The Linden Walk. Elizabeth Elgin

isn’t the moth flying,’ Julia grinned, ‘that would dare eat Aunt Clemmy’s carpets.’

      Only the very best for Clementina Sutton’s father who had built Pendenys Place for his only child as a wedding dowry, then furnished it with ostentatious bad taste.

      ‘Curtains came back from the cleaners yesterday. I hung them on the line outside to sweeten. Will Stubbs said he’d make a start on getting the curtain poles put back if someone will tell him what height they’re to go. I’ll see to it, if you like.’

      ‘You’re a treasure, Polly. I’m glad you are coming to work for Nathan and me and you’ll know that as a Sutton employee you won’t have to pay rent on your almshouse any longer. Starting October first, I think it should be.’

      ‘Why, thank you I’m sure.’ She flushed with pleasure to think of five shillings a week saved.

      ‘And see Tom if you want the odd rabbit or two, don’t forget. Rowangarth perks, Polly.’

      ‘Then I’ve got to be honest and admit that he slips me a rabbit every week.’

      ‘Well, he would,’ Julia laughed, ‘your son being married to his daughter. But it’s official, now. And a load of logs at Christmas.’

      ‘I’m obliged, Mrs Sutton.’

      Life, Polly Purvis thought, seemed only to get better with each year that passed. Rowangarth had been good to her after what had happened in Hampshire and a far cry away from the night she accepted she was a widow, with a child to rear and only ten shillings a week to manage on. Rowangarth – and the Suttons – had given her more than she ever dare hope for. Now, she was contented with a son who had married his childhood sweetheart, Daisy – aye, and given her a granddaughter, too. If only she could go back, just the once, to the little house called Willow End they once lived in, and on to the village and the churchyard, where Dickon lay.

      But Hampshire was a long way away, and sentimental journeys cost money, so she had contented herself with the photograph of the grave that Keth and Daisy took when they honeymooned in Winchester. Dickon was resting sweetly and out of his pain and shame, Polly brooded, and if there was a heaven then he would know how often she thought about him and missed him, still.

      ‘I’m going to miss Rowangarth.’ Julia’s voice called Polly back from her rememberings. ‘Was born there, lived all my life there, too. But Nathan and I will be very snug here, and it’s only right and proper that Drew takes over Rowangarth. After all, it belongs to him. Come to think of it, it’s been his since he was two hours old.’

      ‘Then if the Fates allow, his children will be born there, too. And here’s Polly Purvis coming to work for you and the Reverend when you move into this Bothy. It’ll be like coming home to me. All those years I was cook here in the war, and looking after those land girls who lived in it. Happy days. You and me, Mrs Sutton, are two very lucky ladies, all things considered.’

      And Julia Sutton smiled and agreed that they were. Very lucky ladies.

       FIVE

      A new car, Keth Purvis was bound to admit as he drove to school, was something most men wanted; the more so since manufacturers were at last being allowed to make them again. No more military vehicles. Cars for private use was now a tantalizing pipe dream, the new models being flaunted to the skies, then immediately exported to help the economy drive. Even if the garage in Creesby did manage to get a few to sell to the public, Keth frowned, there would be a waiting list for them a mile long. And what was he bothering about, anyway? He couldn’t afford one – simple as that.

      Yet his wife could. Daisy had money, a fact few people were aware of. Not even Lyn knew. All those years she and Daisy had been together as Wrens and knowing the way women chattered, it still amazed him that his wife had been so tight-lipped about her fortune.

      They had talked about new cars that morning – or rather, Daisy had. Sitting on the edge of the bath as he shaved, actually.

      ‘We’ve got to talk, Keth. Seriously,’ she had said. ‘About cars. You know there’s going to be a motor show in London?’

      ‘Yes. The first since 1939,’ he had said, casually as he could, staring into the mirror. ‘Was talking to Drew about it. I think he’d like to go. Said there’d be some new models on show.’

      It had been a mistake, mentioning new cars.

      ‘So why don’t you go with him, and get one?’

      ‘Darling girl. New cars are for export. There won’t be any released for the home market.’

      ‘It said in the paper there’ll be some, and I’m sick of you driving that old boneshaker. It isn’t safe. It needs new tyres, for a start.’

      ‘But no one can get new tyres. They’re like gold dust.’

      ‘So get a new car, then. I want you to have one.’

      ‘Daisy Purvis.’ He kissed the tip of her nose which was tilted dangerously high to match the set of her mouth, and such signs were best not ignored. ‘Look – can we talk about it tonight? Don’t want to be late for school.’

      ‘I want you to have a car,’ she had repeated, tight-lipped. ‘A new one. And okay, we’ll talk about it tonight, but if you say one word about the money there’ll be ructions.’

      The money. Daisy’s money. A small fortune.

      ‘Tonight,’ he had said. ‘Promise …’

      His foot touched the brake. The road ahead was full of children. Watch out for the little blighters, Keth. They could dart in front of you with never a glance to the left or right. Children of all ages who called him Sir and to whom he taught mathematics.

      He slowed almost to a crawl, thinking about his own child. A month old and already a dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty who smiled often, now. Mary, more precious than any new motor.

      Carefully he parked in his allotted space. The old car had a few more miles left in it yet – but how to convince Daisy? Deliberately he pushed the problem from his mind and thought instead how lucky – how damned lucky – he had been to survive the war, and all at once cars didn’t seem important.

      Not until tonight when he got home that was, when it would all start again.

      ‘I’ll be making bramble jelly today.’ Alice Dwerry-house poured her husband’s ten o’clock drinkings into the large cup that had once been Reuben’s.

      ‘Came by some crafty sugar, did you?’

      ‘Indeed I did not!’ Even now, she was apprehensive about black market dealings. ‘It’s the sugar the government allowed for jam-making in the summer.’

      Allowed, she thought peevishly. Sugar should have been taken off the ration by now, and butter and lard and bacon. And good red meat!

      ‘Very nice.’ Tom was partial to bramble jelly. ‘You’ll be over to Foxgloves with a jar for Daisy this afternoon?’

      ‘No. I’m going to Creesby to look at material. I’ve got eight clothing coupons put by, and I want to make myself something nice for Drew’s wedding.’

      ‘But lass, it’s months away! Next summer!’

      ‘I know it, but I don’t want to be all last-minute rush. I might have to look around quite a bit before I find something that goes with my best hat.’

      The Best Hat. A magnificent creation and very expensive. The one she had worn to Daisy’s wedding and would be brought out many more times if Alice was to get her value out of it.

      ‘Aye. The hat.’ Alice had looked a treat in it. ‘I suppose Polly will be wearing her wedding hat, an’ all – if she’s asked.’

      ‘Of