‘Not very hall-like,’ said Teddy, turning off the engine. ‘I wonder if it’s where she went to college?’
‘Maybe,’ said Thelma, distracted. She paused, slightly awkward, and took his hand. ‘And thank you again for driving me, for giving up today’s deliveries.’
‘Listen.’ Teddy’s voice was serious, his blue eyes fixed on her, his grip tightening. ‘It’s like this. Today is an absolutely glorious day, and I get to spend it all with my lovely wife. Which is a win-win in my eyes.’
Thelma smiled, unclipped her belt. ‘I hope you still feel like that after we’ve seen Ms Golightly.’
Teddy retained his grip. ‘Before we go in,’ he said, his voice becoming serious, ‘you know what I’m going to say to you – about what you told me.’
‘I do,’ Thelma broke in hastily. ‘I do – but for now, let me focus on Ms Golightly.’
Teddy nodded and likewise unbuckled. ‘Why do you think she wants to see you?’ he asked.
Thelma shrugged. ‘One would guess,’ she said, ‘that it’s to do with my visit to Pity Me school. Most probably Caro Miranda told her.’
‘And you’re sure it’s all right, me coming in with you?’ said Teddy. ‘I can easily go and find some shade and listen to the cricket.’
Thelma gripped his hand; there was something she was finding very reassuring about her husband’s presence this morning. She looked over to the south, where Roseberry Topping was shimmering in the heat. Her conversation with Annie Golightly was very possibly not going to be an easy one.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘I’d like you with me.’
They walked up the lane hand in hand. As the drought deepened, Thelma had noticed a number of trees shedding leaves in response; here in the lane it was quite pronounced, drifts of shrivelled brown spinning downwards in the hot breeze. As they approached the neat frontage of Bretton Hall the door fairly sprung open, ejecting a trim, frowning figure sporting a purplemedical uniform and an enormous single plait, which swung with energy. A name badge announced her as Oorja.
Even though pausing at the sight of Thelma and Teddy, she still managed to exude the air of someone marching full pelt onto the next of life’s tasks.
‘Ah,’ she said and turned her head. ‘Annie, your visitors are here, my lovely woman!’
There was a faint answering call from somewhere within the house.
‘You better go through,’ said the woman, setting off up the path. ‘She’s in the lounge. First door on the left.’
‘A moment,’ said Thelma. Reluctantly Oorja halted, giving the air of someone who was, so to speak, pausing on the clutch. ‘Ms Golightly,’ said Thelma. ‘Sheisup to having visitors? Only I’ve heard she’s very ill.’
Oorja gave a short shout of laughter. ‘I would very much say so,’ she said, ‘God bless your hearts.’ The smile faded slightly. ‘That isn’t to say of course that Annie is not a seriously poorly lady. And she sometimes comes over all wearisome. But some days like today – well, I ask myself the question, just who the nurse is and who is the patient here?’ She appeared to notice Teddy for the first time and her eyes narrowed as she focused on his dog collar. ‘A vicar,’ she said almost to herself. ‘Well, good luck with that one!’
She smiled briefly and took herself off up the path at a great rate of knots.
Thelma and Teddy exchanged glances and entered the hallway of Bretton Hall, a wide, light space, the walls dominated by small panels of vivid blue and orange art, which looked, to Thelma, African. On the hall table stood an enormous arrangement of yellow flowers, roses, marigolds, chrysanthemums.
‘I’m in here,’ said a voice. A clear, authoritative voice. The voice of a head teacher.
* * *
There was something remarkable about Annie Golightly, they both agreed afterwards. Whilst not conventionally attractive, with a slight figure and cropped grey hair, she had a pleasant, face free from make-up, and yet there was something about her, the crisp, carefully chosen words, the piercing grey-eyed stare, the sharp attention that radiated a force of personality. Thelma, with her love of theatre, found herself mentally casting the woman in a variety of roles: St Joan … Eleanor of Aquitaine, Mother Courage – yes, even Lady Macbeth. Someone, she felt, who drove the action rather than reacted to it.
Like Nurse Oorja, Annie Golightly immediately noticed Teddy’s dog collar. ‘A vicar?’ she said. There was a hint of amusement in the voice, as well as a definite tinge of challenge. Teddy smiled the respectful but glowing smile that had won Thelma’s heart all those years ago.
‘A vicar yes,’ he said. ‘But today, first and foremost a chauffeur. One who is more than happy to wait outside, should you so wish.’
‘Not at all.’ Annie still sounded amused, but now there was a note of apology in her voice. ‘You must forgive me. When one is facing death, one finds all sorts of people heading your way, presenting a bewildering array of offers, memorial benches, wicker coffins – untold joy for all, if one gifts money to any number of organisations. And yes, in amongst them all, offers of paradise.’
Teddy smiled. ‘As I say,’ he said, ‘a chauffeur and’ – he took Thelma’s hand – ‘husband to this remarkable woman.’
Annie nodded, as if Teddy had passed some sort of test, and spun her attention to Thelma.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Caro Miranda was telling me a bit about you.’ Her eyes, Thelma noted, were a clear grey with minute flecks of amber. ‘I understand you’re finding out about the death of Neville Hilton.’ It was an expertly placed remark, concise, accurate, non-confrontational but at the same time leaving Thelma little option but to tell the truth. It was a comment that showed the expertise of a highly experienced leader.
Thelma nodded. ‘I believe,’ she said, ‘before Neville died, there was some sort of confrontation, which may have contributed to his death.’
