(11/20) Farther Afield by Miss Read

She's coming down for a day next week. She's on holiday, I gather.'
    'Bring her over if she can spare the time,' I shouted back.
    Amy nodded.
    'Funny thing about Gerard, wasn't it?' she said at last. 'Do you smell a romance?'
    'What? Between Gerard and Vanessa?'
    'Yes. I thought he looked remarkably like a cat that has got at the cream when he spoke of her.'
    I digested this unwillingly.
    'No, I don't think so,' I said finally. 'He's years older.'
    'A mature man,' began Amy, in what I recognised as her experienced-woman-of-the-world voice, 'is often exactly what a young thing like Vanessa needs. She probably knows this subconsciously. She's very intelligent really underneath all that dreadful clothing and flowing hair. I shall do my best to encourage it.'
    I began to feel alarmed for both innocent parties. Amy, on match-making bent, has a flinty ruthlessness, as I know to my cost. On this occasion, however, I decided to keep silent.
    An ominous pattering sound, as of water upon newspaper, distracted our attention from Vanessa and Gerard, and directed it upon Tibby.
    'Thank God for the mackintosh!' exclaimed Amy, accelerating slightly.
    We drew up with a flourish at the school house, and let the cat escape into the kitchen, where she stalked about, sniffing at the unusual cleanliness with much the same expression of amazement which Amy and I had worn.
    We unpacked, and Amy insisted on putting a hot water bottle into my bed, despite the bright sunshine. We made coffee, and I asked Amy to stay to lunch.
    'Scrambled egg,' I said. 'I can whip up eggs with my left hand beautifully.'
    'I mustn't, my dear,' she said rising. 'James comes home tonight, and there's a lot to do.'
    'Then I won't keep you,' I said, and went on to try and thank her once again for all she had done. She brushed my efforts aside.
    'It was good to have company,' she said.
    'Well, you'll have James now.'
    'Only for a day or so. We've a lot to discuss before the holiday. Some of it, I fear, not very agreeable.'
    She climbed into the car and waved goodbye, leaving me to savour her last sentence.
    It was, I discovered later, the biggest understatement of Amy's life.

    During the afternoon, Mrs Pringle called.
    I invited her in, and thanked her from my heart for all she had done.
    'The house,' I told her, 'is absolutely transfigured. You must have spent hours here.'
    A rare smile curved Mrs Pringle's lips. Her mouth normally turns down, giving her a somewhat reptilian look. Turned upwards, it had the strange effect as if a frog had smiled.
    'Well, it needed it,' said Mrs Pringle. 'What I found in them chair covers when I pulled them out is nobody's business. Pencils, knitting needles, nuts, bits of paper, and there was even a boiled sweet.'
    'No!' I cried. 'What, all sticky?'
    Slattern though I am, I could not believe that a sucked sweet would turn up in the debris.
    'Luckily it was wrapped in a bit of cellophane,' conceded Mrs Pringle. 'But it is not what anyone'd have found when Mrs Hope was here.'
    'Have a cup of tea?' I asked, changing the subject abruptly. Mrs Hope's example leads to dangerous ground. Over the tea cups, Mrs Pringle brought me up to date with village news. The Scouts were having a mammoth jumble sale. (All our village jumble sales are 'mammoth'). The Caxley bus was now an hour earlier on market day, and a dratted nuisance everybody found it. The new people at Tyler's Row had bought a puppy, and Mr Mawne had seen a pair of waxworks in the garden.
    I must admit that this last snippet of news took me aback, until I remembered that Henry Mawne's hobby is ornithology and Mrs Pringle was probably referring to waxwings.
    'I thought they came in the winter,' I hazarded.
    'Maybe they do,' agreed Mrs Pringle. 'But that garden of the Mawnes is always perishing cold. It may have confused the waxworks.'
    Privately, I thought that they were not the only ones to be confused, and we let the matter drop.
    'While your arm's mending,' said Mrs Pringle, 'I'll be in