‘You’ve had a lot of indigestion recently. You should see the doctor about it.’
‘Ach no.’ Pat sounded quite fierce. ‘I’m sick to death of doctors and hospitals. It’ll pass; it always does.’
Rosie got up to fetch her another cushion and Pat tipped her head on one side and eyed the girl beadily, as if seeing her properly for the first time.
‘My! What have you been doing to yourself, young lady? You’re that pale you wouldn’t think it was the height of summer. Whatever’s the matter?’
Liz swallowed. Pat might be old and frail but she didn’t miss a trick, and she knew Rosie almost as well as Liz herself.
‘I’m fine,’ Rosie insisted. ‘I don’t like sunbathing.’ She leaned forward and took two biscuits, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, but it cut no ice with Pat.
‘How’s that young man of yours?’ she asked slyly.
Rosie hesitated. ‘Who?’
‘Whatshisname. Tim. The one who does the computer thingy with you.’
‘He’s OK.’ Rosie smiled bravely but couldn’t keep it up, and soon her face started to crumple like a used tissue.
Liz put an arm around her shoulders and quickly filled Pat in. When she’d finished, the old woman picked up the mug beside her and took a slow, considered sip.
‘More fool him,’ she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously. ‘He’ll regret it, you mark my words, and when he realises what he’s lost and comes running back, you give him a piece of your mind, my girl. No ifs and buts. I’d do it for you, only he’d be halfway to Hindustan before I could box his ears good and proper.’
The image of Pat hobbling after Tim in her flowery apron, fists raised, was too much for Rosie, who giggled despite herself. That set Liz off, too, and even Pat snorted, spraying bits of biscuit on to her lap, only it made the pain in her abdomen worse so she had to stop.
‘You really should see the doctor,’ Liz repeated, noticing her friend wince again and her hands start to tremble.
‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’ Pat brushed the crumbs off her lap. ‘I’m more concerned about that Tim, to be honest with you. I reckon we should send him a poison pen letter starting with, “You nasty little toad”!’
Liz was still smiling when they reached Bag End, and Rosie’s mood had lightened, too.
‘Shall we watch a movie after Lowie’s gone to sleep?’ she asked. Her sister’s eyelids were drooping.
‘Good idea,’ Liz agreed. ‘Run the bath for me, will you? We’d better get our skates on.’ It was going to be a job to get Lowenna washed and into her pyjamas before she dropped off.
She was perched on one hip while Liz poured milk into a plastic bottle with the other hand when the doorbell rang, making them both start. Liz stuck the bottle in the microwave and turned it on before hurrying to answer, the little girl bouncing against her side.
‘Coming!’ she called, scooting down the hall and muttering under her breath about bad timing.
The sight of Esme in her slippers and dressing gown, her hair wrapped up in a towelling turban, was too much for Lowenna, who promptly screamed blue murder, and Liz, whose nerves were already a little frayed, was tempted to slam the door. But there was no mistaking the look of alarm on her friend’s face, so she quickly ushered Esme in and asked what the matter was, whilst simultaneously rocking her daughter to and fro, whispering ‘hush, hush, there, there’ to try to halt the screeching.
Esme, who didn’t seem in the least self-conscious about her appearance or aware of the racket, stood hands on hips, her eyes flashing.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ she asked accusingly, as if Liz had been guilty of idling her whole day away with no thought for anyone but herself.
‘The public conveniences,’ Esme went on, ‘and Rick’s shop? It’s disgusting!’
‘Hang on a mo,’ Liz said, tearing back into the kitchen to fetch Lowenna’s bottle, which she jammed in the baby’s mouth to instant, soothing effect.
She was so quick that when she returned to her visitor a moment later Esme had hardly had to halt the flow.
‘Graffiti,’ she spluttered, ‘on the lavatory walls, and someone knocked over Rick’s postcard stand and sent the whole lot flying.’
By now Rosie had come down, too, and was sitting on the bottom stair, listening intently.
Liz took a deep breath. She’d been imagining a tsunami-style flood at the very least, but Esme, whose wet hair was beginning to dribble down her face and on to the carpet, was expecting something more than a disapproving tut.
