The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  At the passion in her low voice, he looked up at her at last. She saw both gratification at having resurrected her pain and guilt from the knowledge that he was almost certainly responsible for her single state mirrored on his face and she gave a short laugh. He had succeeded in piercing her armour and she had to steel herself from the temptation to feel contempt at his satisfaction.

  ‘I’m sorry. That was very unfair of me.’ He swallowed his coffee and set the cup back in the saucer. ‘I just need, sometimes, to break down that coolness and see that you do really care. Not just as an old friend.’

  ‘I’m still single you notice.’ She held his eyes and he looked ashamed.

  ‘Forgive me. You can’t imagine how I long to take my place at your side openly. To meet your friends. To go to this damned party at Nethercombe!’

  ‘I know.’ Knowing that she should try to reconcile him, she covered her hand with his own and he returned the pressure.

  ‘I’m behaving like a boor. You’re quite right. I want it all ways round as usual.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Elizabeth filled the cups again. The atmosphere had lightened and the brooding look had left his face and he smiled properly at her as she passed his cup. ‘We all want everything. It’s just that sometimes it simply isn’t possible. Sometimes it’s a case of second best.’ She smiled back at him, a warm, intimate smile that moved his heart and made him feel a bastard. ‘We’ve had a pretty good second best, Richard. Better than most people’s best.’

  It would have been churlish not to agree, not to make an effort but he couldn’t resist one more question.

  ‘If Anne … If anything happened now – you know they’ve never promised her a long life – would you marry me?’

  The silence was just fractionally too long.

  ‘My dear Richard, you know I would.’

  But he felt his heart plummet and was too immersed in his own feelings of betrayal to be aware of her resentment that he should force the issue, handle their fragile relationship – so treasured, so carefully preserved and worked at – with such clumsy insensitive fingers.

  Elizabeth began to collect up her belongings, quietly angry at being pushed into making admissions and bolstering his ego, yet still being the one to go home alone to an empty house. She’d abided by the rules – made to accommodate his situation, not hers – and saw no reason why she should be made a whipping boy for his regrets. She was relieved that his car was parked at some distance from the restaurant while hers was just outside the door. He, still feeling a little sorry for himself, made no attempt to comment on her brittle farewell but, as he walked to his car with the memory of her light delicate scent still in his nostrils, he felt an overwhelming reaction of regret and a frightening awareness of loss.

  Thirty

  GUSSIE CAME OUT OF the kitchen, paused in the hall to do homage to Gillian’s transformation of the Christmas tree and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her and went to pull the curtains. The full moon poured its cold white radiance on fields and woods, bleaching them of colour but bathing them in so bright a light that she could pick out certain landmarks as though it were daytime. A curtain in either hand, Gussie paused, arms outstretched, glorying in the beauty of the scene and filled with gratitude.

  ‘And the thing is, Lord,’ she said, closing the curtains reluctantly and going to rummage in her wardrobe, ‘things seem to be turning out right for everyone. Henry so happy, bless him. And Gillian much more settled. And Mr and Mrs Ridley, so cosy in their new quarters …’ Her hands passed over the navy blue paisley dress and she stopped abruptly, remembering the day that she had bought it more than four years before and how she had met Nell in the café. ‘It’s perfectly true, Lord,’ she said, wandering away from the wardrobe, ‘how You work in a mysterious way Your wonders to perform. If I hadn’t gone in for a cup of tea at that moment I should never have met Nell and I almost certainly would not be here now.’ She had to stop at the sheer horror of the thought that her future at Nethercombe had hung by so frail a thread. Where might she be instead? She shook her head and sat down in an armchair. ‘And where would Nell be?’ she wondered. ‘At least we have been able to give her some comfort during this terrible time. And now she has a job. Of course, some people would say that You tend to give with one hand and take away with the other, Lord, but I don’t think it’s that simple, is it?’ She laid her head back and shut her eyes. ‘I think that people were more content,’ she observed, after some silent communication, ‘when they didn’t feel they had Rights. Human Rights. Animal Rights. Perhaps it would be better if we looked upon good things as a kind of bonus …’

  There was a knock at the door and Henry put his head round.

