The Summer House

by Marcia Willett

  She began to walk quickly, talking to Rosie, breathing in the sharp, cold air. The sun slanted above the hill’s shoulder and now the lane levelled a little, and beech trees, their lower branches still thickly clotted with dark bronze, crisp leaves, blocked her view to the sea. She passed the gate to Eastcott Farm and paused to watch a small bird hopping, beak stabbing for insects, on the moss-covered roof of the little wooden building down on the farm track. She could see now that it was a wren and, as she watched, it darted and danced and plunged from sight beneath the hedge.

  On she went, the wind cold in her face; the lane opening out again seawards now, with new fence posts and barbed wire strung along the top of the bank. Soon violets and primroses would grow in the mossy bank and, later in the year, purple honey-scented heather would cover the heathland to the south; now only its black brittle bones were to be seen, frail, curving cages growing amongst the whin and furze. Rosie sang a tuneless little song and beat Bab on the side of the stroller and Im bent forward to call to her.

  Suddenly, with no warning, hail clattered from the bright blue air; it bounced and cracked in the lane and stung Im’s cheeks. Gasping with the shock, she ran to pull the hood over Rosie’s head, then crouched to shield the small body with her own whilst the hail pattered on her back and Rosie cried out with fright. Im was trying to turn the pushchair, still crouching to shield Rosie, when the car slid alongside with a swish of tyres on the icy road. She stared upward, hair damp across her face, as the car door slammed and feet crunched around the shining chrome bumper.

  ‘Nick,’ she said, unbelieving. ‘Nick? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Visiting my two favourite people,’ he answered lightly. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift back down to the cottage. Let her out, Im, and get into the car. I’ll deal with the buggy.’

  Holding Rosie in her arms, Im straightened up, half laughing, half disbelieving.

  ‘Why didn’t you say you were coming?’ she cried breathlessly as the wind whirled the icy pellets all around them.

  ‘Surprise,’ he said briefly, kissing her. ‘Hello, Rosie. Hello, rabbit. Get in the warm and we’ll go home.’

  ‘Dad knew I was coming,’ he said later, as they warmed their hands on mugs of hot coffee whilst Rosie drooped and snoozed amongst the cushions Im had put into the playpen. ‘But I decided to take a detour and see if you were around.’

  She sipped her coffee, watching him across the rim of the mug. Her cheeks burned but she assured herself that this was due to coming in out of the wind and hail and feeling suddenly glowing with warmth. She tried to ignore the tightening of her gut and the little churning sense of excitement.

  ‘How’s Alice?’ she asked.

  His face changed at the abruptness of her question and she bit her lip with vexation: poor Nick, how crass of her when he’d been so sweet.

  ‘Anyhow,’ she went on quickly, before he could answer, ‘it’s great to see you.’

  ‘I was so sorry to hear about the Summer House,’ he said. It was offered as an excuse; a reason for coming to see her before he went to the High House. ‘What rotten luck. Not that I can’t see old Jules’ point of view, of course, but I know how you love it.’ He made a sympathetic face. ‘Poor darling.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll live with it, though I admit I am gutted. But what will Milo do with it? Do you know?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know he doesn’t want to go on renting it out. He’d have to modernize it so much for anyone these days it would cost a fortune. It’s just sad that it’s going out of the family, and I can’t help feeling that it’s all my fault.’

  ‘But he’d have had to do something now that the Moretons are going.’ She hastened to comfort him, to cheer him up. ‘Like you said, he didn’t want to go on renting, so selling it must have been on the cards.’

  ‘Anyway, what are you going to do now? Where will you go?’

  ‘Oh.’ She sighed, made a little face. ‘Jules has a client over near Simonsbath who’s got a converted barn for rent. His son has been living in it whilst he builds his own little eco bungalow but he’ll be out next week and it’s been offered to us on a long let. They absolutely love Jules and they don’t want to go back to holiday letting. I haven’t seen it yet. To be honest, I really believed a miracle would happen and we’d be buying by now.’ She shrugged. ‘So there we are.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Alice is fine,’ Nick said, as if Im had only now asked the question, ‘in a glacial, critical, contemptuous sort of way. How’s Jules?’

