A Tangled Summer

by Caroline Kington

  There was a moment’s tense silence as the implication of Stephen’s questioning hit home.

  Not for the first time since he had come into the barn, Charlie wished the ground would swallow him up. ‘It was after,’ he said humbly. ‘ I struck the deal late last week. I was gutted by the bank, Stephen, and, truthfully, all the ideas we had at that meeting didn’t seem to offer any real prospect of getting the bank off our backs. So when these geezers turned up and made their offer, I admit I leaped at it. I didn’t tell anyone else, because I thought the fewer people who knew, the less likely it was to get out. I was wrong not to tell you. I’m sorry. If I’d known about the trouble you were in with the water heater, I would have, honest, Steve…’

  Alison had a strong feeling Charlie was not altogether telling the truth, but Stephen looked mollified. The atmosphere eased and Stephen, with growing respect for his sister, turned to her.

  ‘So what shall we do about Mum and Gran, Ali? Tell ’em?’

  Alison shook her head. ‘We can’t take that chance. You heard how Mum was at tea on Saturday, and Gran will be ten times worse. No, we’ve got to find a way of keeping it from them until it’s too late. Then, I think, the amount Charlie has earned will register. We can say we had to do it to save the farm – that it was a one-off thing… The problem is: how do we get them out of the way? Once things start hotting up, they’re bound to notice…’

  But there was no immediate solution forthcoming. The three worked together to release the trailer Charlie needed, and agreed to confer again the following morning.

  Charlie set off on the tractor, trailer in tow, feeling very subdued. How was he going to break it to Lenny that there was not going to be a new bike, not even a reconditioned one, for the next motocross? Not only that, but Ali had guessed he would have been given some free tickets and insisted he gave her one, saying that ‘it was only fair’ she should have some share in the spoils, and Stephen had taken her side. Charlie had ruled the roost with his brother and sister for the whole of their lives. Now they were dictating to him; he had been toppled from his perch and, metaphorically, was wallowing in the dust, confused, shamed, and disorientated.

  * * *

  Simon was early for his game with Veronica Lester, so, to kill time, he wandered across to the courts where, he’d been told, she was playing with someone else. When he had joined the club, he had been given that year’s league table and Veronica’s name was high on the list. He had first met her when he found himself matched against her in one of the games he was required to play, as a formality, to assess his prowess. Veronica was good and his victory had been, in his opinion, a lucky one. He was therefore surprised, since she was one of the club’s cream players, to locate her, eventually, on one of the more unpopular courts.

  He was even more surprised at her play.

  Gone was the intense, competitive stance – she was all floppy and uncoordinated; gone was the determined, focused stare – she laughed, looked everywhere but at the ball, tossed her head, pouted and flirted; balls that she could have easily punished home, were banged into the net or missed altogether. It was an extraordinary performance and Simon, unnoticed by either of them, moved to get a better look at her opponent. He was a youngish man, of nondescript appearance, pale of face, clean-shaven, hair sleeked back and receding at the temples, not plump, but clearly not very athletic; and he played very poor tennis.

  The game was coming to an end and Veronica’s partner was clearly the winner. For a moment, Simon was uncertain as to whether to make his presence known and thereby let Veronica know he had witnessed her humiliation, or to pretend he had only just arrived. They were gathering racquets and balls and about to leave when Veronica noticed him.

  ‘Simon. You’re early. How long have you been there?’

  He smiled, ‘About five minutes.’

  For a moment she looked disconcerted, then she laughed. ‘So you witnessed the thrashing I got at Gordon’s hands. He’s some player…’

  ‘He certainly is.’

  She turned to her tennis partner, ‘So, you’ve beaten me again, Gordon.’ She smiled at him sweetly and put her hand on his arm. ‘I owe you a G ’n’ T at the very least. I’ve promised Simon, here, a couple of sets but will I see you in the bar, later?’

