The Courtyard (22 page)

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Authors: Marcia Willett

BOOK: The Courtyard
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Gillian looked away from the handsome face, tried not to hear the reasonable, soothing, exonerating words.
‘You stole his money. You had no intention of developing the site. You lied to him and took his money and walked out on him.'
Sam sat back and gave a little laugh. ‘“owe,” sweetheart. Get it right. “We.” Make no mistake. Your hands are just as bloody as mine.'
‘No!' she cried. ‘No! I didn't know that you were lying. I thought you were going to do the site and that he'd get his money back. You know that.'
Sam grimaced consideringly. ‘But who's going to believe you?' His expression changed a little as he weighed up certain remarks and behaviour patterns and a doubt crept into his mind. ‘Certainly someone like your dear old upright Henry wouldn't.' He watched her closely. ‘Not thinking of telling him, were you?' He burst out laughing at her silence. ‘I think you were. I really think that you were going to rush back to Nethercombe, leaving your horrid murderous lover behind, and unburden your heart to dear faithful old Henry.' He shook his head and his expression was contemptuous. ‘What a child you are. Did you really think that you could go back?'
‘I am going back!' Gillian raised her chin and stared at him. ‘Henry wants me back.'
‘How d'you know?'
She looked at him and he nodded slowly.
‘I see. You've been keeping him warm just in case. What a cheating bitch you are. First with Simon, then with me. And how many in between? Ah, who cares? Go, then. Go back. But you know that you'll never be able to tell him, don't you? It'll be on your conscience every time you look at him. And that old aunt or whatever she is. But I tell you this, Gillian! If you drop me in it by so much as a whisper, the shit will really hit the fan, I promise you. Every tiny bit of it. Think about it.' He got up. ‘I'm going. I'll be back tomorrow evening. If you're leaving, then get on with it. The local taxi will take you to the station. If you're still here when I get back I shan't ever want to hear about John or Nethercombe again and I shall expect your full cooperation in all my deals. OK?'
‘You mean with people like the Mortlakes? I suppose it's the same type of swindle all over again and you wanted me there to make it look convincing?'
‘That's right.'
He watched her for a moment and she stared back at him, huddled in the chair. Turning away, he emptied some change and some notes onto the table.
‘Sure you want to go back?' He was looking at her; the old Sam again now, charming, quizzical, offering her the smooth, easy paths of temptation. ‘We make a good team, Gillian. Life's tough and you have to take what's offered, that's all.' He smiled ruefully, implying that she should understand – being a bit of a sinner herself – that survival was all that mattered.
She saw John with a hole in his head and heard Nell crying out in the pain of labour and loss and she turned her face away from him.
His expression changed and he shrugged. ‘Have it your own way.'
He went out and shut the door quietly behind him.
 
