The Ivy Tree (12 page)

I looked away from him, down towards the farm. I could see white hens ruffling in the straw of the stack-yard, and there were pigeons on the roof. The smoke from the chimneys went straight up into the clean air. I said: ‘It looks just the same. Better, if anything. Or is that absence, making the heart grow fonder?'

‘Nay, I'll not deny it's well looked after. As well every way, nearly, as in your Granda's time.'

I stared at him. ‘As in – you talk as if that was past.'

He was prodding at the earth again with his stick. ‘Happen it is.'

‘What d'you mean?'

That quick, almost surly glance upwards again. ‘You'll see, Miss Annabel. I don't doubt but what you'll see. Times change.'

I didn't pursue it, and he turned the subject abruptly. He nodded past me, the way I had come, towards the towering woods that surrounded the site of Forrest Hall. ‘Now, there's the biggest change you'll find, and none of it for the better. Did she tell you about Forrests?'

‘Yes.' I looked back to where the crest of the ivied oak reared above the skyline, the glinting darkness of the ivy making it stand up like a ruined tower against the young summer green of the woods. ‘Yes, Miss Dermott told me. Four years ago, wasn't it? I thought the old lodge looked even more dilapidated than it should. I never remember anyone living there, but at least the drive looked reasonable, and the gates were on.'

‘They went for scrap, after the fire. Aye, we miss the Hall, though it's not all gone, you mind. They're using some of the stable buildings over at West Lodge for poultry, and the old garden's going strong. Mr Forrest got that going himself, with Johnny Rudd – you'll mind Johnny? He's working there still, though there's nobbut one horse in the stables. Mr Forrest kept that one when the stud went; he's one of the old “Mountain” lot, and I reckon Mr Forrest couldn't bear to part, but I doubt he'll have to be sold now. He's just running wild there, and eating his head off, and there's no one can hardly get near him.' He grinned at me. ‘You'll have to get to work on him yourself, now you're back.'

‘Me? Not on your – I mean, not any more. Those days are past, Mr Bates.'

‘How's that?'

The story that Lisa and I had concocted came glibly enough. ‘I had a bad fall in the States, and hurt my back – nothing drastic, you know, but not a thing I'd dare risk doing again.'

‘That's a shame, now! I reckoned Johnny'd be rare pleased when he heard you were back. He hasn't the time to bother on wi' horses now, not at this time of year; and the colt's spoiling. Mr Con's been along to take a hand to him, now and then, but the youngster's taken a rare scunner at him, seemingly. Won't let him near. There's naught else fit for a ride at Whitescar.'

‘I expect I've lost my touch, anyway.'

‘Eh, well,' he said, ‘it's like we said. Things change, more's the pity. Every time I walk up this road I think on the way it was. It's sad to see the old places falling down, and the families gone, but there it is.'

‘Yes.' Beyond the ivy-clad oak, behind a sunny tracery of treetops, I could see a chimney. The sun glinted warm on the mellow stone. There was the glimpse of a tiled roof through the boughs. A wisp of cloud, moving slowly, gave the illusion of smoke, rising from a homely fire. Then it moved on, and I saw that the roof was broken.

Bates said, beside me, so suddenly that I jumped. ‘You've changed. I was wrong, maybe, I didn't think you had, not that much, but now I can see.'

‘What can you see?'

‘I dunno. It's not only that you're older. You're different, Miss Annabel, no offence.' The kindly blue eyes surveyed me. ‘Happen you'll have had a hard time of it, out there?'

He made it sound as if the Atlantic were the water of Styx, and the lands beyond it the Outer Darkness. I smiled. ‘Happen I have.'

‘You didn't marry?'

‘No. Too busy earning my keep.'

‘Aye. That's where it is. You'd 'a done better to stay here at home, lass, where your place was.'

I thought of Con, of the scandal, of the lonely crumbling ruin in the Forrest woods. ‘You think so?' I laughed a little, without amusement. ‘Well, I'm back, anyway. I've come back to my place now, and I expect I'll have the sense to stick to it.'

