Chapter 3 [1]
The next morning at breakfast Louisa thought it best to broach the subject of her role in the campaign against the King's Mart hypermarket. She knew it was going to be difficult to persuade Martin that she was the right spokesperson for their advocacy group, but better to tell sooner than later.
"Martin, you met Arthur Davis yesterday. Man with MS?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Oh yes, we were at Portwenn Primary at the same time. Smart man. He was always smarter than all of us. He got a free place at Rugby School, and then on to Cambridge. Then he became this great barrister."
"Yes, he seemed like the rare patient with a brain."
"Martin!" exclaimed Louisa, but she was so used to these comments from Martin that she let it go straightaway. "Arthur is going to help our campaign to stop the King's Mart hypermarket plan."
"Good. That will keep him active, and if he helps maybe you'll have less to do with it," replied Martin.
"No, not really."
"No?" said Martin looking at her questioningly.
"Hmm… Arthur and Beth suggested I become our spokesperson. We need someone energetic and determined."
Martin was immediately annoyed, and it showed in his grimace: "Louisa, but don't you have enough to do already? You are energetic and determined, we all know that, but… we already are tired every day, both of us working rather hard at our jobs and keeping up professionally… it might mean you get busy also after hours with this advocacy group… I don't know that it is even worth it."
"It's not worth it? Why ever not?" asked Louisa rather piqued.
"Because King's Mart promises to create jobs, it will be convenient to have a large hypermarket so close to home, and the Parish Council would be fools… to disallow this investment in the area." He regretted the word fools as soon as he said it, but it was too late.
"So we, most of us Portwenn residents, are fools? Including me? So if I'm the spokesperson I'll be the chief of all fools, won't I? Then you have a fool for a wife, Martin!" Louisa exclaimed with some anger in her voice.
"Louisa, I did not mean it that way, sorry. You are not a fool. What I meant is that King's Mart has a very convincing case to make. That Cruella seems… very competent."
"Nigella Williams," said Louisa, very pointedly.
James started singing and tapping on the table to the famous cartoon tune:
Cruella De Vil
Cruella De Vil
If she doesn't scare you
No evil thing will
"Shh, James," said Louisa.
"Sorry."
"Nigella, whatever," said Martin, "she's a trained professional. She'll be determined and very well prepared. She won't be intimidated by anyone. Do you really want to fight her?"
"Yes, she doesn't scare me at all!"
"Yeah mum! Kick Cruella in…"
"James!" said Martin sternly.
"I wasn't going to say anything bad, dad."
"I hope not."
"Sorry."
"Martin," continued Louisa, "they might create some jobs around here, but all the small retailers in town will have to close shop, and that will destroy the livelihood of quite a few families. And the location they are proposing is a total eyesore that would be very bad for tourism. So they would impact the local economy and community in a very big way, and by and large not in a good way. "
"And you are the only one who can go around making speeches about this?"
"Not the only one, no, but I'm sure I can do it well. I believe in it. King's Mart is going to kill our village!"
Martin sighed: "I am not convinced of that, but I hope the Council will make an informed decision, and… I also hope the children and I will be able to see you once in a while in the next few weeks," he concluded with a mixture of sadness and disappointment in his voice.
"Martin… I won't do it if you are going to make a big fuss about it, or mope each time I go to a meeting. I do not want King's Mart to come between us."
Martin was silent for a few moments then said: "I should not prevent you from doing something that your… good citizen's conscience tells you to do… No. Go ahead if you feel so strongly about it."
"Well…" said Louisa dubiously, as this was exactly what she had expected: not really a fight, but a sort of sad, resigned acquiescence from Martin. "We'll see how it develops, and if I find it does not work for us, for our family… then I'll step down. We'll play it by ear, OK Martin?"
Martin looked up and made an effort to soften his features and briefly nodded. He was displeased, he felt his tranquil family routine was being upset and he did not like it at all. Down deep he recognized that Louisa's anti-King's Mart activism would be just a temporary inconvenience, but there were unpleasant sensations in him which he could not easily name, that made Louisa's commitment to this cause difficult to swallow. He sat there silently eating his breakfast, while Louisa and the children engaged in some idle chit-chat about the 101 Dalmatians cartoon.
Martin was uncharacteristically trying to understand himself, to figure out what was making him so uncomfortable. He was not going to like Louisa going out several evenings, but that was not a major issue, he'd spend those evenings with the children. He did not care too much one way or the other about King's Mart, as he could see both sides of the issue, or so he thought. It was… that Louisa would be spending a lot of time and energy working on an issue he did not really feel involved in, that did not belong to him, because… because he could not tell himself that he, Martin Ellingham, belonged to Portwenn. He didn't, he never could, he told himself. But it hurt, it really hurt that he could not be a part of something so important to Louisa, that he would have to feel alienated from an issue that was so central to the lives of all the people he saw every day, and especially the people he loved, his family. Rationally Martin understood this was something he could not allow really to disturb his marriage or his family, but he was upset he could not just make his feelings go away. He would, however, endeavor not to let them spill out, he would not trouble Louisa with his distress.