‘Well?’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘Dreadful!’ Liz muttered. ‘Shocking. Do they know who did it?’
‘We can make a jolly good guess.’
Esme drew herself up to her full height and took a step forwards. She looked quite intimidating.
‘That Brazilian boy, Rafael.’
Liz could hardly believe her ears. ‘But we saw him in the marketplace just a few hours ago when Audrey told him off! We watched him leave!’
‘Precisely,’ Esme muttered darkly. ‘Audrey reckons he came back to seek revenge.’
It sounded like the plot of a film noir and Liz almost laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said reasonably, jiggling Lowenna, who was making contented sucking noises while she slurped her milk. ‘It was probably day trippers who’d come over on the foot ferry from Plymouth with their cans of lager. You know what they’re like.’
But Esme wasn’t having it. ‘Trouble,’ she said, shaking her head grimly. ‘Audrey’s right, the boy’s trouble. We’ve got an enemy in our midst.’
And with that, she stalked out of the house with a haughty flick of her towelling turban, leaving Liz staring at the empty space left behind.
She could understand, she thought as she closed the door and carried Lowenna upstairs, why folk might jump to conclusions. After all, Rafael’s appearance made him stand out and he’d had a dubious reputation before he’d even arrived. But Liz doubted very much that he was capable of vandalism, and Tony and Felipe were watching him like hawks. Besides, it was unfair to point the finger without any evidence, and the village was filled with strangers at this time of year, any one of whom could have committed the dreadful deeds. Give the boy a chance.
*
Three days later, while Piers was busy striding around the estate again, clipboard in hand, Bramble decided to tackle the mermaid garden with Katie so that they’d at least have somewhere to sit and sunbathe. It was the first of August and it had crossed her mind that Piers, too, might enjoy relaxing in the sunshine with her when he’d finished his work. She could even lay a rug on the lawn and fetch a bottle of wine.
She felt very businesslike in her shorts, gloves, brand-new straw hat and wellington boots as she strode into the open, clutching a black bin bag in one hand and a pair of secateurs in the other, but when she re-surveyed the tangle of tall, spiky grasses, overgrown bushes and weeds that blocked the path, she was almost tempted to turn around and walk right back again.
Katie was clearly thinking the same thing.
‘D’you think we’re being a bit overambitious?’ she asked, eyeing Bramble’s stumpy clippers doubtfully. She herself had a medium-sized pair of shears and, balanced on her shoulder, an aluminium stepladder that they’d found in the laundry room, alongside Maria’s scary mangle.
‘I s’pose we’ve got to start somewhere,’ Bramble replied, then yelped when she scratched her shin on something sharp.
They’d decided to wear shorts and vest tops so that they’d get a tan while they worked. It had seemed like a cunning plan, killing two birds with one stone, so to speak, but it occurred to them now that they might have been better off in beekeeper outfits or prickle-proof burkas.
Katie set the stepladder down by an undisciplined purple bush, declaring that this was as good a place to begin as any. Bramble set to work trimming the weeds around the broken metal gate, standing back every now and then to admire her handiwork.
‘It’s b
etter already!’ she announced after precisely four minutes. ‘Look!’
Katie swivelled around sharply, making the ladder wobble and nearly toppling off.
‘Bloody hell! Don’t distract me. I almost fell.’
‘Sorry,’ said Bramble, noticing that the branches Katie had lopped off were almost as big as the bush itself and there was no way they’d fit them in a single bin bag. Still, they could worry about that another day. Perhaps they’d have a giant bonfire. That would be fun! If only they knew the best way to build one – and light it, come to that, without requiring emergency services backup...
Bramble squatted down and resumed her pruning, stopping every now and again to take a swig of water from the bottle hanging from her belt, but after twenty minutes she’d hardly made a difference.
‘I think this calls for more drastic action,’ she declared, rising. ‘I’ll try out the lawnmower.’
Katie, who was taking a breather on the bottom step of the ladder, nodded disconsolately. She looked exhausted and the bush had barely shrunk, although there was a pile of debris alongside almost as tall as Katie herself.
