Christmas At Thrush Green Read Online Free Page B

might have come in. Rosa was as thrilled as Gloria had been, and tentatively said that she had a younger sister just about to leave school, and might she be considered as the second waitress?
    ‘Poppy’s a good girl, Mrs Piggott. And she’s good at sums so won’t have no trouble with the bills.’
    Nelly admired anyone good at sums, and promised she would consider Poppy in due course. Rosa and Poppy - it sounded as though they were made for The Fuchsia Bush!
     
    A head now appeared in the hatchway between the two kitchens. ‘Is that burning I can smell, Nelly?’ called Gloria.
    ‘Great Scot!’ cried Nelly, leaping up. ‘My scones! I’ve been dreaming and quite forgot the time. Oh dear, oh dear, I’m going to have to start all over again. Thank goodness it was the second batch, and there’s enough to be going on with for the moment.’
    Gloria came through from the sandwich shop’s kitchen. She was very neat and tidy, and wearing a clean white apron with the word ‘Nelly’s’ printed across the bib section. That had been her idea, but she had quite properly asked her employer’s permission first. And Nelly was more than happy to give her approval.
    She would never be ‘best friends’ with Gloria - they were many years apart in age - but they worked well together. When she had invited Gloria to stop calling her ‘Mrs Piggott’ and to call her Nelly, it had taken a bit of time for Gloria to get used to the familiarity but that was in the past.
    ‘Since it was King Alfred wot burnt the cakes, we shall have to call you Queen Nelly now!’ Gloria laughed, but sensibly returned quickly to her kitchen before Nelly could think of a riposte.
    Nelly opened a window to let out the smell of burning, and tipped the scorched offering into the huge waste bin that stood near the back door.
    A moment later, the swing door from the tea-room opened. ‘We’ll be needin’ more scones soon, please,’ called Rosa.
    ‘Well, you’ll have to wait about twenty minutes. I regret to say that Management has slipped up,’ said Nelly, pulling the huge container of flour towards her, ‘but I’m back on the case.’

CHAPTER THREE
    A Wash Behind the Ears
    ‘ W e’ve had a lovely invitation to drinks with Phil and Frank after the Nativity play,’ said Joan Young a few days later. She and her husband Edward were having breakfast, and Willie Bond the postman had just delivered the morning post.
    ‘Are we going to the Nativity play?’ Edward muttered from behind his newspaper.
    ‘Of course we are!’ Joan replied, adding marmalade to her toast.
    ‘If you think we must,’ said the voice behind the newspaper.
    Joan was not to be put off. She was used to her husband being a little unforthcoming early in the morning. ‘We usually go and, anyway, we must go this year because the Curdles are so involved and we should support them.’ She looked across the table at Edward who was still intent on his newspaper. ‘Don’t you agree?’ she said, raising her voice just a little.
    Edward sighed, and laid down the paper. He knew when he was beaten. He would have to finish the article when he had some peace and quiet in his office later that morning.
    ‘Did I know about the Curdles being involved?’ he asked patiently.
    ‘Of course you did! Ben came round a month ago to make sure that Paul would be home in time.’
    Paul was their son and away at boarding school.
    ‘Isn’t fourteen a bit old to be in a Nativity play?’ Edward asked. ‘I thought they were for little children? I’m not sure he’ll be best pleased. Have you broken the news to him?’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ laughed Joan. ‘I wouldn’t let him be landed with being a shepherd, with a silly headdress and a toy sheep tucked under his arm. Phil and Frank are organizing this year’s Nativity and Phil is particularly keen that Paul should be one of the narrators. I understand Jeremy is going to be the other one.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Edward, re-filling his cup with coffee.