The Hardie Inheritance (39 page)

Max looked at her anxiously. ‘Do you mind that?'

She tried to control the expression on her face. It was disgraceful that she should not care whether or not her brother broke all contact with her – and even more disgraceful that the thought of angering him gave her pleasure.

‘I'll survive. Do you want your old bedroom?'

‘Just to start with.' Max had stopped shivering. The colour
was returning to his cheeks and the liveliness to his eyes. ‘But after that, I think I ought to sleep in a different room every holiday. All those bedrooms, with no one taking any notice of them!'

Grace laughed aloud. It had never occurred to her to feel sorry for a lonely bedroom. But then she looked at Max seriously.

‘One thing we ought to get straight before we start, Max,' she said, addressing him as though he were an adult. ‘Usually when you've been here before for more than a few days you've had Dan and Boxer to play with, or Trish to keep an eye on you. But now there's only me and Mrs Barrett. And I'm not going to change my habits to fit in with you. If I did that, I'd soon get fed up and wish you weren't here. I'm used to doing exactly what I want exactly when I want without bothering about other people's plans. It's a thoroughly selfish way of life, but I'm too old to change it.'

‘You're not old!'

‘I'm nearly fifty,' Grace told him. ‘Old enough to be set in my ways. What I'm trying to say is this. You complained that your father never kept you company. Well, probably I shan't either. It won't mean that I'm cross with you or don't like you. Just that I'm used to being on my own and it won't occur to me to change. Trish had to get used to that when she was quite a little girl. I can give you a roof over your head and I'll pay out whatever is needed to make you the greatest dancer of your generation, but I'm not offering to be a mother to you. We shall be leading separate lives here. Do you understand?'

Max nodded. ‘I know what you mean about a selfish way of life. Father says that I'm selfish, thinking of nothing but myself. But it isn't really me, it's what I think I could do with myself if I had the chance. It's just the same as you, isn't it, except that you've made your chance already.' He held out his hand. ‘I'm ever so grateful to you, Aunt Grace, and the first time I dance at Covent Garden I shall get you a seat in the royal box.
But I'm used to looking after myself. I'll try not to bother you ever. Separate lives!'

At first solemnly and then smiling at each other, Grace and her nephew shook hands on the promise.

Guessing correctly that David would be out at lunch, Grace made a telephone call to his office and left a message to tell him of Max's whereabouts. Even the most unloving father would presumably be disturbed if he found that one of his children had disappeared without trace. There would be a quarrel later on, when he learned what was going to happen, but the prospect caused her no anxiety.

What a toss-up it was, this business of having children, she thought to herself as she put down the receiver and returned to the kitchen to advise Max on the drafting and spelling of his letter. David should count himself lucky that he had produced three conventional offspring before the arrival of the boy who was to nurse such an unlikely ambition. For a moment her thoughts flickered over the memory of baby Tom, who would have been just a few months older than Max if he had lived, but she pushed the memory away and instead considered another baby. Only that morning, she had received a card announcing the birth of a daughter to the Marquess and Marchioness of Ross. Rupert had married Julia three months after his brother's death, and they had wasted no time in starting a family. Lady Anne Beverley had been born with a title and a place in society already attached to her. As they bent over their first-born's cradle did her parents realize that hidden somewhere inside that tiny and helpless human being must already lie the seed of an independent personality?

A rattling and bumping outside the kitchen door interrupted her thoughts, announcing Andy's arrival with another sledge-load of logs. There was no work to be done on the frozen
ground, so for the past three weeks he had worked with axe and saw to refill Grace's wood store as well as his own. On an impulse she opened the door and called to him.

‘Max is here to stay,' she told him. ‘Come and have a meal with us tonight, and share our fire afterwards. Only fair, since you've chopped all the wood for it.'

‘I'll do that. Thanks.' He came regularly to Greystones for Sunday lunch, but during the rest of the week they rarely met. He liked Max, and sympathized with his ambitions.

