A Mind of her Own Page 7

  ‘I rather think he will mind when he finds out what has happened to it,’ the policeman told her.

  Betty sighed. ‘Yes, you are probably right,’ she agreed.

  ‘His name and address please,’ the officer said curtly.

  ‘Peter Brown, Clover Cottages, Ashmore, Buckinghamshire,’ Betty told him.

  ‘Mr Brown’s telephone number?’

  ‘You’re not going to phone and tell him what’s happened, are you?’ Betty prevaricated. ‘He’ll be so upset. Let me tell him when I get home.’

  ‘His telephone number, please,’ the officer repeated.

  Reluctantly, Betty gave him the details.

  The policeman noted it down and then spoke into his radio.

  ‘I see,’ he said in response to what was said by the person he was calling. ‘Tell him we have located his car, and the person who took it. I’m afraid it has been seriously damaged,’ he added as he ended the call.

  ‘Is your vehicle still drivable?’ the police officer asked the lorry driver.

  ‘Not sure, I haven’t had the chance to try,’ the man scowled. ‘As far as I know there’s some damage to the front, but nothing very serious. But my headlights are smashed and, anyway, I don’t fancy risking the ninety-mile drive back to my depot with it in that state as there may well be other damage that isn’t visible. One close call is enough for me,’ he added with a guffaw.

  ‘We’re not ready for you to leave, but I was hoping you could move it off the road. At the moment there is a serious hold up of traffic, so if you can run it up onto the grass verge then it will allow cars to pass.’

  ‘OK, I’ll see what I can do once you’ve assured me that this accident is not my fault.’

  ‘My colleague is marking out the area and we will need a statement from you but, as far as I can tell, the accident was not your fault.’

  Ten

  As she listened to the long discussion, about how they should attempt to disentangle the car from the lorry, Betty’s heart sank when she heard a familiar voice from close behind her say, ‘Heavens, that does look a mess. We’re going to have to do something drastic about her before she kills herself; this is the second road accident she’s had in just a couple of weeks.’

  Before she could make up her mind whether to turn around and face Tim, or try to move away before he spotted her, she heard an even more familiar voice say, ‘As long as Betty is all right, that is all that matters. After all, a car is only a heap of metal.’

  ‘Well, yours certainly is now,’ Tim answered with a dry laugh.

  It couldn’t be them, she thought guiltily, as the blood rushed to her face. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder in the direction the voices were coming from, and her doubts were confirmed. A crowd of onlookers had gathered and, amongst them, Tim and Peter were standing together only a few yards behind her, and she knew they were talking about her.

  She pushed her way towards them. Peter was the first to see her.

  ‘Are you all right, Betty?’ he asked, solicitously moving towards her and putting an arm around her protectively.

  ‘Apart from this,’ she said pointing to the bump the size of a duck’s egg on her forehead, where she had banged it against the windscreen.

  Peter bent down and gently kissed the huge bruise, shaking his head in dismay.

  ‘Hasn’t anyone suggested that you go to hospital in case you have concussion?’ Tim said worriedly.

  ‘I’m all right so don’t fuss, Tim,’ she said sharply.

  He gave a small dismissive shrug, as if resigned to the fact that it was pointless arguing with her.

  ‘The same can hardly be said for Peter’s car,’ he said snidely.

  ‘No, and I’m sorry about that, Peter,’ Betty said contritely.

  Peter smiled at her forgivingly. ‘You didn’t do it on purpose,’ he said softly, and once again his lips pressed gently on her brow.

  ‘You must be mad to let her take it out on her own,’ Tim said looking at Peter.

  Peter and Betty exchanged glances and she waited for him to tell Tim the truth; that she had taken it without his permission. Instead his arm tightened around her shoulders, and he said nothing.

  As Tim moved away and went closer to where two mechanics were struggling to wrestle the two vehicles apart, Betty turned and looked directly at Peter. ‘What on earth made you bring Tim with you,’ she said in an annoyed voice.

