Progress and an Enemy Made

Don't the weeks fly by? Here we are, almost a third of the way through March already. Here is the next episode of 'Clive and Min.' I need down my embroidery needle and devote some enormous time to writing in the coming week as I am running out of decent edited material for you to read. And I don't want a riot on my hands! The picture I've used to illustrate the episode is an Autumn tree embroidery I completed yesterday. It seemed pertinent.

It was September. The weather still held balmy, allowing final treasured days of outside socialising to continue, for a while at least. Trees were still frothing with greenness although some were edging with Autumn colours in a hint that the season was about to turn. Children were back to school, clutching new pencil cases, new ambitions, new resolutions, resolved to wiping the slate clean on the previous academic year as they moved upwards through the education system, yet all knowing full well they would be back to their old tricks and habits by the October half term.

Audley Runcorn was setting up chairs in his living room in preparation for the first meeting of the  C.O.P.S after the summer break. He’d brought in some garden chairs from the patio, and wondered for a moment if they would be better off holding the meeting outside. However, Sylvia Path had vetoed his suggestion, citing her seasonal habit of being bitten by mosquitoes and other garden bugs and swelling up to enormous allergic proportions. ‘I don’t know why, but they always make a bee-line for me,’ she said.

‘You must taste good,’ laughed Audley.

Sylvia peered at him across the top of her reading glasses. ‘It’s not a matter for levity,’ she said. ‘Insect bites have serious consequences for me. Infections, cellulitis…’

‘I’m sorry, lass,’ said Audley. Note to self, he thought – remember that Sylvia Path is the most humourless woman in Chelwood.

‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘we don’t want people overhearing our discussions,’ and she nodded towards the party fence that divided the garden from next door. Audley thought it highly unlikely that Miss Williams, ninety three and very deaf, would be at all interested in spying on the meeting over the fence whilst she tended her chrysanthemums, but he had lost the will to argue. Arguing with Sylvia was both futile and hard work.

And so he continued to squeeze various chairs and stools into his lounge-diner and hoped there would be enough space for everyone. His wife, Harriet, appeared, and placed a tray of shop-bought mince pies on the coffee table.

‘Mince pies!’ she announced. ‘In September!’

‘Madness,’ said Audley.

Harriet surveyed the room. ‘Surely someone else ‘as bigger space to ‘old these meetings in?’ she said. 

Audley shrugged. ‘If they do, love, they’re not letting on,’ he said.

‘I suppose once Clive Thing’s bequest is finalised, t’group will be better positioned to hire a more suitable space,’ Harriet mused. ‘Any movement on probate?’

‘Not yet,’ sighed Audley. In the preceding weeks Minerva Thing had firstly prevaricated by refusing to engage in conversations with either the C.O.P.S or Mr Burroughs, and then, at the eleventh hour, had been to court and entered a caveat, thereby challenging the validity of the Will and stopping the application for probate for the next six months. Sylvia had been livid when she found out. Apoplectic. Audley liked that word. It rolled off the tongue with just the right amount of escapee spittle. He relayed the probate delay information to Harriet, who threw back her head and laughed.

‘I don’t blame Minerva for one minute,’ she said. ‘Good for ‘er! Poor woman has to put ‘er life on ‘old to look after that mad mother of ‘ers and then the brother goes against their agreement for no apparent reason. I’d be awkward about it, too. Every step o’the way.’

‘Min reckons Clive was coerced into making the change to ‘is Will,’ said Audley, and to his embarrassment, he felt his chest, neck and cheeks flush pink. Harriet narrowed her eyes.

‘Audley Runcorn – do you know summat more about this?’ she said. ‘You ‘aven’t bin stickin’ your gurt Yorkshire boots into matters, ‘ave you?’ Harriet had a habit of ramping up her Yorkshire lass roots when feeling riled. When this happened, Audley knew to back down with quiet dignity. Least said, soonest mended. He nudged the corner of the sofa with his foot.  

‘Course not, lass,’ he said. ‘Is it me, or is it warm in here?’

