(7/13) Affairs at Thrush Green (17 page)

She straightened up, the pale green rosettes clutched together in her two hands.

'Can you spare all those?' said Connie. 'Really two would be ample.'

'Take 'em! Take 'em!' replied Ella, stuffing them in the girl's arms. 'You might get somebody calling in at supper time. Kit Armitage, say.'

Connie was a little taken aback at this assumption that Kit was a regular visitor, and was stumped for words.

'I forgot,' went on Ella, 'he's just gone off to Wales to fish with the Olivers. Have you met them? They come up here occasionally to see the Lovelocks.'

'No, I don't know them. I've heard Kit mention Peter Oliver but I haven't met his wife.'

'He hasn't got one. It's his sister he lives with—or rather she's living with Peter since her husband died. Pretty woman. She'll be married again before she can turn round, you mark my words.'

She led the way to the garden seat, and began to roll one of her untidy cigarettes. Connie sat nursing the lapful of lettuces, and Flossie settled with a sigh, in the shade.

'We all thought she might be tempted by Kit Armitage. I gather she was a gorgeous looking girl in her youth. A proper raving beauty.'

'So was Kit's mother, I gather from Aunt Dotty.'

'Yes, I believe she was, but I never knew her, of course. Thrush Green seems to produce quite a few raving beauties. Perhaps Kit's gone down to see if she's just as attractive.'

Ella puffed away blissfully. Connie felt suddenly irritated, and longed to be on her own.'

'Well, I must get back,' she said, rising briskly. 'Many thanks for the lettuces. I know Aunt Dotty will be delighted.'

She set off for the gate, and Ella accompanied her. Flossie straggled behind, disappointed at the brevity of her rest.

'Give her my love,' called Ella to Connie's departing back. Really, the girl walked at an enormous pace!

Connie, unusually disturbed, made her way swiftly past Albert's cottage and gained the comfort of the lonely lane.

'To my mind,' she told the lagging Flossie, 'there are far too many raving beauties connected with Thrush Green. And alas, I'm not one of them!'

Nelly Piggott, busy scrubbing Albert's badly stained wooden draining board with hot soda water, watched Connie as she passed the window.

'Dotty's niece,' she told the cat, 'and single what's more. Some women have all the luck!'

She paused for a moment from her labours, and sat down on a kitchen chair to get back her breath. Say what you like about doctors, thought Nelly, they may do a good job on one bit of you, but that anaesthetic and the stitches and whatnot fair played up the rest of you. She felt as weak as a baby these days.

Albert was out. He was over in St Andrew's, supposed to be tidying up, but Nelly guessed correctly that he was simply keeping out of her way. Give him his due he'd behaved remarkably well considering the shock she had given him on her return.

The house had been empty when she had arrived in the early evening, and Albert was next door at The Two Pheasants.

Swiftly she had unpacked, putting her things in the spare bedroom, and making up the bed with the deplorable linen from the landing cupboard, before Albert's return.

Downstairs she washed up the mounds of dirty crockery and cooking pans, and put some pork sausages in the frying pan over a low heat. Who knows? Their fragrance might mitigate her husband's fury. To tell the truth, Nelly was remarkably apprehensive about this meeting. If Albert took it into his head to push her out and lock the door, there was little she could do.

She had a few pounds in her purse, and that was all, hardly enough to give her a bed for the night and certainly not enough to keep her going for a week. Her heart jumped when she heard Albert at the door, but she stood and faced him steadily in the last rays of the evening sun.

It was quite apparent that he was fuddled with drink.

'What you doin' 'ere?' he growled, his speech slurred.

Nelly decided to speak the truth.

'I've left Charlie. He don't want me any more.'

'Don't blame 'im,' said Alert, making unsteadily towards a chair. 'Can't say I want you neither.'

Nelly advanced towards the sausages and turned up the heat. She began stabbing the sausages with a fork, and they hissed cheerfully.

She was very near to tears. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted with travelling, worry, and the after-effects of her operation.

'Just cooked us a bit of supper,' she said. 'I know you like sausages, and I've had nothing all day.'

She was surprised at Albert's lack of response. She had fully expected a stream of abuse, and perhaps physical violence. This moody sulkiness was unexpected. She did not know if it boded ill or good.

The fact was that Albert was too dazed with drink to take it all in. He was also ravenously hungry, he realized, and the thought of pork sausages, cooked to a turn by Nelly, had a mellowing effect.

They ate them at the kitchen table. Little conversation passed between them until Albert had mopped the grease from his plate with a crust of bread, and then leant back to survey his wife.

'You ain't stoppin' you know,' he told her. 'Sausages or no sausages.'

'Just tonight,' pleaded Nelly, i'm all in, and that's the truth. Let's talk about it in the morning. I've made up the bed in the back room.'

'So I should hope,' said Albert nastily.

Nelly packed the dirty dishes in the sink and filled them with water.

'I'll do those in the morning,' she said wearily. 'I'm off to bed now, Albert.'

'And don't
snore,'
shouted Albert after her, as she mounted the stairs.

Ever since then an uneasy truce had been the order of the day.

Nelly had remained subdued, conscious that she was at Thrush Green on sufferance. She cleaned the house from top to bottom, cooked for the two of them, and took gentle walks in the neighbourhood mainly to keep out of Albert's way.

He, for his part, was secretly relieved to have his meals cooked and his house cleaned. As long as Nelly behaved with her present politeness he was prepared to let her stay.

