Winter Solstice

by Pilcher, Rosamunde

  Her eyes went wide.

  “Is it dire?”

  “Not dire at all. Take off your coat and come into the kitchen, where we can sit and be peaceful.”

  “Where’s Lucy?”

  “She has taken Horace shopping. To buy ribbon, and then to go for a walk. And Sam and Carrie are not yet back. So, for once, we are on our own. Let us not waste a bit of peace. Do you want a gin and tonic?”

  “If we’ve really started lunch-time boozing, I’d prefer a glass of sherry.” Elfrida unbuttoned her coat, slung it on the end of the banister, and followed him into the kitchen.

  “Oscar, you’re looking quite flushed and excited. What has been going on?”

  “I shall tell you.”

  She sat at the table, and he brought her her glass of sherry, and then sat, too.

  “Cheers, my dear girl.”

  “And to you, Oscar.”

  The gin and tonic was pretty strong, but quite delicious and exactly what his stomach needed. He set down the glass and said, “If I tell you, quite slowly, because it’s rather complicated, will you listen and not ask questions until I’ve got to the end? Otherwise, I shall become confused.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Right. The first is that Major Billicliffe died this morning. I had a phone call from the hospital.”

  Elfrida put her hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, Oscar.”

  “I know. We never got to see him. We never sat at his bedside and fed him grapes. But truly, with the roads the way they are, we could never have made the journey.”

  “It’s not that so much. It’s just so sad. To be all alone, and dying….”

  “He wasn’t alone. He was in a ward, with kindly nurses and people around him all the time. Not nearly as alone as he’s been since his wife died.”

  “I suppose so.” Elfrida thought about this, and then sighed.

  “What a complication. And you were his next of kin … does that mean … ?”

  He said, “Now, listen.”

  And so he told her. About telephoning the lawyer, Murdo MacKenzie, and having all responsibility removed from his shoulders by a man clearly experienced in such matters. He told her about the Inverness undertaker, Mr. Lugg, in whom Murdo MacKenzie had such touching faith; and how Mr. Lugg would be the right person to see to everything, from crematorium to function rooms.

  “But when will the funeral be!” Elfrida asked.

  “The end of next week, we thought. By then all the Creagan people should be able, with a bit of luck, to get there. The snow can’t lie forever. Sooner or later, there must come a thaw.”

  “We should put an announcement in some paper….”

  “Mr. MacKenzie has taken that on as well.”

  “… And let the local people know …”

  “I’ll ring Peter Kennedy.”

  “Oh, dear. What a terribly inconvenient time to die.”

  “Exactly what I thought, and then had to pull myself together and stop being unChristian.”

  “Oh, well. I suppose that’s it.”

  “No, Elfrida. That’s not the end.”

  “More?”

  “Billicliffe’s will was out-of-date. His wife had died, and he had to write a new one. He has made me his sole beneficiary. No, don’t say a word till I’ve finished. It means he has left me his house, his motor car, his dog, and his fortune. His fortune, all bills and expenses paid, is in the region of two thousand five hundred pounds. All his savings. He has been living on his pension.”

  “His house? He’s left you his house? How terribly touching. Sweet, So kind. Did he really have no other family? No relation?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Poor lonely man. Oh, Oscar, and we were so horrid about him.”

  “Just between ourselves.”

  “Hiding behind the sofa in case he called!”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “What will you do with the house?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think. Sell it, I suppose. But it would have to be emptied of Billicliffe clobber first, and probably fumigated.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “You know. You saw. A tip.”

  “No, I mean, how many rooms? Is there a kitchen? A bathroom?”

  “I suppose, in estate agent jargon, you’d say two up, two down, kitchen and bathroom probably added on, after the war, sticking out at the back.”

  “Which way does it face?”

  Oscar had to work this one out.

  “North at the front door, south on the other side.”

  “And a garden?”

  “Yes, I suppose a bit of land. I can’t really remember. Mrs. Ferguson, the forester’s wife, used to grow potatoes and leeks. And there was an apple tree….”

