by K. M. Peyton
‘Cor,’ said Ian softly.
In a lull they moved forward. As they did so, a figure detached itself from the shadows beside the porch and came to meet them. It was Jonas.
‘Hi, Sandy,’ he said.
Sandy nearly keeled over on the spot.
‘Jonas!’
Apart from not being on Queen Moon he looked just the same as he always did, in jeans and a dark sweater with a hole in the elbow. Not for him long evenings agonizing over what to wear.
‘I – I thought—’ Sandy didn’t know what she thought.
They went in and a man took their scruffy anoraks and the waitresses offered up the trays of drinks. Sandy took something she thought was orange juice, and found out very soon that it wasn’t. Jonas didn’t take one at all. The others all took champagne. Sandy thought, ‘Mum’s not going to like this.’ She felt intoxicated and she hadn’t taken a sip yet.
Tony was standing a little further in, looking like an advert for aftershave – so glossy and beautiful. They had improved him – both Sandy and Leo had the same thought: he was much nicer since he had started coming to Drakesend, not so prone to giving orders. Nobody took any notice of him at Drakesend, and he had discovered that everybody did nearly everything better than he did, which had been a salutary surprise. They could see, from his mother, that he hadn’t had a good start in life and, having been so struck by the beauty of Brankhead Hall, Sandy remembered that father Speerwell had bought it with the intention of knocking it all down and building flats.
Tony’s party manners were splendid as, after he had greeted them, he took Leo away to dance, aware that she was the unaccompanied one. Ian and Jonas went to look for food, but it was too early: a bevy of butlers and waitresses shooed them away from the groaning tables, so they went and sat on the stairs. These rose elegantly out of the middle of the large hall, and all the party rooms opened off the hall so they got a good view of what was going on. Ian and Jonas started to talk about diesel engines, so Sandy and Julia sat in silence on the steps below them. Julia looked fabulous in her short red dress with her white unspotted complexion and her hairstyle, which looked as if she had been out in the rain, and a boy in their sixth form came up and asked her to dance. She departed, and Leo came back and sat with Sandy.
‘So he’s come!’ she hissed. ‘Lucky beggar.’
‘It’s only because Josie made him.’
‘He must have wanted to.’
Leo had put make-up on and looked rather peculiar, sort of browner than usual, as if she had been skiing. Her eyes looked very large. Sandy looked to see if her ears had gone pointed; she looked like an elf. She was taller than Julia but just as wraithlike and wore black shorts and a gold sloppy top. Sandy felt old-fashioned. Ian and Jonas were talking about filters.
‘Let’s dance,’ Leo said, after about half an hour.
They went down the stairs and into the room where the music was, where they jigged about in a corner watching all the others. There were not many people they knew. Polly had arrived, wearing an amazing silver tube with enormous feathers round the top, and was dancing with Tony. She must have brought Henry, her dressage protégé – who was getting rather neglected since the team-chase had become serious – as he suddenly appeared before the two girls and started jigging about in company.
‘Great place this.’
Henry, it was suddenly revealed, was a terrific dancer. Afterwards, Sandy supposed that dressage was all about rhythm and timing and impulsion, and Henry, divorced from his mount Dodo, seemed to be able to do it much better on his own two legs. The human equivalent of flying changes and pirouettes convulsed his lean frame, along with much dynamic body-toting which even Sandy found quite inspiring. With two partners he commanded his corner of the room. Soon Julia joined them with her sixth-form admirer, Mark, and the five of them continued with wild abandon until they noticed that everyone else was drifting away to eat.
‘Wow, Henry, never knew you had it in you!’
The girls were exhausted. Whatever it was that she had drunk, along with the action, made Sandy feel that the room was turning circles. She, who didn’t think she could dance, had danced like a dervish. Wonders would never cease. She even began to think she might be enjoying herself. Ian and Jonas had disappeared.
