Indian Summer

by Marcia Willett

  Archie nods, aware of Mungo’s concern. ‘It’s OK. I’ll get over it. I just need time to come to terms with it. See you later.’

  When Mungo gets back to the smithy, Jake and Kit are sitting at the table eating breakfast. They look at him with expressions of self-conscious contentment and amusement. He grins at them: it’s as if several weights have been lifted from his heart at once.

  ‘All well, my little love-birds?’ he asks. ‘Do I deduce that my humble barn has been hallowed in my absence?’

  ‘Mind your own business,’ answers Jake, grinning back at him, remembering the conversation from last evening as he leans to pat Mopsa.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asks Kit. ‘You don’t usually take Mopsa out this early. What are you up to?’

  ‘Mind your own business,’ Mungo says. ‘You’re not the only one who can have a secret assignation, you know. Pour me some coffee and tell me when and where the wedding will be taking place.’

  James locks the cottage door and puts his laptop and his case into the car. As he drives past the farm he sees Philip in the yard and slows, opening the window.

  ‘Just off for the weekend,’ he calls. ‘Back Monday morning. I’m hoping Sally will come down with me for a few days.’

  Philip comes across to the car, smiles at him.

  ‘Finished your book, have you?’

  James laughs at the idea of writing a book in a matter of weeks. ‘I wish. No, but all the important notes are down. Lots of stuff about the location. It’s a good place to work. So tranquil. You have no idea how lucky you are to be out of all the strife and noise and disputes of city life.’

  Philip still smiles his slow, sweet smile but his eyes narrow as if he is amused by something James can’t quite guess at. James begins to feel faintly uncomfortable though he doesn’t know why.

  ‘Sal and I thought we might have a little party,’ he says. ‘Just to see you all before we go. Everyone’s been so kind.’

  ‘That’ll be good,’ agrees Philip. ‘Nice to have a bit of excitement for a change.’

  ‘Yes,’ says James awkwardly. ‘That’s all good then. See you next week.’

  He puts the car in gear and drives away, glancing in the mirror. Philip is still standing in the lane, his hand raised in farewell, and he seems to be laughing. James shakes his head. Local yokels. Still, he’s a lovely guy and the party will be fun. He slows at the junction, turns right and drives away towards Oxford and to Sally.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  IN THE LAUNDRY cupboard, after breakfast, Camilla hums to herself as she sorts sheets and pillowcases, preparing for another family invasion at the weekend. Mentally she plans menus, makes shopping lists, devises entertainment, and underneath all this joy is the contentment that Archie and Mungo have come to an arrangement that means that Mungo will buy the farm and Archie will be able to refurbish the cottage, to let it out – perhaps to another family – and do some repairs on the house. He seems a little preoccupied, rather quiet, but this is probably because it’s hard to let go of the reins and also that he feels guilty about Mungo paying out for something he doesn’t really need.

  After all the anxieties about where the money will come from to make necessary repairs, the arguments about downsizing, she’s so relieved at this outcome that she’s able to feel a bit selfish about Mungo’s generosity.

  ‘You gave him the smithy,’ she reminded Archie, ‘and we know that he’s not short of a penny, darling, and he’ll be getting the rent from the farm. Why not just accept his offer gratefully? It’s probably good for him to feel an equal part of it all at last. It wasn’t fair of your father to cut him out so completely. You’ve worked very hard to keep things going all these years and now Mungo can feel that he’s doing his bit, too.’

  Archie nodded, agreed with her, but she could see that there was something on his mind that he wasn’t prepared to talk about.

  She knows Archie of old and she’s decided to back off and let him sort it out for himself. Just at the moment, with the family coming, she has enough to think about; not least the prospect of Kit’s new man.

  ‘What do you think of him?’ she asked Archie, after Kit and Jake and Mungo had gone back to the smithy after supper.

  ‘Bit of a surprise,’ he answered. ‘I like him.’ He grinned at her. ‘You were obviously taken with him.’

  She couldn’t deny it; she thought he was gorgeous.

  ‘Much, much better than Awful Michael,’ she said. ‘Lucky old Kit. Apparently she and Jake had quite a serious thing going when they were young and then something went wrong. His wife died earlier this year and he came back to find Kit. It’s rather sweet, isn’t it? Perhaps Jake is why she never got married. We always wondered, didn’t we? I think it’s lovely.’

