed a good deal of motherly attention. I only wished some of my infant class were as well-behaved.

We had a cup of tea at the end of her session. I explained that I should be travelling to Guernsey on her usual day, and back from Guernsey the following week.

'So there's absolutely no need for you to come,' I said, 'for two weeks. You deserve a holiday. You look rather washed out, if I may say so.'

'I have been off-colour this week,' she confessed. 'I put it down to this heat.'

I gave her her wages, and the two weeks' money when I should be away. She demurred, but I insisted, and she seemed grateful.

'Shall I run you home?' I offered. 'I could get one of the boys to push the pram along later today.'

But she would have none of it, and I watched her go towards Beech Green, Teresa waving to the last.

The television programme was highly enjoyable, and Fairacre looked splendid on the screen. The man who played Aloysius looked rather too clean and well-fed, I thought, remembering Mr Willet's description of the poet, but all in all, it was well done, and I could see that the inhabitants of Fairacre would be basking in reflected glory for some time.

Half an hour later, Mrs Pringle arrived, her limp strongly in evidence. My heart sank.

When the lady was ensconced on the sofa, had refused refreshment, and contributed her share of comment on the weather, I felt it was time to come to the point.

'So how do you feel?' I began, and immediately was reminded of television reporters questioning some grief-stricken relatives after various disasters. You know the sort of thing:

'How do you feel now that your daughter's body has been recovered?'

'How do you feel now that you know your leg has been amputated?'

It beats me that none of these pathetic and tragic victims do not turn and rend their interlocutor, or at least snarl:

'How would
you
feel?'

Luckily, Mrs Pringle took my question at its face value. She drew in her four chins and a deep breath.

'I'm sorry to say,' said the lady, 'that the doctor says it still needs care. He said it was up to me to decide about thejob, and after a night sleeping on it, I think it would be best to say "No".'

It sounded to me as though the speech had been well rehearsed, but it made no difference to the outcome. If Mrs Pringle did not want to return, then that was it.

I felt a twinge of genuine regret.

'Very well. I quite understand, and of course your health comes first. But I really am sorry. We shall be lucky if we ever get such a marvellous cleaner again. However, I'll post off the letter now.'

Having got the matter over, she took a turn round the garden before setting off to her home.

'There's the end of an era,' I said to myself sadly. 'Come rain or shine, that old terror has kept me company for all my years at Fairacre. How I shall miss her!'

However, there it was. I stamped my letter, and put it ready to post. For good measure, I also wrote out a postcard to the same effect to be put in Fairacre Post Office, by courtesy of Mr Lamb.

Something told me that I was far more likely to get results from this source than the advertisement in
The Caxley Chronicle.

Two days later, my cousin Ruth and I were in Guernsey.

We put up at a most comfortable hotel in St Peter Port overlooking the harbour. At night we could hear the sea hissing over the shingle.

It was fun to see the steamer coming in daily from Weymouth, and to watch the fishing boats setting out.

The weather was as balmy as it was at home, and I had never seen the sea so blue, not even in Crete where I once spent a holiday with Amy. Ruth's spirits rose daily, and I could see that this break was comforting her after the shock of Bill's death.

It was clear that she needed company desperately at this sad time. She told me how good her sons had been, taking it in turns to call daily, or to telephone her, or to take her out for a drive.

I remembered Joan Benson talking about widowhood, and how some people just cannot bear to be alone, whilst others—herself included—needed some solitude to come to terms with changed circumstances. At any rate, Ruth seemed to be glad of my company, and it was good to feel that I was of some help.

We did all the things that visitors to Guernsey do. We explored Castle Cornet, seen on the horizon from our hotel windows. We visited the claustrophobic abode of the late Victor Hugo, some interesting galleries and innumerable shops where we were easily tempted by some first-rate clothes and jewellery. Of course, we bought a woollen guernsey apiece, a fawn one for Ruth and a nautical dark blue for me. They would keep out the winds of winter beautifully, we told each other, though even to think of such conditions seemed absolutely impossible, as we basked in the heat.

One of the places we enjoyed particularly was the Fort Grey maritime museum where everything was imaginatively displayed, and the woodwork and brass so immaculately kept that I thought of Mrs Pringle with a sudden pang. How she would approve of such cleanliness!

But I thrust the thought aside. This was my holiday, and I was not going to spoil it by dwelling on future problems. Time enough to worry when I returned.

As we drove home from the airport, at the end of our holiday, we were greeted by heavy rain.

The windscreen wipers were working madly to cope with the downpour, and every car that passed flung up a shower of spray. In places the road was flooded, and for the last few miles we were accompanied by fast-flowing streamlets on each side of the highway.

Mr Willet had thoughtfully left the key in the secret hiding place known to all, which is under a large stone near the front door. I guessed this meant that he and his wife were away for the day.

The house looked so fresh and clean that I suspected that Mrs John had called in after all to put things to rights.

Ruth was staying the night before setting off north, and we enjoyed our tea in a leisurely fashion with our feet propped up on stools.

I thought of Miss Clare, and her more formal tea time habits. Perhaps I really was a slattern? Nevertheless, it was good to flop back with a cup of tea on a sidetable, with the biscuit barrel handy, and Ruth seemed to be as content with the arrangements as I was.

'This little holiday has done me a power of good,' she said.

'Me too.'

'I do so hope I haven't been a wet blanket. It's difficult to throw off one's cares completely.'

I assured her that she had been the best of company.

'You know,' she went on, i think I shall take up a little voluntary job when I get back. We have a scheme at our local hospital where we take it in turns to man the shop or push a trolley round the wards. I rather think the library people are in it too. They've been asking me for years to help out, but so far I've refused. In any case, with Bill so ill I couldn't really be reliable.'

'It sounds just right. I'm sure it would be a great help to the organisation.'

And to you too, I thought. This could be the best bit of self-therapy needed.

'It's always good to feel one is of some use,' said Ruth.

'I endorse that,' I told her.

'You found the old key then?' said Mr Willet when I saw him next. 'Had a good time? You look quite bonny.'

I told him about the trips we had made, and how lucky we had been with our choice of hotel and the weather.

'But we came back to rain,' I said. 'How's it been here?'

'That's our only splash. Came just in time to fill up the water butts again, and plump up the runner beans.'

'Any news?'

'Well now, let me see. Arthur Coggs is due out in a week or two, more's the pity. Mr Hale fell off the garden steps cutting that great hedge of his, and sprained an ankle. Mr Mawne saw some bird that shouldn't be here by rights and wrote to that bird society in London to tell 'em about it. They wrote back to say he was mistaken.
Mistaken
! Our Mr Mawne! You can guess he's been in no end ofa taking, and the fur's flying, believe me.'

'The feathers, you mean.'

'Yes, well, maybe. Now what else? My Alice has made sixty pounds of gooseberry jam and forty of raspberry, my mar-rows are coming on a treat as I've been watering 'em well behind old Ted Bates' back. And they've got the mumps in Caxley.'

'Well, I hope it doesn't spread here.'

'And of course, there's this business of the cleaner.'

I was instantly alert.

'You had any answers yet?' he asked.

'Not one.'

'Not even from
The Caxley?
'

'No. I hardly expected it. I think Mr Lamb's card has more chance of attracting notice.'