JOHN PUT DOWN THE telephone receiver and let out an exclamation of despair.
‘What now?’ Martin coming through from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee looked resigned.
‘That was Mrs Morrison. They won’t be able to proceed with the purchase of the house in Lansdowne Terrace. Their own sale has just fallen through.’ He put his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh Christ!’
‘That’s a bit of a bummer.’ Martin stood a mug on John’s desk.
He was getting used to John’s explosive outbursts, his plunges into despair, and deliberately maintained a placid exterior in the hope of keeping him calm. It was both touching and terrifying to see how readily John turned to him for comfort, clinging to Martin’s optimism and positive thinking as a drowning man clings to the wreckage.
‘That’s a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?’ John stared up at him. ‘We needed that commission to pay the rent. And what about the telephone bill?’
‘I know, I know.’ Martin’s tone was deliberately soothing. ‘We’ll just have to stall them a bit longer, that’s all. You can’t lay your hands on anything, I suppose?’
‘You know I can’t.’ John’s face was strained and his jaw moved as though he were chewing something. ‘I’ve told you. We’re broke.’
‘OK.’
Martin looked away from the desperation in John’s face and wandered over to the window. He stood looking out into the busy street. It had been a mistake to take John into partnership. He had neither the cool head nor the ready wits that were necessary in business when the chips were down. Martin, sipping at his coffee, stuck his free hand in his pocket and jingled his loose change. They shouldn’t have taken over the new premises; that had been a serious error of judgement. The timing was all wrong and things were getting uncomfortable. The bank, the company who leased the photocopier, the landlord, British Telecom, all of them were on his back. He whistled a little tune between his teeth.
‘What are we going to do?’
John was at his shoulder. Martin smiled at him, considering and rejecting various responses. It was no good panicking him, he’d learned that much.
‘Telephone’s priority. Got to keep them sweet. No phone, no business. Why don’t you pop out for a quick bite while I make a few phone calls? Sort something out?’
He could see John willing himself to believe that things could be sorted out and continued to smile at him reassuringly.
‘I’ll drink my coffee first.’ John turned back to his desk and Martin allowed his face muscles to relax. ‘Can’t afford any lunch anyway. Our own rent’s due. God knows what I’m going to do.’
‘Could Nell help?’
‘Help? How?’ John stared at him. ‘Nell hasn’t got any money.’
‘No. I just meant … Well, perhaps she could get a job or something? ’
John slumped down in his chair. ‘She’s suggested it but she’s not really qualified to do anything and jobs are thin on the ground at the moment. I’ve always been against it, to be honest. I like to think that I can support my own wife and she doesn’t know how desperate things are. I simply can’t tell her. You know she didn’t want me to come outside?’
‘You told me.’ Martin rose on his toes and dropped back on his heels once or twice. His face was thoughtful, his mind busy. ‘What about that cottage of yours? On Exmoor, isn’t it? Would you get much for that? Assuming that you could find a buyer.’
‘What? You mean sell it?’
‘Why not? Help to keep us going till the tide turns.’
‘It’s out of the question!’ John stared at Martin. ‘Not on! Nell would kill me. It’s all we’ve got left.’
‘Oh well,’ said Martin lightly, after a moment, ‘at least you’ll have a roof if things go wrong.’
‘Wrong? What d’you mean? Wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ Martin cursed himself and achieved an amused laugh. ‘You really must stop panicking. The trouble with you service chaps is that you’re no good without your book of rules. Out here in the cold world we have to make our own up as we go along. Go on. Go and have a pint while I make some phone calls.’
John swallowed his coffee, put the mug on his desk and stood up. ‘I’ll go and have a stroll round,’ he said. ‘Clear my head a bit. I can’t afford to go to the pub.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Martin dug in his back pocket and brought out his notecase. He riffled through it and gave a short laugh at its paucity of substance. ‘Here! Take this and get yourself something. Bring me back a sandwich. Go on. Take it.’
‘Is it all you’ve got?’ John stared at the proffered note.
