A Summer in the Country (32 page)

“I'm like Brigid,” said Louise. “I feel less nervous out in the country than I do in towns. It's not as though Devon is full of murderers, and I expect he'll be caught before too long. I'll take a chance.”

“OK.” Jemima was still hesitating. “And you feel… strong enough to be alone? You talked about panic attacks …”

Louise held out her hands, palms upwards. “But what else can I do? Sooner or later I have to make the break. I can't live with Frummie for ever. Anyway, Margot will be here in a fortnight. It would be the answer to a prayer, Jemima. I can't afford much and I don't want to be too committed in case a teaching job turns up. I have to be ready to lift and shift. I'll go for it if you can convince the owner to let me do it.”

“I don't see why not.” Jemima shrugged. “She's a tight-fisted old biddy and unwilling to pay the going rate. I bet she'll jump at the chance. What she wants is a quid pro quo and I'm here to see she gets it.”

Louise began to chuckle. “And if she's not satisfied with the results?”

“Tough!” Jemima was grinning. “It'll be too late to worry about it. By the time she comes down you'll have moved on. Anyway, I've got no patience with people who want something for nothing.”

“Not quite nothing,” protested Louise. “Not if I get the cottage for three months.”

“True. Anyway, you said you'd done up a cottage or something?”

“Yes. A few years ago but, hey, who's counting?” It was Louise's turn to look for a distraction. “Any chance of seeing this cottage? I feel really excited about it.”

“Hang on a sec.”

Jemima got up and went into her study whilst Louise sat staring out at the harbour, stroking MagnifiCat. Excitement and panic strove together in her heart and her hands trembled a little.

She thought: I can do this. I can do it.

'There are visitors in until Saturday week.” Jemima was back. “But I might be able to show you over the place. Some people are a bit funny about it but I'll ask them. There's no phone so you'll have to wait until I can get over there and leave a message.”

“Damn!” Louise looked disappointed and Jemima smiled sympathetically.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “Once you've made a decision you want to get straight on with it. I'm the same. Sorry. There's nothing I can do about this one.”

Louise looked at her. “I'm afraid I might lose my nerve,” she admitted honestly. “It's a big step for me and I don't want time to chicken out.”

Jemima sat down beside her. “Look,” she said. “I can't get them out until Saturday week but suppose we were to drive over now and have a look at the cottage from the outside? If they're around I'll try and bluff us in. I've got to be back by two thirty, though. We could grab a sandwich at the Pig's Nose and you could ask if they need a barmaid.”

“It would be terrific,” said Louise gratefully. “Could we really do that?”

“We certainly could. Leave your wine. You can finish it when we get back. Don't forget your bag.”

They went out together. The man in the baseball cap and Ray-Bans, wandering around the RNLI museum on the ground floor, saw them go past the door. He stood for a moment, indecisively, and then followed them out into the street.

Towards the end of the following week the clear, bright weather changed slowly into an airless, sultry heat. Thunder grumbled and rolled in the distance and fat, warm raindrops splashed intermittently on the cobbles of the courtyard. There was a breathless apprehensiveness which gave rise to edginess; as if the moor and its inhabitants were waiting for something cataclysmic to happen.

“A thunderstorm would clear the air,” Frummie said, coming over to borrow a book. “I feel so unsettled. That might be because Louise's going, of course. I do wish she'd change her mind. I could have put Margot off.”

“She can't stay for ever,” Brigid answered gently, putting aside the letter she was writing to Julian and Emma, full of Christmas plans. “And poor Margot would have been dreadfully disappointed. Don't you think this is rather a good move? Just three months to see how she gets on. Much better than a longer commitment.”

“And she can come back for Christmas,” said Frummie. “I've told her that.”

Brigid held her peace: no point in saying that, by then, Louise might have made other plans. She knew that her mother was going to miss Louise quite dreadfully but at least she'd have Margot to occupy her for a while, to help soften the blow.

“What did you think of the cottage?” she asked. Louise had driven Frummie over to see it at the first opportunity. Jemima had met them there and they'd had a good look at what needed to be done.

“It's not bad.” Frummie was determined not to be too excited. “Very small. Thank goodness it's not too isolated. They haven't caught that man yet and I don't like the idea of her being all alone.”

“Jemima says that it's on the end of the village and there's a farm quite close. I'm sure someone would run over if she were nervous ”

“She could get help quite quickly,” admitted Frummie grudgingly, “assuming someone's around. She's bought a mobile phone, thank goodness. Do you realise that she's never lived alone before? Oh, well, she must make her own decisions. She's inviting us over for lunch as soon as she's setded.”

