The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  Sam was the owner of some derelict barns, very like the ones at Nethercombe, but the friend who was to put up the funds to develop the site had lost his money and Sam was looking for an equity partner with whom he could proceed. Both he and Simon felt that he may have missed the boat. After all, no one was likely to invest in property development with the market so low. The site, however, was in a prime spot in a valley overlooking the sea just outside Dartmouth and Sam claimed that he had buyers for all three conversions if only he could build them. Simon’s thought, first and foremost, was that he would get the job as architect. Sam was only too willing to agree.

  ‘Find me someone who will fork out the money, old son,’ he said, as they sat in Coolings waiting for Gillian on that first occasion, ‘and the job’s yours.’

  Simon was thoughtful. There wasn’t too much work around at the moment and it would be a godsend. It was then that it occurred to him that Gillian might have someone amongst her acquaintances who could be interested in it if the scheme was presented in the right way.

  And who better, he thought bitterly, to detach some unsuspecting mug from their hard-earned cash than Gillian!

  She had listened carefully, driven a hard bargain for the commission she would receive should she find an investor and had immediately drawn up a list of names of people that it might be worth approaching.

  Sam raised his eyebrows at her businesslike attitude and bought her another drink. He agreed to let Simon have the plans and one afternoon they drove out to see the site. It was like Nethercombe all over again except that Sam had bought the barns from a farmer and the stone farmhouse was already occupied.

  ‘Henry’s places are selling,’ said Gillian, shielding her eyes to look out over the sea to the lighthouse at Start Point. ‘And this really is a magnificent site.’

  ‘Well, I’ve drawn a blank,’ shrugged Sam. ‘People are afraid to take risks at the moment. And who can blame them?’

  Simon was examining the buildings and, after a moment, Sam drew nearer to Gillian.

  ‘Your husband must be a very trusting man,’ he said lightly. ‘Letting you loose with two unprincipled chaps like me and Sy.’

  ‘Simon’s not unprincipled,’ protested Gillian, still staring out to sea. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I was at school with him,’ returned Sam. ‘Share a dormitory and then a study with a guy for five years and there’s not much you don’t learn about him.’

  Gillian glanced at him. ‘If you say so,’ she said coolly. ‘Of course, I’ve only shared his bed but I think I’ve learned a few things.’

  Sam gave a shout of laughter. ‘Not as much as he has, I’ll bet,’ he said and Gillian began to laugh too.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Simon, returning from his prowling.

  ‘You,’ said Gillian, taking his arm. ‘Sam’s just been telling me all about your schooldays.’

  ‘And about all that trouble he got me into?’ asked Simon, leading the way back to the car. ‘Don’t trust this man an inch, Gillian. I warn you.’

  Gillian remembered this conversation as she sat watching Sam threading his way between the crowded tables. He was wearing flannels and a blazer and Gillian grimaced at him.

  ‘You’re looking very smart,’ she said, determined to keep things under control. ‘Meeting someone important?’

  ‘I’m meeting you,’ he said. ‘I thought we were having lunch? I was brought up to believe that if one takes a lady out to lunch one dresses accordingly.’

  ‘One certainly does,’ mocked Gillian.

  ‘Well then.’ He remained standing, looking down at her.

  He was very tall and very good-looking and Gillian shivered suddenly. His eyes narrowed a little.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘Thanks. The same will be fine.’ She passed him her empty glass.

  ‘House red, I believe?’

  She nodded, refusing to remark on the fact that he had remembered, and he turned away. She watched him go, her feelings all in a tumult, and wondered if she might be getting out of her depth. Hitherto, she had concentrated on men whom she could wheedle and bully, who found it worth putting up with her moods and expensive tastes for the physical pleasures she bestowed upon them. Sam didn’t look that sort. Up at the bar, he ordered the drinks and, lazily leaning on one elbow, he stared at her unsmilingly. Unnerved but determined not to show it, Gillian stared back. Quite suddenly he smiled and it was as though he had asked her a question. After a moment, she smiled back and he gave a little nod and Gillian knew that from now on there could be no more pretence and, for her at least, no turning back.

