Magnus Mills - All Quiet on the Orient Express

I glanced casually through the geometry exercises, which all seemed fairly straightforward. Gail had already answered one of them herself, and I was quite pleased to see that she’d got it right, apart from spelling hypotenuse incorrectly.

♦

There was no sign of Mr Parker when I arose next morning, but the doors of the big shed had been left open and the tractor and circular saw were all ready to go. I felt quite professional when I arrived at Stonecroft at eight o’clock on the dot. The place was completely different to Hillhouse in that it was sited very low down at the foot of steeply rising ground. Access was by means of a long deep lane running between two hedgerows, and I would never have found the entrance if the old man hadn’t told me it was the second on the left. After a quarter of a mile or so the lane ended in a farmyard, above which loomed a towering fell. As expected, the house was made entirely of stone. I must have got used to being high up at Mr Parker’s, because this place seemed really low down and hemmed in. Also very damp. It was a gloomy day, but I couldn’t imagine the sun shining much here even in the summer. There was a lot of bare rock round about, much of it covered with a mossy sheen as though it never dried out properly. And, of course, the lake was completely lost from view, the only thing to see being the grassy slopes that soared up into the clouds.

The man who emerged from the house to meet me showed signs of having lived in the shade all his life. There I was arriving fully equipped to do some important work for him, and all he did was point glumly to a stack of timber at the far side of the yard. He then looked at his watch to check that I’d turned up on time. Despite this lacklustre greeting, however, I decided to try a bit of friendly chat. Switching the engine off, I got down from the tractor.

“Morning,” I said in a cheery way. “Mr Pickthall, is it?”

“That’s right, yes,” he replied.

“Oh…er, well, I’ve brought the saw.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said. “And you’re the operator are you?”

“Yep.”

“Right. Well, I want logs for firewood no less than nine inches and no more than fourteen. Got that?”

“No more than nine and no less than fourteen. OK.”

Mr Pickthall gave me a funny look when I said this. He glanced at the machinery and then back at me. “You do know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Oh yes,” I said, with a reassuring nod.

“Right, well, it’s ten past eight so you’d better get started.”

Obviously I didn’t look as professional as I thought. I started the tractor again and set the circular saw into operation, aware that Mr Pickthall was watching my every move. After doing a couple of important-looking safety checks I chose a piece of timber from the stack and began cutting it into chunks. Each one looked as if it was between nine and fourteen inches to me, but after a while he produced a tape from his pocket and took a measurement. Then he came over to the tractor.

“Haven’t you got a yardstick?” he demanded.

“Er…well, no,” I replied. “Don’t usually bother with one.”

“So you’re just guessing the lengths, are you?”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head. “Well, I haven’t got time to stay here any longer, but there had better not be any mistakes.”

“OK.”

“Otherwise Mr Parker’ll hear about it.”

“Right.”

And with that he went back into the house and closed the door. A few minutes later he came out again, glanced towards me, and then headed for a low-roofed shed inside which was parked a pick-up truck. I felt quite relieved when he got in and drove away up the lane without a further word. As soon as he’d gone I switched off and stopped for a rest. I’d begun work so quickly after arriving that I’d barely had a chance to look at the place, so now I stood peering around for a few minutes. The first thing I noticed was that the house seemed to be divided into two parts. The door Mr Pickthall had used was nearest to me, and on the step was an empty milk bottle. At the far end of the building I now saw another doorstep with a milk bottle of its own. For a moment I thought I caught sight of a pink face in the window, peeping out, but there was no time for further observation. Suddenly I heard a vehicle coming along the lane, and thinking it was Mr Pickthall returning I started up and got back to work.

A moment later Deakin arrived in the yard.

As usual he was in a great hurry, running to the two doorsteps with fresh milk and retrieving the empty bottles. When he noticed me standing by the tractor he gave me a frantic wave.

“Seen Tommy yet?” I called.

“No!” he replied. “Haven’t had time! But I will!”

“Well, make sure you do!”

“Alright!”

Next thing Deakin was gone, charging off down the lane to continue his milk round, which was beginning to look like a very thankless task. Why everybody round here thought I’d be interested in ‘taking over’ was beyond me. Even Hodge seemed to have picked up the idea from somewhere. The previous evening in the Ring of Bells he’d started going on about there being ‘room for improvement in the milk business’, and how a good candidate ‘wasn’t a million miles away’. I’d pretended to take no notice of all this, of course, and didn’t engage in any direct conversation with him. Nevertheless, I got the strong impression that several people were convinced I seriously was considering being their milkman. As far as I knew I’d done nothing to substantiate this belief, and the last thing I wanted to do was usurp Deakin. He had enough troubles already without me adding to them.

With these thoughts in mind I returned to the circular saw and continued work. Shortly afterwards I noticed someone emerging from the far end of the house. It was the old man. He was wearing some heavy-duty gloves and work boots, and heading straight in my direction. In his hand was some sort of stick. As he crossed the yard he glanced at the near end of the house from time to time, and also at the shed where the pick-up had been parked. Finally he joined me and waved the stick.

“Measuring rod,” he said by way of greeting. “Don’t expect you’ve got one, have you?”

“No,” I replied. “Thanks.”

“What’s he told you? Nine to fourteen?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so. Alright, carry on.”

Next thing he was dragging a huge length of timber towards the saw. Then he went along with the measuring rod marking off lengths for cutting. As usual his presence speeded up the operation appreciably, and in the next hour I got a good deal of work done. Mr Pickthall hadn’t mentioned it, but the completed logs were apparently supposed to be deposited in a nearby lumber shed. The old man soon had a wheelbarrow lined up next to the saw, and was carting the logs away as fast as I could cut them. We carried on in this way for some time, and then he came and shouted in my ear.

“Want a cup of tea?”

“Wouldn’t mind!”

“Alright, then. Wait here!”

He disappeared into his house, returning several minutes later with a tray bearing two steaming mugs and some doughnuts. I switched off the tractor and as the noise faded away the pair of us enjoyed a well-deserved break. It seemed very peaceful in that yard without the din of the engine, and for a while we stood and drank our tea in silence.

“You seem to know quite a lot about this sort of work,” I remarked at length.

“Ought to do,” replied the old man. “I ran a timber business for forty years.”

“What, here?”

“On this very spot,” he said.

“You’ve retired now, though, have you?”

“Sent to the knacker’s yard, more like.”

“Ah well, you can’t work for ever.”