When he was done eating, not knowing exactly how to behave, and as he needed to start seeing patients shortly, Martin got up, walked to his wife, leaned down, and asked softly: "No hard feelings?"
"No, no hard feelings," she said and patted his arm as he turned to go. He passed the back of his fingers on James' and Joanie's cheeks by way of a parting caress and was gone.
"Mum?" asked Joanie.
"Yes?"
"That was not a quarrel, was it?"
"No love, it wasn't. Years ago we would have had a bad row over something like this, but not anymore."
"What's different now mum?" asked James, a self-appointed policeman of this marriage.
"We just know each other and our feelings a lot better now, that's all."
"Good… And mum? I really don't like Cruella. She thinks she's better than us."
"Got it in one, James. She does think that way, I'm sure."
"You need to make her change her mind mum."
Louisa had a little smile then: "I am definitely going to try."
Chapter 3 – [2]
While the Ellinghams were eating their breakfast, Ms. Williams was being driven to the local gym. The gym was a new small business that Clive Tishell had opened the year before to serve both tourists and locals wanting to exercise. He fixed an old barn that had a nice view of the sea and transformed it into a gym. Mrs. Tishell then decided to start an aerobics class populated mostly by obese middle-aged women who had been ordered by Doc Martin to lose weight. Mrs. Tishell of course always delighted in helping Doctor Ellingham keep the people of Portwenn as healthy as possible. She had procured all sorts of books and tapes and led the group in the exercise routine all days except Sundays, early in the morning before opening the pharmacy. Anyone could join the class, and Ms. Williams thought it might be amusing to see what sort of aerobics the local bumpkins did. Ms. Williams' knee was getting better, and she assumed she would be able to exercise.
When Ms. Williams arrived she found a group of women chatting and getting ready for their routine.
"Good morning," said Mrs. Tishell quite loudly to attract her students' attention, "time to stretch. Remember what the doctor told you last month Rose, you would not have pulled your calf muscle if you had stretched properly."
"Yes Sally," answered Rose, who was heavy-set and short, so that she looked rather like the antithesis of Ms. Williams. "God forbid I ever did something the doc doesn't like again, he might spank me this time," she sniggered, and so did all the other women except Mrs. Tishell. Though Rose had said this innocently, just because the doc was notoriously used to scolding his disobeying patients, Ms. Williams was startled and misunderstood. She took the remark about spanking as ridiculous with reference to Rose herself, but given that all the women immediately laughed with a knowing air, also as a joke alluding to the doctor's inclinations, as she supposed. "So," thought Ms. Williams, "the good doctor must be rather prone to these Freudian slips of his."
The women started stretching all their muscles according to a specific routine.
"Ah, last time I went to see the doc," said a white-haired older woman whose fleshy thighs and bottom wobbled under her tight gym pants, "he was all quiet and off thinking about something, he didn't yell at me not even once. I thought he might be sick."
"Nah," said Rose with a little smile and a puff as she stretched her legs, "he gets that way when he has a tiff with Louisa. He's thinking how to make up." Ms. Williams noted that this amused all the women as well, as they again exchanged knowing smiles and chuckles. So she ventured to ask a question as innocently as she could.
"Why," said Ms. Williams, "does the doctor not get along with his wife?"
At that the women, who had done their best to pretend the infamous London intruder from King's Mart wasn't actually there, all turned to look at her.
"Oh, you know," said Rose, "usual husband and wife tiffs. Not like before."
"Like what before?"
"Like a lot of splitting and getting back together."
"Yes, always problems between those two," sighed Mrs. Tishell, "I always thought they weren't really meant for each other, you know? Not soul mates."
"Well…," ventured Ms. Williams, "he does seem different from the rest of the local population. Is that it, he never got really used to the place?"
"No, oh no," declared Mrs. Tishell. "Being from London is not a reason that you cannot find a soul mate here. For instance, the doctor and I have always had a marvelous professional relationship, sharing scientific information and such," and here Mrs. Tishell had a very revealing, dreamy expression, with wide eyes shining. "One does not have to come from London to have a brain, you know. No. They are just different, very different, Doctor Ellingham and his wife. "
"But… has he ever tried to get back to London?" inquired Ms. Williams, suppressing an ironic smile at Mrs. Tishell's obvious admiration for the doc.
"Many years ago, yes," said Rose quickly, because the conversation might go where it would not be good for Sally to reminisce. "But Louisa would find it really hard to move, so they stay here. And I think he's gotten more used to the place than he knows."