‘Take it!’ Martin shook it impatiently. ‘I was going to put it in the petty cash. But we should last out and we don’t need any stamps. Get yourself a drink and unwind a bit. We’ll manage, you’ll see.’
‘Yes.’ John hesitated for a moment and then took the note. ‘We will, won’t we?’
‘Course we will.’ Martin gave him a little wink. ‘Go on. See you later.’
John managed a smile, picked up his jacket and went out. Martin stood for some moments after he’d gone and then, going into the inner office, he picked up the telephone receiver and dialled his estranged wife’s number.
Seven
IN THE AUTUMN, HENRY sold the first of the Courtyard cottages. The buyers were a middle-aged couple from upcountry who wanted it for holidays and eventually for their retirement. Since they had heard of the cottage through Simon Spaders, Henry felt it incumbent upon him to give him a commission on the sale. Simon, who had already made quite a tidy sum out of Henry, accepted the commission and used it to pay for a week’s holiday in Tenerife. Gillian went with him.
‘You really are the most unprincipled person I’ve ever met,’ chuckled Simon as they lay on their bed, worn out with too much sun, too much food and too much sex. ‘Even I think it’s a bit much that your husband is paying for all this debauchery.’
‘No you don’t.’ Gillian rolled over lazily to reach for her wineglass. She propped herself against the mound of pillows and sipped. ‘Stupid people deserve what they get.’
‘Is it stupid to trust your wife?’ mused Simon, folding his hands behind his head and watching the patterns of evening sunlight on the carpet. ‘An awful lot of men do it.’
‘Which only goes to reinforce my opinion of the average man.’ Gillian giggled suddenly. ‘You have to laugh though, don’t you? He thinks I’m with Lucy. A week with Lucy in the sun was my little present out of the proceeds. He simply couldn’t imagine that I’d want a holiday. To him, Nethercombe is paradise. Do you know he hasn’t had a holiday for years? Since he was a kid.’ She shook her head. ‘Amazing.’
‘I still don’t agree that he’s stupid,’ protested Simon. ‘Gullible, trusting, generous – ’ Gillian snorted – ‘kind …’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! You make him sound like an ad in a lonely hearts column. “Kind, gentle, trusting landowner …” ’ She burst out laughing and finished her wine. ‘Anyway, anyone who prefers cold wet windy Devon to all this is definitely stupid.’ She lifted the bottle and tilted it. ‘The wine’s all gone’
‘Too bad,’ said Simon.
Gillian ran her finger over his bare skin and started to giggle again.
‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘Henry in bed. He hasn’t got a clue …’
‘Oh, shut up, Gillian.’ Simon pushed her hand away and got off the bed. He felt a sudden sense of revulsion at using Henry’s money to cuckold him and he had no intention of adding to it by discussing his prowess – or lack of it – between the sheets. ‘It must be dinner time. I’m going to have a shower.’
Gillian made a face at his departing back and turned over, burying her head in the pillow. In moments she was fast asleep.
NELL, CURLED UP IN the corner of the sofa, was only pretending to read her book. Her head bent, she was watching John who sat in the chair opposite. He, unconscious of her scrutiny, stared unseeingly at the fire and made no pretence of readin
g the paper which had fallen on to his lap. He felt himself to be living in a nightmare from which there was no waking and even Martin’s confidence and optimism could no longer buoy up his spirits or disguise the truth.
It was two years since he had joined Martin and now, with every day that passed, he wished that he’d followed Nell’s advice and stayed in the Navy. A few weeks before, he’d made the terrible mistake of going to a submariners’ reunion dinner and the sight of all the old faces, the jargon, the jokes, had undone him even more than the day-to-day terror of wondering how they were going to survive. Why, oh why hadn’t he listened to Nell? The Navy was his place, where he belonged. What on earth had made him think that he’d want to be outside where people talked another language and life was played with a different set of rules?