  ‘I didn’t bring him, he brought me. As your next-of-kin he was informed about the accident. He wondered if it was my car you had been driving, so he phoned and told me what the police had just told him about you being involved in an accident. As my car was missing it wasn’t difficult for us to put two and two together. You were missing and so was my car, and you were both involved in a road accident.’

  ‘So you decided to come here together.’

  ‘Yes, because knowing that my car was missing, Tim offered to drive me and it seemed to be a speedier way of getting here than ringing for a taxi.’

  ‘It all sounds so very logical, Peter, when you put it like that,’ Betty sighed.

  ‘Does it? Well, perhaps you can explain what you were doing driving my car?’

  ‘I wanted to prove that I could handle a small car. When you went off to have your haircut, I had the bright idea of borrowing yours for half an hour and proving to myself, and the rest of you, that I could do it.’

  ‘That also sounds logical,’ Peter agreed, ‘but not so much when you see how it has all ended up. When I first caught sight of the two vehicles my heart was in my mouth in case you had been hurt or, worse still, killed,’ Peter told her. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to go on living if that had happened.’

  ‘Oh Peter!’ Betty rested her head on his broad chest, tears prickling her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry about your car, but I really couldn’t run that fox over, now could I?’

  ‘Fox?’ Peter frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Betty told him about how the crash had come about and then had to repeat her story to Tim, who had given up watching the men struggling to free Peter’s car from the lorry and returned to join them.

  ‘You swerved to avoid a fox,’ he said in disbelief.

  ‘It was barely more than a cub, and so beautiful and full of life,’ Betty murmured.

  ‘I suppose that got away safely,’ he added dryly.

  ‘It must have done. I didn’t give it another thought after I looked up and found that huge lorry towering over me. Your car seemed awfully small then,’ she told Peter with a smile. ‘I could only just see the driver’s face, he was so high above me. I’m very sorry. I’ll pay for the repairs, of course.’

  ‘Repairs!’ Tim scoffed. ‘Judging by what they are doing to it, it won’t be a case of repairs but of Peter needing a new car.’

  Betty’s hand flew to her mouth but she said nothing.

  ‘This sort of caper has got to stop, Mother,’ Tim said in a censorial tone. ‘You seem to have lost the ability to think sensibly. Now perhaps you understand why we want you to go into a home.’

  ‘That’s rather extreme, isn’t it,’ Peter intervened, hotly. ‘There’s nothing at all wrong with your mother’s power of thinking; accidents will happen.’

  ‘Accident! Why have an accident over a fox? Common sense should prevail in a case like that.’

  ‘Let’s be fair about the matter,’ Peter protested. ‘Your mother didn’t want to harm a wild animal so she swerved. It’s a natural reaction. If the lorry had stopped more quickly she wouldn’t have crashed into it.’

  ‘From what I can understand, the lorry driver had no alternative and it’s lucky for her that his brakes and his reaction were as good as they were. Another few feet and she wouldn’t be standing here defending her thoughtless action. She’d be in hospital or in the mortuary. She needs to be somewhere under constant supervision. I’m surprised, Peter, that you can be so lenient when your car is a write-off.’

  ‘As I said before, a car is only a heap
of metal and your mother’s life is far more important than my car.’

  ‘Surely you are concerned that she took your car without asking you.’

  ‘I’m sorry she had an accident in it, but as for taking it without asking me first, well—’ he shrugged – ‘she knows that what is mine is hers. She probably didn’t even think it was necessary to ask me, and rightly so.’

  ‘I still maintain that she needs to be under constant supervision,’ Tim muttered.

  ‘Right, then tell her to marry me and I’ll be responsible for her,’ Peter said, his jaw set and his eyes as hard as grey flint.

  Tim didn’t answer. He looked at his watch. ‘If you are ready I’ll run you both home. That’s if the police say that you are free to go,’ he added, glaring at his mother.

