Lakeland Lily (11 page)

‘Nathan Monroe?’

He grinned at her. That same wide, wicked grin that had once given her the shivers and kept her awake many a night as a young girl. ‘The very same, Lily Thorpe. You remember me then?’

‘As if I could ever forget!’ She slammed his soup bowl down in front of him with a thump, sending tiny splashes scattering over the rim on to the wooden table top. Nathan simply continued to smile, which angered her all the more.

Arnie was chuckling as he watched his daughter’s reaction. ‘He told me he went to your school and remembered you well. So go on, tell us, lass. What did this young rogue do to put you in such a paddy?’

‘He spent his entire schooldays taking every opportunity to plague me. Pinched my skipping rope, hid my school books, once put a frog in my lunch bag…’

Lily’s twin brothers snorted with laughter and she scowled at them both to no effect.

‘He’ll be a bad influence on those two, I tell you that much. Always fighting over something or other he was, and got the cane more times than any other boy I can think of.’

‘I remember pulling your plaits,’ Nathan remarked mildly, his gaze lingering on the curling tendrils which lay upon Lily’s shoulders. ‘I never forgot their beautiful chestnut colour.’

She didn’t trouble to respond to this flattery, simply pushed the thick swathe of shining hair down her back where it bounced and rippled, crackling with vibrant life, entirely ruining the small gesture of defiance.

‘I remember him tying me up behind the old boathouses one dinnertime, and leaving me there alone with the water lapping about my feet. I was still there when Mr Adams came for his boat over two hours later and set me free. I don’t think I’d ever been more scared in all my life.’

But Arnie did not, as she’d expected, come to her defence. Instead he looked from one to the other of them then gave a shout of laughter. ‘By heck, you were a one, weren’t you, Monroe? Well, boys will be boys. No wonder he asked after you, Lily. I can see why.’

‘He was the school bully,’ Lily said, the outrage in her voice as strong now as it had been on that well-remembered day, nearly ten years ago.

Matt and Jacob were giggling so much by this time, Hannah was desperately trying to shush them, but Jacob at least was determined to have his say. ‘You should have stuck up for yourself more, our Lily. Maybe he thought you were a cissy.’

She did not join in the general amusement at the idea of her not being able to defend herself, but handed out the rest of the soup in condemnatory silence. As a child, Nathan Monroe had scared her rigid. Big and wide-shouldered even then, his broad face carrying a perpetual scowl, she had lived in fear of what he might do to her next. But she wasn’t a child any more, and nor was he, more’s the pity. He looked more intimidating than ever as a grown man, even sitting down. But no one would bully her now.

‘That teacher always seemed to have it in for me,’ he said, lifting his spoon.

‘And no wonder,’ Lily replied crisply.

‘Well, you’ll have to forget your argumentative past,’ Arnie was saying, slurping at his soup. ‘I’ve offered Nathan a bed. He’s stopping on as lodger for a bit, till he finds hissel a place of his own.’

It was as if her father had struck her. Throughout her entire life she could always depend upon him taking her side. Now, for some reason, he was taking the opposite view. Lily felt betrayed. ‘You’ve said he can stay
here?’

Hannah quietly asked, ‘Where will he sleep?’

‘He can sleep with us,’ Jacob offered, and Matt eagerly nodded in agreement. This was one lame duck who sounded like good fun to have around.

Nathan laughingly shook his head. ‘There’s no need to put yourself out, you two. I can sleep down here.’

‘In the kitchen? Where? There’s no bed and it’s a slate floor.’ Hannah was shocked. ‘Nay, lad, we can’t let you do that.’

‘Find me a straw pallet and a blanket, and I’ll be right as ninepence. I want to cause no trouble.’

At this he let his eyes slide till they met Lily’s, warm and intimate, as if they were lifelong friends. But she and Nathan Monroe had never been friends, and never would be if she had anything to do with it. For a long moment she held the gaze, determined not to be the one to weaken and look away as she had done so often in the past. But the sheer intimacy of his smile unnerved her, as it always had done, and the expression in those blue eyes said more than she cared to read. At length she did turn away, cheeks stained with colour.

‘I’ve already eaten and I’m tired, so I’m off upstairs. Good night.’ Then she stuck her nose in the air and left them.

