The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  ‘I’ll phone her up,’ said Gillian promptly. ‘The minute I get back to the house. Tell you what!’ She sounded suddenly inspired. ‘Supposing you come over with me to meet her? I’m supposed to be going over to lunch very soon. How about it?’

  ‘Well, I can hardly invite myself to lunch,’ said Nell doubtfully.

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Gillian cheerfully. ‘Anyway, I’m inviting you. She’ll like to meet you properly and I know she’ll be delighted if we can come to some arrangement workwise. She’d hate to take a stranger into the business.’

  ‘But I am a stranger,’ objected Nell.

  ‘What nonsense!’ said Gillian lightly. ‘Good heavens, you’re one of the family. We all think so.’

  ‘Oh!’ Nell looked absurdly touched. ‘How nice …’ She looked suddenly shy, swallowed and took a sip of coffee.

  ‘And we’re all quite passionate about Jack,’ continued Gillian, surprised in turn at Nell’s loss of poise and concerned about her ability to guide them both round this tricky corner. ‘I know I am. Mrs Ridley’s already planning Christmas with all his favourite food on the menu.’

  She looked anxiously at Nell wondering if she’d gone too far in this potentially dangerous emotional minefield. Dear God, she prayed, please let it be all right. Please! It was all right! Nell was smiling, albeit shakily, and Gillian smiled back.

  ‘D’you think …? Would it sound very rude … ?’ Nell took a deep breath.

  ‘I know just what you’re trying to say,’ said Gillian. ‘Why don’t I finish my coffee and get back to make that phone call!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Nell remorsefully. ‘Put like that it sounds terribly rude. And you could use my phone.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound rude at all.’ Gillian finished her coffee with a gulp and stood up. She didn’t want to make this particular call with Nell listening in. ‘I can’t do it here. Elizabeth’s ex-directory and I can never remember her number. She’s on holiday for a few days so her business number will be on answerphone. At least, that’s what usually happens when she takes time off. I’ll go back and see if she’s there and I’ll phone you the minute I’ve got news. OK?’

  ‘Wonderful. I don’t know what to say.’ Nell smiled at her. ‘Thanks. I shall live in terror that she’s changed her mind.’

  ‘No fear of that.’ Gillian shook her head confidently. ‘I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the coffee.’

  Nell waved her off, went back into the kitchen and, ignoring her now cold coffee, sat staring at the wall, her hands tightly clasped. Could such a miracle possibly happen? It was too much to ask! After a moment she got up and walked about, too excited to sit still. Her imagination flew ahead on wings of hope although, at the base of her stomach, terror churned. How could she expect to step into such a position? Surely such a woman as Elizabeth would not want a raw beginner? But Gillian had said that she wouldn’t want to take a stranger into her business, so if she and Gillian started off together … She remembered what Gillian had said about being one of the family and she sat down again and put her head in her hands. She was continually surprised at how emotional she had become since the disasters of the last few years had made such a muddle of her life and how easily the tears started in her eyes.

  Nell gave herself a mental shake. It was no use sitting in a state of overcharged excitement and anxiety, waiting for the telephone to ring. She took a book from the shelf and, sitting down in the rocking chair, began to read.

  Gillian hurried back down the avenue in much the same mood that Guy had passed along it a few months before. Like Guy, her happiness was too great to contain and, like Guy, she suddenly took to her heels, arms outflung, face turned up to the stately trees, and fled back to the house, her heart full of gratitude and joy.

  Twenty-eight

  THAT AUTUMN, IT RAINED with the unremitting vigour that the West Country knows so well. Front followed front and, when it wasn’t raining, the sky loured – a dirty, gloomy, leaden colour that promised more rain soon. Overhead, everything dripped dankly: underfoot, everything squelched muddily. There were no more pool parties and no more happy hours for Mr Ridley on the mowing machine. Phoebe watched the stream become a full-scale river and shuddered at the thought of the long winter months. Bertie was not allowed to sit outside Guy’s office door on the quay but was forced to stay inside, peering mournfully through the glass door, whilst Guy cursed because people no longer wanted to look at boats.

  ‘The only sort of boat I could sell at the moment would be a bloody ark!’ he muttered. Bertie sighed deeply and with great sympathy.

