hand was Mary, her two-year-old daughter.
As soon as the toddler saw Jeremy she broke away from her mother and charged over the flower beds to greet the boy, babbling incoherently, fat arms outstretched.
'Mary!' shouted Ruth. 'Not over the garden!'
But she was ignored. Her daughter by now had Jeremy's legs in a rapturous embrace which nearly brought him to the ground.
'Is it as late as that?' exclaimed Winnie. 'I must get back. Jenny has gone down to Lulling, and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on a fruit cake in the oven.'
She hurried away and they heard the click of the next-door gate as she returned to her duties.
'How are things working out there?' asked Ruth.
'Very well, I gather,' said Phil. 'It was a marvellous idea to invite Jenny to live with her. At one stage I was afraid that Winnie might think of moving into a smaller house, perhaps near her sister. We should have missed her horribly, and I think she would have been lost without Thrush Green.'
'I'm sure of it. We're lucky to live here. Joan and I always thought it was the best place on earth when we were children. I can't say that my opinion has changed much.'
She walked towards her daughter who was rolling over and over on the grass, being helped by Jeremy.
'Come along, Mary. We're off to see Aunt Joan.'
'No! Stay here,' said Mary, stopping abruptly, her frock under her armpits and an expanse of fat stomach exposed to view. Her expression was mutinous.
'No nonsense now! We've got to collect the magazines.'
'Why not let her stop here while you see Joan?' suggested Phil, in a low tone. 'Jeremy would love to play with her for a while.'
'That's so kind. I won't be more than a few minutes.'
She turned towards the gate.
'Do you mind, Jeremy?' she called.
'I'll show her my new fort,' said Jeremy enthusiastically. 'It's got Crusaders and Saracens, and lots of flags and hones and swords.'
'Mind she doesn't swallow them,' advised Ruth. 'You don't want to lose any.'
She waved to the potential sword-swallower and made her way across the green to her sister's.
Joan Young was sitting in the hall when Ruth arrived. She was listening intently to the telephone, her face grave.
Ruth was about to tiptoe away, but Joan covered the mouthpiece with her hand, and motioned her sister to take a seat.
'It's mother. Tell you in a minute.'
Ruth perched on the oak settle, and fell to admiring the black and white tiles of the floor, and the elegant staircase, which always gave her pleasure.
'Do you want a word with Ruth? She's just dropped in.'
Silence reigned while Joan listened again.
'No, no. All right, darling. I'll tell her, and you know we'll look forward to seeing you both. Yes, any time ! Give him our love.'
She replaced the receiver and looked at Ruth.
'Poor Dad, he's pretty weak evidently. Bed for a week or two, and then his doctor wants him to come here for a rest.'
She stood up abruptly.
'Come in the garden, Ruth. I've left a cookery book on the seat, and I probably shan't remember it until it pours with rain in the middle of the night.'
'How bad is he?' asked Ruth, following her.
'Mother was calm about it, but sounded anxious. It seems he's had this bronchial trouble most of the winter, but wouldn't give up. I'll be glad to get him here. Mother must need a rest too. Dash it all, they're both around seventy.'
They sat down on the garden seat, and Joan nursed the cookery book.
'Shall we go up tomorrow to see him?' said Ruth.
'Mother says not to. He's not in any danger, but the doctor wants him to be kept quiet.'
She began to laugh.
'Poor Mum, trying to stop him working! As it is, she's had to ring Frank to give all sorts of messages about the office.'
'It's time he retired,' agreed her sister. 'Perhaps this will make him think about it.'
'Funnily enough,' said Joan, 'they've been in my mind a lot today. Probably because Edward said something about moving. It's about time we built a house of our own. We may have to now. Heaven knows we've
As soon as the toddler saw Jeremy she broke away from her mother and charged over the flower beds to greet the boy, babbling incoherently, fat arms outstretched.
'Mary!' shouted Ruth. 'Not over the garden!'
But she was ignored. Her daughter by now had Jeremy's legs in a rapturous embrace which nearly brought him to the ground.
'Is it as late as that?' exclaimed Winnie. 'I must get back. Jenny has gone down to Lulling, and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on a fruit cake in the oven.'
She hurried away and they heard the click of the next-door gate as she returned to her duties.
'How are things working out there?' asked Ruth.
'Very well, I gather,' said Phil. 'It was a marvellous idea to invite Jenny to live with her. At one stage I was afraid that Winnie might think of moving into a smaller house, perhaps near her sister. We should have missed her horribly, and I think she would have been lost without Thrush Green.'
'I'm sure of it. We're lucky to live here. Joan and I always thought it was the best place on earth when we were children. I can't say that my opinion has changed much.'
She walked towards her daughter who was rolling over and over on the grass, being helped by Jeremy.
'Come along, Mary. We're off to see Aunt Joan.'
'No! Stay here,' said Mary, stopping abruptly, her frock under her armpits and an expanse of fat stomach exposed to view. Her expression was mutinous.
'No nonsense now! We've got to collect the magazines.'
'Why not let her stop here while you see Joan?' suggested Phil, in a low tone. 'Jeremy would love to play with her for a while.'
'That's so kind. I won't be more than a few minutes.'
She turned towards the gate.
'Do you mind, Jeremy?' she called.
'I'll show her my new fort,' said Jeremy enthusiastically. 'It's got Crusaders and Saracens, and lots of flags and hones and swords.'
'Mind she doesn't swallow them,' advised Ruth. 'You don't want to lose any.'
She waved to the potential sword-swallower and made her way across the green to her sister's.
Joan Young was sitting in the hall when Ruth arrived. She was listening intently to the telephone, her face grave.
Ruth was about to tiptoe away, but Joan covered the mouthpiece with her hand, and motioned her sister to take a seat.
'It's mother. Tell you in a minute.'
Ruth perched on the oak settle, and fell to admiring the black and white tiles of the floor, and the elegant staircase, which always gave her pleasure.
'Do you want a word with Ruth? She's just dropped in.'
Silence reigned while Joan listened again.
'No, no. All right, darling. I'll tell her, and you know we'll look forward to seeing you both. Yes, any time ! Give him our love.'
She replaced the receiver and looked at Ruth.
'Poor Dad, he's pretty weak evidently. Bed for a week or two, and then his doctor wants him to come here for a rest.'
She stood up abruptly.
'Come in the garden, Ruth. I've left a cookery book on the seat, and I probably shan't remember it until it pours with rain in the middle of the night.'
'How bad is he?' asked Ruth, following her.
'Mother was calm about it, but sounded anxious. It seems he's had this bronchial trouble most of the winter, but wouldn't give up. I'll be glad to get him here. Mother must need a rest too. Dash it all, they're both around seventy.'
They sat down on the garden seat, and Joan nursed the cookery book.
'Shall we go up tomorrow to see him?' said Ruth.
'Mother says not to. He's not in any danger, but the doctor wants him to be kept quiet.'
She began to laugh.
'Poor Mum, trying to stop him working! As it is, she's had to ring Frank to give all sorts of messages about the office.'
'It's time he retired,' agreed her sister. 'Perhaps this will make him think about it.'
'Funnily enough,' said Joan, 'they've been in my mind a lot today. Probably because Edward said something about moving. It's about time we built a house of our own. We may have to now. Heaven knows we've
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