Mistress of the Storm (3 page)

‘Glad to hear you sounding so breezy,’ said Henry. ‘Wouldn’t like it to bother you.’

Mrs Twogood gazed at her son fondly. ‘I think if you can handle all six of your brothers, one Blake boy should be fine.’

Henry raised his eyebrows to concede the point. ‘He was picking on Verity Gallant,’ he explained, looking a little self-conscious. ‘I didn’t think it was fair.’

Mrs Twogood smiled and surreptitiously added another slice of pudding to his tray. ‘Why don’t you go and see how she is?’ she suggested. ‘Could be a bit shook up.’

Henry looked pointedly at his mother and removed both the contraband items.

As the end-of-day bell rang at Priory Bay, Verity made her way despondently towards the school gates. It had been an even more hideous day than usual. Her fellow classmates
had complained bitterly at being lumbered with her for an important sailing match. And to make things worse, Mrs Watson had refused to let her off hockey even though there were no replacement skirts in the lost property cupboard.

‘Gym shorts will be absolutely fine,’ she’d boomed firmly.

Verity shuddered at the memory of seventy long freezing minutes on the playing field dressed in what for all the world looked like a large unflattering pair of pants. She’d got so cold she’d ended up running about to keep warm and inadvertently scored two goals – which just made her team-mates all the more furious.

Verity didn’t hear her name being called at first. Her mind was busy replaying the hideous embarrassment of it all. Only when Henry eventually caught up did she snap out of it.

‘Oh, er … hi,’ she mumbled awkwardly.

‘So, are you all right then?’ he repeated for the fifth time. As an enquiry, it had lost the intended casualness after the third attempt but he supposed it would have to do.

All right?
Verity was so focused on her own personal world of self-loathing she immediately assumed he must be talking about the playing field incident. Had it really got round school that quickly?

‘I couldn’t get my skirt back out of the tree,’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t wear them on purpose.’

Henry looked confused. ‘I, er … I just meant
after George Blake this morning. Was your bag all right?’

Verity felt terrible. He’d only helped her out a few hours ago and she’d forgotten already. ‘Sorry. I thought you were talking about something else … I had a pretty bad games lesson this afternoon.’

‘Oh.’ Henry’s face filled with sympathy. ‘I hate games,’ he offered. ‘Never get chosen for any of the teams, hate cross-country running and standing around in the freezing cold.’

Verity smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s rubbish,’ she agreed.

‘I could walk you home if you like,’ he volunteered.

She looked up in surprise.

Henry looked embarrassed. ‘You know, in case George Blake is hanging around.’ He looked down at the ground, clearly expecting a no.

Verity didn’t particularly want to be around anyone at the moment but: ‘I have to drop in on a family friend …’ she started. Henry looked resigned to a refusal, so she relented: ‘But if you don’t mind meeting her, then that would be nice.’

Henry beamed. ‘No, that’s fine.’

Together they made their way across the park.

‘So they made you play hockey in your underwear?’ he asked.

Verity’s family friend, Alice, lived near the school at the top of the uppercliff: Wellow’s most desirable area. Verity’s mother and father approved of their weekly meetings
because they assumed (wrongly) that the time was spent reading improving texts and making small talk.

As Verity and Henry turned into Alice’s road, he blew a low whistle to indicate his approval. ‘Priory Avenue? Very nice …’ Each house was different to the next, but all sat in their own grounds, with trees and shrubs aplenty to shade the windows from view. ‘Though I could take it or leave it … Having your own bedroom is probably very overrated.’

‘Do you share a bedroom then?’ asked Verity.

‘Yeah,’ he sighed, booting a stray stone. ‘With my brothers Percy and Will.’

‘With two other brothers?’ Verity could have kicked herself for sounding surprised, but Henry didn’t seem to mind.

‘I know. It’s rubbish: I’ve got six brothers. Me, Percy and Will are the closest in age so we share one room. Bertie and Fred get the other because they’re older. Charlie and Frank left home a couple of years ago. And you’ve got one sister?’ he asked.

Verity nodded.

‘It’s funny how people from the same family can be so different,’ said Henry – an early display of his talent for not thinking before he spoke. ‘Poppy doesn’t seem at all like you – she’s so—’

Verity smiled wryly and interrupted. ‘Likeable? Pretty?’

Henry looked uncomfortable and a little defiant. ‘Blonde. I was going to say that she’s very blonde. Whereas, of course, you’re not.’