  Guy thrust his hands into his pockets and wandered back to his desk. He longed to see Nell, to feast his eyes upon her beauty and to talk to her. She’d been very busy just lately and he’d finally caught up with her yesterday by telephone as she was dashing out, so they’d made a quick plan for a pub supper that evening. Guy stretched his long legs beneath his desk and wondered if he dared risk telling her how he felt about her. The mere idea of it filled him with the usual misgivings. After all, what did he feel about her? Was it love that he felt: this desire to see her beauty, to experience the glow of pride when he took her out? She obsessed his thoughts and haunted his dreams; always elusive, just beyond his grasp. But was this love? Was it worth getting married for, having children and all the attendant responsibilities? And did the fact that she was a few years his senior really make any difference? A stab of fear gripped his entrails and he drew his legs in abruptly and stood up. A drink at the Castle with Mary’s cheerful nonsense to amuse him suddenly seemed very attractive. Bertie glanced round enquiringly.

  ‘Come on, old chap,’ said Guy. ‘I need a pint,’ and taking his waterproofs from a peg behind the door they stepped out into the rain.

  Back at Nethercombe Henry, too, was braving the elements. He came out and, staring around him for a moment, set off down the drive humming gently to himself, quite undeterred by the gloomy morning.

  ‘“Sing, ‘hey! to you – good day! to you.’ Sing, ‘Bah! to you, ha! ha! to you,’” ’he sang. He wore an ancient Barbour, gumboots and a rather disgraceful old tweed cap. ‘“Sing, ‘Pooh! to you. Pooh! pooh! to you.’ And that’s what I shall say!” ’ The words died on his lips as he reached the bend in the drive and Nell appeared from the avenue. She, too, was wearing gumboots and an all-enveloping weatherproof garment. She waved to him.

  ‘Hello. Good morning!’ Henry called, removing his cap. ‘Going for a walk?’

  ‘Only to the Courtyard.’ Nell fell into step beside him. ‘I want to leave a message for Guy. Where are you off to?’

  ‘Just going to check Number Five. Air it through, make sure there’s no damp. You know what a place is like if it’s left empty.’ He was struggling to get something out of his pocket and now produced a key. ‘Here we are.’

  They passed under the arch together and Nell paused to push a note through Guy’s letterbox. She straightened up and looked around.

  ‘How lovely it is,’ she said. ‘Even on this dreary morning it has a certain charm.’

  Henry looked gratified.

  ‘Come and have a look at Number Five,’ he suggested. ‘Like to? Or has Gussie shown it to you already?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Nell with alacrity, following him across the Courtyard to the door opposite Guy’s. ‘I’ve never seen it properly. Phoebe and I peered through the windows once but I’ve never been inside.’

  Henry unlocked the door and stood back to let her enter. She kicked off her boots, leaving them under the roof canopy over the front door and went into the hall.

  ‘Help yourself,’ said Henry. He gestured at each door in turn. ‘Kitchen, leading to utility room. Small study. Sitting room.’ She poked about in the kitchen and the study – whilst Henry stamped about upstairs opening windows – came back into the hall and, pushing open the third door, stood amazed. The sitting room was large; much bigger than Phoebe’s, or Guy’s. On the far wall was a stone fireplace and to its left was a window facing ea
st. French windows, opening on to the lawn, looked south. The room was washed a warm cream and a huge and ancient beam divided the ceiling in half.

  ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Henry had arrived behind her. ‘This is the only one that was ever originally used for habitation. The head groom lived here so it’s got much more atmosphere than the others. I think so, anyway. The garage block takes up half of this north wall which helps to keep it warm, although the only evening sun you get is through the front door and the little window into the hall. But you get all the sun in here and the kitchen, of course, even in the winter when the sun is low, because all the leaves are off the trees.’ He beamed at Nell who, never having heard Henry make so long a speech, was gazing at him in amazement. ‘It’s my spiel,’ he told her with simple pride. ‘Rather good, eh? Gussie taught it me. She’s much better at it than I am. It’s all true but I would never have thought of telling anyone. What d’you think?’

