The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  Guy found himself feeling worried at the thought of becoming a foursome. He didn’t want to give Sophie ideas and, anyway, it had been such fun, just the three of them. He imagined that it had a lot to do with the fact that he’d known them from their cradles until he remembered that he didn’t care at all for Gemma’s brothers whom he’d known for even longer and, realising that he was in danger of becoming confused again, he whistled to Bertie and wandered up the drive into the beech walk. So immersed in thought was he that it was only when she was nearly upon him did he realise that Nell was walking towards him. How beautiful she was, though much thinner than he remembered her but how well it suited that Pre-Raphaelite unworldliness. She wore a white silk shirt tucked into a heavy cotton skirt that flowed almost to her feet and her dark red hair hung down her back and Guy realised that he was holding his breath. She smiled at him and, after a moment, held out her hand.

  ‘You don’t remember me,’ she said. ‘I’m Nell Woodward. We met at the barbecue last autumn. Is it Guy?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ He grasped her hand readily. ‘And I remember you perfectly well.’ Several remarks fled through his head, all of which were unsuitable, and he realised that he was still holding her hand and dropped it, flushing darkly. ‘Bertie’s been stuck in the office with me all day,’ he said, at random. ‘So I’m taking the long way round to the pub.’ He hesitated, watching her crouch to stroke Bertie who looked at her with dark wise eyes and offered his paw. ‘Would you like to come?’

  He swallowed, amazed at himself, and Nell looked up at him in surprise.

  ‘That sounds … really nice. D’you know, I would.’ She straightened up. ‘I haven’t been to a pub for …’ she shook her head, ‘oh, I simply can’t remember how long.’

  ‘Well, then.’ A strange nervous excitement was surging in his veins. ‘It’s only the little local one. Nothing too special. But they do a good drop of Bass and an excellent beef sandwich.’

  She smiled at him and his heart did strange exciting things in his breast.

  ‘That’s an offer I’m quite unable to resist. Thank you.’

  ‘We’ll go out by the Lodge,’ he said, trying to control himself. ‘There’s a small wicket gate on to the lane. The big gate’s padlocked.’

  ‘I know.’ Nell turned to retrace her steps beside him. ‘I live there now, you know.’

  ‘In the Lodge?’ He stared at her. ‘I didn’t know that. Have the Ridleys gone?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! They’ve moved up to the house. It was getting a bit too much for Mrs Ridley, going between the two. So we’ve swapped. Wonderful luck for me. It’s a dear little cottage.’

  Guy was silent, unable to think of a single thing to say that wasn’t loaded with peril. Nell turned her head and smiled at him and he saw the pain and the fear and the loneliness behind it and felt inadequate and impotent to reach out to comfort her.

  ‘I’m glad you’re settled.’ How bleak it sounded.

  ‘So am I,’ she confided in him. ‘I was so afraid of being in a muddle when the summer holidays start. I want to be ready for Jack.’ She hesitated and he guessed she was wondering how much he knew.

  ‘I understand,’ he said with real feeling and she smiled at him again, gratefully. ‘Does he like sailing?’

  ‘Oh! Yes, actually. He loves it. He does a bit at school.’

  ‘I’ve got a boat at Dartmouth. Perhaps he’d like to go out?’

  ‘Oh, he’d love to! How very kind. Are you sure? He’s only twelve and it can be a tiresome age.’

  ‘Rubbish! It’s a very good age. That’s settled then.’ He nodded, smiling back at her. ‘What about you? Are you a sailor? Perhaps you’d like to go out? One weekend?’

  ‘I’ve never sailed.’ She looked a little anxious. ‘Is it … ? Is it quite a big boat?’

  He really smiled then, a truly warm, genuinely affectionate smile, and she responded automatically, suspecting that he was about to tease her.

  ‘All I can say to that is,’ he said, ‘come and find out!’

