GUS MET IVY Beasley in church. It was an unlikely place for him to be, but he had felt a sudden urge to observe some of his fellow villagers without necessarily being accosted. He planned to slip into the back pew in the darkened interior and indulge himself by inventing identities for the people in front. Although he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, he was missing congenial company.
There were very few in church for the service, and among the mostly elderly parishioners his eye was taken by a woman in a solid black coat covering her broad shoulders, and topped with an extraordinary black felt hat like an upturned pudding basin, reminiscent of photographs of his grandmother in a distant past.
When the service finished, he hung back until nearly all had gone, and saw with alarm that he was being approached by the vicar, who held out a welcoming hand.
“New to the village?”
Gus nodded, and said he had moved in a few weeks ago, and was beginning to find his way around. The vicar said how good it was to see him in church, and began a lengthy history of the ancient building. “We have our very own martyr, you know,” he said with a keen smile. “Taken away by the Roundheads in the civil war. The village never saw him again.”
“And you’ll never see our visitor again, if you don’t let him get home to his lunch,” said a sharp voice behind the vicar.
Gus peered gratefully at the figure emerging, and saw that it was the woman with the black hat. She was not smiling, and had a stern and disapproving expression. Now, here was a challenge! Gus prided himself on his way with women, and judged this one was much too old to be predatory. He could safely practise his charm, sadly unused for too long.
“Good day, madam,” he said and bowed his head in greeting.
“Not good. It’s raining,” Ivy Beasley said flatly. “And I’ve forgotten my umbrella.”
“Allow me,” Gus said, stepping forward and offering his arm. In the church porch he put up his city umbrella, picked up from habit at the last minute before leaving home. “Now, which way? And do tell me your name, Mrs… um…”
“Beasley. And it’s Miss. I go up that way, past the shop.”
As they stepped out briskly, Gus discovered that Ivy had come from the village where his old school friend Richard Standing lived.
“Fancy that,” Ivy said caustically. “They were above me, of course. Lived up at the big house. We’d see them driving about in one of them limousines.”
Anxious not to seem patronising, Gus hastened to assure her that he had known the Standings only casually-a lie-and he himself had been in very much lowlier circumstances. By the time they reached Springfields, Ivy had warmed up a little, and Gus was intrigued by her past life in Round Ringford. He asked if he could visit her at some time convenient to her. “You could tell me things about Richard that I’m sure I don’t know,” he said jovially. “And anyway, it must be dull in there for you, missing all your old friends,” he added.
“All dead,” Ivy replied bluntly. “Anyway, please yourself. I’m always at home-if you can call it home. Thanks for keeping me dry.” With that, she disappeared, and Gus returned home, feeling unaccountably cheered.