Harriet folded her arms across her magnificent bosom. ‘Don’t you be getting involved in any of THAT woman’s shenanigans,’ she warned, though not unkindly. By ‘that woman’ she meant Sylvia Path. Harriet had never been keen on her, and Harriet was generally an excellent judge of character.

   *                       *                      *

‘Best £20 I’ve spent in a long time,’ said Min. ‘It has bought me a six month breathing space.’ She directed this comment at Amazing, who smiled and nodded. Amazing was all for managing time at her own pace, which was why she had felt rattled at the enforced and sudden move form her original tea shop above the book shop. However, she also appreciated serendipity and the change that had come about had been very good change indeed. She liked and admired Miss Minerva Thing and she also approved very much of the new lodger at Satis House, Connie Franks.

All in all, a lot had happened in the lives of these women over the last month. Connie had settled in well to her new role as official lodger and Min found it was pleasant to have another human in the house, bringing fresh and civilised energy to the place. Amazing had been full of bright plans followed by vibrant action about setting up her new tea room business, working hard to ensure the kitchen of Satis House passed its Health and Safety certification with the council. She was planning a launch event for the beginning of October and had already started her advertising campaign based on the theme of Autumn’s harvest – apples and pears, blackberries and raspberries. Satis House had never seen such activity.

However, for this day, this moment, this time Min, Connie and Amazing were sitting in the garden, enjoying the last dregs of Summer sunshine. They were working their way through an enormous pot of tea and testing Amazing’s new recipe for a moist cake dotted with fruity succulence that she called ‘Autumn Treasures’ and which Connie called, ‘a bloody miracle.’  Through an open upstairs window, they could hear Willow whistling as she worked. Amazing called up to her.

‘Ms Willow D Reginald, come down and join us! Have a break. Put your paint brushing on hold.’

 The whistling stopped and Willow responded, sticking her head out of the window to say she’d almost finished and would join them within minutes.

Min sighed with contentment and looked at the scene around her. Connie and Amazing were sharing a laugh about something, Halliwell was stretched full length on the grass by her side, his eyes intent on watching something up a nearby tree that she couldn’t see. And she was feeling so relaxed she could fall asleep right now. Never did she think she would be in this happy position. A fledgling business woman, Satis House looking brighter and sparkier than she could ever remember, thanks to the hard work and design brilliance of Willow, her boring job a distant memory….

Min frowned. The only shadow cast over a very promising and fulfilling future was a C.O.P.S shaped shadow in the form of that Sylvia Path woman who clearly had ambitious designs of her own. The woman even had the cheek to phone when she heard the news about Min lodging the caveat with the courts, and hadn’t she made her feelings plain? Too right she had. Recalling the phone conversation made Min’s skin itch with irritation.

‘What do you hope to achieve by this, Miss Thing?’ Sylvia had shrilled down the line, causing Min to move the hand set several inches away from her ear. ‘Dear, dear Clive, rest his soul, was very clear in his instructions. The C.O.P.S were like a family to him. He wanted us to have something that would help us to grow our little organisation and showcase our talents to the nation…’

A family to him? The C.O.P.S? Ouch, that had stung.

‘…and think, Miss Thing – what would he have to say about you being so difficult?’ Sylvia had continued.

Nothing more than he usually had to say about the awkward nature of his sister, thought Min, deciding to let Sylvia rattle on as there was little point in attempting an interruption at this juncture.

‘You are doing a disservice to the community of Chelwood,’ said Sylvia. ‘You are blocking one of its creative arteries with the…the LARD of your…your….dogmatic behaviour!’

Min had spluttered with amusement at that which caused further enragement to Sylvia Path.

‘Miss Thing! Are you still there? What was that noise? I hope you aren’t mocking us, Miss Thing. Don’t forget we gave Clive a lifeline when he needed us, when he had been abandoned and rejected by his blood family….’

Ouff. Sting number two. Min was NOT going to let that one pass by without comment.

‘Mrs Path,’ she snapped. ‘With all due respect, you knew nothing about my brother, nor the circumstances of his private life and concerns. You certainly know nothing of our family business, and I would thank you not to pretend you do.’