  ‘I think it’s terrific,’ said Nell, beginning to laugh. ‘And I think the cottage is, too. I’d buy it like a shot if I had any money. It’s certainly got a wonderful atmosphere and even on a gloomy day like this it’s so bright. It must be wonderful when the fire’s going.’

  ‘Get a good bed of ash in there and it’ll stay in a treat,’ said Henry. ‘Old Mick used to keep it in right through the winter. Of course, this was two rooms but we opened it out. Want to see upstairs?’

  Nell followed him up the stairs which turned sharp left halfway up. At the top, the landing ran the full length of the cottage with four doors opening off. First came the bathroom which was very modern, and bright, next a good-size bedroom with built-in oak cupboards and then a small boxroom. Henry pushed open the last door with a flourish and Nell caught her breath. Like the sitting room it faced east and south but, though the ceiling was heavily beamed, the whole feeling was of space and light and Nell went over to the window to look down to the stream and beyond to the woods.

  ‘It’s really lovely, Henry,’ she said. ‘It’s so beautifully done. Nice and simple and no cheap tat.’

  ‘Glad you like it.’ Henry looked round, pleased. ‘Gillian had quite a say in it, you know. And we had a first-class architect.’

  Nell felt a little dart of envy accompanied by a sense of loss. How wonderful it would be to have a home of one’s own again. She thought of her cottage at Porlock Weir and clenched her fists.

  ‘I shall hate whoever buys this one,’ she said, but she kept her tone light lest Henry should feel that he had been tactless in showing her round. ‘I’m surprised it wasn’t the first to go.’

  ‘Well, it’s bigger than the others and it’s got the garden which Guy and the Beresfords didn’t want. Or Mr Jackson. Phoebe’s got the little bit on the end which she felt was more than enough and none of them wanted a big open fire.’ He frowned a little. ‘Perhaps we got this one wrong.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Nell at once. ‘It’s lovely. It’s waiting for someone special.’

  Henry smiled at her and all at once remembered her own situation. She saw his expression change and hastened into speech.

  ‘Thank you for showing me. I find any sort of development and conversion work absolutely fascinating. It’s amazing how differently people approach it. I like the way you’ve put good-quality basics in but left plenty of room for the people who buy it to stamp their own personality on it.’

  Still talking she led the way downstairs and outside where she stepped back into her boots. A voice hailed them and they turned to see Phoebe at her door.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ she cried. ‘Take pity on me! Come and talk to me. Have some coffee. Stay to lunch. I haven’t seen anyone for days. Will it ever stop raining ever again, d’you think?’

  Nell laughed and nodded acceptance but Henry shook his head, waved his thanks and set off back through the arch. As he went, he thought of Nell; reproaching himself for his insensitivity in showing her a cottage she couldn’t afford when she’d lost her own home and her husband as well. He shook his head at himself. Thank goodness she and Gillian were getting on so well and how wonderful that Nell had been given a job with Elizabeth! Gillian had really thrown herself into this project; driving Nell about, going with her to give her confidence until she felt able to cope alone. Recently he’d felt that the reservation which seemed to prevent Gillian from experiencing complete contentment was slowly melting away, or perhaps she was coming to terms with it. Either way, it meant more happiness for them both and their relationship was becoming all that Henry had ever dared to hope for; the companionship, the sharing, the love, they were all growing.

  And perhaps, thought Henry, when everything’s right perhaps we’ll have a baby!

  He drew in his breath sharply at the exquisite pleasure the thought brought him. A child of their own! An heir for Nethercombe! Henry couldn’t prevent a beam spreading over his face. His joy expanded into his chest and he burst into song.

  ‘“Sing, ‘Hey! to you!’” ’he sang to a surprised cow in the adjoining meadow. ‘“‘Good day! to you!’ And that’s what I shall say!” ’

  BY THE TIME NELL set off back to the Lodge, the rain had stopped. She had been prevailed upon by Phoebe to stay to lunch and the dull grey November afternoon was drawing in. Although it was still and mild, Nell shivered as she hurried up the drive and along the avenue. She was looking forward to the warmth of her kitchen and knew why, now, country people invested in Agas or Rayburns or Esses. The gentle constant warmth seemed like a glowing heart in the house; welcoming one back from a raw, damp day or giving cheerful comfort in the middle of a cold night when sleep eluded one and there was nothing for it but to get up and go downstairs. Many early hours Nell had spent huddled in her rocking chair by the Rayburn, drinking cocoa whilst her brain reeled and scurried in and out of her problems.