  Elfrida was silent for a moment, chewing this information over. And then, astonishingly, she said, “Why don’t you go and live there?”

  Oscar stared at her in total disbelief.

  “Live there? All on my own?”

  “No, stupid, I’ll come with you.”

  “But you thought the house was horrible.”

  “No house is impossible. There’s no such thing as a place that cannot be improved, enlarged, redecorated. I’m sure when the forester lived there, it was a dear little place. It was hearing aids, dog hairs, brimming ashtrays, and smeary glasses that made it all so disgusting. Nothing to do with the bricks and mortar.”

  “But I have a house. I have this house.”

  “You only own half a share. That’s not very secure. You could sell your half and then you’d have seventy-five thousand pounds and you could spend that on Major Billicliffe’s house and live happily ever after.”

  “You mean … sell out here? Leave Creagan … ?”

  “Oh, Oscar, don’t sound so horrified. It’s really quite a good idea. Sam Howard wants it, and Hughie McLennan is obviously agog to get rid of his half. I know you love it here, and I do, too, but admit, it is big and faintly unfurnished; and when Sam and Carrie and Lucy have gone, we’re going to be alone again, rattling around like a pair of peas in a drum. And another thing, I always think of here as a family house. It’s not meant for a couple of old dears like us. It should have young people, and children growing up….”

  “Sam hasn’t got any children.”

  “No, but he’s bound to get married again …” Elfrida did not finish her sentence. In the silence which followed, with some reluctance, she looked Oscar in the eye.

  He said, “Not Carrie.”

  “Why not Carrie?”

  “You mustn’t match make “It’s impossible not to. They’re so perfect together.”

  “They’re not perfect at all. He never stops being amiable and Carrie is remote and prickly as a gorse-bush.”

  “She’s vulnerable just now. And yesterday, they were away for ages, getting the Christmas tree. Carrie said they were exploring Corrydale, but I can’t believe that they paced along for two hours without some exchange of words.”

  “All that’s happened is that they have been flung together by circumstances….”

  “Maybe so.” Elfrida sighed.

  “You’re probably right. But, discounting Carrie, this is exactly the right establishment for a man like Sam Howard. The business man, the manager of the resuscitated woollen mill, an important member of the community. I can just see him entertaining business colleagues from Japan and Germany. Giving his chairman a weekend of golf. Besides-and this is the most important thing-Sam really wants this house. I think he feels right here, he feels at home. And wouldn’t it be better to sell it to him than to some stranger? And have seventy-five thousand pounds to put in your pocket?”

  “Elfrida, I am not a man of means. If I did sell the Estate House, then that money would have to be squirrel led away for old age and senility. I couldn’t be mad enough to sink the lot into Major Billicliffe’s cottage and leave myself with’ nothing put by.”

  “We don’t know how much we’d have to s
pend… on tidying things up, I mean.”

  Oscar said, “A lot.”

  But Elfrida would not be put off.

  “Then supposing I sell my house in Hampshire, and we use that money for-” Oscar, quite firmly for him, said, “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that is your house. It’s about all you own, and you must under no circumstances sell it. Rent it out if you can find someone who wants to live there, but you must never sell.”

  “Oh, well.” She became resigned, and Oscar felt a brute.

  “It was a good idea while it lasted, but I suppose you’re right.” Then she perked up again.

  “Whatever, it’s all terribly exciting, and no wonder you’re looking flushed. One thing is certain, we must go and look around the poor little place, inspect it from attic to cellar. And rescue the car before it dies! of cold in the snow. And the dog. What shall we do with the dog?” Suddenly, she was laughing.

  “What shall we do with our Baskerville hound, baying in the night, and flinging its weight against locked and bolted doors?”

  “To be honest, I prefer Horace. Perhaps I can bribe Charlie Miller to keep the dog. I’ll have a word with Rose….”

