Farewell to Fairacre (16 page)

On the other hand, it was good to have James's support, and if there were troubles in that household he was the ideal man to put them right.

I did not worry for long. Good Shropshire air ensured that I slept soundly for eight hours.

We returned by a different route, travelling through the border country between England and Wales, more beautiful than ever with the trees decked in their spring finery. Here and there the wild cherries were in early bloom, reminding me of Housman's poem:

Liveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

In my Beech Green garden the daffodils were beginning to break, and there was the scent of spring everywhere.

The cottage was clean from Mrs Pringle's ministrations, and Tibby greeted me with unusual enthusiasm.

Altogether, it was good to be back, and the thought of almost a fortnight of the school holidays still stretching before me was an added bonus.

It was odd to realise that this holiday was the last one before a term. At the end of the summer term I should be at the outset of my retirement.

I contemplated the matter. Did it alarm me? Did I feel apprehensive about changing my way of life for - who knows? Twenty years of pleasing myself? Of going where I wanted when I wanted? Should I get fed up with my own company? Should I feel that life was aimless without the discipline and structure of a school year which had shaped everything for me for so long?

I had now had several months to get used to the idea, and it was a considerable relief to find that I now looked forward with enormous pleasure to the years ahead.

On Friday afternoon I put on my new cardigan suit and set off to have tea with John Jenkins.

On my way I saw my first butterfly of the season and noticed that the hawthorn hedges were beginning to break into leaf. Lambs skittered about Hundred Acre field on my left, and the sun was warm. I felt in high spirits.

John's cottage stood back from the narrow road we all call Pig Lane. It must have once been built of brick and flint, as mine is, and so many local cottages are. But some earlier inhabitant had lime-washed it, and the effect was very fresh and pleasing, although the purists might regret the concealment of interesting native brickwork.

It was somewhat larger than mine, and John had added an elegant conservatory at the rear. This led from his sitting-room, and gave a feeling of light and space.

Upstairs there were three bedrooms, larger and loftier than my own, and certainly lighter. I congratulated him on having found such an attractive place.

'My friends say it's really too big, but I need at least one spare bedroom for visitors, and in any case I'm used to big houses. I was brought up in a vast Victorian villa complete with a basement and attics. We must have had over sixty stairs.'

I followed him into the kitchen, and was impressed with the competence with which he dealt with setting out the tray and coping with the kettle and teapot, and all the other trappings.

'I don't rise to making my own scones yet,' he said, offering me the dish when we had settled by the fire. 'I get these from Lamb at the Post Office.'

This reminded me of the postcard he had put up, and I enquired about Arthur.

'Well, he turned up. I set him to cutting back a patch of scrub at the end of the garden, and he seemed to make some headway. I think I'll give him a trial run.'

'Watch your tools then,' I warned him, 'or anything else he can put in his pocket. Our Arthur needs a lot of beer, and he has to make a bit of money on the side for that.'

He said that he would be vigilant, and went on to enquire about my holiday.

I waxed enthusiastic about Bridgnorth and the country around it, and told him about a veteran car museum that James had taken us to, and about the ancient but glittering Lagonda I had fallen for.

'That's the sort of thing I miss,' he said, when I had run out of breath. 'The companionship and the fun of shared outings.'

'But you have made friends here,' I said, 'and you know Henry from the old days.'

'A little of Henry's company goes a long way,' he said. 'He can be very tiresome at times.'

I felt sorry that I had mentioned Henry. I had no wish to make mischief, but surely the two men were not vying for my favours? It was an uncomfortable thought.

I was soon enlightened.

'It would be very kind of you to agree to accompany me now and again on a little expedition. You know that I relish your company, and I should appreciate it so much.'

One cannot very well say, 'As long as the relationship remains friendly and not romantic', but that was in my thoughts.

Aloud I said that I should enjoy an outing with him now and again, although the next term would keep me unusually busy while it lasted.

'But then you'll be retired,' he said eagerly, 'and have time on your hands. You are bound to feel a little lost - even lonely - when you first retire.'

I did not like to point out that I had never yet been lonely in my life as a single woman, that I enjoyed my own company, and that I was looking forward to many hours of solitude. He might feel that I was criticising his own recent feelings, and I did not want to appear censorious. Luckily, he turned to another subject.

'I'm thinking of getting a dog. I thought of the Caxley Dog Rescue place. Do you know anything about it?'

'Not personally, but I'll consult Bob Willet. He'll know.'

The Easter holidays flew by at their usual surprising speed, and I was left contemplating all those jobs I had been going to tackle, and had not.

The curtain linings still remained unshortened, and the bookshelves uncleaned, but the bath tap had had a new washer and the refrigerator had been defrosted. I told myself that half the jobs had been tackled, and that was a better record than some of my school-holiday schedules.

As was usual, the first day of term dawned sunny and clear, and I thought how lovely it would be to potter about in the garden with the birds fluttering about collecting food for their nestlings, and to enjoy the scent of spring flowers. However, duty called, and I set off to face my last term at Fairacre school.

Mrs Pringle's leg must have 'flared up' again, as I noticed that she was limping about her dusting routine, a sure sign of trouble. What dire happening was I to hear of now, I wondered?

'I'm off to the doctor this evening,' said Mrs Pringle. 'I was knocked down by that Arthur Coggs.'

'Good heavens! How was that?'

