The month was July. The weather had been kind to the holidaymakers that now filled the town of Eastbridge. George thought the gardens did not look as good as previous years. The ground should have been prepared better and the flowers planted in different places. “They have concentrated too much on the colours, where was the contrast of height and shape?” he thought to himself. He still worked in a garden, but this was Jane’s garden. Not quite on the same scale, but enjoyable nonetheless. He spent most of his time in Barnshead working with Neville and A.J. He stayed at Northwood Hall, using the rooms once occupied by his mother. The work of the Foundation was going well; they hoped the first home would be open before the end of the year. Despite George's belief he would not be able to offer too much to the projects, he found himself in constant demand. Not only in designing and supervising the construction of the grounds for the homes, but also providing an extra pair of hands and eyes for the mountain of other tasks demanding attention.
He was able to drive now and had given Neville and Marie a lift to the airport. It was Neville’s second visit to America to meet Bobby Hathaway. Bobby had insisted this time he brought Marie and they would spend some time at his ranch. Bobby had wanted to pay, but George said he would finance the visit.
Marie continued to work at the library. She asked A.J. if she could use the office connected to the house, the room that was previously the stables, to provide pre-school reading classes. A.J. thought it was an excellent idea, and Marie found her time occupied just as much as the rest of the team. “That’s what it feels like,” she had said, “it feels like we are all part of a team.” Neville agreed and was pleased that Marie did not feel she was the odd one out. They had looked forward to the trip. It would involve some hard work and some long hours, but there would be the opportunity for some free time and their first vacation together.
Jane wanted George to live with her. “Why don’t you sell your house in Eastbridge and come and live with me?” she had said. George thought it was too early for that. They enjoyed their times together but they had lived so long on their own and were set in their ways. He didn’t want to take the risk of losing her. If living together proved not to be successful, could they return to being best of friends? “Let’s wait until after our trip,” he had said, “we will be together for quite a few weeks. It’s like a trial run; let’s see how it works out.” Jane knew that George’s suggestion made sense. He was the sensible one. “Why couldn’t he be more whimsical, more frivolous,” she thought, trying to think of the correct word. She stopped herself. She knew it was because he was not these things; that was why she loved him.
George was sad when he saw the sign on the Station Inn announcing it was Under New Management. Despite his final meeting with John Turner, he had enjoyed his time working at the Inn. He remembered the characters he met; telling their jokes and stories; the stories that got more and more ridiculous and amusing as the consumption increased. It came as a shock to the regulars drinkers at the Inn when the new owners appeared. John Turner had given no indication he was selling. There had been rumours things were not going well; he was close to bankruptcy; his ex-wife was bleeding him dry; he was drinking all the profits. The regulars now turned their topic of conversation to where John Turner had gone. Someone thought he had returned to football as a coach. “He could do a good job with the second eleven,” a regular had suggested. “They need someone like him to sort out the back four.” There was speculation he had run away to Spain, to get away from his ex-wife and his financial problems. A friend of a friend thought they had seen him at a place called Turner’s Bar in the Costa del Sol, but they weren’t sure as this person appeared to be much fatter.
A.J. was busy, very busy. He had underestimated how much time and effort the Foundation would demand. “It’s because it’s a success,” he reminded himself and doubled his efforts to get his team together to relieve him of some of the work. He had Neville onboard and Beryl, the receptionist, was now working for the Foundation. A.J was pleased George was so involved and proving to be very useful. He was willing to take on any task and approach it with childlike enthusiasm. He would roll up his sleeves, as if he was about to prune some bushes in the gardens, and exclaim, “Right where do I start, what do you want me to do?”
A.J. had a call from Sean Malone at the detective agency. His initial fear was the issue with Sir Richard Smythe was about to rear its head again but laughed out loud when Malone started to give his half yearly report on Albert Hughes. “He's no longer working at the council or the Station Inn and his house now seems to be owned by someone with the same surname as yours, someone called George Waterson.” A.J. was doubled up with laughter as he realised he had not cancelled his arrangement with the agency and they were still trying to monitor Albert Hughes. “I’m sorry, I should have told you to stop,” he finally managed to say as the laughter subsided, “That business is all settled, you can forget about Albert Hughes. However, I do have another job I would like you to do. I want you to find out all you can about someone called Robert Townsend, he was a doctor. I do not have much to go on other than he worked in Barnshead in the mid twenties. Don’t try to contact him, if he is still alive, just let me know anything you find.”
Malone sent him a written report. Dr Robert Townsend died 1962 in Kenya. Left England in the 1920’s, exact date not known. Specialised in tropical diseases. A wing of the Mombasa General Hospital is named after him. A.J. attached the photograph of his father to the report and filed it with his mother’s letter.