The long weeks of summer were more difficult than Lily could ever have dreamed possible. The presence of Nathan Monroe in the house completely changed her life.

He always seemed to be around: sitting helping Arnie mend his nets or lines in the yard, taking the boys out in his boat - up to no good, she wouldn’t wonder. Once he took them on the steamer, the full length of the lake. For a mere ticket-collector he had the cheek of the devil. But then, hadn’t he always?

Worst of all, his eyes followed her every move. Lily was aware of him watching her, or felt as if he were, the whole time. But whenever she glanced up, ready to berate him for harassing her, she’d find him absorbed in some innocent task, not paying her any attention at all. But she knew that he did. She just hadn’t caught him in the act yet.

Infuriatingly, Hannah liked him almost as much as Arnie did. Wouldn’t hear of his leaving. But then he was the perfect gent with her mother. Lily knew she should be glad of that for Hannah was not herself. She seemed pale and distracted half the time, so tired she often stumbled over her words, and far more willing than usual to leave the work to others.

All of this meant Lily found less time to sneak off and see Bertie. Vexing as it might be, her anxiety for her mother, and worries that Nathan Monroe might spy on her while out with Bertie, caused her to be circumspect.

She escaped when she could, but too often was forced to leave a note behind the boathouses, their favourite meeting place.

More often than not it would simply say,
‘
Can’t get away
.’

And he would leave one for her.
‘
Never mind. There’s always September and Kelda Bay. Don’t forget
.’

As if she could. Lily thought of little else. Throughout her long days working at the fish stall, and as she struggled to cope with the never-ending stream of tasks involved in keeping nine people confined in one small cottage clean and fed, her mind would escape to the promise of that glorious picnic which awaited her in the coming autumn like a golden glow on the horizon. A magical dream just waiting to come true.

She contrived endless conversations in her head with the Clermont-Reads. Some of them witty, some clever and sharp, others cool and gracious. But in all of them she came out on top, getting the better of Margot’s acid tongue every time. It was most satisfactory.

She talked to Rose about her plans one day during their tea-break behind the vegetable stall, and was surprised and hurt by her friend’s lack of enthusiasm.

‘Aw, forget it. Bertie Clermont-Read isn’t the man for you.’ Rose chewed happily on a potted meat sandwich as she sat perched on a pile of old cabbages which, judging by the smell of them, were well past their best.

But what their eating place lacked in comfort was more than made up for by the view. The shores all about the lake were green and lush, tiny wooded inlets starred with red campion and garlic flowers. Soft curving bays with shingle beaches harboured brightly painted wooden boats. Towards the northern end of the lake the gently rolling countryside, flanked by swathes of steeper fells, became more rocky and sheer. Beyond these the countryside grew ever more rugged up to the high fells and craggy mountain peaks.

‘But I like him,’ Lily said. ‘He’s amusing, and fun, and very kind.’

‘And safe, I know. Every girl’s dream. A quiet man to do her every bidding.’ Rose sidled closer to offer a dab of mustard, which Lily gratefully accepted. ‘How about this other chap then, the one what’s living in your house? Nathan Monroe. What’s he like? Bet he isn’t so safe.’

Lily’s glance was withering. ‘I hate him. I’ve always hated him.’ She told Rose of her childhood experiences while her friend listened, wide-eyed.

‘Nay, that’s naught,’ she said at length. ‘Worse happened to me every day in Workington. Why, once I was turned upside down in a water butt and...’ But seeing the warning in Lily’s eyes, thought better about pursuing this particular argument. ‘Well, happen he’s calmed down a bit now he’s full-grown. And he’s certainly done that! I’ve never seen such a strapping, broad-shouldered chap. Quite handsome in his way.’ Again she caught Lily’s glowering look and concentrated on wiping her smeary fingers on her apron. ‘But go on, what’s he like to live with?’

Lily’s cheeks flushed and she almost choked on her sandwich. ‘Live with? Rose, you make it sound as if we were slept in the same room, which we don’t.’

Rose giggled, wriggling her hips with delight, which unfortunately disturbed the rotting cabbage leaves and had both girls screwing up their noses at the resulting odour.

