Christmas At Thrush Green (33 page)

‘That’s Miss Watson’s car!’ he declared to himself and then hobbled into the pub to be the first with the news that ‘the schoolteachers is back’.

Isobel had positioned herself in the window of the sitting-room so she could watch for their guests’ arrival. They had said they planned to arrive in time for lunch and here they were, right on time.

‘They’re here!’ she called to Harold. ‘Can you come and help with the luggage?’

Isobel opened the front door and flew down the garden path in order to greet Dorothy Watson and especially Agnes Fogerty.

‘Why, Agnes,’ she cried, having given her old college friend a huge hug, ‘I do declare you’re even smaller than ever. Have you shrunk?’

‘Certainly not!’ beamed little Agnes Fogerty. ‘Oh, Isobel, it’s so lovely to see you. And to be here in Thrush Green again.’ She stepped back across the little road and looked at the school house next door. It was bigger now, of course. Alan Lester had built on to it but the front was just the same. Memories of the years she had spent there with Dorothy came flooding back, but Isobel would not let her linger with them for long.

‘Come on in!’ she cried. ‘Here’s Harold to take your cases. And Dorothy,’ she exclaimed, giving the larger woman a big kiss on the cheek, ‘how are you? You look wonderful. And I love your hair. You’ve had it cut differently.’

‘We have a very good hairdresser in Barton,’ said Dorothy, patting her hair. And so the old friends, chattering nineteen to the dozen about the journey up from Hampshire, the benefit of a really good haircut, and how their Christmases had been, went into the house.

A
t about four o’clock that afternoon, the tyres of Robert Wilberforce’s expensive Jaguar crunched across the gravel drive of Lulling Vicarage. From the kitchen Dimity saw them arrive and hastily took off her apron. She hurried across the hall and popped her head round the drawing-room door.

‘They’re here!’ she cried, and then went to open the front door to greet Robert and Dulcie.

‘Hello, hello! Welcome!’ Dimity cried. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘Indeed, yes,’ replied the handsome dark-haired Robert. ‘Sorry we’re later than we said. We got stuck with some friends who came for morning coffee and stayed for lunch.’

Dimity gave Dulcie a kiss on both cheeks, and then stood back to look at her. ‘You are obviously very well. You look blooming!’

Charles bustled out of the house, and shook Robert warmly by the hand. ‘So good to see you, so good,’ he said. ‘Come along in. We are longing to hear all your news.’

Ella had emerged from the drawing-room and was in the hall waiting to greet the Wilberforces.

‘We did meet briefly when you were here for the Nathaniel Patten centenary celebrations,’ she said. ‘My cottage looks across the green to the statue.’

‘Of course, I remember. You had a beautiful late rose climbing up the front,’ replied Robert, shaking her hand.

Ella laughed. ‘What a memory you have! It’s a climbing White Iceberg.’

‘Charles, will you take Dulcie and Robert upstairs, and I’ll get the kettle on,’ said Dimity, ever the good hostess. ‘You must be dying for some tea.’

‘That would be lovely,’ said Dulcie. ‘Oh, it’s so good to be here again. What memories I have of this house.’ For it was, of course, here that she and Robert had first met.

Fifteen minutes later, they were all gathered in the drawing-room. Robert stood with his back to the fire, warming himself. Dimity was pouring cups of tea, and Ella handed round the plate of drop scones that were glowing with deep yellow butter.

While Dimity and Dulcie chatted about matters concerning babies, and Charles and Robert were talking about world affairs, Ella sat quietly in her armchair. It was at times like this, she thought, that she would in future quietly withdraw to her rooms upstairs. She didn’t want Charles and Dimity to feel they had to include her in everything. Anyway, she preferred her own company to the chit-chat of others. She looked at the fire burning brightly in the handsome fireplace. The flames were distorted, the top seemingly disconnected with the bottom; she was not worried by this. Mr Cobbold had told her it would happen.

Having exhausted the subject of babies, Dimity suddenly realized that Ella had not joined in the conversation. Not surprising, really: Ella and babies were about as compatible as red wine and chocolate.

‘The Church Commissioners and planners permitting, Ella is going to come and live here with us,’ she told Dulcie.

‘My eyes. Can’t see much any more, and Dim thinks I’m not safe in my cottage. Probably true,’ Ella said in her forthright way.

