‘I’ve had nothing but people phoning with wrong numbers all morning,’ he said, bending to kiss her. ‘I should ignore it if it rings, if I were you. See you later.’
When the bell pealed half an hour later, however, Gillian got up and went into the study to answer it, half expecting a call from Lydia. She said the number clearly and a muffled voice asked who was speaking.
‘It’s Gillian Morley here. Can I help you?’
‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Sam Whittaker. ‘Thank God your old man didn’t answer again. I thought I’d never get you!’
Gillian lowered herself into Henry’s chair. The blood pounded in her head and her hands shook.
‘What do you want?’ she whispered. ‘I told you I never wanted to see you again.’
‘So you did.’ He gave the old easy laugh. ‘But I want to see you.’
‘Why?’ asked Gillian desperately. ‘It’s all over. Finished.’
‘No, no. Nothing’s that easy. You should know that by now. The echoes go on for ever. Haven’t you learned that yet? I need some money, Gillian.’
‘I don’t care!’ she said fiercely. ‘I haven’t got any money. And if I had I wouldn’t give it to you. Can’t you find any other poor fools like John to swindle and cheat?’
‘I came over to get some money from someone who owed me.’ His voice was more urgent now, as though he were running out of time or money. ‘Only he’s let me down. I’ve got to get back to France quickly. It’s not particularly healthy for me over here as you may have guessed. Don’t worry. I shan’t keep coming back for more but I must have some to get home. I’ve tried everyone else. You don’t want me to come and knock on the front door, do you? Introduce myself to Henry?’
‘He’d pass you straight over to the police,’ cried Gillian. ‘Make no mistake about that!’
‘But not before we’d had a nice long chat.’ Sam laughed again. ‘Can you imagine it, my darling? Think of the things I could tell him about you. Did he ever know about you and Simon, for instance? And all the money you borrowed? And all the things you told me about him? Remember? About how useless he was in bed … ? And of course you’ve confessed to seducing John?’
‘Shut up! Shut up!’ Shame swept over her in a scalding tide and sweat made the receiver slippery in her hand. ‘Don’t you dare come here!’
‘So you never had the courage to tell him!’ Sam’s voice was fat with satisfaction. ‘I guessed as much. Well, it’s up to you. I need two hundred quid, that’s all. And don’t tell me you haven’t got it. I’ve seen the spread you’ve got there. You can find two hundred.’
‘You’ve seen Nethercombe?’
‘That worries you, doesn’t it? Oh, yes. I’ve seen it. I’m right here in the thriving metropolis of South Brent. So what are you going to do about it? And be quick. I’m running out of money.’
‘OK.’ Gillian felt weak with terror at the thought of Sam so close. ‘I can find that amount, just about.’ She thought quickly. ‘Now listen carefully and I’ll tell you where we can meet …’
She replaced the receiver and sat for some moments, her hands pressed between her knees, her eyes closed. His voice had brought the memories of that dreadful episode sweeping back and she felt sick with shame and humiliation. How could she have behaved so? She’d betrayed Henry and Nell and it struck her that, if any of the people whom she now loved knew about any of the things that she had done, they would turn from her in disgust. The child leaped in her belly as if it, too, repudiated her and would be free of her and she laid her head on the desk and wept bitterly. She’d imagined herself free of it all; that by giving Henry all her love, by trying to make restitution to Nell, the past could be wiped out. What a fool she’d been! Sam was right. Our actions go on echoing and rebounding all through our lives and we can never escape from them. She imagined Sam confronting Henry, the easy laugh, the pleasant voice telling him awful unspeakable things! Gillian writhed in self-disgust and wept until she was exhausted. At last, the sound of Gussie’s voice pulled her together and she slipped out of the study and hurried upstairs.
