Read The Courtyard Online

Authors: Marcia Willett

The Courtyard (34 page)

BOOK: The Courtyard
13.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
She drew back startled. It had never occurred to her that he might be having one of his rare rabbit-potting afternoons down here. Her heart beat strong and fast. Supposing he came across Sam! Gillian locked her hands together and rested her chin upon them, thinking hard. Should she shout out, giving Sam fair warning? Or should she just pray that Sam would be alert and hear him coming? The latter choice seemed the wisest and she stood, straining her ears above the rattle of the train that echoed round the valley. It was impossible to hear anything above the racket and Mr Ridley was out of sight but Gillian stood quite still. The noise of the train, at long last, faded into silence and Mr Ridley could be heard quite clearly now, pushing his way through the underbrush. Slowly, cautiously, Gillian began to descend again. She slid behind a tangle of sallow and listened. If Mr Ridley had come across the meadow and up the stream then he would return by way of the steps. If he did, Gillian knew that there was no way she could avoid him. Even if he didn't see her then Bella, his spaniel, would smell her out. Gillian held her breath, praying that Mr Ridley had come down by the steps and would then return by the meadow. The minutes passed. The noise of his footsteps receded slowly and she started violently when a shot rang out. Birds crashed and clattered out of the undergrowth, complaining vociferously, and Mr Ridley's voice, encouraging Bella, was distant now. Gillian gasped with relief. She guessed that he must be far downstream, almost at the meadow.
She moved out into the open and approached the meeting place. There was no sign of Sam. She stood quite still, waiting, watching, listening; allowing plenty of time for him to see her and approach. There was only silence. At length, Gillian sat down on a nearby fallen tree trunk. Mr Ridley must have frightened him away but surely there had been time, now, for him to creep back? She sat on whilst the
minutes ticked by and the sun slipped away behind the trees. Presently she stirred; soon she would be missed. She looked at her watch and shook her head, mystified. He'd sounded so desperate for the money. Gillian stood up and made her way back to the steps. As she ascended, pausing at each one to listen and look around, a new and terrible thought slipped into her mind and terror gripped her entrails. Suppose, after all, he'd changed his mind and had decided to come to the house, to confront Henry and tell him about John? She felt sick with apprehension. If only he'd come and she'd given him the money she'd have felt free of him but now … Gillian stood quite still. She'd never be free of him. At any time he could return and deliberately destroy the fabric of her life. As long as she lived, she'd fear the telephone bell, the knock at the door. For the first time, Gillian faced the fact that happiness which is built on falsehood is bound to be ephemeral and terrifyingly fragile. She stared into the bleak future, gripped with misery and despair. There was nothing she could do … Or was there?
Folding her arms about her belly, she went slowly up, made her way through the orchard and into the house. She crossed the hall and looked into the study. Henry smiled at her from behind his desk.
‘Time for tea?' he asked.
‘Not yet.' She swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled back at him, realising at that moment how very dear he was to her. ‘I have something to tell you, Henry,' she said and she went inside and closed the door gently behind her.
 