  NELL LET HERSELF INTO the flat, went into the sitting room and sat down at the end of the sofa, too shocked to do anything else. The news which she had just received made her feel quite desperate. She thought of John and a spasm of fear shook her. He was behaving so oddly. Not long ago he’d been euphoric; now he was almost suicidal. She never knew where she was with him. It was as though she were walking a tightrope; an unconsidered remark, a thoughtless observation, and he would be shouting and raging about her inability to support him and her tendency to think only of herself. He accused her of destroying his self-confidence, of sapping his ability to achieve. It had always been the same, he cried: first his mother, then Rupert and now her. None of them had ever believed in him or wanted him to succeed.

  Nell sighed and leaned her head back against the cushions. Apparently, it was to be everyone’s fault but his if things went wrong. If! She gave a mirthless little laugh. Things were already definitely wrong. Ever since the sale of that house just after Martin left, things had been gradually deteriorating again. John spent longer at the office and, when he did come home, shut himself in his little study. Several times she’d smelled spirits on his breath. One morning, she’d even descended to the level of searching the study. Nell gave an instinctive grimace of distaste at her action. She was simply so worried that she didn’t know what else to do. All private papers and letters had been removed and Nell guessed that he had them at the office. If only he would talk to her! Every time she attempted to find out what was going on, he met her tentative approaches with aggression and generally worked himself into starting a row which gave him the excuse to storm out. Sadly, their reconciliations were happening with less and less understanding and generosity on Nell’s side. She began to dread the crumpling into disintegration that inevitably took place on his return. She was barely able to prevent herself from despising him. Each time she had to summon all her love and loyalty and each time it grew harder and harder. She felt that his behaviour was a form of cheating. He was using weapons to hold her at bay, to prevent her from discovering the truth. It was her life too and she had the right to know what he was doing with it.

  And now this. Nell pulled herself forward but as she prepared to stand up, she heard the front door open and she was still sitting on the edge of the seat when John appeared. He looked white and strained and Nell gazed at him in terror. What now? That muscle was twitching in his cheek again and she could smell the whisky on his breath.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said and her voice shook a little. ‘How nice. I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘And I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said, before she could go on. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’ He looked away from her. ‘I’ve just heard that the cottage is going to be repossessed. The mortgage hasn’t been paid and they won’t wait any longer. It’ll have to be sold.’

  Nell’s hands clasped convulsively and she stared up at him in horror. ‘But why?’ she whispered and cleared her throat. ‘Why?’ she asked more strongly. ‘You never said anything about it. What’s been happening? They don’t repossess just because you miss a payment or two.’

  ‘It’s not just one payment. Or two. It’s six. There’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘Six?’ Nell was silenced.

  ‘There was just too much.’ John’s tone implied that only she would have expected it of him. ‘The rent h
ere, the mortgage, the business. The money simply won’t stretch. If we sell, at least we’ll be able to pay Jack’s school fees.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Nell was on her feet. ‘You said that you’d put those aside out of the money you got from that sale just after Martin left. You said you’d put a year’s fees to one side.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’ John faced her at last. He looked defiant and something else. It occurred to Nell that he was completely unconcerned by it all, indifferent to the pain he must know that this would cause her. The cottage could go and good riddance to it and the proceeds from the sale would be just that bit more for him to throw away. ‘In the end there wasn’t enough to go round. It’s no good, Nell.’ His voice was louder now; prepared to shout down anything she may have to say. ‘This recession has ruined lots of people. At least we’ve got the business and a home here. And we can pay Jack’s fees. I know how much that means to you.’

  There was a change in his tone then, as if the money for the school fees was a special dispensation for which she should be grateful, which should buy her gratitude and forgiveness.

