He produced a much-folded piece of thin paper from his pocket and handed it to me. What do you think of that?
I read it carefully. Yes, why not? Youre entitled to it, arent you? It did seem so unfair to me, that after being in the navy in the Far East and fighting on for longer than lots of other people, they made you go and do something even more dangerous for six months before they let you demob!
It was only in the last couple of years that Harry had started to talk about his war service in the navy. A quiet, sensitive man, what he had seen and experienced had harrowed him and driven him into himself, especially after he lost his wife.
There was never anything fair about the armed forces, Josie. You did what you were told, or else! But having to go minesweeping when I wanted to get home to Rosawell, that was a bit of a blow. And it was dangerous work. You never knew when a mine was going to go up and take you with it, and in those little wooden boats we wouldnt have had a chance, we all knew that.
It sounds dreadful, and youve certainly earned your medal!
So you really think I should apply for it, then?
Definitelyanother one for the grandchildren. Do you want me to write the letter for you?
No, thats all right, Ill do that, but you could take it to the post office later. He began the painful task of hauling himself to his feet, but I knew better than to offer him any help.
Ive left you the hens and the piano, he said abruptly, once he was upright. The piano was my mothers and Sadie wont want to ship it out there.
Thank youhow lovely, I said, touched but not at all sure how I would fit the piano into my small house, or the hens and their coop and run into the vegetable garden. The thought of Harry gone and a stranger one day living next door was very disturbing
Well, theres no need to cry over it, you daft lump, he said bracingly. Youre too soft for your own good, you are. Cry if a hen dies, cry over a dead hedgehog, cry every blessed time that Ben of yours goes off to London!
A peacock distantly wailed from the grounds of Blessings, as if in agreement, even though I thought it was a bit of an exaggeration. Im not that soft.
I dabbed my eyes with the edge of my sweatshirt. Of course Im not crying, its wood smoke. That last lot I put in the stove must have been damp. And theres no reason for me to get upset, because youve got lots of good years left in you, Harry, I said, more positively than I felt, because look what happened to Granny, who was several years younger. And now I had only Harry and Benand my friend Libby, of course. But not only did she live far away, she was also rather like a cat in that, though fond of me, she had her own agenda and came and went as she pleased.
Ive got thick vegetable soup on the stoveIll bring you some and fresh bread rolls later, when I take Mac out for a walk, I said. Harry is fiercely independent, but I fill his little freezer with single portions of soup, casseroles and all kinds of things, with the heating instructions written on the lids. And I make sure he has fresh bread and biscuitswhatever Ive been cooking.
I like that minestrone best, he said ungratefully, pausing with Mac on the threshold and letting gusts of October air, redolent with autumnal garden bonfires, into the room. Got a bit of news, I nearly forgot to tell you. Mr Rowland-Knowles has put Blessings on the market.
I stared at him. But hes only just moved back in!
Yes, but he found that stepmother of his had run the place into the ground. She only used the modern wing and let the rest go hang, and you need to keep on top of these Elizabethan houses or they quickly start to go downhill. He shook his head at the waste of it all. He came round yesterday afternoon and asked me to look over some rotting woodwork and tell him what I thought.
Harry, whod been an expert carpenter in his time, had done work in most of the old houses in the area, so that made sense.
It was in a right statewindows blown in and the rains made a mess of the floor in one bedchamber, not to mention the woodworm taking hold and the roof needing repairing. The poor mans desperate not to part with it, but he cant afford to put it to rights.
Thats such a shame!
Vindictive. His stepmother had the right to live there unless she remarried, but now she finally has, its a mixed Blessing! He grinned, happy with his little joke.
But what will happen to Dorries home if Blessings is sold? I asked, for Miss Doreen Spottiswode was Tims aunt, his mothers eldest sister, who now lived in a dilapidated cottage in the grounds and, together with an ancient gardener, did her best to stop the place running completely wild.
I dont think they can get her out. Shell be like a sitting tenant, I suppose, he said. Mrs Rowland-Knowles never managed it, try though she might, for Miss Dorrie had just as much right to see out her days there as she had to live in Blessings. But Miss Dorries looked after that garden since she came here to live with her sister, just after she married. She loves it, and it will hit her hard if strangers take it over. He shook his head sadly.
