trust?” Mrs. Spurling managed a small smile, but her tone was sour.
Ivy drew herself up in her seat and said if Mrs. Spurling considered a short walk up to the village cemetery an adventure, she must have led a very sheltered life. Roy attempted to smooth things down by saying that the bacon had been particularly tasty this morning, but Mrs. Spurling stalked off, high dudgeon in every step.
• • •
THEIR USUAL TAXI, driven by a Presley fan named Elvis, was adapted to carry Roy in his trundle, and arrived promptly at ten o’clock. “Didn’t expect you two to be off shopping this morning. We were deep in snow yesterday!”
“Nearly all gone now, though,” Roy said. “Don’t forget I was a working farmer, Elvis. The world doesn’t stop turning for a few flakes of snow.”
“Some special reason for going into town this morning?” Elvis had been driving Ivy and Roy around the county for a long time now, and considered them as special friends. He loved the idea of this late romance, and had encouraged it from the time Ivy, spiky and lonely, had arrived in Springfields.
“No, nothing special,” said Ivy, winking at Roy.
“Very special,” said Roy, refusing to be silenced. “We shall be buying Ivy’s wedding ring. She has very pretty hands, and deserves the best.”
Ivy looked down at her own hands, and thought that Roy must be blind. They were small, certainly, but knobbly and veined. Still, if he loved them, that was all that mattered.
“Wow! Have you named the day yet, you two lovebirds?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Elvis,” said Ivy. “But perhaps it would be a good thing to ask you to reserve May the fifth? We haven’t got invitations out yet, but you’re on the list. And we might need you for the honeymoon. Yet to be arranged.”
“Funny you should mention that date,” Elvis said, after thanking them profusely. “The office had a call this morning from a Mr. Wright, wanting to book a taxi for May five, for a wedding in Barrington church. Could that be yours?”
Ivy and Roy exchanged glances. “That’s right,” said Ivy. “He’s Roy’s nephew, and going to be best man. Steven and Wendy Wright, that’s them.”
“Your nephew? Well, bless me,” said Elvis. “He used to be one of my regular customers, a year or so ago. Done for speeding, doing a hundred miles an hour on the motorway, and had his licence taken away for several months. I taxied him all over the country. Funny bloke, if you don’t mind my saying so. Never said a word, all the time I was driving him. He used to get in, tell me to turn off me radio, open up his newspaper, and disappear behind it until we reached his office. One of them big furniture stores out of town. Still, I expect you know that, Mr. Goodman?”
“I really don’t know much about him,” said Roy. “He’s my late sister’s son, and my only living relation. Well, close relation, that is. He comes to see me twice a year.”
“His wife was always very polite and nice,” said Elvis. “Always thanked me when I brought him home. Pity you haven’t got someone a bit jollier, Mr. Goodman. And since you haven’t asked, I’m offering to be understudy to your nephew, should anything happen to him.”
“Done,” said Roy. “Though I reckon Steven has had plenty of experience in looking after himself. I remember my sister telling me that as a young lad he was always sailing a bit too close to the wind. Anyway, we shall see. Now here we are. My favourite old jeweller. Been here in Thornwell for centuries, literally.”
“When shall I pick you up again? Are you having your usual coffee?”
Ivy and Roy were unloaded carefully, and waved as Elvis drove off.
“Come along, now, dearest,” said Roy. “Let’s enjoy ourselves.” He parked his trundle and took Ivy’s arm. He could manage short distances with the help of a stick, and made the most of this, determined not to be wheelchair bound for good.
The jeweller was a tubby, round-faced man
Ivy drew herself up in her seat and said if Mrs. Spurling considered a short walk up to the village cemetery an adventure, she must have led a very sheltered life. Roy attempted to smooth things down by saying that the bacon had been particularly tasty this morning, but Mrs. Spurling stalked off, high dudgeon in every step.
• • •
THEIR USUAL TAXI, driven by a Presley fan named Elvis, was adapted to carry Roy in his trundle, and arrived promptly at ten o’clock. “Didn’t expect you two to be off shopping this morning. We were deep in snow yesterday!”
“Nearly all gone now, though,” Roy said. “Don’t forget I was a working farmer, Elvis. The world doesn’t stop turning for a few flakes of snow.”
“Some special reason for going into town this morning?” Elvis had been driving Ivy and Roy around the county for a long time now, and considered them as special friends. He loved the idea of this late romance, and had encouraged it from the time Ivy, spiky and lonely, had arrived in Springfields.
“No, nothing special,” said Ivy, winking at Roy.
“Very special,” said Roy, refusing to be silenced. “We shall be buying Ivy’s wedding ring. She has very pretty hands, and deserves the best.”
Ivy looked down at her own hands, and thought that Roy must be blind. They were small, certainly, but knobbly and veined. Still, if he loved them, that was all that mattered.
“Wow! Have you named the day yet, you two lovebirds?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Elvis,” said Ivy. “But perhaps it would be a good thing to ask you to reserve May the fifth? We haven’t got invitations out yet, but you’re on the list. And we might need you for the honeymoon. Yet to be arranged.”
“Funny you should mention that date,” Elvis said, after thanking them profusely. “The office had a call this morning from a Mr. Wright, wanting to book a taxi for May five, for a wedding in Barrington church. Could that be yours?”
Ivy and Roy exchanged glances. “That’s right,” said Ivy. “He’s Roy’s nephew, and going to be best man. Steven and Wendy Wright, that’s them.”
“Your nephew? Well, bless me,” said Elvis. “He used to be one of my regular customers, a year or so ago. Done for speeding, doing a hundred miles an hour on the motorway, and had his licence taken away for several months. I taxied him all over the country. Funny bloke, if you don’t mind my saying so. Never said a word, all the time I was driving him. He used to get in, tell me to turn off me radio, open up his newspaper, and disappear behind it until we reached his office. One of them big furniture stores out of town. Still, I expect you know that, Mr. Goodman?”
“I really don’t know much about him,” said Roy. “He’s my late sister’s son, and my only living relation. Well, close relation, that is. He comes to see me twice a year.”
“His wife was always very polite and nice,” said Elvis. “Always thanked me when I brought him home. Pity you haven’t got someone a bit jollier, Mr. Goodman. And since you haven’t asked, I’m offering to be understudy to your nephew, should anything happen to him.”
“Done,” said Roy. “Though I reckon Steven has had plenty of experience in looking after himself. I remember my sister telling me that as a young lad he was always sailing a bit too close to the wind. Anyway, we shall see. Now here we are. My favourite old jeweller. Been here in Thornwell for centuries, literally.”
“When shall I pick you up again? Are you having your usual coffee?”
Ivy and Roy were unloaded carefully, and waved as Elvis drove off.
“Come along, now, dearest,” said Roy. “Let’s enjoy ourselves.” He parked his trundle and took Ivy’s arm. He could manage short distances with the help of a stick, and made the most of this, determined not to be wheelchair bound for good.
The jeweller was a tubby, round-faced man
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