 
GUY WAS FEELING VERY good indeed. His friendship with Gemma and Sophie added a new dimension to his life which lent a glow to everything he did. He couldn't understand why this should be so. He'd had girlfriends before – one very serious relationship at university – but none had relaxed him in this way or softened his heart to the needs of others. During the Easter holidays the girls were frequent visitors, Gemma driving them both over in her mother's little car. The three of them took Bertie for walks on the moor, went regularly to the pub and explored the grounds at Nethercombe. Guy showed them his office in Dartmouth, took them into the Royal Castle for lunch and afterwards on the river, sailing in his boat. He suspected that Sophie imagined herself in love with him and found himself being gentle with her instead of blighting her hopes and crushing her feelings as had been his way with unwanted admirers in the past. His tall dark good looks attracted attention – girls finding his silent unapproachability a challenge – and he usually had no qualms in squashing their pretensions. With Gemma at hand, Sophie's passion remained undeclared and Guy was able to be generous. Gemma behaved like a younger sister. She was good company, easy to be with and teased him in a way that Guy, very sensitive to being made fun of, found perfectly able to cope with and return in kind.
When the holidays were over and the girls back at school, Guy was surprised at how much he missed them. His life which, hitherto, had been perfectly satisfactory now seemed flat and dull and, although he
bore the teasing at the Church House and from Phoebe in good part, he was confused. After all, he wasn't in love with either of the girls and despite the fact that Gemma was very attractive – Sophie was too thin and he preferred blondes – he felt none of that inconvenient lust which had occasionally made his life uncomfortable in the past. So why did he miss them so much?
On the first weekend after they'd gone he took Bertie – who seemed to miss them as much as he did – for a long walk across the footpath that led over Nethercombe's fields to the open moor. The late April air was soft and warm and Guy felt himself responding to the beauty of the world about him. He'd known the moors all his life but today he saw them with new eyes and an unfamiliar piercing joy tinged with melancholy and an unnamed yearning flamed within him.
As he walked into the Courtyard he saw Phoebe standing outside her door staring upwards. Bertie ran to her, tail wagging, and she bent to stroke him, lifting her other hand to Guy.
‘The swallows are back,' she said and her voice was almost exultant. ‘Look!'
He looked up and saw them wheeling above his head against the blue sky. They watched for a moment and Guy smiled, nodding in acknowledgement of her pleasure.
‘The trouble is,' she said, an anxious note creeping into her jubilation, ‘I think we've stolen their homes. Isn't it awful? Fancy coming all that way and finding some thoughtless bugger's pinched your house? You can just imagine it, can't you?'
‘I expect they'll find somewhere else,' said Guy, who was not so carried away by his sensations as to extend his newfound compassion to a few swallows. ‘There are plenty of old buildings around still.'
‘They're probably already spoken for.' Phoebe looked at him severely. ‘I can see that you're not a conservationist.'
‘No, I'm not,' he answered at once. ‘I don't give a damn about the whales or the black rhino. Evolution automatically destroys certain species. One day it will destroy us. What difference is it going to
make to your life if the giant panda becomes extinct? Do you think that we'd be here now if our ancestors had insisted on trying to preserve the dinosaur or the mammoth?'
‘I feel that there's a flaw in that argument …' began Phoebe and paused as Gussie appeared in the archway. She waved to her.
‘We were watching the swallows,' she called, ‘and Guy was just telling me that one swallow doesn't make a summer. I know that I can always rely on him to stop me from becoming sentimental or prevent me from making too much of a fool of myself.' She grinned at Guy's expression. ‘How are you, Gussie? Come and have a cup of tea. Both of you.'
‘I won't at the moment, thank you all the same, my dear.' Gussie included Guy in her smile. ‘I'm glad I've caught you both. The thing is …' She paused. ‘Oh dear. This is really very difficult.'
Phoebe and Guy looked at her in surprise.
‘Spit it out,' said Phoebe encouragingly. ‘Has Guy been vandalising the beech walk? Cutting his initials on the trees?'
‘Of course not. I shall just have to say it all quite baldly,' said Gussie. ‘You can't wrap these things up.'
‘Heavens!' exclaimed Phoebe in alarm. ‘Whatever can it be?'
So standing there in the warm April sunshine, Gussie told them about Nell and John and the baby and how Nell had come to stay at Nethercombe for as long as she needed.
‘I'm warning you so that when you see her you won't … well. You know. It's so easy to say the wrong thing without knowing it.'
‘Of course,' agreed Phoebe at once, horrified. ‘How perfectly dreadful. The poor girl must be quite demented. I haven't met her but have no fear. I shan't talk about anything that might upset her.'
‘Obviously not.' Guy was shocked. He remembered Nell's unworldly beauty on the night of the party. ‘Don't worry.'
‘It's quite unforgivable to tell you these very private things about her life but I knew that you'd understand.' Gussie sounded distressed. ‘I just hope that she would. It was a very difficult decision but I know
that it won't go any further. It's an intolerable interference on my part but I want to protect her as much as I can. Well, I'll be getting back.' She smiled gratefully at them both and went out through the arch and back up the drive.
‘How awful,' said Phoebe sombrely when Gussie had gone. ‘And losing the child, too. Poor girl.'
Guy was silent, uneasy in this sort of situation, hating gossip or speculation.
‘Come and have a drink, Guy,' said Phoebe suddenly. ‘That's really upset me. Please do.'
And Guy, who wanted nothing more than to put his feet up in front of the television with a beer, dimly understood her need and followed her inside and shut the door.
 