SAM MADE HIS WAY through the network of lanes round Nethercombe and into the woods beyond its boundaries. The river was low in its bed, running sluggishly after the long dry spell, and he worked his way upstream until he came to the stepping stones that Gillian had described. He glanced round him. There was nobody about; even the birdsong seemed muted in the still heat of the afternoon. He looked up quickly as an echoing hooting filled the air and shattered the peace. A train was crossing the viaduct higher up the valley and he watched it for a moment before crossing the stream by the stepping stones. He walked cautiously now, the marshy ground sucking at his shoes as he skirted it, following the path that Gillian had described. It was very overgrown but just discernible and he gradually climbed up through the trees until the path swung round to the right. The ground was clearer here and he found himself at the edge of a little cliff, looking down on the swampy damp ground. He glanced at his watch. He was early but that was just as well. At least he wouldn’t be taken by surprise. A woodpigeon clattered out of a nearby tree, startling him, and the sun beating into the clearing was hot. He felt suddenly very tired, as though the nervous energy that had kept him going up to this point had suddenly deserted him.
He sat down on the edge of the little cliff, his legs dangling, pulled his holdall onto his lap and took out the pasty that he’d bought earlier in the village. At the first bite of juicy meat and gravy, he salivated copiously and realised just how hungry he was. He ate with great enjoyment, wishing that he’d bought two pasties, and thought about seeing Gillian again. He’d missed her for a while but he was too busy wheeling and dealing to have time for too many regrets and, after all, there were always women to be had. Sam scrunched up the paper bag and dropped it back in his bag. He knew that he’d completely misjudged Gillian. He’d imagined her to be as ruthless and tough as himself and it had come as a shock to find how wide of the truth his picture had been.
He swore softly under his breath when he thought about John. Bloody fool! As if anything was so bad that you’d need to kill yourself! Even now, with the chips down and his own back to the wall, there was a certain excitement, a buzz, in finding a way out, even if you did have to kick a few people in the teeth to achieve it. And, let’s face it, these gullible idiots were simply begging to be stitched up and if lives and relationships were damaged in the process – well, it was too bad. The trouble was that people were getting wise. The word ‘scam’ had been invented and even the most naive were beginning to be cautious. There were reports in the newspapers, too, that put the unwary on their guard. He’d got out just in time, no doubt about it, and he’d been crazy to come back. If he hadn’t thought that he’d be able to bring it off just one more time, so getting himself out of the shit, he wouldn’t have risked it. And then the stupid bastard had dithered and delayed and finally backed off. He’d taken the chance for nothing! Still, nobody knew he was here. He’d travelled by public transport and only Gillian knew where he was. He thought about John again and gave a derisive snort. It was a miracle that he’d managed to kill himself. He was the sort to bungle it and spend the rest of his life as a cabbage, totally dependent and a bloody nuisance to everybody. His wife was well rid of him and Gillian’s attack of conscience had been completely over the top. Well, she wouldn’t suffer. She’d hardly miss a few hundred quid. Sam shook his head. Having prowled about a bit and seen it for himself, he felt quite flattered to think that she’d been prepared to give Nethercombe up for him. He wondered briefly whether the old charm might work a second time but dismissed the idea almost at once. He didn’t want to be lumbered with a woman now, especially one who’d shown herself to have such extraordinarily inconvenient scruples.
Sam stretched his back a little and longed for a cigarette. It had been a choice between a packet of fags or the pasty and he’d decided to be sensible. As soon as Gillian passed over the cash, he’d go back to the village and get a few t
hings before heading back upcountry. He glanced at his watch. She should be here by now. Even as he had the thought, he heard movement in the woods behind him. He sat perfectly still, hardly breathing as he listened, trying to block out the noise of another approaching train. The searing, agonising pain in his back struck him before he could move; the gunshot and his anguished cry both drowned by the rumble of the goods train now rattling noisily and slowly over the viaduct. Sam’s instinctive jerk forward sent him over the cliff edge and into the swamp below. The evil-smelling mud filled his nostrils and his screaming desperate open mouth and sucked him greedily, eagerly down and, by the time the train had disappeared, there was silence.
