Jane Forxworthy Read online

  “Hello . . Hello . . Are you there?” she asked, waiting for the familiar voice to tell her more about her famous recipe, but there was nothing but silence and after a few tense moments, she returned to her coffee. Within a few seconds, the telephone rang again and she rushed to answer it, but it was the same haunting silence on the other end of the line. Evie was sure that someone was there, but she had no evidence to prove it, only her female intuition. It rang again and with the same results.

  “I wonder if Wills is trying to get through to me?” she said, glancing once more in the mirror and asking her image the question. She rang the office and the Receptionist told her that Wills was out somewhere on Site and could she take a message.

  “No thank you. I’m sorry to have troubled you. Goodbye.”

  “No trouble Madam. Goodbye.”

  Two seconds after she had put the phone down it rang again and Evie lifted the receiver, breathless and ready to jump down someone’s anonymous throat if they refused to speak to her, but a thin, little squeaky voice came through before she could get her breath back.

  “I’m havin’ terrible trouble with my phone Dear and I keep gettin’ cut off. I’ve tried to ring you several times, but you’re always engaged. Evie . . Evie? Are you alright Dear?”

  “Yes Jane . . I’m here.” she said, expecting to get the rest of the recipe for the biscuits as she played nervously with her ear ring.

  “Do you remember you told me about that boy you saw in the lane? The one with the dungarees . . when you were comin’ here? . . and I told you it was a girl and not a boy?”

  Evie changed the phone to her other ear.

  “Yes, I remember Jane . .” she answered and was about to add that she had seen Danny again in the village that morning, when Miss Foxworthy dropped her bombshell !

  “The child is deaf, Evie . . well, deaf and dumb, you know . . and of course, that is why she was frightened and ran away. I never thought to tell you . . but she’s been that way since she was born.” Evie stared into the mirror and her face was pale. She did not want to look but she was transfixed as her mouth fell open and she gave a little gasp. “Are you there, Evie?” Evie tried to speak but her throat was dry and her speech was incoherent. “Can you hear me Evie? Oh! dear, I think this phone has gone dead again . . Fuckin’ useless thing . .” Miss Foxworthy complained as she banged the receiver into the palm of her hand. “Oh! Sorry Darlin’ . . I wasn’t talking to you. There’s a man in the shop here and he keeps swearin’ . .Go away . . Go away, you naughty persing . . Are you there Evie? . . Evie?”

  Miss Foxworthy bashed the phone into the palm of her hand for a second time, glaring at it as if it should talk back to her and gave a little sigh of relief when she found that it was indeed, out of order . . for the time being . .and she retired to the back shop for her smelling salts but before she could even undo the bottle, the phone rang again.

  “Hello ?”

  “Jane . . We were cut off. Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes Dear . . I’m very annoyed, you know.”

  “Annoyed? Why Jane, what have I said?”

  “Och! No. It’s not you Dear,” Jane Foxworthy blushed and looked around her, hoping to find a suitable excuse for her former bad language. “It’s just the type of people we’re gettin’ in the shop lately. Some of them have no manners and the language . . . well, Dear, I wouldn’t repeat it.”

  “Oh! I am sorry Jane, but don’t worry. You’ll find that type everywhere, You just have to ignore it and hold your dignity.”

  Jane Foxworthy coughed and struggled with her knickers.

  “That’s just what I say Dear . . and that’s alright then, Goodbye.”

  Evie waited . . . but Miss Foxworthy had gone again. She wasn’t sure if Miss Foxworthy meant it was alright because she could hear her again on the phone, or whether it was alright that she felt for the child Daniella as she did, but she replaced the phone and stared at her hands. Her fingers were shaking and she was still waiting for the recipe for those delicious biscuits, but somehow . . that thought was far away from her mind. She raised her hands to her head and pushed her hair away from her face as Jeremy’s eyes stared out at her from the mirror behind the telephone.

  “Can I help you, little girl?”

