Coming Home (65 page)

But for once Loveday did not feel like riding Fleet. She wanted to stay within the confines of Nancherrow, where she felt safe and secure. She said, ‘I rode him yesterday.’

‘Then perhaps you could pick raspberries for Mrs Nettlebed. She wants to make jam. You could help her hull and weigh the fruit.’

Which wasn't wildly exciting, but at least better than doing nothing. Loveday sighed. ‘All right.’

‘That's my girl.’ Mary gave her a comforting cuddle and a kiss. ‘And we'll send your love to Aunt Lavinia, and tell her once she's a bit better, you'll be up to see her. And don't forget, your mother's driving back from London today. She'll be tired and distressed, and we don't want her to arrive home and find nothing but a lot of sad faces. For her sake, try not to worry too much.’

So, she had picked raspberries. It took a bit of time to fill the two baskets that Mrs Nettlebed had given her, but finally they were both brimming with ripe, perfect fruit. She had eaten some, but not many. Now, carrying a heavy basket in either hand, she made her way up the leafy passage between the canes, and let herself out of the fruit-cage, carefully latching it behind her, so that no bird could find its way in, gorge itself on berries, and then batter itself to death as it tried to fly to freedom.

In the kitchen, she found Mrs Nettlebed icing a chocolate cake, with lots of swirls and little bits of crystallised fruit.

She dumped the baskets onto the table. ‘How's that, Mrs Nettlebed?’

Mrs Nettlebed was gratifyingly appreciative. ‘Lovely. You're a real sweetheart.’

Loveday leaned across the table, scooped a gob of icing out of the mixing bowl and sucked it off her finger. She decided that the taste of chocolate and the taste of raspberries did not mix. ‘And look at you, Loveday! You're a real mess. That jumper's covered in snags and raspberry juice. You should have put on a pinny.’

‘It doesn't matter. It's only an old one. Do you want me to help you make jam?’

‘Haven't time now. Do it later, I will. And you've better things to do, because the visitor's arrived.’

‘The visitor?’ Loveday's heart sank. Picking raspberries, she had forgotten about Edward's wretched friend, come to stay. ‘Oh, bother, is he here already? I hoped he wouldn't come till Edward was back.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘What's he like?’

‘No idea. Nettlebed let him in, took him up to his room. He's probably there now, unpacking. You'd better go up and say how do you do and make him welcome.’

‘I can't even remember his name.’

‘It's Mr Callender. Gus Callender.’

‘Do I
have
to? I'd much rather make jam.’

‘Oh, Loveday! Get on with you.’ And Mrs Nettlebed gave her a soft slap on the bottom and sent her on her way.

Reluctantly, Loveday went. Up the back stairs and down the guest-room passage. Half-way along, his door stood open. She reached it and paused, hesitating. He was there, standing with his back to her, his hands in his pockets, staring out of the open window. His luggage was stacked on the wooden rack at the foot of the bed, but the cases were closed and he seemed to have made no effort to start in on his unpacking. Her feet, in worn gym shoes, had made no sound on the carpeted passage, and she realised that he was totally unaware of her presence, which made her feel uncomfortable and a bit shy. From the courtyard below the window, she could hear the doves cooing. After a bit, she said, ‘Hello.’

Thus startled, he swung around. For an instant they faced each other across the room, and then he smiled. ‘Hello.’

Loveday found herself disconcerted. This was not what she had expected. What she had expected was a clone of the various youths whom Edward had brought home during the holidays of his school-days. They had all seemed to be cut from the same pattern, and she had found it hard to warm to any of them. But here was a different breed altogether and she instantly recognised the fact. For one thing, he looked older than Edward, more mature and experienced. Dark and thin, rather serious. Interesting. Not someone who would make facetious remarks, nor treat her, Edward's little sister, like an idiot. Up to now, Walter Mudge and Joe Warren had been her yardsticks for the sort of man she was beginning to find disturbingly attractive, with their blatant masculinity and their easy ways. Gus Callender, oddly enough, looked a bit like both of them; the same dark hair and dark eyes, but he was taller, less stockily built than either Walter or Joe, and when he smiled, his whole face changed and he didn't look serious any longer.