I suppose Tim Rowland-Knowles thought about all that before he came to his decision, and there mustnt have been any option, Harry. I didnt know Tim well, because he hadnt been near Neatslake since his father died, and not often before that, since he and his stepmother hadnt got on.
But I suddenly remembered the summer when we were fifteen and Libbys game plan (which involved acquiring the skills she thought would be necessary in order to become a rich mans wife) had led her to wangle invites for us to tennis parties at the vicarage. Tim was often there, because the vicars drippy seventeen-year-old daughter, Miriam, had a crush on him. Hes tall and thin, with a shock of untidy white-blond hair and vague blue eyes, and you couldnt imagine him being terribly successful as a solicitor.
At the time Libby was convinced she resembled Debbie Harry, which she didnt, and her efforts to make her cheekbones stand out meant she constantly appeared to be sucking a lemon. As for me, all I wanted was to look just like one of the black-clad female guitarists in the Robert Palmer Addicted to Love video. We were both totally deluded and neither look really went well with tennis clothes, so it says much for Tims good nature that he directed the occasional kind smile in our direction.
When Harry had hobbled back into the garden I emailed Libby, though I had no idea whether she was in her pretty London mews house or in Pisa, where she had a rather palatial flat complete with a roof terrace covered with lemon and olive trees in huge terracotta pots. Ben and I had been out there a couple of times, for holidaysshes always been terribly generous and her second husband, Joe Cazzini, who died last year, had been a lovely man.
You remember when we were at school and were taken round Blessings in the fifth year? I wrote. You said you wanted to live there, and one day youd have a house just like it. Well, heres your chance, because Tim Rowland-Knowles (do you remember we used to play tennis with him at the vicarage?) has had to put it up for sale
Of course, I didnt seriously think shed want to buy it! Libbys plans had always involved shaking the dust of Neatslake off her dainty feet for ever, and her visits here since her first marriage had been mere flying ones, in and out, to catch up with me. No, I was just using the news as something exciting that might break the monotony of my emails to her, because shes not that interested in making jam and mixed pickles.
Her emails were always much livelier than mine and I always enjoyed reading them, though I wasnt jealous of her lifestyle at all. I much preferred my rooted and settled existence to her butterfly one.
But as I pressed send, I realised that my roots were feeling frail and threatened, as if they had been undermined by a stealthy mole and were dangling in the air. I supposed all Harrys talk about dying had unsettled me.
I wished Benbig, solid and as familiar to me as myselfwas home right this second to give me a reassuring hug. He was my rockand I knew that was a trite and overused phrase, but in my case it was true. But then, our life here kept his flighty artistic soul anchored to reality too, and that couldnt be a bad thing.
Chapter Two Sweet Music
My wedding cake business, creating personalised fantasies in fondant icing, has really taken off recently. They are based on a rich, dark, organic fruitcake covered with natural marzipan, though there is nothing healthy or wholesome about the icing outer layer! Last week, as I finished off a cake in the shape of a magicians top hat, complete with emerging bride and bridegroom rabbits, it occurred to me that this dichotomy neatly sums up the life we leadeighty per cent healthy and wholesome, and twenty per cent the enjoyable but unnecessary icing on the cake.
Cakes and Ale
The next morning found me putting the finishing touches to a violin-shaped wedding cake, and although I absolutely adore creating something new, this one had really tried my skills to the limit!
For a start, I couldnt think how to put the arch in the neck, until I hit on the idea of building it in wedges of cake like a bridge, propped up underneath until the keystone piece was inserted to hold it all together.
Now it was neatly encased in white icing, polished smooth with powdered sugar, and with the name of the happy couple and IF MUSIC BE THE FOOD OF LOVE, PLAY ON lettered around the edge, subtly highlighted in edible silver.
The strings had also taxed my brain, until I thought of pulling white toffee into long strands, then laying them out to harden on greaseproof paper, before attaching them. I was just completing the last of some spares, in case of mishaps, when the front door suddenly flew open, letting in a brisk breeze, which blew it into a bow.
