Dry Bones (3 page)

He didn't mention that the idea had been entirely Naomi's, put forward from her entirely selfish motive of quaffing his Chivas Regal in the evening sun.

‘I have a new shed too.'

She peered out and feigned more surprise. ‘So you have. It looks very nice. And how
useful
.'

He had already introduced the lawnmower to its new home, and hammered in a row of big nails for hanging the garden tools on the wall. He had also found himself sorting through all kinds of useful oddments and putting them in tins and screwtop jars and boxes in an orderly row along a shelf. After all, that was what a shed should be – full of things that he wasn't quite sure what he'd do with, but which would be bound to come in handy one day. He realized, with satisfaction, that there was room for quite a decent-sized workbench under the window. He could use it for doing odd jobs, mending things, even trying his hand at some woodwork, perhaps?

Jacob shook his head vehemently at the offer of tea or coffee, and the Colonel and Miss Butler sat at the kitchen table from where she would be able to observe progress with the flagstones.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Butler?'

There must have been some good reason for her call. Naomi would happily barge in at any hour but not Miss Butler; she was far too shy.

The pink appeared again in her cheeks. ‘My goodness, how stupid of me! I almost forgot. I was wondering, you see . . . but, of course, you might not care for the thought at all . . . I'd ask Major Cuthbertson, only he's rather unreliable . . .'

‘What thought?' he prompted gently.

The words came out in a breathless rush. ‘Helping with our collection for
Help the Homeless.
House to house, you know. Like you so kindly did before, for
Save the Donkey.
They do such a wonderful job – soup kitchens, finding rooms in hostels, providing blankets and warm clothing. But, with you having been so poorly lately, I expect you'd much sooner not have the bother.'

‘I'm fully recovered,' he said. ‘And, of course, I'd be delighted to help. A very worthy cause.'

‘Yes, it is, isn't it? There are so many poor people with nowhere to go. Living on the streets and sleeping in doorways and under arches. It's quite shocking to think of it happening in our country. Only the other day I saw a young man sitting on the pavement outside Boots in Dorchester, begging for money. It was very chilly and he didn't even have a coat. I felt so sorry for him and gave him a pound that I happened to have in my purse. Of course, when I mentioned it to Major Cuthbertson, he said it would only be spent on drugs.'

It was an opinion that the Colonel had frequently heard voiced.

‘Just let me know when you want me to collect for you, Miss Butler, and I'll do my best.'

‘Thank you so much, Colonel. It won't be until late June, so there's plenty of time.' She gave him a timid smile. ‘You did so well for the donkeys. It will be most encouraging to have your support.' She sipped at her tea. ‘Is this Earl Grey, by any chance? It tastes delicious. What a treat!'

He doubted if there were many treats in her life. Her naval pension wouldn't allow them. Come to that, his own army one didn't either and he was very fortunate to have some private income to supplement it. He could manage to afford such things as Earl Grey tea and Chivas Regal whisky.

They chatted politely for a few more minutes and then Miss Butler finished her tea and gave a final glance out of the window where the strong-armed Jacob was heaving another flagstone into place.

‘I think it's going to look
very
nice, Colonel.'

‘You must come and have another cup of tea with me when it's finished. If the weather's warm enough we'll be able to sit out there.'

She blushed again. ‘How very kind.'

He escorted her to the front door and, as he opened it, she said rather archly, pulling on her gloves, ‘A little bird told me that you will be giving dear Ruth away at her wedding, Colonel.'

‘Yes, she asked me to do so.' He hadn't mentioned it to a soul but it was no surprise that the news had spread.

‘I hear that Major Cuthbertson's just a teeny bit put out not to have been asked. But that would never do, of course. There's always the risk that he might overindulge. Whereas with you, Ruth will be in
very
safe hands.'

He thought wryly that while it was nice to be thought of as so safe, it was also rather dull. How could they be so sure that he wouldn't turn up roaring drunk? Behave appallingly badly? Give an obscene speech? Presumably for the same strange reason that people were always confiding in him and trusting him implicitly with their deepest secrets. It was a mystery to him.

