The Watcher in the Garden Read Free Page A

the numerous other sections that were her responsibility, and Diana and Kitty were left to erect the stall. Even before it was completed busy women in laden cars kept coming with offerings picked that morning from their own vegetable gardens.
    â€œWhat a sensible place to have the stall,” said one. “Just beside the drive, so that we don’t have to carry the things too far.” She dropped a bag of potatoes thankfully on the grass.
    By eleven o’clock the stall was in business. Kitty sat behind it on an upturned box with the loose cash and a few notes on a tray beside her.
    Diana looked at her, frowning. “Think you’ll be all right if I go and see if I can help Mum? There won’t be many buyers for a while yet.”
    â€œWhat do you think is liable to happen to me? Murder, rape or somebody absconding with the petty cash?”
    Diana sighed gently. “I just thought you might have trouble giving change. People do when they begin.”
    â€œMy math teacher says I have considerable ability and a clear mind. Buzz off for God’s sake.”
    But Diana was studying her with new interest. “Does she really? Do tell Dad. He’ll be—” She stopped.
    â€œBe what? Relieved that I’m normal in some respects?”
    â€œNever mind. There’s no dealing with you.” This time, without turning she heard Diana’s brisk steps on the gravel of the drive and knew that she had offended again.
    â€œGod give me patience,” she said aloud, and found herself looking into the mildly astonished face of her first prospective buyer.
    For perhaps an hour she was left to deal with the stall on her own. No frightful problems occurred and her temper had quite subsided by the time Mrs. Hartley returned, her mind by now full of other problems, other assistants. Seeing her younger daughter unexpectedly calm and even contented, she smiled, told her she was doing splendidly and hurried off.
    The morning wore on and the hospital grounds began to fill up. In between her bouts of rather dour salesmanship Kitty sat back and watched the activity at the other stalls, of which there were now quite a number. Her own produce was diminishing rapidly enough, though there were still a few beans, quite large numbers of carrots and the usual big bunches of silver beet. Also there were a few late pumpkins and half the bag of potatoes. For some reason the pumpkins were the slowest of all to sell.
    The sunshine was warm, though still pleasant. Across the lawn the cypress trees that bounded the hospital grounds shaded a line of stalls, in the middle of which the cake stall stood discreetly back, in deeper shade than any. The jams and preserves stall, she noticed, was catching the sun at one corner, so that the jars of honey shone golden and the pots of quince jelly a warm, ruby red. Handiwork was right on the edge of the shade and would soon be in the sun. She could see the bootees and baby jackets and bonnets in their pinks and blues and occasional startling yellows from where she sat and was glad that fate had given her the vegetables. But it was the cake stall that attracted the most custom and soon, unless more cakes turned up from somewhere, they would be out of produce. She wondered if the ladies would then be allowed to go home and decided suddenly to try more aggressive salesmanship.
    An elderly woman walked across the lawn. She had a mild, approachable face and she carried a shopping bag. When Kitty saw her looking at the vegetable stall she picked up a bunch of silver beet and waved it, not quite under the woman’s nose.
    â€œThese are lovely and fresh,” she said and to her own ears her voice sounded false and greasy with invitation.
    Not being acquainted with her normal tones the woman stopped and smiled. “That’s very kind of you, dear. But my doctor won’t let me eat spinach.” She did not mean to sound patronising, and perhaps it was the fault of those