  Another silence. ‘Jules is fine,’ Im answered, parodying Nick’s answer, ‘in a sulky, self-defensive, unfriendly kind of way.’

  They looked at one another, half questioning, half fearful, and Im put down her mug and went to make Rosie more comfortable on her cushions where she now drowsed peacefully.

  It was odd, Im thought, how the child seemed to protect her from what Nick was offering. She remained, kneeling by the playpen with her back to Nick.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ he said, not attempting to misunderstand her. ‘But I miss you, Im. God, life is so miserable at the moment. I can’t stop thinking about you.’

  ‘You mustn’t,’ she said. It was an effort to say it. She wanted to stand up and put her arms round him.

  And why not, she asked herself silently, angrily. Jules wouldn’t care. Not the way he is at the moment.

  Rosie stirred, put in her thumb, and Im remained, hanging over the playpen, one hand stroking Rosie’s shoulder and arm.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said miserably. ‘Honestly, Nick. We mustn’t.’

  ‘But you want to.’ He was beside her, his mouth beside her ear, and she shivered, nodded reluctantly, just a tiny movement of her head. He kissed her, pressed his cheek against hers. ‘You know I love you,’ he said. ‘God, what fools we were, Im.’

  She heard the door close gently but still she stayed where she was, one hand on the sleeping child as if she were a talisman that might ward off evil.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Matt passed Nick at the end of Allerpark Wood, recognized the car and slowed down. He backed the few yards to where Nick had stopped, and they both wound down windows, leaned out.

  ‘Just popped in to see Im,’ said Nick, getting in first. ‘Just as well. She and Rosie were walking in that hailstorm and I gave them a lift home. Are you going to see them?’

  ‘Yes.’ Matt was slightly nonplussed. ‘I thought it might be nice for Milo and Lottie to have you to themselves for lunch and I’m hoping Im will give me a sandwich. See you later, then?’

  ‘Sure. I’m on my way to the High House now.’

  He waved cheerfully and pulled away, and Matt drove on, wondering why he felt uneasy.

  Imogen opened the door quickly and her expression of surprise was almost comical.

  ‘I heard a car,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know …’

  ‘You didn’t get my text, then?’ He went past her into the hall, and she pointed to the sitting room as she shut the front door.

  ‘Let’s go in there,’ she said. ‘Rosie’s fallen asleep in the playpen and I don’t want to disturb her. No, I didn’t get it. I must have been out with Rosie. We got caught in the hailstorm. ’

  ‘So Nick said.’ He saw the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, so I came on over anyway.’

  Im shivered, wrapped her arms around herself. ‘It’s so cold,’ she complained. ‘Colder than it was in January. I think I’ll light the fire.’ She kneeled down and then glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘Nothing’s wrong, is it? Milo and Lottie are OK?’

  ‘They’re fine.’ Matt perched on the arm of the sofa, watching her. ‘It’s about the Summer House, Im.’

  She half turned. ‘What?’ she asked quickly. ‘What’s happened? Oh God, Milo’s found another buyer, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Matt slowly. ‘Hang on, don’t get upset. Yes, he has, but o
nly if you’re OK with it. It’s me. I’ve offered to buy it so as to keep it in the family. We can all use it, you see. It will be all of ours, not just mine.’ He talked quickly, noting the expressions – shock, dismay, anger – flit across her face, knowing that Lottie had been right to warn him. ‘He’s going to sell it to someone, Im,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t you think that it might as well be to me rather than to a stranger? I know it’s a shock, and I suppose you might actually prefer a stranger in an odd sort of way …’

  He waited for her to contradict him – and, in the silence that followed, realized that she was even more upset than he’d imagined.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said at last, turning back to the fire, arranging sticks over a firelighter, piling logs around them, reaching for the matches. ‘Of course I wouldn’t. Sorry, Matt. It’s just … Well, it’s just such a shock. I’d never thought about you buying it, and I can see that it’s the obvious thing to do since Jules and I … since Jules …’

  She began to weep, leaning forward with her head nearly on her knees, covering her face with her sooty hands.

