library, I’ll ask for you. Your name is?”
“Annie,” she said, laughing. “And enquiring is my business, too.”
E leven
WHEN IVY AND Roy arrived back at Springfields, just in time for lunch, Mrs. Spurling intercepted them on their way to the dining room.
“No good looking at your watch, Mrs. Spurling,” said Ivy. “We are exactly on time. At least, we shall be if we are not interrupted.”
“Dear Miss Beasley,” said Mrs. Spurling with exaggerated politeness, “always so precise! No, I have no wish to curb your activities. I was about to give you a message, Mr. Goodman. Your nephew—a Mr. Wright?—is calling in to see you at about three o’clock tomorrow afternoon to discuss wedding details. I believe he is to be your best man. I must say he sounds very charming and helpful.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Roy. “Where shall we see him, Ivy? In the little interview room? That would be private. Ears do flap in the lounge if there’s anything interesting going on with visitors. Natural enough, I’m sure. But perhaps this time . . . ?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Spurling. Nice Mr. Goodman, she thought. What on earth does he see in this sharp old spinster? Before she came, he was so easy and undemanding, but now—!
“So you’ll make sure it is clean and warm for us, won’t you?” added Ivy “Now, we must go in to lunch, or we shall be incurring black looks. Come along, Roy.”
Ivy sailed into the dining room and sat down. When Roy had caught up with her, she leaned towards him and said in a stage whisper, “Do say if you’d rather see Steven by yourself, dearest. I’m afraid I automatically assumed it would be both of us, but you will say if you think I’m presuming, won’t you?”
Roy laughed aloud. “Ivy, you and I are about to be one! I shall be extremely glad if you are with me. I don’t feel I know Steven at all. For instance, I knew nothing about his driving ban. He has blown in here over the years, perhaps twice a year, and talked platitudes about the weather and farming—about which he knows nothing—and then disappeared again for another six months. The role of best man is important, I believe, so we must make sure he does it the way
we
want it. Can’t have him revealing the sins of my youth in his speech!”
• • •
“IT’S SHEPHERD’S PIE today, Miss Beasley, with a lovely crispy potato topping.”
“Thank you, Katya dear,” said Ivy. “You describe it beautifully, but the fact is that it is usually minced up leftover meat from yesterday’s roast. My mother used always to make it on Mondays, and the meat was always grey and gristly.”
“But Anya has the magic touch,” Katya said. “The meat has a delicious basil sauce, and potatoes are mashed with butter. If you don’t like it, I’ll eat my hat!”
“Where on earth did you get that expression? Though I must say my mother’s shepherd’s pie tasted like an old felt trilby.” Ivy had cheered up now, and tackled her lunch with a will. Roy watched her make short work of the pudding which followed, and thought how much he loved and admired her. She had changed his life.
“Do you fancy a stroll down Hangman’s Lane this afternoon?” he said now, as they left the dining room. “We might catch Gus at home, ready for a short walk with Whippy? He might have something interesting to tell us.”
“We certainly have something interesting to tell him,” Ivy said. “That woman we saw yesterday coming out of Alf’s cottage was definitely Mrs. Lowe, don’t you think? They were having a real ding-dong. She sounded like a regular fishwife! I feel sorry for that man, you know. I reckon he’s had a lot to put up with. Good idea of yours. We’ll get our coats and go straight away. Then we can have our snooze when we get back.”
They managed to slip out quietly, telling only Miss Pinkney that they were going and would not be long.
“The sun’s really warm now,” Ivy said, visibly relaxing once
“Annie,” she said, laughing. “And enquiring is my business, too.”
E leven
WHEN IVY AND Roy arrived back at Springfields, just in time for lunch, Mrs. Spurling intercepted them on their way to the dining room.
“No good looking at your watch, Mrs. Spurling,” said Ivy. “We are exactly on time. At least, we shall be if we are not interrupted.”
“Dear Miss Beasley,” said Mrs. Spurling with exaggerated politeness, “always so precise! No, I have no wish to curb your activities. I was about to give you a message, Mr. Goodman. Your nephew—a Mr. Wright?—is calling in to see you at about three o’clock tomorrow afternoon to discuss wedding details. I believe he is to be your best man. I must say he sounds very charming and helpful.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Roy. “Where shall we see him, Ivy? In the little interview room? That would be private. Ears do flap in the lounge if there’s anything interesting going on with visitors. Natural enough, I’m sure. But perhaps this time . . . ?”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Spurling. Nice Mr. Goodman, she thought. What on earth does he see in this sharp old spinster? Before she came, he was so easy and undemanding, but now—!
“So you’ll make sure it is clean and warm for us, won’t you?” added Ivy “Now, we must go in to lunch, or we shall be incurring black looks. Come along, Roy.”
Ivy sailed into the dining room and sat down. When Roy had caught up with her, she leaned towards him and said in a stage whisper, “Do say if you’d rather see Steven by yourself, dearest. I’m afraid I automatically assumed it would be both of us, but you will say if you think I’m presuming, won’t you?”
Roy laughed aloud. “Ivy, you and I are about to be one! I shall be extremely glad if you are with me. I don’t feel I know Steven at all. For instance, I knew nothing about his driving ban. He has blown in here over the years, perhaps twice a year, and talked platitudes about the weather and farming—about which he knows nothing—and then disappeared again for another six months. The role of best man is important, I believe, so we must make sure he does it the way
we
want it. Can’t have him revealing the sins of my youth in his speech!”
• • •
“IT’S SHEPHERD’S PIE today, Miss Beasley, with a lovely crispy potato topping.”
“Thank you, Katya dear,” said Ivy. “You describe it beautifully, but the fact is that it is usually minced up leftover meat from yesterday’s roast. My mother used always to make it on Mondays, and the meat was always grey and gristly.”
“But Anya has the magic touch,” Katya said. “The meat has a delicious basil sauce, and potatoes are mashed with butter. If you don’t like it, I’ll eat my hat!”
“Where on earth did you get that expression? Though I must say my mother’s shepherd’s pie tasted like an old felt trilby.” Ivy had cheered up now, and tackled her lunch with a will. Roy watched her make short work of the pudding which followed, and thought how much he loved and admired her. She had changed his life.
“Do you fancy a stroll down Hangman’s Lane this afternoon?” he said now, as they left the dining room. “We might catch Gus at home, ready for a short walk with Whippy? He might have something interesting to tell us.”
“We certainly have something interesting to tell him,” Ivy said. “That woman we saw yesterday coming out of Alf’s cottage was definitely Mrs. Lowe, don’t you think? They were having a real ding-dong. She sounded like a regular fishwife! I feel sorry for that man, you know. I reckon he’s had a lot to put up with. Good idea of yours. We’ll get our coats and go straight away. Then we can have our snooze when we get back.”
They managed to slip out quietly, telling only Miss Pinkney that they were going and would not be long.
“The sun’s really warm now,” Ivy said, visibly relaxing once
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