CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘I DON’T REALLY think it would be right for me to have a happy ending,’ said Dora, ‘what with our Gina being in prison.’

‘Ah, love, it’s not right that you should be punished as well,’ said Betty, pouring Dora a second cup of tea as they sat in Betty’s warm kitchen, autumn leaves descending gently outside. ‘You didn’t bring her up to take what’s not hers.’

‘I know, Betty, but it’s … I don’t know … like I’m turning my back on her, somehow, if I’m happy and she’s locked up and miserable.’

‘I can’t see how it’s better that you’re all miserable, Dora,’ said Betty. ‘What’s Tom done wrong? Why should he be made unhappy because of Gina selling some bits and pieces that didn’t belong to her?’

‘I don’t know …’

‘I think it’s time you thought of Tom in all this, love. He deserves to be happy.’

‘That’s what Audrey Mason said one time.’

‘Well, then Audrey and me are both talking sense. Tom’s devoted to you. Don’t forget he rescued you from Philip’s violence when it got so as you had to flee your home. How much longer are you going to make him wait? Neither of you’s getting any younger. And have you thought that Tom may not wait for ever? There’s many a single woman in Little Grindle who’d be glad to take on Tom Arnold. He’s good husband material, and you’d be daft to stand by and watch him being snapped up by … well, someone less deserving, but with sharper elbows.’

‘Like who?’

‘Well, Florence Birch, for instance.’

‘Miss Birch! Don’t talk daft! She’s eighty, as she’s always telling anyone who’ll listen! Oh, come on, Betty, you can do better than that.’

‘Renee Fowler’s sister, then.’

‘Tom’s friendly with everyone, Betty, and well you know it.’

‘Quite, love. That’s my point. Don’t take him for granted, that’s all.’

Ellen swept the paths of the rose garden free of the dead leaves that had blown in. The garden at Grindle Hall had a different kind of beauty in autumn from its summer splendour, with berries on the holly trees and drifts of autumn crocuses and cyclamen at the edges of the paths and under trees. It was a shame Mr and Mrs Stellion were not here to enjoy it this year. They’d gone abroad – to Italy, it was said, where the air was very clean and good for Mrs Stellion’s health – and a manager had been put in to run the brewery, which made it sound to Ellen as if her employers meant to stay in Italy for a while.