Then the class started in earnest and they all had to expend their energy to execute their routine rather than to gossip about the doc. But Ms. Williams was confirmed in her mistaken opinion that Doctor Ellingham was not happily married, and probably sought pleasures of a sort his wife would not provide, something which was not uncommon in her experience. He might definitely appreciate having some fun on the side with a sophisticated fellow Londoner. She just had to create some opportunities, she concluded.
Chapter 3 – [3]
Martin was reviewing some patients' notes in his consulting room right before his midday break when there was a light knock on his door.
"Come in!" he called, hoping this would not materialize into a delay of his lunch.
Morwenna came in and said: "Doc, Al is here, about that computer software for your research."
"Ah, right, send him in."
Though Martin usually was not very observant of Morwenna's moods, he did notice she had a rather unhappy air about her. That sensation was confirmed when Al entered the consulting room also bearing a rather disgruntled expression. Martin surmised something must be amiss in their relationship, the nature of which he had never fully understood. Whereas his relationship with Louisa had in the past been very publicly an on-and-off affair, Al and Morwenna did appear to be on all the time, and had been for years now, except in a tepid enough manner that they did not seem to be progressing into any particular direction. Martin liked Al, and over the years had come to care for and appreciate Morwenna, who by now knew how to do her job at the surgery very expertly indeed. Martin therefore felt a bit sorry that these two younger people did not seems to know very well what they wanted, though he quickly told himself that it was really none of his business.
Al came in and said: "Hello doc. You asked me to help out with your database?"
"Yes, I did."
"And… you told me to come one day this week at lunch time, during your break… so here I am doc."
"Right… I'm hungry. Have you had lunch yet?"
"No."
"We can talk while I make some sandwiches, come through to the kitchen."
"Thanks doc, come to think of it I am rather hungry myself."
Once in the kitchen, while Martin busied himself preparing a simple lunch, Al asked: "So what is it you are trying to do with this database doc?"
"We have collected, and are still collecting, data about child obesity from many surgeries and schools in Cornwall. We have quite a few rather large data files, and Morwenna has done a lot of the data compilation. I would like to generate a number of graphics illustrating the data and insert them in the paper I'm publishing. I think I could probably figure out how to do it myself if I had time to sit in front of the computer, but I don't. I'll show you the database and if you know how to do the graphs then you can show Morwenna and check she does it correctly… Or you can show me, if it can be done relatively quickly."
"As you know doc, not all graphs are the same. Some type of data is best shown on a bar graph, some other on a pie graph, and so on. I will take a look at the data files and see which type of graph seems to work best, but then you'll have to be the one to decide the sort of graph that's best in each case. I could show Morwenna, I'm sure she could learn how to do it, but… I'd rather not, not right now."
Martin couldn't help himself, he did look up from his plate with an inquisitive look, though he did not ask the question that hovered in the air between them.
"Yeah," said Al, answering anyway, "we are having some problems… say doc, you've had your share of that with Louisa… How do you get them to calm down and listen to reason?"
"Them?"
"Women."
"Ah… I'm hardly an expert Al. The only woman I really know is Louisa, and even now there are times I have no idea why she gets upset about things I say or do."
"Right… But what do you do when you don't understand? You ask her to explain? You apologize even though you do not even know about what?"
Martin nodded vigorously and said: "Yes, do apologize, always, even if you have no idea what you are apologizing about. Louisa understands I don't always know why I'm apologizing, but she appreciates that nonetheless. Completely illogical, but it works."
"I'll do that then… I am just trying to point out that we should make more of a commitment doc, I'd like to settle down, maybe have kids… Morwenna always takes my suggestions either as meaningless mumbles or… like I'm trying to take advantage of her or something."
"That makes no sense at all," said Martin.
"Exactly, no sense at all," confirmed Al. They were silent for a little while, eating their sandwiches, both meditating on the mysteries of female behaviour. Then Martin asked: "Mumbles or taking advantage?"
"Yeah."
"Well… you do mumble a bit Al."
"I know, but doc, I do try not to mumble when I explain to Morwenna that I would like for us to be more serious with each other. The taking advantage part… I really don't know where that comes from."
Martin thought about that for a little while then said: "In the past I did say things to Louisa that she took to mean something completely different from what I meant. She was really angry. It still happens sometimes."
"I can believe that."
"Could it be that your… point of view is not clear because… you do mumble, and… since you are not clearly saying what you want Morwenna thinks you are in some way taking advantage of her?"
Al stared at Martin for a few moments, then slowly nodded and said: "Hey doc, I think you're on to something. That might be it. Maybe she does not understand I want to marry her."
"So you do want to marry her?"
"Yeah, that's what I've been telling you all along doc."
"No you haven't. You said you wanted some unspecified commitment, maybe kids, but you did not use the word marriage at all."
"It was not clear to you either then? That I want to marry her?"
"Well, no," said Martin, "it was not clear at all."
"That's it then, I need to be clearer as to what I mean."
