A Summer in the Country (30 page)

“Is that why you came back?” she asked. ‘To make certain?”

He sighed, a long indrawn breath. “Yes,” he said at last. “Humphrey wrote to me some months ago, telling me about this posting and that he would soon be retiring. Agneta had died and I wanted to come back to England. Everything seemed to work together. I decided to ask if I could stay.”

“Were you surprised when he said yes?”

“Not terribly.” He looked amused. “I knew that you were here, you see, and I traded on Humphrey's sense of fair play.”

She laughed, throwing back her head. “You don't pull any punches, do you?”

He chuckled too. “I had nowhere to go, you see. I counted on his filial feelings. I'm sure you know exactly what I mean?”

“I do indeed.” She was delighted with him. “And was it the truth?”

“Was what the truth?”

“That you had nowhere to go. I understand that it wasn't the real reason. You've told me what that was—but was it the truth? That you were homeless?”

He hesitated for a moment and she watched him curiously, strongly attracted to him. “It was the truth,” he said at last. “I'd sold up in Sweden but there was a three-month gap before I could take up my new residence. It seemed as if I were being led here, if that doesn't sound too fanciful. It was true, though, that I had nowhere else to go.”

“I see. Well, it was the same for me. My husband went off with a much younger woman and I was left with nothing and nowhere to go. I loathe the country but, at that moment, Foxhole was a sanctuary for me. Of a sort.”

” ‘There is but one safe thing for the vanquished; not to hope for safety,'” he murmured. “It must have been very hard for you.”

She parried the keen, penetrating glance with a bitter thrust of her own. “A touch of the Prodigal Mother, you feel? Forgive me, daughter, for I have sinned? Well, it was. Like you, I counted on Brigid's loyalty and Humphrey's generosity but it stuck in my throat, I can tell you. They were both so damned noble about it. Determined that I shouldn't feel my humiliation or the weight of their kindness. I threw it back at them whenever I got the chance. I went to the Social Security and got Housing Benefit and insisted that Brigid had a rent book. How she hated it.” She stared at him, her mouth set in a bitter line. “Each time I give her the money and watch her initial the book I feel a stab of pure satisfaction
here.”
She struck her breast lightly with a clenched fist. “He left the whole lot to her, of course. Diarmid, I mean. Not a thing for me. God, how I grew to hate him!”

“He wouldn't let you have her?”

Her face relaxed slowly into an expression of resigned despair. “No,” she said. “No, he wouldn't let me have her. I really believed that he'd let her go. I simply couldn't imagine him coping, you see. He was so… distracted by his bloody work—bound up in it. But he dug his heels in. He saw how he could strike back at me and, of course, I had no chance against him. Back then, forty-odd years ago, no judge in his right mind would have found for me, the erring wife, against Diarmid's noble uprightness.”

“And Brigid?”

“Brigid loved her father. And Foxhole. We should never have married and I knew it very soon after the deed was done but, by then, Brigid was a poor little casualty of my passing lust and poor judgement. Diarmid would have stuck it out. To be fair—though it's something I try to avoid—I believe that he loved me after his own quiet, unemotional fashion. But it was impossible. I loathed the screamingly dull emptiness of the country and Diarmid was not, by nature, a companionable man. He was gorgeous to look at, frighteningly bright, terribly well read, but I'm a frivolous, party-loving person. I like gossip and fun.” She paused, not looking at him, touching the toast rack gently with one finger, turning it round and round. “The man I'd lived with in Paris and London before I met Diarmid wanted me back and, after a while, short visits, a weekend here and there, simply weren't enough. One day I just went. I told myself that Brigid would be allowed to join me but my own desires were stronger than my love for her.” She smiled her self-mocking, down-turned smile. “Might as well be honest about it. That's how it was at the time. I was allowed to see her here, but he refused to let her come to me in London. I think he was afraid I'd run off with her. I would have done, too. But here, the whole scene was impossible. Brigid nervous. Me brittle. Diarmid louring in the background. Of course, she had no idea that her father was withholding her from me and I couldn't bring myself to make her party to our rather sordid battles.” A shrug. “In the end I stopped coming here. I stayed in touch with cards and letters but it simply didn't work. I married Richard and then Jemima came along.” She paused again. “I'm not a particularly maternal woman, you know, but I love my children in my fashion. Jemima was like her father and terribly easy to love. Everyone adores Jemima… Well, everyone except Brigid.”

“That's understandable.”

“Is it? It's hardly Jem's fault that I left Diarmid and he behaved so unreasonably. I left Jem's father too.”

“But you took her with you.”