  Her lips moved to form the words as she gazed in her mirror. . . . and Danielle smiled back.

  Chapter Six

  WILLS SAT DEEPLY ENGROSSED IN HIS AFFAIRS OF THE OFFICE whilst Evie watched the nine o’clock news on the television and her face squirmed as she saw the African children with the terror and agony showing on their hungry faces.

  “There’s so many famines and goodness knows what else . . Doesn’t it make you want to puke when you can’t do anything to help them. Those lovely . . beautiful children,” she lamented sadly. The little faces stared back at her from the T.V. screen with their leather-fleshed immobilised bodies and their pot-bellies and with eyes so full of black and misty tar where the flies had settled on them, performing their mad and frenzied opera, without respite and with no applause . . They didn’t have the strength to shoo them away.

  Evie looked away in horror, but the scrawny flesh of her vision, just a few seconds before, would not leave her mind. She jumped up and turned the television off and Wills looked up from a pile of papers that were scattered all over the table.

  “Will you be very long with that work, Wills? I’m tired and I’d like to go to bed.”

  He yawned and sighed as he banged his pencil down on the cover of a thick text-book.

  “The power of the Unions . . My God! Evie. They’ve got a lot to answer for . . for the hypocrisy of their ways. I was in there at six this morning and when I had helped a chap to load his vehicle so that he could get on the road by seven, we were stopped by this bloody dwarf . . when we went through the gates at 6.50 and he, whole five foot bugger-all of him, was the Secretary of the Union. ‘Nobody leaves this depot until one minute past seven’ he shouted at us and would not allow the gates to be opened, but when the men are supposed to work until 4.30 in the afternoon, according to those same Union rules . . and not a minute longer, nobody complains if they return to the yard at 3.30 and bugger off home . . The bloody Secretary is usually in the pub by that time anyway. I’m sick of all this Evie.”

  He dropped his head into his hands and Evie stood behind him and rubbed her fingers into his shoulders.

  “This should make you feel more relaxed Darling. It always helps, doesn’t it?”

  She slipped her fingers under his collar, kneading his tired flesh gently but firmly as she knew how to do so well . . moving round his neck to the back of his head and humming to herself as she did so. “Better Darling?” she asked after a few moments of her massage.

  “Getting there,” he groaned, “Don’t give up . . I like it.”

  Evie stared into space and continued with her therapy.

  “I can’t help thinking about them, Wills,” she said.

  “They don’t need thinking about. They need a good stiff kick up the arse . . that’s what they need.”

  “No . . No, I wasn’t thinking about the men at the yard, I mean the poor starving children on the T.V. If I had a baby, I would die rather than let it suffer like that.”

  “Well, I guess that’s because they don’t have any mothers to die for them.”

  Evie stopped her massage and narrowed her eyes,

  “That’s it . . That’s it Wills. We could adopt one of those children . . Couldn’t we?”

  He closed his eyes and threw back his head.

  “Evie . . Evie Darling . . These things need to be well thought out. You don’t just decide one minute that you want to adopt a child and then do it . . It takes a lot of time and there’s a lot of paper work to be gone through . . . WHAT AM I THINKING OF? We are not adopting any baby Evie and that’s that,�
�� he said and put his large, dark hand over hers to stop the movements that were so invigorating to his blood stream. “It’s no use feeling sorry for them either. If you want to help, then do something practical. . Here!” He pulled out a £10 note from his wallet and thrust it into the palm of her hand. “It’s not much . . I feel like an ant pulling a boulder, but if we all pulled, just a little, we’d move that boulder in the end.”

  “Bravo, Mr. Slade,” she called out, “Well-spoken Sir. . . but maybe one day . . eh?”

  “Maybe . .” he concluded and she laughed affectionately and rubbed her nose against his neck.

  “I wish my solution was as easy Evie. I just feel I’ll never get there. I’m like a hamster on a wheel, sweating like a pig and getting nowhere fast. What a clown I am, Evie. We’ve been here for months now and I’m still no farther ahead with anything. She patted his shoulder and ignored his self-analysis.