"It's called proposing, Al."
"Proposing? Like the old fashioned thing, with a ring and all?"
"Yes, that. I know it's a bit corny, but if I'm to judge by Louisa… Yes, a formal proposal with a ring would definitely clarify your position. Even if the proposal itself comes out in a mumble, the ring will speak for itself."
"Right, that's brilliant doc. You don't give yourself enough credit, you do understand women."
Martin shook his head, in denial, but was glad to observe that he knew at least more than Al.
Chapter 3 – [4]
Jasmine was still attached to Joanie at school, but she was starting to interact with some of the other children as well, chiefly Melanie Holmes and James. As these two filled much of Joanie's life, Jasmine could not have easily avoided them even if she had wanted to. But, as it turned out, they were rather easy to accept. Melanie was a bossy girl generally, but she was only seven after all, and as Jasmine was a sort of exotic novelty Melanie was all smiles. James was Joanie's brother and clearly thinking to behave like a man taking Jasmine under his protection, which she had no difficulty perceiving, and which she found amusing and endearing.
Jasmine did not really understand why she could not speak. She knew she wanted to, yet she found it impossible to utter any sound. But she felt she could learn words in this new language, English, her father's language, nonetheless. One of the teachers gave her an alphabet workbook and asked Joanie and Melanie to sound out the letters for Jasmine. Jasmine then copied the entire alphabet many times and was able to memorize most of the sounds. She also memorized the sound and letter combination of quite a few of the basic, everyday words which Joanie and Melanie tried to teach her from a list provided by Louisa, such as man, woman, boy, girl, dog, house, loo, eat, walk, run, sleep and the like.
Towards the end of the day Jasmine decided to draw a picture. This happened in James' art class, under Beth Holmes supervision. Luckily it was not a picture about war: those images Jasmine had buried quite deep. It was a picture of two different kinds of sheep, separated by a black line that ran vertically across the paper. On the right side there was a smaller sheep with a dark white coat with some light brown coloring mixed in. This sheep stood in a landscape that contained rocks and sand as well as some green grass. On the left side there was a picture of a larger sheep whose coat was much thicker, longer and whiter. This sheep stood on a very green field, with the sea in the background. Beth smiled and said it was a very well executed picture, and then tried to figure out what Jasmine was trying to portray. James helped.
"Mrs. Holmes, this sheep on the left looks like the sort some farmers have around here, they have lots and lots of thick wool on them," said James.
"You think it's a local sheep?"
"Maybe. The other sheep is in a different place from here, there is no sea and it is too… yellow and brown to be here."
"James, I think you are on to something." Beth left for a moment and came back with an atlas. She opened up a page which was a map of the whole world. Beth showed the map to Jasmine, pointed at the local sheep and then at a very small Cornwall a few times, while repeating "sheep" and "Cornwall." Then she pointed at the other sheep and looked at Jasmine with a questioning look. Jasmine understood. She put her finger on Iraq. The atlas words were in English, but Jasmine knew where her country of origin was located.
"I think Jasmine is showing us that sheep in Iraq are a bit different from here," said Beth quite pleased.
"But not all sheep in Cornwall look like that," observed James quite puzzled. He felt there was more to this picture than a geography lesson of sorts. In fact Jasmine seemed to want to say something but couldn't, she looked at a loss, frustrated. Then she added something to each picture: a house and a white haired man and woman on the left; a house, a man with a turban and two women on the right, one woman with her hair covered, the other with dark hair, uncovered.
"Ah, I think these two on the left could be Mr. and Mrs. Rowe! So those on the right must be her family in Iraq," said James. This made more sense. He pointed at the white-haired man on the left and said: "Mr. Rowe? Grandfather?" Jasmine nodded at "Mr. Rowe." James repeated: "Grandfather," pointing at the man in the picture and at Jasmine back and forth. Then he pointed at the man with the turban on the right and asked: "Grandfather?" Jasmine had a sad look now, but understood and nodded. Then she wrote R under Mr. Rowe's picture and looked questioningly at James. James asked Beth, who was totally fascinated by the birth of this picture language between the two children: "How do you spell Rowe, Mrs. Holmes?"
"R.O.W.E."
James took the pencil and finished writing Rowe. Jasmine then wrote a G, showing that she had learned her alphabet sounds well this day. James understood immediately and wrote the rest of the word she wanted: Grandfather. Jasmine then wrote presumably the name of her Iraqi grandfather on the right in Arabic, and under that she copied the word Grandfather.
James clapped: "That's beautiful Jasmine! Both your grandfathers have sheep!"
Jasmine had a small smile, her new friends seemed to have understood her. Joanie smiled too and said: "Jasmine must feel a little bit like home then with the Rowe sheep."
"So," said practical James, "they are really not so different from us over there in Iraq."
"Right James, people are the same everywhere, only with different cultures," said Beth and moved to another group of pupils.
