A Week in Winter: A Novel

by Willett, Marcia

  ‘You’ve got a point.’ Ned brightened a little. ‘I’m glad that Lady Todhunter lets you keep the range alight. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it? The house feels warm and friendly. Don’t you mind having to caretake, now that the work’s finished?’

  ‘Not particularly. I don’t live far away and she’d soon get damp if she wasn’t aired and heated. Pointless doing all that work and seeing it ruined through the winter.’

  ‘Funny about those keys, wasn’t it? I wondered whether one of your lads might have taken them. But I couldn’t really see why anyone should.’

  Rob frowned, remembering certain proofs of habitation. ‘No reason at all,’ he said firmly. ‘Anyway, it’s dealt with now. Have you got anyone else viewing before Christmas?’

  Ned shook his head. ‘Everything’s dead as mutton at the moment and the office shuts tomorrow for a week. So.’ He rinsed his mug at the sink and beamed at Rob. ‘Good to see you again. Gave me a bit of a surprise to find you here but it was just as well since I managed to get held up. At least they weren’t hanging about in the cold.’

  ‘Oh, I keep an eye on the old girl but I don’t have a routine. Best to be … unexpected.’

  Ned looked puzzled. ‘Unexpected?’

  ‘Well, it’s a lonely spot. Easy for someone to break in. If anyone were watching the place, for instance, it would keep them on their toes, if you see what I mean?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Ned glanced around almost nervously. ‘Sounds a bit creepy, if you ask me. Perhaps it is a bit off the beaten track.’ He hesitated for a moment and then laughed, picking up his Filofax, putting his mobile telephone into his pocket. ‘But don’t go saying that to the clients.’

  ‘Of course not. But I shall tell the truth about transport and the weather, if they ask.’

  ‘Fair enough. Well, I’ll be off. Season’s greetings and so on. See you in the new year.’

  ‘Indeed. And the same to you.’

  Rob strolled out, round the side of the house and into the yard, watching Ned climb into his car and shoot off down the lane with a fanfare farewell on the horn. He raised his hand, smiling. He’d become quite fond of Ned. The sound of the engine died away, the car disappearing amongst the trees, and he looked about him. The yard was tidy now; the stable repaired, the barn creosoted, all rubbish cleared away. He passed through the small gate which led to the front of the house, noting the first new green spears thrusting through the soil of the flower borders under the wall, appreciating the yellow stars on the jasmine which climbed over the porch. Crossing in front of the windows, he stepped on to the lawn which was divided from the moorland by its high escallonia hedge. He remembered the remains of a swing he’d found, rotting and broken, beneath its shelter and, for a moment, he’d imagined Moorgate as it had once been a hundred years before, with chickens running in the yard, children playing on the swing and the men coming in tired and hungry from the fields. He turned, half expecting to see the farmer’s wife watching him from the porch, her hands folded under her apron—but no one was waiting by the door and the yard was empty. Laughing aloud at his foolish fancies, giving one last glance round, he went back inside.

  Mary, shivering on playground duty, saw Patrick come out of the door and look about him. She felt a newly familiar sense of compassion and pity for him; compassion and pity—and guilt because she no longer really loved him. The little fragile flower of tenderness and pleasure had faded in the unkind atmosphere of other harsher emotions. Survival was instinctive and she could not allow herself to waver. As he approached she automatically hardened her heart against his look of eagerness, instinctively checking that nobody else observed his transparent pleasure.

  ‘I missed you on Saturday,’ he said at once. ‘Are you OK? I’ve been so worried.’

  Odd how the charm of his caring for her should have deteriorated into an irksome irritation.

  ‘We’re fine,’ she said, looking away from him, smiling brightly at the children milling about them. ‘Nothing to worry about. I had to go and see Mum and Dad but we’re all fine.’

  ‘I need to see you. I’ve had a showdown with Selina. I simply must talk to you.’

  Her heart was weighty with foreboding, making her angry with him. Why couldn’t he simply accept that whatever had been between them was all over? Their little moment was finished, past, and she wanted him to let go, to relinquish his hold. She knew that he would not; that he would cling to her, possibly dragging them all down. Self-preservation stiffened her resolve, warning her against giving in to his need, or comforting him. Yet she wanted to be kind; to let him down lightly.

