Country Plot

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘What do you mean, what?’

  ‘You look as if you don’t know what to think of me.’

  He blushed a little. ‘I’m sorry. I was just thinking—’

  ‘There you go again, with the intriguing broken sentences.’

  He shook his head. ‘You do say such odd things. And I was going to say, I was thinking – that perhaps you aren’t very like your mother after all.’

  ‘And is that a good thing or a bad thing?’ she asked. ‘Or did you just mean in looks? I’m much scruffier than my mother – but you aren’t seeing me at my best here, because Kitty keeps telling me to be comfortable and not to worry about what I wear.’

  ‘You’re perfectly suitably dressed for your job,’ he said. ‘By the way, Betty Tyler says that any time you want to ride Tabitha, you’re welcome, just to give her a ring and she’ll have her brought in and tacked up by the time you get over there. Kitty has her phone number. I thought you might want to have a couple more evening rides before Monday to get your muscles worked in. I’d like to come with you but I’m busy this week.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jenna said, and had the feeling that by gabbling about clothes she had let him evade the question, and possibly missed out on some important information. Damn you, unruly tongue! ‘I’ll probably take her up on that.’

  ‘All right. Now I really must go, or I’ll miss the lots I’m interested in. Love to Kitty.’ And he departed abruptly.

  Jenna felt strangely unsettled both by his visit and his departure, as if things had been meant to be said that were not, and other things that had probably better not be said had been thought.

  On Wednesday Jenna went into Wenchester to visit the reference library, and then went on to the museum, which had a good ceramics section. There was actually a curator there, rearranging one of the displays, and Jenna introduced herself and got into conversation with her.

  She said her name was Nicola Pearson, and she seemed interested in Jenna’s job, and practically salivated at the thought of all that chinaware. ‘It must be a marvellous collection. It really ought to be shown,’ she said. ‘It’s a shame that the public hasn’t any chance to look at it.’

  ‘It’s not so much a collection at the moment as a diaspora,’ Jenna said. ‘But I’m doing my best to get it together. I’ve never really looked at ceramics before, but it’s kind of interesting when you get into it. Why is there such a big department here, by the way? I mean, it’s not a huge town.’

  ‘Because of the local porcelain,’ she said, and seeing that Jenna hadn’t followed, added: ‘You know, Wenchester china? You didn’t know there was an eighteenth-century factory here?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jenna. ‘I’m new to all this.’

  ‘It’s a small but important niche in the collectors’ market, like Lowestoft, or Portland. Good early examples go for quite large figures now. It was only functioning for about fifty years, so the pieces have a rarity value, though in their time they weren’t at the top of the range.’ She smiled. ‘Kitchen china, you might almost say. But anything becomes valuable if it’s old enough and rare enough. We have some nice stuff here. I ought to show you what we’ve got so you can recognize it, in case there’s any in your collection.’

  What with an intensive lesson, combined with an interesting chat, the museum visit extended itself and Jenna finally came out into the street to discover it was lunchtime and she was starving. There was a café just across the road from which agreeable smells were issuing, so she went straight in. It was one of those wholesome and slightly amateurish places where well-spoken, grey-haired ladies in protective smocks served home-made soups, quiches and slightly lopsided cakes, and got into a muddle over the change. But the pea soup was delicious, accompanied by a hunk of rough granary bread, and Jenna enjoyed it so much she even went for a wedge of rhubarb pie afterwards with her coffee. It was nice to have a change of scene, and she enjoyed watching the people sitting at tables nearby and passing by in the sunny street. It was a pleasant way to spend three quarters of an hour.

  She had just paid and was walking out into the street when her new cheapo mobile – bought in Belminster the same time as The Dress – rang.

  It was Harriet. ‘Hello. How’s it going? Is your broken heart still aching?’

  ‘They don’t mend that quickly, you know.’

  ‘I suppose not. Poor Jenna. But Olly says you like the place, and the old lady?’

  ‘Don’t call her that. She isn’t a bit like one. And she’s only the same age as Ma.’

