As she cycled back to the farmhouse, Alison thought long and hard. She had been so distracted by the afternoon with Al, she had not really given much attention to her gran’s pronouncement. Turning into the track down to the farm, she passed Stephen, Gip at his heels, on his way to collect the herd for the afternoon’s milking. He barely nodded at her and walked on, shoulders hunched, miserable. ‘Gran’s done that,’ thought Alison, ‘and I’ve not often seen Charlie look so desperate. Even Mum has seemed elsewhere since yesterday. Gran can’t get away with it. Trouble is, no one stands up to her. She’s an old tyrant! Well I’m not afraid of her!’
It had been a warm afternoon and Elsie was feeling dozy. She had settled in her favourite comfy armchair to read a book, but had nodded off and had been wakened by the sound of sticks falling into her fireplace. A pair of jackdaws were squabbling on the stack and their argument reverberated down the chimney. She disliked jackdaws and banged the chimney breast with vigour, dislodging a few clumps of soot as well as the birds. The physical action made her feel better; she hated snoozing in the afternoon; in fact she hated anything that reminded her of just how old she was getting. She looked at her watch: just after five o’clock. Goodness, she’d been asleep longer than she thought. Still, there was time for a cuppa and perhaps a short walk before supper. She had just plugged in her kettle, in the tiny kitchenette created out of cupboard at one end of her sitting room, when there was a tap at her door.
‘Hi Gran,’ Alison poked her head round, ‘May I come in?’
Elsie had been conscious of the fact that since her ultimatum yesterday, none of her family had been near her. She’d expected an appeal from Jenny at the very least, but, unusually, Jenny had gone out in the afternoon and had barely spoken to her since. Charlie, she hadn’t seen at all; and the one time she saw Stephen, he gave her a look that forcibly reminded her of one of his cows. Alison had disappeared for the rest of the day, and had not even visited in the evening to watch television with her, as was her custom on Sunday, (their taste in viewing often being at odds with the rest of the Tuckers). Elsie enjoyed battles, and she’d been expecting this one to be a right-royal one. She did not, however, enjoy a stand-off, so she was delighted to see her granddaughter; not that Alison had the slightest suspicion of that from the cool greeting her grandmother gave her.
‘I’m just making myself some tea; would you like a cup?’
‘Thanks, Gran.’ Alison sat on the edge of a flowery chintz sofa, preparing for the right moment to launch her attack, and watched Elsie fiddle with kettle, pot, cups and saucers. They only ever drank out of mugs downstairs, but Elsie always insisted on using the bone china tea set that had belonged to her mother. Elsie’s sitting room was neat and comfortable, in direct contrast with the family sitting room downstairs. The furniture was old-fashioned, the fabric of the furnishings reflecting the age and tastes of the occupant, but to Alison, particularly when she was a little girl, her Gran’s set of rooms, at the top of the house, represented an almost luxurious haven from the poverty and chaos elsewhere.
When Elsie had settled in her armchair and was sipping her tea, Alison began, as mildly as she could. ‘Gran, I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday…’
‘Well, I’m glad someone has…’
Alison suddenly felt cross. ‘We all have, Gran. How could you think we haven’t? What you proposed was…is…well…’ The words preposterous, unfair, stupid, ridiculous, unrealistic, sprang to mind. ‘Have you really thought about what you’re asking us to do?’
‘I don’t usually open my mouth without my brain being engaged, Alison. Why should it be any different this time? I meant what I said. Your brothers are letting this farm slide towards bankruptcy and it’s time they took stock. I’m not so foolish as to think there’s a bride on every bush, although I’ve heard there are Filipino women ready and willing, and who make good wives…’
‘Gran!’ Alison was shocked, ‘That’s little better than slavery. I don’t believe what I’m hearing!’
Elsie ignored her. ‘But I did say, and nobody seems to have taken notice of what I said, that if the fortunes of the farm are turned around this year, I will take back my ultimatum. It’s up to the boys which way it’s to be.’
