Sally Wentworth - Yesterday's Affair

by Sally Wentworth

  'Sorry, no,' he replied curtly.

  She gave him a reproachful look. 'It wouldn't hurt you to fly over it.'

  'I'm not allowed to. The place is falling apart and the vibration from the rotor blades would probably be the last straw.' He glanced at her. 'It's part of my agreement with the owner.'

  She nodded, accepting his explanation, and stayed silent until they had landed and Bill Fairford came over to help her out.

  'You're late back tonight,' he commented.

  She managed a smile for him as he helped her with her bag of cameras. 'Yes. It's been—a long day.' She turned to look at Nick, met his eyes squarely. 'Good-night, Nick. I'll see you on Monday. You haven't forgotten I want to go to Lindisfarne? You said we'd have to make an early start?'

  Nick hesitated, seemed about to speak, but changed his mind when he realised that Bill was still there. 'Haven't you seen enough yet?' he compromised.

  'No.' Her chin came up. 'We signed a contract; I don't intend to go back on it.'

  He frowned but could do little more than nod. 'All right. We'll need to start about six in the morning.'

  'I'll be here.' And she walked quickly over to her car and drove away.

  That weekend Olivia spent driving round the west Cotswolds, trying to visit all the places she'd seen from the air. The early spring was proving to be almost as hot as summer. Everywhere flowers were coming into early bloom and birds were singing their hearts out as they built their nests in trees and hedgerows that were bursting into leaf. It was a time of optimistic renewal; there were Iambs and calves in the fields, young foals on wobbly legs standing alongside their mothers in the fenced paddocks. Olivia looked at them with jealous eyes. It's the mating season and I'm the only one without a mate, she thought with an inner laugh of chagrin at her own frustration.

  Feeling in a gloomy mood, she turned off the main road and followed meandering lanes to tiny villages of only thirty or so houses, each with its lichen-roofed bus- stop and tiny church, the graveyards full of table-top tombs casting peaceful shadows in the sun. A good place lo lie, she thought, where others had been laid for centuries of time. Then, angry at herself for getting morbid, Olivia jumped in the car and drove to Painswick, where she joined the window-shoppers strolling the High .Street, poked around antique shops, and bought apples for a belated lunch from a market stall. In the evening she went to the theatre in Stratford again, the Royal Shakespeare this time, made herself known to the manager, and told him she would like to do a feature on the two theatres. He was as helpful as everyone else she'd met, and invited her to come to a rehearsal one morning when she was free.

  Sunday she went exploring again, but the weather wasn't so warm and there were less people around. Usually just walking or driving through the little villages and pretty towns made her feel at peace, but today she felt overpoweringly lonely. Stopping outside a church that the guide book said had a fourteenth-century wall-painting, Olivia waited outside for a service to end before she could go in and explore. Her thoughts went to Nick, as they always did, and she wondered what he was doing today. Was he flying? He'd said that he often worked harder during the weekends than he did in the week. Olivia looked up at the sky, almost as if she expected to see a helicopter beating its way through the scudding clouds. You fool, Nick, she thought with sudden vehemence. What the hell's the matter with you?

  Suddenly deciding that she couldn't just sit there for half an hour with nothing to do but think, Olivia turned the car and headed purposefully back to Harnbury-on- the-Wold and the heliport. But as she neared the village she slowed right down; what would be the good of confronting Nick again? They'd probably only have another fight that might finish everything between them, and so long as there was even one fragile thread to hold on to she would cling to it like grim death.

  The entrance to Harnbury Hall, the massive stone gateway that Nick had driven through the other night, came into sight. Impulsively, Olivia parked the car and walked over to it. Again the gates were locked. There was a bell-push and one of those grilles that you spoke into set into the pillar on the left, and she was strongly tempted to press it. But what if Nick answered? What was she supposed to do—say, 'Sorry, wrong number,' or something? Olivia began to walk along the wall in the opposite direction to the heliport, but there was no other gate and no place where she could climb over. Although there was the other gate that led to the heliport, of course. Maybe that had once been the tradesmen's entrance to the Hall; nearly all the mansions that Olivia had seen in England had had a secondary entrance of some kind.