  She also wondered if Archie might be a bit put out that Kit would no longer be available for days out on the river, that he would have to share her in the future, but Archie was in good spirits. They stood together on the veranda watching the dogs running down across the lawn, following a scent beneath the moonlight, and Archie had put an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I was thinking tonight,’ he said. ‘We can’t leave the old place just yet. We’ll stick it out a bit longer.’

  It was the next day he told her about Mungo’s plan, but his high spirits had subsided and he was preoccupied, though he wouldn’t admit to it.

  Now, as Camilla passes the landing window, her arms full of sheets, she looks down on the veranda and across the lawn to the stream. Soon the children will be here. There will be games, delicious meals, walks along the river and in the woods. They will want to go sailing and this will distract Archie from his preoccupation. She goes to prepare the bedrooms, to make the house ready for her family, and her heart is full of happy anticipation.

  Billy sits dreaming in the late afternoon sunshine in the orchard. His thoughts merge and then flow apart like river water around the stones of his memories; future and past and present seem all one to him.

  Mungo’s buying the farm from Archie, Philip tells him, with a covenant that prevents any building in the orchard. All their problems solved in one go. Billy isn’t surprised: he knew Mungo would have a plan. Mungo always has a plan. Way back, when they were all young, it was Mungo who could be counted on to think of some clever little trick to get them out of a mess. For himself, he’d never avoided trouble, liked a bit of action, but Mungo was always there to back him up. Still is: he’s got a lot of respect for Mungo. That’s why he didn’t want any trouble over Ralph. It was an accident, Philip was in no state to deal with it, and Billy knew that the best way was to bury the evidence. And he was right: nobody was going to benefit by the law sticking their noses in; the newspapers turning up. It wasn’t only Philip who would have paid so heavily, but Mungo, too. Perhaps Philip should have been punished for that wild, black moment of rage, for losing it, but it was still an accident and the ones who would have suffered most would have been Mungo and Izzy. Mungo gay, Izzy pregnant with Ralph’s child. Their public would never have forgiven them: they’d have been crucified. Of course Philip’s had a problem dealing with his conscience all these years – his guilt has seen to it that he’s suffered – but at least now he can be safe in the knowledge that Ralph can’t harm anybody else.

  Then, just when they were enjoying the knowledge that their secret was safe with Archie and Mungo, young Andy arrived, full of eagerness with his plans for the future, looking just like Philip when he was a boy and they were planning to take over the farm from their father.

  They had a cup of tea to celebrate, decided which room Andy should use as his bedroom, pulled his leg about how hard he was going to have to work. Then Billy left them to it, discussing how it was to be done, Philip looking just as excited as the boy. Philip pushed him in his wheelchair into the orchard and left him with Star for company, then went back to Andy while Billy dozed in the sunshine.

  And at some point, later, Mungo appeared and sat with him and he said to Mungo: ‘I
didn’t say nort.’

  Mungo took his hand and held it and said: ‘I know you didn’t, Billy. You were always a mate.’

  And now Billy sighs, remembering how they struggled with the old Herm, that long ago March evening; digging down amongst the loosened roots of the ash tree that thrust deep into the ancient Devon bank, burying the small oilskin-wrapped bundle, and then dragging the old Herm back into its place. The tree was rotten, dangerous, and Philip had taken it down earlier in the week, dislodging the stones in the bank so that it needed rebuilding.

  They kneeled side by side, silent for a moment, in the cold, wet spring evening.

  ‘Not a word, remember,’ Mungo said. ‘I promised Izzy. She trusts you and Philip completely, but even Philip doesn’t know about this.’

  ‘I shan’t say nort.’

  Mungo leaned forward and brushed some crumbs of earth from the old Herm’s face.

  ‘She wanted a burial place and a memorial stone for her baby, Billy. You can’t blame her for that, can you? I promised we’d see to it. I wouldn’t let her travel down – she’s not well enough – but it had to be done quickly.’

  They scrambled up together. Mungo looked tired and Billy laid an arm along his shoulders.

  ‘Nobody’s fault, boy, that the baby came early.’

  Mungo shook his head. ‘Probably not, though she’s been distraught ever since Ralph left. There’s been no word from him.’

  ‘She’s best out of that,’ he answered, thinking of Ralph lying in the orchard. ‘You, too.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ Mungo bent down again to touch the old Herm, rubbing his thumb along the smiling lips. ‘We’ll plant some wild flowers along here, Billy, once the wall’s finished. Violets and primroses and vetch.’