She frowned at him. “It was a completely different set of circumstances.”

“Does Brigid know that?”

“I've no idea, I imagine so. I've never talked to her about it.”

“So how would she know?”

Frummie shrugged irritably. “Perhaps she doesn't. I can't discuss it with her. The obstacles between us are too great. Her resentment and my guilt. You said it yourself. Because she is my daughter I can't communicate properly.”

“We must content ourselves with the knowledge that they have made each other happy. My son and your daughter.”

She glanced at him sharply. “Yes, that's true. But you won't make any attempt to see Humphrey?”

“I think not. Why upset the applecart at this late date?”

“What about your grandchildren? And a great-grandson now, don't forget.”

Alexander smiled at her. “Do you think their lives would be significantiy enhanced by my sudden appearance?”

“I don't know.” She felt oddly uncomfortable. “I've told you, I'm not madly maternal so I don't have this belief in the sanctity of family. My grandsons have done splendidly with the minimum interference on my part.”

“Then I expect they'll manage without mine,” he said amiably. “And now that you know what I have for breakfast are you going to help me clear it up? Or was your visit purely an inquisitive one?”

“Oh, sheer nosiness, I assure you. And I hate washing up.” She grinned at him, relieved by the change of atmosphere, grateful to him for the lighter touch. “So where will you go when you leave here? Have you bought a house somewhere?”

He stood up, shaking crumbs from his jersey. “I shall go north, to the Borders.” He answered patiently, amused by her persistence. “And now that you've satisfied your curiosity and have no intention of being useful, you might leave me in peace. Oh, and when I've cleared up, I shall be writing letters and then going for a walk. After lunch I shall sleep. I'm telling you all this in case you feel the need to drop in again later for further infonnation on my habits. Perhaps we might have a drink this evening before supper.”

“Perhaps we might” She was quite unmoved by his directness. Standing up she hesitated for a moment, as though about to make a further comment, but decided against it. “Come over at about seven, if you feel like it,” she said lightly—and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Brigid was sitting in the courtyard, watching the harvest moon rise over Combestone Tor. In the normal course of events she would have been up there, on the Tor, much earlier in the evening, watching the moon rise away to the east, but Frummie had been so anxious for her safety that she'd been obliged to remain at Foxhole. She'd considered inviting Louise to go with her but she'd known in her heart that it wouldn't be quite the same. Moonrise was one of those magical, heart-stopping moments that must be experienced alone. Huddling herself into her fleece, shivering a little in the chilly air, she wondered if Humphrey would ever truly understand these strange but very real needs. He'd never been home long enough for his tolerance to be put to the test but she could imagine how, to a man as prosaic as Humphrey, her unusual requirements might easily become a source of irritation.

She crossed her arms beneath her breast and hugged herself, feeling the tension rising and spreading, stiffening her spine and tightening her muscles. How long, she wondered, before he received the letter? What might be his reaction? How would he deal with it? If only it hadn't been Jenny… She dragged her mind from its weary circling and forced herself to think of other things: of her children and of the wonderful and utterly unexpected telephone call from Geneva.

“We thought we might come home for Christmas, Mum. Do you think you could cope?”

“Oh, darling, how wonderful.” She'd been almost speechless with delight. “Of course we can cope. Josh's first Christmas …”

This had been her instinctive reaction. Afterwards she'd wondered what atmosphere might prevail, with Humphrey home and the need to find twelve thousand pounds as well as her deception as a bone of contention between them. Even the peaceful beauty of the scene before her-—the moon, framed between the end of the longhouse and the wall of the cottage, pouring its brilliance down on the Tor—could not distract her from her anxiety. Since ‘she'd posted the letter her whole world had become slowly drenched in fear. It coloured everything: stealing peace, corroding joy, draining her of energy. It had been a miracle that for three short days Alexander, by his sheer presence, had kept her fear at bay. His serenity had communicated itself to her, protecting her. Having him with her in the house, seeing his tall, thin figure, passing between his quarters and the courtyard, had given her some kind of insulation. Childlike, she'd felt that nothing could really harm whilst he was near.

Brigid's face crumpled a little. She remembered the few lines of a poem she'd read recently …

The night is very silent, the air so very cold,

I wish I were a child again and had a hand to hold.