BELLA, THE SPANIEL, QUARTERED the ground above the swamp, her tail wagging enthusiastically. To and fro she went, nose to ground, intent on the scents around her. Mr Ridley followed more slowly, enjoying the sun on his back. He felt sure that he’d hit the rabbit that darted across but he knew that his eyes weren’t all that they might be and the thick foliage and the deep shadows made it impossible to judge. He reached the clearing and looked about. Bella still ran questing to and fro but there was no sign of his prey. He moved to the edge of the little cliff and stared down into the viscous turgid mud. There was evidence that the surface had been recently disturbed and he gave a disgruntled sigh.
‘Come away, girl,’ he said to the still excited Bella. ‘’Twas only an ole rabbit. Knocked ’im in the swamp, I reckon.’
He turned away following the overgrown track that led downstream. Bella remained behind, confused by conflicting scents, but finally gave up and raced breathlessly after him. When he was nearly out of the woods and he could see the sunlit stretches of the meadow ahead, Mr Ridley fired at a wood pigeon on its dipping flight between the trees. The bird soared on, untouched, and, calling to Bella, he climbed the stile into the meadow and turned for home.
GILLIAN SLIPPED OUT THROUGH the orchard and into the woods that clung to the side of the valley. The money was in a pocket of her loose shirt and she kept one hand clutched over it. Years before, steps had been cut in the side of the hill; broad, shallow steps, that led eventually to the floor of the valley where a deep, dark, secret lake lay whose edges ran out into the soggy damp marshy swampland. Gillian descended slowly. She had no intention of falling or doing anything that might damage the life she carried within her. She was about halfway down when she saw movement below her. Her heart beat faster as she peered through the foliage. A horn blared as a goods train rumbled on to the viaduct and, suddenly, between the branches of a great beech, Gillian glimpsed Mr Ridley below her.
She drew back startled. It had never occurred to her that he might be having one of his rare rabbit-potting afternoons down here. Her heart beat strong and fast. Supposing he came across Sam! Gillian locked her hands together and rested her chin upon them, thinking hard. Should she shout out, giving Sam fair warning? Or should she just pray that Sam would be alert and hear him coming? The latter choice seemed the wisest and she stood, straining her ears above the rattle of the train that echoed round the valley. It was impossible to hear anything above the racket and Mr Ridley was out of sight but Gillian stood quite still. The noise of the train, at long last, faded into silence and Mr Ridley could be heard quite clearly now, pushing his way through the underbrush. Slowly, cautiously, Gillian began to descend again. She slid behind a tangle of sallow and listened. If Mr Ridley had come across the meadow and up the stream then he would return by way of the steps. If he did, Gillian knew that there was no way she could avoid him. Even if he didn’t see her then Bella, his spaniel, would smell her out. Gillian held her breath, praying that Mr Ridley had come down by the steps and would then return by the meadow. The minutes passed. The noise of his footsteps receded slowly and she started violently when a shot rang out. Birds crashed and clattered out of the undergrowth, complaining vociferously, and Mr Ridley’s voice, encouraging Bella, was distant now. Gillian gasped with relief. She guessed that he must be far downstream, almost at the meadow.
She moved out into the open and approached the meeting place. There was no sign of Sam. She stood quite still, waiting, watching, listening; allowing plenty of time for him to see her and approach. There was only silence. At length, Gillian sat down on a nearby fallen tree trunk. Mr Ridley must have frightened him away but surely there had been time, now, for him to creep back? She sat on whilst the minutes ticked by and the sun slipped away behind the trees. Presently she stirred; soon she would be missed. She looked at her watch and shook her head, mystified. He’d sounded so desperate for the money. Gillian stood up and made her way back to the steps. As she ascended, pausing at each one to listen and look around, a new and terrible thought slipped into her mind and terror gripped her entrails. Suppose, after all, he’d changed his mind and had decided to come to the house, to confront Henry and tell him about John? She felt sick with apprehension. If only he’d come and she’d given him the money she’d have felt free of him but now … Gillian stood quite still. She’d never be free of him. At any time he could return and deliberately destroy the fabric of her life. As long as she lived, she’d fear the telephone bell, the knock at the door. For the first time, Gillian faced the fact that happiness which is built on falsehood is bound to be ephemeral and terrifyingly fragile. She stared into the bleak future, gripped with misery and despair. There was nothing she could do … Or was there?