  Of late, ever since Gillian’s suggestion and Nell’s subsequent meeting with Elizabeth, those wakeful hours of fear and loneliness had become fewer. Now, she had hope for a future of her own. She’d been offered a chance and had seized it with both trembling hands. Now, her anxieties were more concerned with whether she could cope with what she’d taken in; whether she could justify the faith that Elizabeth was putting in her.

  She’d liked the tall, composed woman at once. She admired her elegance, her house, her innate, understated good taste and sensed that here was someone who would dislike anything messy; whether it was a drawing room or other people’s emotions. She could imagine her recoiling from anything dramatic or untidy and knew, instinctively, that she could trust her absolutely. This was a tremendous relief. She suspected that, although Gillian would have told Elizabeth about her situation, no matter how she might feel she wouldn’t have passengers in her business. Nor would she embarrass Nell by sympathetic outbursts.

  Nell liked this clean unfussy approach. It was a chance to put mess and muddle behind her and give herself a new start and she intended to avail herself of it. She’d been amazed at Gillian’s encouragement. Her previous encounters had never led her to believe that Gillian would be prepared to put herself out for anyone, yet she was doing everything she could to get Nell started although she obviously had no intention of making it a career for herself. So far it had been tremendous fun. Elizabeth was giving them plenty of time to find their feet and Gillian, with her witty tongue and quick brain, could be very amusing, so it was only when she was alone again that Nell remembered that this wasn’t just fun but her future. It was terribly important that she should succeed so as to make a good life for herself and Jack; after all, there was no longer anyone else to take the weight. It was all up to her. At this point, the old nightmares and terrors would return for she knew that she would never get another chance like this one.

  Nell let herself into the Lodge, kicked her boots off in the porch and went into the warm kitchen, hanging up her mac behind the door. Her sole comfort was Elizabeth herself. She had succeeded on her own, built the business up from nothing, lived alone in quiet contentment. If she could achieve it, r
easoned Nell, so could others. A wave of confidence flooded over her. There was absolutely no reason to think that she couldn’t learn the business or train herself as Elizabeth had. As often as not it was a matter of confidence and she watched and listened closely as Elizabeth advised her clients, told them her own ideas, discussed fixtures and fittings and the way to bring harmony to a room; to make this room one which encouraged activity and ideas and that room a place of peace and relaxation. Nell was determined to learn as much as she could from her employer. Suddenly she felt light and free and happy. Unlike Henry, however, she didn’t burst into a snatch from Gilbert and Sullivan but took a book from the pile that Elizabeth had lent her and sat down in her rocking chair to read about antique furniture.

  GUY FELT A TREMOR of anxiety as he picked up Nell’s note and saw her distinctive handwriting. Surely she wasn’t crying off! Luckily it was simply to confirm the time. She’d been in such a rush, she wrote, that she wanted to be certain that she’d got it right. Guy sighed with relief. Mary had cheered and encouraged him at lunch time, as he had guessed she might, and he felt as ready as he would ever be to take the plunge and tell Nell how he felt about her. He was practically ill with terror at the prospect but he was determined to risk it. After all, she could only turn him down. Only! He groaned with frustrated impatience and Bertie looked at him anxiously. Guy caught the look and attempted a smile.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, somewhat bitterly. ‘I’m not so far gone that I’m about to forget your dinner.’

  Bertie wagged a tentative tail and looked more hopeful at the mention of this magic word. Guy took out the tin-opener and reached for the can of food, feeling glad that he’d stayed later at the office so that he might be able to go out again almost immediately to meet Nell. He knew that if he’d had to sit waiting he might well lose his nerve. It was raining again so Guy shut Bertie in the back of the car and drove along the lane to the Lodge. He tooted loudly and got out but Nell was already letting herself through the little wicket gate. He caught his breath as he glimpsed her face, radiant and glowing, and opened the door for her. As they drove the short distance he was aware of her buoyant air of happiness and his own spirits rose accordingly.