‘We must show you Ella’s plans for upstairs,’ Dimity said, stretching for the teapot. ‘Anyone for more tea?’

Robert put his cup forward, and then Ella. Dulcie shook her head.

‘Charles, more for you?’

‘No, thank you. However, is that last drop scone going free? Robert, what about you?’ said Charles, holding up the plate with just the one drop scone left. Robert declined. ‘Ella, take the last one and find a handsome husband.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ laughed Ella. ‘Go on, Charles, you know you’re dying to have it.’

‘Well, I must admit,’ said Charles, helping himself, ‘Dimity does make the best drop scones in the whole world.’

 

Shortly after eight o’clock, the Youngs’ front door bell rang. Opening it, Edward found the Burwells standing there. Oh, God, they would be the first to arrive, he thought, then forced a bright smile on his face. ‘Derek and Jean, how lovely to see you. Do come in.’

‘Thank you,’ trilled Jean Burwell.

Edward stepped aside, and let the couple cross the doorstep into the hall. ‘I think you know my son, Paul. He’ll take your coats for you.’

Derek Burwell sniggered.

‘Good evening Mrs Burwell, Mr Burwell,’ said Paul. He would be as polite to them as his father demanded, but he was not prepared to toady to them. He took their coats. It was then his turn to snigger.

Jean Burwell was mutton dressed as lamb: her mauve chiffon confection had a swooping neckline, and she was tottering on very high strapless shoes. At least, Paul thought, turning away to hide his grin, the colour matched her hair.

‘Now come into the drawing-room and we’ll get you a drink. Joan will be here in a moment. She’s just finishing off in the kitchen. Watch out for the table as you go in.’

With twenty for dinner, the Youngs had laid two tables. The main table in the dining-room sat ten people and Edward had borrowed a large trestle table from the village hall, and this would seat another ten. It was in the hall, now pushed back against the wall, and just before dinner it would be pulled out into the middle of the room. Covered with a bright white damask tablecloth, and beautifully laid, no one would have known just a trestle table lay beneath.

Edward and the Burwells were followed into the drawing-room by Ben Curdle who had emerged from the kitchen. He was wearing his one and only suit, and his mop of curly brown hair had been brushed into some sort of submission.

‘Good evening,’ he said politely, and offered a tray of glasses. ‘Would you like a drink? There is champagne, or would you prefer something soft?’

‘Champers would do just fine,’ said Derek and, without bothering to see what his wife wanted, took a glass from the tray.

Jean hesitated. ‘I don’t want to get tiddly,’ she squeaked. ‘There’s a long night ahead of us.’

‘Go on, girl,’ her husband urged. ‘Got to get into the party spirit.’

God protect me from the burbles, thought Edward, smiling through gritted teeth. Luckily the front door bell went again, and he made his escape.

It was Winnie Bailey, well wrapped up in her tweed coat with a scarf looped round her neck.

‘Come in, come in from the cold, my dear,’ cried Edward. ‘Joan’s in the kitchen, she’d love to see you.’ He leaned down and gave Winnie a resounding kiss, at the same time whispering, ‘The Burwells are here, best to avoid them until more people arrive to dilute them.’

Winnie looked a little startled but, having let Edward take her coat and scarf, she went obediently into the kitchen.

‘Hello, Winnie,’ called Joan, looking up from adding some blobs of thick cream to the top of a huge cut-glass bowl of chocolate soufflé. ‘Don’t tell me Edward has sent you in here to help.’

‘No, I don’t think so. Something about avoiding the Burwells. What on earth are they doing here?’ asked Winnie, and then felt rather guilty at her uncharitable remark.

‘Ah, it’s a long story. You must ask Paul.’

The front door bell went again, and the sound of noisy greetings floated through to the kitchen. ‘That sounds like the Shoosmiths with Dorothy and Agnes. That will make things easier for you. I’m just about finished in here. Molly, it’s all over to you.’

Pretty Molly Curdle smiled. ‘Good evening, Mrs Bailey. From the looks of all the food what Mrs Young’s prepared, it’s going to be a feast. You go now, Mrs Young. Ben an’ I’ll be all right. As agreed, we’ll aim to serve up at nine.’

‘I hope that isn’t too late for you, Winnie dear,’ said Joan, taking off her apron and hanging it on the back of the kitchen door. ‘But we thought if we ate any earlier, people would be asleep before twelve o’clock.’

