GILLIAN PARTED FROM HENRY at the study door and stood for a moment, listening to the rise and fall of Gussie’s voice joined with the Beresfords’ over the teacups in the library, before slipping away upstairs. In her bedroom she sat on the broad window seat and stared out over the countryside. How strange it was to be split so much in two. To be restored to this place which she had grown, almost without realising, to love so deeply and to have Henry’s love, given unconditionally and wholeheartedly, brought such happiness. Yet beside the happiness, intertwined with it, lay the guilt. When Gillian thought back over her marriage she felt hot with shame, mortified by self-disgust. She thought of the cheating and lying and felt that she would suffocate with humiliation. It was as if the shock of hearing of John’s death had woken her up, opened her eyes upon the stupidity of her way of life and made her see the waste and senselessness of her behaviour. Practically overnight she had changed from a selfish spoiled child to a woman who, whatever she did, or however hard she tried to make amends, would have blood on her hands.
The fields seemed to shimmer in the heat of the late afternoon sun and, as she watched, Mr Ridley appeared in the meadow below, a gun on his arm and his elderly spaniel, nose to ground, running in front. He crossed the field and disappeared among the trees by the stream and Gillian knew that he’d gone to pot at rabbits or a pigeon in the woods that edged the swampy area under the viaduct. It was a noman’s -land on the perimeter of the Nethercombe estate where no one but Mr Ridley went; a dank wet gloomy place where even the locals never ventured, though the stream was easy enough to cross in summer, their children warned away by stories of the swamp that would swallow them whole. These stories went back beyond Henry’s childhood until they had reached the proportions of legend and Gillian reminded herself to warn Jack when he came home that it was one area that he mustn’t explore.
It would be good for Nell to have Jack home again. At the thought of it, Gillian shook with a spasm of horror. The enormity of what she had done was almost too much to live with. She started as the telephone rang and waited to see if Henry would answer it in the study. The bell was silenced and Gillian resumed her reverie which was interrupted by Henry’s voice bellowing up the stairs.
‘Gillian! Are you there, darling? It’s Elizabeth. Gillian!’
‘OK!’ she shouted back. She went over and, perching on the bed, lifted the receiver. ‘Hello, Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth and Henry spoke together and then there was a clunk as Henry replaced the receiver in the study.
‘Hello, Gillian.’ Elizabeth’s voice was cool and clear as always. ‘How are you?’
Gillian was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to tell her the truth: to unburden her hot, shamed heart and blurt out the whole crippling weight of horror. She swallowed several times.
‘OK,’ she said at last. ‘Fine. You?’
‘I’m very well. I wondered if you could come to lunch the week after next? I haven’t seen you properly since you got back. What about Wednesday?’
‘Oh.’ Gillian bit her lip, wondering if she could face Elizabeth without breaking down completely. Obviously Lydia had told her Sam’s name and she must be wondering why she, Gillian, had reacted so wildly when she mentioned it.
‘If Wednesday’s no good, we could try another day. Monday?’
‘Wednesday’s fine’ Gillian spoke quickly. She could hardly avoid her godmother for the rest of her life. ‘That’ll be lovely. Sorry to sound so dozy. We’ve got a party here this evening and it’s all a bit hectic. It’s a Midsummer Eve pool party.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘Well,’ Gillian hesitated, ‘you’d be terribly welcome if you think it’s worth the drive. We’d love to see you.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘Sweet of you. But I don’t think it’s quite my scene, lovey.’
‘No.’ Gillian laughed too. She couldn’t imagine the fastidious Elizabeth perched on the side of a pool eating a barbecued sausage and plunging into the water for a midnight swim. ‘Neither do I. Wednesday week, then.’
‘Look forward to it.’
The line went dead and Gillian wandered back to the window. The sun was edging behind the trees to the west and long shadows crept across the meadow. The pool with its paved surround lay peacefully below in its circle of green turf. Nell’s balloons barely stirred in the tall branches and the chairs looked inviting, waiting for occupants. Gillian took a deep breath and turned back into the room. It was time to bathe and change and make herself ready for the party.