  ‘Im.’ He kneeled beside her, feeling traitorous. ‘I’m sorry, love, I didn’t realize you’d feel quite so strongly about it. I should have done. Lottie was right.’

  ‘Lottie?’ She stared up at him, smearing her cheeks with her wrist. ‘What did Lottie say?’

  Matt sat back on his heels and dug his handkerchief out of his jeans pocket. ‘Lottie thought you’d be upset. She said it was only natural that you’d feel a bit, well, miffed, to see me there when you couldn’t have it. Perhaps a stranger would be better.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head vigorously, wiped her eyes on his handkerchief, and smiled at him. ‘No, it wouldn’t. I’m being a spoiled brat. A tiresome little sister. I’m sorry, Matt. It’s a brilliant idea. It just kind of underlined it. You know? That it’s not going to happen. You always keep hoping for a miracle, don’t you? But Jules won’t change his mind, and in my saner moments I know that he’s right. I just wish he’d be a bit nicer about it, that’s all. Still, never mind that.’ She got to her feet. ‘I bet Milo’s dead chuffed?’

  ‘Well, he is.’ Matt got up too. ‘He’s hated the idea of strangers there, and it’s somewhere Lottie could go when … you know. When … if something happens to Milo.’

  Im stared at him, her face was serious, shocked. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t bear to imagine either of them not at the High House but I suppose she wouldn’t stay on without him. You mean, Lottie could live at the Summer House. Oh, Matt. What a terrific idea.’

  ‘It’s just how I saw it,’ he said quickly, to avert another emotional response. ‘We can share it. I can bring my friends down and you and Jules could use it at weekends or for holidays if you didn’t want to go away. You could even rent it now if you can’t find somewhere to go.’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly, then smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s OK. It’s just I’d rather not do things by halves. I’m coming to terms with not having it and I think that renting it for a while would undermine that. But I’m glad, Matt. Truly I am. And we’ll see a bit more of you. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘Will you come and see it with me?’ he asked diffidently. ‘Just to give me advice about furnishing? Stuff like that? Would that be … rubbing it in?’

  She touched his arm. ‘What a nice brother you are,’ she said lightly. ‘Just try to keep me away, that’s all. You know I’d love it.’

  ‘Well, then.’ He was surprised at how relieved he was. ‘That’s great. Milo celebrated with champagne. What have you got?’

  ‘I can’t follow Milo,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got a nice rough Rioja. If you keep quiet so we don’t wake Rosie we’ll go and find some glasses and the corkscrew. Can you stay and have a sandwich or have you got to get back?’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought I’d let them have Nick all to themselves.’ He hesitated. ‘What was he doing here, Im?’

  Her cheeks flamed again at the casual question. ‘Does he need a reason? He often drops in on his way to the High House.’

  ‘Hardly on his way, is it?’

  She stared at him. ‘What’s all this third-degree stuff?’

  ‘Sorry. I was just surprised to see him, that’s all. Shall we have that drink?’

  He drove home feeling faintly uneasy: it had been a surprise to see Nick, and, when he’d commented on it, Im’s reaction had been odd, almost guilty. Suddenly he remembered, oh, years ago now, Lottie asking him if he’d noticed that Im and Nick were seeing rather a lot of each other. It was just after Im had started working in the stables near Newbury, but there had been no evidence of any relationship and he’d dismissed the idea. Now, he wondered if Lottie could have been right: Im had been unusually defensive.

