by Andrew Garve
‘I’m certain my husband would never forgive me if he didn’t have the chance to say “Thank you” himself … Won’t you give us the pleasure of your company?’
‘Well, if you put it like that I’ll be very happy to come, of course … Where exactly do you live?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Sally said. ‘I’ll come and fetch you … How would it be if I picked you up here at half past six? – that will give us plenty of time for drinks before dinner.’
‘It would be fine,’ Roscoe said. ‘I’ll look forward to it …’ He got out of the car, still dripping a little, and pushed the door shut. Then he stuck his head in at the window. ‘I say, you won’t tell anyone about this, will you? About our little adventure, I mean? I wouldn’t want any of those newspaper wallahs trying to make a story out of it.’
‘But it is a story,’ Sally said. ‘Everyone, ought to know about it.’
‘No, no … If any newspapers do get in touch with you, Mrs Mellanby, please don’t tell them anything. I’d hate any publicity – Army training, you know. Anyway, I’d feel such a fool … I mean it!’
‘Well – all right,’ Sally said reluctantly. ‘Though I think you’re much too modest.’
She smiled, and Roscoe waved to the children and gave Sally and Kira an informal salute. Then he strode away into the pub.
‘I like that man,’ Tony said.
Chapter Three
As he changed his clothes and spruced himself up in his small, plainly-furnished bedroom, Roscoe was aware of a pleasurable excitement – the excitement of a traveller contemplating a new journey. It was too soon yet, of course, to know just how rewarding the trip would be, or indeed whether it would be worth undertaking at all – but the preliminary indications seemed hopeful. What he needed now was more information.
As soon as opening time arrived he made his way to the saloon bar. The door was ajar, and he glanced inside before entering. The landlord of the Plough, shirt-sleeved, obese and elderly, was leaning against the counter reading a newspaper. There were no other customers yet. Roscoe went in.
‘Evening!’ he said cheerfully.
‘Evening, sir.’
‘I’ll have a double whisky, please. Haig.’
The landlord nodded. ‘Grand day it’s been,’ he said, as he turned to the bottles behind him.
‘Wonderful!’
‘Bit different to what we’ve been having.’
‘I’ll say.’
The whisky glass clanked on the counter. ‘There you are, sir – four and six … Did you manage to get your swim?’
‘I did indeed!’ Roscoe said, with a secret smile. He put down a ten shilling note and reached for the soda. ‘Would you care to join me in a drink?’
‘That’s very kind of you, sir – I’ll have a light ale.’ The landlord poured the beer and raised his glass in salute.
‘Cheers!’ Roscoe said, and drank. ‘Well I must say it’s a lovely bit of country you’ve got around here.’
‘Very nice, isn’t it?’
‘Have you lived in these parts long?’
‘I’ve been in this house thirty years.’
‘Really? – then you must know the district pretty well. I wonder if you know some people named Mellanby?’
‘Mellanby … ? Do you mean Mr John Mellanby?’
‘Could be. I met a Mrs Mellanby today – dark, very attractive, with a couple of nice kids.’
‘That’s right, sir, that would be the Mellanbys. Everyone round here knows them – well, of them, anyway. They’re pretty big shots in Bath.’
‘Are they?’
‘Oh, yes – they’re always being written about in the papers. Public work, you know – not her so much, but he’s always busy – president of this and that, helping on committees – you know the sort of thing …’
‘Useful chap!’ Roscoe said.
‘Oh, they’re fine people, the Mellanbys, and very well liked. Do a lot of good and don’t throw their weight about too much – not like some!’
Roscoe sipped his whisky thoughtfully. This was really beginning to sound most promising – always supposing there was enough in it to make it worth while. A conscientious type, Mellanby, obviously. High-minded. Might just be the right material for Plan II … Roscoe continued to explore the ground.
‘What does he do for a living – do you know?’