IT WAS GUSSIE WHO, realising that a party consisting only of the Nethercombe inhabitants might be a little restricted, had suggested that each person should invite a friend or two. It was a sensible decision and brought a different, more festive, atmosphere to the gathering than had it consisted of the usual group. Only Nell had no friend to invite but there was no chance to sit gazing at the reflection of the lights twinkling in the water or watching the moon – just on the wane – sailing in the clear evening sky. This time she was not allowed to sit quietly, her privacy respected and protected; she was drawn in, involved, and she was happy to let the evening flow over her and envelop her in its friendly gaiety.
It was quite warm enough to swim and no one needed to hurry up to the house for coffee to warm them afterwards. Henrv moved amongst his guests wondering what on earth he had done to be blessed with such joy. He was aware that there was still some reservation deep in Gillian’s heart but, instinctively, he knew that it was nothing to do with his own actions. In nearly all people’s lives is the knowledge of some past deed, the shame of which has to be borne, and Henry hoped that, in Gillian’s case, time would give it proportion and allow her to realise that it is only the lucky few – or the wilfully self-deceiving – who have no dark corner. He hoped that she would be gentle with herself. After all, he reasoned, it is the dark corners in our own lives that allow us to be generous with others’ weaknesses and, as such, our failures have their positive side.
Gussie smiled at him as he topped up her glass and her heart expanded at the knowledge of his joy. In her opinion he deserved it all and more and she only prayed that Gillian might learn to forgive herself for running away and Nell might be healed so that her bliss might be complete.
‘Going in for a swim, Gussie?’
Phoebe was at her elbow. Gussie smiled serenely at her, knowing very well that she was being teased and loving every minute of it.
‘Very possibly, my dear. In a moment. I have my swimsuit on underneath my dress.’
Phoebe’s expression of amazement was all that Gussie had hoped for and she burst out laughing.
‘Gussie!’ Phoebe shook her head at her. ‘I thought you were serious. Serves me right! It’s a lovely party, isn’t it?’
‘A splendid idea of yours. We’re all such a big happy family here now.’
‘Except for Mr Jackson,’ sighed Phoebe. ‘He spurns and rejects me at every turn and rushes home to wifie.’
‘So I should think,’ said Gussie reprovingly.
‘Oh well,’ said Phoebe, resigned. ‘I’ll just have to make do with Guy.’
They both turned to look at him, his dark head bent to Gemma’s blonde one, his eyes fixed on Nell who was talking to the Beresfords.
‘Ah,’ said Gussie thoughtfully.
‘Quite,’ said Phoebe. ‘Story of my life. It looks as if I’m just going to have to make do with Mr Ridley after all.’
Twenty-six
IT WAS TO GUY, rather than to Gussie, that Nell began to voice her fears. Possibly this was because she found herself more in his company and possibly because, unlike Gussie, he was an unemotional listener. Nell sensed an anxiety in Phoebe that tended to thrust her back into her natural privacy and make it difficult to talk to her on the subjects that worried her most deeply. Guy considered her fears with a judicious calm which was much more soothing to Nell than excited horrified sympathy could possibly be. One of her greatest terrors was security. She lay awake at nights staring into a black
terrifying future that held no job, no home, no peace, until she got up to make herself a drink or fell into an exhausted unrefreshing sleep.
After one particularly harrowing night she went with Guy to the office where she was beginning to get the hang of his very simple computer programme. She was slightly hampered in her dealing with clients in her complete lack of knowledge regarding boats but Guy gave her very comprehensive details about his stock which, usually, answered the questions of the most indefatigable sailor. On this particular day, after a busy morning, they strolled over to the Royal Castle for a lunchtime snack. Guy raised his hand to Nigel, the landlord – resplendent as always in his bow tie – and went to the bar whilst Nell found a table.
‘Hello!’ Mary, beaming and bubbly as ever, smiled at Guy across the counter. ‘And how are you? Haven’t seen you for a bit. Been neglecting us, you have! The usual, is it?’
