Winter Solstice

by Pilcher, Rosamunde

  “Where are you going to live once you get there? I thought you said that the McTaggart sons had sold off all the houses.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. But that’s just a small matter. I’ll probably stay in a pub or rent a house. Never know, I might even shack up with a raven-haired lassie with a turf-roofed cottage.”

  Neil laughed.

  “And hoots, mon, to you!” He glanced at the clock, shifted his considerable weight in the chair, and yawned enormously, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Well, all I can say is best of luck, old boy.”

  “It just needs a good kick-start to get it going again.”

  Neil grinned.

  “In that case, you’d better buy yourself a good pair of football boots, because you’re going to need them….”

  He got no further for, at that moment, the doorbell rang.

  Neil said, “Oh, hell,” set down his glass and got to his feet.

  “That’ll be the old bore now.” But before he got any farther, they heard the kitchen door open and Janey’s swift footsteps pass down the hall. Then, her voice.

  “Hello. How are you? How lovely to see you.” And she sounded nothing but delighted, and Sam thought, not for the first time, what a wonderfully kind girl she was.

  “Come along in.” Murmurs of a male voice.

  “Oh, chocolates. How kind. I’ll have to keep them out of the way of the children. Did you walk from the tube, or were you able to get a taxi? Give me your coat, and I’ll hang it up. Neil’s in here….”

  The door opened. Both men by now were standing, and Neil went forward to greet his guest, who was being ushered into the room by his hostess.

  “Hello, there …”

  “Neil. My word! Good to see you. It’s been too long. This is enormously kind of you.”

  “Not at all…”

  Janey said, “And look what he’s brought me.” She had changed for the evening into black velvet trousers and a white satin shirt, but over these still wore her red-and-white-striped cook’s apron. She held up a modest box of After Eight mints.

  “Divine chocolates.”

  “Just a token. Trying to remember how many years it is since I’ve seen you both. When was it? A lunch with your parents, Janey. Too long ago….”

  Standing with his back to the mantelpiece, Sam eyed the newcomer. He saw a man well into his sixties, but with the bearing and mannerisms of a young blade from forty years ago. He had probably once been attractive, in a David Niven-ish sort of way; but now his features were blurred, his cheeks veined, and his trim moustache, like his fingers, stained with a lifetime of tobacco. His hair was white, thinning, but worn long on his collar, his eyes gleaming and very pale blue, and his face and hands deeply tanned, and smudged with age-spots. He wore grey flannel trousers, brown suede shoes, a navy blazer, brass-buttoned, and a blue-and-white-striped shirt. From the high, stiff collar streamed a silk tie of great flamboyance, striped in startling shades of red, yellow, and peacock green. His wrist-watch was gold and there were gold links in the cuffs of his shirt. He had clearly made much effort with his appearance, and smelled strongly of Eau Sauvage.

  “… yes, ages,” said Janey.

  “It must be seven years. When they were still living in Wiltshire. Now, I must introduce you. This is Sam Howard, who’s staying with us for a few days. And Sam, this is Hughie McLennan.”

  “How do you do?”

  “Good to meet you.” They shook hands.

  “Sam and Neil have been friends forever… since they were at school.”

  “No friend like an old friend. God, the traffic in London is ghastly. Never seen anything so chock-a-block. Took me fifteen minutes to get a taxi.”

  “Where are you staying?” Neil asked.

  “Oh, my club, of course, but not what it was. Primed the porter, but might just as well have saved myself a gold sovereign. And the trouble.”

  “Let me get you a drink, Hughie.”

  Hughie visibly brightened.

  “Good suggestion.” He glanced at the table upon which stood the bottles and glasses.

  “Gin and tonic, if I may.” He patted pockets.

  “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you, Janey?”

  “No. No, of course I don’t. There’s an ashtray somewhere.” She searched, found one on her desk, emptied it of

  paper-clips, and set it down on the table by the sofa.

  “Hell, these days, nobody smokes. New York is a nightmare. Light up, and a guy comes and shoots you dead.” He had taken from his blazer pocket a silver case and extracted a cigarette, which he now ignited with a gold lighter. He blew out a cloud of smoke, immediately looked much more relaxed, and put out a hand to take his glass from Neil.