Miss Butler hesitated on the doorstep. ‘I meant to ask if you happen to have any old clothes that you would care to donate to the
Help the
Homeless
cause, Colonel. They would be most gratefully accepted.'

Most of his clothing was old – some of it going back thirty years or more – and the recipients' gratitude could be open to question.

‘I'll see what I can find, Miss Butler.'

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘Though, of course, with you being such a tall gentleman, there might be a problem.'

‘I'm sure I have some things that might be useful.'

‘And, apparently, toothpaste, shampoo and soap are always welcome – so they say.'

He was tempted to ask her gravely which particular brands were preferred, but it would be extremely unkind to tease her.

‘I shall be happy to contribute some.'

‘They mentioned disposable razor blades, too. I'm afraid I don't know much about those.'

‘Don't worry, I'll take care of it.'

She thanked him profusely and scurried away.

‘Hallo, Father. I'm ringing to see how you are?'

‘I'm very well, thank you, Susan.'

He braced himself for a lecture from his daughter-in-law.

‘You must take care not to overdo things after that horrid flu, you know.'

‘I'm not overdoing anything,' he said mildly. ‘I'm sitting down with the newspaper.'

‘That's good. But are you eating properly?'

He moved the receiver a little further away from his ear. Susan's lectures were always delivered
fortissimo
. He longed to tell her, but never had, that he wasn't yet stone deaf.

‘Rather.'

‘And taking those multivitamins we sent?'

‘Yes, of course.' The bottle was at the back of one of the kitchen cupboards. He had swallowed a few of the capsules which were the size of horse pills and then forgotten all about them.

‘It's so important to have a good diet. Fresh fish and vegetables – no red meat and nothing fried or fatty. If we were closer, I could bring the right sort of meals round for you. Have you thought any more about moving up here, Father? Norwich is very nice, you know.'

He wished to heaven that she wouldn't always call him Father. Hugh would do so much better.

‘No, I can't say I have.'

‘There's a bungalow for sale just down the road. You could come and stay the night with us and view it. It's a very nice property.'

Why were houses for sale always properties and why did one always view them and not simply go and see them? It was estate agents' speak – like nestling and boasting and featuring. Never plain language and often downright misleading. Pond Cottage had been described as having potential – which, translated, meant that it was extremely dilapidated and would cost a great deal of money to put right.

‘Perhaps not just at the moment, Susan. I'm having some work done in the garden. I need to keep an eye on things here.'

‘Oh? What sort of work?'

‘A terrace at the back.'

‘Goodness. That sounds expensive.'

‘It's only a small terrace. It will get the afternoon and evening sun, so it should be rather nice to sit out there in the summer.'

Wiser not to mention the sundowner drinking part of it; Susan never touched alcohol and would certainly think it was bad for him. And better not to mention Naomi either. His daughter-in-law, who had never met his next-door neighbour, was always on the alert for predatory women who might ensnare him. He changed the subject smoothly.

‘How are the children?'

‘Eric has an awful cold and it's gone straight to his chest.'

‘I'm very sorry to hear that.'

He genuinely was. Once he had found it hard to appreciate his overprotected five-year-old grandson who, Susan claimed, was delicate and sensitive. Then Eric had come to stay at Pond Cottage on his own while Susan had been in hospital with a threatened miscarriage, and a visit to the Bovington Tank Museum had formed a firm male bond between them.

‘How about little Edith?' His granddaughter was only two weeks old and he had yet to see her. She had been named after Susan's mother, with Laura as her second name. He hoped, for her sake, that she would take after Laura in looks.

‘She's put on four pounds. And last night she slept for six hours. She's much easier than Eric was, thank goodness.'

‘Well, I'm looking forward very much to meeting her. Perhaps you could come and stay when she's a little older.'

He could take Eric off to Bovington Museum again, if they could manage to slip their leashes.