‘John Mellanby? – oh, I don’t think he does anything now … He’s interested in all those bits and pieces the Romans left about – always writing about them – but that’s just a hobby … Used to be a lecturer at Bristol, I seem to remember – but he gave that up … He’s one of the lucky ones doesn’t need to work.’
‘Well off, is he?’
‘Oh, he’s well off, all right. Very generous he’s been with his money, too – you can always count on him for a subscription if the cause is good. New hospital wing, new hall for the Youth Club, that kind of thing. He must have given thousands away … Got it all from an uncle some little time ago – it was in the papers. I forget how much now, but it was a tidy sum. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of the richest men in Bath.’
‘Really!’ Roscoe smiled, and pushed his empty glass forward. ‘I think I’ll have another double, landlord.’
Chapter Four
The Mellanbys’ home was a long, two-storied Georgian house standing in a beautiful walled garden on the western outskirts of Bath. With its fine front doorway and lovely fanlight, its white sash windows immaculate against the rosy brick of its walls, its inner spaciousness and well-proportioned comfort, it was a house built to be lived in with pleasure and pride. Even in England’s most splendid Georgian city it stood out as a work of dignity and integrity, a flawless example of the period. John Mellanby had preferred it to the exquisite Regency terraces in the centre of the town because it was so much quieter to work in. One end was given up entirely to the children; at the other end he had his study. There were no traffic noises to speak of, and he could bury himself in his writing without fear of interruption.
For a man of independent means, he worked extremely hard. At the moment he was engaged on a considerable project – a scholarly survey of the ancient monuments of Somerset, which occupied him for four or five hours a day when he wasn’t out on field work or taken away from it by civic duties in the town. He liked to keep to a regular schedule, both from temperament and from earlier habit acquired at the University, where for years he’d had to earn his living like everyone else. The fortune he had inherited had neither spoiled nor embarrassed him. He was much too active a man, as well as too self-disciplined, ever to fall into idleness; and in addition to the many good causes he supported, he had found a rewarding use for Uncle Edward’s capital in the financing of excavations in the county which otherwise might have had to wait for decades.
That afternoon, as the weather was so fine, he had taken his books and papers out on to the lawn and was working there in the shade of a spreading copper beech. He was a slimly-built man of medium height, with sensitive, fine-boned features, rather hollow cheeks, a long, lean chin, and a pleasantly quizzical expression about the eyes. The general effect was somewhat ascetic, but appearances – as Sally had often teasingly said – were misleading. In his quiet way, Mellanby enjoyed life deeply, and in all its aspects.
He was still absorbed in his notes when the family came back. He hadn’t expected them home till after six and he looked up in surprise as the Rover turned into the drive. The two children, he noticed, were both in the back with Kira, which was unusual. After a moment he put his papers down and went over to the car. He walked with a slight limp, the result of an accident to his left leg ten years before.
One glance at Sally’s face was enough to tell him that something was badly wrong. He said, in an anxious tone, ‘What’s happened, darling?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said. Her voice was well-controlled, but Mellanby could sense the underlying strain. ‘There’s nothing to worry about now.’
‘Mummy and
Tony were nearly drownded!’ Alison said importantly.
Mellanby shot Sally a look of horror, an incredulous, questioning look, and she gave a little nod. ‘Kira, would you be an angel and take the children on to the back lawn for a while?’
‘Of course,’ Kira said. ‘Come, children.’ She gathered them up and went off with them down the garden.
Sally said, ‘Let’s go upstairs, John, we can talk better there.’
Mellanby followed her. In their room, with the door shut Sally looked at him for a tremulous moment and then flung herself weeping into his arms. ‘Oh, John, it’s been so awful … Darling, hold me tight.’
He held her, soothing and comforting her through the wild storm of tears, waiting until her shaking sobs had quietened. Then, at last, in breathless, jerky sentences, she told him what had happened.
He said, ‘Sally! – oh, my darling!’ and held her closer. His face was drawn and white. He was an imaginative man. Listening to her, he knew her terror as though he had suffered it himself.