  “Bless you, dear boy. Happy days.”

  “Do you want a drink, Janey?”

  “I’ve got my cook’s drink in the kitchen. A glass of wine. Talking of which, Neil, could you come and open a bottle for dinner?”

  “Of course. Sorry. I should have done it before. Would you excuse me, Hughie, just for a moment? Sit down, make yourself comfortable. Sam will keep you company….”

  When they had gone, and the door closed, Hughie proceeded to do as he had been invited. With his drink and his ashtray conveniently to hand, he settled himself in a corner of the sofa, one arm outflung, resting on the deep cushions.

  “Charming house, this. Never been here before. Last time” I was over, they were still living in Fulham. Known Janey since she was a child. Parents are old friends.”

  “She told me. You’ve come from Barbados, I believe.”

  “Yes, I’ve got a house in Speightstown. Come back to London every now and then, just to keep the old finger on the pulse, check up on my stockbroker, get my hair cut, visit my tailor. Sad thing is, friends are getting a bit thin on the ground; every time I come, some other old mucker has popped his clogs. Sad, really. Still, the truth is we’re all getting older.” He stubbed out his cigarette, took another long swig of his gin and tonic, and fixed Sam with a speculative eye.

  “You’re on holiday?”

  “You could say that. Just for a few days.”

  “What line of business are you in?”

  “Wool-brokering.” And then, because he did not want to talk about himself, Sam carried on: “How long have you lived in Barbados?”

  “About thirty years. Ran the Beach Club for fifteen of them, but chucked it in before I became a raving alcoholic. Before that, I had a place in Scotland. It was handed over to me by a parsimonious father who had no intention of paying death duties.”

  A mild interest stirred.

  “What sort of place?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, a sizey estate. Farms, land, that sort of thing. A Victorian pile of a house. Shooting, good fishing.”

  “Did you live there full time?”

  “Tried to, old boy, but the winters at that latitude are not a joke. And to appreciate life to the full in the back of beyond, it’s necessary to have a bit of backup. It was all very well for one’s grandparents, with servants and staff, and cooks and keepers, slaving away for incredibly modest wages. When I came along, it cost an arm and a leg just to heat the bloody place. Not to say …” He cocked an eyebrow and gave a sly smile.

  “Not to say that we didn’t have a good time. My first wife was a manic hostess, and she made certain that Corrydale was always bulging with house guests. I used to say she had house guests the way other people had mice. Food for an army and drink for a drunken army. Memorable days.” As he talked, recollecting his apparently halcyon past, Hughie fondled his silken tie, stroking it, letting it slip through his fingers.

  “Of course, they couldn’t last forever. Then Elaine ran off with a commodity broker, and after that there didn’t seem much point soldiering on. As well, half the staff had left, and the bank manager was making disagreeable noises….”

  Sam listened to all this with a curious mixture of irritation and compassion. Here was a man who had been handed
treasure on a silver plate, and squandered the lot away. It was hard to be sympathetic, but Hughie’s bravura made him a sad character.

  “… so I sold up and that was it. Moved to Barbados. Best thing I ever did.”

  “Sold up. Just like that? Lock, stock, and barrel?”

  “Well, hardly. The property went in lots. The farm was bought by the sitting tenant, and one or two of the cottages went to faithful old retainers who’d been living in them.

  What remained-the house, stables, land-was sold to a chain who run country hotels. You know the sort of thing. Fishing available and the odd pot at a pheasant or grouse.”

  Hughie knocked back the last of his gin and tonic and then sat gazing thoughtfully at the empty glass.

  “Can I get you the other half?” Sam asked.

  Hughie brightened.

  “What a good idea. Not too much tonic.” Sam took the tumbler from his hand, and Hughie reached once more for his cigarettes.

  Fixing the drink, “How long are you staying in London?” he asked.