  “I’ll put this in the bank in the morning. Your right Darling. Every little helps. Thank you.”

  She was about to walk away when she returned and raised her eyebrows as she studied him struggling to put all his papers back into his brief-case, looking like a seventeenth century martyr.

  “You know . . You could take some advice from those old ants yourself. Maybe your trying to do too much, on your own. .”

  He thought about what she had just said and cocked his head to one side.

  “Yea . . I guess you could be right, Love. You nearly always are. Old J.D should have sent you to do this job and not me. C’mon, I’m tired. Let’s get to bed. By the way, I can see you’ve done a lot to the house already. The settee wasn’t there when I sat on it this morning.

  “Have you only just noticed, Sleepy head . . Watch out when you go to the loo. I’ve moved it into the garden shed.”

  “The garding shed, he giggled and went upstairs.

  ***

  Evie looked out of the bedroom window at the gray smoke rising from the chimney in the horizon of her vision. It rose and swirled contemptuously as if to convey its message to her, like the old Western films she had seen where the Indians sent messages to each other in puffs of smoke when someone out there needed help. She thought of Daniella. She had never spoken to her in the short time they had been in Glenfarach . . well, she had made an abortive attempt . . and she couldn’t understand why the little girl had always tried to avoid her whenever they met in the village. She had seen her several times, but she was always faster than lightning in getting away. She didn’t even know her surname . . It couldn’t be McPherson, that was for sure . . unless if Bella had not married and had kept her maiden name . .

  She dusted mechanically, even where it wasn’t necessary and her thoughts of the house they had left in Richmond were becoming less real and poignant to her now as she dreamily stared across the green valley to the distant hills; their hazy purple-heather hue, enchanting her more and more as the days went by. The winding lane that ran past ‘Brigadoon’ was black and shiny wet from the dew of that morning and the sky held just a hint of a promise that the sun would break through and brighten the earth again. She could hear a thrush chirping his throaty melodies persistently from somewhere in the back garden and a woodpecker rattled away at his machine gun repertoire with complacent defiance against the peace of the morning and the calm surrounding countryside. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  “It is beautiful here . . a dream spot in which to bring up a child,” she said aloud, for that was a sentiment she wanted to hear herself saying and she thought again of Daniella as she strolled casually across to the telephone and dialled the Operator.

  “Ah! Good morning. My name is Slade, Mrs. Willson Slade and my telephone number is Glenfarach 974. We . . that is my husband and myself have been here for the past four month, but we haven’t had a telephone directory. Could we have one please?”

  The Telephonist answered her abruptly.

  “You must have had a Directory Madam. We send one out every time we connect a new telephone line and your number is a new one. Have you looked around the house for it?”

  Evie was taken aback by the Operator’s self assurance and total conviction that she must be right in her assumption.

  “The house was cleaned for us before we arrived here and I myself am a housewife and do the daily chores that are required in any house, but I haven’t seen a Directory here anywhere.”

  “Well, I would look again Madam and if you are sure that there is no Directory there, we will send you another one, but I do assure you that it is our custom always to send out a Directory with each telephone installed.”

  Evie felt as though she had just had her wrist slapped for being a naughty girl.

  “Could you please help me at the moment then . . until we receive the Directory . .I require the telephone numbers of Miss Jane Foxworthy and Mr. Angus McPherson, please.”

  There was a silent pause whilst the super-efficient Telephonist gathered her information.

  “Miss Jane Foxworthy, the Confectioner?” she barked.

  “Yes, that is so,”

  “Number Glenfarach 492. The other number cannot be given to you. It is ex-Directory. Good Day.”