SO IT WAS THAT Nell walked alone and unhindered through the grounds of Nethercombe, searching for some formula that would bring her peace and forgetfulness. When the numbness had worn off all she could feel for John was anger. He had ruined her life and Jack's and, too cowardly to face the results, had opted out and, by doing so, had caused the death of her baby. She felt the empty aching void, remembering with a gush of burning anguished tears the tiny coffin, and her arms would wrap themselves instinctively about her breast as though holding herself together. It seemed impossible even to feel pity for John, let alone grief or love. There had been so many things, some quite small, that seemed unforgivable. She could not yet envisage John himself, desperate in his own small private hell, not knowing which way to turn, his judgement distorted. She only saw that, clearly, he could not have cared for her or Jack or he would never have risked their lives in such a way. He'd even let her fetch Jack from school and take him back again in a car that was not insured. He had taken everything from her and destroyed it. Everything except Jack.
Before Jack went back to school she gathered her courage and told him the truth. She was as generous as she could be, putting as much
blame as was possible on the recession and the man who had cheated and swindled John out of his inheritance, reinforcing the fact that John had been temporarily out of his mind having just discovered this deception. The gun was there in his desk drawer and the temptation had been too great. Jack listened, his brows drawn down in a frown, trying to understand.
‘But didn't he think about us?' he'd asked, when her voice had trailed away. ‘About what would happen to us? If he was so worried about it all that he had to kill himself, how did he think that we would manage?'
‘The whole point is,' replied Nell, ‘that in those situations you don't think at all. It's as if, just for that moment, you're not yourself, not rational or normal, if you see what I mean? We have to remember that.'
Nell walking in the woods and over the fields tried desperately to remember it and to forgive him. Jack seemed to find it easier; at school several boys had left because of marriage break-ups and an inability to pay fees, all due to the recession, and even suicides were not unknown. Nell had not told him all the truth, however, regarding the baby's death. She told him that the baby had turned in the womb and, having separated from the placenta, had suffocated because the ambulance, due to Saturday morning traffic, had not been able to get her to the hospital in time. She knew instinctively that Jack would find it very difficult to forgive his father if he could be held in any way responsible for the death of the tiny brother whom neither of them now would ever know. It was almost a relief when the term started and she could relax; abandon the pretence that she was recovering quickly and that there was nothing for him to worry about. The school, well prepared, took him back for his final term, and Jack, relieved that Nell was to be at Nethercombe, left her to the care of Gussie and Henry.
She couldn't have been in better hands. Gussie was one of the old school; she believed that nothing aided recovery more than fresh air,
plenty of rest and good plain food. She didn't quite approve of the modern methods which involved endless ‘talking through' situations and delving into the innermost recesses of the mind. She felt that whatever was said at times of great emotional shock would probably be unreliable and distorted and likely to cause embarrassment later on when a natural balance had been regained. Nell, who would have hated to bare her innermost thoughts to anyone, was grateful for her reticence and slowly the peace and beauty of Nethercombe combined with Gussie's and Henry's love and care began to heal her.
As May was drawing to a close, Henry received a letter from Gillian asking if she could come home. She was with Lydia in Exeter and she would be grateful, she wrote, if she could meet him and talk to him. Henry was so overwhelmed with relief and joy that he wanted to rush into Exeter there and then and bring Gillian back at once. He communicated his plans to Gussie who laid the cold hand of reason on his fevered excitement.
‘We can't expect Gillian to arrive back only to find Nell living here,' she explained when it was obvious that Henry could see no reason whatever for delay. ‘It wouldn't be fair to either of them. You must see that, my dear.'
Henry wrinkled his brow in an effort to understand.
‘But Gillian knows about Nell,' he said. ‘I wrote and told her all about it. She was dreadfully upset.'
‘I'm sure she was,' said Gussie, ‘but it would still be very difficult for both of them.'
‘Would it?'
Gussie sent up a short prayer for guidance. She had been prepared for this eventuality ever since she knew that Gillian was back in Exeter. Now it only remained to persuade Henry to agree with her plans for them all.
‘You must take my word for it, my dear. I'm a woman and I know how women feel. After all, it's very important that your marriage should be given every opportunity to make a new start.'
‘Oh, yes,' agreed Henry. ‘But why should—?'
‘You and Gillian will need time together alone. And then again, the time is coming when Nell, too, will need a measure of independence.'
Henry looked baffled and Gussie poured his coffee, relieved that this moment had come when Nell was having lunch with Phoebe in the Courtyard.
‘You see, it could all work out very well indeed, Henry,' she said, feeling that a positive note was called for here. ‘We must just allow ourselves to be flexible.'
Henry nodded obediently and sipped. He was quite prepared to be flexible.
Gussie took a restorative sip of hot coffee to give her courage. ‘What I thought was this. Supposing that the Ridleys were to move up from the Lodge and into the house with us? Mrs Ridley would be very glad not to go trailing up and down the avenue several times a day. She's not as young as she was and she hates it in the winter when it's dark …' Gussie paused. In her anxiety to sound plausible she'd struck a false note. Mrs Ridley was born and bred a countrywoman and the dark of the avenue held no terrors for her.
‘Is Mrs Ridley afraid of the dark?' asked Henry, sidetracked by this rather surprising news.
‘No,' said Gussie, rejecting this possibly emotive suggestion despite the fact that it might weigh on her side. She resisted temptation nobly, hoping that the Almighty was listening in. ‘No, not the dark. But it's horrid in the winter, going to and fro in the rain and the cold, making sure the fire's still in, looking after two places at once. Now, they could have that very nice little flat at the back. It used to be servants' quarters in your parents' time and it could be done up in no time at all.'

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