frustrating.
But really, thought Winnie, she must see that those two were all right in the morning. Why on earth didn't they put up at 'The Fleece' overnight?
By the time she regained the bedroom, her husband had fallen asleep. She knew better than to disturb him. Sleep was of more value to the frail man than hot milk.
She sipped her own milk thoughtfully, turning over in her mind the conditions of the pair next door. There was something rather sad about them, she felt. Perhaps 'sad' was too strong a word to use about two young and obviously healthy people. On second thoughts, 'forlorn' filled them better. As though they were faintly neglected - as though they had lost something desperately necessary.
Could it be, thought Winnie, a husband and a father?
She must certainly risk a snub, and speak to Mrs Prior in the morning. Putting her mug gently upon the bedside table, she slipped, within minutes, into troubled slumber.
Winnie Bailey was one of the very few residents of Thrush Green who attended the communion service at eight o'clock at St Andrew's.
No one was stirring at Tullivers as she returned to prepare breakfast, and it was almost ten o'clock before she heard the child's voice from the garden next door. The August sun was already hot, and Thrush Green was going to have a day of shimmering heat. Doctor Bailey was lying in the old wicker chaise-longue, a rug across his legs, and a battered panama hat tilted over his eyes.
He wished, for the thousandth time, that he was not such a useless crock. Doctor Lovell and Winnie had to work far too hard for his liking. There was no doubt about it, the time was fast arriving when young Lovell would need another partner, and a pretty active one too.
A new estate was growing rapidly along the lane leading to Nod and Nidden. Two or three dozen families had moved in already, mainly young couples with one or two babies, and obviously more would come. The practice had almost doubled in size since he arrived there with Winnie in their young days.
How happy they had been, he thought! His mind dwelt on early patients, many now dead, and the welcome they had given him. He remembered, with affection, the matriarchal figure of Mrs Curdle, the gipsy woman who ran the annual one-day fair on Thrush Green every first of May. He hoped that young Ben, her grandson, who was now in charge, would call again next May.
His eye fell upon his pale wasted hands, and he wondered, without self-pity if he could live long enough to see the fair again. He doubted it. As a medical man, he could gauge his future fairly accurately. Already, he told himself, he was living on borrowed time. And how good it was! Despite weakness and pain, life was still precious, and the companionship of Winnie the mainspring of his days.
He saw her now crossing the garden to the hedge, and heard the little boy from Tullivers answering her questions. Very soon a third voice was added to the conversation, but he could not distinguish the words.
Winnie came up to him and tucked the rug neatly round his legs.
'I've asked our new neighbours to come and have coffee,' she told him. 'It won't tire you?'
'Attractive women never tire me,' said her husband gallantly. An hour later they arrived.
'Please forgive my piebald appearance,' said the young woman, gazing down at her black jeans and sleeveless black blouse. Both were liberally speckled and streaked with white paint. 'It seems to run down my arm and trickle off my elbow.'
'Try a roller,' advised the doctor.
'I simply can't manage one,' confessed the girl, and the comparative merits of brushes and rollers occupied them happily whilst Mrs Bailey went to fetch the tray, accompanied by a chattering Jeremy.
'And when do you hope to move in?'
'In two or three weeks, with luck. The men should have finished by then, they say.'
'Yes - well,' said the doctor, rubbing his bony nose doubtfully. 'That may be so, but if I were you I should move in even if they haven't departed. Joe
But really, thought Winnie, she must see that those two were all right in the morning. Why on earth didn't they put up at 'The Fleece' overnight?
By the time she regained the bedroom, her husband had fallen asleep. She knew better than to disturb him. Sleep was of more value to the frail man than hot milk.
She sipped her own milk thoughtfully, turning over in her mind the conditions of the pair next door. There was something rather sad about them, she felt. Perhaps 'sad' was too strong a word to use about two young and obviously healthy people. On second thoughts, 'forlorn' filled them better. As though they were faintly neglected - as though they had lost something desperately necessary.
Could it be, thought Winnie, a husband and a father?
She must certainly risk a snub, and speak to Mrs Prior in the morning. Putting her mug gently upon the bedside table, she slipped, within minutes, into troubled slumber.
Winnie Bailey was one of the very few residents of Thrush Green who attended the communion service at eight o'clock at St Andrew's.
No one was stirring at Tullivers as she returned to prepare breakfast, and it was almost ten o'clock before she heard the child's voice from the garden next door. The August sun was already hot, and Thrush Green was going to have a day of shimmering heat. Doctor Bailey was lying in the old wicker chaise-longue, a rug across his legs, and a battered panama hat tilted over his eyes.
He wished, for the thousandth time, that he was not such a useless crock. Doctor Lovell and Winnie had to work far too hard for his liking. There was no doubt about it, the time was fast arriving when young Lovell would need another partner, and a pretty active one too.
A new estate was growing rapidly along the lane leading to Nod and Nidden. Two or three dozen families had moved in already, mainly young couples with one or two babies, and obviously more would come. The practice had almost doubled in size since he arrived there with Winnie in their young days.
How happy they had been, he thought! His mind dwelt on early patients, many now dead, and the welcome they had given him. He remembered, with affection, the matriarchal figure of Mrs Curdle, the gipsy woman who ran the annual one-day fair on Thrush Green every first of May. He hoped that young Ben, her grandson, who was now in charge, would call again next May.
His eye fell upon his pale wasted hands, and he wondered, without self-pity if he could live long enough to see the fair again. He doubted it. As a medical man, he could gauge his future fairly accurately. Already, he told himself, he was living on borrowed time. And how good it was! Despite weakness and pain, life was still precious, and the companionship of Winnie the mainspring of his days.
He saw her now crossing the garden to the hedge, and heard the little boy from Tullivers answering her questions. Very soon a third voice was added to the conversation, but he could not distinguish the words.
Winnie came up to him and tucked the rug neatly round his legs.
'I've asked our new neighbours to come and have coffee,' she told him. 'It won't tire you?'
'Attractive women never tire me,' said her husband gallantly. An hour later they arrived.
'Please forgive my piebald appearance,' said the young woman, gazing down at her black jeans and sleeveless black blouse. Both were liberally speckled and streaked with white paint. 'It seems to run down my arm and trickle off my elbow.'
'Try a roller,' advised the doctor.
'I simply can't manage one,' confessed the girl, and the comparative merits of brushes and rollers occupied them happily whilst Mrs Bailey went to fetch the tray, accompanied by a chattering Jeremy.
'And when do you hope to move in?'
'In two or three weeks, with luck. The men should have finished by then, they say.'
'Yes - well,' said the doctor, rubbing his bony nose doubtfully. 'That may be so, but if I were you I should move in even if they haven't departed. Joe
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