Farther Afield by Miss Read

Author:Miss Read [Read, Miss]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780618884360
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 1974-01-02T07:00:00+00:00

The other letter was from Mrs Partridge, the vicar's wife, and I thought how uncommonly kind she was to take time from all her commitments to cover three pages to me with all the news of Fairacre.

Mrs Pringle's bad leg had flared up again and Dr Martin had been to see her. However, she was still at work, both in the school and the school house. (I could foresee that I should have to express my gratitude and admiration to the martyr, when I returned, in terms as fulsome as my conscience would permit.) The Mawnes had held a coffee party which raised twenty-eight pounds, and would no doubt have raised more but it rained, which damped things. (Not surprising.)

Mr Mawne had high hopes of my returning with plenty of pictures of the hawk. Had I had any luck? The Coggs twins had gone down with measles, but appeared to be playing with all and sundry, as recommended by modern medical men -such a mistake; it would never have been allowed in their own nursery – so no doubt my numbers at school would be much depleted when term began.

She ended with high hopes for my complete recovery and kind regards to Amy.

'I am to pass on Mrs Partridge's kind regards,' I said, turning to her. She was engrossed in a letter of her own, and did not reply for a minute or two.

'Very sweet of her,' she remarked absently, looking up at last. She waved her own letter.

'From Vanessa. She wants a silk scarf trimmed with little gold discs. You can wear it over your head, she says, and somebody called Bobo, or maybe Baba – the child's handwriting is appalling – Dawson, brought one home from Greece recently and looks "fantastic" – spelt with a "k" – in it.'

Amy looked enquiringly at me.

'Have you seen such a thing?'

'There are lots in the hotel shop.'

'Must be white, black or a "yummy sort of raspberry pink",' said Amy, consulting the letter.

'I think I saw a black one.'

'Then we'll snap it up as soon as the shop opens,' said Amy decisively. 'I'm not trying to track down "a yummy sort of raspberry pink". By the way, Gerard's been up to Scotland again. It does look hopeful, doesn't it?'

'He's bound to be there quite a bit,' I pointed out reasonably, 'if he's doing this book on Scottish poets.'

Amy snorted.

'He's staying at Vanessa's hotel, and she sounds delighted to see him. I should say there's definitely something cooking there. Here, would you like to read her letter?'

'Read all about Fairacre in return,' I said, as we exchanged missives, and I settled back in the armchair to decipher Vanessa's sprawling hand. Amy certainly had the best of this bargain, I thought, remembering Mrs Partridge's immaculate copperplate.

'This Hattie May,' I said, struggling laboriously through the letter, 'she had tea with. Does she mean the Hattie May who was leading lady in all those musical comedies just after the war?'

'Must be, I suppose. She faded out after she married, I remember.

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