“I'm looking forward to seeing it.” Brigid had deliberately stayed in the background. It was important to Frummie that she still felt she had a vital role to play: this was
her
scene. “Is Alexander invited too?”

“Oh, yes.” Frummie brightened a little. “And Jemima, of course. It should be rather fun. I've promised to help Louise move in. Not that there's much to move, even with all the stuff she brought down from London. I might stay a night.”

“I'm sure you'll make her feel at home. And she knows we're here, if she needs us.”

“It's a pity that it's quite such a long drive. Oh, well. I'll see you later.”

Frummie went away and Brigid sat for a moment, feeling guilty. She knew that her mother felt that she should have offered the stable wing to Louise whilst Margot was visiting but she'd felt quite strongly that Louise needed this break. Frummie, naturally, believed that Brigid simply didn't want Louise with her for a month and, although she hadn't accused her of selfishness, Brigid felt that it was implied. The Old, familiar frustration setded on her, bringing depression. Unable to concentrate on her letter she stood up and went through to the lean-to, calling to Blot, and presently they were crossing the field below the house.

The water tumbled noisily in the heavy, brooding silence, almost drowning the harsh croak of the raven as he flapped with measured wing-beats above the rocky, granite bed of the river, making his leisurely way upstream. Rowan trees leaned along the bank, their twisting, woody roots clinging, claw-like, to the rounded, pitted boulders; their ancient, lich-ened boughs bright with golden leaves and bunches of scarlet berries. Brigid paused to watch two wagtails, tails bobbing, scuttering over the rocks whilst, further along the bank, Blot scraped excitedly at a rabbit hole.

As usual, this connection with nature soothed and calmed her troubled mind, restoring balance and harmony in her soul. She and Humphrey had now had several conversations and, although he was by no means reconciled to this problem which had shattered his plans for the future, he was coming to terms with it. The Bank had agreed to transfer the loan to the mortgage, and forms were being prepared, but the big question which remained was how he was going to pay fork.

Brigid turned away from the wagtails' dance and gave a gasp of fright as a tall figure moved from beneath the shadow of the thorn. Alexander raised his hands, as if conveying both an apology and a blessing, and prepared to move away but she called to him above the rushing of the Dart and he waited, smiling, as she came towards him.

“I'm sorry if I frightened you,” he said regretfully. “I had no intention of trespassing on your privacy.”

“But you're not,” she said—she who had so needed to be alone—smiling back at him. “I wanted some fresh air… except that it's not very fresh, is it? It's so oppressive.”

“There is change in the air,” he said. “And not only in the weather.”

They walked for a short distance in silence, stopping whilst Brigid found a stick to throw for Blot. He raced away through the fading bracken, across the short turf, and Brigid glanced up at Alexander, ready to share her amusement at the sight of Blot's busy, excited figure; the wagging, stumpy tail and flying ears. His face was grave, his gaze fixed on a distant point, and her own smile died as she watched him.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked involuntarily—and cursed her inquisitive insensitivity, knowing how she, herself, hated such questions.

“I was wondering,” he answered at once, “why it should be that a woman who has been married contentedly for thirty years should look so extraordinarily relieved when she hears that her husband has sent a message saying that he loves her. Relieved. Not gratified or touched
but relieved.”

Brigid was silent, remembering that evening when Humphrey had telephoned and the police car had come down the drive with its light flashing.

“You don't miss much, do you?” she asked rather bitterly.

“Not much,” he answered equably. “You asked.”

“Yes,” she agreed, almost irritably. “I asked.” She hesitated. “It's a bit complicated.”

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “You're not obliged to tell me your secrets. I was merely replying to your question.”

She stared back at him, wondering if she had the right to share her burden with him: wondering how Humphrey would feel about it.

“It's none of my business,” he said gently. “Don't feel anxious about it.”

“The thing is,” she took a deep breath, “that I'd like to talk about it. It would be a relief. Only, it's not just about me.

“I didn't imagine that it was. If you want to tell me then I promise you it would be treated as a confidence.”

“Yes,” she said gratefully, making up her mind. “Yes, please“—and, as they walked beside the river, she began to tell him about Jenny and the sailing school and her own act of deception. Their steps grew slower as her story unfolded and presently they stood quite still, she talking, he listening, whilst the water flowed beside them and Blot paddled in the shallows.

“I don't know how to make amends,” said Brigid sadly, at last. “And it's almost worse now he's beginning to be calm and reasonable about it.”