  “As short a time as possible. Flew in about four days ago. Leave on Wednesday. Headed for Nice. I’ve got an old friend there, Maudie Peabody, perhaps you know her? No? Oh, thank you, old boy. Kind of you. Maudie’s an old acquaintance of my early Barbados days. American. Rich as Croesus. Got a divine villa in the hills above Cannes. Spending Christmas with her, and New Year. Then back to Barbados.”

  Sam returned to his position by the fire.

  “You seem very well organized.”

  “Oh, not too bad. Do one’s best. But lonely now, living on my own. Rather unsuccessful in the marriage stakes. And that’s bloody expensive. All my ex-wives want a cut of the lolly. What’s left of it!”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No. No children. I had mumps when I was at Eton and that put paid to procreating. Bloody shame, really. I’d have liked kids to look after me in my old age. Truth to tell, I’m a bit short of relations. Got my father, but we’re only just on speaking terms. He blew a fuse when I sold the place up, but there wasn’t a mortal thing he could do about it. There’s a cousin as well, a dull fellow. Lives in Hampshire. Tried to phone him, but there was no answer.”

  “Where does your father live?”

  “In solitary and comfortable state in a mansion flat near the Albert Hall. Haven’t got in touch yet. Putting it off. Probably drop in on my way back from France. Courtesy visit. We never find much to talk about….”

  It was something of a relief to Sam when once more they were joined by Janey and Neil. Janey, apparently done with her cooking, had removed her apron. She looked aglow with pleasure, and came instantly across the room to put her arms around Sam’s neck and kiss him soundly.

  “Neil’s told me. About the new job. I’m thrilled. You don’t mind my knowing, do you? So exciting, a real challenge. I’m really pleased for you. I can’t think of anything more exciting to take on.”

  Across her head, Sam caught Neil’s eye. Neil looked a bit abashed.

  “You didn’t mind me telling her?”

  “Of course not.” He gave Janey a hug.

  “Saved me the trouble.”

  “What’s this?” Hughie pricked up his ears.

  Janey turned to him.

  “It’s Sam’s new job. He heard today. He’s going to the very north of Scotland to restart an old woollen mill.”

  “Really?” For the first time Hughie’s attention and interest were caught by something and somebody other than himself.

  “Scotland, eh? Whereabouts?”

  Sam told him.

  “Buckly. Sutherland.”

  Hughie gaped.

  “For God’s sake. Buckly. Not McTaggarts?”

  “You know them?”

  “Dear boy, like the back of my hand. Buckly’s only a few miles from Corrydale. Used to have all my shooting suits made of Buckly tweed. And Nanny used to knit my shooting stockings with McTaggarts’ wheeling. Old family firm. Been going for at least a hundred and fifty years. What the hell happened?”

  “Old McTaggart died. Sons weren’t interested. They ran out of money, and the mill was finally finished off by a flood.”

  “What a tragic story. Like hearing an old friend has died. And you are going to take over! When do you go north?”

  “Soon.”

  “Got a place to live?”

  “No. All the mill’s domestic property has been sold off. I’ll camp in a pub, and look around for something to buy.”

  Hughie said, “Interesting.” They all looked at him, but he did not enlarge on this, simply concentrated his attention on carefully stubbing out his cigarette.

  At last, “Why interesting?” asked Janey.

  “Because I have a house.”

  “Where do you have a house?”

  “Not Corrydale, but Creagan. Even closer to Buddy.”

  “Why do you have a house in Creagan?”

  “It was the old estate office, and where the factor’s family lived. Quite large, solid, Victorian. With a garden at the back. But my grandmother decided it was too far from Corrydale, for day-to-day convenience, and she put the factor and his family into more suitable accommodation, within the walls of the park. The old Estate House she left to me. And to my cousin. We are joint owners.”

  Neil frowned.

  “So who lives there now?”

  “It’s standing empty. An old couple called Cochrane have been renting it out for the past twenty years, but one has died, and the other gone off to live with some relation. To 6e truthful, one of the reasons I’m in London is to put it on the market. I could do with a bit of the old ready. Tried to ring Oscar … he’s the other owner … to talk things over, but couldn’t get hold of him. He’s probably died. Bored himself to death, no doubt.”

  Janey ignored this little spurt of malice. She said, “Would he be willing to sell out his half of the house?”