 
LYDIA PUSHED OPEN THE restaurant door and paused to look about her. Elizabeth waved to her from a corner and Lydia threaded her way towards her. As she reached the table and greeted her old friend it struck her, quite suddenly, that Elizabeth was looking her age. It wasn't anything particular, like her hair turning grey or new lines upon her face, but it was there just the same. She looked thinner, more gaunt than elegant. Slightly thrown off balance, Lydia sat down.
‘So.' Elizabeth made room for Lydia's shopping bag and her jacket on the third chair. ‘How's the grandmother then? I must say you're looking remarkably well on it.'
Confused by her impressions of Elizabeth's own appearance, Lydia smiled, gestured with her hands, shook her head deprecatingly and said nothing at all. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at her and Lydia pulled herself together.
‘I'm loving every minute of it,' she confessed. ‘Oh, he is a lovely boy! You know, I've often wondered if I'd feel different, being a grandmother. You know? Whether I'd feel suddenly rather staid or more responsible? And I have to say I don't feel a bit different.'
She opened surprised eyes at Elizabeth who burst out laughing.
‘I'm sure that it would take more than a grandchild to change you, Lydia,' she said, but her voice and smile were affectionate and Lydia smiled too.
‘I'm so happy,' she said simply.
‘So you should be,' said Elizabeth. ‘And what is this other thing you have to tell me?' She filled Lydia's glass from a wine bottle already open on the table. ‘Let's have a drink first. We'll order in a minute.'
‘Well.' Lydia took her glass. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were bright and Elizabeth was struck by how young she appeared. Far from looking like a grandmother, she was more like the girl that Elizabeth had known at school all those many years ago. ‘You won't believe this …' She paused, took a deep breath and started again. ‘You'll probably think I'm a complete idiot …' She stopped and took a sip of wine.
‘Just say it straight out quickly.' Elizabeth was regarding her with amusement. ‘If Gillian wants me to be godmother to the next generation, the answer's no!'
‘Oh, it's nothing like that,' Lydia assured her hastily. ‘No, no. It's … Well, the simple fact is that Charles has asked me to marry him.'
It came out in a sudden rush and Elizabeth gazed at her in surprise.
‘Goodness!' she said.
‘And I've accepted!' added Lydia defiantly and stared at Elizabeth, her chin raised almost aggressively.
‘So I should imagine,' said Elizabeth mildly. ‘Why not? I think he's a really nice man.'
‘Oh.' Lydia was taken aback.
‘I'm delighted,' said Elizabeth sincerely. ‘I hope you'll be very happy, Lydia. Shall we drink to it?'
‘Oh, yes,' said the disconcerted Lydia, who had expected all sorts of arguments and advice. She picked up her glass again.
‘Much happiness, Lydia.' Elizabeth touched Lydia's glass with her own. For once her cool demeanour deserted her and the alarmed Lydia saw a suspicion of tears in her eyes. ‘You're very lucky. And so is he.'
She drank and Lydia followed suit, moved by Elizabeth's generosity and obvious emotion.
‘Thank you,' she said.
‘So when's the great day?' Elizabeth was businesslike once more and Lydia was almost relieved to see that her emotional moment had passed and she was her old self.
‘We thought Christmas,' said Lydia, excitement welling up in her again. ‘Gillian says they'll be having another Christmas party this year, so we thought just before it would be rather fun. What d'you think?'
‘I think it's an excellent plan. And then we can all drink your health at the party.'
‘That would be lovely.' Lydia smiled happily. ‘And you'll come to the wedding, won't you, Elizabeth? It'll be a very small affair. Just one or two of our closest friends and Gillian and Henry, of course. But I shall want you there.'
‘Nothing would keep me from it.'
There was rather an odd expression on her face and Lydia asked the next question more timidly.
‘And Richard? Would you like to ask Richard? He'd be most welcome, especially after he stepped in so kindly to give Gillian away.'
There was such a long pause that Lydia wondered if Elizabeth had actually heard the question and fiddled awkwardly with her wine glass. Of course, Elizabeth had always been so touchy about Richard and perhaps, under the circumstances, it wasn't terribly tactful …
‘No. No, I don't think so.' Elizabeth was smiling at her and Lydia felt relieved. ‘Let's keep it to family and close friends. I think that's best. Well, it's wonderful news, Lydia. It's made me feel quite hungry. Let's order, shall we, and then you can tell me all the details.'
 
GUSSIE WALKED ON THE terrace at Nethercombe in the late October sunshine and praised God for all the blessings of the last few months. Below her, Mr Ridley was giving the lawns a last cut before winter set in and she smiled at the sight of him astride the mower; cap set jauntily, shirtsleeves rolled up in the warm autumn sun. The
woods glowed and burned, orange and gold and russet, and the sky was a soft tender blue. The scent of woodsmoke from one of the chimneys in the Courtyard below crept in her nostrils and she felt a deep blessed peace as she stared out, her hands smoothing and stroking the old stone of the balustrade at the edge of the terrace.
How many generations of Morleys, she wondered, had stood here, looking out over their woods and fields and giving thanks for their existence? And now, at least one more generation would do so.
‘And such a beautiful child, Lord,' she said, unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer and wondering if He might like an update. ‘And Gillian's taken to motherhood as though she's been doing it for years. And what's more, that reservation in her, Lord, or whatever it was, seems to have completely vanished away. Perhaps it was the baby. But it was more than that, I think. She's had that smoothedout look, as if some burden has been taken from her. It reminds me of something …' Gussie's brow wrinkled and then she smiled. ‘You're quite right, Lord,' she said. ‘It's the same look that people have when they've been given Absolution. How wonderful it must have been to be alive when Jesus walked this earth. Imagine hearing him say, “Your sins are forgiven you …” ' She paused as, in turning from her contemplation of the countryside, she came face to face with Mrs Ridley. ‘Is it teatime already, Mrs Ridley?'
Mrs Ridley, unperturbed by having her sins forgiven so freely and in public, nodded.
‘Gillian thought yew'd like it outside, seein' it's so warm. She's bringin' the baby down.'
‘Splendid!'
As Mrs Ridley bustled away, Gussie wondered if it mattered that the formality of her own generation was unlikely to survive the next. It had clung on with Henry but she could see that it was passing away. The important thing was that people continued to love and respect each other; that was what really mattered.
‘And if only we could, Lord,' murmured Gussie, ‘how happy we
could be. “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God.” If only it were as easy as it sounds.' And she hurried forward to help Mrs Ridley with the tray.
 