They went into the food place. Sandy could feel the sweat trickling down her face. Leo, she noticed, was looking streaky, but Julia looked as cool as ever. The dancing had given them an appetite. The food was laid out on long tables with large plates at the ready: not just bites, but great bowlfuls of coronation chicken, plates of ham and beef and jacket potatoes and salads of every variety – beans, rice, lettuce, tomato, carrot, beetroot – and bread rolls by the mountain. For afters there were platefuls of pavlovas and meringues and tarts and profiteroles and trifle and large cheeseboards and baskets of biscuits. The waitresses kept filling up glasses. Sandy and Leo piled their plates high. It was all too good to miss.
‘Where’ve Ian and Jonas got to?’
They found them sitting under banks of camellias in the conservatory – a quiet corner which they had to themselves. Their plates were now nearly empty, but had been piled ingeniously high and wide with helpings of everything, except lettuce. Julia went off with Mark.
Sandy had some more ‘orange juice’ and began to feel very optimistic about life. Why had she thought she didn’t like parties? They ate so much they could hardly move. This was no way to get slim, she remembered thinking hazily. She could stare at Jonas now without feeling embarrassed, realizing that he was – although one wouldn’t know it – her partner at this fabulous dance. Great red camellias blossomed above his gorgeous dark head, as if he was wearing them in his gypsy hair. When the music started again she had the nerve to say to him, ‘Come and dance.’
‘And you, Ian,’ Leo said firmly.
They got reluctantly to their feet. They couldn’t dance like Henry, but they jigged about obediently. Sometimes, as the evening progressed, the music was slow and smoochy, and Sandy saw that all the old people (and there were quite a lot of them) danced in each other’s arms and put their cheeks together. It looked really dreamy and she had a great longing to dance like that with Jonas – how fabulous it would feel to have his body so close to hers, and his curls brushing her face (except he was a fair bit taller than she was). These old fogeys knew a thing or two. She recalled Gertie and her tale of dancing the Charleston – perhaps she and Grandpa had danced here in their day? Grandpa had worked for the squire of Brankhead Hall for several years. In their twirling she noticed Polly float by in Tony’s arms. Her eyes were shut and he held her very close and had a great mouthful of feathers to contend with. Julia was swaying chest to chest with Mark, the sixth-former, hardly moving at all, and Mark had his arms round her in a thoroughly old-fashioned way. Oh, Jonas, Sandy thought, love me like that. But she knew life wasn’t like that for her.
‘Ma said she’d come at twelve,’ Ian remarked. It was five to. ‘We’d better go and look for her.’
Was it over already? Sandy looked at Jonas.
‘Shall I take you home?’ he asked her suddenly.
He must have borrowed his father’s car.
‘Oh, yes!’
‘There’s plenty of room in our car,’ Ian said.
‘Oh, don’t be stupid, Ian,’ Leo said sharply. She turned away. ‘I’ll tell Julia.’
She was jealous, Sandy thought. So would I be. She drifted away on her cloud to get her coat. Jonas waited for her at the front door. They went out together.
‘Not bad, was it?’ he said.
‘Oh, no, it was wonderful!’
He led the way past the shrubberies to the field behind the house where all the cars were parked. The river glittered below. There was a nearly full moon and only the softest of breezes. Jonas walked with his hands in his pockets, smooth and purposeful. He went past all the cars and climbed the wooden fencing into the field below.
‘I left her here – it’s lovely grass,’ he said,
and whistled. Out of the moonlight came his beautiful mare, her ears pricked up, the halter tied up round her neck. She stood waiting for him, like a silver ghost.
Sandy could not believe it. Jonas seemed to take it completely for granted.
‘She’ll have enjoyed it as much as we did,’ he said, grinning. ‘The gate’s not locked. Just the ticket.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’ll give you a leg-up.’
She put out her foot and he hoicked her up on Queen Moon’s back. Sandy felt the mare’s flanks warm under her jeans. She was narrow after George and her mane lifted in the breeze. Jonas walked over and opened the gate, and Sandy rode the mare through. He shut it behind them, then vaulted up behind Sandy, a hand for a moment on her thigh. Their bodies fitted together, just like the old fogeys dancing. Only it was better, a thousand times better. Sandy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was better than any of her dreams, something beyond dreams, to ride with Jonas on Queen Moon.
