A Place Of Safety(9)

Curiosity as to why her friend came to be married to such a dry stick of a man was easily satisfied, for everyone in the village knew the story. Ann had lived with her father, Ferne Basset’s resident vicar and over fifty when she was born, until he died some twenty-two years later. His curate, Lionel Lawrence, a timid, pleasant man then in his forties, gradually took over the Reverend Byford’s clerical duties and also helped Ann to care for him in his old age.

When he suggested to the unhappy, bereaved girl that they should continue to care for each other, Ann, unused to anything but life in a village parsonage and of a painfully shy disposition, agreed. A couple of years after they were married, Lionel, though still ordained, gave up the curacy. This, he explained, was to give him time to do the Lord’s work where the need was greatest. Fortunately there was no question of losing the house which had belonged to Ann’s mother and not the diocese. Services were now taken, one Sunday in three, by a vicar who also covered two other villages. On the single occasion Louise broached the matter of Ann’s marriage, her friend just said, ‘It seemed the simplest thing to do,’ and quickly changed the subject.

This seemed a sorry state of affairs to Louise. She was sure Ann was unhappy - who wouldn’t be, married to such a boring old wimp? As for the series of delinquent layabouts he was constantly bringing into the house, well. Louise had made the mistake, early on in their relationship, of advising Ann to put her foot down. To her amazement she discovered that, far from being resentful of this invasion, Ann felt ashamed that she was not able to welcome and care for these ‘sad youngsters’ more wholeheartedly. She felt she had let her husband down.

After she had got her breath back, Louise launched into some serious backbone stiffening, trying to convince Ann that this point of view was seriously skew-whiff. That the majority of people would think even accepting such a situation showed remarkable tolerance. And that throwing oneself into it heart and soul would surely argue, at the very least, a few screws loose.

A waste of time. Ann tried to listen but soon showed signs of impatience and some distress. Louise gave up but, in one small respect, there was a positive outcome. Not too long after this conversation a young man arrived at the Old Rectory. The moment Ann saw him she felt her skin crawl and coldness drench her flesh and bones. Though he stood patiently on the doorstep and his voice was low and civil, Ann sensed a prodigious unkindness. He only looked at her once but this glance had gleamed like a knife searching for a point where it could force an entry.

Afraid, she sought out her husband and told him she would not have the man in the house. Lionel had been annoyed of course, especially when she could give no sensible reason for such an attitude, but, somewhat alarmed at the vehemence with which she spoke, eventually gave way.

Louise had praised her afterwards for standing firm but Ann said there was nothing to praise. She had simply been driven. At the time Louise had thought it was all a bit pathetic. Now she understood. Now, when it was too late.

The newcomer was put in the flat above the garage which had a connecting phone to the house. He offered to look after and drive the ancient Humber Hawk, inherited from Ann’s father and costing more than she could afford to maintain. Lionel, who did not drive, was delighted, seizing on this single courtesy as the first inkling of long-term reformation.

The car was standing in the drive now as Louise walked towards the house. Of the chauffeur she was glad to see there was no sign. She passed the tall dining-room windows and saw Lionel Lawrence using the telephone. He seemed agitated, his grey-white hair standing up like Struwelpeter’s, waving his free arm in the air.

Louise was about to go up the front steps when she caught sight of Ann. She was sitting absolutely still on a canvas chair near the great cedar in the middle of the lawn. Louise went over.

‘Hi. I’ve brought you some viola seedlings. White ones.’ She put the damp package on the grass and sat down. ‘Ann?’

Louise realised then that Ann was not in fact sitting absolutely still. Her whole body was trembling. Her lips opened and closed and quivered. She was screwing up her eyes and blinking.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’

‘Ah, Louise . . . I’ve done something so . . . terrible . . . I can’t tell you.’ And she burst into tears. Louise put her arm round her friend’s slim shoulders and Ann cried and cried, slowly realising just how much she had needed to.

‘Tell me.’

‘It’s too awful.’

Louise reflected that what she and Ann would consider awful were two vastly different things. ‘You haven’t left old Mother Craven off the flower rota again?’