  ‘Well, I call Ma an old lady. You can’t say she’s young, can you? Or even middle-aged.’

  ‘But “old” sounds condemnatory. Call her Kitty.’

  ‘Whatever. Anyway, it’s nice there?’

  ‘Beautiful. And the garden’s stunning – you’d love it.’ Harriet was the only one of the family particularly interested in gardening.

  ‘So Olly said, which was what gave me the idea. To make an income out of the place, I mean. Why not open the garden to the public? Lots of people go down to that part of the world specifically to look at gardens. They build their holidays around it. There’s even something called the Garden Route – not that I’ve ever done it, but I’ve heard of it. You’d only have to get on the right tourist board lists, get leaflets into the tourism offices, and you’d be on the circuit. How big is it?’

  ‘The garden? Kitty says about four acres.’

  ‘Oh, big enough, then.’

  ‘But a lot of that is down to lawns, although there are two huge walled gardens and a woodland walk. And a wilderness. And some shrubbery and rhododendrons.’

  ‘Well, that sounds all right. Especially if you can give them tea somewhere. People will always fork out for tea and cakes, especially when they’ve been on their feet for any length of time. It’ll improve the profits.’

  ‘There’s the conservatory. It’s pretty big,’ Jenna mused. ‘And the terrace if it’s fine.’

  ‘What you need is something to set you apart,’ Harriet went on. ‘Some element no one else has got, to make you a must see. She doesn’t have the national collection of something, does she? A lake? Waterfalls? Or a folly, a grotto, something like that?’

  ‘There’s Centurion’s grave,’ Jenna said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Jenna explained. ‘And the inscription is lovely: beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man without his vices.’

  ‘That’s so sweet!’

  ‘It’s taken from Lord Byron’s tribute to his dog, apparently, but it works even better for a war horse in my opinion.’

  ‘But it’s perfect!’ Harriet said. ‘Sentiment and history combined! A dead animal and a brilliant story. You can’t go wrong. People with children will love it, especially if you can dredge up lots of stuff about the horse, and maybe photos as well. Or did they have photography in those days?’

  ‘The Crimean was the first war with photographs,’ Jenna said. ‘I don’t know if there are any of him, but there’s a portrait. And one of his hooves made into an inkstand.’

  ‘Yuck! I’d leave that out, if I were you. Might put the wrong idea into young heads.’

  ‘God, yes, they’d go home and make their hamsters into pencil cases.’

  ‘Or their rabbits into fluffy slippers. But the grave and the inscription and everything are perfect. I’d happily bring Martha to see that.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the idea,’ Jenna said. ‘I’ll put it to Kitty and see what she thinks. She’s very proud of her garden.’

  ‘So, are there any cute men down there?’ Harriet went off on another tack.

  ‘I’m not here to date, I’m here to work,’ Jenna said sternly.

  ‘Ah, so there are some cute men!’

  ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘You’d have said no if there weren’t any.’

  ‘Well, there’s one who wants to take me out, and he is pretty cute, in his way.’

 
; ‘Ha! Brilliant. You’ve got a date!’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I haven’t completely made up my mind yet. I’m not sure I’m ready.’

  ‘Ready? For heaven’s sake, nobody’s asking you to marry the bloke! Just go out with him. You have to get back on the horse, Jen.’

  ‘And I haven’t asked Kitty.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of taking her along?’

  ‘Ha ha. But she likes my company of an evening.’

  ‘God, I can just see the two of you, blankets over your knees, watching Heartbeat and drinking Horlicks. Get out there and live! Go on the date!’

  Jenna laughed. ‘All right, keep your hair on. Maybe I will.’

  ‘I’ll check up on you,’ Harriet warned.

  Kitty was out when Jenna got home, and she put in a few solid hours’ work, undisturbed until Mrs Phillips put her head round the door to say she was leaving and that there was a bit of cold chicken and salad for their ‘tea’. ‘I didn’t have time to cook anything, what with the mountain of ironing I had to do. All them double-damask dinner napkins – you’ve got to get ’em just right. Can’t rush it. So salad it is.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Phillips. What could be nicer than salad on a day like this?’

