fed.'
'Quite,' agreed Ella, taking up the goat's milk. 'It makes me sad, though, to think that we shan't see Donald Bailey again.'
'Speak for yourself,' replied Dotty, stirring furiously.'I have every expectation of seeing the dear man again, in a better world.'
'That must be a comfort,' rejoined Ella, as she shut the kitchen door behind her.
'But not for me,' she added sadly to herself, setting off homeward through the twilight.
Donald Bailey stirred, and opened his eyes.
'Hello, my dear,' he said to Winnie. 'What's the time?'
'Six o'clock.'
'Good heavens! I must have slept most of the afternoon.'
He began to struggle to sit up, and Winnie helped him into a more upright position against the pillows.
'I feel all the better for the doze,' he said. 'Let's have another look at the crossword. It's almost done.'
She put the paper on his knees, and the pen in his hand.
'Only my specs,' he said, smiling. 'I'm worse than a baby Poor Winnie! What a lot of work I make for you!'
'Rubbish,' said his wife. 'Would you like a drink?'
'Nothing, thanks. But have you eaten?'
'I haven't felt hungry.'
'But you must, my dear. I prescribe a light repast for you immediately, and eaten here where I can watch you.'
Winnie laughed.
'Well, I might make some coffee. Will you be all right for a minute or two?'
'Of course,' said the doctor, with a contented sigh. 'Just look at the top of the beech tree! Absolutely on fire in the setting sun. What a perfect sight!'
She left him marvelling at it.
As she hurried to the kitchen, it was Jenny's welfare that was engaging her attention at the moment. Had she helped herself to food? She doubted it.
Jenny had worked for the Baileys for several years. She came two or three mornings a week, from the other end of Lulling, on a decrepit bicycle. Her home was in a maze of alleyways in one of the most ancient and dilapidated quarters of the town. She looked after her aged foster-parents, Becky and Bill Fuller, who had taken her in as a little girl of ten.
They had been strict, honest and hard-working. The child had been pitied by neighbours for having 'a lean time of it'. But Jenny never complained. She was grateful to the couple for a home, and now that they were old she was glad to repay their goodness.
They had put their names down on the council's list for a small home for old people, and Jenny hoped that they would get it, although what would happen to her then, she was not sure. In any case, she told herself, as long as she could work she would be all right. And Jenny was prepared to die in harness.
'No,' she confessed, in response to Winnie's enquiry.
'But, Jenny dear, just because I didn't need anything –'
'I didn't either,' said Jenny, 'but I'll make us both some coffee. How is he?'
'Sitting up and looking better. Did I hear the telephone ring about half an hour ago?'
'Only the exchange people, testing. There was a fault. It's all right again now.'
'That's a blessing,' said Winnie. 'Now as soon as you've had this, Jenny, you must go home.'
'I'll willingly stay. Ma and Pa know how things are here.'
Winnie shook her head.
'You've done more than enough. I don't know how I should have managed without you.'
'Let me know if you want me, Mrs Bailey. I can come back any time.'
'We'll be all right, Jenny, and I'll see you in the morning, anyway.'
She took her cup, and made her way to the door.
'I'll say goodbye now, Jenny. Don't bother to call in before you go.'
'I won't. It might disturb the doctor,' said Jenny.
But when Winnie re-entered the room, she saw that nothing would disturb the doctor again.
He lay back on the pillows, his eyes closed, and his spectacles awry.
The room was very still. Winnie put down the coffee cup noiselessly upon the mantelpiece, and went to look at her husband.
She was surprised to find how calm she felt – as calm as the figure before her. The fear, the panic, the overwhelming sense of loss, which she had so often envisaged, were simply not
'Quite,' agreed Ella, taking up the goat's milk. 'It makes me sad, though, to think that we shan't see Donald Bailey again.'
'Speak for yourself,' replied Dotty, stirring furiously.'I have every expectation of seeing the dear man again, in a better world.'
'That must be a comfort,' rejoined Ella, as she shut the kitchen door behind her.
'But not for me,' she added sadly to herself, setting off homeward through the twilight.
Donald Bailey stirred, and opened his eyes.
'Hello, my dear,' he said to Winnie. 'What's the time?'
'Six o'clock.'
'Good heavens! I must have slept most of the afternoon.'
He began to struggle to sit up, and Winnie helped him into a more upright position against the pillows.
'I feel all the better for the doze,' he said. 'Let's have another look at the crossword. It's almost done.'
She put the paper on his knees, and the pen in his hand.
'Only my specs,' he said, smiling. 'I'm worse than a baby Poor Winnie! What a lot of work I make for you!'
'Rubbish,' said his wife. 'Would you like a drink?'
'Nothing, thanks. But have you eaten?'
'I haven't felt hungry.'
'But you must, my dear. I prescribe a light repast for you immediately, and eaten here where I can watch you.'
Winnie laughed.
'Well, I might make some coffee. Will you be all right for a minute or two?'
'Of course,' said the doctor, with a contented sigh. 'Just look at the top of the beech tree! Absolutely on fire in the setting sun. What a perfect sight!'
She left him marvelling at it.
As she hurried to the kitchen, it was Jenny's welfare that was engaging her attention at the moment. Had she helped herself to food? She doubted it.
Jenny had worked for the Baileys for several years. She came two or three mornings a week, from the other end of Lulling, on a decrepit bicycle. Her home was in a maze of alleyways in one of the most ancient and dilapidated quarters of the town. She looked after her aged foster-parents, Becky and Bill Fuller, who had taken her in as a little girl of ten.
They had been strict, honest and hard-working. The child had been pitied by neighbours for having 'a lean time of it'. But Jenny never complained. She was grateful to the couple for a home, and now that they were old she was glad to repay their goodness.
They had put their names down on the council's list for a small home for old people, and Jenny hoped that they would get it, although what would happen to her then, she was not sure. In any case, she told herself, as long as she could work she would be all right. And Jenny was prepared to die in harness.
'No,' she confessed, in response to Winnie's enquiry.
'But, Jenny dear, just because I didn't need anything –'
'I didn't either,' said Jenny, 'but I'll make us both some coffee. How is he?'
'Sitting up and looking better. Did I hear the telephone ring about half an hour ago?'
'Only the exchange people, testing. There was a fault. It's all right again now.'
'That's a blessing,' said Winnie. 'Now as soon as you've had this, Jenny, you must go home.'
'I'll willingly stay. Ma and Pa know how things are here.'
Winnie shook her head.
'You've done more than enough. I don't know how I should have managed without you.'
'Let me know if you want me, Mrs Bailey. I can come back any time.'
'We'll be all right, Jenny, and I'll see you in the morning, anyway.'
She took her cup, and made her way to the door.
'I'll say goodbye now, Jenny. Don't bother to call in before you go.'
'I won't. It might disturb the doctor,' said Jenny.
But when Winnie re-entered the room, she saw that nothing would disturb the doctor again.
He lay back on the pillows, his eyes closed, and his spectacles awry.
The room was very still. Winnie put down the coffee cup noiselessly upon the mantelpiece, and went to look at her husband.
She was surprised to find how calm she felt – as calm as the figure before her. The fear, the panic, the overwhelming sense of loss, which she had so often envisaged, were simply not
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