  The man called Gordon looked put out. ‘Couldn’t you take a break now, Vee? It’s just that, well, I’ve no more games lined up and I’d rather hoped that we’d…well, you know…go for a ride…’

  ‘Another time, Gordon, I promise. But Simon, clever boy, has booked the No.1 court for us…’

  Veronica had booked the court, but Simon said nothing, although anyone looking closely might have detected a gleam in his eye.

  ‘See if you can book us a decent court for next week, Gordon. And if you want to wait for me, why don’t you go for a swim, or something…’

  ‘The pool’s always full of screaming kids at this time of day,’ Gordon grumbled.

  ‘Oh well, if I don’t see you in the bar later, I’ll see you on Saturday. You haven’t forgotten? About eight. Come on Simon, we don’t want to lose our booking.’

  Defeated, Gordon headed back to the clubhouse, watched, for a moment, by Veronica and Simon.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Simon enquired, lightly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Lester, but one would have to be completely stupid not to realise you had to work very hard to lose that game.’

  ‘He’s not stupid, but he’s vain, and that makes it easier. Come along, I’ll die unless I get a decent game in this afternoon.’

  The game was hard-fought and Veronica, working through all her frustrations won, just. She was delighted. ‘We’re very evenly matched, Simon. That was thrilling. Will you partner me in the mixed doubles tournament?’

  ‘But you’ve got a partner, already.’

  ‘He’s not as good as you. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him.’

  There was no sign of Gordon when they met again, freshly showered, in the club bar.

  Veronica sat in an alcove and watched Simon as he made his way back from the bar with her gin and tonic. God, he was good-looking; but there was something else about him that made her breath catch in her throat; something remote, something elusive that made him all the more desirable. She had been married to Hugh for twenty-one years and was not at all averse to flirting shamelessly and even having the odd sexual fling, but Hugh gave her more or less what she wanted in life and she would never consider embarking on a serious affair. Never, that is, until now, and for that reason, Simon Weatherby spelled danger, and there was nothing Veronica loved more than danger.

  * * *

  Dark Glasses had kept Charlie and Lenny hard at work on the site for the rest of the day and well into the evening, preparing the ground, moving beams and laying temporary flooring, so there was little opportunity for Charlie to break the news to Lenny that not only would there be no money for a new bike, but precious little to do anything at all with.

  Just before closing time Charlie insisted he was going to take a break, and, pausing only to change his shirt and smother his bodily smells with aftershave, shot off to The Grapes and to find Beth. He had reconciled himself to the loss of one of his tickets. After all, he would have a security pass, and although undoubtedly he would be expected to be on call during the night, he should have plenty of time to spend with her.

  The Grapes was busy with last orders. Charlie squeezed his way to the bar, placed his order with one of the bar staff, and craned his head along the bar to see if he could see Beth. Linda was in the lounge bar, but there was no sign of Beth.

  ‘Beth in tonight?’ he asked the barman, handing over the money for his pint.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘In tomorrow?’

  ‘No idea, Charlie. Ask Linda.’

  Linda was unusually short. ‘Beth’s gone, Charli
e; she’s not coming back.’

  Charlie was bewildered. ‘But I thought she liked it here; I thought you and Stan thought she was good news…’

  ‘I’m sorry Charlie, I’m busy, ’scuse me…’

  Charlie was really put out. He sat on his stool and sulked. What a bummer of a day…

  ‘Charlie? Charlie Tucker, ain’t it?’ He swivelled on his stool. A woman he didn’t recognise stood at his elbow, smiling up at him. She was of average height, somewhere in her mid-thirties, he guessed, but dressed younger. A small pink T-shirt was smoothed over a dominating bosom and rounded stomach, finishing a couple of inches short of a tiny denim skirt. Large, colourful earrings danced and flashed as she bobbed and nodded; her hair was shoulder-length and blond, although not naturally so, judging from the darkness of her roots. She had a large, round nose and large, round eyes, the lashes heavily impregnated with mascara, and her accent was, unmistakably, local. For a few moments, he struggled, feeling he must know who she was, she had hailed him with such confidence. But it was no good, he had no idea, as he confessed to her, in what he hoped was a disarmingly honest way.

