Winter Solstice (24 page)

So she struggled on with the old inherited toaster, having decided that if she did find herself with a bit of spare cash, she preferred to spend it on books or flowers.

Today, it was in a good mood, and the smell of bacon mingled with the scent of fresh hot coffee. Coffee was most important. She was sitting at the table drinking her first cup when Oscar came downstairs to join her, and at once Elfrida noticed his appearance. Normally, he wore a thick shirt under a warm pullover. Very informal. No necktie. But this morning he had put on, not only one of his better shirts, but a tie, a waistcoat, and his good tweed jacket.

She eyed him in some astonishment.

“You’re looking very smart.”

“Thank you. I’m pleased you noticed.”

“What’s the occasion?”

He retrieved his plate of bacon and eggs from the hot plate where she had left it to keep warm.

“Because it’s Saturday?”

“Not good enough.”

“Because I must not allow myself to become a shabby, shambling old wreck.”

“Putting on a tie isn’t going to make that much difference.”

He sat down, and she poured his coffee.

“Thank you. No, you’re quite right. I have made a small effort, because I am going calling.”

Elfrida was genuinely surprised, but took great pains not to show this. She was also intrigued.

“Who are you going to call on?”

“Rose Miller.”

“Who is Rose Miller?”

“A very old friend.”

“You’ve never mentioned her. Should I be jealous?”

“I don’t think so. She must be eighty-five if she’s a day. She was my grandmother’s parlour maid She lives on the Corrydale estate in a very small cottage with a thatched roof. I am going to go and pay my respects.”

“Why have you suddenly decided to go and see your grandmother’s parlour maid You’ve been keeping such a low profile, anyone might think you’re an escaped fugitive.”

“Do you mind?”

“Oh, dear Oscar, I’m absolutely delighted. But I don’t entirely understand your change of heart.”

He set down his coffee-cup. When he spoke again, his voice was different, no longer bantering. He said, “It was yesterday. Meeting that man. Peter Kennedy, the minister. Behaving so stupidly, so rudely. And there’s another thing. During the last few weeks, I’ve thought of myself as anonymous, but of course I’m not. If Peter Kennedy knows about me, then so will many other people. They’re just too polite and thoughtful to come banging on our door. This is a small place and news spreads like wildfire. By now Rose Miller is bound to have heard I’ve come back. And she will be intensely hurt if I don’t get in touch with her. So I have decided to go. I shall buy her a bunch of flowers from Arthur Snead, and together she and I will take a trip down Memory Lane. You don’t need the car, do you?”

“No. That is the best of living here. I can walk across the square to the supermarket, I can walk down the street to the butcher, and on the way home I can go into the bookshop and browse. If I felt so inclined, I could have a little foray into the antique shop, and come back with a Victorian teapot. Or even have my hair tweaked.”

“Do you mean there’s actually a hairdresser in Creagan?”

“Of course. Over the barber’s shop. Where else?”

She leaned across the table to remove his empty plate, and to pour herself her second cup of coffee. The gingham curtains were still drawn, so she pulled them back, and saw the lightening sky.

Suddenly, she felt more cheerful than she had for a long time. Things, slowly, were looking up. The day would be fine. Icily cold, but fine. Oscar was going calling, and next week, Carrie and Lucy Wesley would be here. Thinking about it, she decided that perhaps yesterday had been the turning point, although she had not recognized it as such.

“I shall go for a walk,” Oscar had announced.

“Stretch my legs, and get some fresh air. I’ll take Horace with me.” Elfrida, clearly, was neither expected nor invited to join them. Which was just as well, because she had no wish to go out, tramping through the wind and the rain. She managed not to show her surprise, and simply told him to wrap up warmly against the bitter weather.

But, perhaps fortuitously, Oscar had met this man, this Peter Kennedy. And, for whatever reason, had been engaged in conversation, and treated with friendliness and hospitality. The fact that, like a dog biting the feeding hand, Oscar had panicked and walked out on him was probably of less consequence to Peter Kennedy than it was to Oscar, who had been, clearly, much ashamed of his behaviour. Perhaps, during the night, he had lain awake, filled with remorse. Perhaps going to visit old Rose Miller was a way of reparation, las first voluntary step back into the company of others.