‘It all happened so quickly, John … One minute everything was all right, and then before I even had time to think I was struggling in the water and Tony was out of reach and I was absolutely certain we were both going to be drowned. I can hardly believe it, now … Oh, darling, I feel so terrible about it, I know it was all my fault …’ Tears of contrition gathered in her eyes. ‘I ought to have been watching him better, but it never occurred to me for a moment he could get carried out like that, just in a few seconds … Poor Tony, he looked so small and helpless – and I was so cross with him afterwards.’
‘Is he very upset?’
‘He doesn’t show any signs … They both know it was a narrow escape, but I don’t think they really feel it. It’ll be just an adventure to Tony by tomorrow …’ Sally gave a tearful little laugh. ‘It’s funny – I suppose in a way it serves me right, because just before it happened I was thinking how lucky I was!’
Mellanby pressed his face against her hair. ‘Well – you are!’
‘Yes … Oh, John, it feels so wonderful to be home, and all of us safe … It would have been so ghastly for you, it makes me want to cry all over again … Darling, try not to blame me too much, won’t you … ?’
‘I don’t blame you at all,’ Mellanby said. ‘I think you were very brave. You know you’re a rotten swimmer.’
‘Oh – that was pure instinct … Anyway, there was no one else about except Kira – at least, I didn’t think so, I’d forgotten about the man … Darling, I’ve asked him to come and have dinner with us tomorrow, is that all right? I thought you’d want to meet him.’
‘Of course,’ Mellanby said. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Roscoe – Frank Roscoe.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Well – he’s big and dark, and rather good-looking in a military sort of way, and about your age, I should think … He seems very nice and he’s certainly very impressive. He really did risk his life, and he didn’t hesitate at all – the way he went straight back in after he’d pulled me out was marvellous … He’s terribly bashful about it all and I think he’d really have liked to go straight off afterwards the way those other two did, but of course I couldn’t let him … We owe him so much.’
Mellanby nodded. Once before, when Tony was on the way and things had suddenly gone wrong, he had been faced with the prospect of life without Sally. He would never forget the creeping blankness of those hours, the near-despair. The idea, like eternity, had seemed too awful for the mind to grasp. Since then, they’d grown still closer together, in companionship and love. Sally had become so much a part of him that to lose her now seemed utterly unthinkable. Yet it had nearly happened …
‘I owe him everything,’ he said simply. ‘It’s rather a frightening thought …’
‘Well, darling,’ Sally said, ‘we must try to do something about it. I know we can’t possibly hope to repay him but there may be some practical things we can do … From what he said, I should think he’s going to have a bit of a struggle over this farm, and he seems to be very much on his own, so perhaps we’ll be able to help him in some way – if he’s not too proud.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ Mellanby said.
Chapter Five
Roscoe was waiting on the seat outside the Plough when Sally called for him at half past six the following evening. He looked so different from the bedraggled figure she had set down there the day before that for a moment she had difficulty in recognizing him. Now he looked cool and comfortable in a well-cut light grey suit, spotless white shirt, and deerskin suède shoes. With his tanned face, his careful grooming, and his air of easy confidence, his appearance, Sally thought, was quite distinguished. She gave him a warm smile and he smiled back, running an approving eye over her.
‘Well, I wouldn’t say you were showing any signs of shock,’ he said, as he got into the car beside her.
‘Thank you … It’s amazing what a good sleep will do.’
‘How’s Tony today?’
‘Still lamenting his lost air-bed – but otherwise it might never have happened.’
‘And the foot?’
‘The foot? Oh – Alison. She’s all right, too … What a memory you have!’
‘It’s a matter of training,’ Roscoe said, with a grin.
‘How is your search going? Have you started yet?’
‘Well, I’ve not actually looked at anything, but I’ve put out a few feelers – got in touch with one or two agents, you know … Quite a hectic morning, as a matter of fact. Bath seems pretty crowded.’
