(18/20) Changes at Fairacre (27 page)

'When do you expect to hear?'

'Heaven alone knows! You know how these matters drag on. The thing is, we've made our offer, and I doubt if many other people will with the market as it is. We'll keep our fingers crossed.'

It was good to see them so hopeful as they drove away, and I only wished that they would see those hopes fulfilled.

***

One morning towards the end of April, before the school bell was rung, Mrs Pringle informed me that someone was looking over one of the empty houses.

'Good!' I cried. 'Did they look as though they might have children?'

'Not as far as I could see,' replied Mrs Pringle. 'More like
grandparents,
I'd say.'

'That's right,' agreed Mr Willet who had joined us. 'More like folk from the council again, I reckon. I recognized that old trout from Caxley as is on the District Council. Wonder what's up?'

'Checking on the drains and that perhaps,' surmised Mrs Pringle. 'Don't do to leave a place uninhibited too long.'

'Uninhabited,'
I corrected automatically.

'Like I said,' agreed Mrs Pringle. 'You don't want no one in it for too long.'

Here was the double negative rearing its ugly head again, but I did not join battle.

'Looked more like buyers wanting a bit added,' said Mr Willet. 'They was looking at the kitchen side. Maybe they want one of these glass-house places stuck on. All the go, them conservatories these days.'

'Perhaps one of those people was a buyer,' I speculated.

'That young woman as is expecting,' continued Mr Willet, 'said she thought they looked at both houses.'

'Definitely drains!' pronounced Mrs Pringle. 'They shares a septic tank no doubt.'

'I never saw them looking at but just the one,' said Bob. 'Mr Annett had us in early for choir practice. Trying out a new anthem, he was, and a right pig's breakfast we made of it, I can tell you. Some modern thing, it is. What's wrong with a nice bit of Stainer, I want to know? So anyway, I never saw as much as Mrs Winter did from her kitchen window.'

He sounded disappointed.

'All I hope,' I told him, nodding to Patrick to ring the bell, 'is that they are building on to accommodate their large families.'

'That's what's called "
wishful thinking
",' he shouted, above the din, and departed.

I came across Jane Winter myself one dinner hour when I was calling at the Post Office for the school savings' stamps. She looked remarkably well, with that radiance that pregnant women so often show, once the first uncomfortable months are over.

'Yes,' she said, 'I certainly saw those people, and a couple of men have visited the houses once or twice. What's going on?'

'I've no idea. Perhaps two couples - old friends or something - have decided to retire together. It sometimes happens.'

'But the houses are too big for retired folk,' she said.

'Sometimes they have lots of grandchildren who come to stay,' I surmised. 'But honestly, your guess is as good as mine.'

I enquired about the coming baby.

'Not long now, thank heaven. To tell you the truth, we were both a bit miffed about it when we first knew, but now I'm quite looking forward to having a baby in the house again.'

'The old wives' tale is that those that aren't ordered always turn out the best,' I told her.

'That's a consoling thought,' she laughed. 'Perhaps this one will be able to keep us in our old age.'

We walked back towards my school and her home in good spirits.

***

Amy rang me one evening soon after my meeting with Jane. She sounded worried, and wanted to know if I could spend the next Friday night, and perhaps Saturday too, with her at Bent.

'James has to be away, and he's heard such a lot about people breaking in that he doesn't like the idea of me being alone. Besides, he still looks upon me as an invalid after that bang on the head.'

'I'd love to come. What time, Amy?'

'Come to tea if you can manage it. If not, soon after. And many thanks. James will be grateful.'

'So shall I. Have you had more than usual robberies in Bent?'

'As a matter of fact, we have. Mrs Drew, our daily, seems to have fresh instances ever time she comes, but at the moment the poor soul is laid up with her back, so I don't get the gossip, good or bad.'

'Anything serious?'

'Just a displaced vertebra somewhere from the sound of it, but you know how painful backs can be. Sometimes -' she broke off. 'Sorry, I forgot how squeamish you are.'