  ‘Thought I heard voices,’ he said, not looking in the least surprised that Gussie was alone in the room. ‘All well?’

  ‘Perfectly splendid, Henry dear.’ Gussie beamed upon him. ‘And looking forward to the party.’

  ‘As long as you haven’t been overdoing yourself helping Mrs Ridley.’

  ‘Not at all. Joan Beresford’s made nearly all the puddings. You know how wonderful she is at that? Perfectly delicious concoctions! I’ve hardly done a thing.’

  ‘Good. Splendid. See you later then.’

  He shut the door gently. Alone again, Gussie tried to recapture her previous train of thought but it eluded her. She closed her eyes so as to concentrate better and presently she was fast asleep.

  GUY GLANCED AT HIS watch, decided he had another half an hour before he needed to shower and change, and continued to slump before the television. When he had first been invited to the party he’d immediately seen himself going with Nell. Despite their trips to the pub and her days with him in the office, he was aware that no one saw them as a couple. He was not certain that he did himself. Even when they were together there was an invisible barrier. Part of this was due, he told himself, to the fact that they were both reserved people. They were not, by nature, outwardly emotional or physical people. She never clutched him or threw her arms round him as Gemma did. Of course, he’d known Gemma all her life and she was like a little sister … And that was another thing that had to be taken into consideration. Nell was quite a lot older than he was. Here Guy usually tended to let his thinking become less clear: Nell had an ageless beauty, so the age-gap really didn’t show, he looked old for his age, and so on … When it came down to it, however, there was no getting away from the fact that she had a boy of nearly thirteen. If he did his sums, he knew he should take into account the fact that Nell had graduated before she married and even by being as generous as he could – sending her to university at seventeen, marrying her off immediately on graduating, supposing Jack’s conception to have taken place on her honeymoon – he still couldn’t make Nell’s age less than thirty-four. And he was just twenty-seven.

  Seven years was nothing. So argued Guy, when his cautious alter ego whispered wisely about older widows with adolescent sons, and at least he and Jack got on tremendously well. ‘You’re not his stepfather,’ muttered the tiresome voice. Guy tried to visualise being a father to Jack and failed miserably. Taking him sailing was one thing: laying down the law and trying to discipline him without upsetting Nell quite another. He remembered his own resentment when, at about Jack’s age, he’d realised that he and Giles might be presented with a stepfather. He remembered, too, his reaction and the way he and Giles had broken up the relationship. Guy shuddered. How ruthless the young could be!

  He stood up and went into the kitchen to pour himself a beer. After all, Jack was away at school for most of the time and when he came home for the holidays … Guy tried to imagine the three of them in his little cottage. For the life of him he simply couldn’t do it. One of the difficulties here was Nell’s otherworldliness. He simply couldn’t see her in the role of wife: cooking, cleaning – Guy was fairly old-fashioned in his ideas – and generally behaving like other women. He knew this was stupid. She had been a wife and, since the Lodge was always
clean and tidy, she was obviously quite capable of running a home. He tried, instead, to picture them living all together at the Lodge but that was no use either. Something always seemed to block his vision of married bliss. Perhaps everyone felt like this before the final step was taken.

  Guy sat on the sofa again and fiddled with the television remote control. He wished he had the courage to phone her, to ask if he could go and meet her so that they could go to the party together. Why not? The walk along the avenue would be dark … ‘Not with this moon,’ whispered the little inner voice. ‘Anyway, she’s got Jack.’ And that was true. Jack was home from school and was coming to the party. Sophie and Gemma were being driven over with Sophie’s parents, the Hope-Latymers – who, it seemed, were friends of Henry as well as Phoebe – and bringing Sophie’s two younger brothers as company for Jack. Guy sighed and switched off the television. There always seemed to be some good reason why he and Nell couldn’t simply behave like any other couple. She’d asked him to wait, which was perfectly reasonable, but he’d hardly seen her of late with this new job of hers and it was time that he made another effort. He brought the image of her into his mind and his heart beat faster. It would be lovely to see her. He finished his beer feeling more cheerful. Perhaps an opportunity might arise this evening …