Queen Moon walked quickly and when she got to the sea-wall she went to turn left, for home, but Jonas turned her with his legs in the other direction. She went obediently, without hesitation. Jonas had one arm round Sandy, holding the rope rein, and she could feel the other on his thigh, touching hers. They moved in unison to the mare’s movement. Jonas seemed content to walk.
The tide was high and the water glittered in the moonlight. Wading birds trilled along the water-line, their calls returned like echoes from far away across the marshes.
‘I was going to ask you,’ Jonas said, in her ear. ‘If – if I go away, will you look after my mare?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I might not be able to pay you.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Just in the field, she won’t need a stable.’
‘I’ll look after her. Why are you going away?’
‘I can’t live with my father any more. I want a job, on my own.’
‘Where?’
‘I want to get on a trawler. Or, if not, try for an oil-rig.’
She wouldn’t see him any more. Ah well. She knew.
Perhaps that was why he had taken her to the dance, to ask her this.
‘Do you want to gallop?’ He bent his head and whispered in her ear. But she wanted it to last for ever.
‘Yes,’ she said, because he wanted her to say yes.
She hardly felt the transition, so smooth the mare’s take-off, so easy her movement. She went like a ghost horse, as if the hard ground was a cloud under her hooves, and Jonas bent close to Sandy and put both arms round her. Perhaps he didn’t want her to fall off. Perhaps he loved her. Sandy loved him with all her being. She kept thinking to herself: remember this, take in every detail. Nothing so wonderful will ever happen to you again. The moon came out, larger than life, and their shadow chased them below the wall, their bodies clinging as one. I shall never forget this, Sandy thought, not till the day I die. Like Gertie and the Charleston. When I am really old like Gertie I shall remember Jonas.
She slipped down at the driveway to Drakesend. Jonas turned the mare to go back, and waved his hand.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
And rode away.
THE NEXT MORNING, when Sandy went into the tackroom, she found four saddles missing: Polly’s, Tony’s, Arthur’s and Henry’s. At first, she could not believe the evidence of her eyes. She thought their owners had all gone for a ride. But the horses were still in their looseboxes. It was only eight o’clock and no-one had come yet.
She ran back up to the house and told her parents. They were stunned.
‘They’re worth about three hundred each! Polly’s is worth more – and Henry’s.’ Henry’s was a dressage saddle, his pride and joy. It was worth more than his horse.
‘At least we’re insured,’ Bill said.
‘That’s not the point,’ his wife said bitterly. ‘Who is doing it?’
‘We were all out. Someone knew!’
At least, Sandy thought, it wasn’t Tony or Polly or Ian or Leo or Julia or Henry – or Jonas. Then she realized the saddles could have been taken after the party. Any time up until she had gone out there at eight o’clock that morning.
‘The police must know this time,’ Mary said.
‘But is it an inside job?’ Bill wondered. ‘It could be tricky, if it turns out that way.’
‘Why, who do you suspect? Grandpa?’
Sandy saw that her mother was almost in tears. Did she suspect someone?
‘We could catch them!’ Sandy said. ‘I could sleep in the loft over the tackroom. Every night! And then I’d see.’
‘It might come to that,’ said her father. ‘Leave a trap – something valuable.’
‘No. You must tell the police,’ Mary said. ‘They’ll have to know, because of the insurance claims. Was the door locked?’
‘Yes, I always lock it.’
‘Was the lock broken? How did he get in?’
‘Nothing was out of place.’ Sandy thought back over it. She had unlocked the door as she always did and it was undisturbed. The windows were shut and locked. They kept another key hidden under the water-butt by the feed-shed. Everyone in the yard knew about the spare key, in case they wanted their tack when Sandy had locked up. It happened quite often.
‘Whoever did it knows about the spare key.’
‘Then it is an inside job.’
Sandy saw her parents looked sort of saggy, as if they had been punched. She felt rather sick. She kept thinking of Duncan. He came at six o’clock. How could he steal four saddles, on a bicycle? You’d need a car.
