7 Sorrow on Sunday (27 page)

“Her son Douglas is coming home this afternoon,” Gran said, “and I had hoped to make her rest this morning. But she’s in her office now, staring at the computer screen. Perhaps you can at least take her mind off all that for a bit.”

“I haven’t come with any problems, Mrs. Weedon,” Floss said. “I just wanted to see how she was and wish her well . . . and to offer help.”

“Hazel has more or less taken over in Sebastopol Street, and is trying not to consult Lois unless it is really urgent. Now, in you go, and make it a short visit.”

Floss knocked softly on the office door, and went in. Lois looked round and smiled when she saw who it was. Floss was shocked to see that Lois had lost weight. She was a shadow of her usual bonny self, Floss thought.

“Hello, Floss, come and sit down,” Lois said.

“I’ve just popped in to see how you are and offer help of any kind. Anything at all.”

“How nice of you,” Lois said quietly. “But unless you can help me unfreeze this sodding computer, I think everything’s been taken care of. Gran’s gone into stern caring mode, and Derek stands guard over me in case I escape.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Floss said. “Computer studies was about all I was good at at school, so let’s change places and I’ll fix it for you.”

“Wonderful!” said Lois, and got up from her chair, wincing as she walked round the desk. “I’ll get Gran to make us some coffee.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I can stay long,” said Floss quickly, remembering Gran’s strictures.

“Take no notice of my mother,” Lois said. “It’ll do me a power of good to chat to you. Catch up on the gossip and news from the outside world! My Douglas is coming this afternoon, and he’ll want to know what’s happening in Farnden. He hasn’t been home for quite a while.”

“I expect he’s worried about you. I’ve never met him, but Josie talks about him quite a lot.”

“He’s a good lad. Works hard. He’s just finished with his long-time girlfriend, and probably wants some mothering. Or grandmothering!”

Floss laughed. “Well,” she said, “let me think of some news. Your accident is high on the list, of course, and Darren Smith’s brave rescue. But what else? Oh yes, I fell off my horse yesterday.” She bared her arm and showed a badly grazed elbow. “She shied away from a barking dog, and I wasn’t concentrating. Still, that’s not really news, is it?”

“What did the Colonel say?” Lois asked. Her voice had sharpened, and Floss saw a flash of her old boss.

“He was more anxious about the mare than he was about me,” Floss said ruefully. “But Mrs. Battersby was very kind, and made me go into the house and have a cup of tea—very sweet, it was. Ugh! We chatted, and then old Horace came in and said the mare was fine. She made him some coffee, and he sat down and asked me lots of questions about you. How you were, and had you recovered your memory, and was it going to affect New Brooms, and all that sort of thing. I was surprised, actually, that he was so interested.”

“Did he mention Darren?” Lois said. “After all, he works for them, and he was the hero of the whole nasty business.”

“No, he didn’t ask about him at all. I suppose he knows that I’ve not really had anything to do with him. I have taken him a mug of coffee in the garden once or twice, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t seem to want to, so I’ve never bothered.”

Gran came in with a tray, and looked at Floss. “I expect you’ll want to be getting on with your job soon,” she said. “Where are you working today?”

Floss looked at her watch. “Yes,” she said quickly. “I must get over to Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. I’ll just finish this drink, then I’ll be off.”

Gran vanished, and Lois laughed again. “She prides herself on being able to put the frighteners on,” she said. “Go when you’re ready, Floss. I’m very glad you called. Thanks for fixing the computer, and for the chat.”

When Floss had gone, Lois sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She did feel tired now, but her mind was buzzing. As soon as she could, after Douglas’s visit, she would get in touch with Evelyn Nimmo, and see if they could get some ideas together. And that reminded her of Dot. Poor old Dot. No change apparently. If she didn’t make it, that would change things!

