The Nightingale's Nest

Home > Other > The Nightingale's Nest > Page 43
The Nightingale's Nest Page 43

by Sarah Harrison


  One evening in the late June of 1954, in response to an invitation from Amanda, I left Dorothy in charge and drove up to Highgate in my shiny Austin A40 (an indulgence courtesy of Ashe) to have supper with them. It was to be my last visit for over ten years.

  Afterwards we sat outside. Mr Speight had done his stuff, but the bottom of the garden was as overgrown as ever, the little path wriggling away invitingly into the mysterious green darkness. Amanda may have guessed what I was thinking, for she said:

  ‘I have to restrain Mr Speight, Pamela, or he’d make the whole place look like a municipal park. I like to keep a little bit of wilderness, even though it gets on the poor man’s nerves . . .’

  I said I absolutely agreed with her. Christopher Jarvis wasn’t so sure.

  ‘It’s not as though we ever use that end,’ he said. ‘We could have a pleasing prospect instead of a wall of vegetation.’

  ‘It’s not big enough for a prospect,’ protested his wife, isn’t that right, Pamela?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You’re ganging up on me,’ he said. ‘I give in.’

  The evening sank into night, but a big, mottled, golden moon rose, and upstairs lights shone from several of the neighbouring houses, so it wasn’t completely dark. Half an hour later Amanda got to her feet.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, Pamela, I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Heavens, is that the time?’ I rose immediately, conscious of having stayed too long. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea. I must be off.’

  ‘No, no, you stay – you look tired, and it’s so lovely out here.’

  To my surprise, Christopher added: ‘Yes, stay for a little while, why don’t you? Have a snifter.’

  Amanda patted my shoulder as if giving her permission. ‘A very good idea.’

  I declined the snifter, but he poured himself one and then returned, and we sat for a while in easy silence, breathing in the scent of the garden.

  ‘How’s the good work going?’ he asked in the gently teasing tone he used on this subject. ‘Is business brisk?’

  ‘As much as we can handle,’ I replied.

  ‘Dorothy OK?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’ I could almost hear him smiling. ‘We used to say that, about both of you.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and look how well things turned out.’

  ‘The Speights are fine but they’re not interesting.’

  To change the subject, I asked: ‘Do you see anything of the Ashes these days?’

  ‘Good grief, no.’ He put his glass down and I heard the sounds of him lighting a cigarette, then saw the small red spark flare and subside as he took the first drag. ‘Not since he died. I never cared for Felicia, and I’m afraid all that business with Suzannah stuck in my craw.’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘Getting her in the family way and then adopting the child as though he were doing her a favour, when he didn’t give a damn for either of them. Anyway, they’re not interested in us.’

  I sensed a sore point, but it was out of curiosity, not a desire to hurt, that I asked: ‘You were in the army with him, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘He showed me a photograph, years ago.’

  ‘Did he.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘Yes . . . “C” Company, I think he said. I was very clever, I picked you out.’

  ‘Did you pick him out too?’

  ‘No, but then he looked very different.’

  Quite a long silence followed, during which I sensed that Christopher Jarvis was conducting an internal debate. He must have reached a conclusion, because he broke the silence by saying: ‘Let me tell you something I learned in the army.’ He glanced at me. ‘Would that be all right?’

  I wondered why he needed my permission. ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s this. In war, you develop a sort of sixth sense about who you can trust. It has nothing to do with a man’s other qualities. In civilian life he could be a philanthropist or a thumping crook – it’s simply a question of whether you can rely on him under fire.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘I trusted John Ashe. He was an odd chap – not well liked even then, without the damage. He gave nothing away about himself, but he made it his business to know about other people.’

  ‘He didn’t change, then.’

  ‘I forget – you knew him, too. So you’ll understand something of this. Anyway, whatever else, in my view Ashe was a man I trusted with my life. He was my batman, did you know that?’

  I was astonished. ‘No. He didn’t say.’

  ‘Why would he? And anyway, after the war our positions became if not actually reversed then at least tilted in his favour. He made millions out of his dubious goings-on.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Left next to nothing, apart from the house. God knows where it all went.’ Jarvis glanced at me. ‘He liked you, Pamela.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Well, as much as he liked anyone, especially any woman. He always preferred his own company first and foremost, with men second and women a poor third.’

  ‘I guessed that.’

  ‘Anyway, I was fond of him. It wouldn’t be too much to say we grew quite attached to one another. And as I told you I’d have trusted him with my life.’

  I listened intently, almost holding my breath. Above us, the light went off in Amanda’s bedroom. The sense of secrecy was intense and overpowering. I didn’t want to break the spell, but I couldn’t help myself. I asked:

  ‘And were you right?’

  ‘I was,’ he said, so quietly that I could only just hear him. ‘I was. But there was a price to pay, for both of us. And there has been ever since.’

  I knew there could be no more questions, that he considered he had said too much already. Perhaps, from his point of view, he had. Christopher Jarvis was an old man, trying to make sense of the distant past. I had half my life ahead of me, and much to do.

  I heard his breathing grow deep and slow, as if he were asleep. As I rose to go, another sound stopped me in my tracks. Liquid, sweet and plaintive – the song of a nightingale rippling softly from her secret, hidden place.

  The baby upstairs has stopped crying. The only sound I can hear is the soft, surging roar of the traffic on the busy road beyond the house. But the house itself – my house – is still, and safe, its occupants slipping into rest in their different ways.

  One by one, the lights go out. In the kitchen, the light is still on, and I can see Dorothy filling the kettle at the sink beneath the window. Peter Archard is with her; she must have let him in. They’re laughing together. He likes her but he doesn’t stand a chance. Neither of them can see me, out here in the dark.

  But I’m watching – and all will be well.

  Copyright

  First published 2006 by Hodder & Stoughton

  This edition published 2015 by Bello

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.co.uk/bello

  ISBN–978-1-5098-0091-9

  ISBN–978-1-5098-0089-6

  ISBN–978-1-5098-0090-2

  Copyright © Sarah Harrison, 2006

  The right of Sarah Harrison to be identified as the

  author of this work has been asserted by her in

  accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means

  (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise)

  without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations

  and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  An
y resemblance to actual events, places, organizations or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This book remains true to the original in every way. Some aspects may appear

  out-of-date to modern-day readers. Bello makes no apology for this, as to retrospectively

  change any content would be anachronistic and undermine the authenticity of the original.

  Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for,

  any author or third party websites referred to in or on this book.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Typeset by Ellipsis Digital Limited, Glasgow

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of

  trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out, or otherwise circulated without

  the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than

  that in which it is published and without a similar condition including

  this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books

  and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and

  news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters

  so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

 

 

 


‹ Prev