  “Can’t imagine why he shouldn’t. No earthly use to him. I have, in fact, a date with Hurst and Fieldmore tomorrow morning, thought I’d sound them out, see if they’d handle a sale.”

  “But your cousin …”

  “Oh, I can square things off with him when I get back from France.”

  “So what are you saying, Hughie?”

  “That your friend Sam needs a house and I have one for sale. Suit him down to the ground, I should reckon. Short commute to business, close to the shops, championship golf course. No man could ask for more.” He turned his head to look at Sam.

  “No harm done, going to cast your eye over the place. We could come to some arrangement. A private deal would suit me very well.”

  Sam said cautiously, “How much are you asking?”

  “Well, there’s been no valuation, for obvious reasons. But…” Hughie dropped his eyes, brushed a little cigarette ash from the knee of his trousers.

  “A hundred and fifty thousand?”

  “Between you and your cousin?”

  “Exactly so. Seventy-five each.”

  “How soon can you get in touch with him?”

  “No idea, old boy. He’s being elusive. He could be anywhere. But there is no reason why you shouldn’t go and have a look at the place.”

  “Is there some agent or person I should get in touch with?”

  “No need.” Hughie heaved himself sideways and felt in his trouser pocket. From this he withdrew a large old-fashioned key, attached to a red label upon which was written in large capitals, estate house. He held it up like a trophy. Janey was amazed.

  “Do you carry it with you all the time?”

  “Silly girl, of course not. Told you, I was going to see Hurst and Fieldmore tomorrow, was going to hand it over then.”

  Sam took the key.

  “How do I get in touch with you?”

  “Give you my card, old boy. You can fax me in Barbados. And Maudie’s telephone number in the south of France, just in case you make a snap decision.”

  “I’ll certainly look at the house, and thank
you. But of course nothing can be official without your cousin’s approval.”

  “Course not. No underhand shenanigans. Everything above-board, cut and dried. But still, a viable proposition.”

  There fell another pause. Then Janey said, “It is the most extraordinary coincidence. I’m sure it’s an omen. A marvelous omen. Of everything going right, and everything going well. Shouldn’t we celebrate? Sam gave us a bottle of champagne. Why don’t we open it and drink a toast to Sam, Me-Taggarts, and happy days in his new house?”

  “Splendid idea,” said Hughie.

  “But if you don’t mind, I’d much prefer another gin and tonic.”

  CARRIE

  That night, Carrie dreamed of Austria and Oberbeuren. In the dream, the sky was a deep blue and the snow so dazzling that every frozen flake glittered like a jewel. She was skiing. An empty piste. Floating down through the white fields that spread to infinity on either side. There were black pine trees, and the pi ste ran between these trees, and she was alone. And then, emerging from the pines, she realized that she was not alone, because, far ahead, she saw another lone skier, a black silhouette, hurtling away from her, down the slope, dancing Christianas in the snow. She knew that the skier was Andreas, and she wanted him to know that she was there, so that he would wait for her. She called his name. Andreas. Stop and let me be with you. Let us ski down together. She could hear her voice blown away by the wind, and the sound of her skis on the beaten surface of the piste. Andreas. But he was gone. And then she topped a rise and saw that he had heard her call and was waiting. Turned, leaning on his sticks, watching for her. His head tipped up, his dark goggles pushed to the top of his head.

  He was smiling. White teeth in a deeply tanned face. Perhaps his flight had been just a tease. Andreas. She reached his side and stopped, and only then saw that it was not Andreas at all, but another man, with a wolfish grin and eyes hard as grey pebbles. And the sky was not blue any longer but storm-dark and she was afraid…. The sense of fear awoke her, eyes flying open to the darkness. She could hear the beating of her heart. Disoriented, she saw a strip of uncurtained window, the street lights beyond. Not Austria, not Oberbeuren, but London. Not her pine-scented apartment with the balcony beyond the windows, but Putney, and the spare bedroom of her friends, Sara and David Lumley. Not frosty, starlit skies, but the drip of grey rain. The dream receded. Andreas, who had never been truly hers, was gone. It was all over.