fly!' she muttered. 'I had them a minute ago.'
Jennet smiled again. The woman was a terrible ditherer; how had she ever got the job?
'Ah,' came a grateful sigh, 'there you are, you terrible thing.' She pulled a large book of stamps towards her and put on her glasses before wading through it.
'There you are, dear,' the woman breathed wearily. 'That's forty-five pence, please.'
Jennet counted out her change, and while the woman waited, the tissue flashed out and dabbed at her nose, then was just as speedily consigned to the sleeve once more.
Jennet took her stamp and postcard, thanked her and looked round for Ben. He was not there. Then from the street came a terrible commotion; a car horn was blowing harshly and voices were raised in anger. Jennet put her hand to her mouth and ran outside, thinking the worst.
A large old Bentley was attempting to plough down Church Street and the driver was being none too gentle. Jennet found Ben on the pavement, laughing at the surprised and angry looks of the people who were thrust aside. A girl in a bright orange and purple dress that had little mirrors sewn around the hem shouted equally colourful abuse at the occupants of the car and shook her tambourine at them furiously.
Once Jennet had got over the relief of finding her brother in one piece she shook him roughly and angrily told him, 'Don't you ever, ever do that again! Do you understand?'
But Ben was not really listening. He was still staring at the car, which had pulled up outside the post office. The driver was a bluff Yorkshire man in grubby gardening clothes, but on his head he wore a chauffeur's cap. He got out and walked to one of the rear doors.
''Ere we are, madam,' he said gruffly as he opened it. Both Ben and Jennet peered inside to see who his passenger might be.
A large, flabby lady in a silk print dress and a fur stole stepped heavily on to the pavement. Her hair was a pale peach colour and there seemed to be an inch-thick layer of make-up covering her face. Her lips were smeared a sickly orange to match her rinse, but it just made her look ill. She wore a necklace of pearls and her podgy hands were bejewelled with rings.
Jennet thought she looked like a fat pantomime fairy. Ben began to giggle as the apparition waddled gracelessly towards the post office and brushed past them. Her perfume was incredibly pungent—he could almost taste it.
The woman peered down her nose at the children and gave a peculiar excuse for a smile. Ben scowled. This was one of those phoney acknowledgements, the sort the Rodice used to dole out. Jennet nodded at her and shuddered as she wobbled into the post office; there had been lipstick all over her teeth.
'Come on,' she said to her brother, 'let's go and have lunch.'
They found Miss Boston already in the kitchen making ham sandwiches for them and, as they sat down to eat, they told her what they had done that morning. The old lady listened attentively, clucking now and then in wonder or approval. She laughed as they described the morris dancers and sucked in her cheeks at the disgraceful behaviour of the Bentley.
'That Banbury-Scott woman really is too much!' she snorted. 'Thinks she owns the town, she does.'
'You know that fat lady with all the cack on her face, then?' asked Ben, forgetting his manners.
Aunt Alice spluttered at this description, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows to disassociate herself from it. 'Yes, I know her,' she said. 'She just happens to be one of the wealthiest women in the town. Married well, you see—married twice, actually, but both her husbands are dead now. Mrs Banbury-Scott is a very important person; her home is one of the largest and probably the oldest around here.' Miss Boston sighed wistfully and took another bite of her sandwich.
'She's very fat,' Ben said again.
Jennet kicked him under the table but Aunt Alice nodded in agreement. 'Yes, she is a bit of a pig,' she admitted. 'Far too greedy. I'm afraid.'
Ben chuckled with
Jennet smiled again. The woman was a terrible ditherer; how had she ever got the job?
'Ah,' came a grateful sigh, 'there you are, you terrible thing.' She pulled a large book of stamps towards her and put on her glasses before wading through it.
'There you are, dear,' the woman breathed wearily. 'That's forty-five pence, please.'
Jennet counted out her change, and while the woman waited, the tissue flashed out and dabbed at her nose, then was just as speedily consigned to the sleeve once more.
Jennet took her stamp and postcard, thanked her and looked round for Ben. He was not there. Then from the street came a terrible commotion; a car horn was blowing harshly and voices were raised in anger. Jennet put her hand to her mouth and ran outside, thinking the worst.
A large old Bentley was attempting to plough down Church Street and the driver was being none too gentle. Jennet found Ben on the pavement, laughing at the surprised and angry looks of the people who were thrust aside. A girl in a bright orange and purple dress that had little mirrors sewn around the hem shouted equally colourful abuse at the occupants of the car and shook her tambourine at them furiously.
Once Jennet had got over the relief of finding her brother in one piece she shook him roughly and angrily told him, 'Don't you ever, ever do that again! Do you understand?'
But Ben was not really listening. He was still staring at the car, which had pulled up outside the post office. The driver was a bluff Yorkshire man in grubby gardening clothes, but on his head he wore a chauffeur's cap. He got out and walked to one of the rear doors.
''Ere we are, madam,' he said gruffly as he opened it. Both Ben and Jennet peered inside to see who his passenger might be.
A large, flabby lady in a silk print dress and a fur stole stepped heavily on to the pavement. Her hair was a pale peach colour and there seemed to be an inch-thick layer of make-up covering her face. Her lips were smeared a sickly orange to match her rinse, but it just made her look ill. She wore a necklace of pearls and her podgy hands were bejewelled with rings.
Jennet thought she looked like a fat pantomime fairy. Ben began to giggle as the apparition waddled gracelessly towards the post office and brushed past them. Her perfume was incredibly pungent—he could almost taste it.
The woman peered down her nose at the children and gave a peculiar excuse for a smile. Ben scowled. This was one of those phoney acknowledgements, the sort the Rodice used to dole out. Jennet nodded at her and shuddered as she wobbled into the post office; there had been lipstick all over her teeth.
'Come on,' she said to her brother, 'let's go and have lunch.'
They found Miss Boston already in the kitchen making ham sandwiches for them and, as they sat down to eat, they told her what they had done that morning. The old lady listened attentively, clucking now and then in wonder or approval. She laughed as they described the morris dancers and sucked in her cheeks at the disgraceful behaviour of the Bentley.
'That Banbury-Scott woman really is too much!' she snorted. 'Thinks she owns the town, she does.'
'You know that fat lady with all the cack on her face, then?' asked Ben, forgetting his manners.
Aunt Alice spluttered at this description, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows to disassociate herself from it. 'Yes, I know her,' she said. 'She just happens to be one of the wealthiest women in the town. Married well, you see—married twice, actually, but both her husbands are dead now. Mrs Banbury-Scott is a very important person; her home is one of the largest and probably the oldest around here.' Miss Boston sighed wistfully and took another bite of her sandwich.
'She's very fat,' Ben said again.
Jennet kicked him under the table but Aunt Alice nodded in agreement. 'Yes, she is a bit of a pig,' she admitted. 'Far too greedy. I'm afraid.'
Ben chuckled with
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