  Eagerly she went back to the car, drove further down the road and parked again. The gates were open. Good. That must mean that Nick was working. Running through them, Olivia took to the trees, ready to hide if Nick or anyone came along, but there was no one about and she safely passed the turn-off for the heliport and kept going down the lane. She was sure that this must have been a part of the avenue leading from the gate because the trees, mostly limes, she thought, continued on either side. They were only broken whore the tarmac road went off to the heliport.

  But it didn't look as if the road was used very much. It soon became overgrown and broken, with grass pushing through the surface and rhododendron bushes that had been let go wild, clawing their way towards the centre. Olivia had only gone a couple of hundred yards when she found the reason for the road's lack of use; one of the huge trees had fallen, completely blocking the way, and bringing down a couple of smaller trees with it. She went round the huge ball of earth, higher than her head, pulled up by the roots of the fallen tree, and continued down the avenue. Eight more trees blocked the way, and some had fallen from the other side of the avenue, too, as if some great force had blown them down.

  The avenue was almost a mile long and was, as Olivia had thought, a tradesmen's entrance. At its end she found herself at the entrance to what must once have been a large and busy stable yard. Now the doors under a stone bell-tower were closed, the stalls empty, so she carried on, went round the corner of the wall—and came to a complete halt. Ahead of her was the house that she'd seen from the air, standing tall and golden and graceful, with mullioned windows reflecting the light and high Tudor chimneys reaching up into the sky. Olivia caught her breath, entranced by the sight, and walked nearer, fascinated, feasting her eyes on the beauty of the building.

  She tried to think if she had read anything about the house in her guide book, but then remembered that Nick had said it belonged to a private owner. Lucky man, to own this, she thought, and a rich one, too. But as she walked out from the trees, Olivia saw that the garden around the house was unkempt, the topiary-work reverting to bushes, the archways of climbing roses left long unpruned, and the trees beyond becoming a jungle. In the windows of the house, too, there were broken panes that had been boarded up from the inside, and some of the stonework was cracked and in one place had broken away. It looked empty, deserted and uncared for. Olivia felt a great surge of pity for the house. Whoever owned it ought to be shot, she thought angrily. Fancy letting it get into this state.

  Walking up to the house, she tried to peer through the windows, putting up her hand to shield her eyes, but most of them either had curtains pulled across or had inside shutters that left no gaps for her to see through. Only at one window, on the side of the house, could she see in. The room was large but by no means huge. It had an ornate plaster ceiling from what she could see, and there was a carved stone fireplace against the left hand wall with the built-up ash of many fires in the grate. An armchair was pulled up to the fire and beside it there was a table stacked with books and magazines, as if whoever sat there spent long hours reading. But there was only one chair. Puzzled, Olivia drew back. She was about to continue walking round the house, peering through the ground-floor windows, when she heard the sound of a car approaching. Hurriedly, afraid of being caught trespassing, she ran back to the trees and hid behind the huge trunk of an old oak. A familiar car came into sight and Olivia gasped with astonishment as Nic
k got out, walked up to the house—and without hesitation let himself in by the main door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Looking out of the window when she got out of bed at five the nest morning, Olivia found the weather grey and overcast. But it wasn't raining and the sky looked lighter on the horizon. Ever optimistic, Olivia took a hot and then cold shower to wake herself up. Last night hadn't been a restful one; she had been too intrigued by the puzzle of Nick's being at that beautiful old house to sleep very well. She dressed, made herself a coffee and ate some of the biscuits provided by the hotel; the kitchen, she knew, wouldn't be open for breakfast this early in the day. She was half expecting a phone call from Nick to say that the flight was off because of the weather, but none came by five-thirty so she put on a warm anorak over her sweater and jeans and drove out to Harnbury.

  Although the roads were empty there was a ghostly kind of mist spreading from the fields once she had left the town behind, making her drive slowly and carefully. It was patchy, though, so she arrived at the heliport on time. The gates were open and she found Nick in his office, the light on, dealing with some paperwork.

