storm of tears.
Either would be quite dreadful, but had to be faced, and she had confronted the culprit when Ada was safely out of the way. It was a shock to find that Bertha neither denied nor confessed. Instead, she gazed at Violet with a look of utter stupefaction on her face.
'What on earth are you trying to tell me, Violet?' she said coldly. 'You seem very distressed about something.'
Violet explained all over again, only to be met with shrugs and shakes of the head.
'I don't think you are quite yourself,' said Bertha. 'I refuse to listen to any more of these silly remarks. You are giving me a headache. I shall take two aspirins and lie down, and I advise you to do the same.'
Thus dismissed, Violet was thrown into even greater confusion. Should she tell Ada? She doubted if she would get any further help from that source. Ada had always hated trouble, and would probably be as scathing as Bertha in dealing with the problem.
She went to the telephone and rang the Henstocks' number.
'Come whenever you like,' said Charles's reassuring voice. 'I shall be here all day, and shall look forward to seeing you.'
At half past two, Violet emerged from the front door of her home and made her way up the High Street towards the vicarage.
The lime trees cast pools of welcome shade on the hot pavements. Bees murmured among the lime-flowers, and Violet thought how much pleasanter it would be sitting in a deck-chair in the garden at home than embarking on this worrying project. She had left her two sisters dozing there, as she crept away feeling like a conspirator.
She crossed the large green at the southern end of Lulling; the great parish church of St John's dominated the scene, its benevolent presence comforting the distraught woman.
She found Charles in the vicarage garden, his hands full of groundsel, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He waved her towards a rustic seat beneath the cedar tree, and sat on another opposite her.
'We shall be quite undisturbed here,' he told her. 'Dimity has gone shopping with Ella. Something to do with cushions. Lots of talk about ruching and piping on the telephone. It had rather a Highland Games' flavour, I thought.'
He beamed at her, his spectacles glinting in the sunlight. He put the bunch of weeded groundsel on the ground, dusted his hands, and put them on his plump knees.
'Now, what's the trouble?' he enquired.
His voice was so kind and gentle that Violet was afraid she might weep, but Lovelocks did not show emotion under pressure, and she forced herself to remain calm.
'It's about Bertha,' she began, and told him the whole sad tale.
He listened without interruption, noting Violet's fluttering hands, and her voice husky with emotion. Certainly this old friend of his had suffered much, and needed all the help he hoped that he might be able to give her.
'And I still don't know if I should have consulted John Lovell first, but really, Charles, he might have felt that she should be sent to some mental specialist, or one of those clinics dealing with kleptomaniacs. I know so little about these things, but I do know that Bertha would absolutely refuse to have medical advice in this case.'
She paused for a moment, her eyes downcast, and her fingers plucking at the silk of her skirt.
'So I came to you,' she added.
Charles leant across and put his pink (and rather dirty from the groundsel) hand upon her own agitated ones. It was like holding a bird, he thought; there was the same fragility, the panic, the brittle feel of small bones.
'My dear,' he said, 'you should not have to suffer like this. I'm glad you came to me first. We may have to consult Lovell at some time, but not yet.'
'But what can we do?' cried Violet. 'I mean, we simply can't watch her behaving like this! It's not only a case of "what-will-the-neighbours-say?" It is fundamentally dishonest, and I can't let Mrs Peters and heaven knows how many other tradesmen, be at the mercy of Bertha.'
'It is that which is the main problem,'
Either would be quite dreadful, but had to be faced, and she had confronted the culprit when Ada was safely out of the way. It was a shock to find that Bertha neither denied nor confessed. Instead, she gazed at Violet with a look of utter stupefaction on her face.
'What on earth are you trying to tell me, Violet?' she said coldly. 'You seem very distressed about something.'
Violet explained all over again, only to be met with shrugs and shakes of the head.
'I don't think you are quite yourself,' said Bertha. 'I refuse to listen to any more of these silly remarks. You are giving me a headache. I shall take two aspirins and lie down, and I advise you to do the same.'
Thus dismissed, Violet was thrown into even greater confusion. Should she tell Ada? She doubted if she would get any further help from that source. Ada had always hated trouble, and would probably be as scathing as Bertha in dealing with the problem.
She went to the telephone and rang the Henstocks' number.
'Come whenever you like,' said Charles's reassuring voice. 'I shall be here all day, and shall look forward to seeing you.'
At half past two, Violet emerged from the front door of her home and made her way up the High Street towards the vicarage.
The lime trees cast pools of welcome shade on the hot pavements. Bees murmured among the lime-flowers, and Violet thought how much pleasanter it would be sitting in a deck-chair in the garden at home than embarking on this worrying project. She had left her two sisters dozing there, as she crept away feeling like a conspirator.
She crossed the large green at the southern end of Lulling; the great parish church of St John's dominated the scene, its benevolent presence comforting the distraught woman.
She found Charles in the vicarage garden, his hands full of groundsel, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He waved her towards a rustic seat beneath the cedar tree, and sat on another opposite her.
'We shall be quite undisturbed here,' he told her. 'Dimity has gone shopping with Ella. Something to do with cushions. Lots of talk about ruching and piping on the telephone. It had rather a Highland Games' flavour, I thought.'
He beamed at her, his spectacles glinting in the sunlight. He put the bunch of weeded groundsel on the ground, dusted his hands, and put them on his plump knees.
'Now, what's the trouble?' he enquired.
His voice was so kind and gentle that Violet was afraid she might weep, but Lovelocks did not show emotion under pressure, and she forced herself to remain calm.
'It's about Bertha,' she began, and told him the whole sad tale.
He listened without interruption, noting Violet's fluttering hands, and her voice husky with emotion. Certainly this old friend of his had suffered much, and needed all the help he hoped that he might be able to give her.
'And I still don't know if I should have consulted John Lovell first, but really, Charles, he might have felt that she should be sent to some mental specialist, or one of those clinics dealing with kleptomaniacs. I know so little about these things, but I do know that Bertha would absolutely refuse to have medical advice in this case.'
She paused for a moment, her eyes downcast, and her fingers plucking at the silk of her skirt.
'So I came to you,' she added.
Charles leant across and put his pink (and rather dirty from the groundsel) hand upon her own agitated ones. It was like holding a bird, he thought; there was the same fragility, the panic, the brittle feel of small bones.
'My dear,' he said, 'you should not have to suffer like this. I'm glad you came to me first. We may have to consult Lovell at some time, but not yet.'
'But what can we do?' cried Violet. 'I mean, we simply can't watch her behaving like this! It's not only a case of "what-will-the-neighbours-say?" It is fundamentally dishonest, and I can't let Mrs Peters and heaven knows how many other tradesmen, be at the mercy of Bertha.'
'It is that which is the main problem,'
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