Or would you like one of us to sit with you?'
Winnie smiled.
'You tell them, please. Doctor Lovell says it is only a matter of hours now. I shall stay by him. He has a few lucid moments every now and again. Why, he's even doing the crossword, bit by bit, but I think visitors would tire him too much. I know that they will understand.'
Charles nodded.
'Jenny is with me,' continued Winnie. 'She insisted on staying today, and I'm grateful to have someone here to answer the door. I will keep in touch, Charles dear, and I'll tell Donald you called.'
The sun was setting as the rector set off homeward. Long shadows stretched across the grass from the chestnut avenue and the houses round the green. Above "The Two Pheasants" a curl of blue smoke hung in the still air. The bar fire had been lit ready for the customers.
Willie Bond, the postman, was pushing his bicycle along the road to Nidden, at the end of his last delivery, and in the distance the rector could see Ella vanishing down the alley that led to Lulling Woods and Dotty Harmer's house. No doubt, she was off to collect her daily pint of goat's milk.
Sad though he felt, there was a touch of comfort in these manifestations of life going on as usual. Donald Bailey, he knew, would agree with him. He remembered his philosophy so clearly. We are born, we live our little lives, we die. Our lives are cut to the same pattern, touching here, overlapping there, and thus forming rich convolutions of colour and shape. But at the end, we are alone, and only in the lives and memories of our children, our friends and our work can we hope to be remembered.
Charles Henstock, whose belief in an after-life was absolute, had never been able to persuade his old friend to share his convictions, and he had once told Donald, after an amicable exchange of views on the subject, that he considered the doctor to be the finest unbeliever he had been privileged to meet.
In some ways, thought the rector, observing the cock on St Andrew's spire gilded with the setting sun, one could have no better epitaph.
A few minutes later, Harold Shoosmith walked through the chestnut avenue to post his letters at the box on the corner.
At the same time, Frank Hurst's car came up the hill and turned into the drive of Tullivers, next door to Doctor Bailey's.
He got out of the car and hailed his old friend. Harold thrust his letters in the box, and turned to meet Frank who was hobbling towards him.
'Rheumatism, Frank?'
'No, just stiff with driving. The traffic gets worse. I've been over two hours getting home.'
'You want to retire.'
'I will as soon as I can. Come in and have a drink. Phil would love to see you.'
They walked up the path, Harold glancing at the next house, but there was no movement there, except for the thread of smoke which hung above the chimney.
'Phil!' called Frank. 'I've brought Harold in for a drink.'
His wife came hurrying from the kitchen. Harold thought that she looked prettier than ever, and envied Frank the welcoming kiss. Once, for a short time, he himself had wondered if he might ask Phil to marry him, but it had come to naught, and looking at their happiness now, he felt glad for them, and relieved for himself that he still had his bachelor independence.
'What news of the doctor?' asked Frank. 'Any improvement since yesterday?'
Phil told him of Winnie's visit.
'I'm afraid he's on his way out,' said Harold. 'Thrush Green won't be the same without him.'
'I only hope that Winnie decides to stay,' said Phil. 'She has a sister somewhere in Cornwall who wants her to join forces with her, I know. They get on quite well, but...'
Her voice trailed away.
'As you say,' agreed Harold, holding up his sherry to admire its glow in the dying rays of the sun. 'People will make decisions when they are still in a state of shock. Not that I think Winnie will do anything so foolish. She's the most level-headed female I've ever met.'
At this moment Jeremy entered bearing a saucer.
'Hello,
Winnie smiled.
'You tell them, please. Doctor Lovell says it is only a matter of hours now. I shall stay by him. He has a few lucid moments every now and again. Why, he's even doing the crossword, bit by bit, but I think visitors would tire him too much. I know that they will understand.'
Charles nodded.
'Jenny is with me,' continued Winnie. 'She insisted on staying today, and I'm grateful to have someone here to answer the door. I will keep in touch, Charles dear, and I'll tell Donald you called.'
The sun was setting as the rector set off homeward. Long shadows stretched across the grass from the chestnut avenue and the houses round the green. Above "The Two Pheasants" a curl of blue smoke hung in the still air. The bar fire had been lit ready for the customers.
Willie Bond, the postman, was pushing his bicycle along the road to Nidden, at the end of his last delivery, and in the distance the rector could see Ella vanishing down the alley that led to Lulling Woods and Dotty Harmer's house. No doubt, she was off to collect her daily pint of goat's milk.
Sad though he felt, there was a touch of comfort in these manifestations of life going on as usual. Donald Bailey, he knew, would agree with him. He remembered his philosophy so clearly. We are born, we live our little lives, we die. Our lives are cut to the same pattern, touching here, overlapping there, and thus forming rich convolutions of colour and shape. But at the end, we are alone, and only in the lives and memories of our children, our friends and our work can we hope to be remembered.
Charles Henstock, whose belief in an after-life was absolute, had never been able to persuade his old friend to share his convictions, and he had once told Donald, after an amicable exchange of views on the subject, that he considered the doctor to be the finest unbeliever he had been privileged to meet.
In some ways, thought the rector, observing the cock on St Andrew's spire gilded with the setting sun, one could have no better epitaph.
A few minutes later, Harold Shoosmith walked through the chestnut avenue to post his letters at the box on the corner.
At the same time, Frank Hurst's car came up the hill and turned into the drive of Tullivers, next door to Doctor Bailey's.
He got out of the car and hailed his old friend. Harold thrust his letters in the box, and turned to meet Frank who was hobbling towards him.
'Rheumatism, Frank?'
'No, just stiff with driving. The traffic gets worse. I've been over two hours getting home.'
'You want to retire.'
'I will as soon as I can. Come in and have a drink. Phil would love to see you.'
They walked up the path, Harold glancing at the next house, but there was no movement there, except for the thread of smoke which hung above the chimney.
'Phil!' called Frank. 'I've brought Harold in for a drink.'
His wife came hurrying from the kitchen. Harold thought that she looked prettier than ever, and envied Frank the welcoming kiss. Once, for a short time, he himself had wondered if he might ask Phil to marry him, but it had come to naught, and looking at their happiness now, he felt glad for them, and relieved for himself that he still had his bachelor independence.
'What news of the doctor?' asked Frank. 'Any improvement since yesterday?'
Phil told him of Winnie's visit.
'I'm afraid he's on his way out,' said Harold. 'Thrush Green won't be the same without him.'
'I only hope that Winnie decides to stay,' said Phil. 'She has a sister somewhere in Cornwall who wants her to join forces with her, I know. They get on quite well, but...'
Her voice trailed away.
'As you say,' agreed Harold, holding up his sherry to admire its glow in the dying rays of the sun. 'People will make decisions when they are still in a state of shock. Not that I think Winnie will do anything so foolish. She's the most level-headed female I've ever met.'
At this moment Jeremy entered bearing a saucer.
'Hello,
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