‘But you’re not being fair. Maybe the farm is struggling compared to your day, but things have got a lot tougher for farmers; you know they have. You were farming after the war, when the government poured money into your pockets…’
Elsie snorted, but Alison pressed on. ‘I admit I haven’t taken as much interest in the farm as maybe I should’ve, but even I know that milk prices are much lower than they used to be and the cows just don’t support the farm like they did. We could get rid of them, and grow nothing but subsidised crops. Maybe you’d like that; I suspect Charlie would; but that would break Stephen’s heart. Look how he was during the Foot and Mouth outbreak. He was so worried about his precious beasts, we all thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown. He couldn’t work harder…’
‘Other farms are flourishing. Perhaps if Stephen channelled his energies more effectively…and Charlie is just a jitterbug.’
‘I don’t know what a jitterbug is, but I do know that you’ve just added another layer of worry and I really don’t think that’s fair, or necessary!’
Alison’s exasperation stung her grandmother. ‘Shouting at me won’t change my mind, Alison. I want to see results, and if I’ve put a little explosive into a stagnating situation, then all well and good.’
‘Then what about me? What d’yer expect me to do about the farm? I can’t see that going to university is going to help, in any way… In fact, it’s going to cost a hell of a lot – more than we can afford, even assuming I get a place… I’d be much better off getting a job and earning some cash. Life would certainly be a bit more fun than it is at the moment.’ Unknown to her family, Alison had explored this possibility before and had rejected it, but she was fed up with being taken for granted, and was incensed by Elsie’s attitude. ‘In fact, Gran,’ she continued, growing more heated, ‘I don’t want my bit of your share; I don’t even want my own share. As far as a grant’s concerned, I might be better off with absolutely nothing at all. At least then I’ll know where I stand! And I won’t be doing something I might not want to do, just because of threats!’
Grandmother and granddaughter glared at each other. Alison had gone off in a direction that Elsie hadn’t foreseen. She was very proud of her granddaughter’s brains and had set her heart on seeing a Tucker go to university. But she said, stubborn to the last, ‘I’m not changing my mind. You’ve got to go to university; you know that’s what you’ve always wanted. I don’t know why you’re risking not getting there with all this gadding about…’
‘What gadding about? What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Miss. How many times have you said ‘Good night’ and then slipped out of the house, returning at God knows what hour, eh?’
Alison scowled, but said nothing.
‘You’ve got more brains than your brothers so why don’t you use them? Get those exams of yours, and while you’re about it, why don’t you come up with some ideas to help the farm, instead of thinking only of yourself.’
Alison was furious: ‘Well if I think only of myself, I’ve had a very good teacher!’ and she slammed out of Elsie’s room.
* * *
‘Six o’clock, and don’t be late!’ No sooner had an exasperated Veronica Lester put the white and gold receiver down on Lenny Spinks and reached for her gin and tonic, when it rang again. She answered it, curtly, but on hearing who the caller was, her manner changed. She sat forward on the edge of the red velvet Chesterfield and positively oozed honey. Coming into the sitting room of Summerstoke House, Hugh Lester, raw from his encounter with the Merfields, caught the tail end of her conversation.
‘Dinner on Saturday…and you’ll stay the
night? No…no problem at all… We’ve plenty of room…good. I look forward to it…no, thank you. We shall be delighted.’ She put the phone down, and threw herself back on the sofa, arms above her head, triumphant. ‘Yee-es!’
‘Oh no, not another bloody dinner party! Who’s staying the night? Why can’t they bugger off home?’
‘Language, darling!’ Vee was brimming with suppressed excitement. ‘You’ll never guess who that was.’
‘I don’t feel like playing guessing games at the moment: I’ve scraped the car against the Merfields’ gateposts; I’ve been hung out to dry by those appalling women; and, in the middle of making my pitch to them, Cordelia called my mobile, wanting to stay another night with that ghastly friend of hers. Didn’t do my cause with the old biddies much good – they seem to think the mobile is an invention of the devil from the way they went on about it… And Cordelia wouldn’t take no for an answer. Bloody embarrassing, it was. I could do with a stiff drink.’