  A thrush began to sing, poignant and beautiful amongst the blackthorn, and Billy pretended not to see the tears in Mungo’s eyes. They walked back to the smithy together, his arm still round Mungo’s shoulders, feeling his grief, remaining silent.

  Now, Billy dreams in the afternoon sunshine amongst the ripening fruit, with Star curled at his feet: all will be well.

  In the early evening, Mungo walks beside the stream with Mopsa. Kit and Jake have driven away to London, full of plans for the future. They intend to get married as quickly and as privately as possible and then they will be dividing their time between Paris and London.

  ‘And coming down here to see you, of course,’ said Kit. ‘Though we’ll all be together in London, too. It’s going to be such fun, Mungo.’

  ‘And you must come to Paris,’ added Jake. ‘How proud I shall be to introduce Sir Mungo Kerslake to my friends and family.’

  ‘It seems to be the best solution to begin with,’ said Kit. ‘To try to decide what works best for us. We both have our own families to consider.’

  Mungo was seized with a great sense of relief to hear Kit talk so calmly about families.

  ‘Well, there you are,’ he said to Jake. ‘How does it feel to be bringing so much joy to us all?’

  ‘Scary,’ Jake answered promptly. ‘I’m relying on your support.’

  Mungo waved them off cheerfully but he’s sad to lose Kit; that particular, close relationship he’s had with her for so long. It will be different from now on, but he is happy for her, and for Jake.

  There is change in the air. Mist rises, curls and drifts above the water. The rowan berries glow like tiny lamps and the rosebay willowherb that grows along the river bank is beginning to fade. Mungo thinks of Izzy, and of Ralph and their child, but now at last he can think of them with some measure of peace. He scattered Izzy’s ashes in the lane, close to the old Herm, and now it is as if the three of them are all together in death as they never were in life. The bitterness that has remained with him all these years, when he never heard from Ralph – not a postcard, not a telephone call – has vanished. If he’d lived, Ralph might have repented, returned to them; who can tell?

  Mopsa gives a little bark of welcome and Bozzy and Sam come running round the bend in the path. Archie follows, hands in pockets, his face sombre.

  ‘I was thinking about Ralph,’ Mungo says, charging in where angels fear to tread, seeing his brother’s mood and deciding to tackle him head on. ‘We all felt rather cross, didn’t we, that he just walked out on us after all those years? I feel happier now, knowing that he might have regretted his departure, missed us. You know?’

  ‘You mean you’d rather Philip had run him over and buried him in the orchard than think badly of him?’ asks Archie irritably.

  Mungo bursts out laughing. ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  Archie shakes his head. ‘You’re hopeless. You always were, even as a boy. You and old Billy. You lived your whole childhood in a different world; no proper morals, no sense of responsibility, and then, dammit, you went and made a lucrative career out of it.’

  Mungo claps him on the shoulder. ‘I know. Terrible, isn’t it? I cry all the way to the bank. Come on. Let’s go back to mine and have a drink.’

  They stroll along the bank and up the track. Mungo pauses at the crossroads, makes his obeisance to the old Herm, and then he and Archie follow the dogs up the steps, through the gate and into the cobbled courtyard. In the lane silence gathers again, shadows creep beneath twisty boughs of ash and thorn. The old Herm remains, watching the pathways, guarding his secrets.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Marcia Willett was born in Somerset and lives in deepest Devon with her husband. A former ballet dancer and teacher, she is the author of many bestselling novels.

  Also by Marcia Willett

  FORGOTTEN LAUGHTER

  A WEEK IN WINTER

  WINNING THROUGH

  HOLDING ON

  LOOKING FORWARD

  SECOND TIME AROUND

  STARTING OVER

  HATTIE’S MILL

  THE COURTYARD

  THEA’S PARROT

  THOSE WHO SERVE

  THE DIPPER

  THE CHILDREN’S HOUR

  THE BIRDCAGE

  THE GOLDEN CUP

  ECHOES OF THE DANCE

  MEMORIES OF THE STORM

  THE WAY WE WERE

  THE PRODIGAL WIFE

  THE SUMMER HOUSE

  THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL

  THE SEA GARDEN

  POSTCARDS FROM THE PAST

  For more information on Marcia Willett and her books, see her website at www.marciawillett.co.uk

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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  A Random House Group Company

  www.transworldbooks.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain

  in 2014 by Bantam Press

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © Marcia Willett 2014

  Marcia Willett has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781448154616

  ISBN 9780593071533 (cased)

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