  ONCE AGAIN THE RHODODENDRONS had flowered and, once again, Gussie had watched them turning from bud to bloom as she walked among bushes tall as trees, each covered with the purple and crimson and white blossoms. This spring she felt a special magic. Gillian was back at Nethercombe and Henry was happy again. She and the Ridleys had guarded the secret well. Everyone assumed that Gillian was visiting relations in France and her homecoming had been delayed. When Henry told her that she had nothing to fear from gossip she was grateful and when Gussie greeted her as though she’d just come back from a trip to Exeter, she’d hugged her with the first real affection that she’d ever shown the older woman. Now, on this hot day in early summer, Gussie walked among the rhododendrons remembering that hug and smiling to herself. With that embrace everything between them had been put right and Gussie was being as tactful as she could be in giving Gillian and Henry plenty of time together alone. Even Mrs Ridley, snug and busy as Mrs Tittlemouse in her little house, was prepared to bury old prejudices and extend – albeit cautiously – the olive branch.

  Gussie cut off a yellow scented bloom and held it to her nose, sniffing luxuriously. She was surprised at how eager Gillian was to make amends. She behaved like a chastened child who, ashamed of certain exploits, longs to atone. If she’d been asked to guess, Gussie would have said that, in these circumstances, Gillian would have been prone to behave with defiant bravado. Gussie tucked the flower into her cardigan button and strolled on. Even more unexpected was Gillian’s reaction to Nell. Here, she had hoped for sympathy on Gillian’s part and had been quite taken aback by her sensitivity. She almost seemed to dread meeting Nell and when, finally, it had taken place, Gillian had been almost deprived of speech and it had been Nell who had been obliged to take the situation in hand.

  Gussie cut another bloom and added it to the sprays in the basket on her arm. Nell was healing. It was a slow process but all the better for that; slow and sure and thorough. Gussie walked through the little gate that led to the swimming pool. The doors to the summerhouse stood open and she sat down on the Lloyd Loom chair that stood in the sunshine, its cushions warm. The scent of new-mown grass crept to her nostrils, the birds sang riotously about her and, higher up the valley, a goods train rattled over the viaduct. Gussie closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun.

  ‘The thing is, Lord,’ she said, feeling that the Almighty would be quite grateful to pause in His labours and rest in the sun awhile, ‘it would be impossible not to heal in this wonderful place. We are so lucky, Lord. So very, very lucky. And don’t think we don’t appreciate it. Of course, the trouble is that we don’t realise that Life is just a series of moments and all that is guaranteed to us is now. This moment in time. If we realised that, we’d stop scurrying about, too busy to stop and enjoy the magic moments because our minds are fixed on a future that probably doesn’t exist.’ She paused politely, giving the Almighty chance to make a contribution. A thought occurred to her which she looked upon as a direct communication and she nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, of course, You’re quite right. People are afraid to stop in case they are obliged to confront themselves. Silence is so frightening.’

  A figure inserted itself between her and the sun and Gussie opened her eyes. Phoebe stood looking down at her and Gussie smiled serenely.

  ‘Good morning, Phoebe.’

  ‘Hi, there. All alone?’ Phoebe glanced around.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Gussie sighed. ‘Quite alone.’

  ‘May I join you?’ Phoebe dragged up an adjoining chair without waiting for Gussie’s gesture. ‘I’m glad to see you. I wanted to ask you how you thought Nell was doing?’

  Gussie put her thoughts in order.

  ‘She’s coming along very well, under the circumstances. Wouldn’t you agree? You see something of her, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Phoebe stretched out her long legs in their shabby cords and gazed out over the roofs of the Courtyard. ‘She’s begun to talk about things
a little.’

  ‘Things?’ queried Gussie cautiously.

  ‘John,’ said Phoebe and grimaced. ‘It’s terrifying. I’m so afraid of saying too much. Or not enough. The balance is terribly difficult and I’m not one of your tactful women.’

  Gussie smiled. ‘I’m sure that you’re just what she needs. She’s very reticent and it’s probably easier for her to unburden herself to you, being closer to her age than I am. And, of course, you’ve been married.’

  Phoebe snorted.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Gussie nodded. ‘It makes a difference. We all have something different we can give. I’m so glad you’ve made friends.’

  They sat for a while in the sun. Presently Phoebe shifted in her chair.

  ‘Gussie?’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’

  ‘Who were you talking to – when I came up just now? You were saying something about silence being frightening.’

