Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,22
Belle Lawry from The Orchards, where I went hoping to get a job. She’s very, very nice and she’s brought us some coffee, milk, a loaf and things made from her own produce. Cheer up, Mum, the people of Nanviscoe have saved us a whole week’s rations and we don’t need to spend a farthing this week.’
‘Finn!’ Belle called up the stairs. ‘Can you come down at once? Don’t bring the baby. It looks like a reporter is heading this way.’
‘Oh no!’ Fiona screeched, hiding under the bedcovers. ‘Don’t let them in, Finn. Send them away. Oh, the shame of it.’
‘Shush, Mum, keep totally quiet. I sensed from the tone of Mrs Belle’s voice that she has an idea.’
Belle hauled Finn out of the cottage and round to the front garden. ‘You’re called Sam, right? Leave this to me.’ Next instant Belle was dragging Finn by the arm away from the place and speaking stridently. ‘Come away, Sam! I told you those people scooted off the instant the news broke in the papers. It’s too spooky to stay here. We should never have accepted your father’s dare to come. It’s a horrid place!’
Finn went with her willingly, loving her touches, but he didn’t like her putting him on a par with her son. He burnt with jealousy that Belle had two men who had the right to claim so much of her.
His heart leaped when she suddenly let out a frightened shriek, and for one stupid second he believed she had actually seen a ghost. Then he saw the grey-suited, high-hatted woman holding a notepad and pencil lose the eager look on her nondescript face. The reporter said, under a network of frowns, ‘The Templetons have left here? But according to the woman in the shop the village is rallying round them.’
‘Good morning. We’re the nearest neighbours and my husband saw them leaving in a taxicab last evening.’ Belle released Finn’s arm and he put his hand over that warm tingling place. ‘He’d met the boy briefly, you see, and the boy shouted out the window that they were going for good. Apparently their landlord has found them better accommodation. I was glad to hear it, for this is a dreadful, cold place; it’s rundown and practically uninhabitable and there are many people who swear that it’s haunted. I’ve never had the nerve to come here before and I certainly won’t be coming again.’
The woman snapped her notebook shut. ‘Do you know where they went?’
‘They didn’t say, so my husband said. They were very private people. We never met them, hardly anyone did. My husband keeps bees, would you like to hear about them? It would make a very good story and it would be great publicity for his honey. I know the whole history of—’
‘No, thank you,’ the reporter said smartly. ‘I have another assignment and I must get on.’ She left briskly, wobbling on her high heels out to the lane, where her black car could just be seen through the scramble of trees.
‘Well, that got rid of her,’ Belle laughed, wiping her hands to convey she had got rid of a pest.
Finn gazed at her from huge admiring eyes. ‘That’s the neatest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re blooming marvellous!’
Six
In the lane outside Merrivale a car was parked. Dorrie was concerned that the reporter, whom Belle had told her about, was back, perhaps with a photographer this time. The Templetons did not need the sort of complications caused by lurid columns in the newspapers which might lead to malicious gossip. Some locals had voiced their opinion that the Templetons did not deserve any help, that there were more deserving cases than them. ‘They wouldn’t have cared about the likes of us when they were in the money,’ a few had observed.
Delia Newton had declared haughtily to Dorrie, ‘The wife must have known what her husband was up to. She’s got what she deserves. And it might be a case of like father, like son; that boy probably shouldn’t be trusted. It’s just as well they keep themselves to themselves. We don’t want their sort in Nanviscoe, it’s a respectable place.’
‘Yes,’ Dorrie had retorted. ‘It’s full of respectable, charitable and un-judgmental people who wouldn’t dream of throwing the first stone.’
To that Delia had made what Greg called her ‘squashed muffin face’ and had continued serving Dorrie in frosty silence.
‘Hello, Finn,’ Dorrie called out cheerily as she entered the kitchen, ready to see off any persistent members of the press.