  Upstairs, on the landing, the telephone began to ring. Elfrida said, “Damn. Why are phones so intrusive?”

  “Leave it. Pretend we’re out.”

  “I wish I had the strength of mind. But I haven’t.” She pulled herself to her feet and went out of the room. Oscar heard her running upstairs, and almost at once the insistent ringing ceased. From the upper floor, faintly, floated Elfrida’s voice. “Hello?”

  Oscar sat on, patiently waiting for her to return to him, over her wild ideas, and wishing he could go along them. But, if he did sell the Estate House to Sam, then the sum released would be his only capital, his buffer against impoverished old age. They would certainly go and look Billicliffe’s house, that was only sensible. Perhaps, led and painted up a bit, it wouldn’t be so bad. But still, poky and dark place in which to live after the spacious nature of the Estate House. He would miss, unbearably, airy, sunny rooms, the sense of space, the good, solid sense of security. It would, indeed, be painful to sell out… even to a friend like Sam Howard … and leave it forever.

  Upstairs, Elfrida still talked. He could hear the murmur of her voice, but not the words she spoke. Every now and then, she fell silent for some time and then spoke again. He could not imagine who could be on the other end of the line. He hoped that it was not sinister or disturbing news.

  He had finished his gin and tonic. Standing up to rinse out the glass under the tap, he remembered the two boxes of borrowed glasses still incarcerated in the boot of the car. He went out of the kitchen and down the hall, and out through front door into the piercing cold. He trod down the path and through the gate to where his old car stood and opened the boot. The boxes were unwieldy and y, and he had to make two journeys, carrying them one a time. He put the second one down on the kitchen table and then went back to shut the front door. As he did this, he beard the ting of the telephone, the noise it always made when one replaced the receiver. He stood at the foot of the stairs, his face upturned, waiting for Elfrida to appear. When she didn’t, he called her name.

  “Elfrida.”

  She did not say anything. She simply came down the stairs, with an expression on her face that he could not fathom. He only knew that he had never seen her eyes so bright, had never seen her look so young, with a radiance about her that had nothing to do with the noonday light shining through her flaming shock of hair.

  “My dear…”

  “Oscar.” She reached him, standing on a stair him, put her arms around him and pressed her against his own. “Something simply utterly wonderful I happened to me.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Yes, but I think we both must be sitting down.”

  So he took her hand and led her back into the kitchen, and they sat once more facing each other across the table.

  “That was Jamie Erskine-Earle. About my little clock. You know he said he was going to show it to a colleague is Boothby’s. Well, the colleague is in London, and in this weather there was no way Jamie could get it south. But he sent him a fax, with a detailed description of the clock, and faxed him some photographs as well. And the colleague.,. whoever he is … telephoned back from London this morning. And he said the clock was a very special item. A very rare timepiece. And it’s French, and it was made by one J. F. Houriet, about 1830. Its official description is a Silva Chronometer Tourbillon. Just imagine, Oscar, all these years I’ve owned a Silver Tourbillon, and never had the faintest suspicion. And then he wanted to know how I had come by it, and Jamie told nun that I’d inherited it from an elderly sea-faring godfather, but of course I’ve never had any idea how it came into his possession. Anyway, Jamie said that it really is something of a treasure, and I should certainly haw it well insured. So I plucked up my courage and said, “Is it valuable?” And he said, “Yes.” And I asked what it was worth, and he said at auction … possibly … guess, Oscar!”

  “Impossible. Put me out of my misery. Tell me.”

  “Seventy to eighty thousand pounds,” Elfrida gleefully shouted at him.

  “I have misheard you. It can’t be true.”

  “You haven’t misheard me and it is true. Jamie said his colleague said that it’s a very serious piece to any collector. Don’t you adore the word serious! Get it into a Boothby’s sale of Important Clocks, Watches, and Marine Chronometers, and the figure might rise even higher.”

  “I am left without words.”