“What time will you go, Oscar?” She brought her cup ; back to the table.

“To keep your assignation with Rose?”

“It’s not an assignation, because she doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“Yes, but assignation sounds so much more exciting.”

“I thought about half past ten. Would you consider that a suitable time?”

“Perfect. She’ll be up and about, and she will give you a cup of tea and perhaps a biscuit.” She drank her coffee.

“Maybe, while you’re at Corrydale, you should look in on Major Billicliffe.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh, Oscar, you are being feeble. He’s a harmless old git, and probably dreadfully lonely. It’s unkind to go on living here and just pretending he doesn’t exist. After all, he was all ready with the key, and a rather dim little drink.” Oscar, silent, did not look enthusiastic.

“You could just drop in, casually, to pass the time of day. Perhaps ask him along for a drink or something when Carrie and Lucy are here. You could say it was a party.”

Cunningly, Oscar steered the discussion off at a tangent.

“When are they coming?”

“Friday. I told you. They’re flying to Inverness on Friday morning, and I’ve asked the taxi-man to go and get them.”

“I didn’t know we had a taxi-man.”

“Alec Dobbs.”

“I thought Alec Dobbs was the undertaker.”

“He is, but he does taxis as well.”

“Useful fellow.”

Elfrida sipped her coffee. She had now forgotten about Major Billicliffe and was thinking instead about Carrie’s and Lucy’s arrival.

“There isn’t much time, is there? I’ll have to get around to finding some furniture for the attic. There must be a second-hand shop around somewhere. I shall make inquiries.”

“Whom will you ask?”

“The butcher? Or the news agent?”

“Or the undertaker?”

“Mrs. Snead, of course! Mrs. Snead will be bound to know….”

This fascinating discussion might have gone on forever had they not been disturbed by the shrilling ring of the front-door bell, which caused Horace, startled out of his wits, to sit up in his basket and bark with agitation.

Elfrida shushed him, and went out of the kitchen and down the hall. The doorbell had been the postman, and there were two letters on the mat. Which seemed another good omen, because they had scarcely had any correspondence delivered since the day they arrived.

She stooped and picked up the letters and carried them back to Oscar.

“One is for you, typed and business-like, and probably from your bank manager. And the other is for me.”

“Now it’s my turn to be jealous.”

“I don’t think so.” She felt for her spectacles in the pocket of her sweater and put them on. She eyed the envelope suspiciously.

“Rather neat, spiky old writing.” She picked up a knife and slit the envelope and took out the letter. She turned the page over to find the signature, and smiled.

“Oscar, it’s from Hector. That dear old man, writing to us.” She sat down and unfolded the thick blue paper.

“And a chequel A cheque for five hundred pounds.”

Oscar’s jaw fell.

“Five hundred pounds? Are you sure?”

“See for yourself. Made out to you.” She handed it over. He stared at it in some bewilderment, and then said, “Perhaps you’d better find out what it’s all about.”

So Elfrida read aloud.

“My dear Oscar and Elfrida, “I have not written before, because I wanted to give you both time to settle in. I trust you had a safe journey and found the Estate House in good condition.

“I have to confess that, after you left, I felt impelled to write a letter to Peter Kennedy, the minister of the parish church in Creagan. I know your desire for privacy and anonymity, to give you the opportunity to come to terms with the tragedy which you have suffered. But I could not help worrying about you, and Peter is a good man, and a good friend, and I knew I could trust him to keep your sad circumstances to himself. He was a regular visitor to Corrydale before I handed it over to Hughie, and I much enjoyed his company and his keen mind. I expect he will be in touch, and would like you to accept his concern, and possible offer of comfort.

“I hope you are not offended by my action.

“I am also a little anxious in case the Estate House is under-furnished and under-equipped. As you know, I have not seen it for years, although, since the Cochranes departed, I have arranged for its day-today upkeep. As I feel responsible for persuading you to leave Hampshire and take up residence in Creagan, I would be happy to supply any extras that you feel would make life more comfortable. So I am enclosing a cheque for five hundred pounds which I hope will be sufficient for your needs.

