Mary Stewart by Thorny Hold

Author:Thorny Hold
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Published: 2012-06-01T14:52:07+00:00

I’ve tried to time my writing so that I’m free when he’s on holiday from school, but it never seems to work that way. I’ve been hard at it all summer, and haven’t had much time for him, poor chap. Shall we go in now?

I’ll show you where to wash, and William, get that box of plasters and lint and stuff down from the bathroom, will you? by the time you’ve dealt with those hands of yours the kettle should be ready. ” William did as he was told, then vanished about some concern of his own. I rejoined my host in the farm kitchen, a big, long room with a low ceiling.

The old fireplace was there, but its ovens were plainly disused, and an electric stove stood at the far end of the room. Two windows looked out over the pasture; the sills were deep in papers, which did seem to be in some son of order. Down the centre of the room was a long, scrubbed table, with plates and cutlery set ready at the end nearest the stove; one guessed that between meals they were put straight back on the table as soon as they were washed up. The butter crock stood there, a tin of salt, a half-empty bottle of red wine and one of tomato ketchup. Bachelor living as a fine art; the kitchen was clean and workmanlike, and the clutter made sense for a busy man looking after himself.

Teapot and mugs stood ready. He made the tea and opened a round tin that held biscuits.

“Do sit down. Milk and sugar?”

“Milk, please, but no sugar. Thank you.” I looked around me.

“One thing about these old farmhouses, everyone lived in the kitchen, so it gets the sun and it really is a lovely room. Do you use that fireplace?”

“I light a fire most evenings, except in hot weather. William does his homework here. I work in the little room behind this I think it used to be the farmer’s office. It’s as dark as the pit and looks straight out on the old pigsties.”

“But with all the house to choose from-” I protested.

“Oh, it was first choice. You get no writing done at all if you sit at a table with a view. You’d spend the whole time watching (he birds or thinking about what you would like to be doing out of doors, instead of flogging yourself to work out of sheer boredom.”

“You’re joking.”

“I assure you I’m not. It’s hard work, and doesn’t do well with distractions. Just an occasional walk to clear the fog away.”

“Like Bunyan, writing all that in prison. Only he probably never got out for a walk at all.”

“Actually, I believe they did let him out now and again, but he did about twelve years all told. So he really could get on with the job.”

“Well,” I said, “as prisons go, you’re lucky.”

“I know that. But you see why I’m happy that William has taken to you so well. Your cousin was terribly good to him and he was really cut to pieces when she died.

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