LITMIR.BIZ

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for all of us.’

      ‘“We’re in for it now,’ said Emily, with a very worried look on her pretty little face. ‘She’ll be worse on us now you’ll see.’ ‘Don’t worry, Emms,’ said Bert reassuringly, ‘Miss Bridges won’t know it was us, she doesn’t even know we went in her office, I promise. Right, everyone back to your desks, we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Let’s get on with our work for when Mr Bennett returns.’”

      “Why was Miss Bridges so mean to the children, Daddy?” asked Maggie, when she had recovered from laughing.

      “Miss Bridges was mean to everyone pumpkin, I don’t believe even the teachers liked her much either because when Mr Bennett returned a little while later he said that there would be no homework for any of us for the rest of the week and when Bert and I looked at him in disbelief, he just winked at us.

      “Now Maggie, you should respect all elders you know that and when you go to school you must respect everyone in your class,” said William, in his serious voice. “Okay young lady, time for a wash and off to bed for you before your mother returns and has my guts for garters for keeping you up past your bedtime.”

      Chapter six

      It was late when the Squire returned from his meeting in town. He closed his car door as quietly as he could and entered through the ornate front doors with the leaded stained glass. On sunny days, the light streamed through creating vivid patterns down the hallway but now the moonlight beamed tones of grey. Mr and Mrs Sutton had long since retired to their annexe in the east wing but even though this was some way away from the hallway, Gerald moved quietly so as not to disturb them.

      Although he had eaten earlier in the evening, he suddenly felt quite peckish. He walked down to the kitchen and turned on the gas lamp in the middle of the vast table. He smiled as he read Mrs Sutton’s note stating that a fresh salad with cold meats and pickles were awaiting him in the cooler part of the pantry.

      “Splendid ol girl, thank you very much,” he said aloud. As he lifted the china plate down from the shelf the weighted beads on the ends of the muslin cloth made a clinking sound against the side and a schoolboy smile widened even more when he saw that Mrs Sutton had also made a strawberry trifle as well.

      Gerald carried the tray through to the main drawing room and placed it on the oak table. He then went over to the matching cabinet and poured himself a small snifter of whisky; one of life’s pleasures and a necessity at the end of a tiring, but productive day.

      After his satisfying meal, he poured himself another whisky and walked down to his study. The meeting in town hadn’t gone too badly, he thought, at least there was support from the main fruit and vegetable suppliers in the County, which was half the battle won. Consensus agreed that even though distribution was adequate, they needed to speed up the process to get the fresh supplies up to Covent Garden. Things were on the up with the newly elected Committee with noticeable results imminent.

      Another pressing matter was the start of the hopping season. In two weeks’ time, the village would be awash with Londoners for the annual six-week stint. There was still a lot to organise but it was under control. A major meeting would be held on Wednesday with his key staff to finalise details.

      Gerald was appreciative of the loyal Londoners’ help that was vital to successfully yield the bumper crop on Primrose Estate. Like everyone else, he was also aware of what the Londoners’ were going through during this awful war. He had on several occasions travelled up to London on business and the sheer destruction and loss of life was quite distressing. Village life seemed a million miles away from the atrocities in the capital. They had had their fair share of air raids, but it was nothing compared to being in the thick of it all.

      His visits to London had invoked vivid memories as he had actively served as a Captain during the First World War. He didn’t allow himself to dwell too much on this part of his life as it also conjured up painful memories of his dearly departed wife.

      But, equally so, Gerald realised that the Londoners’ relished this annual event down to Kent as their temporary escape from the war. They were able to catch up with old Kentish friends and sleep a little more soundly at night, as compared to the brutal noises of war stealing a restful sleep.

      Gerald sat comfortably in his antique leather chair enjoying his rare third glass of whisky. He finally gave in to the fact that he was a very troubled man. He believed that his only child would be the imminent downfall of Primrose Farm Estate. If he were honest, Gerald had known for several years that Adam would never willingly follow in his footsteps, although Gerald had tried on numerous occasions over the years to actively involve Adam in the business. He looked up from his whisky glass and sadly gazed at each of the portraits of his ancestors who stared back at him, their oil painted faces seemed to acknowledge the pain he was going through. He had failed them, failed in his responsibilities to his tenants and their families, and most of all, he had failed his son.

      Due to unforeseen complications, his dear wife Mary had passed away during child birth and for many years Gerald could not bear to be in the same room as his son, blaming him entirely for her death. Since day one Adam was cared for by a succession of nannies ensuring that he wouldn’t become too attached to one person. Mr and Mrs Sutton could do nothing but watch on helplessly as the Squire would pay the nanny an extra month’s pay and immediately hire another to take her place. Adam often woke in the morning to find a new nanny had replaced the one before without being told of a reason or even a goodbye. Thinking it was for the best, Gerald packed Adam off to boarding school when he was just ten years old.

      Kent was rich with excellent boarding schools, achieving outstanding academic reputations, but Gerald opted to send his son to Priory Square down the West Country in Dorset. Adam had now completed five years out of eight and over those five years he had returned to Kent only three times. The atmosphere between father and son during those visits was distant, as they were strangers to each other. It wasn’t long before Adam began making excuses not to return home during the holidays, opting to stay with friends and sometimes staying on at boarding school to avoid going back to Kent altogether.

      Gerald knew that he was solely to blame for not having a relationship with his son as he had been so tied up in his own bereavement. He now wanted to make amends but had been bewildered on what to do next. There had been too much lost time. He decided that when Adam came home for the Christmas holidays in a few months’ time he would try his utmost to salvage what was left of their relationship.

      Chapter Seven

      As the working day ended the following day, Iris gathered up their things in Foxden Orchard. She packed away their lunchboxes, beakers, blanket and a couple of Maggie’s toys into the basket on the front of the bicycle. “We’ve got to go to the Post Office first to buy a stamp before we go home, hold on, here we go.”

      The ride out of the orchard was as bumpy as the ride in as Iris snaked her way around potholes with Betty following behind. The twins quickly caught up gathering pace and sped past the ladies to rush on home.

      “Pete, put the kettle on love,” shouted Betty, as the boys flew past.

      “Righto Mum,” he said, waving in the air then disappearing around the corner, closely pursued by Billy.

      “See you tomorrow, Bet,” said Iris, as the two women peddled out of the orchard in opposite directions.

      After a couple of minutes Iris and Maggie pulled up outside the village Post Office and Store. Iris lifted Maggie out of the seat and propped the bicycle against the wall. The familiar ‘ding’ of the brass bell over the door chimed as they entered.

      “Good afternoon ladies,” said Bill Dwyer, the Postmaster.

      “Good afternoon, Mr Dwyer,” said Iris.

      “Hello, Mr Dwyer,” said Maggie.

      “What can I do for you today, Mrs Harris?”

      “Just a penny stamp please.” Iris placed a penny on the counter. “I’m writing to my aunt who lives up north, she hasn’t been too well lately I’m afraid.”

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