  ‘I should have thought that Jack’s education was important to you, too.’ She looked proud and cold and John’s heart beat fast with fear. ‘He’s your son, too.’

  ‘With you spending every waking thought and every penny we’ve got on him,’ he said spitefully, ‘there’s no need for me to worry, too.’ Her look of contempt struck to his very soul and he gave a cry and dragged her to him. She stood stiffly in his arms, fighting back tears, trying not to hate him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nell,’ he cried. ‘Oh God! I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. I’m as upset as you are. It’s just been such hell getting up the courage to tell you. Please understand. I’m really sorry, Nell. I know how much the cottage means to you. Please try to forgive me.’

  Slowly Nell relaxed. With a tremendous effort she put her arms round him and held him while he cried, staring all the while beyond his shoulder and trying to come to terms with the idea of losing the cottage.

  Presently he pulled himself together, feeling for his handkerchief, mumbling apologies. Nell patted his shoulder lest he should sense her urgency to be apart from him. She moved slowly away. His face was a pitiful sight and she was touched in spite of herself. He mopped his face.

  ‘Oh, what was your news? Sorry. I rather had to get that off my chest.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nell paused, wondering if she should tell him. Well, why the hell not? Terror and rage surged anew in her and she raised her head and looked at him. ‘It seems that we’ve achieved the impossible. After eleven years I’m pregnant again.’

  John’s head snapped round and the horror in his eyes confirmed Nell’s fears of how he would react to the news.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he whispered.

  Something clicked inside Nell’s head.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she said, bitter sarcasm hiding her hurt. ‘You’re always telling me what a failure everyone thinks you are. Well! At least you’ve managed to achieve something!’

  His face was suffused with a dusky, ugly red as the blood surged under the skin and he stared at her as though he hated her.

  ‘You bitch!’ he whispered and ran out into the hall.

  Nell stood quite still as the front door slammed. Presently she covered her face with her hands and, sinking back on to the sofa, burst into tears.

  ‘LETTER FROM NELL?’ ASKED Henry as they sat at breakfast.

  ‘It is indeed,’ replied Gussie with pleasure, neglecting her toast. ‘It’s good of her to write as often as she does.’ She turned a page, whilst Henry watched her progress, waiting for news. Gussie always shared parts of Nell’s letters with him. ‘Oh …’

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Oh dear. Poor Nell. Yes indeed. They’ve had to sell their cottage. Oh how very sad. Nell must be heartbroken. It sounds as if she’s being very brave but I know how she loved it.’ Gussie turned another page.

  ‘But did they have to sell?’ Henry looked distressed. ‘They don’t own the flat in Bristol, do they? The cottage was the only home they had.’

  ‘Sorry, my dear?’ Gussie glanced up at him. ‘Oh yes, yes, I’m afraid that’s so. Nell doesn’t say much but it seems there were school fees and other expenses. And John’s mother is ill in hospital.’ She shook her head. ‘Troubles never come singly.’

  ‘I must say that I wouldn’t want to earn my living by selling houses at the moment,’ said Henry. He looked troubled. ‘Have they actually sold it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Gussie turned back a sheet or two. ‘Apparently a naval friend had always coveted it and gave them a good price. Nell’s going down next week to move the furniture out. She says that they’ll have to sell that, too. There’s no room at the flat for it all.’ Gussie looked sombre. ‘It must be a frightful blow for her.’

  ‘She mustn’t sell the furniture,’ declared Henry. ‘Write to her, Gussie. Better still, telephone her. Tell her to have the stuff brought here. We’ve masses of space to store it for her. She may want it later on when they get another home. She mustn’t lose everything.’

  Gussie looked at him with great affection. ‘That is a very kind offer, Henry dear. Nell will appreciate it, I know. She had all her special things there. It was her little retreat. Poor child. I do wonder if they’re not getting into difficulties.’ She sighed. ‘Nell’s a very private person and it’s not easy to know exactly what is happening. It must have been something very serious for her to sell her little cottage.’

