by Lulu Taylor
‘Can we play outside later?’ asked Harry. ‘I’m going to put grease on my sledge so I can go extra fast.’
‘Perhaps.’ Tommy looked over at the windows, piled high outside with snow so that only a patch of foggy grey sky was visible beyond. ‘I wonder what state the car is in.’
‘Perhaps you’ll never find it again,’ Gerry said. ‘Or not till spring, when we’ll find a rusted skeleton in the lane.’
‘I hope not. And I’d like to find it before then – all of Mrs Hastings’ things are in it.’
Roger came in, his face white with cold except for his nose which was pink, and he sniffed, slapping his sides with his arms. ‘My God. Can’t we switch on those blasted radiators?’
‘They are on,’ Tommy replied. ‘At least they were, but you know how rubbish they are. I’m trying to keep them on to stop them freezing, but we need to save oil as well. So we can’t turn them up.’
‘This is inhuman.’ Roger breathed out. ‘Look at that! My breath is like smoke, here in the dining room. We’ll all freeze to death at this rate.’
‘No we won’t,’ Tommy said quickly, looking at the children’s anxious faces. ‘We’ll be perfectly all right, especially with Granny’s stove going.’ She smiled at Antonia and Harry. ‘Perhaps you can persuade Ada to let you make some toffee with her precious treacle.’
‘Where’s Fred?’ demanded Roger, looking around.
‘Still in bed. I think he was shattered after yesterday. And you know he hasn’t been well since he saw that awful doctor in Oxford.’
‘Oh yes. Oxford.’ Roger made a face. He hadn’t liked Fred and Tommy going off together one bit and had been in a sulk for days afterwards.
‘I’m sure he’ll be down soon. And you must meet Barbara. She’s staying with us for a while.’
Roger grunted and sat down at the table. ‘I expect the toast has turned to ice.’
‘I’ll get you some more,’ Tommy said soothingly, and got up to go back to the kitchen.
Roger was crotchety and dissatisfied with everything, evidently missing Fred. Everyone was relieved when he decided to go back to bed.
The children went outside to explore this new, epic level of snow that made the previous fall look like a practice run. Tommy told them to be careful, as it was more than twice Harry’s height and he could get buried if he didn’t look out. So they played in the courtyard at the back of the kitchen, making tunnels and mazes and gradually clearing quite a large part of it. Tommy changed into her stoutest trousers and put on a woollen jacket over her jumper and a pair of shooting socks. Then she found her mother’s old skis in the boot room, and took them outside.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Gerry asked, her pink nose just above her scarf and blue eyes just below her beret, watching as Tommy struggled to put them on by the back door.
‘I’m going to try and find the car,’ she said, strapping her boots into the bindings. Then she pulled on her father’s old fur-lined leather skiing mittens.
‘It’ll be buried,’ Gerry said, jumping up and down on the spot.
‘Maybe. I’ve got the shovel too.’ She turned to show that she’d strapped the shovel to her back with a belt. ‘And a rope to drag a suitcase back. You see, if I ski, then we can get to the village. Hasn’t it occurred to you that we’re now completely cut off? What will we do for milk and food?’
Gerry stopped jumping. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘No. That’s why I’m trying the skis. Look, I can get up here where the drift is low.’ She took the poles and manoeuvred herself awkwardly to where she could walk sideways up the drift. ‘My goodness, I haven’t done this for years. I hope I remember how.’
Gradually she found the level. Her skis sank a couple of inches and then she was stable on the surface, with a new and unfamiliar view of everything. She could see how the snow had banked up against the garden walls and the barns, and now she was high, she could see the tops of hedges and the snowcapped forest, even over the faint outline of the church spire. But the air was foggy with ice and as she breathed she could feel the prickle of tiny icicles in her nostrils. ‘I won’t be able to stay out for long,’ she said. ‘But it can’t hurt to have a go.’
Tommy set off, pushing herself along on the skis in the direction of the lane. It was hard work without a slope to go down and she was soon feeling warmer as she pushed herself along with the poles, sliding a few feet before she had to force herself forward again, although the exercise did nothing to warm up her hands and feet.
