Fate takes a hand Read online

  Eulalia read the letter and then, with a rather pale face, re-read it.

  `Trottie,' she said in a strange voice, 'did you know that there was a great-uncle living in Australia? He's died and I'm his only living relation. He's left fifty-six thousand pounds and a cottage in Brokenwell. I don't believe it!'

  `If it's from Mr Willett and written in black and white, then you'd best believe it, Miss Lally.'

  Eulalia handed over the letter and Trottie got her spectacles and read it in her turn. 'And why not?' she wanted to know. 'There's nothing strange in family going off to the ends of the earth and getting forgotten.' She looked sternly at Eulalia over her glasses. 'And here's me been praying night and day for a bit of help and here it is. You'll go and see Mr Willett, Miss Lally, and take a look at that cottage and see if we can live in it.'

  `I'll have to find work, Trottie. I know it seems a lot of money, but the interest won't be enough to live on.' She smiled suddenly. 'Oh, Trottie, if I opened a flower shop...?'

  `Just the thing, love. Won't Peter be happy?' `There's Gormer's close by—a prep school for boys—he could go there!'

  `It's meant, Miss Lally. You'd better go tomorrow.'

  `Yes, if I catch an early train, I could see Mr Willett first and then take a look at the cottage and come back on the last train.'

  `You take care, Miss Lally, it's a wicked world these days.'

  Eulalia, her head gloriously filled with rather wild ideas, hardly heard.

  Waiting at the school gates for Peter, she wondered what he would say when she told him. Perhaps he might want to stay; he was happy at this school. She need not have doubted his delight when she gave him the news as they walked back to the flat.

  `A puppy,' breathed Peter, 'and a cat and a rabbit. Is there a garden, Aunt Lally?'

  `I don't know, dear, but I dare say there is. I'm going there tomorrow to have a look. If the cottage is watertight, I dare say we could move into it quite soon.'

  He skipped along beside her, full of questions, but presently he said, Will you tell Mr van Linssen? He'll want to know; I'm his friend and he'll miss me.

  `He's a busy man, Peter. I know—when we know we're going to move, you can write him a little note and tell him, and thank him for all he's done for you. Will that do?'

  He considered. 'Yes, I expect so. I'd like to say goodbye to him.' He brightened. 'He'll want to come and see us before we go.'

  `If he has time.'

  He wouldn't come, of course, she reflected, he was a busy man; besides, he had his Ursula and his own

  life and why should he bother? She found herself regretting that.

  She caught the earliest possible train to Cirencester the next morning and when she got there went at once to Mr Willett's office. He greeted her warmly, assured her that she was indeed the lawful owner of Ivy Cottage, High Street, Brokenwell, and the sum of fifty-six thousand pounds, and the odd hundred or so, on deposit at the bank. 'And if you should require an advance, Eulalia, I will give you a cheque now. There may be expenses...'

  `Yes—well, yes, please. I'm out of work and we do need the money. If the cottage is habitable I intend to move in as soon as possible. Peter can start school at Gormer's at the start of the autumn term, if they'll take him, and I'm going to open a flower shop—just a small one. There are several big houses around the village.' She thought briefly of her own old home. 'I might be able to make a living, and there'll be the interest...'

  `Very prudent,' commented Mr Willett, his hands clasped before him as though in prayer, not inappropriate since he was breathing silent pleas for forgiveness for telling such a pack of lies, even though they were in the best possible interests of the listener.

  He gave her coffee, handed her the keys of the cottage, and suggested that when she had been to the bank she might take a taxi to Brokenwell. 'An extravagance,' he said, smiling at her, 'but for once to be condoned.'

  Eulalia, with money in her purse, got out of the taxi, paid the driver and stood on the narrow pavement, looking at the property. It was an end cottage, one of a row in the centre of the village, its outside wall overlooking a narrow lane which petered out after a few hundred yards into fields. It looked solid, even if shabby, with a stout door and a window on either side and three smaller windows above. The door opened straight on to the pavement, and after a moment she put the key in the lock and went inside.