“The weather in London is still grey and cold. I do not go out very much, but observe it from my window.

“I hope you are both well. I would appreciate a letter or a telephone call to set my mind at rest.

“I saw in The Times that the Grange is on the market. The boys have lost no time.

“With my best wishes to you both, “Sincerely, “Hector”

In silence, she folded the letter and put it back into its envelope. She said, “I shall write this morning.”

“It’s enormously generous. And we really don’t need anything.”

“Oh, yes we do,” Elfrida told him firmly.

“Like what?”

“Like a new toaster that doesn’t burn the toast, or blow upJ or electrocute me. This one is archaic. And I’ve got to gettl bed for Lucy, and it would be nice to have curtains on the stair window.”

“I never noticed any of these things,” said Oscar, looking I a bit ashamed.

“Men never do.”

“Perhaps you could buy a dishwasher?”

“I don’t want a dishwasher.”

“Or a microwave?”

“I don’t want a microwave either.”

“Or a television set?”

“I never look at television. Did you?”

“Only the news. And “Songs of Praise.” And the proms.”

“But aren’t we lucky, Oscar, to have such simple needs?”

“We are certainly fortunate.” He picked up the cheque and eyed it.

“In more ways than one. Before I go and see Rose, I shall call in at the Bank of Scotland and open a joint account for the two of us. And you shall go mad, buying furniture.”

“But the money’s not for me.”

“It is for both of us.”

“And will the Bank of Scotland be so obliging?”

“I have banked with them since I was a boy. I can see no difficulties.”

“You are being dynamic, Oscar. And you won’t forget the flowers for Rose?”

“No. I shall not forget.”

The day turned into one of dazzling brightness. The red sun rose in the eggshell-blue sky, and there was not a breath of wind. Ladies, shopping, trod cautiously down the pavements, anxious not to slip or fall, and they wore thick boots and were muffled up in woollen hats and gloves. But the cold did not stop them from pausing to gossip, their breath clouding like steam as they chattered away.

The church, behind the black lacework of bare trees, was golden in the sunlight. Over its spire gulls wheeled, jackdaws settled on the weather-vane at its peak. Frost iced the grass of the ancient graveyard, and cars, driven down from remote hill farms, wore blankets of snow. One of them had a Christmas tree sticking out of the open tailgate. Having done a little cursory housework, made beds, set The fire, and humped a basket of logs up from the outdoor shed, Elfrida sat in her bay window and observed all this seasonal activity. Oscar had departed, having spent some effort on unfreezing his windscreen and getting the wipers to work. Elfrida hoped that Rose Miller would be pleased to see him, and guessed that she would.

She turned to the table, the thin sun warm on her back, and started her letter to Hector.

The Estate House December 9th

Dear Hector, How very good of you to write, and thank you, from Oscar and myself, for your very generous cheque. It is more than welcome for a number of reasons. We are a bit short of essentials, but have managed very well without them. But now I have a young cousin, Carrie Sutton, coming to stay for Christmas, and she is bringing her niece, Lucy, who is fourteen, so it will be good to be able to cheer the place up a bit and make it more homely. We do need a new toaster, but that’s about all, though I shall buy some furniture for Lucy’s worn (she’s going to sleep in the attic!) and your cheque will come in very useful for that reason. I shall find a second-hand shop.

Oscar is well. He has been very withdrawn ever since we got here, and I have, from time to time, become a little depressed about him, wondering if he ever would emerge from his cloud of grief and begin to go forward again. He did not want to see anybody, nor even speak to any person. Yesterday, however, he took Horace, my dog, for a long walk, and by the Golf Club was approached by Peter Kennedy. He liked him very much, and said he had a nice face. He was invited into the clubhouse for tea, and went, but then realized that Peter Kennedy was the minister, took fright, and fled.

He was terribly upset about this, but I think the incident brought him up short, and he realizes he can’t hide away forever. So this morning he has gone in the car to pay a call on Rose Miller at Corrydale. It is his first voluntary step out into the world of other people, and I am filled with gratitude and hope that the Kennedys won’t be far behind. But, whatever happens, Oscar mustn’t be goaded, but allowed to take it all at his own pace.