  ‘I was talking to the Lord, dear,’ Gussie told her calmly. ‘I find it helps to straighten out my thoughts to have a little chat to Him from time to time.’

  ‘Right.’ Phoebe nodded, raised her eyebrows, drew down the corners of her mouth, shrugged her shoulders and pursed her lips in quick succession. ‘Fine. Good.’

  Gussie, her eyes closed against the sun, pictured Phoebe’s discomfiture with a certain amount of sympathy. Unlike Mrs Ridley, Phoebe would have difficulty in coming to terms with the idea of chatting to the Almighty, whether it was on the terrace or by the swimming pool.

  ‘After all, my dear,’ she said, ‘why not? “For in Him we live, and move, and have our being.” ’

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Phoebe, after a moment of profound silence.

  ‘So.’ Gussie opened her eyes suddenly and beamed at her. ‘Shall we go up? Henry’s away today and Gillian likes company.’ She looked sombre for a moment. A little bell tolled and was silent. Why did Gillian dislike being alone? It reminded her of that earlier thought, but why?

  Phoebe was looking at her anxiously and Gussie shook her head and got to her feet.

  ‘I’m a silly old woman,’ she told her. ‘Come on. I must get these poor flowers into some water.’

  Above them, up on the terrace, they could hear voices and the clink of china. Gussie inhaled the scent of cut grass and nodded her head.

  ‘So lucky, my dear,’ she said to the startled Phoebe and led the way through the gate.

  Twenty-four

  AS THE SHOCK WORE off, Nell became slowly and frighteningly aware of her situation. Apart from the pieces of furniture saved from the cottage at Porlock Weir, she had nothing but the small portion of John’s pension and with this and the various benefits allowed for Jack she had barely three thousand a year on which to live. To begin with she revelled in the financial freedom she had gained. It might be a tiny amount but it was all hers to budget with and allocate how she chose and there were no more outstanding bills, no terrifying debts. It had been touch and go as to whether she would have to be declared bankrupt but she could not be made responsible for John’s business debts and, unknown to her, Henry settled the arrears on the rent and the telephone bill at the flat. The bank, having a second charge over the Bournemouth property, was prepared to see what the house might bring and agreed to freeze the overdraft on the joint account. Nell opened a separate account which she was not allowed to overdraw. She didn’t care. After the horrors of the last four years she vowed that she would never owe anyone anything ever again. Her housing benefit arrived regularly and was passed on to Henry and, at first, she felt quite rich on her small income.

  It was as the summer holiday drew nearer that Nell was forced to see that life wasn’t quite so simple. Oil was needed to run the Rayburn which, since it supplied all her cooking needs and heated the water and two tiny radiators upstairs, was more economical than buying an electric cooker and using the immersion heater for the water. As Henry pointed out, the Rayburn also warmed the kitchen and the house in general and Nell agreed that it was the sensible option and arranged to pay for her oil on a monthly basis. She discovered an enormous stock of logs in a shed at the back of the house but the Ridleys refused to take payment for them. They received them free from the estate as part of their wage and they didn’t need them now in their cosy little flat. She could have them and welcome. Nell decided to accept thankfully, knowing that there was enough to keep the little woodburner going through several seasons. It was Gussie who dissuaded her from having the telephone disconnected. If an emergency arose she would need to be able to get in touch, she argued. Or Jack might need to contact her. True, messages could be taken at the house but one simply never knew … In the end, Nell gave in, saying that she would try it for a quarter and see what sort of bill arrived. Since she had no car to run, the other main cost would be Jack. He had his scholarship but there were so many other expenses. The uniform alone would probably cost a fortune. After much heart-searching, she telephoned the bursar with whom she had a long, frank conversation and who was quite wonderfully helpful.

