Free Imogen by Jilly Cooper Page B

love,’ said the butcher’s wife. ‘Come to lend a hand? I thought you were off on your holidays tomorrow.’
    ‘I am,’ said Imogen, frantically searching round for the piles of coats.
    ‘If you’re looking for your Dad, he’s over there.’
    Imogen peered through the dusty gloom and froze with horror. In the far corner, in front of a long freckled mirror, Miss Jarrold from the Post Office was trying on Imogen’s school coat, which came down to her ankles, and being encouraged on either side by Mrs Connolly, her mother’s daily woman, and the vicar.
    ‘There’s still some wear in it,’ Miss Jarrold was saying. ‘I could get my sister from Malham to turn it up.’
    ‘Oh very becoming, Miss Jarrold,’ the vicar was saying jovially. He had his hearty ‘flock-off’ smile on again.
    ‘Not sure about the colour, Elsie,’ said Mrs Connolly. ‘It never did anything for Miss Imogen either.’
    ‘I’m only going to use it for gardening and walks, seems a bargain for 50p,’ said Miss Jarrold, and turning back to the mirror, she adopted a model girl’s stance, shoving her hands into the pockets. ‘Oh look, there’s something inside.’
    Imogen was across the room in a flash, just as Miss Jarrold pulled the purple packets and Nicky’s letter out of the pockets.
    ‘Whatever’s all this?’ she went on.
    ‘They’re mine,’ said Imogen, snatching them from her.
    Miss Jarrold was so startled she stepped back with a resounding crack on some 78s of the Mikado.
    ‘Imogen,’ thundered the vicar, ‘where are your manners, and what have you got there?’
    ‘Nothing,’ she muttered, going as red as a GPO van.
    ‘Love letters and photos,’ said Mrs Connolly calmly, who disliked the vicar intensely, and had seen exactly what was inside the pocket. ‘No girl likes to lose those, do they, love? Oh look, there’s Lady Harris at the door. I expect she wants to discuss the refreshments with you, vicar.’
    ‘Ah, yes, indeed. Welcome, welcome,’ said Mr Brocklehurst in a ringing voice, finishing off the Mikado altogether as he went towards the door.
    For a minute Imogen and Mrs Connolly looked at each other.
    ‘Thanks,’ stammered Imogen. ‘That was terribly kind.’
    ‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ said Mrs Connolly. ‘My Connie’s been on them things for years. I’d beat it if I were you, before your Dad has second thoughts. Have a nice time. ’Spect you’ll come back brown as a berry.’
    ‘Seems in a hurry,’ said Miss Jarrold innocently. ‘Is she courting?’
    ‘Happen she is,’ said Mrs Connolly, who knew perfectly well Miss Jarrold read all the cards that came through the Post Office. ‘She hasn’t told me owt about it at any rate.’
    The last few hours were a torment, but at last Imogen was on the train to London, her small suitcase on the rack. Her mother, Juliet and Homer, drooping and looking gloomy, stood on the platform. Suddenly Imogen felt a great lump in her throat. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so awful and boring the last few weeks. I’ll make it up to you, really I will,’ she said, leaning out of the window. ‘I wish you were coming too.’
    ‘We’ll all miss you,’ said her mother.
    ‘Don’t forget to send me a card,’ said Juliet.
    ‘Be careful about drinking the water,’ said her mother.
    ‘Remember chastity begins and ends at home,’ said Juliet. ‘Here’s something to read on the train,’ handing her a parcel as the train drew out. In it were copies of the Kama Sutra and The Sun is my Undoing .
    Gradually the dark stone walls, the mill chimneys, the black-grimed houses, the rows of washing and dirty white hens in the gardens were left behind. She was on her way.

Chapter Five

An hour and a half from London she started doing her face. Half an hour away she decided she looked awful and took all her make-up off and put it on again. The new, very cheap dress, ivy green with a white collar, which had looked so pretty when she’d tried it on in the shop, was