  'Don't you ever stop working?' she asked him.

  'Just writing out the week's schedule. I do it every Monday morning.'

  He didn't look up from the chart that he was filling in with pilots' names and jobs, so Olivia went to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. She watched him, wondering if he was going to behave as if their last confrontation hadn't occurred. She had mixed feelings about it herself, at one moment wishing it had never happened, but at the next supremely thankful for that kiss.

  Trying to push it out of her mind, she leaned to take a closer look at the photographs on the wall. Mostly they were just of the old biplane, but there was one of Nick standing beside a middle-aged man who bore a strong resemblance to him and who she guessed must be his father, and another of the same man standing alone with the plane.

  Nick reached to pick up something from his desk and, afraid that he might catch her, Olivia quickly turned away and said, 'Will we be able to fly this morning, with the mist?'

  'It's only a ground mist and it's due to clear in about thirty minutes.'

  'I could have had another half-hour in bed,' she remarked wistfully.

  Nick glanced at her. 'If I'd phoned to tell you about the delay you would have been awake anyway, so what was the point?'

  Feelingly, Olivia said, 'I hate men when they're logical.'

  His lips quirked a little but no way could you call it a smile. But it was better than nothing. Olivia sat quietly in her chair, waiting, and tried to use mental telepathy to let him know that she loved and needed him. It didn't work of course; Nick just went on stolidly filling in his chart, and completely ignored her until he'd finished. It was warm in the office and he'd taken off his jacket. Under it he was wearing a crisp blue shirt and a tie with his company's logo on it, the twined initials EHS for Evesham Helicopter Services and a little chopper underneath in gold. The colour suited him, but then Olivia couldn't remember him wearing a colour he didn't look good in.

  Nick looked at his watch and then walked to the window to look up at the sky. 'It's clearing; we may as well net going.' He picked up a navy sweater, again with the logo embroidered on it, and put it on the way men did, pushing his arms into the sleeves first. I wonder why women never do that? Olivia mused. Then he put on the leather jacket that he normally wore. Glancing at her feet, clad in comfortable trainers, he said, 'Have you brought some boots?'

  'Boots? No. Should I have done?'

  'You'll probably get your feet wet.' He pursed his lips. 'I've an idea Jane keeps a pair here. Hang on, I'll have a look.'

  He came back a few minutes later with a pair of green Wellingtons. 'See if these fit.'

  Olivia pulled off a trainer and tried one on. 'They're a bit big.'

  'I'll lend you an extra pair of socks; I keep some here.' He rummaged in the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled a pair out for her.

  'Thanks.' Olivia took them, thinking that for someone who wanted her out of his life he was very solicitous about her comfort. 'Will Jane mind me borrowing the boots?'

  'No, I'm sure she won't, but I'll leave her a note just in case she looks for them.'

  He carried her boots and some for himself over to his helicopter. They always used the same one, G-VAUX, his call sign and of course the letters of his surname, specially built for Nick after his accident. As he'd said, the mist had evaporated a lot, but it was still cloudy as they lifted off and headed north-east.

  They had a long way to go. Lindisfarne was almost on the border with Scotland, and by car would have meant an overnight trip, but the chopper flew happily on in a straight line, cocking a snook at clogged motorways and red lights. Around nine they stopped to re-fuel and had coffee from a flask that Nick had brought with him, taking it in turn to use the cup lid. The sky had cleared a lot by now, but it was windy, the clouds racing across the blue sky. It felt cooler, too, and Olivia was glad of the hot drink as they stood waiting for the chopper's tanks to be refilled.

  When they reached the coast Nick flew along it, over the sea. It was the first time Olivia had flown over the ocean in a chopper, and she caught her breath, not sure if she liked it. Some islands with a lighthouse appeared out to sea and Nick pointed. 'Those are the Fame islands.'

  'Is that where we're going?'

  'No, Lindisfarne is on Holy Island.'

  'Are those islands deserted? Can we fly over them so I can take some pictures?'