The car can’t be that far away, she thought, keeping an eagle eye out for it. She was soon used to the movement of the skis, her old knowledge coming back to her, and she felt confident of being able to move easily. It must be completely buried. Wait – what’s that?
Tommy caught sight of some blackness in the snow, and as she approached, she saw that it was the roof of the car. The wind had blown the snow over it, leaving a small part exposed. She came up to it, and put down her poles, so she could scrape away some of the snow.
Thank goodness we didn’t stay in here. I’m sure we would have frozen to death.
She snapped off her skis and promptly sank through the snow to find herself standing on the back of the car. She pulled out her shovel and started to clear away the snow from around the car. It was hard work and she was at it for some time before she was able to move safely to the back where the suitcases had been put. Thank goodness Fred had thought to move them from the boot to the back seat when he collected the shovel.
Tommy managed to get the back door open and pulled out one of the cases. There was no way she could manage two of them, one would be hard enough, so she chose one and left the other there. She would have to come back for it. Then she prepared herself for the journey home, this time with a large case to pull behind her.
‘The lake is completely frozen,’ Tommy said, coming back into the kitchen, breathless. ‘I could see it from the top of the lane. It’s beautiful out there but . . . oh my fingers!’
‘Did you really manage?’ Gerry said, excitedly jumping up from the table. ‘The children and I were just planning our rescue mission. Hermione and Hebe were going to pull the sledges.’
‘We were going to mush them,’ Antonia said. ‘Like Captain Scott’s pack of dogs pulling them to the South Pole.’
‘Mush, mush, mush, all along the lane,’ Harry added. ‘But we weren’t going to eat them.’
‘But,’ Antonia said sadly, ‘you’re back.’
‘Sorry to thwart your mission. At least you’re defrosted from this morning.’ Tommy looked around. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Thornton is trying to make a path back to their cottage – he’s ever so cross that his last one’s been covered up. Ada is out looking for her cat. Granny is sewing. Mr Burton Brown isn’t up yet.’ Gerry tapped off the household members on her fingers. ‘Roger went back to bed in a grump because it’s so cold. And your friend Mrs Hastings came in for something on a tray for her daughter, and then disappeared again. Goodness, she’s pretty, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, I suppose she is. I’ll go and find her. I’ve got her case.’
The advantage of being out all morning was that the house felt quite warm in comparison, even if it was still very cold. Tommy went upstairs with the suitcase and knocked on the door of the rose bedroom, so called after the Victorian printed wallpaper in a trellis of roses all over it – on the walls and ceilings, with a matching fabric for the curtains. A bit much, Tommy had always thought, like being smothered in blossom, but it had its charm.
Barbara answered the door.
‘Good morning,’ Tommy said, smiling and holding out the suitcase. ‘How are you? Look what I’ve got.’
‘Goodness me, however did you get it?’ Barbara said, looking down in astonishment. ‘I’ve seen the snow out of the window. Has someone towed the car back?’
‘Oh no. I went and got it.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes. I’ll get the o
ther one later.’
Barbara looked bemused. ‘How extraordinary.’
‘Are you all right? How is Molly?’
‘Recovering. It was rather an ordeal. I’m going to stay with her until she’s ready to come down.’
‘Of course.’ Tommy peered past her into the bedroom but couldn’t make out anything in the gloom beyond. The curtains were drawn. Barbara seemed to be unaffected by the previous night; her clothes looked neat and tidy despite the walk through the snow. Her golden hair was carefully combed and tied back and she wore bright red lipstick that made her pale eyes even more piercing.
‘We’ll be down for lunch. What time will it be?’
‘Oh, it’s all a bit ramshackle today with the snow. I expect it will be sandwiches at one o’clock in the kitchen.’
‘I see. Thank you.’ Barbara went to close the door, then hesitated. ‘I do appreciate this, Tommy, really. I know you didn’t want to have us. And now you’ve got us until this snow clears. I’m grateful.’