  IN THE END HE walked up with Phoebe – who was always delighted at the prospect of a party and was always ready to enjoy herself – and the Beresfords. Nell, looking breathtaking in sea green with her hair piled high, was already there and talking to a tall dark woman whom she presently introduced as her boss: Elizabeth Merrick. They were joined by Lydia who introduced Major Charles Hart and Guy went to find a drink. He was waylaid by Gemma and felt the familiar sense of ease and lightheartedness steal over him.

  ‘What have you done to your hair?’ he demanded.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ She gave him the old provocative smile. ‘Chris thinks it’s very sexy!’

  ‘Oh well,’ Guy shrugged, ‘if you’re going to listen to a submariner … When am I going to meet him, by the way? Keeping him a bit dark, aren’t you? What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Gemma tilted her chin at him and made a face. ‘Simply that, unlike most people I could mention, Chris actually works. Away at sea, suffering privations for Queen and Country.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Guy gave a derisive hoot. ‘Didn’t you say he was on a bomber? Sitting on his arse for six weeks at a time, watching the latest movies more like!’

  ‘Oooh! You’re a pig!’ Gemma pinched his bottom hard and Guy gave a cry of pain which caused Gussie, passing by, to raise her eyebrows at him in alarm.

  ‘Are you all right, Guy dear?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. Fine. Twinge of arthritis.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Gussie looked distressed. ‘It must be all that water. Boats are such damp things, aren’t they?’

  She moved away and Gemma burst into fits of giggles. Guy looked at her disapprovingly.

  ‘I don’t know about sexy! Pigtails would be more appropriate. And that jolly well hurt!’

  ‘Sorry! Shall I kiss it better?’ She grinned up at him and slipped away into the crowd before he could retaliate.

  He watched her go and went to find a drink. By the time he got back, Elizabeth was deep in conversation with Lydia and Charles whilst Nell looked as if she were about to slide off. Guy smiled at her and manoeuvred her a little away from the others.

  ‘How are you? You’re being very elusive lately.’

  ‘Oh, Guy.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘It’s simply that I’m so busy! There’s so much to learn that it’ll take me years and years to get the hang of it. And it’s all so exhausting. I’ve never worked full time, as you know. But it’s lovely to see you. I realise now how very kind and patient you were with me in the office.’ Her smile made his heart soar. ‘How are things with you?’

  ‘Not too bad.’ He didn’t want to talk about business. ‘I’m hoping we can have an evening out together. A Christmas dinner or something. Would you like to? Just the two of us,’ he added quickly lest she suppose that the invitation included Jack.

  ‘Oh!’ She looked flustered for a moment and then pulled herself together. ‘What a nice idea. I’d love to. When?’

  He could have shouted with joy.

  ‘Monday? I’ll book a table at the Church House Inn. I expect they’ll find a quiet corner for us.’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll have a word with Phoebe about Jack. He’ll probably insist that he’s OK on his own but I’ll be happier if I know she can be on the end of the phone.’

  ‘Good. I’ll pick you up about seven thirty then.’ He was so happy that he didn’t object too much when other people joined their group and he could no longer speak with her alone. He had Monday to look forward to now. He excused himself, collected another drink and went to talk to Abby and William Hope-Latymer.

  LYDIA WAS HAVING A wonderful time. Charles was a charming companion: chivalrous, kindly, interesting. She was terribly proud to show him off at Nethercombe and flushed with pleasure when Elizabeth sent her a definite signal of approval behind Charles’s unsuspecting head. Even Gillian was impressed.

  ‘Gosh, Mum!’ she’d whispered whilst Henry shook Charles’s hand and welcomed him warmly. ‘He’s really nice. Very distinguished.’

  Lydia glowed and, when he was introduced to William Hope-Latymer and they discovered they had mutual friends and had been at Sandhurst at about the same time, her cup was full to overflowing.