‘You do that.' The words had an emphasis that was far from idle. He was staring at me fixedly, his eyes almost fierce in the rubicund face. ‘Well, I'll not keep you here talking. They'll be looking for you down yonder. But you stay here, Miss Annabel, close by your Granda – and don't leave us again.'

He nodded abruptly, whistled up the collie, and strode past me up the track without looking back.

I turned down towards Whitescar.

The end of the barn threw a slanting shadow half across the yard gate. Not until I was within twenty paces of it did I see that a man leaned there, unmoving, watching my approach. Con.

If Bates had been the first fence, this was the water jump. But Lisa had been so sure he ‘wouldn't mind' . . .

Apparently he didn't. He straightened up with the lazy grace that was so typical of him, and gave me a brilliant smile that held no trace of embarrassment whatsoever. His hand went out to the latch of the gate.

‘Why, Annabel,' he said, and swung the gate open with a sort of ceremony of invitation. ‘Welcome home!'

I said feebly: ‘Hullo.' I was trying to see, without looking too obviously round me, if there was anyone else within earshot. The yard was apparently deserted, but I didn't dare risk it. I said, feeling perilously foolish: ‘It – it's nice to be back.'

‘You're earlier than we expected. I intended to meet you with the car. Where's your luggage?'

‘I left it in the quarry. Could someone fetch it later?'

‘I'll go myself. You know, you really should have let me come into Newcastle for you.'

‘No. I – I wanted to come alone. Thanks all the same.' I found to my fury that I was stammering like a schoolgirl. I did manage to reflect that if anyone happened to be watching us, they would see merely that there was something stilted and constrained about our greeting. As well there might be, I thought, bitterly. Damn Lisa. She should have told me earlier, let me get this over, find some sort of working arrangement with Con, before I was pitchforked into greeting him in public.

I still hadn't met his eyes. He had shut the gate behind me, but I stayed standing by it, talking, still feebly and rather madly, about luggage. ‘Of course, you know, my main baggage is in Liverpool. I can get it sent—'

‘Of course,' I heard the laugh in his voice, then, and looked up. Outrageously, he was looking amused. Before I could speak again he had put out both hands and taken mine in them, smiling delightfully down at me. His voice was warm and, one might have sworn, genuinely moved. ‘This is wonderful . . . to see you here again after all this time. We never thought . . .' he appeared to struggle for a moment with his emotions, and added, deeply: ‘This is a pretty shattering moment, my dear.' ‘
You're telling me, blast you
.' I didn't dare say it aloud, but he read it in my eyes quite easily. His own were dancing. He gave me that deliberately dazzling smile of his, then pulled me towards him, and kissed me. He must have felt my startled and instinctive resistance, because he slackened his hold straight away, saying quickly under his breath: ‘There are windows looking this way, Mary, my dear. I think, under the circumstances, that I'd have kissed her, don't you? Strictly cousinly and affectionate, of course?'

He was still holding my hands. I said equally softly, and through shut teeth: ‘And don't you think, dear cousin Connor, that she might even have hauled off and slapped your face, hard? Strictly cousinly and affectionate, of course.'

I felt him shake with laughter, and pulled my hands away. ‘
Is
there someone watching, then? Can they hear us?'

‘Not that I'm aware of.'

‘Well,
really
—!'

‘Ssh, not so loudly. You never know.' He had his back to the house, and was looking down at me. ‘Are you really as mad as blazes at me?'

‘Of course I am!'

‘I wouldn't blame you, either. Lisa told me you took it terribly well. I wouldn't have dared tell you, myself. You wouldn't think I was shy to look at me, would you?'

‘Oddly enough, no. I wonder why all the most aggressive personalities insist on telling one how shy they really are underneath it all?' I considered him thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Lisa was quite right. She kept telling me that
you
wouldn't mind.'

The laughter went out of his face as if a light had been switched off. ‘Why would I, now? What man ever minded being known to be a girl's lover?'

A pigeon rustled down beside us, and strutted, arching its neck. The iridescent colours shifted and gleamed along its feathers, like a witch's oils spilling on moving water.

‘You silence me,' I said at length.

