Harbinger of Spring
Page 10
‘Then I suggest you get into your launch and I’ll hand them down.’
He helped her from one craft to the other, then went aboard the cruiser again. Mr. Rodgers came out of the cabin carrying two fairly large grips and with two cameras slung around his neck.
There was some feminine squealing as his wife was helped over the rail, then, Sara did not quite know how it happened, but all three of them were in the small launch and Hugh was standing over her with three lifejackets in his hands. He spoke in a jesting fashion as he distributed them, but his deep blue eyes looked straight into Sara’s.
‘Put them on, folks. It’s much too cold for swimming.’
Sara struggled .into hers and her cheeks reddened. She knew she was being criticised for coming without a lifejacket and felt it wasn’t fair after she had hurried so much to avert what could have been a tragedy.
Not fair at all, she thought as she swung away from the side of the yacht. Then another thought came to her. One just could not imagine a lifeboat’s crew putting to sea without their lifejackets.
But she couldn’t help wishing he wasn’t right quite so often. He must be a terrible man to live with.
CHAPTER V
In no time at all the young honeymoon couple made themselves at home in the house. She had become Sara, and they were Tom and Margaret. Obviously the two were very much in love with each other and kept together as closely as two fledglings in a nest.
Margaret volunteered to help make high tea, but ran back into the sitting room to Tom with such frequency that Sara laughingly told her to stay there.
During the meal, Sara received some kind of account of how the cruiser came to be aground, but she had to add her own slight knowledge of the waters to fill in the details. She concluded they had moored with their ropes pulled very tightly on the previous night, slept late and wakened to find their craft listing heavily and apparently hanging on its moorings. But it was all a matter of laughter to them now.
Sara laughed too, but not quite so heartily, remembering how low the stern had been in the water. A little more tilt and they would have wakened to an icy flood.
Later, as darkness gathered she drew the curtains and switched on lights and the television. Margaret sat close to Tom on the settee, his arm about her. Sara took a chair a little apart from them and felt almost as much alone as she did before their arrival. However, the programmes interested her, especially a discussion that almost became an argument between a land developer and a nature conservationist. Several film clips were used to illustrate the discussion and a particularly wild and open stretch called Breydon Water held her full attention. Shots were shown first in winter desolation when the place was thronged with birds of many species; then in high summer when river craft of all kinds made constant processions and the bird life consisted mainly of ducks.
The developer wanted mooring places and holiday chalets built for the benefit of those who wished to get away from crowded cities. The conservationist said that if this was allowed, the very peace and quiet which people wanted would be destroyed; also that one of the few natural sanctuaries for numerous species of birds would be lost to them and that they would be decimated or wiped out altogether.
As one fact or premise was put against another, Sara found herself wishing she had an intelligent commentator at her side, someone who would inform her further without bias, someone like Hugh. But perhaps Hugh was biased too. He was a naturalist and would undoubtedly lean to the side of nature.
The programme ended and she thought so much about Hugh that the old movie which followed might have been in a foreign language for all she knew of the plot.
When it came to an end, Sara went to make bedtime drinks rind as she stood waiting for the milk to heat she wondered why Hugh was so much in her thoughts and why she was still not very angry with him. After all, flaring up and asking people to leave the house was not a habit of hers.
Still, it was good to know there was a truce between them. In these parts they could be called near neighbours so were bound to meet occasionally.
She carried the tray in and unintentionally interrupted a tender love scene. They all laughed off the slight embarrassment, but Sara said:
‘I’m going to bed when I’ve had my drink. You two can please yourselves.’
‘I suppose that living in the country, you get up early,’ Margaret said.
‘Well, not too early. About seven.’ Sara saw no reason to say that this was not her permanent home. She smiled. ‘I’ll bring you a tray of tea about eight.’
‘Home from home,’ Tom said. ‘Are all Norfolk people as kind as you are?’
‘All that I’ve met.’
She chatted for a few more minutes, then said goodnight. Foolish pair, she thought with a smile as she was getting ready for bed, they could hardly let go of each other long enough to eat a biscuit. Still, it must be rather wonderful to feel like that. Would it last? she wondered.
The following morning Sara said goodbye to them at the boatyard and walked back through deep snow to where her launch was moored, but before stepping into it she looked about. Switzerland seemed to have come to Norfolk overnight. The sun was shining and the sharp, peaked roofs of the boathouse and other sheds were wearing white, woolly caps. Tree branches had doubled in thickness and were now gently curved where they had previously been angular, while on the surface of the water small snow islands drifted slowly upstream with the rising tide.
Sara had stood only a moment or two, but it was long enough to bring a flotilla of ducks and a pair of swans paddling towards her. Then to one side of her she heard a loud shout.
‘Cruiser, ahoy!’
Turning quickly, Sara saw Tom piloting his craft away from the moorings in an acute turn and apparently unaware of a yacht under full sail bearing down on him at speed. She shouted, too, but a collision appeared inevitable. Sara held her breath, then she saw the yacht’s sails flap wildly and the long boom which was out to one side was swung heavily inboard. She had a glimpse of Hugh hauling at yards and yards of rope, then the yacht, heeled well over, was running alongside the cruiser and only a few inches from it. The yacht picked up more speed, then when it was thirty or forty yards clear of the cruiser it turned completely about and headed for the quay. Sara came out of a sort of trance as the yacht came gently to a stop alongside the quay.