  'I'm not sure if anyone lives there now, but we can't go there; they're bird and seal sanctuaries.'

  They flew on a little further, and Olivia's mouth opened in wonder as she saw an island rising up out of the sea, surmounted by an ancient castle at the very peak of the mound. 'That's Holy Island?'

  'That's it. And the castle is Lindisfarne.'

  'It looks so wild, so romantic,' Olivia breathed in fascinated awe. "Think what it must be like in a storm.' Then she gave an exclamation of amazement. 'Hey, look! There are cars driving through the sea.'

  Nick grinned. 'It's a causeway. And we have to follow It out to the island so I can find the place where we're to land.'

  He flew inland, picked up the sea-bound causeway and turned to follow it, racing the cars. They landed in a field near the carpark, but it was a good half-mile from the castle itself. To reach it you had to walk along a sandy track with deep puddles of water left by rain and sea-spray, so Olivia was grateful for the boots. To her surprise, Nick came with her, and she took advantage of his tall figure beside her to help shelter her from the wind. It was much stronger here by the sea, and was blowing from their right, so Nick walked on that side and carried her camera-bag so that she could hold her collar up with both hands. There was no one else around; they—and the high, raucous gulls that dipped and wheeled with the wind—had the place to themselves.

  The castle doorway was reached by a steep, wet staircase of stone and cobbled steps. There was a handrail, but Olivia could imagine it being lethal to anyone old or unsteady on their legs trying to come down it. But inside it was a different world, warm and inviting. The curator, who had opened the castle especially for her, made them welcome with a glass of sherry that went down like nectar after the cold outside, then took her on a tour round. And Nick came too. Something that so pleased her that for a few minutes Olivia couldn't concentrate as their guide explained that the sixteenth-century castle, built to guard the island from attack, had been converted in 1903 into a holiday home.

  'A holiday home? This?' Olivia stared in surprise. She looked round the hall with its deep windows and huge fireplace. 'Some weekend cottage!'

  Both men laughed at her stunned expression. 'Well, it was converted for the owner by Sir Edwin Lutyens and the garden designed by Gertrude Jekyll,' their guide told her.

  Olivia knew enough by now to know that these were the names in early twentieth-century architecture and gardening. She looked around her with gre
ater interest and asked the right kind of questions, judging from the pleased look on the curator's face. He introduced them to his wife, and Olivia took their photo, perhaps to illustrate her article. Afterwards they went out to see the garden, which was sheltered from the wind, but it had veered and caught them squarely in the face when they said goodbye to their host and began the walk back. After a couple of hundred yards Olivia looked back and stopped.

  'I'd like to take a picture from here.' She got out her camera, took a couple of shots, then turned to Nick. 'Would you stand in the picture so that I can get some perspective?'

  He raised an eyebrow but did as she asked, but he became impatient when she moved him around. 'Make up your mind, woman; I need a drink from that pub we passed in the village.'

  'You know something? I'm beginning to think you're a lush.'

  Nick gave her a surprised look and laughed, so Olivia got the shot she wanted.

  'Would you like one of both of you together?'

  She turned in surprise, not having heard the middle- aged, friendly-looking woman who had come up behind them. 'Why, that would be great. Thanks. You look through here and then press right here.'

  Olivia handed her precious camera over without a qualm and ran to Nick's side. She put her arm through his as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and stood close against him, as if for warmth. For a moment Nick's face grew tense as he looked into her eyes, but then Olivia turned to smile at the camera and he, too, reluctantly turned his head.

  When they reached the pub Olivia lost no time in taking that film out of the camera, even though she hadn't yet finished the reel; she wanted to be sure that no accident would happen to make her lose that shot.

  The pub was shut, so instead they bought a French loaf, butter, and a lump of cheese, which they ate in the chopper and washed down with cans of drink. It was a crazy, uncomfortable kind of picnic, but because of that it was fun, too. Filled with a sudden surge of adrenalin, Olivia did her impression of Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart, pretending that they'd got marooned in a helicopter instead of The African Queen.