Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,105
don’t want to do this? It was you who Mrs Mitchelmore wrote to.’
‘Not in the least,’ Dorrie replied, sitting at a long line of trestle tables with Verity, Jack, the Templetons, Guy and the Vercoes. Jenna was there, chivvied along by her parents, sadly having spent every moment quiet and strained. The news of her ‘little problem’ had not yet become common knowledge, and the Vercoes and Lawrys were keeping a careful distance from each other.
‘Get on with it, boyo,’ called out Hector Evans, and everyone laughed.
‘Right then, here goes, it’s only fitting the dear lady has the last word. It’s dated five days ago, from Geneva. “My dear friends and neighbours of Nanviscoe. I’m so sorry to have suddenly left your midst, but in my trials, I am fully confident that I have left you in the very capable hands of the Peace Hall committee. I am also deeply saddened, as is my sister, Mrs Sanders, that we could not be with you there today, but we will take pleasure in what will be, undoubtedly, your pleasure. I urge you all to enjoy your splendid new hall, built with the sweat of your brows, and allow no one to spoil the future occasions you have in it. May God bless you all. Yours, with my affectionate regards, Esther Mitchelmore.”’
There was a thunderous round of clapping and whooping and a spontaneous outbreak of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow.’
Thirty-Six
While the opening-day fun went on, Dorrie caught Finn’s elbow and nodded to him to go outside with her. Fitting to the occasion the sky had been a peaceful pale blue with lazily drifting white clouds and the sun shining down warmly, and now the winter daylight was waning like a cover of protection.
‘I wanted to speak to you alone, Finn. I’ve had another letter, from the agent. Read it, dear, and see what you think about it.’
Finn’s eyes moved over the typed letter. ‘So he likes your rhyming story but thinks my style of artwork isn’t right for the current market. He wants to try to link you up with another illustrator.’ Finn nodded. ‘That’s fair enough.’
‘Are you very disappointed, Finn?’ Dorrie was hopeful. His face had not dropped like a stone; he was taking the rejection well.
‘Not really. I’ve thumbed through a few more kids’ illustrated books and my artwork isn’t as rounded and as cuddly as is theirs. I think that’s what the agent means. I certainly don’t want to change my style, but you go ahead, Mrs R, and see what happens.’
‘It’s not something I really want to do, Finn. I rang the agent and asked him to return everything in the postage-paid reply envelope. Fiona has mentioned that if things don’t go ahead she’d like to turn the work into a decorated scrapbook for Eloise. There’s always the option we can try again in the future with something else. Greg and I are planning to have some of my poems made up to sell with the proceeds going towards the upkeep of the hall. We’re hoping you’ll agree to add some of your illustrations.’
‘It’s a great idea, Mrs R.’ Finn hugged Dorrie and planted a hearty kiss on her cheek. ‘I want to concentrate on my studies for the next two years and I can do that without worry, knowing you’ll be close by Mum, Eloise and Tilly too. Best thing that ever happened to us was meeting you.’
‘Oh, Finn.’ Dorrie shuffled her hand into her cardigan pocket for her hanky. ‘You’ll have me in tears.’
‘Will Mrs Sanders let you know when . . . time’s up for Mrs Mitchelmore?’
‘I’m sure she will, Finn – and because when she last got in touch she said Mrs Mitchelmore was buoyant and bubbly, I hope it will be a very long while yet. Shall we go back in?’
Proudly, Finn took Dorrie back in on his arm.
Dorrie enjoyed the rest of the day. It was the best event ever held in the village. The first of many to be held in this hall, Dorrie thought contentedly, and all boosted forward by Honoria’s generous monetary donation. If Honoria and her sister had conspired in two terrible (although in each case, she felt, rather understandable) crimes, then Dorrie was happy for them both to remain enigmas.