GUS, WITH HIS shoes off and stretched out on the counterpane of his comfortable bed, slept more soundly than he had for weeks. He did not wake up until a light tapping at his door caused him to look at the clock beside him. It was six o’clock, and the sun was in the west, shining low through his drawn curtains.
“Who is it?” he called sleepily.
“Katya. May I come in, Mr. Halfhide?”
Gus hastily ran his hands through his scrappy hair and rubbed his eyes. “Of course,” he replied, and Katya poked her head round the door. “Supper in fifteen minutes,” she said. “You like supper here? Or to come down the stairs and be happy with the others?”
Gus laughed delightedly. “Oh, I must come down and be happy with the others,” he said, and swung his legs off the bed. “Oh, steady on, Gus,” he said. “Still a bit dizzy, I’m afraid, Katya,” he added, and stretched out his hand. She immediately came forward and took his arm. “Let me help you,” she said. “Perhaps you sit in the chair? I will put on your shoes.”
She was kneeling down tying his shoelaces when Mrs. Spurling entered.
“I’ll do that,” she said abruptly. Katya stood up, red in the face, and rushed out of the room. Mrs. Spurling looked Gus straight in the eye.
“It will be good for you to tie your own shoelaces, Mr. Halfhide,” she said. “Or if you can’t manage-genuinely-we can find you a pair of slippers to wear while you are here. Katya is a vulnerable young girl. I believe I do not have to say any more. Now, will you be all right to come down for supper? Take it steadily. The exercise is necessary for your recovery.” She marched out of the room without further comment.
Suitably chastened, Gus arrived in the dining room and saw Ivy beckoning to him. She was sitting at a table by the window, with a neatly groomed little man next to her. Gus sat down carefully, and Ivy said she was glad to see he was looking rested.
“This is Mr. Goodman,” she continued, and turned to the old man. “And this is Mr. Halfhide. He is a friend of mine, recuperating from a nasty accident.”
Gus thought a spot of informality would warm the atmosphere, and said he would much rather be Gus than Mr. Halfhide. He looked enquiringly at Mr. Goodman.
“Good idea,” the old man said, “I’m Roy. They ask you in here if you’d like to be known by your Christian name and I said yes. But it made no difference. They all call me Mr. Goodman. Because of my great age.” He chuckled, and added that he was a boy at heart. “Always a boy at heart,” he repeated, and smiled warmly at Ivy.
She ignored him, and said she understood that cod was on the menu for this evening. She could recommend it, she told Gus. “Fried in batter,” she said.
“With chips?” said Gus.
“Of course,” said Roy delightedly. Here was a man after his own heart. “Do you play cards, Gus?” he said. “We usually have a game of whist after supper.”
Gus frowned. “Pontoon’s my game,” he said, looking warily at Ivy.
“Vingt-et-un,” she said, with a decidedly English accent. “Dad was an excellent player. And we always played for matches,” she added firmly.
“Fine,” said Roy, producing a box of Swan Vestas from his pocket. He was a pipe smoker, but it was not allowed at Springfields. He kept the matches in his pocket as a comforter and would hold them in the palm of his hand when feeling down.
Now he said that a game of pontoon would be marvellous. He felt brighter than he had for ages, and hoped the Lands’ End catalogue would arrive soon. He noticed that Gus had a most attractive jacket. Perhaps he would get one like that. Maybe Ivy would help him choose, though he suspected she had very conservative tastes.
The cod arrived, and Gus was pleased to see a full bottle of tomato ketchup on the table. “Great!” he said. “Let’s get stuck in.”
THE GAMBLING THREESOME was the object of great interest in the lounge after supper. Four ladies, all somberly dressed as befitted their widow status, had their usual game of whist, but could not concentrate. The frequent bursts of laughter and whoops of triumph from Gus and Mr. Goodman disturbed them. One of them put her finger to her lips as she caught Ivy’s eye. “Ssshh!” she said. Her message fell on deaf ears. Ivy was enjoying herself, taken right back to the rare occasions when her mother was out for the day, and she and her father settled down to a hand or two of pontoon. They had played for matches, as they were doing now, but she remembered that her father had a bar of chocolate at the ready for the winner. And Ivy was always the winner.
This time, Gus won, and Ivy miraculously produced a bar of Fruit & Nut from her capacious handbag. “Well done, Gus,” she said, and suggested another game tomorrow evening.
“Ra-ther!” enthused Roy. Really, things were definitely brightening up at Springfields.