  Elizabeth, watching her from a quiet corner, smiled to herself. She noticed the new outfit in generously forgiving cotton jersey and the haircut that made her old friend look more youthful and was quite suddenly pierced with a terrible sadness. She remembered being a bridesmaid at Lydia’s wedding – Angus, dashing in his top hat – and how happy a day it had been for them all. How wonderful life could be. And how terrible! Lydia had been such a scatty girl; falling in and out of love with monotonous regularity and each time it was the great love of her life. Why had Angus been so different that she’d married him? It was impossible to remember now. She’d warned her that marriage was a serious step and Lydia had teased her for being cold, indifferent, unnatural. And then she’d met Richard.

  ‘You’re looking very thoughtful.’ Elizabeth looked up to see the tall thin odd-looking woman who lived in the Courtyard surveying her. ‘Phoebe,’ said the woman obligingly. ‘And you’re Elizabeth Something. Gillian’s godmother.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Elizabeth made room beside her. ‘Come and sit down. I’d rather switched off, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Phoebe, sitting beside her. ‘Parties can have very strange effects. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Not bad in your case, I hope?’

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Elizabeth lightly. ‘Was my expression that forbidding? Do you have a husband here? I know we’ve met before but I don’t remember … ?’ She paused enquiringly.

  ‘Divorced,’ said Phoebe succinctly.

  ‘Ah.’ Elizabeth’s voice was non-committal. One never knew whether to commiserate or congratulate.

  ‘“Ah” ’s about right,’ said Phoebe cheerfully. ‘Sums it up quite adequately. So you and Gillian’s mum are old friends. That’s nice. Old friends are so comfortable. The older I get the more I realise that. The people who mean most are the ones who’ve been through all the traumas with you, don’t you think?’

  ‘I certainly do,’ agreed Elizabeth readily. ‘Although new ones can shake you out of the old ruts, make you rethink things.’ Her glance strayed to Nell.

  ‘Sounds uncomfortable,’ complained Phoebe. ‘I like my old ruts and I hate rethinking things.’

  ‘But surely you’ve made new friends here,’ protested Elizabeth. ‘After all, you can’t have been here very long. Haven’t you enjoyed that? You certainly seem to be well bedded in – as the locals say.’

  ‘Well, I am, really,’ admitted Phoebe. ‘You’re right, of course. I hadn’t thought of these being new friends. I fee
l as if I’ve known them for years. Odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sometimes that can happen,’ agreed Elizabeth, her eyes still on Nell. ‘Occasionally one meets a kindred spirit. Lucky for you to meet six or seven in one go.’

  ‘I love them all,’ admitted Phoebe. ‘All except Mr Jackson.’

  ‘Mr Jackson?’ Elizabeth frowned a little. ‘Is he here? I don’t remember him.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Phoebe, shocked. ‘Goodness, no! He’s gone rushing home to wifie for Christmas. He simply doesn’t belong in the Courtyard. But never mind. I’m working on it. I don’t think he’ll stay long.’

  ‘I think, if I were Mr Jackson, I’d feel a little nervous.’

  ‘Mr Jackson always feels nervous,’ said Phoebe cheerfully. ‘That’s why I don’t think he’ll stay. I’m wearing him down. It’s very important in a courtyard development that the residents get on together. We’ve told Henry that we’re going to interview anyone who offers on Number Five.’

  ‘Poor Henry.’ Elizabeth laughed.

  ‘Oh, Henry agrees with us. We’re like a great big family now. It’ll have to be someone very special who buys Number Five!’

  IN THE KITCHEN MR RIDLEY was carefully stacking the dishwashing machine: one of Gillian’s innovations. At first, Mrs Ridley had felt it incumbent upon her to despise it and continued to wash up by hand but, slowly, secretly, after several private experiments, she’d grudgingly agreed that it had its uses. The unspoken feud between them was over. Gillian was making great efforts and Mrs Ridley was prepared to meet her halfway much to Mr Ridley’s relief.