  She was not at all put out. ‘I’m not surprised. It’s been a long time since we snogged behind the bike sheds. It’s Tricia, Tricia Stevens. I rang you. Skip said you was a regular here. He said I’d recognise you easy. He was right. Those whiskers certainly take the biscuit, don’t they?’

  15

  Look, Mrs Lester, it ain’t my fault!’ Paula was really fed up. ‘Len has bin workin’ flat out this last week, I’ve hardly seen him. He’ll come and see Mr Lester as soon as he can – by Sunday at the latest, I promise.’

  ‘One would think he’s not interested,’ said Veronica coldly. ‘Really, Paula, it makes me think perhaps I’m paying you too much…’

  Paula stopped polishing the dining table and stared at her employer, who was arranging some very odd-looking flowers in a tall glass vase.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Think about it, Paula, if Len can afford not to take up Hugh’s offer, then clearly you are not as badly off as you pretend to be, ergo, I should pay you less, or employ you less.’

  Paula felt ready to down duster and leave. It was only just after 11am and she had another two hours to get through at Summerstoke House before she could turn her back on the Lesters for the whole weekend.

  There was a shriek of laughter from the garden and Veronica glanced out of the window. ‘It’s bad enough you bringing the children to work, Paula, but I thought I’d told you not to let them pick my flowers. For goodness sake, they’re ruining the gypsophilia. Do something!’

  Paula abandoned the polishing. ‘I’ll take them home. I told you me mam couldn’t babysit today, and there’s no way I’m gonna work for you for less than I do.’

  Paula knew that much as Veronica enjoyed baiting her, Veronica’s need of her was as great as Paula’s need of the money she earned.

  Veronica changed tack. ‘No, don’t go Paula. I was only joking about your wages, for goodness sake. Go and give the children some squash and biscuits in the kitchen. I’ll come and join you when I’ve finished doing these flowers. Aren’t they lovely?

  ‘They don’t look like flowers to me; give me roses and carnations any day. What are they?’

  ‘Protea, the national flower of South Africa – very sophisticated. I don’t suppose you’ve ever come across them. They were a present, from my new tennis partner…’

  ‘Weird…’

  In the kitchen Paula appeased her children, who, turning their little noses up at the idea of squash, wanted to go home. With promises of ice cream later, they were turned out into the garden once again, with strict instructions not to go anywhere near the flowers, even though they might look like weeds.

  The kitchen was a long light room that looked over the back of the house to the farmyard beyond. It was the antithesis of Marsh Farm’s kitchen. It gleamed with cleanliness; even the deep red quarry tiles on the floor glistened. The Aga, a big double-ovened affair, occupied the old hearth, and hanging from the mantle above it were a row of copper pans of various sizes, polished and gleaming, ready for use, although Veronica didn’t use them for cooking, they were far too heavy. A large, beautiful, old oak dresser occupied another wall, on which were arranged, in serried ranks, pewter platters, wooden platters and blue willow pattern china platters, all of which were dusted or washed regularly, although Veronica never used them. The bottom shelf of the dresser was devoted to a long line of fashionable cookery books, which Veronica used a lot. All the pots, pans, crockery and cutlery, and other paraphernalia used by the family, and usually associated with kitchen life, were stored away in deep, purpose-built cupboards that lined the rest of the room. It was the sort of kitchen that one would find in a lifestyle magazine.

  Veronica had followed Paula into the kitchen and was sitting at the long, scrubbed oak table, flicking through just such a magazine, as Paula cleaned the Aga. She said, casually, without looking up, ‘I’ve got people coming to dinner tomorrow night, Paula, and I need your help.’

  ‘You had people to dinner last weekend!’

  Veronica looked up in surprise, ‘So?’

  ‘I don’t know why you do it, that’s all. All that time slaving over pots ’n’ pans; fiddle-faddling with itsy-bitsy bites of food that are gobbled up in a flash. Seems like a lot of work for nothing, to me.’

