The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

‘You spent all that on furnishings?’

  ‘Yes.’ Gillian stared her godmother straight in the eye, praying that she wouldn’t ask to see the account. ‘You of all people must know that it goes nowhere.’

  ‘I shall look forward to seeing the results,’ said Elizabeth drily. ‘I hope you got your money’s worth.’

  Gillian shrugged. ‘So do I. I got a bit carried away, I suppose. And in a house the size of Nethercombe it’s just a drop in the ocean.’ She crossed her fingers under her thigh. ‘You must come and give me your opinion.’

  Elizabeth got up and went to her bureau. She took her cheque book out of a pigeonhole and unscrewed her fountain pen.

  ‘To whom shall I make it payable? Which credit card do you have?’ she asked, and when Gillian – who had hoped to use some of it to clear her overdraft – told her, Elizabeth sat down and began to write.

  Gillian took a deep, deep breath and relaxed back into the cushiony chair. The room seemed to gather itself round her as though, in the last few minutes, it had withdrawn, holding its breath, waiting. Now, time moved on again, life flowed back. The tick of the clock was suddenly loud as the fountain pen whispered over the paper, the flames burned and crackled merrily in the shining grate and the strident voices of the rooks, quarrelling vociferously in the tall trees beyond the long sash windows, impinged upon her consciousness. She realised that she had been tense, watchful, waiting for opportunities, calculating her replies, and she drank deeply from her glass.

  Elizabeth tore the cheque from the book and stood up.

  ‘This is the last, the very last time, Gillian, that I intend to bail you out. Do you understand? I’d decided that your wedding was to be my last contribution, as I told you at the time, but I’ll give you one last chance to grow up and start taking responsibility seriously. You can look on it as your Christmas and birthday presents for the next ten years.’ She dangled the cheque in her fingers, inches from her goddaughter’s head and, after a moment, Gillian took it. Her face was sulky and she muttered her thanks with a very bad grace. She glanced at the figure and her eyes widened. When she looked up at Elizabeth, her expression was genuinely grateful.

  ‘That’s … that’s really good of you, Elizabeth. Thanks. Honestly.’

  ‘Last time, Gillian. Believe it. Now. Let’s have another drink to take the taste away and you can tell me how Lydia is. I haven’t seen her for months.’

  NELL SAW JOHN’S BARCLAYCARD Statement quite by mistake. In a rare moment of zeal, she decided to turn out the spare bedroom which he used as a small study. She tidied the top of his desk, trying to leave things as undisturbed as possible and, as she carefully lifted the pile of papers to dust beneath them, the statement fell out from between the pages. Nell, bending to pick it up, was arrested in the act, staring in disbelief at the amount owing. She straightened slowly, still staring at the sheet, noting that things for which she assumed they were paying cash were being put on the account. It seemed that very little had been paid for by cash for a long time. Nell’s heartbeat seemed to hurry a little. Only the minimum payment had been paid last time and John was over his credit limit. Nell put the paper back and went out, down the passage and into the kitchen. She filled a tumbler from the wine box that John had brought home from the supermarket – and paid for on his credit card, no doubt – and sipped thoughtfully.

  Knowing John’s sense of inadequacy, his readiness to believe himself a failure, Nell was always careful how she approached him with anything that might resemble a problem for which he could be held in any way responsible. His reactions tended to be defensive and she tried to avoid aggressive confrontations. She knew that things were not going so well now but Martin had assured her that, if they didn’t lose their heads, there shouldn’t be any difficulty. Nell guessed that John had asked Martin to talk to her, hoping to fend off any questions.

  Well, she’d believed him. She took another sip and set down her glass. Raising her arms, she deftly twisted up the long hair into a more secure knot and, dropping her head back, tried to relax her neck muscles. What was going on? A thought struck her and she went back to the study. It didn’t take her long to find the bank statement and when she looked at it she drew in her breath in horror. It simply couldn’t be that bad! Nothing had been paid into the account for weeks and it was well overdrawn. When they’d moved to Bristol, John had taken over the financial side of life and Nell, anxious to show that she trusted and supported him, had let him do it. Now she was really worried. Years of large mess bills and unrealistic budgeting had shown her that John was useless with money but she’d taken charge of it whilst he was at sea and kept their financial dealings more or less under control. With him at home full time there was no longer any excuse for her to hold the reins and she’d passed them over and hoped for the best.