  “And all this time, I told myself it was my little painting that would be my insurance and keep me out of the poor-house. But instead, my true treasure was my clock. Isn’t it a lucky thing that nobody nicked it off the mantelpiece at Poulton’s Row?”

  “I might put it more strongly than that. Especially as you never locked your front door. It was always a lovely thing to own. You aren’t thinking of selling it? You mustn’t sell it.”

  “Oh, Oscar, for goodness’ sake, of course I’m going to sell it. Don’t you see, with that money we can really transform Billicliffe Villa into the most desirable of residences. Build a conservatory. Fling out a ballroom wing….”

  “Elfrida.”

  “… And buy a microwave.”

  “Elfrida, listen. That money, if you sell the clock, belongs to you.”

  “Oscar, listen. It belongs to us. And we’ll end our days in a charming little cottage filled with sunlight, just the way this house always is. And we shall grow potatoes, and leeks, if you want, and we shall have Rose Miller for a neighbour, and a four-star country hotel in the garden. Who could ask for more? It’s so exciting. Isn’t it tremendously, wonderfully exciting?”

  “Of course it is. But, dear girl, we must be practical. We must be sensible.”

  “I hate being sensible! I want to go out and dance in the street. Shout our good news from the rooftops.”

  Oscar considered this, as though it were a perfectly viable suggestion. And then he said, “No.”

  “No?”

  “Just for the moment, what I would like is for nothing to be said about anything until I’ve had a chance to get Sam on his own and explain the situation. He must know that we are thinking of selling up here, because I am certain that he will want first refusal. Not having to start searching for another property will be a great weight off his mind. He has, at the moment, quite enough to think about without wondering where, he’s going to live. He’s not going to be with us forever, so we should put him in the picture before he leaves us and we don’t see him again. He may need time to think it all through; perhaps raise the cash. We don’t know. But I feel he must be our first consideration.”

  “Yes. You’re absolutely right. When will you tell him?”

  “I shall take him down to the pub this evening.”

  “And the others? Carrie and Lucy?”

  “After I’ve spoken to Sam
.”

  “What if Billicliffe’s house proves to be a total disaster?”

  “Then we shall have to think again.”

  “I can’t wait to go and look at it. You and I. But we can’t go this afternoon because of the snow. The roads are horribly skiddy. And we can’t go tomorrow because of the party.”

  “Sunday?”

  “Christmas Eve.”

  “As good a day as any. Sunday morning.”

  “All right. We’ll go on Sunday morning. Perhaps we should ask Sam to drive us in his car. That should preclude us ending up in a ditch.” She thought about this, and then came up with an even brighter idea.

  “I know. We’ll all go. Carrie and Lucy too.”

  Oscar was wary.

  “That will entail five different people all coming up with then-own opinions and ideas.”

  “All the better. I’m sure Sam will be wonderfully practical. He’ll talk about things like soffits, and rap walls, and be knowledgeable about rising damp. And I’ve had another brilliant idea. If we went to Corrydale in the morning, and it wasn’t raining or snowing, we could take a lunch picnic. A winter picnic. I shall make a pot of my garbage soup. Oscar, have we got a key for Major Billicliffe’s house?”

  Oscar had not thought about a key.

  “No.”

  “Then how shall we get in?”

  “Rose Miller will have one. Or know some person who has. I have to ring her anyway, to let her know that the old boy has died, though she’s probably heard by now. And I must call Peter Kennedy.”

  CARRIE

  They drove to Buckly by way of the narrow back road that wound along the coast. The prospects about them could not have been more wintry-white hills and grey skies running with clouds, driven on a wind that blew from the north, from the Arctic seas, and across great tracts of snowcovered moors. The car crested a shallow hill, and Carrie saw, below them the sea loch at half-tide, the dark conifer forests on the farther shore, and the huddle of white cottages above a disused and ruined pier.

  She had never been this way before.

  “What is the loch called?” she asked.

  He told her.

  “Loch Fhada. It’s a bird sanctuary.”