‘All I ever wanted to do as a boy was to grow things,' he said that evening as they came to the end of a candlelit meal – for the freezing weather and a national fuel shortage had combined to force electricity cuts. ‘So I was lucky. No one ever tried to stop me, except the army. Even if you don't get what you want in the end, I reckon it's important to have a try. Otherwise you can spend the rest of your life moping about missing your chance. I've seen it happen. Good luck to you.'

‘Thanks a lot.' Max was hardly recognizable as the shivering, tearful boy who had arrived that morning. He was still wearing his school uniform, for he had brought nothing else with him, but his face was flushed with happiness and the warmth of the log fire and a single meal seemed to have put weight on his thin frame. He had always been much stronger than he looked, but now his strength showed in the confident set of his shoulders.

After an exhausting day he went early to bed, leaving Grace and Andy to relax on either side of the fire. At least, Grace was relaxed. Andy was unusually restless.

‘Something I wanted to ask you,' she said suddenly. ‘Is Ellis ever coming back?'

Ellis's first film had been an immediate success. In the starring role Jay had conducted what could only be described as a love affair with the camera, and his performance brought him the offer of a Hollywood contract. His reluctance to travel to California without his friend resulted in a contract for Ellis too, and they had left England for a new life together.

‘I doubt it,' said Grace. ‘Not to Greystones, anyway.' It had proved easier to be tolerant of her husband and brother when they were no longer under the same roof, and they had parted good friends, her loss of temper forgotten. She and Ellis had been useful to each other once, but that stage of their lives had come to an end. There was no need to continue the pretence of being husband and wife, but divorce offered no advantage to either of them. Ellis's absence abroad would not make the slightest difference to his own way of life or hers, whether as husband or ex-husband.

‘That's what I thought,' said Andy. He leaned forward in his chair and took hold of her hand – a hand as hard as his own, for they were both labourers in their own ways. ‘That's why I want to ask you … That time before, when you sent me away, it was because I was married. And by the time I came back
you
were married. But we're both free now, more or less. I still love you, Grace. And to have you so close … Don't send me away this time.'

He was on his knees in front of her, burying his head in her lap for a few seconds before pulling her down to lie beside him on the carpet. At first he did no more than hold her tight, kissing her face and neck and murmuring words that she could not hear. Then she felt him start to unfasten her clothes – not tearing at them in a passionate rush as had happened by the boulders all those years ago, but carefully and slowly, pausing every now and then to stroke the new area of skin he had exposed.

There was a moment, when at last she lay naked, in which she felt anxious. Suppose Max were suddenly to reappear for some reason. It was just such an unexpected encounter which had led to her furious banishment of Ellis and Jay. But within seconds it was made clear to her how anyone could be so indiscreet, for the rest of the world ceased to exist as she felt herself pressed hard down on to the carpet, smothered, aroused, loved.

Andy was gasping, groaning, calling her name, while Grace
herself was conscious of a bubbling sound at the back of her throat. It was the sound of happiness, she realized, as her body stretched and arched, her legs imprisoning Andy as effectively as his weight imprisoned her. Then silence fell, broken only by the cracking and spitting of the logs on the fire.

‘We're right for each other.' Andy turned on to his side, moving her with him so that they need not separate yet. Grace murmured her agreement. More than thirty years had passed since the kisses of first love had taken them by surprise, but their bodies were still firm and strong. The physical effort needed for her carving had saved her from becoming either fat or scraggy as she moved into middle age. She was as tall as Andy. Their toes touched, playing with each other while their lips met in another kiss.

When, very much later, Andy at last dressed and let himself out into the freezing night air, she lay for a long time without moving, watching the patterns made by the glowing logs and ashes and warmed from within with a contentment which she had never expected to experience. It was unbelievable that anyone should find her desirable. Unbelievable, but marvellous. Her hands moved over her body, feeling it as Andy had felt it. She stroked her skin with the very tips of her fingers and cupped her hands over her breasts.

