shillings,' said Harold. 'It's despicable.'
'She must be a green 'un,' commented the farmer. Harold's wrath kindled.
'She is a Londoner. One wouldn't expect her to know the price of plants. And Sam Curdle knew that well enough!'
Percy Hodge looked at his companion curiously.
'No offence, old man. I'm not trying to excuse Sam. He's a twister right enough, and he'll get his marching orders in the morning.'
'I can let you have a couple of dozen plants,' said Harold, more coolly, 'if you're short. It seems a pity to worry Mrs Prior about this. She was upset when I told her my suspicions.'
'Well, that's very handsome of you, but I've got all I need really. Tell the lady to leave them where they are, and not to worry her head about the matter. I'll deal with our Sam, you mark my words.'
They walked across to the Land Rover which the farmer had left in the chestnut avenue, and bade each other a cheerful good night.
'That was a rum thing,' mused Percy Hodge to himself, as he drove up the shadowy lane to Nod and Nidden. 'I shouldn't wonder if old Harold Shoosmith isn't a bit sweet on that young woman. Ah well, no fool like an old fool!'
He trod on the accelerator, keen to confront Sam Curdle with the fruits of this chance encounter.
Suddenly, the thought of his farmyard, free of the Curdle tribe for ever, filled him with pleasurable relief.
Harold Shoosmith's flash of anger surprised the man himself quite as much as it surprised the observant farmer.
He returned thoughtfully to his quiet house and sank into an armchair. What exactly was happening to him? He didn't mind admitting that he was attracted to Phil Prior, but then he had been attracted to many girls in the past. He had always enjoyed the company of intelligent women, and if they were pretty, then so much the better. This protective feeling for Phil Prior, he told himself, was the result of her unfortunate circumstances. Anyone with a spark of humanity would want to help a poor girl left defenceless and hard up, especially when she had to cope with the rearing of a young child, single-handed.
Sam Curdle's was such a dirty trick! He grew warm again at the very thought. It was small wonder that he flared up in Hodge's company. Any decent man would.
Or would he? Harold rose from the chair and walked restlessly about the room. Was he really becoming fonder of this girl than he realised? Damn it all, this was absurd! He was a steadfast bachelor and intended to remain so. He was old enough to be Phil's father. Well, nearly—
He walked to the end of the room and studied his reflection in the handsome gilt-framed mirror which lay above the little Sheraton side-table.
He was tall and spare, his eyes bright, and his hair, although silver, still thick. As a young man he had been reckoned good-looking. He supposed now, trying to look at himself dispassionately, he still had a few good points - but he was old, old, old, he told himself sternly. No young woman would consider him now, and quite right too!
He returned to his chair, dismissing these foolish thoughts, and opened the paper. It was as inspiring and exhilarating as ever. Four young men were appearing on charges of peddling drugs, an old lady had had her hand chopped off whilst attempting to retain her purse, containing two and eightpence, and a motorway to end all motorways was proposed which would wipe out six particularly exquisite villages and several hundred miles of countryside.
Harold threw it to the floor, leant back and closed his eyes. How pleasantly quiet it was! The fire whispered. The clock ticked. Somewhere, across the green, a car changed gear as it moved towards Lulling, and hummed away into nothingness. This was what he had looked forward to throughout those long hard years of business life in Africa. He would be mad to try and change his way of life now.
And yet Charles Henstock had found a great deal of happiness in later life since his marriage to Dimity. Charles, Harold pointed out to
'She must be a green 'un,' commented the farmer. Harold's wrath kindled.
'She is a Londoner. One wouldn't expect her to know the price of plants. And Sam Curdle knew that well enough!'
Percy Hodge looked at his companion curiously.
'No offence, old man. I'm not trying to excuse Sam. He's a twister right enough, and he'll get his marching orders in the morning.'
'I can let you have a couple of dozen plants,' said Harold, more coolly, 'if you're short. It seems a pity to worry Mrs Prior about this. She was upset when I told her my suspicions.'
'Well, that's very handsome of you, but I've got all I need really. Tell the lady to leave them where they are, and not to worry her head about the matter. I'll deal with our Sam, you mark my words.'
They walked across to the Land Rover which the farmer had left in the chestnut avenue, and bade each other a cheerful good night.
'That was a rum thing,' mused Percy Hodge to himself, as he drove up the shadowy lane to Nod and Nidden. 'I shouldn't wonder if old Harold Shoosmith isn't a bit sweet on that young woman. Ah well, no fool like an old fool!'
He trod on the accelerator, keen to confront Sam Curdle with the fruits of this chance encounter.
Suddenly, the thought of his farmyard, free of the Curdle tribe for ever, filled him with pleasurable relief.
Harold Shoosmith's flash of anger surprised the man himself quite as much as it surprised the observant farmer.
He returned thoughtfully to his quiet house and sank into an armchair. What exactly was happening to him? He didn't mind admitting that he was attracted to Phil Prior, but then he had been attracted to many girls in the past. He had always enjoyed the company of intelligent women, and if they were pretty, then so much the better. This protective feeling for Phil Prior, he told himself, was the result of her unfortunate circumstances. Anyone with a spark of humanity would want to help a poor girl left defenceless and hard up, especially when she had to cope with the rearing of a young child, single-handed.
Sam Curdle's was such a dirty trick! He grew warm again at the very thought. It was small wonder that he flared up in Hodge's company. Any decent man would.
Or would he? Harold rose from the chair and walked restlessly about the room. Was he really becoming fonder of this girl than he realised? Damn it all, this was absurd! He was a steadfast bachelor and intended to remain so. He was old enough to be Phil's father. Well, nearly—
He walked to the end of the room and studied his reflection in the handsome gilt-framed mirror which lay above the little Sheraton side-table.
He was tall and spare, his eyes bright, and his hair, although silver, still thick. As a young man he had been reckoned good-looking. He supposed now, trying to look at himself dispassionately, he still had a few good points - but he was old, old, old, he told himself sternly. No young woman would consider him now, and quite right too!
He returned to his chair, dismissing these foolish thoughts, and opened the paper. It was as inspiring and exhilarating as ever. Four young men were appearing on charges of peddling drugs, an old lady had had her hand chopped off whilst attempting to retain her purse, containing two and eightpence, and a motorway to end all motorways was proposed which would wipe out six particularly exquisite villages and several hundred miles of countryside.
Harold threw it to the floor, leant back and closed his eyes. How pleasantly quiet it was! The fire whispered. The clock ticked. Somewhere, across the green, a car changed gear as it moved towards Lulling, and hummed away into nothingness. This was what he had looked forward to throughout those long hard years of business life in Africa. He would be mad to try and change his way of life now.
And yet Charles Henstock had found a great deal of happiness in later life since his marriage to Dimity. Charles, Harold pointed out to
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