"Daddy does cultures," said Joanie.
"I don't think Mrs. Holmes meant dad's ghastly Petri dishes with mold in them, Joanie," replied James.
As soon as Beth was gone Jasmine furtively extracted something from her bosom. It was a worn envelope. From this she extracted a photograph and showed it to Joanie and James. She pointed at the beautiful, dark-haired woman in the photo, standing next to Major Rowe, and then at the equally dark-haired woman in her drawing.
"Your mum," said Joanie simply, "very pretty, like you."
Jasmine nodded, looked intently at the photo for a while and then put it away again.
When Mr. Rowe and Mrs. Rowe came to pick up Jasmine at the end of the school day Louisa made sure to show them the drawing and explain what it meant. Both grandparents smiled happily when they understood.
"Well, that explains something," said Mr. Rowe, "Jasmine here has been spending a lot of time with our sheep, grooming them, helping feed the lambs, hugging them and what not. We thought she was just finding more comfort among animals than people, but the sheep must make her feel at home."
"It's an extraordinary coincidence," observed Louisa, "both her grandfathers raising sheep."
"Well, my husband does not want to believe it," said Mrs. Rowe still looking at Jasmine's picture, enchanted, "but there is divine providence at work here."
Mr. Rowe rolled his eyes, but wisely concluded that if his wife was happy to thank God, well, he'd let her be. Then he said: "Louisa… If your committee to stop King's Mart hasn't got to it yet… a big market near the coastal path is going to kill some of my sheep, and they're a rare breed, Cornwall and Devon Longwools. They cross the street grazing and locals know it, even the doc, and let them through, but a lot more cars coming and going into the market would kill some of them for sure… they're not so smart… yet each animal is worth a fair amount. And… we have a number of debts on the farm, Louisa… we cannot afford to lose any animals."
"Good point Mr. Rowe. No, we had not included danger to local farm animals on our list, but we are going to now. Thank you, every little bit helps. But I am very sorry to hear about your debts."
"I hope that's temporary. Having Jasmine gives us much more of an incentive to fix the farm, make it profitable… we let it go after Jonathan…"
"Have you tried to get a loan from a bank?" asked Louisa.
"Yes, but they want to mortgage the property and the farm has been in our family for generations… I don't want to risk losing it to the bank. It's all for Jasmine now."
"I see," replied Louisa. "Well I don't know much about mortgages, unfortunately, but we'll do what we can to make sure your sheep are safe from cars at least."
"Thanks Louisa, for working on the committee… and for Jasmine."
"Shh, don't mention it Mr. Rowe, we're very happy to help," concluded Louisa with one of her warm smiles.
Chapter 3 – [5]
A few nights later Louisa walked down Roscarrock Hill pensively next to Martin. All day long she had been deeply involved in budgetary questions, of the sort that made you hope that money had far more elastic qualities than it did. No matter which way you turned the figures around, there never seemed to be enough to cover all the school's needs, at least not if you had to maintain appropriate nutritional standards, organize trips and sustain a viable art and music program. It was becoming ever more necessary to lean on parents, those who could afford it at least, to donate some money. Louisa was not a Head Teacher because she loved fundraising, she told herself rather disgruntled. Yet there appeared to be no way out, other than cuts which would displease everyone, children, parents and teachers alike. What to do?
Martin as usual got ahead of his wife every three steps or so, and then either slowed down or stopped altogether to let her catch up. After all these years his legs had not become any shorter, and his general desire to rush through any social gathering was evident in a gait that suggested hurry, and lack of patience. He was going to attend this particular school board meeting about finances because he felt it was his parental duty to do so, but there was no need to pretend he would enjoy it.
"Martin! Could we please slow down? I am going to get there sweaty and out of breath if we keep this pace."
"Louisa, perhaps you need to find the time to exercise more. You should not get out of breath at your age covering such a short distance."
"Martin! I am not covering the distance, you are making me run it! We are not late, so why are we going so fast?"
"This is how I walk, I'm not running."
"AH! Go ahead then, I'll walk by myself," said Louisa irritated by Martin's matter-of-fact obtuseness on this issue.
Martin then stopped and waited, but Louisa kept going, swinging her bag, her pony tail and everything else she had that would swing.
"Louisa, sorry, I will try to take shorter steps. Maybe you can take my arm and it might help."
She stopped, took a calming breath, sighed and said: "Only if you do not pull me along, Martin. Please. This shouldn't be so hard, should it?"
"No. You are right. I just would like for this meeting to be already over, so I am being impatient. Sorry."
Having said that, he started taking exaggeratedly short steps, which made his gait so odd that Louisa could not help but laugh.
"What now?" he asked, flustered.
"Nothing, never mind, we're almost there. But you can be quite funny, Martin."