  ‘Please, Mary.’ He stood with his back to the playground, his face miserable, and she wanted to scream at him to go away, to stop taking risks with her life, yet compassion wrung her heart and she knew that she could not be cruel to him.

  ‘Isn’t it bridge night?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ He watched her hopefully. ‘But I wanted to be sure you’d be in. Can I come round?’

  ‘Of course.’ How weak she was; how foolish to give way so quickly, but he was right. They needed to talk. ‘Yes, come round as usual.’ She gave him a swift smile. ‘Better go now.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ His relief was almost tangible and she felt a surge of the old affection for him. ‘See you later, then.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  She turned away from him, wishing that she could comfort him, reassure him, knowing that she couldn’t.

  ‘Are you going out tonight?’ Selina was in the doorway, bright-eyed, inquisitive. ‘Or have you work to do?’

  He thought: It’s almost as if she’s enjoying all this. But how can she be?

  ‘I’ll probably go round to the pub,’ he said casually. ‘I’ll see how I feel.’

  ‘Only’—she was smiling at him—‘I’m wondering whether I’ll go to bridge tonight.’

  He was unable to hide his shocked reaction although he did his best to cover his lapse. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’

  ‘I’m a bit low, to tell you the truth. Well, who wouldn’t be under the circumstances?’

  He remained silent, praying for release, whilst she watched him. ‘Perhaps,’ he mumbled, after a moment, ‘it would do you good to get out.’

  She laughed, a loud, harsh laugh, and he winced away from her. ‘Have you anything to tell me?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, confused. ‘No … What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I think you know very well what I mean.’ She seemed amused at his discomfiture. ‘Another thing. That weekend away in Oxford. I think I’ll come with you.’

  This time it was quite impossible to hide his dismay. ‘It’s out of the question,’ he said. ‘It’s … Everything is arranged.’

  ‘Oh, surely not,’ Selina said gently. ‘I’m sure we can change your single room for a double. Or is there some faint chance that you’ve already booked a double? Anyway, I’ve decided that it would do us good to get away for a weekend. I know you’ll be busy but I’m sure we’ll manage to have some time together. Oh, and Susan Partington’s coming to lunch on Wednesday. She and I haven’t had a good gossip for ages. I just thought you’d like to know that. Well.’ She stretched, breathing deeply with satisfaction. ‘So that’s that, then. Do you know, I’m feeling much better. I think I’ll go to bridge, after all. It will give you the chance to get things sorted, won’t it? See you later.’

  Patrick put his head in his hands. It seemed that Selina held all the cards. His only hope was that Mary might be prepared to trust him; to love him enough to take a chance for him. As long as he could look after her, and there was no question of Stuart being put at risk, surely they might scrape through? He could work for all three of them, support them, if only Mary would let him.

  He heard Selina call goodbye, heard the front door slam. He waited for a few moments, listening, before he stood up and went downstairs. Taking his coat, he stepped out into the wet evening, walking briskly, his head bent against the drizzle.

  ‘N
o.’ Mary shook her head. ‘Absolutely not, Pat. I just can’t.’

  He stared at her, desperately, trembling with frustration. They’d made love almost immediately after he’d arrived. She’d seen the expression on his face and had simply opened her arms to him. He’d seized her, kissing her hungrily, and she’d responded to his need. Afterwards she’d made them coffee and, encouraged by her readiness and her warmth, he’d poured out his ideas, his plans for the three of them, feeling confident that she would understand and be sympathetic. He’d explained that, although Selina would probably keep the house, he could support the three of them; they would find somewhere else to live, near Stuart’s school, and even if they both lost their jobs they would soon find new ones …

  She’d begun to draw away from him, to free herself from his embrace. He’d talked on, urgently, persuadingly, trying to force her to share his optimism, but she’d become stiff and unresponsive.