  Nell replaced the bank statement and went back to the kitchen. She realised the time had come to talk about things, but how should she approach it? She would have to tell him what she knew or he would palm her off with verbal placebos. As her imagination got to work and she began to feel the familiar sensations of anxiety, she tried to keep her fear under control. There was no point in getting worked up until she knew the exact situation. But would John tell her the exact situation? She knew very well that his hopes and desires often got mixed in with his perception of reality and, if she stripped away his illusions, he might not be able to confront the bare truth without a massive loss of confidence. Perhaps now was the time to try to find a job herself and make some contribution towards the household expenses. When this subject had been raised in the past John had protested loudly against it; he was perfectly able to support his wife, he told her. She suspected that if she were to suggest it now it would merely underline the fact that his ability to provide was in question. Nell rubbed her hands over her face, picked up her glass and went to refill it. Even as she raised it to her lips, she heard John’s key in the lock and his step in the hall. He put his head round the door.

  ‘So there you are.’ The smile, the thick fair hair, the blue eyes, were Rupert’s. And Jack’s. Her heart contracted with love. ‘I’ve got to meet a client at a property just round the corner so I thought I’d pop in for a quick cup of coffee,’ he said. His eye fell on her glass. ‘Goodness!’ His eyebrows shot up and the corners of his mouth down. ‘Bar’s open early, I see.’

  ‘Oh, John.’ She stood the glass down and went to him. Thoughts struggled together in her head. Should she tell him now? Was there time to work through it all before he went to meet his client? Although she knew the unwisdom of it, her anxieties were so great that the words were out before she could stop them. ‘John, I saw the Barclaycard statement. I didn’t mean to. I was tidying up and it fell on the floor. Oh, John, I didn’t realise things were so bad.’

  The smile died away as she spoke and a hastily assumed expression of surprise and amusement took its place. Nell recognised it and her heart sank.

  ‘Poor Nell. That’ll teach you to go poking around in my study. Nothing to worry about. All under control. Bit of a cockup last month but everything will be sorted out in a day or two. Now what about some coffee? I haven’t got long.’

  Nell stared up at him, longing to believe him, wondering whether she dared mention the bank statement.

  ‘But what went wrong? Are we … ?’ She hesitated. ‘Are we OK at the bank?’

  She waited. Her peace of mind hung on the manner in which he answered the question.

  ‘The bank?’ His little frown of amazement, his chuckle which ridiculed the suggestion, struck fear into Nell’s heart. ‘Of course we are. Why ever not? You really mustn’t panic so easily, my darling. Martin told you that everything was fine as long as we don’t panic, didn’t he? You must just leave it all to us.’

  ‘But, John.’ She couldn’t leave it alone and his face grew bleak. ‘Your Barclaycard’s right over its limit. If we’re OK at the bank, why have you let it go so far?’

  ‘Nell, please!’ It was a plea and the compresse
d lips showed that he only just had himself in hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried, ‘it was a shock! I simply can’t see why it should be so bad.’ She took his hands. ‘John, you must tell me if there’s a problem. Please! Let me share things with you.’

  ‘Why does there have to be a problem?’ he demanded and his voice was high and full of fear and resentment. He pulled his hands from her clasp. ‘Why must you always assume that I’ve got it wrong?’

  ‘Oh, darling, I don’t. I don’t I’m sorry. Look, let me make you some coffee.’ She turned away from him and went to the kettle.

  ‘It’s too late now.’ His voice was still charged with emotion and she feared that he might burst into tears. ‘I’ve got to see this man. Oh Christ!’

  He ran out, his footsteps hurrying across the hall. Nell stood, clutching the kettle, unable to move. The front door slammed and there was silence.