There was a brief silence. Min heard Sylvia catch a quick breath in her throat. When she spoke again, she was more measured in tone. A tone that was edged in slyness.

‘Oh, Miss Thing, I beg to disagree. I don’t believe you knew your brother as well as you think you did. He had many a conversation with myself about several, how shall we say? – issues – that he made quite clear he wanted you to know nothing about.’

Min’s pulse quickened and she felt a butterfly-like fluttering in her neck. Quick, she thought, don’t let her have the last say on this. Whatever ‘this’ is, don’t let that woman think she has got to you.

‘Like his decision to change his Will less than six months before he died in a tragic accident, you mean?’ she countered. ‘If it WAS a tragic accident, of course.’

The silence that punctuated the end of the sentence knotted the air like a hangman’s noose.

Dear God! Min clapped her hand to her mouth. What possessed her to make such an inflammatory comment? Had she caught something of whatever it was that had been bothering Sergeant Phelps in the days following Clive’s death? The remark, of course, was enough to make an already furious Sylvia explode with indignation.

‘What are you implying?’ she demanded. ‘You had better watch your words, Minerva Thing. It sounds as though you are accusing me of something…sinister. Yes, that’s it. Sinister and underhand.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ countered Min. ‘Have I touched a nerve, Mrs Path? Is there something you are hiding? Is there something the police need to know?’

This is insane, she thought. This conversation is fast growing out of hand. She continued quickly.

‘I’m hanging up now,’ she said. ‘I am terminating this conversation and I would thank you to not call here again. Please direct all further communications through Mr Burroughs.’ And she banged the hand set down on its cradle, and leant back against the wall, her heart pounding in her ears and legs suddenly turned to jelly. Halliwell wound himself comfortingly around her shins as if to say, ‘Well done, you. That told her.’ Satis House, too, seemed to lean into her, as though it was trying to absorb her trembling reaction into itself.

‘Should I call Sergeant Phelps?’ said Min, quietly and to herself.

‘No,’ said Satis House. ‘Not just yet, anyway.’

Min nodded. But she was wary now. She had made an enemy of Sylvia Path. It wasn’t high on the list of ‘Clever Things I Have Done This Year,’ that was for sure.

Here though, today and in this garden with these friends, all was well. She hadn’t told anyone of the phone call between her and Sylvia. It was enough that it had been shared with Halliwell and Satis House.

Willow appeared in her paint spattered overalls and her hair tied up with a broad band of fabric. She settled, cross-legged on the grass next to Halliwell, who immediately rose from his position and climbed into her lap.

‘Oooh, you’re a heffalump,’ said Willow, adjusting her position to better accommodate Halliwell’s bulk. Amazing served her a cup of tea and Min enquired after decorating progress.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Willow said. ‘Just one more room to complete.’

‘Gosh,’ said Min. Willow had worked hard for the whole of August and Min had grown used to having her about the place, enjoying her brisk and methodical way of going about her tasks. She also enjoyed inspecting progress at the end of each day, admiring the cleanness of the paint, the smoothness of the wallpaper, the way colour, form and texture came together to make a pleasing wholeness. She certainly hadn’t considered that one day the project would be complete and Willow would be on her way to the next job.

As if reading her thoughts, Willow said, ‘I shall miss coming here when I’m finished. I’ve enjoyed this job. It’s been…very fulfilling.’ 

‘I’m sorry I don’t have anything else for you to do,’ said Min. ‘But I shall certainly recommend you to anyone who wants a good painter and decorator. If you ever need a reference, I shall be happy to supply one.’

Willow smiled and nodded. She had never needed to advertise her services, nor rely on recommendations before now and she wasn’t intending to start. As she sipped her tea and watched the other women chat and laugh, her eyes narrowed slightly. It had been an interesting role, this one. Something serendipitous about it that she couldn’t quite lay her finger on. Yes, the job was coming to an end – in a week, maybe, ten days at the most. Yet she somehow felt that her time with Satis House wasn’t over just yet.  

Finishing her tea, she said goodbye to Min, Connie and Amazing, left Satis House, and found a figure sitting on top of her van.