Folding her arms about her belly, she went slowly up, made her way through the orchard and into the house. She crossed the hall and looked into the study. Henry smiled at her from behind his desk.
‘Time for tea?’ he asked.
‘Not yet.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled back at him, realising at that moment how very dear he was to her. ‘I have something to tell you, Henry,’ she said and she went inside and closed the door gently behind her.
Thirty-four
LYDIA PUSHED OPEN THE restaurant door and paused to look about her. Elizabeth waved to her from a corner and Lydia threaded her way towards her. As she reached the table and greeted her old friend it struck her, quite suddenly, that Elizabeth was looking her age. It wasn’t anything particular, like her hair turning grey or new lines upon her face, but it was there just the same. She looked thinner, more gaunt than elegant. Slightly thrown off balance, Lydia sat down.
‘So.’ Elizabeth made room for Lydia’s shopping bag and her jacket on the third chair. ‘How’s the grandmother then? I must say you’re looking remarkably well on it.’
Confused by her impressions of Elizabeth’s own appearance, Lydia smiled, gestured with her hands, shook her head deprecatingly and said nothing at all. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at her and Lydia pulled herself together.
‘I’m loving every minute of it,’ she confessed. ‘Oh, he is a lovely boy! You know, I’ve often wondered if I’d feel different, being a grandmother. You know? Whether I’d feel suddenly rather staid or more responsible? And I have to say I don’t feel a bit different.’
She opened surprised eyes at Elizabeth who burst out laughing.
‘I’m sure that it would take more than a grandchild to change you, Lydia,’ she said, but her voice and smile were affectionate and Lydia smiled too.
‘I’m so happy,’ she said simply.
‘So you should be,’ said Elizabeth. ‘And what is this other thing you have to tell me?’ She filled Lydia’s glass from a wine bottle already open on the table. ‘Let’s have a drink first. We’ll order in a minute.’
‘Well.’ Lydia took her glass. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were bright and Elizabeth was struck by how young she appeared. Far from looking like a grandmother, she was more like the girl that Elizabeth had known at school all those many years ago. ‘You won’t believe this …’ She paused, took a deep breath and started again. ‘You’ll probably think I’m a complete idiot …’ She stopped and took a sip of wine.
‘Just say it straight out quickly.’ Elizabeth was regarding her with amusement. ‘If Gillian wants me to be go
dmother to the next generation, the answer’s no!’
‘Oh, it’s nothing like that,’ Lydia assured her hastily. ‘No, no. It’s … Well, the simple fact is that Charles has asked me to marry him.’
It came out in a sudden rush and Elizabeth gazed at her in surprise.
‘Goodness!’ she said.
‘And I’ve accepted!’ added Lydia defiantly and stared at Elizabeth, her chin raised almost aggressively.
‘So I should imagine,’ said Elizabeth mildly. ‘Why not? I think he’s a really nice man.’
‘Oh.’ Lydia was taken aback.
‘I’m delighted,’ said Elizabeth sincerely. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy, Lydia. Shall we drink to it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the disconcerted Lydia, who had expected all sorts of arguments and advice. She picked up her glass again.
‘Much happiness, Lydia.’ Elizabeth touched Lydia’s glass with her own. For once her cool demeanour deserted her and the alarmed Lydia saw a suspicion of tears in her eyes. ‘You’re very lucky. And so is he.’
She drank and Lydia followed suit, moved by Elizabeth’s generosity and obvious emotion.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘So when’s the great day?’ Elizabeth was businesslike once more and Lydia was almost relieved to see that her emotional moment had passed and she was her old self.
‘We thought Christmas,’ said Lydia, excitement welling up in her again. ‘Gillian says they’ll be having another Christmas party this year, so we thought just before it would be rather fun. What d’you think?’
‘I think it’s an excellent plan. And then we can all drink your health at the party.’
‘That would be lovely.’ Lydia smiled happily. ‘And you’ll come to the wedding, won’t you, Elizabeth? It’ll be a very small affair. Just one or two of our closest friends and Gillian and Henry, of course. But I shall want you there.’
The Courtyard Page 30