GILLIAN, STANDING AT HER bedroom window, watched Gussie on the terrace below. How long it seemed now since those early days when she'd looked upon Gussie and Mrs Ridley as virtual enemies, to be outwitted and despised. But even the remembrance of her childish stupidity could no longer destroy this new peace which had come upon her once she'd told Henry the whole story of her involvement in John's tragedy.
He'd been quite shocked, there was no doubt about that; sitting first at his desk and then getting up to walk about the room, pausing to stare out of the window over the side lawns which were smelling sweetly of new-mown grass. Gillian knew now that all her life the loveliest of summer smells would always transport her back in time to Henry's study and she would feel again the gut-wrenching sickness of her own terror as she put the weapons of her own destruction, one by one, into Henry's hands. She had told him nothing that would hurt him more than absolutely necessary. She'd decided this on the long walk up from the woods and through the orchard. She would tell him nothing about her affair with Simon who had been Henry's friend or about her shocking betrayals of their most private life together. Trying desperately to be honest with herself, she could see no benefit to Henry in telling him those things. And, if Sam should turn up and accuse her to Henry, then he might well put them down to spite and jealousy. She did, however, tell him the whole extent of her extravagance and the truth about John.
She didn't spare herself. Nor did she fall into the error of being so moved by her own honesty, or so carried away by the simple fact that she'd been brave enough to confess, that she expected forgiveness and even admiration to be automatically conferred upon her. She knew well enough that she was confessing because she would rather Henry
heard it from her than anyone else and also in the hope that she could save her marriage. And it had worked. Being Henry, once the shock was past, he forgave simply and wholeheartedly any injury to himself although no one could wholly relieve her of the moral implications of her actions regarding John's death or Nell's losses.
Gillian knew that already. All she could cling to was the fact that Elizabeth had once pointed out to her. She had believed that Sam was genuine and that he intended to use John's money to build the site. John may well have made money from it. She realised that the guilt didn't lie in telling John about the site – anyone might have done that – but in that she'd told him because of her infatuation for Sam and because she needed money. This she would have to live with for the rest of her life; the might-have-beens and the if-onlys that dog our steps and cause us to lie wide-eyed at night, imagining how differently things could have turned out but for those tiny actions.
Henry had seen no point in Gillian confessing to Nell. After all, what benefit could it bring? And might it not add insult to injury to think that John had been talked into it by an attractive woman? All they could do was to continue to look after Nell as far as they were able. At last he'd taken Gillian in his arms and she'd wept without restraint and, anxious lest she damage herself or the baby, he'd hushed her and quietened her, sitting her down in his armchair and pouring her a glass of brandy.
‘Why d'you think he didn't come?' She huddled in his chair, sipping at the brandy, trembling with exhaustion and relief.
Henry pursed his lips and shook his head.
‘Who can say? Probably lost his nerve. He must feel very uneasy, knowing that he could be picked up, especially in this area. We don't know the extent of all his double-crossings, do we? Perhaps he saw someone who recognised him.' He smiled at her. ‘Try not to worry about it. There's nothing he can do to harm us now.'
‘Oh, Henry.' Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I'm so sorry.'
‘Now, no more tears.' Henry came to crouch beside her. He pulled out an extremely grubby handkerchief and mopped inexpertly at her cheeks. ‘It's all over. I'm so glad that you were able to tell me.'
‘So am I. I love you, Henry.'
‘And I love you. And now you should rest. You've had a terrible day and we can't afford for anything to happen to either of you. Come along.' He helped her to her feet. ‘Up to bed with you. If he turns up here I'll deal with him. You've removed his sting and rendered him harmless. You know, I doubt if he ever meant to come here. The risk was far too great. He was counting on your sense of guilt.'
‘Yes, I see that now.' She smiled up at him rather tremulously. ‘I was so afraid. I've got so much to lose now, Henry. I simply couldn't take that chance.'
‘Bless you for that.' He kissed her and went upstairs with her and helped her into bed.
She lay awake for a while, watching the shadows lengthening, tensing each time a door shut or voices were raised, but at length weariness overtook her and she slept.
Now, three months later, her heart was full of love and gratitude. She turned from the window as she saw Mrs Ridley going out to Gussie and went along the passage and into the nursery.
Thomas Henry Augustus Morley lay on his back. His eyes were wide open and his tiny fists waved spasmodically. Gillian watched him for a moment and then picked him from his cot and held him in her arms. She cuddled him closely, studying his minute features whilst his eyes gradually focused on her face.
‘It's teatime,' she told him and could see him listening to her nowfamiliar voice. ‘Which is an old British tradition and one which I shall expect you to continue to uphold.'
He mewed and struck out at her face.
BOOK: The Courtyard
13.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Marus Manuscripts by Paul McCusker
03 - Call to Arms by Mitchel Scanlon - (ebook by Undead)
A Cupboard Full of Coats by Yvvette Edwards
Fishnet by Kirstin Innes
King of the Corner by Loren D. Estleman
A Chance of Fate by Cummings, H. M.