The light was back, a glimmer of it. ‘Not really. You're quite right. I was behaving badly, but the occasion kind of went to my head. Forgive me.'

‘It's all right.'

Suddenly, it seemed, we were over the water jump and moving easily into the straight. I relaxed, leaning back against the gate. We smiled at one another with a certain amount of understanding. To an observer the scene would still be perfectly in character. Even from the house, I thought, the scarlet in my cheeks could be seen quite easily; and Con stood in front of me in an attitude that might have suggested hesitation, and even humility, if one hadn't been able to see his eyes.

He asked abruptly: ‘Do you mind so very much?'

‘This rôle of ex-lover that you've wished on me at the last minute? No, not really, since nobody knows except Grandfather. Though whether I mind or not is obviously going to depend entirely on you.'

‘Meaning?'

‘I mean that I don't intend to play this as though I'd come back ready to fall at your feet and make it up, Con Winslow.'

He grinned. ‘No. That would be asking a bit too much, I can see that.'

‘You might have thought of it before you kissed me.' I leaned back against the gate and added, coolly: ‘Do you really want to find yourself waiting for me at the altar steps, at the wrong end of Grandfather's shotgun?'

There was a startled silence. It was something, I thought, not without satisfaction, to have shaken that amused assurance. I tilted my head and smiled up at him. ‘Yes, it's a wonder you and Lisa didn't think of that one. It's just possible that Grandfather might think it's never too late to mend. And I might accept you this time.'

Silence again, two long beats of it.

‘Why, you little
devil
!' It was the first genuine feeling he had shown during the interview. ‘Who'd have thought—?' He broke off, and the long mouth curved. ‘And what if I call your bluff, girl dear? It might be the perfect ending to our little game, after all, and it's just a marvel that I never thought of it before. Sweet saints alive, I can think of a lot worse fates than ending up on the altar steps with you!!' He laughed at my expression. ‘You see? Don't pull too many bluffs with me, acushla, or you might find them called.'

‘And don't get too clever with me, Con, or you'll cut yourself. Shotgun or no, I could always quarrel with you again, couldn't I? And this time, who knows, Grandfather might even throw
you
out instead of me.'

‘All right,' said Con easily, ‘we've called each other's bluff, and that's that.' His eyes were brilliant under the long lashes: it was obvious that, however the game went, Con was going to enjoy it to the full. The eight-years'-old tragedy was now nothing more than a counter in that same game. If it had ever touched him, it did so no longer. ‘We'll play it your way,' he said. ‘I'll watch my step, really I will. I didn't mean to upset you.'

‘It's the only way to play it.'

‘Yes, I see that. And I really am sorry about this. I know Lisa and I ought to have told you this last thing much sooner, but, to tell you the sober truth, I didn't dare. I'd not have blamed you if you'd backed down straight away, though somehow I didn't think you were the girl to do that. And I was right. You still came.'

‘Oh yes, I came.'

He still had his back to the house windows, which was just as well. His face, expressive as ever, was alight with uncomplicated excitement. ‘Whatever the terms – and you can set them – this is going to be the hell of a partnership, Mary Grey! You're a wonderful girl! You know, you and I have a lot in common.'

I said, just a little drily: ‘Why, thank you. Praise indeed.'

He ignored that, or perhaps he didn't see it. ‘A hell of a partnership! I told you, you'll call the tune. You'll have to, if it comes to that: you'll know better than I would what a girl's reactions would be, after – well, coming back like this. I'll play it any way you say. But we'll have to play it together: it's a duet, not a duel. A duet for you and me, with Lisa turning the pages.'

I wondered, fleetingly, what Lisa would have thought of the rôle so lightly assigned to her. ‘Very well. And to start with, kisses, cousinly or not, are out. Did you ever read
Count Hannibal?
'

‘Certainly I did. And I know what you're thinking of, the bit where the hero says: “Is it to be a kiss or a blow between us, madame?'”

‘That's it. And she says: “A thousand times a blow!” Well, that's the way it is, monsieur.'

‘Yes, all right. But then, if you remember what happened next—'