Jane had apologised to George for not telling him about Sarah’s baby. She had been desperate to tell him about his son John, but felt the news must come from Sarah herself. George had shown her Sarah’s letter and photograph. She disagreed with Sarah and said the photograph was a very good likeness although she had not seen her for some years. Sarah had visited England about ten years ago and they had not met each other since. “Have you never thought of visiting her in Australia?” George had asked. Jane’s reply was rather vague but finally admitted she was reluctant to travel all that way on her own, she was frightened she might get lost.
He was able to drive now and had given Neville and Marie a lift to the airport. It was Neville’s second visit to America to meet Bobby Hathaway. Bobby had insisted this time he brought Marie and they would spend some time at his ranch. Bobby had wanted to pay, but George said he would finance the visit.
Marie continued to work at the library. She asked A.J. if she could use the office connected to the house, the room that was previously the stables, to provide pre-school reading classes. A.J. thought it was an excellent idea, and Marie found her time occupied just as much as the rest of the team. “That’s what it feels like,” she had said, “it feels like we are all part of a team.” Neville agreed and was pleased that Marie did not feel she was the odd one out. They had looked forward to the trip. It would involve some hard work and some long hours, but there would be the opportunity for some free time and their first vacation together.
Jane wanted George to live with her. “Why don’t you sell your house in Eastbridge and come and live with me?” she had said. George thought it was too early for that. They enjoyed their times together but they had lived so long on their own and were set in their ways. He didn’t want to take the risk of losing her. If living together proved not to be successful, could they return to being best of friends? “Let’s wait until after our trip,” he had said, “we will be together for quite a few weeks. It’s like a trial run; let’s see how it works out.” Jane knew that George’s suggestion made sense. He was the sensible one. “Why couldn’t he be more whimsical, more frivolous,” she thought, trying to think of the correct word. She stopped herself. She knew it was because he was not these things; that was why she loved him.
George was sad when he saw the sign on the Station Inn announcing it was Under New Management. Despite his final meeting with John Turner, he had enjoyed his time working at the Inn. He remembered the characters he met; telling their jokes and stories; the stories that got more and more ridiculous and amusing as the consumption increased. It came as a shock to the regulars drinkers at the Inn when the new owners appeared. John Turner had given no indication he was selling. There had been rumours things were not going well; he was close to bankruptcy; his ex-wife was bleeding him dry; he was drinking all the profits. The regulars now turned their topic of conversation to where John Turner had gone. Someone thought he had returned to football as a coach. “He could do a good job with the second eleven,” a regular had suggested. “They need someone like him to sort out the back four.” There was speculation he had run away to Spain, to get away from his ex-wife and his financial problems. A friend of a friend thought they had seen him at a place called Turner’s Bar in the Costa del Sol, but they weren’t sure as this person appeared to be much fatter.
A.J. was busy, very busy. He had underestimated how much time and effort the Foundation would demand. “It’s because it’s a success,” he reminded himself and doubled his efforts to get his team together to relieve him of some of the work. He had Neville onboard and Beryl, the receptionist, was now working for the Foundation. A.J was pleased George was so involved and proving to be very useful. He was willing to take on any task and approach it with childlike enthusiasm. He would roll up his sleeves, as if he was about to prune some bushes in the gardens, and exclaim, “Right where do I start, what do you want me to do?”
A.J. had a call from Sean Malone at the detective agency. His initial fear was the issue with Sir Richard Smythe was about to rear its head again but laughed out loud when Malone started to give his half yearly report on Albert Hughes. “He's no longer working at the council or the Station Inn and his house now seems to be owned by someone with the same surname as yours, someone called George Waterson.” A.J. was doubled up with laughter as he realised he had not cancelled his arrangement with the agency and they were still trying to monitor Albert Hughes. “I’m sorry, I should have told you to stop,” he finally managed to say as the laughter subsided, “That business is all settled, you can forget about Albert Hughes. However, I do have another job I would like you to do. I want you to find out all you can about someone called Robert Townsend, he was a doctor. I do not have much to go on other than he worked in Barnshead in the mid twenties. Don’t try to contact him, if he is still alive, just let me know anything you find.”
Malone sent him a written report. Dr Robert Townsend died 1962 in Kenya. Left England in the 1920’s, exact date not known. Specialised in tropical diseases. A wing of the Mombasa General Hospital is named after him. A.J. attached the photograph of his father to the report and filed it with his mother’s letter.
Jane had apologised to George for not telling him about Sarah’s baby. She had been desperate to tell him about his son John, but felt the news must come from Sarah herself. George had shown her Sarah’s letter and photograph. She disagreed with Sarah and said the photograph was a very good likeness although she had not seen her for some years. Sarah had visited England about ten years ago and they had not met each other since. “Have you never thought of visiting her in Australia?” George had asked. Jane’s reply was rather vague but finally admitted she was reluctant to travel all that way on her own, she was frightened she might get lost.