Suddenly, she stopped feeling shy.

‘You're Gus Callender.’

‘That's right. And you must be Loveday.’

‘I'm sorry there's nobody here but me. And
I
was picking raspberries.’

She advanced into the room and perched herself on the high bed.

‘That's all right. Your butler…’

‘Mr Nettlebed.’

‘…made me welcome.’

Loveday looked at his luggage. ‘You don't seem to have done much unpacking.’

‘No. To be truthful, I was wondering whether I should.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Mr Nettlebed led me to believe that there are some problems. An illness in the family. And that Edward had gone to see his aunt…’

‘Great-aunt. Lavinia. Yes. She's got pneumonia. And she's frightfully old, so it's rather worrying.’

‘Not a very good time to have people to stay. I feel that perhaps I should, tactfully, take myself off.’

‘Oh, you
mustn't
do that. Edward would be so upset and disappointed. Anyway, everything's ready for you and we're all prepared, so there wouldn't be much point, would there?’

‘I just wish Edward had called me, and told me the situation. I'd never have come.’

‘He couldn't because she's only been ill a little time, and he didn't know where you were. How far you'd got. Anyway, don't fuss about it. It makes no difference whether you're here or not.’ Which didn't sound very friendly. ‘Everybody would be very cross with me if I let you escape. And I know Mummy will want to meet you. She's been in London, but she's driving home today because of Aunt Lavinia. And Pops is having a word with the doctor, and Mary Millyway is cheering Isobel up. And Judith, she's my friend, she lives here quite a lot, she's still in Porthkerris.’ By now Gus was beginning to look a bit bemused, as well he might. Loveday made an effort to clarify the situation. ‘Mary Millyway used to be my nanny, she's heaven, she does everything; and Isobel is Aunt Lavinia's old maid.’

‘I see.’

‘They'll all be back in time for tea, I know, so you'll see Edward then. What time is it now?’

He looked at his wrist-watch, heavy gold and leather-strapped to his sinewy wrist. ‘Just on three o'clock.’

‘Well.’ She considered. ‘What would you like to do?’ She was not very good at being hostessly. ‘Get unpacked? Or go out for a walk, or something?’

‘I'd like some fresh air. I can unpack later.’

‘We could go down to the cove. You could swim, if you want, but there's a chilly wind. I don't mind cold water, but I hate coming out into a cold wind.’

‘Then let's not swim.’

‘All right, we'll walk. Tiger's gone with Pops, otherwise we could have taken him with us.’ She slid off the bed. ‘It's rather a steep, slippy path to the sea, so have you got rubbery shoes on? And perhaps a pullover? It might be a bit nippy on the cliffs.’

He smiled at her bossiness. ‘Okay on both counts.’ He had tossed a sweater over the back of a chair, dark-blue Shetland wool and suitably thick. Now, he took this up, slung it over his shoulders and knotted the arms round his neck like a muffler. ‘Lead the way,’ he told Loveday.

Because he was a newly come visitor, she did not take him down the back stairs, but along the passage, down the main stairway and out through the front door. There was parked his car, and Loveday, diverted, paused to admire it.

‘Goodness, what a dashing vehicle. Does it go frightfully fast?’

‘It can do.’

‘It looks brand-new. Shiny headlamps and everything.’

‘I've had it about a year.’

‘Sometime, I'd love a ride.’

‘You shall have one.’

They began to walk. Rounding the corner of the house, the wind pounced upon them, chill and salty. Overhead, huge white clouds bowled across the starch-blue sky. They went across the terraced lawns, and so onto the path, hemmed in by thickets of shrub and incongruous palms, that led down towards the sea.