Completely nonplussed by her laughter and seemingly incongruent combination of statements, Martin shrugged and filed this as just one more incomprehensible Louisa detail. He had lost count of those ages ago.
When they entered the conference room at the Village Hall they found most of the other Portwenn Primary teachers, as well as many parents, school board members, and… Ms. Williams. "Why is this woman always in my way?" thought Martin. "What's that minx doing here?" thought Louisa. Martin went to sit on one of the chairs reserved for the audience, while Louisa sat at the conference table.
Ms. Williams was standing next to the table talking with Mr. Bowman, one of the school board governors. Louisa looked at Ms. Williams and despite her better judgment felt immediately diminished. The woman looked positively stunning. Tonight she was wearing a tight black leather pantsuit cut in very stylish fashion, set off by a white silk blouse and an intricate necklace that, like everything this woman wore, must have cost a fortune. Mr. Bowman was obviously spellbound, while Ms. Williams moved and gestured like a woman used to pulling all the strings, completely in control and ready for anything, a consummate business executive. Louisa herself was wearing a nice dress, as ever, but knew all too well that her days of wearing anything as tight as that pantsuit were definitely over. Martin did make her feel beautiful, she was sure by now that he would still be telling her that she was beautiful in their eighties and nineties. But that did not change the fact that Ms. Williams eclipsed every other woman around her, and probably the only one in the hall not to notice was Martin himself. Louisa did look at Martin to see whether he was by any chance admiring Ms. Williams, but of course he was instead very busy removing from his jacket some microscopic dust particles visible only to him. Louisa sighed and tried to tell herself that she could hold her own with Ms. Williams, but right then she could not really believe it.
After a few minutes Mr. Bowman called the meeting to order, and quite soon it was Louisa's turn to speak. She went over the school's budget, explaining each main expense category and how funds were falling short.
"Unless we receive more funding, or are able to collect from donors, we will have to cancel several planned trips, reduce supply purchases, and completely cancel the acquisition of new computers for each classroom."
Mr. Bowman, who was serving as moderator, cleared his voice and said: "Not an unusual situation Mrs. Ellingham, we have many schools experiencing similar difficulties. Unfortunately state funding is not going to increase, to the contrary. We are all being asked to apply ourselves to cuts, or fundraising, or both."
"None of which improves the work we do with the children in each classroom! We always have to try to improve education, but with all the financial pressure that is not so easy to do," lamented Louisa.
Mrs. Williams cleared her voice. "If I may?" she asked looking at Mr. Bowman.
"But of course, Ms. Williams."
"Good evening. I am Nigella Williams, King's Mart West Marketing Manager. I am here in Portwenn to supervise the last stages of preparation to present our plan to build a King's Mart hypermarket just outside the village. As you probably know Parish Council will vote on our plan shortly. Contrary to what many people believe, King's Mart desires to be well integrated in small communities, it seeks in fact to become part of the community by contributing in areas of need. That is why King's Mart, once established in this village, will set up a continuous fundraising system to benefit Portwenn Primary."
"Really? And how would that work?" asked an incredulous Louisa.
"The way it works is that first of all Portwenn Primary registers on the fundraising website which King's Mart supports. Secondly, any customers who wish to do so can register their debit cards online at this same website and choose Portwenn Primary as their beneficiary," answered Ms. Williams. "Then for every purchase made at King's Mart using these registered debit cards, King's Mart will turn 3 percent to Portwenn Primary. This benefit will become effective and continuous once purchases have reached the 3,000 pounds mark. This may seem like a lot, but in reality it is not. You have to consider that any friends or relatives you have around the country who shops at King's Mart can also register their debit cards and contribute to your school even from a distance. Thus reaching that 3,000 minimum is not as difficult as you might think."
Martin, who thought this scheme was not so bad, saw Louisa's coloring change, a sure sign she was becoming agitated over this seemingly generous proposal.
"So Ms. Williams," asked Louisa in a rather heated tone of voice, "you are saying that before we see any benefits we have to take 3,000 pounds off the pockets of local Portwenn businesses and put them into King's Mart already huge coffers… and we need to start advertising on your behalf with all our friends and relatives around the country so that you may sell even more everywhere?"
"But Mrs. Ellingham, you have to think it's fundraising, that's how it's done: you do ask locals, friends and family to buy this or that, and a portion of the earnings is turned to charity. So there is no getting around the asking," smirked Ms. Williams with the clear intent to make Louisa appear naive.
"What about forcing people to buy at your store then, instead of in the village?" rebutted Louisa in a clearly hostile manner at this point.
"Nobody is forcing anyone to do anything," replied Ms. Williams. "People can choose whether they want to buy say two kilos of potatoes at a village store and the school gets nothing from the local vendor, or whether they want to buy it at King's Mart and a small amount will go to Portwenn Primary. One small amount here, and one small amount there, all put together could buy one of those computers, or pay for one of those school trips."