‘Yes please, Mary. And a glass of house white. Dry.’ Guy was always at ease with this pretty blonde Devonian woman whose sunny charm and easy friendliness made her, in Guy’s opinion, one of Nigel’s greatest assets at the Castle. He decided, as she poured his beer and pulled his leg about having yet another girl with him, that she reminded him of Gemma; different ages, different background but both possessing that generous warmth that eased and relaxed. As he approached the table, he noticed that Nell looked strained and tired, her usual pallor accentuated by the shadows beneath her eyes.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him as he passed her the glass of wine. ‘I love it here. Is it always so busy?’
‘Height of the season,’ said Guy, squeezing in beside her. ‘But it’s always crowded in here at lunch time, even in the winter. It’s a popular place.’ He took a drink and glanced around, wondering how to encourage her to share her problems. ‘How’s Jack?’
‘He’s fine.’ Nell’s face relaxed a little. ‘I had a letter yesterday.’ She sighed and the anxious look returned. ‘I worry about him. About how I shall manage. I can’t bear the thought of Jack having to go without things. I don’t mean luxuries, I mean the things that will guarantee him a future. If only John had never left the Navy, he’d still be alive and Jack’s future would be secure.’
She shook her head and bit her lip. She’d made it sound as if the only purpose in John’s life had been as a provider but she was too tired to explain. Guy seemed to be brooding over her words.
‘People make the mistake of believing that security in this life is possible,’ he said after a moment. ‘Or that it should be. It very rarely is. What, after all, is security? If you’re talking about material security, very few of us have it. Very few people now have such secure jobs that they don’t live under the shadow of cutbacks or early retirement. And the self-employed man lives in a perpetual state of anxiety. Even if you’re one of the lucky few who own their own home outright, how many of them can absolutely guarantee an income to heat it and repair it for the rest of their lives? Or know they’ll be able to provide for their children or their grandchildren? Where do you stop? But it’s always been so. It’s no different for us than it was for our ancestors trying to defend their caves and praying that there would be enough mammoth to go round. And what about drought or famine or war? How can you legislate for everything? And even assuming that we’ve taken care of our material well-being, what about our health? Nothing can guarantee that. Nothing is certain in life except death.’ He smiled at her. ‘I think that’s a quote. The knocks only harden us up and make us better prepared for the next one. Am I depressing you?’
‘Oddly enough, no.’ Nell spoke truthfully. ‘You’ve cleared my mind and made me see things in proportion. And you’re also saying that if Jack has to put up with hardship now it will serve him in good stead later.’
‘I’m certainly saying that you can’t, indefinitely, protect him from life. It’s always tough when the blows hit the young but are any of us really ready for them when they strike? At least he’s got you, a stable point of love, which is a lot more than a lot of people have at their moment of crisis. The young are terribly resilient. Probably because they’re selfish.’ His face wore an inward-looking expression. ‘I know I was when the blow struck us. I didn’t think at all about my mother’s well-being or happiness, I was only concerned with mine. I’m ashamed of that now.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Nell looked distressed. She realised that her absorption with her own difficulties might easily make her insensitive. ‘I’ve been droning on about myself for far too long. It’s not only the young who are selfish. And I’m sure your mother understood.’
‘So am I.’ Guy smiled at her. ‘Unfortunately that doesn’t stop me feeling guilty. Luckily she had Giles, my twin brother. We’re very different.’
At this moment, to Nell’s relief, the food arrived and she was able to change the subject. Nevertheless, Guy’s calm good sense encouraged her and the thought of Jack’s imminent return from school obliged her to live, in the present and put her worries to one side for the time being.
GILLIAN ARRIVED AT HER godmother’s house feeling unusually nervous. She’d spent hours going over various scenarios which might excuse her fear at the use of Sam’s name at Nethercombe but none of them seemed the least bit plausible. She prayed that this would be simply a friendly visit and that she would not be called upon to explain anything. Elizabeth came out to greet her, looking tall and elegant in a navy blue cotton jersey dress, and took her into the drawing room for a pre-lunch drink. The long windows were wide open and the scent of the roses on Elizabeth’s desk drifted delicately on the soft summer air. A mahogany-framed tapestry hid the empty grate and sunlight filled the room with a glowing warmth.