  Six

  GUSSIE WOULD NOT HAVE been able to accept Henry’s invitation to Nethercombe that summer if it hadn’t been for Nell who, in addition to her anxiety about John, was becoming more and more aware of Gussie’s stringent economies. When Gussie told her that she had decided not to go, as she didn’t feel quite up to the train journey, Nell put two and two together and made the total the price of a return ticket. A solution presented itself almost at once but Nell offered it to Gussie rather casually lest she should suspect and reject it on the grounds of charity. It was quite simple. Nell had decided to go down to the cottage for a week or so. On her way to Porlock Weir she would drop Gussie at Nethercombe and collect her on the return trip. When Nell suggested it, Gussie felt her heart give a little throb of hope.

  ‘But are you sure that you’ll want to be going then?’ she asked. ‘Henry knows that I love to go when all the rhododendrons are in flower. But isn’t that rather early for your summer holiday?’

  ‘Oh, I like to do a trip to the cottage about then,’ said Nell, stirring her tea and avoiding Gussie’s penetrating gaze. ‘There’s hardly anybody about and I enjoy having the place to myself. I can be totally selfish and do as I please. We’ll all have a proper holiday together later on, of course. And you’ll be company for me on the journeys to and fro.’

  ‘But surely you don’t go that far down?’ Gussie looked anxious. ‘Nethercombe is beyond Ashburton. Don’t you turn off near Tiverton?’

  ‘It’s hardly any distance,’ said Nell firmly. ‘And I’d love to see Nethercombe after all you’ve told me about it. And I’d like to meet Henry. And Gillian, of course. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?’

  ‘Of course I should love to show you Nethercombe,’ said Gussie, distressed that her protests may have been misunderstood and swallowing the bait whole as Nell intended. ‘And Henry would be delighted to meet you. You know it’s not that, my dear.’

  ‘That’s splendid, then,’ said Nell, before Gussie could reiterate her anxieties. ‘We’ll make an early start. And I can pick you up again on my way back.’

  Gussie was overjoyed: to be taking a friend to Nethercombe, to show Nell the dear old place and introduce her to Henry. She could hardly believe it. She had been schooling herself to overcome the disappointment of refusing, willing herself to write the letter that put an end to all her hopes, and Nell’s offer, coming suddenly out of the blue, had the same effect as sunshine after rain. The whole world looked different: shining with possibilities, sparkling with joyous prospects. Even Henry rose to the occasion and wrote to Gussie inviting Nell to lunch if she could stay. It was the icing on the cake.

  ‘And You know that it’s not really pride, Lord,’ Gussie said as she packed her case. ‘Not really. It’s simply that it makes me feel as though I still belong. That I have a tiny share in Nethercombe and that I can make Nell welcome there as though it were my own home. How good You are, Lord. Just when I thought that my visits to Nethercombe were over. How blessed I am. I think I’ll put the paisley in, just in case …’

  Gillian was on the terrace when they arrived. She strolled towards them, smartly casual in expensive cords and a cashmere jersey and obviously curious to see Nell. Her eyes narrowed a little as Nell emerged from the driving seat and Gussie watched with satisfaction as Gillian took in Nell’s striking beauty.

  ‘Hello.’ Nell took Gillian’s outstretched hand. ‘You must be Gillian.’

  ‘Must I?’ Gillian smiled blindingly and turned as Henry came hurrying out of the house. ‘Look what Gussie’s brought us, Henry,’ she said.

  ‘I told you she was beautiful,’ said Gussie, smiling a little at Henry’s reaction.

  ‘So you did,’ said Gillian, taking Henry’s arm. ‘Over and over again.’

  Henry released Nell’s hand reluctantly. Her beauty overwhelmed him.

  ‘You see what I mean, Henry? About Sibylla Palmifera?’

  ‘Please, Gussie!’ cried Nell involuntarily. She blushed painfully and smiled quickly at Henry. ‘What a lovely place this is. The rhododendrons are magnificent. I quite see what Gussie means.’

  ‘Well, of course, I’m prejudiced.’ Henry, sensing Nell’s embarrassment, tried to help her overcome it. ‘You must come and see my new development. We’re converting some old barns.’

  ‘Gussie’s been telling me about it,’ said Nell, accepting the change of direction gladly and ignoring Gillian’s expressions of bored impatience. ‘It sounds very exciting. I should love to see it.’

