(6/13) Gossip from Thrush Green by Miss Read Page A

Jacobean-type back and a seat upholstered in leather which was so old and rubbed that it resembled suede. It was, as Charles found, surprisingly comfortable.
    'Tea now, I think, Muriel,' said Justin to the plump lady.
    'Yes, sir,' she said, so humbly that Charles would not have been surprised to see her genuflect, or at least pull her forelock had she had such a thing. Obviously, Justin was the master in this establishment.
    Well now, just tell me the trouble,' began Justin, when the door had closed.
    Charles gave a remarkably concise account of his actions before and after the fire, and explained his position as a tenant of Church property.
    Justin listened carefully, his fingertips pressed together. He watched his client over his half-glasses and thought how rare and pleasant it was to be face to face with an absolutely honest man.
    A discreet knock at the door heralded the arrival of Muriel with the tea tray. It was lowered reverently upon a vacant space on Justin's desk.
    The good rector, had he given any thought to the matter, would have been grateful for a mug of ready poured out tea with perhaps a bowl of granulated sugar with a well-worn teaspoon stuck in it. He was much impressed with the elegant apparatus now before Justin.

    Two delicate china cups stood upon a snowy linen tray cloth. An embroidered satin tea cosy covered a silver teapot, and small cubes of sugar, accompanied by silver clawed sugar-tongs, rested in a matching bowl. Some excellent shortbread fingers were ranged alongside.
    'Well!' exclaimed Charles happily, 'I really didn't expect such a beautiful tea! And what a handsome tea cosy!'
    'It is rather nice, isn't it?' agreed Justin, surveying it as though he had just noticed it. 'One of the girls in the office ran it up one Christmas. And the tray cloth too, I believe. Very good with her fingers obviously. A slice of lemon, Charles, or milk?'
    'Milk, please. Do you usually have time for tea? I hope you haven't gone to all this trouble on my behalf.'
    'From four to four-thirty is teatime,' replied Justin firmly. 'I only see old friends then whom I like to invite to share my tea tray. Try the shortbread. Muriel makes it for me weekly.'
    The rector could not help thinking in what a civilised way Justin seemed to conduct his business. He had no doubt that just as much work got done in the leisurely framework of Justin's day as was accomplished by so many feverish young men rushing from one thing to another.
    'Of course, we have always stayed open until six o'clock,' said Justin, submerging his lemon slice gently with his teaspoon. 'So many of our clients appreciate being able to call here after their work is over. One needs a cup of tea to refresh one towards the end of the day.'
    'Very sensible,' agreed Charles, dusting shortbread crumbs as unobtrusively as possible from his clerical grey trousers.
    Over the tea tray Justin dealt with the rector's anxieties, and assured him that all would be satisfactorily arranged with the insurance people, the Church authorities, and all other interested parties in this sad affair.
    It was exactly twenty-eight minutes past four when he rose and shook his old friend's hand in farewell.
    'By the way,' he said, on his way to open the door, 'I am retiring at the end of this year.'
    'You can't be!' exclaimed Charles. 'Why, you know you are always referred to as "young Mr Venables"! Who will take over?'
    'Young Mr Venables will be seventy next birthday,' smiled Justin, 'and the boys here are in their forties and fifties. Plenty of good fellows to carry on at Twitter and Venables, believe me.'
    'I can't take it in,' confessed Charles. 'Of course, I shan't mention this until you give me permission to do so.'
    'You have it now, my dear fellow. There's no secret about it. Now, I mustn't keep you.'
    He opened the office door, and saw Charles out into the sunshine.

    The rector retraced his steps in thoughtful mood, pondering on Justin's decision to retire. Seventy next birthday, he