“I haven’t time to go anywhere else,” said Cassy. “But I must have something warmer.” She glanced across to the men’s counter, evaluating its stock in seconds. “Could you show me that white cable-knit sweater, please?”
“It’s a forty-four inch chest.”
“No problem, I’ll take it. And the honey-coloured one with the polo neck. It doesn’t matter about the size.”
The honey sweater was a soft wool with a touch of angora, the most expensive garment in the shop. Cassy pulled it over her head, releasing her hair with a sweep of her fingers.
“Just what I wanted,” said Cassy, to the girl’s amazement. “I’ll have both of them,” she added.
“You look really nice in it,” said the assistant a little enviously.
It came to Cassy while she was paying and chatting to the girl, that what she wanted to do most was to go to Ridge House. She had to make that first visit, to bridge the gap since that last happy time not long before her parents died. It had been a lovely summer, and she and her grandfather had roamed the hills together. Cassy had been seventeen.
The last time she had seen her grandfather was at her parents’ funeral. She had needed him at that bleak, impersonal crematorium where she had sat through the short committal in unbelieving shock. It made it no easier for Cassy to keep her promise to her mother.
“Promise me, promise me, Cassy,” her mother, Alician, had whispered in agitation, her thin face damp with perspiration from the fever.
“I will, I will,” Cassy murmured soothingly, wiping the perspiration from her mother’s forehead.
“Your grandfather…he ruined m-my life,” Alician moaned. “It was all…his fault. He should have believed.”
Cassy lowered her head closer towards her mother’s feeble voice, trying to hear. Her mother had once been pretty, but ravages of malaria and years of living in hard conditions had left only a shell of that beauty. Only her eyes were still beautiful, even when clouded with pain and delirium.
“Should have believed what, mother?”
“Promise me you’ll never see him again! You must promise, Cassy. Please…please.” Her gaze searched her daughter’s face, demanding that last promise. The weak tears were welling up in Alician’s eyes and Cassy felt her own throat pricking. “I can’t die…in peace, until I have your promise.”
“You’re not going to die,” said Cassy, firmly.
“I haven’t been married to a doctor for all these years…without learning when death is close,” said Alician in a moment of lucidity. “Where is Svenn? How ill is he? Why won’t they let me see him?”
“Soon…they’ll let you see him soon.”
“Promise, Cassy. Your grandfather…must never again. Never…see him…”
Her mother’s eyes were urgently pleading, tormented. Cassy felt herself being physically torn apart. She loved her grandfather. She had always loved him.
“Cassy…please. You must do this for love of me…”
“All right, I-I promise.” Cassy choked on the words. They were like a betrayal. “But why…why, mother?”
“He…didn’t believe Lewis,” Alician moaned.
Not long after those words Alician died, and a few days later her husband, Dr. Svenn Sjaarstad, joined her. Together in life, together in death.
Cassy remembered all this as she drove the Daimler towards Ridge House. She had kept her promise to her mother, but she did not know why. Perhaps it was because her mother had asked so little of her all her life. She had been undemanding of love or loyalty, understanding that her small daughter should have a chance to grow, to become an independent person.
Carefully Cassy pressed in a tape and slow, romantic music filled the interior of the car, soothing her ragged thoughts. The car was almost a time capsule; it seemed full of kisses and confetti and white, satin streamers, happiness clinging to the cream upholstery in layers of smiles and laughter.
Cassy began to sing softly to the music, tracking back along childhood’s signposts. This was the field where she had raced with grandfather’s dog, Jock. Here was the gate grandfather had always lifted her over. This was the little tributory river, clear and rippling over the rocks, where he had taught her to fish.
She turned into the entrance. Ridge House was just the same, a solidly built, grey, stone farmhouse, nestling at the foot of a green-powdered slope of short grass. A century of frosts had weathered and discoloured the stone, and lichen grew between the grey slates on the roof. The last of the geraniums hung their red heads outside the front door.