  ‘It must be dreadful to lose your home.’ Henry looked quite shocked. ‘Ask her if there’s anything we can do.’

  ‘I will, of course.’ Gussie folded the sheets and put them by her plate. ‘Poor Nell. She used to so look forward to her little holidays there. And Jack will be very upset. Which will make it even worse for her, of course. She’ll have nowhere to take him now.’

  ‘They must come here,’ said Henry at once. ‘Tell her that too when you speak to her. There’s plenty of room for all of them and plenty to do. They’ll be welcome any time they wish to come.’

  ‘Oh, Henry.’ Gussie rarely let her emotions have a free rein but her eyes felt rather prickly and she blinked a little. She cleared her throat. ‘That is extremely generous. I know that Nell will be very touched. You know, she was so very good to me …’

  Gussie fished her handkerchief out of her sleeve and blew her nose loudly. Henry, who knew just how good Nell had been, smiled at her. ‘I shall love it,‘he said. ‘Nethercombe was made to have lots of people in it.’

  ‘Just what I always say myself.’ Gillian strolled in and smiled sleepily at them. ‘Good morning. Are you thinking of having a party, Henry?’

  ‘Well, actually, I think I might be.’ Henry beamed at her. ‘It’s time we had the people up from the Courtyard. You haven’t met Guy yet, have you, Gillian? And the Beresfords are down next week for their holiday. It’s time we all got together. We may even have Nell here.’

  ‘Oh?’ Gillian sounded unenthusiastic. ‘Why?’

  ‘She’s on her way back from somewhere,’ he said blandly while Gussie looked at him in surprised admiration. ‘And we may have something to celebrate.’ He picked up one of his letters. ‘It looks as if Gussie may have sold another cottage for us!’

  ‘Henry!’ Gussie sat bolt upright in her chair. ‘Oh! How wonderful! Mrs Henderson?’

  ‘That’s right. Pretty good, isn’t it? I’m going in to see Mr Ellison this morning. Want to discuss the offer with him. Better get on.’

  ‘Wonders will never cease.’ Gillian yawned and poured herself some coffee as Henry pushed back his chair and went out. ‘I’m beginning to hope he might be human after all.’

  Gussie opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it and shut it again.

  ‘I must make a telephone call,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’ She gathered up Nell’s letter and disappeared into the hall.

  ‘Only too willingly,’ muttered Gillian
, gazing with distaste at what remained of breakfast.

  She drank her coffee and thought about the proposed party. She’d need something new to wear, especially if Nell were coming. It occurred to her that John might be coming too and her eyes narrowed a little and a tiny smile played around her lips. Definitely, something new would be required. She’d telephone Lydia and scrounge some lunch and have a potter round the shops.

  ‘Finished then?’ Mrs Ridley stood in the doorway.

  Gillian’s smile widened. ‘Haven’t even started,’ she said. ‘Nothing worth eating. Never mind. Don’t let me hold you up.’

  She got up, taking her coffee cup with her, and, bowing ironically as Mrs Ridley stood aside for her, she passed through the hall and went back upstairs.

  Eleven

  IN THE END, AT Gillian’s insistence and in the face of Henry’s protests, it turned out to be a pool party. With the aid of Mr Ridley and Bill Beresford, Gillian transformed the dilapidated if spacious summerhouse tucked away beside the swimming pool. They painted and creosoted, cleaned the windows, refelted the roof, laid new rush matting on the floor and installed comfortable Lloyd Loom chairs that Gillian found in various unused bedrooms. When she was satisfied with it, she went off in her car and returned with a barbecue. Bill Beresford assembled and erected it whilst Mr Ridley strung fairy lights in the branches of the rhododendron bushes and by the time everything was ready the whole setting looked delightful. Even Henry decided that it might be quite fun after all.

  Late in the afternoon of the day before the party, Nell had arrived, to be followed, in due course, by a removal van, and Gussie showed her upstairs where the furniture was to be put.