Such small breasts! The current fashion, set by Hollywood film stars, was for a quite different shape. Trish – who was perfectly proportioned – had been heard to wish that she were better endowed. But Grace's figure had been fashionable in the generation of her youth and she could have dressed elegantly if she had ever been prepared to abandon the overalls in which she worked. She was not accustomed to examine her own body and surprised herself with the discovery that her breasts were not soft and fleshy, but firm and muscular. Yet Andy had loved them and that was all she cared about.

Stretching her body like a cat, she thought happily about Andy. Once upon a time they had wanted to marry, but he would not suggest that now. He knew her too well, recognizing
that her need for solitude was more than simply a working practice. And he too valued his independence. It would suit them both that they should continue their separate ways of life by day. But at night … From now on, how different the nights would be.

‘You're invited to a party,' said Trish. It was lunchtime in The Shed and even Terry, who worked an eighteen-hour day, was taking a brief break from the task of opening bales of army surplus stores.

‘When? Where? Why?'

‘I am about to come of age,' Trish told him with as much dignity as could be mustered by someone who was wearing paint-smeared overalls at least three sizes too large. ‘Grace proposes to mark the occasion with a twenty-first birthday thrash at Greystones. Lunch and silly games. Crazy croquet. Batty badminton. Preposterous putting.'

‘I thought you told me once that Grace never gave parties.'

‘No more she has until now. This is to make up for a lifetime of neglected birthdays. All I have to do is provide the guest list. And you and the boys come at the top.'

‘Accepted with thanks. I'm glad to hear that Grace has forgiven you.'

Trish opened her mouth to argue, but then changed her mind. She, not Grace, was the one to do the forgiving, in her opinion. She had not allowed very much time to pass before apologizing to her stepmother for the manner of her departure from Greystones eighteen months earlier, but there had been no reciprocal expression of regret for the way in which she had been deceived for so long about the marriage which wasn't really a marriage at all. Because of this, the reconciliation had not been quite complete. Trish was a welcome visitor but no longer a warmly loving stepdaughter, always ready to confide her secrets. Long before this approaching twenty-first birthday
she had become an adult with a private life which she saw no need to discuss.

‘Does she know yet?' asked Terry, as though following her train of thought. ‘About the college, I mean?'

Trish shook her head. Towards the end of her second year at art school she had begun to find it more fun to take part in some of Terry's enterprises than to attend classes. The teachers wanted to turn out budding Rembrandts or Renoirs and she had failed to discover one with any sympathy for her own style of work.

‘I'd better tell her before the party, so that it doesn't spoil, the day, because I suppose she'll be expecting me to get some kind of diploma. Still, she never had any kind of teaching herself, except from an old stonemason who taught her about stone, and look how well she's done without it! She'll understand.'

‘Hope you're right. So what have you got to show me today?' Once a month Trish was expected to amaze him with something outrageous.

‘A real winner. Two in fact. Come outside and see. You remember those doors that Boxer got from the bombed houses on the Roman Road site?'

Terry nodded. Boxer, discharging himself from school a little before what he called his prison sentence expired, already showed in his eye for a bargain that he was a credit to his half-brother's training. The doors which he had saved from the swinging ball of a demolition contractor needed only to be sanded down and re-stained to attract a good price at a time when building materials were in short supply. Trish had been working secretly on two of them and now displayed the results with pride.

As so often when confronted with Trish's work, Terry fell about laughing. One of the doors was shining with fresh red gloss paint, applied in the dots which had become her trademark. By looking carefully it was possible to see that a scattering of black dots amongst the dark red made the shape
of a sinister intruder intent on picking the lock. On a second door she had painted an interior inside a wood-coloured frame. It depicted a hall so lifelike that a casual observer might believe himself to be looking through an open door.