Ms. Williams said this in a rather condescending manner which even Martin could perceive, despite his general disregard for social niceties. He could almost hear the part Ms. Williams did not say but was clearly thinking: "You would know all this if you were not such a country bumpkin." And how could Martin almost hear her think this? Because he had thought this himself so many times about so many of the villagers that it had become second nature. But he did not care to have his own wife addressed that way. For the first time he actually had an inkling of how Louisa must feel each time he disparaged the village and its inhabitants for being backward, provincial, ignorant, and idiotic. And Ms. Williams was not finished yet.
"Mrs. Ellingham, what is your fundraising plan then, if this one does not suit you?"
Martin felt really sorry seeing Louisa's expression passing from angry, to dismayed, to dejected: she did not have a plan and would have to admit it.
"We do not yet have a fundraising plan, we are still discussing what's best for the school." Louisa felt really angry with herself at this point, for not being better prepared. True, she had not known that Ms. Williams would be at the meeting, but that did not change the fact that right now she did not have sufficient arguments to rebut King's Mart fundraising suggestion. Though Louisa felt very strongly that the arrival of a hypermarket in Portwenn would forever change the village, right then instead of feeling ready to battle Ms. Williams, she felt defeated, and it showed. Martin was disappointed with himself for not being able to intervene to say something that could help Louisa. But some help did come, from a source Martin had not expected.
From the back of the room they heard a man clear his voice. Everyone turned to look in that direction and saw Bert Large who, since his whiskey business had taken off, had become not quite elegant, but generally better dressed and less heavy than he had been in his days as a plumber and restaurateur. Bert made a sign with his heavy hand to indicate he wanted to speak.
"Go ahead, Councilor Large," said Mr. Bowman.
"This whole speech by Miss Williams… I think it's rather offensive."
"Offensive?" said Ms. Williams, "How did I offend you, Mr. Large?"
"Not me, miss, but our community. What do you know about our community? Nothing. How can you come here, all the way from London, and pretend to know more about how we should run our business here and our school even? You have no idea how this community works and how we help each other in times of need. The small businesses are the backbone of this village, so it is quite offensive to hear you say that we do not give back."
"So… how do you give back? Is there a Large Cornish Whiskey school fundraiser that we do not know about?" asked Ms. Williams, her tone ironic.
"Miss," replied Bert, "I walked the streets of Portwenn my entire life struggling to make a living, so if there's anyone who knows what it's like to have a small business and keep your head above water, that's me. I know for a lot of the small business owners in the village it is difficult to make ends meet, so they are not able to make donations. Large Cornish Whiskey, however, can do it. We have not set up a fund raising scheme for the school, but we will. I don't think I need to consult my business partners to declare that 5 percent of each sale of Large Cornish Whiskey will go to the school, and starting from ZERO, not 3,000 pounds. That might not solve all the school's problems, but it's a start. We do know how to take care of our own, miss, we don't need London hotshots to come tell us what to do."
Louisa sent Bert her warmest smile. There was not much that Ms. William could reply to this, other than what she did say: "Well, as successful as your business is, Mr. Large, it won't be able to contribute as much as King's Mart."
But Bert knew his people, they would not be bought by King's Mart: the villagers really did not like big city strangers who thought they knew better than the locals how things should be run in Portwenn.
Martin had found that out many years ago at his expense as well. He had been taught some hard lessons about what you could and could not do in Portwenn. But while his effort had been to bring much better health care to the village, in the long run immensely benefiting the community, King's Mart would bring nothing as lofty, as they were obviously just seeking to make money. To his utter surprise Martin felt he sympathized with Bert's point of view, and not with his fellow Londoner, Ms. Williams, despite the fact that the villagers were treating her no better than he had been upon his arrival in Portwenn.
When the meeting was over Ms. Williams tried to catch Martin's attention, but he did not see her. He was seeing nothing but Louisa's disheartened countenance. Failing in anything that had to do either with the school or the village was very hard for her, and this was failing both ways. He was quick to her side and, uncharacteristically, as soon as they started walking back home he put his arm around her shoulders and brought her closer to himself. This time he had no difficulty keeping her slower pace, he was so intent on trying to communicate support with this modest bodily contact.
"I'm sure you'll come up with a better fundraising plan than King's Mart Louisa, I know you can do it," he told her with as much conviction as he could muster.
"Oh Martin, I have been thinking about it for quite some time, but I have not been able to come up with anything half as convincing as what that minx proposed! Martin… you married an idiot!"
"Ah no, Louisa! Look at me: NO! You know me better than that, I would never have married an idiot!"
Louisa looked at him for a moment and then actually burst into laughter, which until a moment before she would have thought impossible. He was startled.
"So the proof that I'm not an idiot is the fact that you married me?" she asked.
"Well, it is one obvious proof at least."