“Do you need to make amends?” Alexander frowned as if puzzled. “You did what you felt was right at the time. You didn't deliberately jeopardise your retirement plans. If you continue to act guiltily Humphrey will respond accordingly and will continue to feel hard done by. That's human nature. Gradually, it will poison your relationship. Your guilt will slide into resentment and his sense of injury will harden into bitterness.”

“But you have to admit that it's a bit tough.” Brigid was almost affronted at his lack of sympathy—for either of them. “He simply must continue to work now. He can't stay in the Navy and it's not easy finding a job at fifty-three.”

“I agree with that but the answer seems obvious to me. Humphrey's a sailor. You have to pay the sailing school twelve thousand pounds. Why doesn't he simply buy the school? Your debt simply becomes a different kind of loan which he can work to pay back whilst giving himself a living.”

“But… he's not that kind of sailor.”

“Not what kind of sailor? Humphrey has sailed small boats and he could learn to teach others and help to run the school. Why not? He'll need a challenge of some kind. He's far too young to retire.”

“But I don't know if he'd want to.” Brigid was struggling to come to terms with this extraordinary idea. “And it's down in Cornwall.”

“Does that matter? He'd get home quite often, I'm sure. More often than he does at present. He could probably do some of the administration work from home. And what happens in the winter? Surely it's much quieter then?”

“I don't know.” Brigid was utterly confused. “I've never thought about it. Iain and Jenny are keeping the school running in the hope of finding a buyer. I'm sure they'd be glad to carry on. Oh!” A new thought struck her. “I can't see Humphrey working with Jenny.”

Alexander shrugged. “He might feel quite differently about her once it becomes his school. Or she might decide to leave and do something else.”

Brigid began to laugh. “You are quite ruthless,” she told him.

He looked surprised. “Am I? I don't think so. Doesn't it seem an obvious solution to you? The loan becomes an investment in your own business. Much more satisfactory than adding it to a mortgage and then doing a grinding job to pay it off. Isn't it likely that Humphrey would be more at home running a sailing school,
his
sailing school, than working in an office or as a bursar at a boarding school?”

“Well, yes. But if that were the case wouldn't Humphrey have already thought about it and suggested it to me?”

“He's probably too busy responding to your guilt and feeling aggrieved,” answered Alexander bluntly. “He probably hasn't thought it through at all. Why not suggest it to him?'

“Do you know,” she said slowly, “I think I will.”

“Good,” he said lightly. “Very good. In that case I'll leave you to finish your walk in peace. You'll need time to think about it carefully.”

“I will,” she agreed, rather anxiously. “I'll need to know exactly how to put it to him.”

He looked down at her, smiling a little at her serious expression. “And you're sure that was the only reason? For that relieved look?”

“What else could it be?” she countered lightly.

He nodded, as if accepting her evasion. “Well, good luck with the thinking,” he said. “And just remember that no one ever sticks to the script, no matter how perfectly you write it in your head. Give him room to manoeuvre. Be flexible.” He turned away, hesitated, and turned back again. “Oh, and by the way, don't tell him that this was my suggestion. Put it to him from your point of view.”

She watched him stride away, feeling an enormous affection for him, and then walked on beside the river, her head whirling with new, exciting ideas; guilt and depression quite forgotten.

F
RUMMIE, PEGGING
out washing, saw him return. She stood for a moment, considering, and then called to him.

“Louise's shopping,” she said. “What about some coffee? I'm just having some.”

He paused, as if giving it some thought, and then nodded. “That's very kind.”

“Come over when you're ready.”

She went back indoors, her spirits rising. Alexander was a challenge worthy of her mettle; and she felt invigorated after a bit of a run-in with him. She took out the cafetiere Brigid had given her and her special coffee from Effings, also a present from her daughter, and spooned in a generous quantity. By the time Alexander appeared everything was prepared and set out on the low table by the sofa in the living room.

“Did you enjoy your walk?” she asked, as he sat down beside her on the sofa. “I hate this weather. It gets on my nerves.”

“It's better down by the river.” He watched her press down the plunger. “There's always a movement of air by water.”

“If you say so. I have very little desire to go out into this bleak, inhospitable countryside. I can't think why Brigid loves it so much.”

“She is by nature solitary. Its emptiness appeals to her.”

“She takes after her father. Diarmid was exactly the same. Just adored it. I've made her promise she won't leave Foxhole's land while this murderer is still at large but it's impossible to make her stay inside.” She glanced at him sharply. “And/what about you? Are you another solitary?”

He smiled—and she saw in that moment how like Humphrey he was, a much thinner, older Humphrey—shaking his head at the mere thought of it.

“No, no. I'm not cut out to be alone. I like people about me.