  Mrs Phillips shook her head pityingly. ‘Be a thunderstorm before long,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about weather.’

  ‘Never mind. Whatever you’ve left’ll be fine.’

  Mrs Phillips nodded. ‘And Bill Bennett brought up some strawberries, and there’s cream left over in the fridge. You won’t starve.’ She disappeared.

  Jenna worked for a bit longer, but her concentration was gone, so she decided to take the dogs out for a walk to stretch her legs. Only Barney appeared when she went looking for them, but he was willing as always for a jaunt. She made a circuit, finding a useful track between overgrown hedges that made a short cut into the back end of the village. The route home took her past Xander’s shop, and she glanced at it, noting that his car was there, parked down the side street. She thought she saw someone moving about inside – the sun was shining on the windows so she couldn’t see into the shop properly, just the ghost of a shape and a paler smudge of face – and hoped for Xander’s sake it was a customer. Did someone wave, or was it a duster being flapped?

  She walked on, noticing a change in the quality of the air. And there were clouds coming up, a particularly large, plummy-looking one in the west blocking the afternoon light, so that the declining sun made a liquid gold rim around its edges. Perhaps Mrs Phillips was right. A cold little wind fingered the back of her neck and she speeded up, suddenly eager to be indoors, and thinking about putting the kettle on.

  Kitty got back just before the rain. ‘Going to come down cats and dogs any minute,’ she said, appearing in the doorway, slipping her silk scarf from around her neck. ‘Will you help me check all the windows are closed? Fatty sometimes leaves them open to air the rooms, but the wind’s getting up as well and the rain’ll be the driving sort.’

  By the time they reached the top floor, it was ‘black as Newgate knocker’ outside, as Kitty said. It was stifling up there, right under the roof tiles, even though several windows had indeed been left open, plus the skylight over the backstairs, and in the gloomy half light the big display cabinets in the corridor had a sinister look, as if they might start shuffling along on their bowed legs. Jenna told herself it was the rapid change of air pressure that led to fanciful ideas when a storm was brewing, and hurried after Kitty downstairs again. As they reached the hall there was a tremendous crack of thunder that sounded like a huge tree-trunk being split in half, and it made Jenna flinch.

  ‘Do you mind thunderstorms?’ Kitty asked, looking at her in concern.

  ‘I don’t mind them, really. It just took me by surprise,’ Jenna said. ‘Had we better close the conservatory doors?’

  ‘Yes, better,’ said Kitty. ‘The wind’s setting that way.’ Watch was sitting just inside the door looking out mournfully at the unnaturally dark world. The rain started falling, in large, separated drops that smacked on to the terrace stones and bounced up like marbles. The dog jumped back, and whined. ‘Poor chap,’ Kitty said, stroking his head as she passed. Barney was nowhere in sight. ‘He’ll be under one of the beds by now. He doesn’t like thunder.’

  She took one door and Jenna took the other, and as they pulled them closed the heavens opened and the rain pelted down. At once the temperature fell ten degrees; outside a slash of lightning cut the sky, followed by a long-drawn-out rumble of thunder that sent Watch slinking away from the doors. It was almost as dark as night.

  ‘Rather exciting in a way,’ Kitty said hopefully. ‘Raw nature in all its power. Gives you a perspective. Makes you realize how puny we really are.’

  ‘Makes me realize that Mrs Phillips said she’s left us salad,’ Jenna said.

  ‘Oh dear. Still, we can have a bottle of wine with it, to cheer it up. That’s one of the many good things about having you here – that I can have wine with dinner every night.’

  ‘You could anyway,’ Jenna pointed out.

  ‘I wouldn’t enjoy it. I don’t like to drink alone. Well, I shall go and change into something warmer, and then we’ll see about the wine. Unless,’ she added with a mischievous look, ‘you’re afraid to go down in the cellar in a thunderstorm.’

  ‘You mean, because of that creature you’ve assembled down there out of body parts stolen from the graveyard? No, not a bit,’ said Jenna serenely.