  There was no hall; she found herself in a small room with faded wallpaper and a Victorian fireplace with an inglenook on either side of it. The door in the opposite wall led straight into the kitchen, its plastered walls discoloured and housing an ancient gas stove and a large white porcelain sink. The back door beside its small window opened on to the garden, and she went outside to have a look. It was in a woeful state, overgrown, with the tin cans and paper bags lying around, but it was quite large, with apple-trees at the end of it and a brick wall surrounding it. She sighed with delight. Peter could have his puppy at last...

  Inside again, she opened the second door in the living-room to another small room, with the same old-fashioned fireplace and a deep window-seat and a door half-open on to a narrow twisting staircase. She went up slowly and found them solid enough, and at the top there was a tiny landing with three doors. The rooms were small but the views from

  them were delightful. No bathroom, but then, if she could find someone to put one in for her...

  She went out into the main street and walked to the other end and up another small lane, and knocked on the door of a house with a workshop attached. The man who answered it was young, about her age, short and sturdy, with twinkling eyes.

  `Lord love us, if it isn't Miss Lally. Here's a sight for sore eyes—come back to live, 'ave yer?'

  `Yes. It's Jacob, isn't it?' She held out a hand and had it wrung. 'I wondered if your father could do some work for me.'

  `Dad? 'E died two year ago. I'm carrying on the business. What do you want done?'

  `I've inherited Ivy Cottage and I want to come and live in it. I haven't much money to spend, but it does need painting and repairing and I want a bathroom built on. Could you do it?'

  `Don't see why not, Miss Lally. Tell you what, I'll come with you now and take a look and give you an idea of what it'll cost. It'll be an ideajust a rough one, mind.'

  He took some time going over the little house, talking cheerfully all the time. 'The old dodger 'oo 'ad it, he went and died a year ago. Rented it, he did, never bothered much with paint and so on. But it's sound enough, needs a bit of plastering and a lick of paint, and a couple of the windows need to be rehung.'

  `And a bathroom?' urged Eulalia.

  `Well, now—got to get planning permission for that. Shouldn't be too 'ard, seeing as I'll build it on the back wall the other side of the back door.'

  `How long before I could move in?'

  `In an 'urry ter come back, are you? Well, we'll all be glad ter see you, Miss Lally. I'm not all that busy—give or take, a couple of weeks ter paint and plaster in and out, take a look at the roof. Don't want no paper on the walls?'

  `No, just a nice creamy emulsion—you know—a kind of clotted cream.'

  `Just the ticket. The bathroom'll take a bit longer

  but I could get Jim—the plumber 'oo works for me—ter put a washbasin in one of the bedrooms...' `All of them, please, and what about hot water?' `One of them gas boilers. Open fires?'

  `Oh, yes. Can you give me some idea of how much it will cost? I know it'll be a rough guess.'

  He sat down on the window-seat and produced pencil and paper. The sum he suggested would still leave more than fifty thousand in the bank.

  `That's all right. Do you want something on account?'

  `It'd be a help.'

  She got out her new cheque-book. 'And if I came down in about two weeks, could you advise me about a cooking stove? I've got a washing-machine at the flat in London. It's pretty old but I dare say it'll do for another year or two.' She smiled at him. `Jacob, it's lovely coming back hom
e. I've still got

  Miss Trott with me and an orphaned nephew. He's eight, and just longing to get away from London. So are we.' They went out into the street together. 'I'll write to you when we'll be coming to look round, shall I?'

  `You do that, Miss Lally. 'Ow you getting back now?'

  `I expect there's a bus. I must get back to London this evening.'

  `Tell you what, I'll run you back to Cirencester. You wait 'ere, I'll get the van.'

  `But it's past your dinnertime.'

  `The wife'll keep it 'ot. It's only a few miles anyway.'

  She got home late that evening, tired but happy. Jacob had driven her to Cirencester and left her at the railway station and she had had a meal there, decided to take the late afternoon train, and taken herself to look at the shops. Curtains, she had thought happily, and fitted carpets in the bedrooms... By the end of the afternoon she had had a very good idea of what she should buy, and when she had passed the gas showroom windows, she had gone back and entered the shop, chosen a gas cooker and paid for it, feeling reckless.