The deep silence was disturbed by a distant sound; a car, up on the road, climbed the hill and rattled over the cattle-grid, slowing as it approached the end of the track. It sounded as if it had stopped, the engine idling for a moment before it was switched off, and Brigid straightened a little, listening, hands clasped between her knees. She could hear the doves, shifting and murmuring in their cot, and this tiny, domestic sound made her suddenly aware of the emptiness beyond this small encircled yard: the moor, like some great dark sea, rolling away on all sides whilst shadows crept stealthily across the cobbles. Up on the track there was the sound of a stone rolling, a slithering brought up short, a muffled curse. Blotr curled at Brigid's feet, sat up, ears pricked, and growled softly. Brigid swallowed in a dry throat, unlocking her laced fingers, every muscle straining in her attempt to hear more clearly.

Blot stood up, growling deep in his throat, and she caught at his collar. “Stay!” she whispered fiercely. “I said
'Stay!'
Carefully, slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, still grasping his collar, and began to edge towards the house. As she moved into the line of the entrance between the two cottages she stared into the darkness, keeping herself out of the moon's relentless shining. Beyond the deep shadow of the buildings the track, bright in the moonlight, was empty, yet she had the distinct impression that she was not alone. She felt quite certain that out there, just off the track, waiting in the bracken, was a living, breathing presence. Blot began to bark, a high, warning baying that shivered her blood into icy trickles and made her legs tremble. She gained the door, hauled him inside and slammed it shut, turning the heavy key, crashing the bolts into their housings. Loosed at last, Blot leaped up, barking wildly, whilst Brigid ran into the two living rooms, dragging the curtains together with shaking hands. She raced through the kitchen, closing and locking the lean-to door and, back again in the kitchen, fastening the intercommunicating door whilst Blot continued to hurl himself at the front door, screaming with rage.

As Brigid reached for the receiver the telephone sprang into life, startling her so that she knocked it from its rest and it hung on the end of its cord, banging gently against the dresser. She seized it.

“Hello,” she said, her voice small and frightened. “Hello, who is it? Oh, Humphrey.” She felt quite weak with relief, yet what could he do, so far away?

“I've had your letter.” His voice couldn't have been less comforting. “What the
hell
did you think you were doing, Brigid? My God! I still can't believe that you could be so
stupid.
And for Jenny, of all people. How could you have even considered it? With her track record? And without even mentioning it to me. Have you any idea…?”

His rage had a chilling effect upon her. Her hand was an icy claw, clutching the receiver, and she shivered uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as she listened to his relentless fury.

“… so what do we do now? Have you any suggestions as to how we're going to find twelve thousand pounds? Hello? Are you still there? And why is that
bloody
dog making that row?”

“There's someone out there.” His rage and her fear between them had reduced her nearly to tears.

“What do you mean, ‘out there'? Out where?”

He sounded impatient, irritated at this distraction, totally unsympathetic. She tried to pull herself together, unwilling for him to think that it was some ploy to defuse his wrath.

“I heard someone out on the track in the dark so I came inside. There's someone going round attacking and murdering women.”

“Oh, for God's sake…”

“Yes, I know it sounds melodramatic. But there
have
been three murders and a woman was attacked last week in Buck-fastleigh…”

“In Buckfastleigh?” His voice was calmer, sharper.

“She was saved by a couple of young men going home from the pub. The police have warned women not to go about alone. Mummie's paranoid …”

“And there's someone there now?”

“I was in the courtyard watching the moonrise. I heard a car on the road and then it stopped and I thought I heard someone walking down the track.” She felt exhausted. “And then Blot started.”

“Get off the phone and get hold of the police. Are you locked in?”

“Yes. Look, I'm really sorry about everything—”

“Shut up and do as I say. And then phone Father and get him over with you. For God's sake be intelligent and don't go outside. And don't let Blot out.”

“Humphrey—”

“Do it now. I'm hanging up.”

The line went dead and at the same time there was a hammering on the front door. Brigid gave a cry of terror.

“Brigid!” Alexander's voice echoed through the thickness of the wood. “Are you there, Brigid?”

She stumbled out of the kitchen into the hall. Blot was whining now, his tail wagging furiously, and she drew back the bolts, turning the heavy key with still-trembling hands. Alexander, Frummie and Louise all burst in together, crowding round her, slamming the door shut and locking it again.

“I saw someone creeping about outside,” Frummie was explaining, “so I phoned Alexander and he came over and we contacted the police. And then we heard Blot barking…”

Alexander's arms were round her, almost carrying her back into the kitchen, pushing her down into a chair. Louise's eyes were wide and frightened but Frummie seemed almost to be enjoying herself.

“My poor darling,” she said, slipping an arm about her daughter's shoulders, giving her a hug. “Don't worry. We're all together now. What do you think? A drink, perhaps? You look white as chalk.”

'Tea.” Alexander was smiling at her reassuringly. “Hot and sweet. And don't tell me you don't take sugar.”