She manoeuvred the big car into the yard at the back of the farmhouse. Even the back was just the same with a clutter of old implements and the barn doors propped open with drums of feed. But one thing was different. A mud-splattered Land Rover was drawn up by the stable garage. It was Jake Everand’s.
Anger boiled up and over and she pulled on the brake with unnecessary vehemence. He was here. While she had been worrying over him and making a wild-goose rescue foray to Pennyroyal, he had been here, poking his nose into her grandfather’s business no doubt.
She would have to leave. She had no wish to meet Jake Everand except when it was absolutely necessary. His presence had spoiled the joy she had felt in coming back to Ridge House. She peered behind, wondering if she could reverse back down the lane before anyone saw her.
But it was too late. The side door of the house flew open and Mrs. Hadlow came out as fast as her arthritis would allow, her homely face flushed and beaming with joy.
“Miss Cassy! Miss Cassy…you’ve come home!”
Cassy switched off the engine. There was no way she could leave now. She got out of the car and flung her arms unsteadily round the old woman.
“Oh, Mrs. Hadlow,” Cassy managed to say, moved to tears. “How are you? I can’t believe it. You don’t look a day different. Just the same. Oh, it’s been so long…”
“Far too long. But never mind about that now. Come inside, you must be tired out after that long journey from London. Let me have a look at you. My, you’re a real bonny lass. But there’s nothing of you. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”
Cassy laughed because the new sweater made her look twice her normal size.
“Don’t start worrying about me. But I won’t say no to a cup of tea. It’s a long time since anyone fussed over me or cared.”
“Your grandfather cared,” said Mrs. Hadlow. “If you’d come visiting you would have known that. It was all he ever wanted, just to see you again. But you never came.”
Cassy felt a sharp contraction of guilt and her face paled. Would she ever be allowed to forget what she had done to him? Could she ever come to terms with her guilt and regret?
“I know,” she said lightly. “I kept meaning to come, honestly. But the time just went. I’m always busy and rushed off my feet. If only I could turn the clock back.”
“Don’t fret too much, lass. Folks waste a lot of time fretting,” said Mrs. Hadlow, bustling into the kitchen and filling the kettle. “Your grandfather wouldn’t have wanted you to be upset. He was pleased that you were happy and busy. And at least you phoned him. Cassy’s extravagance, he called it. And that time you called him from New York. He talked about it for days.”
“I did something right then, sometimes,” said Cassy remorsefully.
Mrs. Hadlow took down the familiar blue and white willow-patterned china from the dresser. Out came the battered Windsor Castle tin which Cassy remembered always held delicious home-made biscuits. It reminded her that she had missed lunch.
“Are you going to tempt me with coconut cookies and butter shortbread and chocolate fingers, eh?”
“You need some nourishment,” said Mrs. Hadlow. “And building up. Here’s your tea now. Help yourself to milk and sugar. I’ve forgotten how you like it…it’s been so long.”
Cassy accepted the reprimand and settled herself on a high-backed kitchen chair. Nothing had changed. The same blue check curtains fluttered at the windows, the polished copper
pans still hung on the wall above the Rayburn. Time seemed to have stood still, except that her grandfather was no longer here.
“This is wonderful,” said Cassy. “I’d almost forgotten how tranquil it can be. What a view. Is that Kinder Scout?” She nodded towards the great black ridge riding high on the skyline, fingers of heather sweeping down the deep gullies.
“Aye, that’s Kinder Scout. And you walked many a mile over those paths and ridges when you were a youngster. Your grandfather was still walking the High Peak Marathon in his seventies, in all weathers. He believed in keeping fit, right to the end.”
Mrs. Hadlow’s voice faltered, but she straightened her back and stroked her apron smooth. “It was very quick, you know,” she went on. “A heart attack. He knew nothing about it. The doctor said it was just like putting a light out.”
“I’m glad grandfather wasn’t ill. He would have hated that,” said Cassy. “He was always so independent.”