‘I’m just going to have a little lie-down,’ she muttered, flopping on to the grass beside her and covering her face with her baseball cap. ‘I mustn’t exhaust myself before my shift.’
It was to be her trial later at The Hole in the Wall and she’d spent some time last night testing out her new crimpers, before deciding that the style didn’t suit her, so she’d washed the crinkles out and started again with the straighteners. As that had just been a dummy run, the hair would have to be washed and styled again later. Bramble hoped that Danny would appreciate all the effort.
She strolled into the orchard, taking care to avoid the spikiest plants as well as the swarms of bees around the lavender bushes. The far-off sound of lowing cattle in the fields beyond her own estate mingled with birdsong and chirruping crickets was strangely soporific, so that she, too, was tempted to find a sheltered spot and lie down for a snooze. She gave herself a mental shake. Today, at least, they’d accomplish what they’d set out to do, for up to now their progress had been pitifully slow. Indeed, after ten days there was little to indicate that Polgarry Manor even had new residents.
Katie had at least found Piers, a coup indeed, and they’d also cleaned their bedroom and bathroom and weeded the steps leading up to the front door, but that was about it. The rest of their time seemed to have been spent walking, swimming and popping into Tremarnock for ice creams and other essential supplies. In truth, it had felt more like a holiday, and a very nice one at that, but the house was crumbling around them and something had to be done.
Bramble picked a greengage from one of the trees – they were ripening extra-early in the unusually hot weather – ate it greedily and threw the stone high into the air, watching it spin gaily before landing on a sunny patch of long green grass nearby, then she opened the door of the large tumbledown shed. At her feet a warty toad blinked in the half-light before hopping into a dark corner and she had to stifle a scream. She wasn’t that keen on toads or frogs, or creepy crawlies of any sort really, but she told herself not to be silly. After all, the whole place – manor, grounds and all – was probably teeming with them, as well as mice, rats and other unmentionables. She’d better get used to it.
The lawnmower couldn’t have been used for years and was covered in dirt and cobwebs. She wiped the seat with a tissue from her pocket before climbing up gingerly, putting her hands on the steering wheel and checking the controls. By her right knee was a rusty key in what she supposed was the ignition, and there were two pedals at her feet and a gear stick by her left hand. She hadn’t a clue how to operate the thing, but supposed that it must be pretty much like a car, only easier. So without further ado, she turned the key and, to her delight, the engine sprang into life with a throaty roar.
‘Tally-ho!’ Bramble giggled, then she yelled ‘Aaargh!’ as she put her foot on the clutch, swung into gear, hit the accelerator and the machine lurched sickeningly before surging forwards at an alarming rate and heading purposefully towards a heavily laden plum tree.
Bramble took her foot quickly off the gas and scrabbled around for the brake pedal, only to realise that there wasn’t one. Doomed, it seemed, to ram into the trunk, causing goodness knew what damage to herself, mower and tree, she closed her eyes, muttered a silent prayer and hoped for the best.
‘PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE CLUTCH! IT’S A BRAKE, TOO!’ roared a voice from somewhere, and instinctively Bramble did as she was told. To her enormous relief, the mower ground to a juddering halt just inches from the offending obstacle.
‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, and took a deep breath. ‘That was close.’ For a moment she couldn’t move for shock. She was soon jolted out of her daze, however, by that voice again, this time right by her ear.
‘WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU PLAYING AT?’
Bramble opened her eyes to find Fergus just a foot away, hands raised and looking for all the world as if he were about to kill her. Terrified, she was about to leg it as fast she could when it dawned on her that his gesture was, in fact, one of horror not murderous intent.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ she stammered, eyes lowered. ‘I wanted to cut the lawn.’
She scanned the long, thick grass all around her and stretching way in front, through the gardens beyond and as far as the gravel path leading to the manor steps, and all of a sudden felt out of her depth and very silly. He must think her a fool, and what’s more, this was the second time he’d had to save her bacon since she’d arrived; the scenario was becoming all too familiar.