  Recounting her day to the interested Trottie, she observed, 'I do hope I haven't been extravagant, Trottie, but it was reduced because I paid for it at once, and they'll deliver it in a week's time. That'll give Jacob time to get the kitchen painted. Oh,

  Trottie, it's such a dear little place, I can't believe it's true. We'll be so happy there. It's as though it was meant to happen...'

  Mr van Linssen, who had meant it to happen, had a satisfactory talk over the phone with Mr Willett when he got home from the hospital. So far so good...!

  The postman came again the next morning, this time with a letter from Eulalia's landlord to inform her that when her lease expired within a few weeks, he regretted having to renew it at a higher rent.

  It gave her great pleasure to write and tell him that she wouldn't be renewing the lease.

  The next ten days were passed happily enough, plotting and planning about the future: colour schemes were discussed, curtain material decided upon, a furniture remover sought out who would take their household goods as a part-load on his way to Malmesbury and then, assured by Jacob that the cottage was going along nicely, they went, all three of them, to Brokenwell. There was a convenient bus this time, so that they got off in the village just before midday, and as they walked down the street they were stopped by people who remembered them, glad to see them again, so that by the time they reached Ivy Cottage, Peter was dancing with impatience.

  It looked quite different now. Jacob had given its walls of Cotswold stone a good clean, painted the

  door and the windows and replaced the broken gutters. They went inside and found him there, painting the window-seat. He put down his brush as they went in, shook hands with Eulalia and Miss Trott and said, "Ello, young 'un,' to Peter before taking them on a tour. He had worked miracles, it seemed to Eulalia; the whole place seemed larger now that the walls were painted.

  `That's a fine sink,' said Trottie. 'Don't anyone go taking that away.'

  `Never worry, Miss Trott, and I'll fix you up a few shelves wherever you want them.'

  The bedrooms commanded instant approval. 'May I have a room in the front?' asked Peter. 'I can see right down the street for miles and miles.'

  `I don't see why not. Trottie, do you want your room in front or at the back?'

  `The back, if it's all the same to everyone. Now I'm up here I'll measure for curtains, and we can get them made before we come.' She took out a tape measure and a notebook and Eulalia took Peter into the garden.

  He didn't say anything for a minute, and then looked up at her.

  `Yes, dear, just as soon as we're settled in you shall have your puppy.' She was rewarded with a hug.

  And a cat and a rabbit?'

  `Yes ...'

  Jacob asked, 'Likes animals, does 'e? The wife's

  cat's 'ad kittens. Reckon they'll be ready to leave 'ome by the time you're settled in.' He took some papers out of a pocket. 'I got planning permission— said it was urgent on account of there being no modem sanitary arrangement. Cast your eye over this, Miss Lally, and see if it suits. It'll be easy enough— I can have it done in no time—but it'll cost you a bit more. Got ter have Cotswold stone, you see. The plumber'll be along as soon as I've got it up—starting it tomorrow. The basins in the bedrooms is ready, 'ot water laid on. If you can use the outside convenience for a day or two, you could move in four or five days' time.'

  She nodded. 'We'll do that, Jacob. The cottage is finished, isn't it, except for the cooker and the washing-machine? They promised the cooker for Monday—will you be here if they bring it and fit it?'

  `Right you are, Miss Lally, I'll be here.'

  `You'll need some more money.' She got out her cheque-book once more.

  She explored the garden with Peter, discovering hidden rose-bushes, a clump of peonies, lilies, and a neglected strawberry-bed. There were two apple-trees, too, and a plum-tree bowed down with fruit. The brick wall was sound, too, though too high for Peter to see over. It faced south and she thought how it would be a blaze of colour in the spring, with daffodils and grape hyacinths growing at its foot.

  Peter flung his arms round her waist. 'Aunt Lally, I'm so happy. Are you happy too?'

  `Oh, darling, yes, won't it be fun?'

  `Shall I ask Mr van Linssen to come and see us? I expect he'd like to be here and not in London.'

  `Well, I'm not sure about that, Peter. You see, he doesn't live our kind of life. He's an important surgeon and has lots of important friends and he's going to be married soon. I doubt if he could spare the time.' Peter's lower lip trembled very slightly and she went on hastily, 'But I'm sure he'd like to have a letter from you.'

  `All right. Will you want to read it?'