  The officer in charge looked at his notes and frowned when Tim said he thought he should take Betty home. ‘Give me a minute, sir. The gentleman whose car she was driving is here and he may wish to prosecute her for taking and driving his car without his permission.’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Peter said quickly. ‘No, I don’t wish to make any charges, officer.’

  ‘She had taken it without your permission?’ the officer persisted.

  ‘Technically, I suppose you could say that, but as I wasn’t at home she had no option if she wanted to use it right away.’

  The officer pushed his hat back and rubbed his brow. He didn’t know what to say. Most people were incensed that someone had taken their car without their permission, but this chap seemed almost resigned to the fact, even though it was so badly smashed up that it almost certainly needed to be written off.

  Tim took his silence to mean they could go, and began shepherding his mother through the small crowd, leaving Peter to follow.

  Peter stopped to speak to the officer and Betty wondered what he was telling him. After a few minutes, he followed them to Tim’s car.

  No one spoke on the journey back to Ashmore. As they approached the village Peter said, ‘If you drop us off at the top of the high street you can get straight back to your office. I’ll see your mother home.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? After what’s happened, I mean.’

  ‘Let’s forget about it,’ Peter said brusquely.

  ‘I don’t think we can do that, I wish we could,’ Tim said. ‘There are going to be all sorts of repercussions, not only with the police, but also with your insurance company as well. If you need any help sorting things out do let me help. I have a very good solicitor.’

  ‘I am quite sure I won’t need any help,’ Peter told him. ‘There were plenty of witnesses. The police seem to have all the details they need.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Tim said cautiously. ‘That lorry driver looked pretty angry. He may find himself in trouble with his boss when he gets back, even if it is only because he can’t deliver his load on time.’

  As he stopped at the start of the high street to let them out of the car, Tim once again queried with Peter that he didn’t mind seeing Betty home.

  ‘I’ll pop in when I close the office and check she is all right,’ he promised.

  ‘There’s no need for you to do that, Tim. I’ll make sure she is safe and sound. I’ll fix her a cup of tea, sit with her, and talk over what happened, so don’t worry. If I think she ought to have someone with her overnight then I’ll phone you or Mary and let you know.’

  ‘Or you’ll do nothing and stay there with her,’ Tim said quietly.

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that if it is what she wants,’ Peter assured him.

  ‘Your cottage or mine?’ Peter asked as Tim drove off.

  ‘Mine,’ Betty said firmly. ‘My shoes are killing me, I want to get them off and put my feet up. Look,’ she went on, ‘you don’t have to come in with me. I’m quite capable of making myself a cup of tea.’

  ‘I know that but I want to hear your version of exactly what happened, and why you took my car without saying a word to me. As Tim said, another few yards in to that lorry and you would have been killed outright.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve given you all a fright, and very sorry about your car, Peter. You see—’

  ‘Not now,’ he said, cutting her short, as they reached Clover Crescent. ‘Wait until we’re indoors and you have taken your shoes off and put your feet up. By then, I will have made the tea and you can relax and tell me everything while we drink it.’

  He bent and kissed her, this time on the lips, not on her brow. ‘I want to hear every detail, remember,’ he said earnestly.

  Betty looked at him gratefully. Why did she always put up so much resistance whenever Peter wanted to help her, she wondered. She studied him; he was tall, broad-shouldered and, for a man in his seventies, although his hair was grey, he was still good-looking with a firm jaw line and intelligent brown eyes.

  He was kind, understanding and good company. So why didn’t she turn to him when she needed a helping hand? She knew the answer immediately. She wanted to keep her independence. She sighed. So far that seemed to have resulted in one thing after another going wrong. Did it mean that she really was getting old, that she really was losing the plot?

  Eleven

  For the next few months, in the run up to Christmas, Betty decided to be nicer to Peter. He no longer had a car, but he hired one in order to take her into Windsor to do her Christmas shopping.

  She wanted to buy him something very special for Christmas but she couldn’t see anything that seemed to be suitable. The one thing that she wanted to buy him was a car, but even if she spent her savings she knew it wouldn’t be enough money to do so.