  Matt pulled in to the side of the lane and sat looking out over the marshes. The tide was just turning so that the bleached fields were still flooded with pools of glittering water, sliced with brimming ditches, all reflecting the chill blue of the sky. He could easily imagine the dangers: Nick in the doghouse with Alice; Im angry with Jules and feeling hurt. It was a perfect recipe for trouble, he could see that. But even so, surely it was impossible. Nick and Im had known each other for ever; they were like brother and sister. They might console each other, sympathize about the intractability of spouses, but nothing more … And yet there had been that sharp answer: Does he need a reason? And the way that she’d blushed, twice, at the mention of Nick’s name.

  Nick, of course, had been his usual insouciant self, but he’d always had that vulnerable side: the need to be loved and approved of. Was he looking for that from Im – and was she in the mood to respond? Matt swore under his breath. How complicated and tiresome relationships were! This thought reminded him that, having decided to spend at least a month in Bossington, he’d given in at last and invited Annabel down to the High House. Milo and Lottie, thank God, had been perfectly easy about it all: no sly looks or knowing smiles. She wasn’t the first to be invited, after all, and he’d played it very low-key, but he felt surprisingly nervous about it. Annabel was keen: very keen. She’d been delighted with the invitation and, though she knew that it wasn’t quite the same as being invited home to meet the parents, it was clear that she was viewing her visit rather in that light. Im would help him to keep it very casual; she’d done it before. She had a very clever, sisterly knack in making his girlfriends very welcome whilst managing to imply that they were one of many, and that her brother was a rather hopeless case. Sometimes, afterwards, she’d be quite cross with him – especially if she’d really liked the girl – but she understood his reluctance to commit, though she longed for him to fall in love.

  He knew he need not worry about Milo. Milo was the perfect host, enjoying the opportunity to create some amazing culinary feast whilst remaining faintly detached from any emotional overtones. As for Lottie … Matt gave an involuntary snort of laughter. Fortunately for him, any matchmaking skills had been completely left out of Lottie’s genetic makeup. She loved all his girlfriends – she had an enormous empathy with the young – whilst harbouring no desires to see him permanently attached to any one of them. She was neither practical nor particularly maternal, yet he’d never questioned her love for him or for Im. She and Milo were indeed ‘the odd couple’ but he was deeply grateful for their love.

  It occurred to him that once he’d become the owner of the Summer House, inviting his women friends to stay might take on a whole new connotation. He suddenly realized that he didn’t particularly want Annabel to see the Summer House: not this time, not yet. Going to see it with Milo had been so strange; surprisingly exciting. The house was in the throes of being packed up and Mrs Moreton had apologized for the mess, but he hadn’t noticed the mess. He’d been completely absorbed by the delightful proportions of the little house: the elegant staircase, and the way that the rooms were wood-panelled and painted creamy-white, just like the cabin of a ship. Tall rhododendron bushes sheltered the lit
tle lawn that sloped to the Aller Brook and he’d stood on the veranda with its twisted, barley-sugar pillars and felt an overwhelming thrill of ownership that his very smart flat had never afforded him. He couldn’t wait for the Moretons to move out.

  Watching a great flock of gulls, swooping and circling at the tide’s edge, he decided that he’d get Im over as soon as he could, show her around the Summer House; take her mind off Nick. He remembered that he hadn’t shown Im the photograph or told her about the odd manner of its arrival. Somehow it hadn’t been appropriate. In fact, her response to his news had put it right out of his mind. He had, however, consulted Lottie and then shown all the photographs to Milo.

  ‘I can’t quite see how he could throw any light on them,’ Matt had said to her, ‘but it’s worth it, isn’t it? He’ll have a new take on them, coming to them fresh,’ and she’d agreed at once: the time was right.

  And so, after supper, he explained his dilemma, brought out the packet and gently slid the photographs in a sheaf across the table. Milo took in the circumstances without needing to ask endless questions – it was such a relief to have his quick, intelligent response – and picked up first one photo and then another.

  ‘It’s not just that there is none of Im amongst them,’ Matt said, trying to gauge Milo’s silence: he had a horror that the older man might think that he was simply crackers. ‘It’s just this weird sense of disorientation I have when I look at them. This one, for instance. Did you ever have a car like that, Milo? Or your father, perhaps.’