Of course, he put a good front on his attitude when teased by his cronies in The Two Pheasants.

'Let her try any of her old tricks,' he told them, 'and she knows she's shown the door. But she's been in hospital and I'm not one to turn an invalid out, as well you know.'

His listeners certainly knew him well, and guessed correctly that the present state of affairs suited Albert nicely. No one in Thrush Green thought otherwise, and many went so far as to say that he was a lucky man to have his wife back.

Betty Bell was the most outspoken.

'I don't know how that Nelly Piggott can face coming back to that pig-hole of a place! She must've been hard up to come to stay with Albert. He's in clover, all right. Lovely smell of stew as I passed. Keeping him sweet, I suppose. How she can!'

'Well,' said Harold Shoosmith, putting down his cup, 'I suppose it's best for them both. Perhaps they'll make a go of it this time. I've always rather liked Nelly Piggott.'

'Good heavens!' exclaimed Isobel. 'Why?'

'I rather admire plump women,' smiled Harold, looking at his wife's slim figure.

'I'll do my best to put on a stone,' she told him.

Across the green, Winnie Bailey discussed the matter with Jenny.

'D'you think it will last?'

'It might this time,' answered Jenny. 'They're both that much older, and neither of'em too well. If Nelly got a job, they might settle down quite comfortably together. But she'd need to get out of that house for part of the day, and earn some money of her own.'

'You've been giving it some thought,' observed Winnie.

'Well, to tell the truth, I've been thinking about Doris and Percy. She's in such a state she's threatening to leave him. I met her in Lulling yesterday and we walked back together.'

'Does she want a job?'

'Not really. I think if Percy was a chap who went out to work regular, like Ben Curdle, and wasn't just a farmer in and out of the house and under your feet all day, she'd settle all right. I told her to get something herself, and have a change of surroundings, but there's not a lot of work going, as you know.'

'What about Ted and Bessie Allen at The Drovers' Arms? She seemed to enjoy her time there.'

'She told me she'd asked them, but they're well suited and I think they're a bit chary of coming between husband and wife. It would be all over Thrush Green and Lulling if they took sides, wouldn't it?'

And Winnie Bailey agreed.

Dimity Henstock was walking from Lulling vicarage to St John's while Winnie and Jenny were happily discussing Doris Hodge's affairs.

She carried a trug filled with roses, pinks and peonies having offered to arrange the flowers whilst several of the regular flower ladies of the church were disporting themselves on holiday.

The sun was warm. The church clock showed her that she had plenty of time to spare. Lunch was cold today, and she succumbed to the silent welcome of a garden seat placed in the shelter of the south side of the church.

She placed the basket under the seat, in the shade, and prepared to enjoy her solitude.

Not that one felt alone in a churchyard, she told herself. She had never understood the feeling of fear which so many people confessed to about churchyards. After all, one was so often among old friends who were at rest beneath their grassy mounds.

She read the inscriptions near at hand. 'Eulalia Phipps', for instance. Now there was a name to enchant one! And it was good to know that she had been a devoted wife and loving mother to her nine sorrowing children.

Close by was Amos Enderby enclosed in iron railings and with the top of his tomb a little askew. He had been a Justice of the Peace, a Benefactor to the Town and a Much Respected Citizen. He had died of a Seizure at the age of forty-eight to the Great Distress of his Family and Friends.

The only sad thing, Dimity mused, was the thought of all the talents buried in Lulling's earth. Over there, was the grave of Lucy Bennet whom she well remembered as a superb needlewoman and cook. Her grandchildren had always been exquisitely dressed in handmade frocks with intricate smocking, topped by knitted cardigans made by their loving grandmother.

And nearby was Tom Carter who had been renowned for his skill in layering a hedge. While close beside him rested his old friend Dick who had been a fine cabinet maker. His work stood in many a Lulling home as a reminder of his craftmanship.

What a wealth of skills lay buried here, thought Dimity. She feared that her own accomplishments were small in comparison. She was really no hand at flower-arranging, for instance, when she thought of the expertise of the local Guild of Flower Ladies.

Reminded of her duties, she pulled out the trug and made her way towards the cool shadows of the church. Perhaps, though, she comforted herself, she might be remembered, if not as a loving mother of nine children, then surely as a devoted wife?

Taking heart, she set off to collect suitable vases for her modest arrangements.

On the next Sunday Charles Henstock celebrated Holy Communion at eight o'clock at his old church in Thrush Green.

The attendance was small, but this was usual. Most people came to matins at ten-thirty, and only a few of the faithful came to the eight o'clock service. Isobel and Harold were among them, and Charles went back with them to the corner house for a cup of coffee.

'I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that Albert and his wife seem to have settled down again together. I very much dislike having to interfere in domestic matters, as you know.'

'Early days yet,' commented Harold, 'but we're all keeping our fingers crossed. I don't think Percy Hodge is faring so well though.'

'Oh dear,' said Charles, setting down his cup. 'I'm sorry to hear that. I haven't called, partly because I rather shirked it, and also because that old saying "Least said, soonest mended" is often quite right.'

'We heard yesterday that Doris has gone to stay with a sister. Of course, it may be just a genuine visit, but the old boys at The Two Pheasants reckon she's gone for good.'

'You shouldn't listen to gossip,' declared Isobel. 'And you know how things get exaggerated, especially after a pint or two.'