‘Oh.’ Tommy felt at once embarrassed. Barbara was no fool, but she felt compelled to do as she always did and say what was expected. ‘On the contrary. We’re happy to have you. Come down when you’re ready.’
She paused for a moment on the way back downstairs, looking up the passage to where Fred’s bedroom door remained closed. It wasn’t like him not to come downstairs in good time. She hadn’t yet known him stay in bed so late. Wondering if she should go and knock on his door, she paused on the landing.
He’s probably just tired out from last night. It was quite an evening.
If he didn’t come down for lunch, she told herself, she would go and check, just in case.
Then she went downstairs to start on the sandwiches.
Chapter Nineteen
The day after the visit to Kings Harcourt, there was an email from Nicholas in Caitlyn’s inbox.
Thanks for coming yesterday. I really enjoyed it. I’ve sent a letter to Aunt Geraldine (the phone’s no good, she’s too deaf) to ask her if she’d like to rent the main house to you, but my guess is, she’d be delighted. She always prefers it when there are people there. I’ll let you know when I hear back from her. Maybe we can meet up and discuss it.
Drop me a line if you’ve got any questions . . .
Nicholas x
Caitlyn read it through twice. It was a perfectly nice message – friendly, normal, kind.
Can I accept an offer to rent the house? she thought anxiously. I mean, it’s wonderful. I loved it and so would Max. It’s a bit remote but for a summer while I look for somewhere to buy, it would be perfect. She imagined Maura and the family coming to spend the long summer holidays, with Callum joining them at weekends, the children playing in the gardens and in the fields, barbecues on the terrace . . . Nicholas had said there was even an ancient swimming pool.
But how can I? After all, he turned out to be like all the rest, unable to resist Sara. All the rest except Patrick.
She closed the message and put him out of her mind. There were plenty of other things to think about, after all. It was almost half-term and Maura had suggested that Max come and stay with her and the family for a few days, if Caitlyn wanted some time to herself.
Time to myself! I’m alone so much.
But actually the prospect appealed to her. She wanted Max to enjoy being with his boisterous cousins, but it wasn’t something she could yet handle. Her days were usually so framed by his needs and his timetable that, if she was really going to have to pack up the house again and prepare to move, it would be good to have a few clear days. They arranged for Maura to drive up on the Friday, collect Max and take him back to London.
‘Hello, you’re looking well,’ Maura said as she came into the cottage.
‘Am I?’ Caitlyn flushed. ‘I haven’t done anything different.’
Maura smiled and tossed her coat down on the sofa. ‘I’m really glad. Oxford obviously suits you. I always thought you were a little bit lost in your old house. This is not so smart as you were used to – but it’s more you.’
‘I suppose it is.’ Caitlyn looked around. There was no pale blue or grey to be seen. The exquisite perfection of her last home had been replaced with piles of books on tables, cups on the draining board, a mishmash of cushions squashed wherever they’d last been sat on. It would have driven Patrick nuts.
I suppose without him, I’m slipping back to my ordinary old self.
It gave her a pang to think about it: the years with Patrick which at times had seemed oppressive but were also so full of beauty, sparkle and glamour.
She pushed the sadness away by telling Maura about the notice to quit.
‘What?’ Maura exclaimed. ‘But you’ve only just got here!’
‘I know. The timing’s rubbish. I’m looking for somewhere else. Somewhere in Oxford, I suppose. Unless I move closer to the school.’
‘Wouldn’t you be bored to tears in some dead-end village?’
‘Maybe.’ Caitlyn smiled. ‘Or maybe I need to get away from Oxford. Too many memories.’
‘I thought you loved it here when you were a student.’
‘I did but . . . you know. It wasn’t all good.’ She thought of Nicholas, then said quickly, ‘Anyway, how are the kids?’
After a good long catch-up, Maura took an excited Max away with her, leaving the house calm and quiet. Caitlyn went to the mirror over the fireplace and gazed at her reflection. She was thinner, definitely. More hollow-cheeked. After all those years of worrying, she’d not thought about her weight for ages and this was the result. But without Patrick to cook for, she barely ate in the evenings and rarely drank.