Sally nodded, watching the road. ‘It’s the busiest time just now – right at the holiday peak.’
‘What’s it like in the winter? – dead, I suppose?’
‘No – just quiet. We think it’s very pleasant – but then we like a rather tranquil life.’
‘Don’t you ever get bored?’
‘Bored! – good heavens, no. There are always the children, and my husband works at home a good deal.’
‘What’s his line?’ Roscoe inquired innocently.
‘Well, he’s mostly an antiquarian, but he has a lot of other interests, too – various societies and committees … People are always asking him to do things …’
‘Good works, eh? Useful citizen! Highly respected in the community.’ The touch of mockery in Roseoe’s tone surprised Sally.
‘Well, yes, I suppose he is,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t sound too exciting.’
‘It’s not exciting – but it’s often very interesting.’ She smiled across at him. ‘If it comes to that, I don’t suppose you’ll find poultry farming exactly a riot!’
Roscoe grinned back at her. ‘You’ve got a point there,’ he said.
As the car turned in through the wrought-iron gates, Mellanby came out into the drive to greet his guest, his limp a little more marked than usual because of his nervousness. He was always rather shy at first encounters, and this particular encounter was a real ordeal. His massive obligation to Roscoe weighed on him. He grasped the big hand the visitor extended to him a shade longer than he would normally have done.
‘I’m so glad you were able to come,’ he said, and paused. ‘My wife has told me all about what happened yesterday – your very brave action … It’s difficult to find words to express my gratitude for what you did. I can only say, thank you from the bottom of my heart … I owe you more than I can ever repay.’
‘Oh, there was nothing to it,’ Roscoe said breezily. ‘Some chaps have a way of leaping straight in in an emergency and thinking afterwards, and that’s what I happen to be like. It’s the way you’re made – there’s no credit in it. I’m glad everything turned out all right, that’s all …’ He gave a boyish smile. ‘I’d really be happier if you’d forget all about it.’
‘I’m not likely to do that,’ Mellanby said, ‘but I understand … Let’s go and have a drink, shall we?’ With a friendly pressure on Roscoe’s arm he conducted him to chair
s set out round a little table under the copper beech. ‘We thought it might be pleasanter to sit out here, as it’s so warm … What would you like? Gin and something? Sherry …?’
‘Gin and French for me, if that’s all right,’ Roscoe said. He gazed around as Mellanby busied himself with ice and glasses, taking in the gracious house, the well-tended garden, the two smart cars parked one behind the other in the drive …
‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ be said with enthusiasm. ‘Beautiful house!’
‘It’s very attractive, isn’t it?’ Mellanby agreed. ‘A design they’re never likely to improve on …’
‘I bet it’s nice inside, too … Lots of genuine Chippendale?’
Mellanby smiled. ‘Well, no – but there are some nice things – some lovely Adam fireplaces, for instance, if you’re interested. Perhaps you’d like to look round later on?’
‘I would indeed …’ Roscoe turned to Sally. ‘Don’t you find servants are a problem for a place like this, Mrs Mellanby?’
‘We haven’t had much difficulty so far,’ Sally said. ‘Cook and our daily maid both live fairly near, so they can go home at night, and I think that keeps them happy …’
Roscoe gave a little nod. Mellanby finished mixing the drinks and handed them round.
‘Well, this is quite an occasion,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Your very good health, Roscoe!’
‘Happy days!’ Roscoe said.
They drank. Sally took one of the chairs and the men followed her example. Mellanby passed the cigarettes to Roscoe, and lit his pipe. He was beginning to look more at ease.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘my wife tells me you’ve just left the Army.’
‘Yes … I was a major in the Gloucester when they bowler-hatted me.’
‘And now you’re planning to become a chicken farmer?’
‘That’s the general idea. I may be crazy – but I’ve always been used to an open-air life and I know I’d never be able to stand a desk job. Ordinary farming’s more than I could tackle, but I think I could manage poultry – and some people seem to make a living at it.’