'I don't mind
bones.
It's
insides
I can't take. All those tubes, and squashy bits.'

Amy laughed. 'Well, anyway, I won't curdle your blood with any more horrors. See you on Friday, as soon as you like.'

I must admit that I wondered once or twice why James was so suddenly anxious about leaving Amy alone. He often had to be away from home on business, and surely the fact that there were burglars about could not be the whole story. I looked forward to hearing more.

April was on its way out, and I looked forward to May, to my mind the loveliest of all the months. The hedges were breaking into leaf, and the trees' stark branches were beginning to be clothed in a veil of swelling buds, soon to become a mantle of fresh green.

I drove to Amy's about six o'clock, and found her picking narcissi in her garden.

'Smell those,' she said, thrusting the bunch under my nose, and I sniffed rapturously.

'Bliss!' I told her. 'Now tell me all about James's concern for you. I'm intrigued.'

'Come and have a drink, and I'll tell you as much as I know.'

She dropped the flowers into a jug of water as we passed through the kitchen, and we were soon comfortably settled in the sitting-room, glasses in hand.

'It's a sad story, and to be frank, I'm much more worried about James than he is about me.'

'Is it something to do with Brian?' I ventured.

'It has
everything
to do with Brian,' said Amy, putting her glass down on a side table with a bang. 'The little rat!' she added violently.

I gazed at her speechless. It is not often that I see Amy in a fine temper.

'He's hopped it. Scarpered. Gone to ground. Vamoosed. In short, he's nowhere to be found. And what's upset James so much is the fact that he had arranged an interview for Brian with one of his high-powered city pals - no easy task - and of course that wretched Brian didn't turn up. He'd vanished, and so had the money.'

'Good lord! From the Bristol firm?'

'That's only part of it, and a small part at that evidently. Our Brian has been pinching funds from his various places of employment for years now. They think he plays a fairly minor role in a group of wide-boys with nice little bank accounts in various places abroad.'

'I can't believe it. I must admit I always thought that he was a rather mediocre little man, but I should never have credited him with enough savvy to be an international crook. Where is he, I wonder?'

'He could be anywhere. Bolivia or Brazil or one of those islands where people stash their ill-gotten gains. He obviously took a plane from Bristol. Last Thursday I think.'

'But can you fly to Bolivia from Bristol? I thought you could only hop across to nearby places like Paris and Madrid.'

'Presumably you can change planes at Paris and Madrid,' snapped Amy crossly. 'Don't be so pettifogging!'

I apologized meekly. It was quite obvious that Amy was deeply upset. In the silence that followed I turned over the word 'pettifogging' in my mind. I had looked it up recently for a crossword I was doing, and I felt sure it had said something about 'a cavilling lawyer', which could not possibly apply to me. Perhaps Amy meant to use the word 'pernickety'? In any case, this was not the time to discuss such niceties of the English language with my suffering friend, and I put forward a less controversial question.

'Won't Interpol catch him?' I ventured.

'Of course they're doing their stuff, and so too is the fraud squad, I gather, but people like Brian and his dubious friends are always one jump ahead, and poor old James seems to think we'll never see him again.'

'Jolly good thing too! And after all you and James did for him! Makes my blood boil!'

'I think James is dreading the possibility of Brian being brought back to face trial. Although he's furious about being let down over that interview, he still can't bear the idea of having to be a witness against Brian. Frankly, I should enjoy it.'

'Me too. But then women are much tougher than men.'

'You'd think that this business would have turned James completely against that little horror, but it hasn't. He's had the most terrible shock, his idol with feet of clay, and all that, but he's still besotted. He makes idiotic remarks such as: "Can't hit a man when he's down." "Brian always played a straight bat." "He must be covering for someone." Really, sport has a lot to answer for when it comes to men's thinking.'

'Don't you argue with him?'

'Of course I do, until I'm blue in the face, but then James starts to blame the women in Brian's life. He would have been perfect if his wife hadn't left him. She should have stuck by him. Loyalty should come first, and all that guff. I must say I wonder if she didn't suspect things years ago, and removed herself while there was time.'