‘No, that’s fine. I had a late tea on purpose. Jenny will come across at about eleven, and we’ll just slip away.’

Joan held open the kitchen door, and the two women went into the hall and were soon enveloped in embraces with Dorothy Watson and Agnes Fogerty. ‘How simply wonderful to see you both,’ Joan cried. ‘And you are both looking so well!’

Dorothy had, as usual, spent hours agitating about what to wear. She was sure that the red dress she wanted to wear had been ‘seen’ the previous year when they’d been staying in Thrush Green. She had therefore decided on a dark blue dress with white polka-dots that she knew hadn’t had a Thrush Green airing since she had only bought it a few months previously.

Agnes never had any trouble in choosing what to wear. Her wardrobe was much more limited than Dorothy’s. Although she knew her deep pink velvet skirt had often been seen at Thrush Green parties before, she was wearing a new cream silk blouse with which she was immensely pleased. She had won fifty pounds on the Premium Bonds, and had splashed out some of it on this new blouse.

Paul was kept busy with the coats, but he had help as soon as Jeremy arrived with his mother and Frank.

‘Just you two keep off the wine dregs,’ warned Edward, smiling, and the boys grinned sheepishly at each other.

There were cries of pleasure when Charles and Dimity arrived, not only with Ella but with Robert and Dulcie. Harold pumped Robert’s hand vigorously, while Isobel stood back to inspect Dulcie.

‘Oh, look!’ she cried. ‘A bump!’

Dulcie laughed. ‘And fairly energetic, too. I am sure it’s a boy and he’ll be playing rugby for England.’ The two women went arm in arm into the drawing-room.

‘Doesn’t the room look pretty!’ Dulcie cried. ‘All those cards,’ she said, indicating the Christmas cards that were pinned to red ribbon and hung from the handsome ceiling cornice. ‘What a lot of friends the Youngs must have.’

‘And isn’t the tree a fine one,’ said Isobel. ‘I believe Edward always gets his off the Blenheim estate.’

‘What? He creeps in and cuts one down under cover of dark?’ asked Dulcie.

Isobel laughed. ‘No, of course not! From the Blenheim estate, I should have said. They sell them commercially.’

Most of the guests stood around in groups, chatting, but Ella plumped herself down on one of the sofas, and Winnie came to sit next to her.

‘What on earth is that woman doing here?’ said Ella rather too loudly, nodding towards Jean Burwell who was sitting close to her husband on the opposite sofa.

‘Joan has told me. Apparently it was Paul who kicked in those lights on the Burwells’ gateposts, and wrecked their Christmas wreaths. They agreed not to go to the police and this is by way of thanking them.’

Ella thumped her knee so hard with delight that a little of her champagne spilled out onto her tartan skirt, which she totally ignored.

‘That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time!’ she chortled. ‘I just hope they don’t spoil this evening.’

‘Shush, dear, keep your voice down. Now, tell me about your poor wrist. Is it getting any better?’

Edward was circulating with the bottle of champagne, topping up glasses. He realized the Burwells’ glasses were empty for the third time.

‘Do let me know if you would like something soft,’ he said hopefully, but they held their glasses out to him nonetheless.

Just after a quarter to nine, the Lovells arrived. Joan went into the hall to greet her sister and brother-in-law.

‘We’re so sorry to be late,’ said John. ‘I was called out to a difficult home birth. I think the mother was trying to hang on so the baby was born at midnight, and I was trying to hurry things along so I could get here.’

‘Never mind, you’re here now. Go on through and catch up.’ She took their coats and was pleased to find Paul had followed her into the hall so handed them to him to take upstairs.

‘Tell Dad that I’m going into the kitchen to help Molly. I think the table here could be pulled into position now everyone’s here. We’ll eat in ten minutes.’

As the grandfather clock standing in the hall struck nine, Edward clapped his hands together, and called people to go and eat. With a piece of paper in his hand on which the place-sittings were written, he organized everyone to their right place in masterly fashion. He was at the head of the dining-room table, close to the sideboard where the wine was. Joan was in the hall, near to the kitchen.

‘How attractive the table is,’ said Phil, as she sat herself between John Lovell and Robert Wilberforce.

Bright red napkins stood out against the white damask tablecloth, and matching red candles flickered in a row of single silver candlesticks set down the middle of the table.