‘You gave me the thrill of a lifetime,’ she said as Hugh stepped ashore, a mooring line in his hand. ‘I was sure there was going to be a nasty accident.’
‘They can usually be avoided with the right tactics,’ he answered casually.
She looked at him curiously. ‘You don’t seem at all put out. I’m sure I would have been.’
He gave a shrug. ‘You have to make allowances for holidaymakers—especially honeymooners. Tom won’t turn out of a dock like that again. He’ll make sure it’s all clear the next time.’
‘That’s very tolerant.’ He could be when it suited him, apparently.
‘How did you find their company last night?’ he asked.
Sara laughed, ‘Frankly boring. They were so wrapped up in each other I hardly existed.’
‘I’m sorry about that, but I daresay you knew just how they felt.’
‘Not really. I don’t think I’ve ever been in—such a state of trance.’
‘You will.’
He spoke with such conviction that Sara was tempted to ask why he felt so sure, but she remembered there was only an unspoken truce between them and changed the subject.
‘I suppose there’s a lot to learn about sailing?’ she asked, as he seemed in no hurry to go.
‘A great deal if you go into it fully,’ he answered, ‘but one can have a lot of fun with a little elementary knowhow. Would you like to try your hand?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Well, I’ve only come in to the boatyard for a bottle of gas, so why not now?’
Sara looked at her watch and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t this morning. I’ve asked Sam
Blake to have coffee with me at eleven o’clock. Perhaps—’
‘This afternoon?’
‘Oh yes.’ Sara felt surprised at her own eagerness, but he seemed to take it as a matter of course.
‘Good. I’ll be at the end of your dyke at one o’clock. Bring a pair of gloves with you, old ones if you have them. Here’s young Peter coming with my cylinder of gas. I’ll give him a hand with the truck.’
Sara was turning into the Mill dyke when it occurred to her that one o’clock was an unusual time to begin learning to sail. Most people lunched about that hour, but Hugh was probably not like most people. In fact she was sure he was not. Photographing in the very early morning or at night was hardly conventional. Well, she didn’t think herself hidebound.
She could hear the bulldozer quite plainly as she entered the kitchen and as soon as she had plugged in the coffee percolator she ran up to her room. From her window she watched the ruthless progress of the machine as its angled blade built up a ridge of snow and dead growth to one side of the roadway. Then, almost before she realized it had happened, there was a clear passage to the end of her garden and the roar of the machine died away.
Running down the stairs, Sara tugged open the half frozen back door and called out,
‘Good morning, Sam. You’re right on time. Come inside.’
He cleared his heavy boots of snow and scrubbed them hard on the doormat, smiling all the time.
‘That’s tidy going this morning, miss—the old ground being real hard.’
‘I suppose it is better for you when it’s hard.’
‘That’s bound to be. The old ‘dozer can’t bog herself.’
Sara took his hat and leather jerkin and indicated a cushioned Windsor armchair.
‘I think you’ll find that comfortable, Sam.’
She put biscuits and cheese on a small table close to the chair, then poured coffee into breakfast cups. She said little while he was eating and drinking, but her eyes widened at the huge amount of cheese he evidently considered a snack.
‘How long will it be before I can bring a car through?’ she asked as she refilled his cup.
‘If it wasn’t for the surface being icy now you could drive through tomorrow.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I could salt it for you, then it’d be all right till the next fall of snow.’
‘Well, if you would do that for me at least I wouldn’t be entirely dependent on the river for getting to and fro.’
‘No, but you need to be very careful. Roads that aren’t used regular can get in a real muck. If you slide off the hard-core—’
‘I’ll be properly stuck. Still, I wouldn’t be very far from the Mill. Put salt down for me, will you, Sam, and I’ll try it tomorrow.’ She paused. ‘I’ve been a little way into the woods and it wasn’t as overgrown as I thought it might be.’
He laughed. ‘You go there in two or three months’ time and you’ll change your mind. It’s a proper hideout for all the rabbits, pheasants and wood-pigeons for miles around. At one time I could take my gun and—’ He stopped and his already ruddy face went redder. Sara laughed. ‘Do go on. I’m not a hard, grasping landowner.’
‘I was going to say I could knock off a rabbit or a couple of wood-pigeons. Do a lot of harm, they do, especially the little old pigeons.’
‘And the pheasants?’
‘Well, you don’t want too many of them. Stands to sense. There’s only so much food, and—’
‘I see. Nature’s law. Survival of the fittest. Well, if you want to knock off the odd bird or rabbit, you do so.’
He shook his head. ‘The way things are now it’s hard to get a good shot.’
‘You think some clearance ought to be made? I thought if things were left alone, nature would balance things out.’
‘Just let nature have a go at your garden for a few years and she’ll over-run it, then start on the house and Mill.’
‘I see what you mean, but I suppose we can do too much clearance?’