With coffee all round, they settled back comfortably, and began to talk. As Ivy had hoped, Roy did most of the talking. With very little encouragement, he told them the story of his life. His family had been farmers in Barrington for generations, and when he, the last of the line, failed to get married and produce an heir for the old farmhouse and acres, he had decided to sell and use the proceeds to pay for luxury care in his old age. Naturally, he had chosen Springfields. He soon knew that he had made a mistake. Although he was physically infirm now, he still had all his faculties intact. He had been bored to tears, in spite of his best efforts to make friends and get something lively and interesting going amongst the other residents.
A reading group had ground to a halt when members pleaded they could no longer read well enough to keep it going. Failing eyesight and lack of concentration were blamed. Then, remembering his love of amateur drama in his youth, he had rounded up enough residents to attempt a Christmas revue to entertain the others. All the old songs, he had assured them, and a few jokes from old time music hall. He would be master of ceremonies, and Miss Pinkney had unexpectedly agreed to play the piano for them. They had made a start, but one by one the volunteers had backed out, mostly with feeble excuses, but nothing he could do would persuade them to return. The revue had been cancelled.
But now here were Gus and Ivy, playing pontoon with him and listening with interest to his reminiscences. He had reached the point where he had told his father he had no wish to continue at school, but wanted to be a full-time farmer and keep the family tradition going. He had been fifteen, and his father was delighted.
“Were you an only child?” asked Ivy. Gus’s eyelids were drooping, but at Ivy’s intervention he snapped awake.
Roy laughed. “The only boy!” he said. “I had three sisters, much to Dad’s disgust. Girls are no use to man nor beast, he used to say. Then mother would list all the things she did around the farm, and he would disappear fast to the pub.”
“Three girls, eh?” said Ivy. “I expect the village boys approved, even if your father didn’t.” Gus saw where this was leading, and looked on admiringly as Ivy steered Roy to the subject of the Roussels up at the Hall.
“Oh, lord, yes!” he said, as she asked if there was a wicked squire in those days. She had made a joke of it, but Roy revealed that one of his sisters had had to go off to stay with a distant aunt for a few months. She finally returned in a depressed state, and had been seen often walking round the village peering longingly into friends’ prams.
“So the Roussels had a reputation, did they?” Ivy suggested.
“They certainly did,” Roy said, “and made sure they kept it going. I remember when Mr. Theo was a lad-” He broke off and smiled, wagging his head at the memories.
Gus and Ivy held their breath.
“He was worst of all, I reckon. Mind you,” he added, “he was also the most handsome and charming. All the village lads wanted to be like Mr. Theo. We all tried!”
“But he never married?” Gus asked. He began to think this investigation was getting a bit one-sided and he should at least put in a question or two.
Roy turned to him. “D’you know, Gus, that puzzled us all. He could have had any of the girls in the county. Rich, beautiful, clever-they were all after him. But none succeeded. I still wonder about it.”
“So Beatrice Beatty came to look after him,” Ivy prompted.
Roy was silent. He looked at his watch. “My goodness!” he said. “It is long past my bedtime! Such an enjoyable evening. Thank you both for keeping me company.”
Katya appeared and took the old man’s arm. “Come along, Mr. Goodman,” she said. “Lots of time tomorrow for more games. You say good night to your friends?”
Roy thought of protesting that he was not in his second childhood yet, but he knew the girl meant well. She tried very hard with her English, and in any case, she was charming and pretty and they needed girls like her in dreary old Springfields. He obediently allowed her to escort him out of the lounge and up the stairs to bed.
“Bugger,” said Gus softly.
“Pardon?” said Ivy.
“Bugger,” repeated Gus.
“Indeed,” said Ivy.
READY FOR BED, Ivy drew back her curtains and looked out along the main street of Barrington. It was a beautiful moonlit night, and an owl hooted to his mate in the wood outside the village. She could see the lights outside the pub, and a shadowy couple, closely entwined, walked along the path in the distance. She thought of love, and the damage it could do.
“Beatrice Beatty, what bad thing did you do?” she said aloud.
As if in answer, there was a tap at her door. Who on earth…?
“Who is it?” she said.
“Me,” said a hoarse voice, and the door opened a crack. Roy’s white face peered round and he said, “Can I come in for a minute? Something on my mind, and I shan’t sleep until I’ve told you.”
For one moment Ivy was tempted to ring her bell and have him forcibly removed. Then she remembered he was eighty-six and feeble.
“Just for a moment, then, Mr. Goodman,” she said. “It’s probably strictly against the stupid rules, so you’d better come in.”