Gossamer Cord

She looked at me for a moment and I thought her Northern shrewdness would reject my enthusiasm for the gushing insincerity it was. But, like most people with obsessions, she could not believe that they were anything but marvelous in the eyes of all.

“You like to see it?” she asked.

“Oh, I should love to.”

“Come on, then.”

Proudly she took me to it. I was shown the spot. It was like a shrine. The plant looked bigger than when I had brought it. I thought to myself, Thank you, little plant. It is clever of you. Through you I have gone up in the estimation of this uncommunicative lady.

“It’s done wonders,” I said.

“I can tell you I’ve taken a bit of trouble. I saw where it was up at that place, and I reckoned I knew the spot to put it. Gets the sun—but not too much—and there’s shelter…”

“Oh, yes. This sturdy plant here…protects it in a way.”

“That’s so.”

“I am so glad.”

She nodded. “It was thoughtful of you to bring it. I was that pleased…”

“I could see how much you wanted it. And why shouldn’t you share it? I knew you would appreciate it.”

“Well, thank you.”

Was that to be all? I wondered. The end of the mission?

I felt deflated.

I said desperately: “If there is anything else you liked, I daresay I could get it for you.”

It was the right note. I could see the cupidity in her eyes. I had offered the irresistible.

“That’s gradely, that is. There might be one or two.”

“Well, you mustn’t hesitate to ask.”

“I take that as a real kind thought.”

I was glowing with confidence.

“Your garden is a picture,” I said. “This is the best time of the year, I suppose.”

“Spring is better,” she said. “Least I think so.”

“Yes, spring. We’re getting on in the year now.” I inhaled the air. “It’s gloomy today. It makes one thirsty.”

It was a hint and she hesitated for a moment. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful.”

So once more I had effected an entrance and I was in the sitting room with the picture of Annette of the saucy smile and ample bosom smiling at me.

Then I thought, go carefully. I was not going to give up now, if I could help it. That offer of more plants had been a good one. It was irresistible to her, and it was becoming something of a passion with me to discover more of Annette, and her mother could surely tell me as much as anybody.

She came in with a tea tray on which were two cups, milk, sugar, and a teapot over which was a cosy of pink and beige wool, obviously homemade.

She was a knitter then. That might be a subject to embark on, but alas one of which I was abysmally ignorant, as I was of gardening.

She poured out the tea.

I said: “This is very pleasant.”

She did not comment, but she did not look displeased.

“What an interesting teacosy,” I went on.

That was the right approach.

“You have to make these things yourself if you’re going to get what you want.”

“So you knitted that?”

“It’s not knitted. It’s crocheted. I do knit a bit, though.”

“Are you knitting at the moment?”

“A jersey,” she said tersely.

“That sounds interesting.”

“Had trouble getting the wool. This place…”

“You’d probably get what you want in Plymouth.”

“It’s a long way to go for a bit of wool.”

“You are really very talented,” I said rather obsequiously. “Making these things…and the garden as well. That’s really a show place.”

I was going too far. My desire to get onto the subject of her daughter was getting the better of my common sense.

She said: “How is your sister?”

“She is quite well. She gets tired easily.”

“Reckon you’ll want to be with her when her time comes.”

“I shall probably go home before that. It is not until November. But, yes, I shall want to be here then.”

She twisted her lips in a slightly mocking way, and, to my surprise, she said: “My girl…she was going to have a baby.”

Here was triumph indeed. I could scarcely believe I was hearing correctly.

“Yes,” I said. “That was a great tragedy.”

“Brings it back,” she said. “This new wife…”

“It would, of course,” I said encouragingly.

She looked at me intently. “You want to be careful of her…that sister of yours. There was something fishy…”

“Oh?” I said, daring to say no more for fear of stopping this much-desired and unexpected turn of the conversation.

“Well,” she went on, “after that other one…”

“Which other one?”

“People here are full of fancies. It was a long time ago. It was the same time of year. That old story. Have you heard the talk about those two families quarreling, and the girl going into the sea and not coming back?”

“Yes, I have heard of it. And you mean your daughter…?”

“She went swimming. People said there was something that made her go then. They found her body. She wouldn’t have gone swimming. Hadn’t she been told not to?”

I was a little lost but afraid to stop the flow. I said tentatively: “Do you feel there was some connection between your daughter’s death and that girl long ago?”

“It was drowning for both of them. Happen that’s what got people talking. Two drowned, you see.”

“It may be that several people have been drowned off this coast.”