  She toyed with the idea of asking him to buy a car in their joint names and she would pay off the hire purchase instalments, but she knew in advance what his answer to that would be.

  She looked round her cosy sitting room and wondered if there was anything she could sell to raise money. Tim was always saying that the room was overcrowded and that she would find it easier to get around it if there were less things in there. Tim liked the minimalistic look. His wife, Brenda, called bare walls and no ornaments soulless, and claimed it was all right as long as you chose the right items and accessories, which of course she did.

  Betty took closer scrutiny of the room. She was sure that Brenda considered it be a hotchpotch of bits and pieces of rubbish and junk. She was attached to most of them because she had grown up with them. There were ornaments that had belonged to her parents, and even her grandparents. She studied them critically, wondering if any of them were of value. She sighed. She had absolutely no idea at all; it needed an expert eye.

  She was quite sure that none of the family had any idea, so she looked through the Yellow Pages to find out where the nearest antique shop was. The she telephoned and told the man who answered that she was thinking of disposing of some pictures, ornaments and pieces of furniture so was he interested in buying them. He promised to send someone along to have a look and if there was anything there he was interested in he would tell her a price.

  A few days later a young man did turn up and said he had come to see what she had for sale.

  Betty hesitated. He was well dressed in his late twenties, and he certainly looked as though he was a businessman. He was very charming, but he looked rather young to know anything about antiques.

  ‘You can come in and have a look and give me a price,’ she told him.

  An hour later her walls were practically bare. All the ornaments had gone from her shelves and from the glass-fronted display cabinet in her sitting room.

  Betty looked around the rather empty room and shuddered. She had never really valued any of those things and yet, now that they were gone, it seemed to be a tremendous loss; almost like losing old friends.

  She set about rearranging what was left and by the end of the afternoon, tired out but satisfied that she had done a good job, she sat down with a cup of tea in a contented frame of mind.

  Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door, so she ha
uled herself up again and went to open it. She found Tim standing there with an enormous grin spread across his face.

  ‘This is a surprise. You’re just in time, I’ve just made a pot of tea. Would you like one?’

  ‘Great! I’ve just driven back from London. I’ve been to an auction there and I’ve some incredible news for you!’

  As he entered the sitting room the excitement faded from his face, and he looked puzzled as he stared around. ‘What on earth is going on, what are you doing, Mother? Where have all the pictures and all the ornaments gone?’

  ‘I’m trying to do what you said I should do; I’m being minimalistic and getting rid of all the clutter.’

  Tim frowned. ‘You haven’t thrown them out, have you?’

  ‘No,’ Betty told him. ‘At long last I’ve taken your advice and got rid of them. I had a young man over here from the local antiques shop and he’s given me a good price for them all.’

  ‘Mother!’

  Betty looked puzzled. She didn’t like his tone, nor the look on his face. ‘They were mine so I sold them,’ she stated defiantly.

  ‘No!’ he corrected her, ‘they weren’t yours, they were part of our inheritance. Originally, they belonged to our grandparents and their parents. What on earth were you thinking of?’

  Betty bristled. ‘Look, I wanted some money to give to Peter as a Christmas present, so that he could replace his car.’

  Tim regarded her stonily. ‘Does he know you’ve done this?’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t, it’s meant to be a surprise. I just told you I was planning on going to give him the money as his Christmas present.’

  ‘So how much did you get for them?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ his mother retorted.

  ‘I rather think it is,’ Tim rejoined. ‘I came to tell you that I’ve just seen a landscape picture that I thought must be a replica of the one hanging here on our wall being sold at auction. I was amazed to see that it had a thumb mark in the bottom right half corner, exactly the same as ours. I couldn’t understand that, because I had heard the story handed down in the family about how that came to be there. It was the thumb mark made by your great-great-grandfather, who bought the painting from an artist friend, and was so eager to take it home that he picked it off the artist’s easel before it was dry.’