  ‘Please let’s try,’ he’d pleaded. ‘We can’t just give in to her, Mary. You can trust me to look after you both. I love you. I can’t bear the thought of us parting. Just think how wonderful it would be, Mary. To be together properly without all this lying and subterfuge. Isn’t it worth taking the risk?’

  ‘No,’ she’d said. ‘Absolutely not, Pat. I just can’t.’

  Now there was a silence which neither seemed capable of breaking. Patrick sat staring bleakly ahead of him and she sipped distractedly at her coffee, miserable but unyielding.

  ‘You don’t really love me at all, do you?’ he said at last.

  There was no pleading in his voice, no self-pity; just a stating of bald fact. She looked at him unhappily, not wanting to hurt him, determined not to give way.

  ‘I do love you, Pat,’ she said quietly, ‘but I suppose I don’t love you enough to take such risks. You know how it is with me. It’s been hell, trying to cope with Stuart, nowhere to live, no money, and I just can’t do it again. Oh, I know you’d want to work for us and protect us but just suppose Selina really puts the boot in and we get suspended—what then? It might work out in the end but what happens meanwhile? Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps nobody gives a shit whether you and I are having an affair and we’d both keep our jobs. But we can’t be certain, can we? We work at a Church of England primary school and your wife is great friends with the governors. Sorry, Pat.’ She shook her head. ‘The odds are stacked against us. I only hope we haven’t blown it already.’

  ‘Selina hasn’t said anything yet.’ He clasped his hands, staring down at them. ‘She’s giving me the chance to finish with you. We’ve got until Wednesday.’

  ‘Wednesday?’ She frowned at him, puzzled.

  ‘She’s invited Susan Partington to lunch on Wednesday.’ He sounded very tired, almost indifferent. ‘She’s one of the governors. Her husband ran off with his secretary and she’s very prejudiced about infidelity.’

  Mary experienced a thrill of terror. Anger twisted inside her and she had to restrain herself from leaping to her feet, ordering him out of the flat. How could he sit beside her so calmly when exposure and disgrace loomed so close? How dared he risk her and Stuart when he knew what they’d already suffered? The thought of his selfishness nearly choked her but still she tried to control herself; to remember how he had helped her.

  ‘Well then.’ She cleared her throat, tried to steady her voice. ‘It seems as if it’s been decided for us, doesn’t it? I can’t really believe that you’d be prepared to put Stuart at risk, Pat. Even if we were prepared to take the chance, we can’t leave him out of it. I’m sorry. I hate this, I really do, but we’ve got to finish it.’

  ‘I suppose I knew it all along, really.’ He glanced at her and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. ‘Selina always wins, one way or the other. Probably because she has no inhibitions. She’d already guessed about the weekend.’

  Mary shivered. ‘How do you know?’

  He smiled grimly. ‘She told me that she wanted to come with me to Oxford.’ He laughed, almost amused. ‘I suppose I’ll have to go now, won’t I?’ He hesitated, a last gleam of hope touching his face. ‘Unless …?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, Pat. We must simply forget our weekend. I had no idea that she was so … well, still in love with you, you see. I’d imagined, from what you said, that she didn’t care.’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t.’ He stood up. ‘Selina doesn’t love me. She owns me and that’s rather different. If she loved me it might all be more bearable.’

  She wanted to go to him, to hold him tightly and banish the empty look from his eyes, but she willed herself to remain seated. It was kinder to make the blow swift.

  Thanks,’ she said. ‘I am really, truly grateful for … everything. It’s been … good.’

  ‘Yes.’ He spoke on a deep breath, as if he were bringing a meeting to a conclusion, looking round him, checking that nothing was forgotten. ‘Well, I’ll be off then. See you in school.’

  The door closed behind him. She sat, clutching her mug, tears trickling down her face, feeling mean and cheap. His dignity touched her as no pleading could have done and she was suddenly aware of all that she’d lost.

  ‘You’re a selfish cow,’ she whispered. ‘But what else could I have done? Shit!’

  She got to her feet and went into Stuart’s room, staring down at him, biting her lips, holding his hand in hers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maudie drove into the car park, switched off the engine and glanced round at Polonius. He was so large that it had been necessary to drop the back seat so as to give him enough room in the small Metro. She’d managed to find an expandable guard to wedge behind the front seats, to prevent him from panting down her neck, but he leaned on it so weightily that she was in continual fear lest it should collapse.