  ‘The lightning will bring it to life, and it will be our slave and do our bidding,’ Kitty said. ‘Right up to the point when it murders us, that is.’

  ‘I wonder if it can cook?’ Jenna mused, following her to the stairs.

  Jenna was down first, and almost jumped right out of her skin as a dark figure appeared before her in the twilit hall.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she said, clutching her heart. ‘You almost killed me!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Xander. ‘I did call out, but I suppose nobody could hear over the noise of the storm.’

  ‘I thought you were Boris Karloff, come up from the cellar.’

  ‘Foolish mistake to make,’ Xander said, deadpan. ‘I don’t have bolts in my neck.’

  ‘Now you mention it . . .’ Jenna said. ‘You’re soaked,’ she discovered.

  ‘It’s falling stair rods out there.’

  ‘You got this wet just coming from the car?’

  ‘Well – I thought one of my lights wasn’t working.’

  ‘And you couldn’t wait until the rain stopped to check it? You men and your cars!’

  ‘I’m not so very wet. It’s mostly superficial – my jacket, and my hair.’

  ‘Well, let’s hang the jacket up in the kitchen where it can drip. And there’s a towel in there for your hair,’ said Jenna, getting briskly practical because there was something unfairly endearing about his sudden waif-status.

  In the kitchen she took the coat hanger that the peg bag hung on and slipped it into Xander’s suit jacket, and he reached up and hung it from the drying rack across the ceiling.

  ‘The warmth from the Aga should do the trick,’ she said, handing him the towel. He disappeared into it and rubbed his head vigorously, emerging with wildly ruffled hair and eyelashes stuck together with damp. They were amazingly long and thick for a man, she thought. For an instant the world seemed to stop turning, and she was painfully aware of his closeness, his height and weight filling her immediate horizon, blocking out everything but his presence. Her mouth was dry, and she felt a sort of distant shock, as if of recognition. ‘You’ll need something else to put on,’ she heard her voice say, very far away. ‘It’s cold this evening.’

  The click of nails heralded Watch’s arrival, to thrust himself between them for comforting, and the world jolted and rolled on.

  A moment later Kitty came in saying, ‘There you are! I wondered – oh, and Xander! I didn’t hear you arrive – too much noise outside. I wasn’t expecting you, was I? Dear boy,
are you wet?’

  ‘Not very,’ Xander said, his eyes still on Jenna’s. ‘And we’ve taken care of that.’

  She wrenched her gaze away. ‘He’ll need a jumper or something, Kitty. His jacket has to dry.’

  ‘I’ll get something,’ Kitty said eagerly, turning away, but he stopped her.

  ‘No need to go upstairs. There’s that old gardening sweater you keep in the lobby. That will do.’

  ‘Are you sure? Well, put it on quickly, before you catch cold. Your shirt isn’t wet, is it?’ She touched it to be sure, on the chest. Jenna watched her fingers make contact and imagined the heat of his skin through the fine cotton. ‘Oh, look, it is damp,’ Kitty said reproachfully. ‘And your trousers too. They’ll crease horribly. You really need a complete change. Are you going home?’

  He seemed to hesitate, and Jenna knew he was looking at her, though her eyes were turned resolutely away. ‘I suppose I should. I was actually on my way when I suddenly thought of that cold damp cottage, and spending the evening there alone and – well . . .’

  ‘Darling, say no more,’ Kitty said eagerly. ‘You don’t need to be invited to this house, you know that. Of course you must stay – but we’ll have to get you a change, because the house is like a tomb and you’ll catch your death sitting about in damp clothes.’

  ‘Why don’t I go and light the fire?’ Jenna said, jerking herself out of her paralysis.

  ‘Would you? Do you think you can manage?’ Kitty asked.

  ‘I’ve watched you do it. I’m sure I can work it out.’

  ‘Oh good. And I’ll go and bother Bill for something for Xander to wear.’ She beamed. ‘How nice it is to have unexpected visitors! What a good thought of yours, Xander.’

  ‘My motives were entirely selfish,’ he said. ‘But I hope I’m not going to be a strain on the commissariat.’