‘I’ll fix you one in a mo’, and then you can tell me all about it. But first I want to tell you who’s coming to dinner on Saturday night… Harriet Flood!’
Hugh stared at her blankly, ‘Who’s she?’
‘Oh honestly, Hugh, I don’t think you listen to half of what I tell you. She writes the main feature for Country Homes and Gardens. She’s thinking of doing a feature on Summerstoke House, and Hugh, more importantly, of doing a whole series of picture articles on us setting up the stud. She thinks it’s a really good story.’
‘Does she now? She might have to wait a long time to write it.’
Vee sat up and looked at him sharply. ‘The publicity this would bring is too good to miss, Hugh.’ She took in the petulant droop of his mouth, a sure sign that he hadn’t got something he wanted, and softened her voice. ‘Tell me about the Merfields. Did you get anywhere with them?’
Hugh went over to a tall glass cabinet and, selecting his favourite single malt, poured a large measure. He turned and shook his head. ‘I don’t know; I really don’t know. They sit there, three old witches and Nanny, another old witch. It’s bizarre – they’re all made-up, posh frocks, posh hair-dos – one even had pink streaks; piles of make-up – I mean, what for? And they sit there, making these little sarcastic comments. ‘He slumped into a leather armchair and gazed moodily into his glass. ‘Next time, if there is a next time, I think you should go; you’d know how to handle them. They just made me feel a complete oaf.’
‘But did you tell them what we want?’
‘Yes, yes, of course I did. I was very polite and straightforward. I explained our plans and our need for those meadows and I offered them a very generous price. They said they had a good relationship with the Tuckers and they saw no reason to break that; so I showed them the newspaper and said how the Tuckers were becoming increasingly notorious and unreliable, and that the word was out that they were going to go bankrupt. They went very quiet when they saw the paper and I thought I was in with a good chance.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then my mobile went off. The whole time Cordelia was rabbiting on, I could see them glancing at each other. Cordelia wouldn’t get off the bloody phone. Why did she phone me and not you?’
‘Because I would have said no. So what happened when you rang off?’
‘You can imagine – comments about how intrusive phones are at the best of times; “can’t the thing be turned off?” asked one, all innocent; “do you take it with you everywhere?” “Doesn’t it burn your brain cells?” Little digs like that, and on how anti-social it is when mobiles go off in public and how they’d heard that one had gone off at the beginning of a performance of The Rite of Spring, or some such bloody thing, so the conductor stopped the soloist… I tell you, Vee, I didn’t know whether I wanted to strangle Cordelia or the old biddies more.’ He took a huge gulp of whisky. ‘And then, as if on a signal, Nanny got up and indicated it was time I went. There was nothing more I could do. I asked them if they’d think it over and let me know, and the oldest one just said, “We’ll certainly think it over, Mr Lester. Good day.” And that was that.’
Vee got up and went over to ruffle his hair. ‘Poor darling. But they haven’t said no, and if the Tuckers did go bankrupt…’
She perched on the arm of his chair, and her buttocks, taut in a pair of silky slacks, swelled, round and inviting. ‘I had a call from a little birdie a short while ago. My Mr Gordon White has played ball, and Charlie Tucker has been summoned to the bank.’ She smiled, well pleased with herself. ‘I did my research, Hugh, and I found out that Gordon is the manager of Tuckers’ bank. That’s why I played tennis with the little toad.’
‘But he would never discuss a customer with you – that would be unethical… He wouldn’t risk his job like that, even for a game of tennis with you.’
‘Maybe, but there are many ways to skin a cat, and he’s so anxious to please… Anyway, I let drop that we knew the Tuckers, that we know they are in dire financial straits, and suggested that he might find further promotion elusive if he didn’t attempt to retrieve some of the money the Tuckers owed the bank before they went to the wall…’
Hugh stared at her. ‘My God, Vee, I’m glad you’re on my side…’
Vee purred. ‘And I’ve had a few other ideas that will add to the squeeze – I wonder when the Tucker’s milking parlour was last inspected… I thought I would phone the hygiene inspectors, as a concerned citizen, and suggest that all is not as it should be. They’ll have to act, and knowing the Tuckers, I bet they find something wrong…And even if they don’t, the inspection alone will increase the pressure on them. Oh, and, by the way, Lenny Spinks is coming to see you tomorrow evening, at six. So you see, little Hughie, we’re getting there.’