  Nell sat on her little lawn and marvelled at the kindness and generosity that she had been shown. How on earth would she have managed without the help of all these people who had rallied round? She and Jack could, by now, have been living in a DSS bed and breakfast boarding house in some Bristol back street and, instead, she was living in this delightful cottage with its pretty garden which looked across the meadows and up to the moors, blue and hazy in the morning sunshine. Since she had no garden tools Mr Ridley would jolt along the avenue in his old car once a week, take a Flymo from the boot, cut the lawn and do a general tidy round before jolting back again. One morning, Phoebe had arrived with a tray of bedding plants, insisting that she’d bought far more than she needed and would be grateful if Nell could find a hole for them. She returned from her long solitary walks to find new bread or a sponge and some scones left in the porch – results of the big bake at Nethercombe – or a pot of Mrs Ridley’s special jam and felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

  Nell lay back on the rug, her fingers smoothing and flattening the warm wool. Slowly, very slowly, the loss of her unknown baby was becoming a more bearable pain, probably because he had never become a person to her. She had borne him and lost him but she knew, by the sudden clutch at her heart strings, how very much more terrible it would be if she were to lose Jack. It was not to be thought of! And how would she have managed now with a new baby to look after? Nell rolled over on to her stomach, letting the heat soak into her back, and thought about John. Her anger, too, was subsiding. She could make some effort now to understand all that he’d been through and she could even feel pity for the desperate fear that had driven him to take his own life but, if she were absolutely honest with herself, her most consistent emotion now was relief. Each time a new fear or worry assailed her the anger returned, a stab of fury that he should have reduced them to such a state and then abandoned her, but at least her life was in her own hands. She wondered, as she lay in the sunshine, whether she had ever really loved John at all. It was for Rupert that the spark had been lit and his unattainability had ensured that it had never gone out. Yet she had loved John in a different way. She had loved them both.

  ‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land.’ Well, they were both gone now into the silent land and the unknown baby with them and she was left alone. Nell let the tears slip from her eyes, soaking the rug beneath her cheek, and Phoebe, standing with her hand on the gatelatch, saw the heaving shoulders and heard the gasping sobs and turned quietly away.

  FOR GILLIAN, NELL WAS a permanent reminder of her folly. She woke each morning with a deep thankfulness that she was in her bedroom at Nethercombe with Henry beside her. Their reunion had seen the blossoming of a new sort of love. On Henry’s part it was really his old love blessed with a new awareness for Gillian’s needs and a confidence to offer a fulfilment of those needs as he saw them. Gillian, nervous, fearful, grateful, clung to him with a passionate offering of herself that even Henry recognised a
nd responded to and, if it hadn’t. been for the continued proximity of Nell’s presence, Gillian’s happiness would have known no bounds.

  She knew that she deserved no better. Why should she live, surrounded by love and beauty, whilst Nell struggled alone? If, by going to Nell and telling her the truth, there might be some restitution, some relief for Nell, then it would be worth the sacrifice of her pride. As it was, it could do no good and so the knowledge stayed in Gillian’s heart, a gnawing canker, eating away at her new love and joy.

  Gussie suspected that all was not well but couldn’t imagine what could be wrong. Anyone could see that Henry and Gillian were happier than they had ever been but Gussie was not deceived. She noticed that Gillian hated to be alone; preferring the company even of Mrs Ridley rather than solitude, hurrying down the drive to see Phoebe, seeking Gussie out. Rarely now did she go rushing off to Exeter except to see Lydia. Nevertheless, Gillian appeared to have a secret. Gussie pondered thoughtfully.

  IT WAS ELIZABETH WHO guessed the truth. When Lydia telephoned to tell her the glad tidings she was relieved and pleased for her old friend. A few weeks later, on her way to Plymouth, she decided to drop in at Nethercombe and turned up unexpectedly to find Gussie on the terrace with a singularly beautiful young woman who made her excuses and hurried off.

  ‘What a remarkable-looking girl,’ said Elizabeth, gazing after Nell. ‘I seem to have frightened her away.’

  ‘It’s a very sad story,’ confided Gussie, who considered Elizabeth to be one of the family. ‘Her husband was taken in over a property deal. Invested all their money, raised loans against their house, you know the sort of thing. And then found that it was all bogus. He was already desperately in debt and in a mad moment shot himself. Nell heard the shot and the sight of his body sent her into premature labour. They couldn’t get her to the hospital in time and there was an abruption of the placenta. They had to perform a Caesarean section but it was too late and she lost the baby.’