'So James is in Bristol now?'

'Yes. He's meeting this old school friend who employed Brian. I expect there'll be a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth over the fall of their cricket hero. More about that, I'll bet, than the plight of the shareholders.'

'Maybe the employer will be made of sterner stuff.'

'I hope so. The point is that I'm truly worried about James. He looks so wretched and ill. Brian has properly let him down. For a really tough business man, he is extraordinarily soft-hearted, and this really has hit him badly. I wanted to go with him, as I don't think he should be driving when he's so upset, but he and the friend and the firm's accountant are going through the books and will be hours on the job, evidently. Then they've got the other firms to contact, and the police. He'll probably be down there for the whole of the weekend. Can you stay?'

'Of course I can. Poor old James! What a wretched underhand sort of affair it is!'

'Hardly cricket, is it?' agreed Amy, with a wry smile.

***

Naturally, it was an anxious weekend. Every time the telephone rang, Amy rushed to answer it, hoping for news from James.

He rang just as we were off to bed on the Saturday night, telling Amy that he would be home on Sunday evening, and to see if all was well.

'How was he?' I asked.

'He sounded very weary, and says there's more to do than any of them realized. No news of Brain, as you might expect, but there's another complication.'

'What's that?'

'One of his erstwhile colleagues, at a previous job he had, has also vanished into thin air. Looks remarkably suspicious according to the police. This other chap's a real hard nut with a record. The police want him for other matters. James reckons he's had a strangle-hold on poor Brian.'

'And nobody's seen Brian or this other fellow getting on a plane?'

'No. They're now beginning to wonder if they are still in this country, lying low.'

'Perhaps it will be easier to pick them up,' I offered, consolingly. I was worried on Amy's behalf. She looked pale and drawn, and I felt that I should really be doing more for her than I was.

'Let's go to bed,' I said. 'You look all in, and James will never let me be a wife-sitter again if he finds you under the weather.'

We made our way upstairs, and I hoped that Amy's exhaustion would let her sleep. As for me, sleep was impossible, and I found myself thinking of idiotic ways of tracking down Brian. It must have been about three o'clock when I hit upon the ruse of attending the coming summer Test matches at Lords and the Oval (school matters allowing, of course), when I fell into an uneasy sleep, where I was busy making marrow jam which refused to set, with Bob Willet and Mrs Pringle in the school lobby.

It was quite a relief to wake up.

I left Amy in the early evening, knowing James would be back very soon, and feeling that I must do some school marking, as well as a few household chores before Monday morning.

A white froth of cow parsley lined the verges below the sprouting hedges, and I thought how lucky I was to live in Beech Green.

My own garden looked exceptionally tidy after Bob Willet's pruning and general clearing up, and in the growing dusk I pottered around outside noting the tulips now breaking into flower, and the little knots of tightly-furled buds on the old Bramley apple tree. The wicked storm, the snow, the horrors of winter and all it had brought seemed far away and long ago, and I rejoiced in the summer so soon to come, before going indoors to face my duties.

It is always annoying to me when people think that a single woman's work is over when she comes back from her daily grind. After all, her home needs as much cleaning, her clothes as much laundering, her food as much cooking, her correspondence as much answering, as any other woman who spends her day at home. Added to these domestic chores are the necessary tasks which she brings back from the school or office. In my case, I have a considerable amount of marking and preparing of lessons to face after school hours, and when people point out that I have lovely long holidays, I reply firmly that I need them.

Mrs Pringle comes to Beech Green on Wednesday afternoons on the convenient Caxley bus, and I must admit that she thoroughly 'bottoms' the cottage before I get back to share a pot of tea with her, and run her home to Fairacre. On the few occasions when she has had to miss her stint, the place certainly lacks that extra gloss.

On the Wednesday following my weekend with Amy, we sat in the garden with our mugs. To tell the truth, it was hardly warm enough, but we could just about stand the coolness in the air, and it was good to realize that summer had arrived.