Fergus – who was in muddy jeans and a crumpled checked shirt, rolled up at the sleeves – narrowed his eyes sceptically.
‘Have you ever driven one of these things?’ He clearly knew the answer, so she didn’t bother to reply. ‘They’re bloody dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. You could have got yourself killed.’
‘I thought it would be simple,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I didn’t mean to go so fast.’
‘Well, at least you’re all right.’
To her relief, he sounded a bit gentler now, and when he stretched out a hand to help her down, she took it gratefully. His rough fingers closed around hers, holding securely until she was safely on the ground, and he didn’t let go until she’d stopped wobbling and was able to stand on her own.
‘Thank you,’ she said, glancing up and quickly scanning his features. The arrogance that he’d displayed the other day on the cliff had gone, but this time she thought that she could detect something else in his narrow, dark eyes – some deep sadness, perhaps, as Katie had suggested. But she might have been imagining it.
Bramble would have stayed for a while to chat, perhaps to ask if he’d like a cool drink in the manor as a token of her gratitude, but they were interrupted by another voice, sharp and edgy.
‘What’s going on?’
Piers emerged from the field behind, clutching his trusty clipboard, in a crisp blue-and-white-checked shirt and navy chinos. When Bramble explained what had happened, he glanced from her to Fergus and back again and frowned.
‘You should’ve asked me to help. I’ve driven dozens of those things.’
‘It was stupid,’ Bramble admitted. ‘I don’t think I’ll do any more gardening today.’
Piers put a hand on her arm. ‘Thank God you’re all right.’ Then he turned and looked squarely at Fergus. ‘I’ll take care of her now.’
Realising that he’d been dismissed, Fergus nodded before turning on his heel and making towards the gate leading to the fields. He didn’t even say goodbye.
‘Thanks again!’ Bramble shouted after him, but there was no reply, and when she swung around, Piers was manoeuvring the mower back into its home.
‘What a stroke of luck Fergus was here!’ she called over the engine’s roar, and Piers grunted something that she couldn’t catch.
It was only then that it occurred to her she hadn’t thought to
ask what her strange tenant had been doing in the orchard in the first place. Perhaps, like her, he had a taste for juicy plums and ripe greengages.
9
KATIE HAD WOKEN from her brief snooze and was once more up the ladder, finishing the pruning. The good news was that the unruly purple bush was now neater and much reduced in size, the bad, that the debris piled beside it was considerably higher than the original plant itself, so that the garden looked, if possible, even worse than it had before.
On spotting Bramble and Piers, she descended the steps, and when Bramble told her about the adventure and Fergus’s timely intervention, she didn’t seem surprised.
‘I saw him in the field from the top of the ladder. He offered to help, but when I said you’d gone to get the mower, he went off to find you.’
So he hadn’t been scrumping fruit after all. Bramble was rather touched, but she didn’t have long to mull it over because Piers suggested a swim and both girls leaped at the idea. They were hot, sticky and downcast, and a refreshing dip seemed like the perfect pick-me-up, especially with an attractive land agent to accompany them.
They abandoned their gardening tools and ran inside to get their togs, only to be met by a scowling Maria on the stairs.
‘Luncheon is served. It is past one o’clock.’
Bramble kicked herself inwardly for forgetting to tell the housekeeper not to bother. She could smell meat and overcooked vegetables, and the last thing she fancied right now was a hot, heavy meal. Then it occurred to her that Piers might be hungry, and what’s more, he could eat some of the unwanted food, so she scooted outside again to ask and he accepted immediately.
‘This is the life!’ he said, settling down at the head of the table and waiting while Maria brought extra cutlery and a glass. ‘I thought I’d be having sandwiches, not a slap-up meal.’
The dining room window was open and an unexpected breeze made the velvet curtains tremble, fanning Bramble’s hot face. Maria stood at the door, arms crossed, somehow conveying displeasure despite her lack of expression, while they helped themselves to tomato soup from the giant china tureen, followed by dry chicken and an assortment of soggy peas and carrots.
Tremarnock Summer Page 12