He groaned and stroked her bottom. ‘Where’s Anthony?’
She read his mind. ‘He went off this morning. So, with neither Cordelia nor Anthony here tonight, we can make as much noise as we like…’
* * *
In the sitting room at Summerstoke Manor, the Misses Merfield were each occupied with her own thoughts, and each waiting for the signal that the time was right to share them. Then the door opened and Nanny came in, carrying a tray. ‘I took it upon myself to make some more tea.’ She placed the tray, laden with fine bone china cups, matching teapot, a bowl of sugar lumps and a plate resplendent with biscuits, on the low laquered table in front of Mrs Merfield.
‘And you’ve opened another packet of chocolate digestives. Clever Nanny,’ approved the youngest, Louisa, reaching out an elegant, vermillion-tipped claw for the plate.
Nanny passed the cups round and then sat down, with her own, in a comfortable armchair, next to the fire. In spite of the heat of the day, she was dressed in thick stockings, a heather tweed skirt, a green jumper and white blouse. The colour was the only element of her costume to vary according to the season, and her sombre stolidity was in direct contrast to the butterfly qualities of the two youngest Merfields and the black elegance of the widow.
‘So girls, what do we think?’ Mrs Merfield looked round at them all, indicating the time had come to talk. ‘You first, Nanny.’
‘What I think is, he’s a nasty piece of work. He knows what he wants and he will stop at nothing to get it.’
‘Yes, he’s a slime-ball all right,’ said Louisa, cheerfully helping herself to a second biscuit.
‘But that doesn’t mean to say he might not have a point about the Tuckers,’ chipped in the older sister, Charlotte. ‘Charlie Tucker really is in danger of becoming a bit of a spiv…’
‘So it’s a choice between a spiv who might not be able to pay the next quarter’s rent and a slime-ball who might be prepared to pay us a considerable amount more…’ Mrs Merfield smiled, faintly.
‘Put like that, there really is no choice, is there, dear?’ The youngest Miss Merfield nibbled at her chocolate biscuit and then giggled. ‘I must say I enjoy our enc
ounters with him. Lottie, did you make up that story about the soloist in The Rite of Spring?’
Lottie, stretching her long thin legs out in front of her to admire a pair of slender feet encased in pink leather sandals, the same colour as the streak in her hair, smiled. ‘No, I did not; I heard it on Radio Four. Serve him right. Fancy conducting a conversation on the phone with his daughter, in front of us!’
‘No manners and no breedin’,’ said Nanny, firmly. ‘You say there’s no choice, Miss Louisa, but I say better the beast you know than a snake in the grass. And, excuse me ma’am,’ she said, turning to Mrs Merfield, ‘but it’s not as if we need the extra money, is it?’
‘That’s true, Nanny, but we are not a charity.’
There was a thoughtful silence.
Still lithe for her age, Charlotte rose to her feet and drifted over to a window. She turned to her sister-in-law. ‘We first let the land to Elsie and Thomas, didn’t we?
‘Yes, Charlotte. Do you think we should consult Elsie before taking it away?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlotte Merfield, thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘And I agree,’ said Nanny, stoutly, putting her cup firmly on the tray, as if to seal the matter.
‘Very well, I will write to Elsie and invite her to tea next Tuesday.’
‘But no arrowroot biscuits, Nanny!’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Louisa.’
* * *
Alison lay on her back on her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, the mournful strains of David Grey swelling in her headphones. The evening breeze gently stirred a stray cobweb dangling from the lampshade; a fly buzzed lazily across her face, and dancing patterns of light from the setting sun reflected off the old-fashioned polished wardrobe that had been a present from Gran years ago. Her eye observed these things, but her mind was engaged elsewhere, switching between Sunday afternoon with Al and her row with Elsie.
A Tangled Summer Page 12