But I look so old, she thought, pinching her cheeks to smooth out the line from her nose to her mouth. Old and tired. There was a broad line of dark roots at her parting. Her golden brown highlights had not been topped up since before Patrick died. Grey wisps floated over her ears and sprang up around her hairline. Well, I’m not eighteen any more, and that’s that. I’m not that girl any more. I might as well leave it all in the past, just as Nicholas has.
But the memories of what had once almost been were too strong to resist.
The exams were over and at last Caitlyn could relax and celebrate. The college threw them a special finals dinner. They’d dressed up: black tie for the boys, evening dresses for the girls, all wearing their gowns over the top, the dark cotton flapping around them like bats’ wings. A scholar’s gown for her, falling to her ankles, framing her black velvet dress, because she’d won the scholarship, the one that Sara had told her so confidently that she – Sara – was going to get. They’d assembled in one of the grand college rooms for drinks beforehand. She remembered Nicholas now, so very handsome suddenly in his dinner jacket, his bow tie at a slightly jaunty angle, making her want to reach out and straighten it, though she didn’t dare. They’d drunk champagne with their tutors, all chattering away, almost dizzy with relief that the exams were over and now they were free of the burden of finals hanging over their heads. They’d talked about their future plans and what awaited them after the summer. And all the time, despite spending ages with Dr Yates, she’d been aware of Nicholas, always close.
Maybe tonight, she’d thought. Maybe.
They’d gone to the Senior Common Room dining room for dinner, a place they’d never seen before and never would again – but Nicholas must go there all the time now – and dinner had been served, five courses on shimmering antique golden plates with the best wines from the college cellar, and then coffee in the drawing room.
I’ll never do this again, she’d thought, telling herself to enjoy every moment, but all she could really think about was Nicholas. Because it’s our last chance. Even if they kept in touch, this was the last time they would be here, belonging to this place and everything it had meant to them. Sometimes she’d glance at him and find his eyes on her, and a pleasurable rush would zoom through her, the tingle of anticipation flooding out to her fingertips. It’s got to be tonight.
> And, inevitably, they had gravitated together. When the tutors had bidden them farewell, congratulated them on three years well lived and wished them luck for the results that would soon be posted, they had strolled out together into the dark quad, stars glittering overhead and a great silver disc of a moon glowing above the bell tower.
‘Let’s go to the garden,’ Nicholas said, and they walked through the echoing hall where the staircase led up to the dining room, and then out over the crunching gravel to the wooden door in a wall that led to the garden. Inside, he lit a cigarette and exhaled a plume of dark grey smoke into the navy-blue night. They hardly needed to say a word to each other. They knew what was going to happen.
In the darkness of the garden, the richness of fine red wine flowing through them, they turned at last to one another and he pulled her to him, throwing down his cigarette and kissing her hard. He tasted of smoke and honey, and the exhilaration of the kiss, and all its utter rightness, flooded through her. The long, long build-up, the weeks of low-level flirtation, and the mutual craving came together to intoxicate her beyond anything she’d yet known. The clumsy kisses and the silly sweet ineptness of Charlie – long gone, sometime in her second year – and anyone else she’d dallied with . . . all of it was like a necessary prelude to this, the real, grown-up version of what she’d been looking for.
They kissed for long minutes, then Nicholas pulled away and said breathlessly, ‘Let’s go to my room.’
‘Yours?’ He was a dark shadow in front of her eyes, the wind blowing her hair in finely whipping strands over her face.
‘It’s closest.’
‘Yes.’ He had a room tucked away from the main quad, the staircase almost invisible if you didn’t know it was there. They had passed it on their way to the garden. She thought of strange little practicalities, things she needed if she was going to stay the night in his room. She wanted it to be right, not a scramble of embarrassment. She was aware that she had cinched herself in with an ugly elasticated support thing and knew she didn’t want him to see it. ‘I’ll go back to my place first.’