‘It’s a very weak one,’ explained Elizabeth giving Gillian a gin, ‘because of all this drinking and driving but I thought you’d need it.’ She sat opposite and crossed her long legs. ‘Now. What’s all this about Sam Whittaker?’
Gillian gasped and the glass shook in her hand. ‘Oh, Elizabeth …’
‘It’s no good, Gillian.’ Elizabeth got up and fetched a tissue. ‘Here you are. You’ve spilled a few drops on your skirt. Drink some and pull yourself together. I want to know the whole story. It’s all to do with the site at Dartmouth you told me about and John’s death, isn’t it?’
Gillian sat so still that it appeared as if she had even stopped breathing. ‘How did you guess?’ she asked at last
‘It wasn’t difficult,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Lydia told me his name and Gussie told me that John had killed himself having invested in a site at Dartmouth where the man had absconded with his money. Your reaction to the name of Sam Whittaker made me put two and two together and come up with a rather distressing total.’
Gillian sat staring at her glass. Now that it had come she felt surprisingly calm. Or perhaps she was simply numb.
‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Sam was looking for an investor to put up the money to develop the site. And then John and Nell came for Christmas and he seemed an obvious candidate. He hoped to make a good profit out of it.’
‘I take it that you didn’t know that Sam intended to take his money and run?’
‘No!’ exclaimed Gillian. ‘Of course I didn’t. He said that he was going back to France for a bit while the building was going on. Honestly, Elizabeth!’
‘OK, I believe you. Then what?’
‘Every time I asked him about the site he said it was doing fine. And then one day I had a letter from Henry telling me that John had killed himself.’ Gillian paused and took a hasty gulp at her gin. ‘Henry didn’t know who I went off with. He still doesn’t and Nell doesn’t know that it was me who told John about the site.’ She swallowed and her face crumpled, the sensation of calm deserting her. ‘Oh God, Elizabeth! I killed him and the baby and ruined Nell’s life. Oh!’ Sobs burst from her and the tears streamed down her face as she bowed over her hands clasped round the glass stem. ‘Oh, God. It’s so awful. Whatever shall I do?’
‘Wait a minute.’ Elizabeth was kneeling beside her with a
handful of tissues. ‘Let’s keep a sense of proportion, shall we? All you did was to tell someone about a perfectly legitimate business opportunity. You didn’t know how it was going to turn out.’
‘But I did it for the money. Sam offered me a commission if I found him a lender.’
‘A perfectly normal business arrangement.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ Gillian looked at her godmother, ‘I wanted the money because, as usual, I was in debt. If I hadn’t been in debt I wouldn’t have needed the money and John would still be alive.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Elizabeth sat back on her heels while Gillian gazed at her, puzzled.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Look, Gillian, we all know that you’re a spoiled selfish little baggage and I really believe that all this has taught you a much-needed lesson but don’t take too much to yourself. If you hadn’t told John about this deal, he’d have probably found another that was just as risky and the result would probably have been the same. The trouble with the Johns of this world is that, when their backs are really against the wall, they just haven’t got what it takes.’
‘Sam said something like that,’ said Gillian slowly. ‘When I told him that he’d killed John, he said that John had killed himself because he was a loser.’
‘Much though I dislike agreeing with the sort of person that Sam Whittaker appears to be,’ said Elizabeth drily, ‘he has a point. However, in his case, he has no right to evade responsibility. He is morally responsible for John’s death and Nell’s desperate situation. He stole John’s money. It was probably the last straw in a long series of disasters and Sam has no right to close his eyes to his part in it. But you were completely innocent, in this respect. You genuinely believed that it was a good deal and that John would get his money back.’ She smiled a little at Gillian’s amazed stare and nodded. ‘I mean it, Gillian. You’re not guilty. It’s a salutary lesson which, in my days, was summed up in the excellent phrase “Satan finds …” but you must keep things in proportion. Having affairs, getting in debt, leaving Henry, those things you can feel guilty about.’ She smiled at her, patted her knee and stood up. ‘More than enough to be going on with, I should think.’
The Courtyard Page 23