*   *   *

I
T WOULD BE A PERFECT DAY TO GO FOR A RIDE ON HER
lovely mare, thought Floss as she drove to the Hall, with the morning sun dappling the drive under the trees. But she had her job to do, and reminded herself that she was saving up to get married. Ben was on a short list for a job in Tresham, but competition for jobs in computers was fierce. She knew her parents would stump up for all the money she needed, but she did not intend to allow that. After all, she had a job, and should be able to save enough to contribute. She was afraid her mother would want a grand wedding with all the trimmings, and her father would hear of nothing else. The least she could do was insist on contributing. And then she and Ben would want a cushion of money behind them when they set up house together.

Dreaming of fitted kitchens and pale cream drapes, she
parked in the Hall stable yard and went across to give her usual greeting to Victoria, Mrs. T-J’s stately mare. The horse whinnied and Floss held out the expected mint. Then she made her way across the cobbled yard to the open kitchen door.

“Yoo hoo! I’m here! Morning, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones.”

This familiar approach would not have been allowed by Mrs. T-J from anyone else but Floss. But she had become fond of the girl, and on the subject of horses they talked the same language. She appeared in the kitchen, and smiled. “Morning, Floss,” she said. “How are we this morning? I hear you had a tumble?”

“Oh dear,” said Floss. “Has the word got around?”

“Not far. Blanche Battersby told me. She hoped you would be able to continue working.”

“Good heavens, it’s only a graze,” said Floss. “Takes more than that to stop me.”

Mrs. T-J nodded approvingly, and said, “Oh, yes, and by the way, Blanche is coming over for coffee this morning. Could you be a dear and make it for us? We have something important to discuss.”

“Of course. Just tell me when. Or would you like me to open the door to her, usher her into the drawing room, and announce her name? Would it be fun?”

“Well,” said Mrs. T-J, with a modest smile, “if you insist, dear. Now, we must get on.”

Old bag, thought Floss. But she was mildly fond of the autocratic old woman, and knew exactly how to please her. Won’t hurt me to play the game, she thought. And I can have a listen to the discussion on the really important thing. Maybe the Battersbys had run even shorter of money, and felt they had to sell Floss’s mare. But that would have nothing to do with Mrs. T-J. Well, she would just have to wait and see.

When the big door knocker sounded, Floss downed tools and went to answer it. I should really have a frilly cap and apron, she thought.

“Good morning, Mrs. Battersby,” she said. “Will you come this way, please?”

“Floss?” answered Blanche. “What on earth’s got into you?”

Floss winked, and led her across the black and white tiled hall, larger than four of the Pickerings’ rooms put together, and knocked on the drawing-room door.

“Come in,” called a firm voice.

Floss opened the door and stood to one side. “Mrs. Blanche Battersby, madam,” she said, with a straight face. But she couldn’t maintain it, and suddenly burst into roars of delighted laughter. The two eminent ladies stared at her, and then slowly smiled. Finally they too were amused, in a restrained way, and the gloomy house was filled with unaccustomed merriment.

“I’ll go and make coffee,” spluttered Floss, and disappeared.

“What would we do without her?” said Mrs. T-J.

“Not very well,” replied Blanche, suddenly serious.

*   *   *

F
LOSS TIPTOED WITH THE COFFEE TRAY UNTIL SHE WAS
very close to the drawing-room door, which she had been careful to leave ajar. The conversation continued, and Floss stood motionless, sure they had not heard her.

“But where do you think your money’s gone, Blanche?”

“There is only one person who can get at it. Horace. I trusted him absolutely, but I am sure now that he is still gambling. And although he claims to win more than he loses, I am not convinced. I do hope you don’t mind my talking about this? Nobody knows better than I that it is bad form to talk about money. But I am desperate, Evangeline. I really have no one else to turn to. I cannot mention it to our girls, of course. Horace would never forgive me!”

Mrs. T-J frowned. Her long experience as a magistrate made her suddenly suspicious that Horace might have been having a bash at poor Blanche. But no, surely not. She had never seen any evidence—bruises, fear in her eyes, that sort of thing. He was too much of a gentleman to hit a woman. Then she thought how ridiculous that was. How many
wives of so-called gentlemen had she seen in court, beaten and cowed?

“You’re not frightened of him, are you, Blanche?”