After a while, this path became too narrow to walk abreast, so they fell into single file, Loveday leading the way, going faster and faster, speeding ahead of Gus, so that it took some concentration and a good deal of physical effort to keep up with her flying feet. He wondered if she was doing this on purpose, a tease, as he cantered along in her wake, ducking his head beneath the tunnel of gunnera, and slipping and sliding his way down the precipitous steps that fell to the floor of the quarry. Then, across the quarry and over the gate; a farm lane, and a stone stile (a bit like a steeple-chase), and finally, the cliffs.

She was waiting for him, standing on grassy turf stained purple with thyme. The wind, rumbustious, tore at her cotton skirt and sent it ballooning about her long tanned legs, and her vivid face and her violet eyes were brimming with laughter as, gasping slightly, he reached her side.

‘You run like a rabbit,’ he told her, when he had got his breath.

‘Never mind. You kept up.’

‘You're extremely lucky that I didn't do myself some irreparable bodily harm. I thought I was going for a walk, not a marathon run.’

‘But worth it. You must admit, worth it.’

And Gus looked, and saw the dark-turquoise sea, the scrap of beach, and the mammoth breakers hurling themselves against the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. Surf sizzled like soapy foam and spray, in rainbow-shot explosions of water, sprang twenty feet or more into the air. It was all very invigorating and very spectacular. And then Loveday shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked her.

‘A bit. Usually, we go down onto the rocks, but the tide's high today and we'd get drenched in spray.’

‘Then let's not go.’

So, instead, they found shelter from the wind behind a huge boulder, yellow with lichen and stonecrop. Loveday settled herself on a thick cushion of turf, drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, snuggling into her sweater for warmth. Gus lay beside her, legs outstretched, his weight supported by his elbows.

She said, ‘This is better. We can't see the sea but we can hear it and at least we won't get soaked.’ She closed her eyes and turned up her face to the sun. After a bit, ‘That's
much
better,’ she said. ‘Warmer now. I wish we'd brought something to eat.’

‘I'm not, actually, hungry.’

‘I am. Always. So's Athena. I think Athena's coming home. Because of Aunt Lavinia. She's been in Scotland. You live in Scotland, don't you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Aberdeenshire. On Deeside.’

‘Near Balmoral?’

‘Not very.’

‘Are you near the sea?’

‘No. Just the river.’

‘But rivers aren't the same as the sea, are they?’

‘No. Not a bit the same.’

Loveday fell silent, thinking about this, digging her chin into her knees. ‘I don't think I could live away from the sea.’

‘It's not so bad.’

‘It's worse than bad. It's torture.’

He smiled. ‘As bad as that?’

‘Yes. And I know because when I was about twelve I was sent off to boarding-school in Hampshire, and I nearly expired. It was all wrong. I felt like an alien. Everything was the wrong shape, the houses and the hedges and even the sky. I always felt the sky was sitting on top of my head, pressing me down. It gave me terrible headaches. I think I would have died if I'd had to stay there.’

‘But you didn't stay?’

‘No. I lasted half a term and then I came home. Ran away. I've been here ever since.’

‘School?’

‘In Penzance.’

‘And now?’

‘I've left school.’

‘Is that it?’

She shrugged. ‘I don't know. Athena went to Switzerland. I might go to Switzerland. But then, on the other hand, if there is a war, I mightn't.’

‘I see. How old are you?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Too young to be called up.’

‘Called up for what?’

‘The war. The services. Making munitions.’

Loveday looked horrified. ‘I'm not going to stand at a conveyor belt and make bullets. If I don't go to Switzerland, I'm not going anywhere. If there's a war, it's going to be quite difficult enough to be brave and courageous right
here
. At Nancherrow. I certainly couldn't be brave and courageous in Birmingham or Liverpool or London. I'd go mad.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Gus said, endeavouring to calm her down, and rather wishing that he had not raised the subject in the first place.

She brooded for a bit, and then, ‘Do you think there's going to be a war?’ she asked.

‘Probably.’

‘What will happen to you?’