  ‘But she’d like some coffee first,’ said Gillian, seeing that Henry was about to take Nell at her word and rush her down the drive. ‘And Gussie, too. They’ve come a long way. I’ll go and tell Mrs Ridley.’

  ‘And I’ll take my suitcase in.’ Gussie opened the car door. ‘No, no, Henry. I can manage it perfectly well. You stay and talk to Nell.’

  Nell leaned her arms on the stone balustrade and gazed out over the countryside and Henry was able to stare at her in wonder and admiration. Her pale profile was cameo-clear, the heavy hair was thickly braided although tendrils escaped to curl about her face, and her tall slender figure was flattered by the black high-necked jersey, tucked into a long skirt of soft corduroy the colour of pine needles. Henry pulled himself together and cleared his throat.

  ‘It was very good of you to bring Gussie down.’

  ‘Not a bit. It was nice for me to have some company.’ Nell continued to stare out, feeling his eyes on her. ‘Is that the Courtyard? Down in the trees there?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Henry was distracted as she’d hoped he would be. ‘We’ve finished the first cottage. Hoping to sell it so as to get the money to do the second one.’

  ‘My husband sells houses,’ said Nell lightly. ‘The market’s not too good at the moment, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Henry flatly. ‘It isn’t. Simon says we may have missed the boat.’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Simon Spaders is the architect. He’s made a really good job. You’ll see.

  ‘Coffee!’ called Gillian. ‘Too cold outside. Mrs Ridley’s put it in the study.’ She smiled at Nell as they came inside. ‘Want to come upstairs first?’

  ‘Oh, yes please,’ said Nell gratefully.

  ‘You start pouring, Henry.’ Gillian headed for the stairs, Nell in tow. ‘We shan’t be long.’

  Gillian was nowhere in sight when Nell came out into the corridor again. A little further along a door stood ajar and Nell could hear someone within. She could just see Gillian inside, moving to and fro, humming to herself. Tentatively she pushed the door a little wider and Gillian nodded to her to come in.

  ‘Want to tidy up a bit?’ she asked and Nell, who had left her bag in the car, indicated her empty hands. ‘Oh, you can use my stuff,’ said Gillian carelessly. She watched as Nell approached the dressing table and made a show of tidying her hair. ‘Why don’t you stay on for a day or two? Do you have to rush away?’

  Nell stared at her in surprise through the glass. ‘Stay on?’

  ‘Why not? It would be fun to have you here. We could get up a bit of a party.’
/>   ‘Well …’ Nell was nonplussed.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Gillian again. ‘Gussie would be pleased. She could do her Lady Bountiful thing. You know. Pretending Nethercombe is hers. And the way that Henry was looking at you, I can see he’d be only too pleased.’

  Nell turned from the glass. She felt uncomfortable. ‘It’s very kind of you but I don’t think I could. I’ve made arrangements with the girl who keeps an eye on the cottage for us. She’s expecting me.’

  Gillian shrugged. She looked disappointed. ‘Couldn’t you telephone her?’

  Nell was surprised at her insistence. ‘It would be too difficult, I’m afraid. She’ll have got milk and things in for me and probably lit a fire. Perhaps on the way back …’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Gillian seized on the idea, recovering her good humour. Things had been very dull of late, money being rather tight, and it was simply too good an opportunity to miss. After all, Henry could hardly refuse if she made the suggestion in front of Nell. ‘Brilliant. Gives me time to plan. You could stay for a few nights and we’ll have a bit of a shindig. I’ll get some friends over. Great! Now, when would that be? Let’s fix it before we go down, shall we?’

  Nell drove away from Nethercombe feeling confused and anxious. When they had got back to the study, Gillian announced that Nell would be staying on the way back and that they had planned to have a party. Nell noticed that Henry’s first reaction was one of dismay, although his good manners had instantly covered his lapse and he made it clear that he would be delighted to see Nell again for a longer time. Gussie was obviously thrilled, Gillian looked very pleased with herself and the rest of the visit had gone smoothly and pleasantly. Nell, however, felt as though she’d been manipulated although she couldn’t quite see how. Presently she shook her head. It was no use worrying about it now. She turned on to the A38, pushed her foot down on the accelerator and headed back the way she had come.