  Before Evie could respond with a ‘Thank you’ or even a ‘Good day’ the telephone was banged down at the other end and she replaced her own receiver with a sense of defeat. She had thought it would be so simple, just to phone Mr. McPherson and introduce herself as his new neighbour . . well, at least in that way, she would get to hear the sound of his voice and Evie was a great believer in ‘voices’ . . .It was Will’s deep, dark, sensual voice that captivated her heart in the first place, when she had telephoned for a building quote in her bachelor flat in Chelsea . . many moons ago . . and she was determined to meet him after that.. . Well the rest of her story was history, but she smiled demurely at the thought.

  “Neighbour . . “ she murmured aloud, “He must live at least two miles away . . as the crow flies.” She looked out of her window again at the rising smoke from the far away chimney and tried to assess the distance. “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” she clipped her words with tight lips; threw on her coat and tied her hair back with a headscarf. She grabbed her gloves and handbag from the hall table and checked her face in the mirror before she reached under the stairs for a pair of stout walking shoes. “Never know who I might meet on the way,” she told herself and grinned at the possibility of meeting Danny what-ever-her-name-might-be again. She was quite excited at that prospect and yet she was unable to understand why . .

  Chapter Seven

  SHE STOOD AT THE END OF THE STRAIGHT PATH that led to the home of Angus McPherson and his granddaughter . . her apprehension overridden by her curiosity and she was glad she had chosen her flat shoes as they were already covered in mud and wet grass, where she had diverted from the main road, thinking that she would make a short cut across some fields. This was her first lesson in finding that there is no short cut in the country unless you want to arrive at your destination like something that’s been dragged through a fence, backwards.

  The house was smaller than she had imagined from the swell of smoke that constantly rose from the rickety old chimney that teetered precariously to the right of the building. She guessed there might be three bedrooms, judging by the number of windows and yet it looked so much smaller than ‘Brigadoon’ and that had only two bedrooms, but then she concluded, it was an older built dwelling and the space inside was almost sure to be cramped. She stared at the chimney again, so near to her now as she stood on the road . . and it looked as though it might topple over any minute. . . and wondered could ‘Brigadoon’ be seen from anyone in there. The porch had a latticed screen running from the thick, dark badly tiled roof, which was in serious need of repair, down to the ground, giving an eerie and sinister appearance to the entrance. She was inclined to turn back, but her feet would not move and she coul
d smell the strong farmyard aroma of chicken stock and her thoughts flashed back in that moment to Jane Foxworthy.

  “Chickings .. Chickings . . Chickings,” she chuckled but in a moment, the reality of her situation took hold of her again and she looked nervously at the sign above the door. It was indecipherable through age and a certain amount of discoloration, due no doubt, to the inclemency of the weather. It could have been a House name at one time, she thought, but not in the recent past. The windows too, were in a sad condition of disrepair and badly in need of a ‘lick of paint’ as the putty around the panes was chipped and broken and some of the glass was cracked. . . In fact, the overall appearance of the place was that it was a very old bungalow, owned by someone who had no apparent care for its presentation.

  She touched the first step with her toe, but before she could get any farther the front door opened and a tall, thin man with gray hair and a scraggy beard stood in front of her. His eyes were raven black, sharp and piercing and his whole presence as he stood there with his legs apart gave Evie a feeling of foreboding and she was completely taken by surprise.

  “What is it ye want, woman?” he asked and Evie was startled by his brusque, aggressive tone. She was glad now that she hadn’t phoned him, as this was one voice that would never have appealed to her and she was sorry for the field of mud she had crossed to be greeted as she was..

  “My name is Slade . . Evelyn Slade. I live at ‘Brigadoon’ quite near by. I’m your new neighbour, Mr . .?” She raised her eyebrows and forced a nervous smile as she waited for him to speak. She wanted him to speak . . to say something, rather than glare at her as he was doing.

  There was a long period of silence as each looked at the other until finally, he swallowed hard and ran his tongue across his lower lip.

  ““I hope that’s made ye very happy . . Good day,” he snapped and was about to go inside the house again when Evie spoke.