Verity nodded slowly and came to a halt, indicating a particularly unkempt house. ‘This is it,’ she said.

Like many other houses in the road, Alice’s boasted an ornate wrought-iron veranda, and like some, it had an air of genteel decline. But none of its neighbours managed to combine both to such effect.

The front door swung open vigorously. ‘Verity, my dear, you’re going to have another sibling.’

Verity was slightly taken aback. How did Alice know already?

‘Is your mum expecting?’ asked Henry.

Verity nodded.

‘Don’t dawdle, come on through,’ instructed Alice. Henry was astonished at the speed with which someone so old could move. She shot back down the hallway with great purpose.

Henry pushed his way past a coat-rack laden with clothes and crammed in every orifice with walking sticks, umbrellas, shooting sticks and an apple-picker; past a large glass cabinet of stuffed animals, all dressed, disconcertingly, as mermaids. On the opposite wall hung a large selection of hats balanced precariously on the overfilled hooks. By the entrance to the sitting room stood a very large and battered Noah’s Ark and a collection of old and battered jugs, balancing on a mirrored hallstand. Every spare inch of wall was covered in pictures: framed maps, photographs, oil paintings, portraits, prints and sketches.

Henry was fascinated. ‘Look at all this amazing
stuff
,’ he
exclaimed. ‘Is that a statue of the Sumerian god Enki? And a Greek tableau of naiads? It looks quite old – I’m surprised you were allowed to keep it.’

Alice looked slightly taken aback – and amused. ‘You know a lot for someone so young,’ she observed.

Henry looked abashed but couldn’t control his urge to stare. ‘I have a good memory for things,’ he explained.

He turned his attention to Alice while a bemused Verity looked on. The old lady’s pink, inquisitive face was deeply lined and scored, but out of it her blue eyes shone in a way that was more alive than anything Henry had ever seen.

‘So who is this young man, Verity?’ asked Alice. ‘Are you going to introduce me?’

Verity shrugged off her coat. ‘Alice, meet Henry Twogood. He offered to walk me home because … well—’

Henry sensed that Verity didn’t want Alice to know that people were picking on her. ‘I heard you had good cakes,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ll go a long way for a cake.’

Alice laughed and extended a very pale hand. It was surprisingly supple and strong.

Verity had moved into the kitchen and was boiling a kettle for tea. Henry continued to gaze about him.

‘You can have a look if you like,’ offered Alice as she took a seat. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone was interested in my junk.’

Henry didn’t need to be asked twice. ‘Was this your Gypsy Moth?’ he asked, picking up a photo of a younger Alice next to a bi-plane in full leather flying kit. ‘Is that how
you collected all these things? By flying to different places?’

‘I have been to a lot of different countries, yes.’

‘What a collection. I don’t know how you had time to fit it all in.’ Alice just smiled. ‘So, do you remember the Gentry?’ he asked, opening a tin filled with pebbles.

‘Henry,’
shouted Verity from the kitchen, shocked into remonstration. ‘It’s rude to make assumptions about a lady’s age.’

‘It’s all right, Henry,’ Alice reassured him. ‘Of course I’m quite old enough to remember the Gentry.’

‘Did you ever see the famous Rafe Gallant, Verity’s grandfather?’ he asked.

Alice looked troubled. ‘Verity’s parents don’t talk much of their history. I’m sure you can understand why.’

‘Rafe who?’ Verity called out from the kitchen as the kettle whistled energetically on the stove.

Alice ignored the question. Leaning forward, she began to interrogate Henry. ‘So you’re at Priory Bay too?’

‘Yeah, I won a scholarship last year. Mum took a job as dinner lady so we could qualify for places.’

‘Sounds like some of the pupils can be quite hard work.’

Verity peered round the door with a brown and orange knitted tea-cosy in one hand. ‘I’m fine, Alice,’ then, turning her attention to Henry, ‘Would you like tea?’

Henry nodded, while Alice went on regardless, ‘Do you see much of Verity?’

He considered his reply, but without waiting for an
answer, she continued, ‘She could socialize a little more, don’t you think?’

Shooting Alice a reproving glance, Verity returned with a tray laden with teacups and saucers, a teapot, milk, sugar, spoons and cake. She knew her elderly friend meant well, but this was embarrassing.

‘Alice’s date loaf,’ she said to Henry, deliberately changing the subject. ‘Which is particularly good.’

