The Darkest Hour (12 page)

‘Well, lock up and keep the key when you go. I have a spare. And feel free to come whenever you like. I have to go out this afternoon, so I’ll leave you to it.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘Keep me in touch with anything interesting you find, and let me know how you are getting on.’ He paused. ‘Hang on; I’d better give you a key to the cottage as well, in case you need the loo or anything. Then you can make yourself tea if you need to. Just help yourself. I’m sure I don’t need to ask you to make sure you lock everything up carefully after you.’ He went into the hall and opening a drawer in the small oak side table at the foot of the stairs took out a spare set of keys.

She looked up as she took the keys. ‘You are very trusting, Mike. Thank you. I won’t let you down.’

‘I’m sure you won’t.’ He grinned. ‘I pride myself on being a good judge of character.’

‘Unlike Dolly.’

‘Oh, Dolly is shrewd enough in her way.’ He held her gaze for a moment as though reassuring himself about what he had just said, then he turned to the front door. ‘I’ll see you soon, OK?’

For a moment she stood still in the silence of the hall, listening to his footsteps as he ran down towards the gate. Only when she heard it clang shut behind him did she head towards the studio.

The clouds had turned to brazen overcast and it was already beginning to rain when she started to pack up for the afternoon. She tidied the table, picked up her laptop and her notebook – a real paper one which would, she hoped, reassure Dolly – and went over to turn off the lights. It was at the very last minute that she paused and looked back. Had they left it that Dolly would come in to take stuff away which she thought would not be needed? She wasn’t quite sure now. She studied the cardboard box near the table thoughtfully. In the top sat the attaché case with the letter drafts. Surely it was legitimate to take them and scan them into the computer at home. Then she could return them. Mike hadn’t actually told her not to remove anything. He trusted her to make her own judgements.

It took only a couple of minutes to open the case, remove the contents and then put it back, tucked into the bottom of the box.

‘Evie!’ Eddie found her in the cowshed. She had finished evening milking and was tidying up.

She turned towards him with a smile and pulled the scarf off her head with a sigh. There was only one cow in milk now that Daisy was in calf, which eased her load, but even so she was exhausted. From the yard the sound of the generator filled the evening air.

‘I thought you had gone to London,’ she said. She pushed the milking stool into the corner with her foot.

‘I changed my mind. Work to do down here.’ As always he was vague about his duties with the Ministry. ‘My God, I love the way you look in those dungarees!’ He moved towards her and swept her into his arms. ‘Irresistible.’

‘Get off!’ She tried to push him away.

‘Why? You know you enjoy it.’ He caught her hand and pulled her towards the hay store. ‘Come on. What about a little snuggle? I bet you’ve been working all day.’

‘I have, Eddie, and I’m tired.’

‘Just five minutes, eh? I’ve got a present for you in the car. Wait till you see it.’

He pushed the door closed behind them and set to work undoing the straps of the dungarees and pulling them down. ‘Your mum is out. I checked.’ He nuzzled her neck, then her face as he began to unbutton her blouse.

At first she didn’t resist; she enjoyed sex, except the whole silly business with the johnnies, which she hated but insisted on. She might have been an art student, but she was not naïve and she had no intention of getting pregnant. But now, suddenly she did not want Eddie to touch her. She pushed him away. ‘Not now, Eddie!’

‘Oh, go on, you know you want to.’ He had his hand around her wrist and he pulled her against him.

‘No, I do not!’ Suddenly she was angry. She pushed him hard in the chest and surprised, he let her go.

‘Evie!’

‘No, Eddie! I am not in the mood!’

‘What about your present?’

‘You mean I don’t get the present if I don’t make love to you?’ Her voice sank dangerously.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Of course I don’t mean that. Don’t be silly.’ He sounded hurt. He turned away and took a deep breath. ‘I thought you wanted it as much as I did.’

She was rebuttoning her dungarees. ‘Not now.’