  ‘You shall have a walk on the way home,’ she promised, ignoring his pleading expression. ‘You must wait patiently. You’ve got your bone and some water. Now be a good boy.’

  He flattened his ears dejectedly as she wound down the back windows an inch or two, reached for her bag and then locked the door.

  ‘Shan’t be long,’ she said encouragingly, feeling a traitor—she had every intention of having a cup of coffee in the Mill—and turned away, aware of his eyes fixed on her back. She knew that he’d rather be with her, even if it meant a longish wait in the car, than be left alone at home. After she’d finished shopping she’d drive up to Trendlebeare and give him a run. She wanted to see Max or Hugh at the Adventure Training School, to arrange some riding for Posy, and Polonius always enjoyed a good walk across the down.

  Putting him out of her mind, Maudie tried to concentrate on her shopping. She loved Bovey, with the river running through the middle of the town and its busy, friendly atmosphere. The old moorland town had a sturdy, independent air and she felt an odd combination of privilege and contentment as she crossed the bridge, her list in her hand. She needed some cheese from Mann’s, the delicatessen—some Sharpham would be rather pleasant—and a couple of lamb chops from David Pedrick. She must give David her order for Christmas now that she knew that Posy would definitely be with her. Perhaps goose as a change from turkey? Then, on to the bookshop, and a chat with Nick or Lindsey about an out-of-print book she hoped they might be able to trace for her.

  It was nearly an hour later before she arrived back at the car. She’d met an old friend in the Mill and it had been very pleasant to sit by the window, watching the water racing by, gossiping with Jean as they drank their coffee. Refreshed by the coffee and the warmth of friendship, Maudie settled into the driving seat and headed out of the town towards Haytor. Trendlebeare Down was recovering from the fire which had burned across its slopes two years before but charred trees still stood, bleak and twisted memorials to the flames, whilst new pale, tufty grass grew amongst gorse and heather. She parked the car on the road below Black Hill and let Polonius out. He dashed away, bounding amongst the rocks, nose to ground, whilst she followed more slowly, looking away to the so
uth towards Teignmouth, watching golden showers of sunshine slanting through the clouds, glinting on the grey waters of the estuary. Her thoughts drifted along at various levels: anxiety for Posy; the situation at Moorgate; Christmas; the beauty of the landscape …

  Polonius’s excited barking recalled her attention and she saw a horse and rider, picking their way down the hill. As they came closer she saw that it was Hugh Ankerton who, with Max Driver, ran the adventure school. She raised her hand to him, holding Polonius firmly with the other, and he came up to her waving cheerfully, controlling the horse who was dancing a little at the sight of Polonius.

  ‘Hugh,’ she said, ‘how good to see you. I shall be along in a minute for a chat.’

  That’s nice.’ He smiled down at her. ‘We haven’t seen you for a bit. New friend?’

  ‘He’s Posy’s.’ Maudie stroked Polonius’s head. ‘She rescued him last summer. Her mother couldn’t cope with him when Posy went back to college …’

  ‘And you were selected from a host of applicants,’ he finished for her, grinning. ‘He’s enormous.’

  ‘He’s quite good,’ she said cautiously, whilst Polonius, tongue lolling vacuously, panted winningly. ‘Don’t be taken in by his expression of gentle charm. He’s frightened the milkman into fits and made an attempt on the postman’s life, as well as trying to supplement his dinner with any passing pets who happen to be out walking with their owners.’

  ‘Poor old boy,’ said Hugh, chuckling. ‘She’s just trying to blacken your character, isn’t she?’

  Polonius’s ears dipped and his tail thumped. His wrinkled face bore the resigned expression of one who is constantly and unfairly maligned and Maudie shook her head.

  ‘He lies in wait for unsuspecting visitors,’ she said severely, ‘and then rushes out at them, barking furiously. The man who delivers my logs had to be revived with brandy and he’s no weakling, I assure you.’