'I went out late last night to put a birthday card in Lamb's letter box to catch first post this morning. It's my Auntie Margaret's eightieth tomorrow, and I want her to know I've remembered her. I'm in her will.'

'So how did you meet Arthur?'

'He was stepping out - or rather,
falling out -
of the Beetle and Wedge, and he was in a real drunken state. He bumped into me, and it's a wonder I didn't fall to the ground and break a hip. What's more, he never said a word of apology! Jogged my bad leg something cruel.'

I rendered my sympathy.

'That Arthur Coggs has been too flush with money lately for his own good. I date it from when he started work at that friend of yours up Pig Lane. He must be paying him over the odds. Everyone's talking about it.'

I felt some alarm. Could John have left valuables about despite my warning? Perhaps I should make enquiries when I returned home? Or was this none of my business?

Ernest appeared at the door.

'Can I ring the bell, miss? You never said nothing about who could.'

Clearly John Jenkins' affairs must wait. School affairs now engulfed me, including my old enemy, the double negative.

As it happened, John rang me as soon as I returned home.

He had been invited to the book launch of a local writer and would I accompany him?

As it was the same evening as our Parents' Association meeting at the school I was obliged to decline, but I was sorry. It certainly sounded more fun. However, duty came first.

I decided to broach the subject of Arthur's temporary affluence.

'You haven't missed anything?'

'No. Though I haven't looked thoroughly. Should I?'

'It wouldn't be a bad idea. Do you keep any money about? It sounded as though he had paper money.'

'Hang on. I'll have a quick look.'

I waited, stroking Tibby, who was impatient for a snack.

John sounded breathless when he returned. 'You're right! Two ten-pound notes missing from my desk drawer. I keep a hundred stashed there for any emergency.'

'When did you look last?'

'Can't say. I notice them, of course, when I go to get stamps and so on from the drawer, but if it looks undisturbed I naturally think the hundred is still there. What a fool I am! I should have thought of this.'

He sounded very put out, as well he might be.

'But does Arthur ever come inside your house?'

'I've shown him where the lavatory is in case he needs it.'

'And he'd pass the desk?'

'No, but the door is always open into the sitting-room. The desk's in full view of the hall.'

'Unlocked?'

'Not now it won't be,' he said grimly. 'I shall tackle him about it, but I don't know if it's a police affair. I should have been more careful.'

I felt very sorry for him. 'Cheer up!' I said. 'At least you know more about our Arthur Coggs.'

He gave a snort of disgust. 'And about myself too, alas!'

The first week of my last term as a school mistress was one of unbroken sunshine unusual for April.

The early mornings were particularly idyllic. In my garden the daffodils flourished their golden trumpets, and sturdy double tulips glowed in a stone trough by my front door. The lilac bushes bore pyramids of blue-grey buds, ready to burst into fragrant bloom, and everywhere the small birds darted feverishly in their search for food for their young.

The drive along the leafy lane to Fairacre was equally enchanting. The blackthorn bushes were a froth of white blossom which spilled into the road with every gust of wind, strewing the surface with petal-confetti. Lambs gambolled in the fields, larks sang above and it was almost too much to ask to go into school on such mornings.

I comforted myself with the exquisite thought that by next spring time I should be able to revel freely in all this feverish excitement of flora and fauna, untouched by the stern finger of duty pointing me to a bleaker path.

Now that the end of my professional life was so near I looked forward to freedom with ever-increasing pleasure. I even began to wonder why I had not given up years ago.

'Because you would have starved,' rebuked my sensible half.

'But think of the fun you've missed,' pointed out my frivolous half.

'Never mind,' I told myself, swinging the car into the school playground. 'It's all waiting for me at the end of term.'

One such blissful morning I was on playground duty when Eve Umbleditch emerged from my old home and joined me.

'What a day!' she said, turning her face up to the cloudless sky.

'Too good to work,' I agreed.

'Not for much longer, though. I came to ask you to supper one evening soon.'

I said I should love to come.

'Now that Andrew's a better sleeper, we feel we can do a little evening entertaining. What about next Wednesday?'

I promised to confirm this when I got home to my diary, and found it was then time to usher my charges back to school.

Later that day I rang Eve to say how much I looked forward to the party at Fairacre school house, as it once was, in my time.

'Good! We've asked John Jenkins as well. He was at the same school as Horace. Isn't it a small world?'

I agreed that it was indeed.

'And the Bakers. Gerard and Miriam,' continued Eve. 'Just the six of us. Anyway, as you know only too well, the dining-room won't hold any more.'

'It's the perfect number,' I assured her.

'I expect John will bring you,' she added. 'Unless you like to pick him up as you pass Pig Lane.'

'We'll fix something,' I promised, and rang off.

Almost immediately it rang again. It was John Jenkins.

'I hear we've been invited to the Umbleditches. What time shall I call for you?'

'Well, actually I had thought of picking you up, as I shall be coming your way.'

'No, no! Wouldn't hear of it.
I
shall collect
you.
It will make my day to have you to myself for a little time.'

'That's kind of you. Shall we say six thirty here?'

And so it was settled.

I pottered about the garden doing a little perfunctory weeding until it grew dark, and I went indoors.

My thoughts turned upon this new friend John Jenkins. There was no deluding myself. The man was getting remarkably attentive, and I should have to make up my mind what to do about it.

Here he was, in the same vulnerable state as Henry Mawne, a lone man obviously in need of companionship. Was I willing to supply it?