He shrugged. ‘All right. Have it your own way.’ Somehow he managed to summon a smile. ‘So come on out to the car and I’ll show you.’

The present was a wooden box of oil paints. She stared at it wide-eyed. ‘Where on earth did you get this? It’s wonderful.’

‘I did a favour for a friend,’ he tapped his nose in the irritating way he had, ‘and he asked me what I would like as a way of saying thank you. I knew he was going up to the Smoke and I asked him if he could lay his hands on some oil paints. I have to say, I didn’t expect something quite so splendid.’ He leaned across and kissed her on the top of her head.

‘Evie! Eddie!’ Her mother’s voice rang out sharply from the kitchen door. They were standing by Eddie’s car and hadn’t noticed that Rachel’s bicycle was leaning against the wall. They jumped apart.

‘Mummy, look at this fantastic box of paints,’ Evie called out. She carried it over towards the house.

‘Wonderful,’ Rachel said. The look she gave Eddie belied the enthusiasm in her voice. ‘Are you staying to supper, Eddie?’

‘Best not. But thanks for the invitation.’ He glanced at Evie. ‘Enjoy the paints. I’ll call in in a day or two and see how you’re getting on with them. Don’t waste them all on the Scots cherub, will you!’

Evie froze at the words and opened her mouth to protest, but he had already turned towards his car.

‘Sounds as though he’s jealous,’ Rachel said tartly.

‘He didn’t like me painting Tony’s portrait to give to his parents.’

‘I bet he didn’t.’ Rachel looked at Evie with narrowed eyes. ‘Judging by the hay in your hair and the fact that your dungarees are not properly fastened, young lady, I suspect Eddie has a more than artistic interest in you. Do be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you bringing disgrace on this family. That would kill your father.’

She turned back into the kitchen so she didn’t see the flood of angry colour in her daughter’s cheeks.

The sky was even darker than before and the thunder clouds were massing overhead as Lucy drove back from Rosebank Cottage towards Chichester. The air smelled metallic and large raindrops began to fall as she turned onto the main road, hitting the windscreen as she drove.

She found a parking space almost outside the gallery and let herself into the house just as the rain began in earnest. Robin had locked up and switched on the display lights in the window, setting the alarm before he left. She picked up the note he had left on the desk.
Good day! Oodles of dosh. I’ll drop it into the bank on my way home. Come and have Sunday brunch tomorrow. I’m cooking. Sleep well, darling.

She gave a quiet chuckle as she ran upstairs to the kitchen and she turned on the lights as the first rumble of thunder echoed round the streets outside.

The kitchen was hot and airless with the window closed. She opened it a crack and the room was at once filled with the smell of wet earth and pavements and the sound of the torrential rain cascading off the roof and bouncing on the paving slabs in the little garden below.

She wasn’t sure what made her look at the studio door. It was ajar. Robin must have gone in there during the day. She walked towards it and raised her hand to push it open. At the last minute she hesitated.

Behind her the sound of the rain faded; in front of her, the studio was oppressively silent as she pushed open the door. She peered in, holding her breath. Something was wrong. She felt herself grow cold.

Somehow she forced herself to stand her ground and raised her hand to grope for the light switches to the left of the door. The room was shadowed by the rain clouds outside and the streams of water running down the glass of the skylights. She flipped the switches and flooded the studio with light. Moving to stand in front of the picture on the easel she gasped. Someone had painted out the figure behind Evie. It had gone.

‘No, it can’t be.’ She raised her hand and touched the surface of the canvas with her fingertip. The paint was dry. She found she was breathing in short tight gasps as she stared round the room. The table full of paints and chemicals did not appear to have been touched. The brushes and palette knives and swabs were all neatly stowed and clean and dry. There was nothing there to show anyone had been in there. Robin? Would he have done it? She looked at the painting again. He didn’t have the technical ability never mind the inclination to do something like this.

She turned round helplessly.