  `No, dear; I'm sure you'll write it very well without any help from me.'

  They went back to Cromwell Road that evening, tired and happy, and the next day Eulalia, leaving Peter with Trottie, took herself off to Oxford Street to buy curtain material. There were a lot of windows at the cottage but they were small. She found odd lengths going cheap and bore them back to the flat, where she and Trottie measured and cut, making linings from an old sheet, stitching by hand since they hadn't got a sewing-machine. And by the time they were finished it was time to start packing up.

  It was the last day; the van was loaded and the flat empty. Eulalia turned the key in the lock for the last time and without a moment's regret, she told herself, shying away from the unbidden thought that she would have liked to see Mr van Linssen just once more. She still wasn't sure if she liked him, but he

  had been kind. Besides, she was sorry for Peter, who had looked each day for the Bentley to drive up with him at the wheel, but he hadn't come, nor had he written.

  She told herself that a letter from a small boy could easily get overlooked in the mass of his post, but she said nothing to Peter, respecting his unhappy silence.

  They would both have felt a lot better if they had known that Mr van Linssen had been to Holland to give urgent advice concerning a rare bone tumour about which he was a well-known authority. Peter's letter was in his pocket, but just for the moment his own affairs had to give way to his work. He operated, stayed long enough to make sure that his patient would make a recovery, and returned to England four days after Eulalia had moved to Brokenwell.

  Any unhappy feelings they had were for the time swallowed up in the excitement of the move. Jacob had worked wonders with the cottage. The gas cooker had been installed, there were shelves in the kitchen just where Trottie wanted them, and washbasins in the bedrooms, and the chimney-sweep had been. It was late evening before they had got the beds up and made, the elderly, still handsome, Turkey carpet from their old home laid in the sitting-room and the more immediate necessities of life unpacked. They sat around the kitchen table eating

  beans on toast and drinking tea, before seeing a sleepy Peter into his bed.

  `When can I have a bath?' he wanted to know.

>   `Tomorrow. We'll go over to the Boy and Horseshoe. Jacob says the landlord—Mr Wedge— will let us have baths until the bathroom is ready.'

  Later Eulalia eagerly inspected the almost completed extension to the back of the cottage. It was small, just room for its basic equipment, but never mind its austerity, she thought, it was all they needed to make the cottage perfect.

  They hung curtains the next morning, rearranged what furniture they had, and cleaned and polished until Trottie pronounced herself satisfied that there wasn't a speck of dust or dirt to be found, and, when Peter had arranged his toys in the cupboard in his bedroom, they had coffee then went into the back garden and spent an hour picking up the rubbish.

  `I'll have to buy some garden tools,' said Eulalia, handing Jacob and his mate their elevenses.

  `There's a car-boot sale on Saturday,' Jacob told her. 'You might pick up a spade and suchlike. Old Bob—remember him? He's still doing an odd job on and off, as you might say. He'd come and clear the garden for a fiver. Scythe down the grass and clear the worst of the weeds.'

  `Would he? Is he still living in Water Lane? I'll go and see him.'

  They went over to the Boy and Horseshoe presently and had their baths and a hot meal and, leaving

  Trottie to go back to the cottage, Eulalia and Peter went to call on old Bob—not all that old and still very fit.

  `I heard you was back, Miss Lally, love. Plenty of us old uns remember you and your granny up at the 'ouse. In Ivy Cottage, are you? Nice little place and very sound. I'll be along one day and take a hand to that garden. Nice enough it was once—got a bit neglected.'

  `Yes, I know, but if you'd give it a start I intend to get it going again. There's any amount of stuff swallowed up with weeds.'

  He nodded. 'Couple of good apple-trees...' `And a plum and a row of soft-fruit bushes...' They nodded in agreed enthusiasm.

  In two days they were more or less straight, with curtains at the windows, chairs and tables finally in the right places, and cupboards and drawers filled from the packing-cases; moreover, the bathroom was finished. Eulalia surveyed it with a pride tinged with regret that having the walls tiled and the floor laid was for the moment beyond the budget she had allowed herself. But she promised herself she would go to Cirencester to buy bright-coloured towels and a bathmat to give it an air of warmth.