He’d stopped off to see his mother in Bournemouth on his way back from Gosport and wheedled enough money out of her to pay the rent on the flat and to keep his bank manager quiet for a while. If she had been disappointed it might have been easier to bear but her resignation merely indicated, as it had all down the years, that it was no more than she expected from him. He ground his teeth in humiliation at the memory of it and Nell’s hands clenched involuntarily on her book.
‘You look terribly tired. What about a hot bath and an early night?’ she asked. Anything to break the train of thought that brought him such obvious misery.
The gentle question was more than he could bear.
‘Don’t speak to me as if I were a child!’ he cried, hearing in her voice the same quality of pity that he’d seen on his mother’s face. ‘I’m not Jack! Don’t patronise me!’
‘John.’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘I’m not. Oh John, please talk to me. I can see something’s wrong.’
‘Oh, of course you can.’ His fear was translating into rage and it was a relief to let it erupt and get it out of his system. ‘You can always see everything, can’t you? You’re so bloody clever. You’re always right and I’m always wrong.’
‘That’s not true—’
‘Oh yes it is. It’s always been true. My parents, Rupert, you. Always right! And I’m sick of it. Oh God!’
He buried his face in his hands while Nell watched him in horror. She cast around for something that she might say that wouldn’t be misunderstood. In the end she could only think of one thing.
‘I love you,’ she said. ‘I love you, John.’ She moved to sit beside him and tentatively put her hand on his arm.
‘No you don’t.’ John lifted his head and stared in front of him. His face was bleak and Nell felt frightened. ‘Nobody ever has. Nobody could. It’s just not possible.’
‘John—’
‘No!’ He threw off her hand and got up. ‘Leave me alone. And for God’s sake stop looking like that. Oh Christ! I’m going out!’
The door slammed behind him and Nell pressed her hands tight together to stop them trembling. Her hopes that things might not be as bad as she feared completely vanished away. She had been waiting for a moment to talk to him, to ask how things were, without it seeming like a confrontation but the moment never arose. He accused her, before she’d hardly started, of mistrusting him, of having no confidence in him and he managed to create a situation which made it impossible to ask him anything without it looking exactly as he said.
Nell drew up her legs and folded them under her. She had started to scan the newspapers for jobs that she might be able to apply for on the grounds that they sounded like fun or offered a challenge so that he might think that she was in no way criticising him or posing a threat. So far nothing in this category had appeared. All the time that they weren’t evicted, had enough for the housekeeping, paid the bills, she had nothing of which to complain, nothing to question. And somehow, he was still managing to achieve these things – as far as she knew. He was careful now to keep all his correspondence hidden away – probably at the office – but the time was coming when one particular issue had to be discussed.
The fund that Nell had insisted on setting aside for Jack’s School fees was nearly finished. Soon she was going to have to ask where the rest of the fees would be coming from and she had no intention of being ignored or distracted from it. This was the one thing that she wouldn’t let pass and, as her own world seemed to be crumbling round her, she was adamant that Jack should have a stable education. John was already making noises about finding a cheaper flat and the small luxuries that she’d once taken for granted were no longer forthcoming. She didn’t mind that too much. For herself, she could cope. But Jack must have the best that she could do for him. He loved school; enjoying the companionship of other boys, excelling at his lessons, revelling in the outdoor life and the sport that the school offered. He was asked out to his friends’ homes on Sundays and invited on holidays with them and Nell knew that he was building up a network that would be there for him all his life. It was the best she could do for him and nothing would prevent her. There was talk of a scholarship to Sherborne or even Winchester and after that it was up to Jack himself. Until then every sacrifice must be made.
Nell shivered. The fire had died down and the room was cold. Before she could move, the door opened and John stood looking at her.
‘I’m sorry, Nell.’ He looked at her beseechingly and his mouth twitched pitifully. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m really sorry. I love you, Nell.’
He stayed just inside the door, watching her, attempting to gauge her reaction and Nell was too relieved to see that his anger was past to risk any further eruptions.
‘Oh, John.’ She smiled at him. ‘I love you, too.’
And, praying that her expression was not one of pity, she held out her arms to him and gathered him to her breast.