The skylights were illuminated suddenly by a brilliant flash of lightning and a loud crash of thunder reverberated round the room, and it was then she saw him. The tall young man she had seen in her bedroom. The blue uniform. The mournful eyes. He was looking directly at her.

‘Ralph?’ she whispered.

Another crash of thunder echoed up from the streets outside, more distant this time. The lights went off for a moment. When they came on again he had gone.

Tony arrived at the farm as Evie was coming in from the stables. She stopped and gazed at the little car as the engine stuttered to a halt. For a moment Tony sat without moving, his head bowed with exhaustion, then he looked up and saw her framed in the stable door. His face lit up. He climbed out of the car.

‘Would you like to come out to supper?’ He grinned at her. ‘Please. I shall starve to death unless you do.’

Evie laughed. ‘Why, do you plan on eating me?’

He nodded. ‘If only.’ He gave her a cheeky smile. ‘No, I thought we would go down to the pub. It’s been a gruelling day. We’ve been up for most of it. Jerry is still active now,’ he glanced up, ‘but we’ve not been called so we’ve got a couple of hours.’

As they stood there in the farmyard they could hear the distant thump of explosions over to the west. ‘Portsmouth is taking a beating again tonight,’ Tony commented sadly.

Evie scanned his face, noting how tired he was, how the circles under his eyes shadowed his smile. ‘I’d love to come out with you,’ she said. ‘Wait, I’ll tell my mother I won’t be in for supper.’

They sat opposite each other at a table in the smoky dining room at The Victoria in Bognor.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ Evie said. She sipped her shandy, still studying his face. She ached to pull out her pencil and sketch him.

He smiled. ‘Not much to tell. I am – I was – a law student. Only child. Doting parents.’ He gave a little apologetic shake of the head.

She nodded. She hadn’t mentioned the portrait. It was to be a surprise. She felt unaccountably shy suddenly, as he looked up and held her gaze. He smiled at her.

‘You’re beautiful.’

She laughed. ‘Untidy. Farmer’’s hands. Dreadful clothes sense. I don’t think so.’

‘You have a lovely clothes sense.’ He glanced down at her frock. It was a deep blue, with a marcasite brooch at the neck. She had changed from her overalls while he turned the car in the yard. ‘One day I will drape you with furs and diamonds!’

She giggled. ‘That sounds wonderful. But not me. I am always covered in charcoal dust and paint stains.’ She held out her hands to prove the point. They were sturdy hands, rough from the hard work around the farm and there were traces of bright blue around her nails. He caught hold of them and held them for a moment. She thought he was going to bend forward to kiss them but he sat still, staring at her face, his eyes dreamy, just holding them. She found she could hardly breathe suddenly. Her heart was thumping unsteadily in her chest as she lost herself in the blue of his eyes. It was several minutes before he looked away and at last he gave her fingers a squeeze and let them go. Far away they heard the sound of the air raid siren.

‘Why didn’t you call us?’ Phil pushed a glass of Pimm’s into her hand as they stood round the cooker in his and Robin’s kitchen next morning. ‘You know we would have come.’ Behind them the table was littered with Sunday papers and the room smelled deliciously of the major fry-up Robin was conjuring into existence in the huge pan.

‘I can’t keep calling you every time I think I have seen something which isn’t there,’ Lucy said crossly. ‘I just can’t.’ She saw the two men exchange glances and she glared at them furiously. ‘I’m beginning to think I’m going mad. I admit I am getting a bit obsessed with the picture and Evie and everything, but he was so real.’ She hadn’t mentioned the fact that she thought someone had painted out the figure behind Evie. This morning the picture was untouched, the young man once more grinning cheerfully over Evie’s shoulder. ‘Do you think he’s a ghost?’ She chewed her lip for a moment. ‘No. The whole thing is getting ludicrous. It was probably the storm. I hate thunder, it always gives me a splitting headache and I was tired anyway. I was probably hallucinating, no more no less. And it wasn’t as if the figure was frightening. Not really.’ She paused thoughtfully.