“Yes, he would have hated it. It seems strange without him. I haven’t got used to it yet. But I don’t miss his muddy boots tramping all over my clean floors.”
Cassy smiled but then she caught sight of the lino floor. Muddy footprints crossed it, a man’s footprints. For the briefest second a chill touched her spine, then common sense came to her rescue and she remembered the Land Rover parked outside.
Mrs. Hadlow followed her gaze. “I’ve a visitor,” she said.
They heard the sound of bath water draining away along the old, noisy pipes, then the creak of the stairs as someone descended. A chill pricked Cassy’s spine again.
“Though Thomas Ridgeway left me this house I do have to supplement my pension,” Mrs. Hadlow explained in case Cassy was offended. “So I take in guests, bed and breakfast. I only take recommended guests. I thought you wouldn’t mind as Mr. Everand is here to survey Pennyroyal. He seemed very suitable. Almost family, you might say.”
Before Cassy could form an answer, the door from the front hallway opened and Jake Everand came in. He was wearing freshly pressed slacks and a baggy blue pullover; he was vigorously towelling dry his cropped hair.
“Hello, Cassy,” he said. “I see you’ve tracked me down.”
Cassy put down her cup carefully. “Not exactly,” she said. “I did not expect to find you here. But I have been to Pennyroyal, prepared to dig you out with my bare hands. Fortunately I did not take along the rescue services, so the only person who wasted her time was me.”
“You went to the mine?”
“I waited two hours for you at the inn. I could only imagine that you had been involved in some sort of accident.”
“Hold on a minute,” he interrupted. “I didn’t keep you waiting on purpose. Perhaps you ought to hear my side before you snap my head off.”
“I don’t remember you allowing me any such privilege when my train was late from London. Your first words were ’Where the hell have you been?’ and other such polite phrases. I suppose this morning was your way of paying me back?”
They faced each other with a cold hatred beneath expressionless stares, each determined to win the verbal battle.
“Since you two obviously know each other, introductions are unnecessary. I’ll go upstairs and prepare your room, Miss Cassy,” said Mrs. Hadlow, trying to defuse the situation.
“Oh, Mrs. Hadlow, I haven’t explained. I arrived late yesterday,” said Cassy, her features softening as she knew the old housekeeper would be disappointed. “I’m booked in at the Castle Inn. So there’s no need…”
“The Castle Inn? But this is your home,” said Mrs. Hadlow, incredulity on her worn face. “Surely you’re going to stay here?”
Cassy shook her head. “But this is your house now, Mrs. Hadlow. I didn’t assume that I could simply waltz in as if nothing had changed. Besides, you already have a guest.”
Mrs. Hadlow turned to Jake Everand as if appealing for his support. He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“The lady is a law unto herself,” he said.
“That was a nasty, unfair thing to say,” Cassy snapped. “Look, Mrs. Hadlow, I’m sure you’ve got quite enough to do with cleaning up after Mr. Everand, so I’ll keep to my arrangements to stay at the Castle Inn. But I promise you that the next time I come to Netherdale, I’ll have my old room back at Ridge House. And I’m sure I will be back, now there’s Pennyroyal.”
“If that’s what you want, Miss Cassy, but I’ll get your room ready just the same. You might change your mind. Different people sleeping on the same mattress; it doesn’t seem hygienic.”
Cassy held back a flippant comment in time; she did not want to hurt Mrs. Hadlow’s feelings any further. Nor did she want Jake Everand to think that her annoyance had faded. She was still angry with him and it would be safer for her morale if she stayed that way. She caught a glimpse of dark, glistening hair at the vee of his sweater and looked away quickly. The broad expanse of his chest, so recently damp, had the power to unnerve her, to swerve the determination of her anger.
There was an acutely uncomfortable silence. Cassy deliberately stared out of the window, refusing to look in his direction. She heard him fetching a cup and saucer, pouring tea.
“I don’t believe we have anything to say to each other,” said Cassy at last, her voice stiff with hostility. “One of us should leave and since I’m having tea with Mrs. Hadlow, it’s not going to be me.”