NELL MANAGED TO GET Gussie to Nethercombe for Christmas by the simple expedient of insisting on spending the holiday at Porlock Weir and offering Gussie a lift both ways. John, whose temper was now on a very short fuse, was only too grateful to be able to grant Nell’s wish. It was little enough that he could do for her at the moment and he knew that it was better for Jack at the cottage. Nell was relieved at his ready acquiescence. She hoped that John’s worries would recede a little once he was away from the office, along with the perpetual feeling that she was living on the edge of a volcano. She felt that, at the cottage, Jack might be less likely to notice the atmosphere of tension and anxiety or provoke John’s ready temper. It was becoming apparent that the ten-year-old Jack was more like his Uncle Rupert in terms of achievement and not only in study and sport. He had an easy outgoing temperament which attracted people of all ages to him. The friends that he brought home on exeats were obviously very attached to him and even the staff had a tolerant eye for his boisterous, good-natured enthusiasms.
So it was decided. They started very early on Christmas Eve so as to have lunch with Gillian and Henry before the Woodwards continued their journey. Nethercombe was looking very festive and Mrs Ridley produced an excellent lunch. Henry was obviously delighted to see Nell, and Gillian watched John from the corners of her eyes whilst carrying on a flirtation with Jack who thought her frightfully amusing and was enormously taken with her. Once again she saw the opportunity for another party which Henry could hardly refuse.
‘Why don’t you all stay?’ she asked, as lunch drew to an end and Mrs Ridley was bringing in the coffee. ‘It would be such fun, wouldn’t it, Henry? Just what Nethercombe needs at Christmas. Lots of people to fill it up. Give it a bit of life. What do you say?’
She widened her eyes questioningly at John and then smiled at Jack who was working his way through a third helping of pudding. Mrs Ridley’s glance met Gussie’s above Gillian’s head and Gussie spoke into the rather startled silence.
‘It’s a lovely idea but isn’t it rather short notice for everybody? I know that Nell’s made her own plans which would be rather difficult to change.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Nell looked with relief at Gussie. ‘And poor Mrs Ridley! Having to cater for three extra people. We
ll, half a dozen seeing that Jack eats for three!’
Mrs Ridley allowed her features to soften a little. Jack had already found his way to the kitchen and told her all about school food while the others were having a drink before lunch.
‘’Tis always a treat to feed someone who appreciates good cookin’,’ she said shortly.
Gussie could see that Henry was looking disappointed and, whilst she was overjoyed that he had taken to her friends so readily, she felt sorry that she was the one to dash his hopes. Gillian was fiddling with her coffee spoon and Gussie knew that she was busy trying to think of a way through the problems. For once Henry got in first.
‘I can see that it might be difficult,’ he said diffidently. ‘But Gillian’s quite right. It would be lovely to have you all to stay. Got an idea. What about stopping over for the New Year? On your way back? Just for a few nights. What d’you think?’
‘Darling!’ exclaimed Gillian, who never called Henry ‘darling.’ Well, well! This was a turn up for the book! She shot Nell a calculating look. Dear old Henry was quite smitten with her. Well, why not? It would all add spice to the gathering and John looked as if he could be fun with a little encouragement! ‘What a splendid idea. And that will give Mrs Ridley time to get herself organised.’
Her glance drifted round to John who caught her eye and coloured a little.
He looked at Nell. ‘Suits me,’ he said. He raised his eyebrows interrogatively and after a moment she smiled at him.
‘Sounds wonderful,’ she said and felt warmed by Gussie’s obvious delight and Henry’s beam of pleasure. Her visits to Nethercombe thus far had given rise to varying sensations. She always loved to be with Gussie and Henry’s old-world gallantry was charming but she suspected that, as far as Gillian was concerned, she was merely a pawn to be used in the pursuit of pleasure and as an alleviation from the boredom of country life.
‘We’ll have a lovely party,’ said Gillian, pouring coffee. ‘Won’t we, Jack?’
The Courtyard Page 6