After the tea and cake had been distributed, Alice, Verity and Henry settled into comfortable chat about whatever took their fancy: Constantinople, the melting point of magnesium, why certain kinds of biscuit always drop off when you dunk them in hot drinks … Henry would never have thought that taking tea with an elderly lady could be so entertaining.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Verity remembered the man in the library.

‘Something rather unusual happened the other day,’ she started. Reliving the strange event, she pulled the book out of her school bag to show them. ‘It’s a kind of journal. The authors travelled the world collecting stories related to this one character.

‘ … until one day the eldest daughter had to leave for a while. And when she came back only the youngest remained. Where her two sisters were she wouldn’t say. Not telling. The youngest just smiled. Then, finally, she burst out laughing. And that’s when the oldest sister knew she was lost,’
she read out from a chapter entitled ‘Oral Tradition’.

Verity looked up excitedly, desperately hoping the other two would think it just as fascinating.

Henry took it from her and flicked through the pages. ‘The man who gave you this was tall and dark, unusually dressed?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ Verity nodded. ‘And he told me the storm was coming. Isn’t that strange?’

Henry frowned at her. Alice had said nothing up to now. Her porcelain skin looked pale. ‘Goodness me. Is that the time?’ she said. ‘Verity, dear, I have an appointment at the old people’s home. I mustn’t disappoint them.’

Henry looked confused. ‘At the old people’s home? But don’t you live he—’

Verity interrupted before he could finish his sentence. ‘Alice goes there to
visit
the old people. She reads to them.’ Her gaze dared him to question the logic of that sentence.

‘Gives them such pleasure, dear things,’ Alice chipped in cheerfully.

Bustling around the room, she crammed a half-empty packet of biscuits, some wool and a paperback book with its cover missing into a bag that didn’t appear to have space for anything more.

The next day after school, pupils were milling around outside Priory Bay’s gates, catching up with each other before going home. Verity and Henry ambled slowly towards the entrance.

‘Alice is brilliant, isn’t she?’ said Henry.

Verity nodded. ‘She’s amazing,’ she agreed.

As if summoned by this compliment, the subject of their conversation appeared at the wheel of a shiny green car. Dressed in a jaunty tweed flat cap, she lurched erratically up over the kerb and came to an abrupt halt inches from Verity’s toes. In a cursory nod to safety, she tapped the horn.

‘An MG two-seater,’
gasped Henry. Verity thought he might explode with excitement right there and then. Eyes popping out of his head, he darted around the vehicle, gazing in admiration at first one feature and then the next.

Alice looked rather pleased. ‘Your mother said you’d be here,’ she shouted at Verity over the noise of the engine. Verity smiled, wondering where else she might be on a school day. ‘Something about a tactics session? Give you a lift, if you like.’ Noticing Henry, she added, ‘Room for one extra if we squeeze.’

Henry grinned: there was no way he was turning down a ride in Alice’s car. Without waiting for an answer, he jumped in after Verity and happily closed the door. ‘This is a flat radiator model, you know,’ he clarified.

‘Good day at school?’ Alice enquired at full volume as they sped down the hill to Wellow’s sailing club.

Verity and Henry shrugged.

‘Glad to see you’re getting involved with the school sailing team. Do you good,’ she went on.

‘Who knows, with Verity onside we might actually win something,’ said Henry.

Verity laughed. Why would he assume that? ‘I don’t know the first thing—’ she started to explain.

‘Bit of news actually,’ Alice interrupted as they hurtled along at breakneck speed. ‘I have to leave Wellow for a while. Something rather urgent has turned up.’

Verity looked at Alice with concern. ‘You’re going away? But why? Where?’

Alice’s eyes were troubled but she brushed the questions aside with a wave. Turning to Henry, she looked at him intently. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to keep an eye on Verity while I’m away. Keep her out of mischief.’

Henry beamed at her. ‘I will.’

Alice smiled back warmly. ‘That’s settled then. She’s bound to be all right with a big strong lad like you around.’

Henry puffed himself out a little at that.

Verity stepped nervously through the sailing-club door and straight into a hall that smelled of stale beer and pipe smoke. On the yellowing walls hung a motley collection of framed photographs, mounted pen-and-ink cartoons and assorted sailing paraphernalia, including a brass navigation light and a life buoy. A fishing net was tacked to the ceiling, with a number of green glass floats hanging in the sagging folds.