‘We’ll have a talk, when Polly and the others come,’ Bill decided. ‘It’s their property, after all, not ours. Try not to let anyone in the tackroom, Sandy – there might be fingerprints, if we get the police in.’
The others were rather late, as might be expected. Sandy felt that her dream-world, so close, had disintegrated into the worst sort of nightmare. A friend had done this, it seemed. What sort of friends did they have? When Tony arrived he was wearing a beautiful new leather jacket, his birthday present from his parents. Sandy could not stop herself thinking, Don’t take it off, Tony, whatever you do.
He said breezily, ‘We’ll have to buy new ones! Nothing’s safe these days.’
Polly, predictably, went white.
‘I’ll never get another saddle like that one! It cost me an arm and a leg. The insurance never pay you in full – and they’re far more expensive now. Whatever shall I do?’
Bill Fielding rang the police. ‘Whoever it was, only took the good ones.’ The pony saddles, and Stick and Ball’s antediluvian old plates, were still on their racks.
Nobody could ride.
‘And I’ve found a team-chase for us, a novice class, the very thing – only a month from now!’ Polly despaired. ‘We can’t stop work at this stage.’
‘We can get some second-hand saddles to tide us over,’ Tony said. ‘My parents’ll pay for them – we can pay them back when we get the insurance money.’
Polly and Henry perked up slightly at this. But they loved their own saddles. ‘With luck the police will get them back.’
But there was very little to go on. The police came down and examined everything, but found no fingerprints, no footmarks, no sign of force. The outside key was in its appointed place; nothing was out of place.
‘He must have had a car.’ But it was impossible to find any incriminating tracks.
Polly and Tony arranged to have an outing to buy new saddles and in a few days they were back to normal. But Sandy could take no joy in the stables any more. It was all right for Tony and Polly – they were only onlookers, although their property was concerned. But they weren’t responsible for the place, as Sandy was. She begged to be allowed to sleep in the loft over the tackroom.
‘It’s warm enough, and no-one will know I’m there. I’ll find out, if anyone comes. It’s the only way!’
‘I don’t like the idea,’ said her mother. ‘It could be dangerous.’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s a good idea,’ said Gertie. ‘Get that rotter who pinched my money.’
Talking about it gave Mary Fielding her opening to suggest that Gertie might feel like moving back to her cottage.
‘I’ll go back when the weather improves,’ Gertie said. But nobody could tell whether she meant it.
‘Oh, please, Mum, let me sleep over there,’ Sandy begged. ‘Leo could come too. We could do it together. And he wouldn’t know we were there. We’d be perfectly safe.’
To her surprise, her father thought it was a good idea.
‘We could lay a bait. Leave something in the tackroom that might tempt him.’ Everyone took their saddles home with them since the break-in.
‘Like what?’ Ian asked scornfully. ‘Sandy?’
‘Ha ha,’ said Sandy.
They all tried to think of something valuable that would look as if it belonged, and not like a trap.
‘A really good bike is worth a bit these days. How about Ian’s mountain bike?’ Sandy suggested. ‘It would be a perfectly reasonable place to keep it.’
Her parents thought it a good idea. Ian didn’t. He was overruled.
‘The whole point is, if it goes this time, Sandy will see who takes it.’
‘Huh. She’ll be snoring like a trooper.’
‘I will not!’
Leo’s parents didn’t like the idea, but Leo overruled them. Mary Fielding promised to give her breakfast and get her off to school. Leo thought the plan a great lark. The two girls spent a private evening carving lookout holes in the floor of the loft (and the ceiling of the tackroom) and in all the side walls so that they had a good view in every direction, and – when no-one was about – they took two campbeds up there with their bedding. Ian’s bike took up residence in the tackroom. Everyone fell over it and complained. Tony bought King of the Fireworks a very expensive Melton rug for going to team-chases and this was displayed prominently, looking very desirable. ‘Cost me a few quid,’ he boasted. The trap was sprung.