The Carousel Read Online Free PDF Page A

facing each other across the hearth rug, with a blazing log fire to warm us, and the light outside gradually dying into evening. There was a big brown teapot on the trolley, hand-painted earthenware cups and saucers, a plate of fresh scones, yellow farm butter, and homemade cherry jam.
    "You didn't make these scones, Phoebe. You couldn't, with only one hand."
    "No, Lily Tonkins made them this morning. Darling woman, she comes in every day, and she's simply taken over the kitchen. I never realised what a marvellous cook she is."
    "But how did you break your arm?"
    "Oh, my dear, too stupid. I was down in the studio looking for some old folios of Chips's ... I knew they were on the top shelf of his bookcase, and I stood on a chair, and of course some worm, unknown to me, had burrowed into the wood, and the leg gave way, and down I came!" She roared with laughter as though it were the best joke in the world. She was still wearing her feathered hat. "Very lucky not to break my leg. I came back to the house, and by great good fortune there was the postman, delivering the afternoon mail. So I hopped in beside him and he drove me to the cottage hospital and they tied me up in this tiresome cast."
    "You poor thing."
    "Oh, never mind, it doesn't hurt much; it's just a nuisance, and maddening not being able to drive. I've got to go back to the hospital tomorrow to let the doctor see it ... I suppose he thinks I'm going to get gangrene or something . . ."
    "I'll drive you . . ."
    "You won't have to, because they're sending an ambulance. I've never been in an ambulance before. I'm rather looking forward to it. Now, how's Delia?"
    Delia was my mother. I said she was well.
    "And what sort of a train journey did you have?" Before I could tell her, she remembered the arrangement she had made with Mrs. Tolliver. "Heavens, I forgot to ask about Charlotte Collis. Did Mr. Thomas remember to collect her at the station as well?"
    "Yes."
    "How fortunate. I hope you didn't mind sharing the ride with her. Personally, I thought Mrs. Tolliver might have gone to fetch the poor child herself, but she seemed to think it was pointless if Mr. Thomas was going anyway."
    "I thought she might have come to meet her, too." "How is she, poor little mite?"
    "She seemed a bit anxious. Not at all excited at the thought of staying with her grandmother. The only person she showed any enthusiasm for was you. She adores you."
    "It's funny, isn't it. You'd think she'd rather be with children of her own age. Except that there aren't many children in this village, and even if there were, she's always been something of a loner. The first time we met, I found her wandering on the beach by herself. She said she was out for a walk, so I asked her back for tea and rang Mrs. Tolliver to say she was with me. After that she came quite often. She's fascinated by my pictures and paints and sketchbooks. I gave her a sketch pad and some felt pens for herself, and she has a remarkable talent and a marvellous imagination. Then she loves being told stories; hearing about Chips and all the stupid things he and I used to do together. Extraordinary, really, in such a young child."
    I said, "You know, I don't think I ever knew that Mrs. Tolliver had a grandchild. I don't think I ever realised that she had a daughter. Or a husband, for that matter. What happened to Mr. Tolliver?"
    "He died, some years ago. When Chips and I first came here, he was still alive, and they lived in great style. You know the sort of thing—a Bentley in the garage and two gardeners and a cook and a housemaid. Annabelle was impossibly spoiled and indulged—a real only child. But then Mr. Tolliver had a heart attack—keeled over on the seventh green of the golf course—and never recovered. After that nothing was quite the same again. Of course, Mrs. Tolliver never said anything—she's the most reserved woman I know—but the big car was sold and a general cutting back rather obviously took place. Annabelle had been