“I heard him,” said Brigid, her eyes enormous with fright, speaking directly to Alexander. “I heard him on the track.”

“Where were you?” asked Frummie sharply.

“In the courtyard,” said Brigid. “Watching the moon rise.”

Frummie put down the kettle with a bang. “Can I believe this?” she asked of no one in particular. “After everything's that's happened, you sit all on your own, out in the dark—”

“It wasn't dark,” said Brigid defensively. “The moonlight was nearly as bright as day.”

“Oh, really!” Frummie brought her hands together in a sharp clapping movement which set all her bracelets jangling.

“It doesn't matter.” Louise had taken charge of the tea-making, Frummie being temporarily distracted. “We're all together and no one is hurt. TTie police will be here soon.”

“There speaks someone who has only recently come to live in the country.” Frummie's underlying anxiety was being discharged in immense sarcasm. ‘This isn't London, my dear Louise. Of the two police cars available to cover this huge area, one of them will probably be in Okehampton and the other in Salcombe. It will be at least an hour—and only then if we're really lucky—before we see a policeman.”

“In which case,” said Alexander calmly, “we might as well make ourselves comfortable. Apart from anything else, I'm sure he's long gone. Whoever it was.”

“I'm sure he has.” Louise took up this encouraging cue. “We all made such a racket and there was good old Blot sounding like the Hound of the Baskervilles. He's got quite an impressive bark for a small dog.”

Brigid watched them as they made tea, found the milk, put out the mugs. Was it possible that Humphrey had telephoned, after all the agonising waiting and wondering, only to be distracted by this newer drama? It was an extraordinary anticlimax. What had he actually said? Her weary mind refused to be cajoled into providing answers; she could only remember his angry voice. She took her tea and drank obediently. The telephone rang and Frummie snatched up the receiver.

“Hello. Who is it?… Who?… Oh,
Humphrey.
My dear boy, how are you? … Oh, did you? … Yes, yes, that's right. Three murders and an attack… Don't worry, we're all here with her and the police are on their way … No, she's quite all right. Well, she's looking rather peaky and under the weather, if you want the truth“—“Mummie!” cried Brigid wretchedly,
“please!”
—“and much too thin but we can't talk now in case the police need to contact us. Have we got a number for you?… Good. We'll phone when the police have arrived. ‘Bye.”

“You might have asked,” said Brigid crossly, “if he wanted to speak to Alexander. Or to me.”

“We mustn't block the lines,” said Frummie airily, “and he sent you his love. He can speak to his father any time.”

“Did he?” Brigid looked at her quickly.

“Did he what? Oh, send his love. Yes, well, he actually said, Tell her I love her.' Rather sweet, I thought. I didn't realise that he'd phoned earlier. He was terribly worried about us.”

Brigid placed her mug carefully on the table and squeezed her hands between her knees.

She thought: Oh, thank God, thank God. He said he loves me. It'll be OK.

She opened her eyes and saw Alexander watching her but, before he could speak, there was the sound of a car on the track and a blue light, flashing intermittently, filled the kitchen with its glare.

I
T WAS
nearly midnight when Brigid telephoned Humphrey.

“Everyone's gone,” she said. “The police took statements and had a good look round but whoever it was had long since disappeared. Everyone's gone back to bed.”

“Have they left you on your own?” he asked, almost accusingly.

“They all wanted to keep me company,” she said quickly, placatingly, “but I'm sure there won't be any more trouble. He'd be crazy to come back after all the row we made. The police are going to maintain a bit of a presence, apparently. Which means a car going along the road once a day, I should think.”

“Well, for God's sake be careful.”

“Oh, I shall be,” she assured him, warmed by his anxiety. “Alexander says he'll move back in if necessary.”

“Yes, well, I know you'd hate that.”

Brigid opened her mouth to say that she'd liked having his father about—and closed it again. Intuitively she knew that this was not the moment to suggest that they might have misjudged Alexander.

“Let's see how it goes,” she said. “I imagine we're OK now—and I've got Blot.”

“Mmm.” He didn't sound too impressed.

There was a tiny silence, humming across the thousands of miles between them.

“I'm sorry,” she said awkwardly, “that the timing was so awful.”

“Oh, I don't know,” he said drily. “From your point of view it must have seemed heaven-sent. I expect you're probably too ratded now to want to do much more than go to bed.”

She thought: I could say that I'm exhausted. That it's been very scary and I'm still in shock. It would postpone having to explain and by the time we talk again the heat would have gone out of it I could do that.

Instead she said quickly, “I can't tell you how sorry I am. About all of it. I completely misjudged it and I should have talked to you first.”