She laughed again: "I love you Martin. Thank you for being always so… Martin, and never really changing. I needed that."
Chapter 3 – [6]
After the school board meeting Bert decided he would go talk to Ruth Ellingham. It was late, but he knew Ruth never went to bed early, she kept reading and writing sometimes till the wee small hours. He slowly made his way to Ruth's home and rang the bell.
Ruth was surprised to hear the doorbell, but having ascertained it was Bert, she opened the door wondering what the man might want at this hour. Bert had appeared rather subdued lately, which was his way when something was not right in his odd world. As a consequence she did not mind too much the interruption in her routine.
"Come in then," said Ruth, "let us have some of our fine whiskey together, sit down."
Bert sat on the couch and gladly accepted the small glass of straight whiskey which Ruth put in his hand.
"So, what is it?" asked Ruth sitting back on her favorite, very comfortable winged armchair.
"I come from the school board meeting. Poor Louisa. Miss Williams seemed ready to eat her alive."
"Ms. Williams was there?"
"Yeah, she was proposing a fundraising scheme for Portwenn Primary, when Louisa had none." Bert went on to explain the King's Mart scheme.
"Well, it might work, Ms. Williams is too clever by half if you ask me," commented Ruth.
"She disparaged the village business owners for not giving anything, when none of them are rich and several can barely make it to the end of the month, especially in winter… So… I had to make a pledge."
"Oh, what did you pledge?"
"Mmm… your money and mine, and Al's…. Five percent of every sale of Large Cornish Whisky for Portwenn Primary. If you don't agree it can come out of my share. I don't need it."
"No, neither do I. Well done Bert. I'm sure Al will go along as well. But… you don't look happy."
"I'm not… It's not enough. Ruth, all my life I wanted to become a successful businessman, and it came very late, but… now that I'm the respectable and well-to-do owner of a thriving company… I have no idea what to do with the money, it doesn't make me happy to have it. I am happy for Al of course, I no longer need to worry about my boy's future… but what is it for? I must tell you Ruth, I think I might have been happier when I had to struggle. Back then I always had some scheme to keep me busy, something to look forward to, you know? Now that I'm not the struggling Bert anymore, what am I? Where do I belong? I don't know!" and he gulped down the rest of his whisky.
"I see Bert. I did not expect this much introspection from you. But you know, this happens when you get older, you pass the torch. You are passing it to Al, and that's the way it should be."
"But I really don't feel old Ruth, not at heart I don't."
"Tell me Bert… All these disastrous money-making schemes you were always involved in… they kept you busy, active, right?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I've run out of schemes, of ideas, because I don't need to scheme anymore. And that's so… BORING!"
Ruth grinned at that. She poured one more measure of straight whiskey each and said:
"You know Bert, you may not need to scheme for yourself anymore, but other people still need to, or you can scheme for them."
Bert stared at the old lady with a bewildered expression. What on Earth was she talking about?
"What? I should think of business schemes for other people?"
"Unless you want to start another business for yourself…"
"Oh no, Large Cornish Whiskey gives me more than enough, and I cannot give up that security for Al's sake. No."
"Well then," said Ruth reasonably, "couldn't you help other people set up their own small business ventures? There are quite a few young people who would rather stay than leave for a job elsewhere if they could support themselves in the village."
"Don't I know, I spent most of my life struggling to stay in Portwenn."
"So I suggest to you the Albert Large Small Business Venture Fund," declared Ruth rather solemnly.
Another bewildered stare from Bert.
"How's that supposed to work?" he asked.
"Well…you could set up a sort of trust fund at a local bank and seek out small business proposals, from young local people, that you can then help finance. You could extend low-interest loans to support promising projects."
"Oh no, no interest at all Ruth. God, remember those loan sharks? Oh no, the Albert Large & Son Small Business Venture Fund will charge no interest whatsoever. We could advertise and set up a competition, the Fund will help finance small business ventures within Portwenn itself, that will be a sinquanon…"
"Sine qua non, Bert. "
"Yes, that, the business must be located in the village and owned by locals. I think we need a barber and hair salon in the village, don't you?" and from there Bert launched into a long, rambling explanation about how and where to invest and which young people might be interested. He did not stop talking for half an hour, very excited, with that old sparkle in his eyes, and none of his recent melancholy.
"Bert," said Ruth suppressing a yawn with difficulty, "I really need to go to sleep now. I lost count how many glasses you consumed, but you can just crash in the guest room if you like."
Bert was silent for a few moments and then said: "Don't take this the wrong way Ruth, but… I love you, you saved my life! Again! You are a GENIUS! This is exactly what I need to do, and to show Miss Williams that we take care of our own in Portwenn, and we don't need any nasty Londoners to come tell us what to do!"
"Except a Londoner just told you what to do, Bert."
Taken aback Bert said: "Yeah, but, but… you're not nasty, Ruth!"