‘Hugh Cornish is the man to talk about that. He’s the only naturalist I’ve heard of who seems to realize there’s two sides to the question. Most times, we who’ve always lived here wonder what they’re all at. We get fair sick of planners. There’s one lot that want to grub out every hedge and tree in the country and another that wants to preserve every old weed that grows. But you don’t want to hear me going on about things like that, miss. You want to get your road open and when the time comes you’ll want to have your garden growing flowers, not filled with old nettles.’
‘But I do want to hear about the other things,’ Sara said. ‘I’ve heard about nature and wild life conservancy on the television and read a little about it in the newspapers, but this is the first time it’s really come to my notice.’
‘Then you have a good talk with Hugh Cornish. He really knows about it. It’s time for me to get cracking again. Thank you for the coffee, miss.’
Sara went to the door with him and watched him climb into his cab, but as the roar of machinery assailed her ears, she hastily closed the door again.
When she had washed and put away the coffee things, she looked at her watch and saw it was a quarter to twelve. Another hour and she would be on her way to meet Hugh. Time did not hang if you had someone interesting to talk with.
She went into the lounge and for some reason her thoughts switched to Desmond. She had thought she knew him well until he had visited Fenchurch Mill, but from the moment she had met him at the station he had surprised her by his indifference to anything except money-making. His remark that Norwich Castle should be pulled down and the site used for a department store had really shocked her. Yet, now that she thought of it, similar things had happened in other cities, even if not on such a sweeping scale. Des was not alone with ideas that a lot of people thought outrageous.
Conserve? Or destroy and re-plan? What were her own ideas? Honestly, she hadn’t any, but if anyone talked to her about pulling down the Mill and this lovely old house to make room for some other development, she would be really angry. The woodland, too. She would take advice about clearing some of the undergrowth and perhaps thin out some of the small trees, but no one was going to be allowed to make havoc with axe and saw.
A few minutes before one o’clock, Sara cruised slowly down the dyke. The sun was still shining, but it was bitingly cold and she was glad of her lifejacket although she thought it made her look something of a pudding.
She saw the yacht moored to the opposite side of the river, its sails hanging loosely, and when she came out of the dyke she crossed to pull alongside it. Hugh took her mooring line and helped her from one craft to the other, then he guided the launch around the stern of the yacht and hitched it to a tree.
‘What time do you usually lunch?’ he asked as he manoeuvred around.
Sara thought he would not like an evasive answer, so answered as casually as she could.
‘About now usually, but I’m not adamant about the time.’
‘I should have known. Almost everyone I know has regular habits. However, if you’ll put up with a scratch lunch before we start—’
He opened the cabin door and a deliciously appetizing aroma wafted towards Sara. She looked up at him.
‘Something smells good.’
‘Home-cured ham. You can get it if you know the right people and ask nicely. Take your lifejacket off and step inside.’
She went in before him. The cabin was warm and had an intimate cosiness. She sat down and watched him turn over the gently sizzling ham—then deftly crack the eggs on the side of the pan and drop them in the fat.
‘I expect it’s not very long since you had coffee,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I would suggest a glass of lager with this.’
She laughed, ‘And I would heartily agree with the suggestion!’
The meal did not occupy them for more than twenty minutes, but when it had been eaten, Sara realized that never before had she tasted really good ham or fresh eggs. Somehow, everything tasted differe
nt in the country. She offered to wash up, but the suggestion was brushed to one side.
‘Some other time, perhaps. Not now. Time’s too precious. The wind might drop if we hang about. Put your lifejacket on and have a look around the well and the foredeck. Getting to know the use of the various ropes is the number one lesson in sailing.’
Sara did as he suggested. Various ropes were secured to cleats on the cabin top and ran for’ard to pulleys at the foot of the mast, then vertically to its peak to crisscross there in a manner which she could not follow.
She climbed out of the well by a single step and went gingerly along the narrow side deck holding on to the grab rail cautiously. Gazing up at the height of the mast and leaning backwards while she pulled tentatively at tightly stretched ropes, she saw the purpose of some of them. A thick, cottony rope attached to a shining steel wire was obviously used to haul the mainsail up the mast and a similar, but thinner one did the same for the triangular foresail. But the purpose of some of the others she could not understand.
Going back to the well, Sara was fingering the varnished mahogany tiller when Hugh ducked out of the cabin.
‘Right. We’re all shipshape and Bristol-fashion, so we’ll away. Did you make anything of it?’
‘A little. I’ve’ discovered the ropes for hauling up the sails.’
‘Ah, yes. The halyards, those. Main and jib. Anything else?’
‘I’m not sure, but wasn’t this boom thing about horizontal when I saw you sailing?’
‘It was, but it’s angled up now so that the wind can’t do any more than flap the sail about. In sailing parlance the boom is topped and the sail scandalized. Now I’ll go for’ard and cast off and you just watch what happens.’
He moved quickly and was back at her side within a few seconds, but in that short space of time the yacht had half turned and begun a backward drift. Hugh snatched at a rope and from being a slackly flapping triangle, the jib sail filled into a beautiful swelling curve. The backward drift ceased and a slow forward movement began.