Tim Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought of snatching two or three more hours in bed. In a moment • he would start the tractor, and that would be the end of it. The house was centrally air conditioned, so was cool and dry no matter what the humidity and temperature outside were, but as she got herself some toast and tea Mary decided that it would be very pleasant to eat on the terrace, where she could keep an eye on her new gardener.
    When she carried her little tray out she was fully dressed in her weekend at-home uniform of a plain dark gray cotton dress, as creaseless and perfect as everything about her always was. Her hair, which she wore in a long braid for sleeping, was dragged into its daytime bun. Mary never wore slippers or sandals, even when she was at her beach cottage near Gosford; the moment she got out of bed she dressed, which meant support stockings and stout black shoes.
    The mower had been purring smoothly from the backyard for twenty minutes when she sat down at a white-painted wrought-iron table by the balustrade and poured herself a cup of tea. Tim was working down at the far end where the yard tipped over into the brick pit, and he was going about it as slowly and methodically as he had seemed to work for Harry Markham, getting down from the tractor as he completed a strip to make sure the next one would overlap it. She sat munching toast and sipping tea, her eyes never leaving his distant figure. Since she was not given to self-analysis or even to mild introspection, it did not occur to her to wonder why she watched him so fixedly; it was enough to realize that he fascinated her. Not for one moment did she think of her fascination as attraction.
    "G'day there, Miss Horton!" came the raucous voice of Mrs. Parker, and the next moment the Old Girl flopped her violently colored body into the spare chair.
    "Good morning, Mrs. Parker. Would you care for a cup of tea?" Mary said, rather coldly.
    "Ta, love, that sounds real nice. No, don't get up, I can find another cup meself."
    "No, please don't. I have to freshen up the tea anyway."
    When she returned to the patio with a new pot of tea and some more toast Mrs. Parker was sitting with her chin in her hand, watching Tim.
    "That was a good idea, getting Tim to mow yer lawn. I noticed yer usual bloke hasn't been for a while. That's where I'm lucky. One of me sons always comes over to mow me lawn, but you've got no one, eh?"
    "Well, I did as you asked yesterday and checked to see that everything was all right regarding the builders and their mess. That was when I met Tim, who seemed to have been left to clean up on his own. He was quite grateful for the offer of a little extra money, I think."
    Mrs. Parker disregarded the last part of Mary's statement. "If that ain't typical of them rotten buggers!" she snarled. "Not content to make the poor little blighter's life a misery during the day, but scooted off to the pub and left him to do their dirty work! They had the hide to tell me they was all coming back to clean up! I've a good mind to knock a couple of hundred quid off Mr. Harry Markham's bill!"
    Mary put down her teacup and stared at Mrs. Parker, puzzled. "What makes you so indignant, Mrs. Parker?"
    The yellow and purple pansies swathing Mrs. Parker's ample bosom heaved. "Well, wouldn't you be? Oh, I forgot, I didn't see youse last night to tell youse what those miserable bastards did to the poor little bloke, did I? Sometimes I swear I could kill every man that was ever born! They don't seem to have a skerick of sympathy or understanding for the underdog, unless of course he's a drunk or a no-hoper like themselves. But someone like Tim, what does a decent day's work and keeps his end up, they don't feel any pity for him at all. He's their butt, their whipping boy, and the poor little coot's too dill-brained to realize it! He can't help it if he was born simple, now can he? A terrible shame, though, ain't it? Fancy a boy what looks like him not being the full quid! I could cry! Well, anyway,