  ‘I enjoy it, and people enjoy my cooking. I entertain – that’s one of the ways in which we enjoy ourselves, Paula.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t do it, if it were me – not my idea of fun.’

  ‘I think you need to take some wire wool to that hot plate, I dripped caramel on it.’ Watched by Veronica, Paula moved, with ill-concealed annoyance, to the sink. ‘What’s your idea of fun, Paula?’

  ‘Dancin’.’ There had been almost no occasion to go dancing with Lenny since the children had been born, and with a rush of excitement, Paula suddenly thought of the disco the following evening, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t be here tomorrow night, Mrs Lester.’

  Veronica was put out ‘Why not? I need you.’

  ‘Well, I can’t. Me and Lenny are goin’ out. It’s all arranged. Me Mum’s comin’ over to babysit, that’s why she’s not got the kids today.’

  ‘Paula…’ Veronica hated having to beg and Paula secretly notched up a point when she was forced to do so. ‘It’s going to be very difficult…’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll manage. Sorry, Mrs Lester, but I can’t do it.’

  ‘What are you up to? Going dancing?’

  Mindful of Lenny having sworn her to secrecy, Paula suddenly felt uncomfortable discussing Saturday night. ‘Er…dancing? Er…yes, I s’pose so.’

  Veronica’s whiskers twitched, Paula knew it. She just couldn’t control the moment of hesitation that instantly roused Veronica’s curiosity. ‘Where would you go dancing around here, Paula?’

  Paula’s mind went blank and she started to flounder. ‘Er, there’s nowhere really… Me and Lenny, we’re…we’re going to a party.’ But the cautious nature of the sideways look she cast in Veronica’s direction, and the extra vigour she applied to removing the burned caramel drips, suggested to Veronica that Paula had something to conceal.

  ‘A party! How nice. Where?’ Veronica purred.

  ‘I’m not sure really…near here… Lenny knows…’

  ‘Friends of yours?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The people giving the party,’ said Veronica. Paula knew she was patiently watching her face. She knew her employer had no interest in what Paula did with her free time, but she enjoyed playing cat and mouse, and the hapless Paula was becoming increasingly flustered, which greatly added to the sport.

  ‘Er…Lenny knows them…’

  ‘Many people going?’

  ‘Er…I expect so.’

  ‘Yes, people like dancing, don’t th
ey? So it’s going to be a big party?

  Paula was feeling deeply resentful of this cross-questioning. She longed to tell the old bag it was no business of hers, but she wasn’t sure whether this event was legal or not; she thought, knowing Lenny, probably not, so there was no way she’d let on about it to the likes of Veronica Lester, whom, she suddenly remembered, was a magistrate. She decided to say nothing further and turning her back firmly on Veronica, started to clean the sink.

  Veronica was not going to give up. ‘So you’ve got your mum in to babysit so you can go dancing at a party, but you don’t know who’s holding it and you don’t know where it is except it’s somewhere nearby, and that it’s going to be a big affair?’

  Paula was silent, sulky.

  Veronica moved in for the kill; Paula could sense it coming. ‘I know we don’t move in the same circles, Paula, so there’s no reason, no reason at all why I should have heard of any party your Lenny would take you to, but I do have my ear to the ground and I know something is going on. Cordelia made some remark or other, only yesterday, but of course, the child denied anything when I asked her.’

  Paula concentrated hard on her cleaning, and did her level best to take no notice of her tormentor.

  Then Veronica pounced.

  ‘You know, Paula, it sounds to me like you might be going to a rave…’

  In spite of herself, Paula started with alarm.

  She’d given Veronica what she’d wanted. Veronica had scored. ‘I thought something like that might be going on. The thing is, Paula,’ she continued silkily, ‘I think you should tell me all about it…’

  ‘I don’t see why…’ Paula turned to face Veronica, and said resentfully, ‘What’s it got to do with you?’