“Of course not! He has never harmed me! Why do you ask, Evangeline?”

Methinks she doth protest too much
, thought Mrs. T-J, misquoting the bard.

*   *   *

F
LOSS HAD CRAMP.
H
ER CALF MUSCLE HAD SEIZED UP,
and she reluctantly took a step forward. She pushed open the door, and said, “Here’s coffee. I’ve put out those chocolate Bath Olivers you like, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. Shall I pour?”

She watched Mrs. T-J’s discomfort with a touch of guilt. Those were the old thing’s favourite biscuits, and nobody else was allowed to touch them. But she could hardly withdraw them now!

“No thank you, Floss. I can manage. Off you go.”

On her way out, Floss glanced at Blanche, and saw her sitting slumped in her chair. She seemed miles away, deep in thought. So the Colonel was gambling her money away, was he? Oh well, she supposed her mare would soon be on the way out. The Colonel would soon forget he had conditionally given it to Floss. Maybe her father would buy . . . ? But not at the price Horace’s horses commanded.

“Please let me know when you’re going,” Mrs. T-J said, as Floss reached the door. “Blanche will be staying to lunch, and it will be a signal for me to do some preparation. No, I insist, Blanche. We will have a cold collation,” she added, silencing Blanche’s protest.

Floss left them to it. She finished her work, told them she was going, and drove off down the drive. She wondered if she should warn Mrs. M about the Battersbys’ finances. They would probably regretfully dispense with Floss’s services next. It would do no harm to keep Mrs. M informed.

L
OIS LOOKED AT HER WATCH FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME.
Douglas was due some time around the middle of the day, and Gran had prepared a special lunch, just in case he made it in time. Otherwise, there was a perfect chocolate cream sponge in the larder for tea, and one of Gran’s stalwart steak and kidney pies for supper. It was twelve thirty, and they had agreed to give him until half past one before sitting down themselves.

An hour to pass, then. Lois closed her computer down, and went into the sitting room. She would just shut her eyes for ten minutes, and then help Gran to put the finishing touches to lunch. She slept. She was driving along the road to Waltonby, and Douglas was in the van with her. He was much younger, about twelve, and was grinning at her with his lovely open face. The shabby dark-green car came out of nowhere, at speed, heading straight at her. She screamed, and felt someone shaking her gently.

“Mum? Mum, wake up. It’s me, Douglas, the prodigal son.”

She shot to her feet, flinging her arms around him and fighting back tears. “Douglas! You’re all right?”

“Course I’m all right, Mum. You were dreaming. Come on, Gran sent me to get you for lunch. I’ve been here for a while, but didn’t want to wake you up.”

Douglas had grown from a pleasant, amenable lad, with sandy hair and freckles, into a well-built young man, still freckled, and with his sandy hair cut very short into a golden fuzz. He was still pleasant and amenable, and Lois was especially partial to her first-born son.

“How are you, Mum? And don’t give me the usual ‘I’m fine,’ because I can see you’re not.”

Derek nodded in agreement. “Perhaps you can persuade her to rest. She takes n’notice of me,” he said.

Lois bristled. “What do you think I was doing in the sitting room? Resting, I was. And, as a result, having a nightmare. It was the crash all over again.”

Derek put out his hand and took hers. “You’re doing well, me duck,” he said. “And don’t worry. The doc said you’d be bound to have bad dreams for a while, but they’ll fade. Now, Gran, let’s try and forget all about it, and get going on this fantastic nosh.”

To lighten the atmosphere, Douglas had a joke or two at the ready, and soon they were all laughing at his account of people in his office. “Mind you,” he added, “sometimes they’re not so funny, and I could happily ditch the lot of them. Maybe it’s time I looked for another job. Nearer home, Mum, d’you reckon?”

“You must do what you think is best. Your Dad and me have always said that. I cut the apron strings long ago.”

Gran did not agree. “It would be lovely, Douglas,” she said, “to have you nearer. And don’t take any notice of your mum—she’s still clinging on to mine, you know. Not that she would admit it!”