‘I don't think I could cope with the journey yet, Father. It would be easier if you came here. Then Marcus could take you to view properties for sale in the area.'

Women were the very devil about clinging to ideas, he thought. Nothing would shake them off. Bulldogs were feeble by comparison.

‘How is Marcus, by the way?'

‘Well, they keep him working all hours at the new job.'

‘I hope he's enjoying it.'

‘He doesn't really say much.'

At least it was a job. When Marcus had been made redundant, Susan had gone back to her mother in Essex, taking Eric. The marriage had been on the rocks but, fortunately, the job with the pasta company had turned up and things had been sorted out. Times were tough for young people. His own career in the army had been straightforward, by comparison. He'd been lucky.

Susan said, ‘Of course, lots of people are eating pasta these days. It's very good for you, Father. Very healthy. Did you know that?'

Personally, he hated the stuff. Slithering around on the plate, no real taste – unless you covered it with strong cheese or some horrible sauce.

Naomi agreed with him. She had taught him quite a lot about cooking, handing on her misspelled recipes:
Sheperd's Pie, Sosages and Mash, Choclate Moose, Rost Chicken.
Good, plain, no-nonsense English fare.

He went on talking to his daughter-in-law, enquiring politely about her parents and then drew the conversation to a close before Susan could think of something else that he ought to eat, do, or not do.

The terrace was finished by the end of the week. Jacob had done a first-rate job and the Colonel made certain that he was well rewarded.

He stood admiring the look of the old flagstones which had already settled in as though they had been there for centuries. There was no substitute for the real thing, he thought. Modern copies from a garden centre simply would not do, and they looked worse with age, not better. The only thing missing now was the sun going down, and some garden chairs to sit on. He'd ask Naomi's advice on where to look for those.

He issued a formal invitation by telephone for that evening and she arrived on the stroke of six o'clock to carry out a terrace inspection.

‘It looks wonderful, Hugh. Wasn't I right about it? You'll need a few plants to soften it at the edges – a bit of aquilegia, alchemilla, some thyme – that sort of thing. I can let you have those. They'll spread themselves around if they want to. A nice old pot or two with some annuals, perhaps, but don't overcrowd it.' She waved an arm expansively. ‘The whole garden's looking good, in fact. And your shed's not bad, either. Nothing like a Swiss chalet, thank God. Can I see inside?'

‘Not yet,' he said firmly. Not ever, if he had his way. He'd done the terrace for her, but he was blowed if she was going to invade his shed.

An Englishman's shed was his castle.

‘I thought I might send for some white lavender plants, like yours – if you don't mind me copying you.'

‘Not a scrap. I'll give you the name of the chap I got them from.
They're jolly hard to find. They're called Edelweiss
,
though I can't imagine why. Lavender's got absolutely nothing to do with the Alps.'

It had begun to rain, so they retreated to the sitting room and he poured their drinks. She had some helpful ideas about where to find the garden chairs – the old-fashioned kind that would go with the flagstones.

‘By the way,' he said. ‘I'll be away over this weekend. Would you mind very much feeding Thursday for me?'

‘If he'll let me.'

‘I'll leave the kind of food he likes best. His bowl is on the floor near the door. It's marked DOG, but he doesn't seem to mind.'

‘Well, he can't read, can he?'

‘Not as far as I know. And there's one for water beside it.'

He had installed a cat flap in the back door so that Thursday could come and go as he pleased, though if it suited him better, the cat would still wait stubbornly for the door to be opened.

‘Where are you off to, Hugh? Somewhere nice?'

Nobody in the village could go anywhere without their destination being made general knowledge. He had sneaked off to London by train a few times and discovered that the platform was kept under constant surveillance by the local KGB.

‘Wiltshire. I've had a letter from an old friend of Laura's – they shared a flat together in London years ago. She's asked me to go and visit – though I'm not quite sure why. I haven't seen her since Laura's funeral. Her first husband died quite young and then she married some extremely rich city chap. I've never met him, but I imagine they move in pretty exalted circles.'