Three Chanel suitcases in descending sizes thudded onto the mat one after the other, closely followed by the petite but elegant figure of Elizabeth Cazzini, alias Libby Martin, my oldest friend.
I was not really surprised to see her because Libby usually comes and goes as she pleases, without warning, but I yelled, Close the door! as the rest of the hardened toffee strings showed signs of rolling off the counter.
OK, theres no need to shout! She shut the door and then regarded me with astonishment while I played a losing game of cats cradle with the last toffee strand before it hardened.
Oh, well, I said resignedly, putting it to one side. I already have several spares.
What on earth are you doing?
Putting strings on this violin cake. I gave her a quick kiss, at arms length because of my sticky apron, and said, Look, just let me fix them into place with sugar paste, and then the really difficult bits done and I can relax and have a break. Put the kettle on.
OK, she agreed.
With a bit of concentration I managed to attach the strings, then turned to find shed made two mugs of strong, steaming tea and was rummaging in the biscuit tin. She came up with a pecan puff. How many calories in these?
Ive no idea. But what are you doing here, Libby, and where did you spring from? I wasnt expecting you, was I? I only emailed you yesterday and I thought you might still be in Pisa.
I was. And you should have been expecting me, after telling me Blessings was for sale! But I can see if the Griffin has a room free, if you cant put me up? And unless youve done something radical to that Spartan bathroom, it would be much more comfortable anyway, she added frankly.
Of course you can stay, I said, ignoring this slur on my house, which I admit was shabby and comfortable and not terribly modernised. In fact, apart from installing a wood-burning stove in the living room for heating, it wasnt much different from when it was Grannys, right down to some ancient and nameless precursor to an Aga in the kitchen inglenook. I just wish youd let me know. The spare bed isnt made up and its covered in marrows.
How very seasonal, she said, cutting the pecan puff in half and putting the rejected piece back in the tin. Libby is very easy to feed because she will eat anything, but only in tiny, dolls-house portions, which is probably how she retains her figure. But its OK, Josie, Im going out shortly to look over BlessingsIve got a viewing orderso youll have plenty of time to sort it out.
I carefully carried the cake into the larder and came back, removing the headscarf Id covered my hair up with and the enormous flowered wrap-around pinafore. Freed from the possibility of getting her rather glorious suit stained with foodstuffs, Libby got up and gave me a proper, warm hug that belied her crisp and cool manner, but then I know the real Libby under that sophisticated (and sometimes sarcastic) shell.
Seriously, Libs, you actually got the first flight back in order to view Blessings? I asked incredulously, returning the hug. Not that it isnt good to see you, I added hastily.
She sat down opposite me at the big, scrubbed pine table, her forget-me-not-blue eyes open wide. Of course! I told you that one day I would like to live there, you said so yourself.
Yes, when we were fifteen, and Tim Rowland-Knowless father let the school take our class round the house, as part of a history lesson, Libby!
I rememberthe teacher took our class photo in the garden afterwards and I had a Princess Diana haircut while you were a New Romantic. Im not sure which one of us looked worse. She shuddered at the memory, but since she looked very pretty in the photo (which I still have) it must have been the thought of my outfit that did it.
Even then, I didnt think you meant you intended living in that particular house, Libs, just one like it.
Yes, but that was because I never thought that it would come on the market. It was my ideal. And, if I recall, you once said you were going to be a gardener, marry Ben, have two children and live in the countrybut just because you never did any of that, it doesnt mean that I cant fulfil my dream, does it? As soon as I got your email I contacted the estate agent and then got on the next plane.
I am a gardener, Ben and I dont need to get married to prove our love for each other, and Neatslake is surrounded by countryside, I said defensively. I didnt mention the children, which, as she knows, just never came along
Libby, not the most sensitive of flowers, took a minute or two to evaluate what shed just said, and then apologised. Sorry, Josie. I take it Ben is still refusing to have any investigations done to see why there are no bambini? That man has a stubborn streak a mile wide!