‘I wouldn’t say no though, would you?’

‘He’s despicable. So pernickety he drives me mad - always cleaning his boots. And he likes his clothes pressed and ironed with the creases in just the right places. Anyone’d think I was his servant!’

Rose gave a wry smile. ‘Sounds like a man with standards.’

‘He’s a slave driver who uses women for his own ends. He was a bully when I was eight and he twelve, and he’s a bully still,’ came back the fiery response.

Rose widened her eyes. ‘Whoops, sorry I spoke.’

Two cows stood ankle-deep in the water, relishing its coolness, while a gentle breeze gathered strength, frothing and slapping at the waters, sending yachts scudding and playing havoc with a clutch of rowing boats tied up alongside the wooden pier. Both girls giggled. There was always something entertaining to watch on the lake.

‘Happen he learned all this tidiness when he were a sailor on them big ships. That’s where he says he’s been these last few years, isn’t it?’

Lily l
ooked even more scathing and sniffed with disdain. ‘If you can believe that. Personally I suspect he’s spent the time in a far less salubrious place.’

‘You don’t mean...’

‘I do. He always was a trouble-maker. I reckon he’s served time somewhere he’d rather not mention.’

‘What, in prison?’

‘Where else? Otherwise why has he never come home, even on a visit, for nigh on eight years?’

‘There could be any number of reasons.’

Lily tossed her head, not wishing to hear anything which might change her view of this odious man. ‘He once caused me a lot of grief, and I never forget folk who do that. Anyroad, I’ve no wish to talk of Nathan Monroe. It’s the Clermont-Reads who interest me. What am I to do about them?’

‘There’s naught you can do. They have life all sewn up to suit themselves. Like I say, forget them, Lily. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.’

This was not what Lily wished to hear. She explained to Rose how they had ruined her life, how Edward Clermont-Read owned the very house in which they lived and had never lifted a finger, so far as she knew, to help improve life for his tenants in The Cobbles.

‘He’s only concerned with his own comfort, and profits. The whole family is.’ Lily got to her feet, too agitated now to sit still, hands on hips, hazel eyes flashing fire. ‘Did I tell you how Mrs Clermont-Read spoke to me? As if I were dirt.’

Rose sighed and nodded. ‘Only hundred times or so. You can tell me again, if you want to, but it won’t make no difference. They have money and you don’t. And with money comes power. Don’t you ever forget that, Lil.’

If Nathan’s ears had been burning while the two girls discussed him, he gave no indication of it as he studiously performed his duties at the ticket office. He clipped and handed out two tickets with his most winning smile to a couple of middle-aged maiden ladies. It was their fourth cruise this week, largely due, Nathan was sure, to his own flattering charm.

Trade this afternoon was slack, but he prided himself on the positive efforts he was making to encourage business. He’d displayed two new posters, and sent a young lad round town carrying a sandwich board announcing a short evening cruise around the lake.

The proprietor of the Steamship Company, Captain Swinbourne, had certainly made no efforts in that direction, nor ever would, if Nathan was any judge.

At four the man himself opened the ticket office door and nodded to Nathan. ‘That’s the afternoon run over. We can take a break now.’

‘We’re not full yet for the evening cruise. Don’t you want me to stay open, see if I can get a few more?’

Swinbourne shook his head. ‘Waste of time. There’ll be nowt doing for an hour or more while everyone has their tea. We’ll do the same. Get the kettle on and I’ll find the cards. See if I can win back some of yesterday’s losses.’

‘Right,’ said Nathan with a smile.
 
‘Whatever you say, governor.’

Margot Clermont-Read sat in the little drawing room with her diary on her knee, making plans. They concerned her precious son and heir, Albert Frederick Clermont-Read. Despite an agonising pregnancy and traumatic childhood years in which poor Bertie had been sickly and ailing, he was now proving to be worth all their efforts, in Margot’s eyes at least. She found him sweet and charming, with a rakish sense of humour. And if he didn’t work quite so hard as his father would wish, why in truth should he? There really wasn’t the need for it, not any more. The family riches had been made, the future could take care of itself, could it not? Style was the necessary requirement now, gracious good manners and position in society, rather than driving ambition. All the former assets Bertie possessed in abundance.