“Correction,” said Jake. “If anyone is leaving, it will be you. I’ve paid for my tea. Remember?”
Cassy ran her fingers through her hair. She could feel her neck muscles tightening and that was not a good sign. The last thing she wanted was a bad headache.
“Very well,” she swallowed. “I suggest you continue with the survey without bothering me with the details. Let me have your report in writing. I shall need two copies, one for Mr. Martlake, my legal adviser. When do you expect to finish?”
“Finish? I’m not surveying a child’s sandpit. I’ve only just started. If you want a thoroughly professional survey, I’ll need as much time as is required. If speed is essential you can have a patchy, inconclusive, one-page figment of my imagination by breakfast tomorrow.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m not sure if you are serious about Pennyroyal or if it is simply a new diversion, something amusing to tell your London friends. The latest game, find your own lead mine.”
“I don’t play games, especially with someone like you,” said Cassy, her voice rising. “And I’m deadly serious about Pennyroyal.”
“So I’m not wasting my time? I don’t take kindly to being used, for whatever reason. Your London ways don’t cut any ice with me.”
“What exactly do you mean? My London ways? Our relationship is of employer and employee and I wish you’d remember that. You could be a little more civil.”
A small pulse began beating in his brown cheek and Cassy decided to ram the point home.
“Oh, now I understand,” she added with feigned, saccharine concern. “Perhaps you’re a little short of cash? Is that why you didn’t meet me at the Castle Inn? I can certainly arrange for a small advance on your fee. How much would you like? Twenty pounds? Fifty?”
She had to admit his self-control was superb. She saw his hands clench. If he had been holding a cup, it would have been crushed.
“I don’t need your money, Miss Ridgeway, or your patronising attitude. I couldn’t make that vitally important date for coffee because I was dripping wet and covered in centuries-old mud. The aftershave wasn’t too hot either.”
There was a moment of prolonged suspension, broken by Cassy’s sudden laugh, a low rich sound that warmed the air.
“You fell in?” she choked.
“Yes.”
She blinked back tears of mirth. “The great Jake Everand in the drink. That’s wonderful.”
His face changed oddly. “I can slip, like anyone else.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Cassy. “I was beginning to think
you weren’t human.” A faint blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered that devastating kiss. His eyes were lingering on her and she knew that he had not forgotten either.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked in a rush. “Break anything?”
“I do have bones that heal remarkably fast.”
“I was only trying to be pleasant,” said Cassy. “And it doesn’t help if you pour scorn on everything that I say. Perhaps I don’t always say exactly what I mean and things get misconstrued. Breakdowns in communication are a common failing.”
He unfolded himself from his perch on the table and came across to her. She felt the kitchen walls sway and yet at the same time she was conscious of Mrs. Hadlow padding about upstairs, and somewhere outside there was the droning of a plane.
A sudden panic hit Cassy but Jake Everand had no intention of coming too near.
“I don’t believe in communication breakdowns. It’s the kind of meaningless jargon that I’ve no time for. Meanwhile, could I take advantage of this unusual moment of talking instead of fighting, and suggest a truce for the remainder of your stay? It would help the work if we had a proper understanding.”
“Getting Pennyroyal sorted out is my first priority,” said Cassy. “When are we going down again?”
“I’m going down tomorrow morning with Albert Beadle, a local miner. He knows how to handle a boat underground. It has to be propelled by hand, no fumes, no wash. The dinghy has a small battery powered motor for emergencies.”
“So we won’t get stuck,” said Cassy with enthusiasm.
“You’re not coming.”
Cassy struggled to hold back her indignation. It did not look as if their truce was going to last long.
“Albert was one of the last miners to work the Pennyroyal. Do you know what papers your grandfather had relating to the mine? Records, maps, accounts…anything? I need as much information as you can find.”
Cassy put the cups in the sink and cleared the table with a few deft movements. It was not a display of domestication but a breathing space in which she could assemble her thoughts.
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