Time to Say Goodbye Read Free Page B

place in the front. They were sure that Miss Marcy had already won the argument; once she got them into her house they would stay there, even if it was a pub.
    The car drew up in front of a pleasant building constructed out of crumbling red bricks, which were partially concealed by some sort of enormous climbing plant. Debby recognised wisteria and informed the other two that her uncle Joseph had one which clambered up the front of his house. But they had no time to do more than exchange delighted smiles before the car stopped beneath a swinging signboard, upon which were pictured a yellow canary and – presumably – a green linnet, and Miss Marcy, having watched indulgently as they tumbled, stiff, weary but exultant, out of Mrs Hainstock’s small and ancient car, indicated a gravel path which led down the side of the house.
    ‘In future you should come in and out by the back door, which you can get to via the lane which runs round the back of the pub. But today, because Mrs Hainstock has come to the front, we’ll go down the side path,’ she told them. ‘It’s a fine afternoon so the back door will be open, but in case it isn’t I’ll go first and introduce you to my niece, who is also my partner.’ She smiled benignly at them. ‘What a foolish old woman I am – I don’t even know your names! But come into the kitchen and we’ll get all the introductions over at once. I walk up to the post office to buy some stamps, leaving Jill baking scones, and come back with three young people and good Mrs Hainstock.’ She chuckled deeply and Imogen, who noticed such things, realised that Miss Marcy had no local accent and spoke in clear, silvery tones. But Miss Marcy was ushering them into an enormous kitchen and smiling across at a flush-faced young woman who had just taken a tray of newly baked scones out of the oven, and looked round enquiringly as they entered.
    ‘This is my niece, Jill; she and I run the Canary and Linnet between us. It goes without saying that you must treat her as though she were me, and do exactly as she tells you.’
    The girl, Jill, smiled at the billeting officer. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said formally. ‘Are these your children?’ She seized four of the hot scones, split and buttered them and handed them to the unexpected guests. ‘The kettle’s on the boil; I’ll make the tea in a minute,’ she said cheerfully.
    ‘It’s awfully good of you,’ Mrs Hainstock began, then heaved a sigh and gave Jill a rueful little grin. ‘I’d better explain. These young ladies are evacuees and your aunt has offered to put them up, for a while at any rate.’ She bit into a scone and the children realised that although the billeting officer had not had to endure the same lengthy train journey as they themselves had suffered, she had certainly had a hard and frustrating day. She had driven patiently over ill-maintained lanes, gone in and out of countless houses and cottages, and had not accepted so much as one offer of tea because she had not wanted to interrupt her ceaseless quest for accommodation. She must be at least as grateful as they were themselves that her search was over for the time being.
    But Jill was looking enquiringly from face to face and Rita, swallowing hastily, spoke up. ‘I’m Rita Jeffries,’ she said, and jerked a thumb at the child standing next to her. ‘That one, the one with brown curly hair, is Debby Viner and the one with black hair and a fringe is Imogen Clarke.’
    Jill smiled and held out her hand, then retracted it hastily. ‘Sorry, I can’t shake hands, I’m all over flour. But I’m Jill Marcy and although Auntie is very good to call me her partner, it is actually she who owns the good old Linnet, and is the landlady.’ She turned to the billeting officer. ‘I’m so sorry; cooking all afternoon seems to have addled my brain. So if these lovely young ladies aren’t your daughters . . .’
    ‘I’m the local billeting officer,’ Mrs Hainstock explained.