A Week in Winter: A Novel (27 page)

‘I certainly do.’ The dream was fading now and some of her weariness was receding with it. ‘It sounds very mysterious.’

In the kitchen was a wooden armchair with comfortable cushions and another dining chair. Two electric heaters stood beside them. Melissa began to laugh.

‘How very clever of you. But why only one armchair?’

Rob laughed with her. ‘I only have one armchair. Everything else is built in. It’s for you.’

‘It’s a nice big one,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps we could share it? Or am I being forward?’

He grinned. ‘Wait until you see what’s upstairs.’

She climbed after him, some of her former weakness returning, but he was too tense to notice it. On the floor of the main bedroom, plump and welcoming, lay a pumped-up king-sized air bed and several pillows.

‘Now who’s being forward?’ he asked. ‘I bought it earlier in Tintagel at the camping shop.’

‘Oh, Rob,’ she said, ‘what a brilliant idea. We should be warm enough on that, shouldn’t we?’

He chuckled. ‘That’s the last of my worries. We’ll bring up all the rugs and both the heaters.’

‘And some chocolate,’ she said, ‘and several flasks of hot coffee.’

‘Every mod con,’ he agreed with relief. ‘I thought you might slap my face and go off in a huff.’

‘No you didn’t,’ she said comfortably, taking his arm. ‘You knew very well that it was exactly the right thing to do.’

He grimaced. ‘I wasn’t quite that confident, but never mind. I’ll bring the heaters up so as to get the room really warm, although I have to say that this radiator run off the Esse does pretty well. It’s almost too hot to touch but we’ll need it. I think it’ll be another cold night.’

‘Probably. Although I feel it’s a bit warmer.’

‘Mmm.’ He followed her downstairs, grinning guiltily, secretly, to himself. ‘I’m sure you’re right. How’s supper doing? I’m starving.’

Because Rob had taken the action needed to remove any further embarrassment, dinner was a straightforward relaxed affair and they were able to talk easily and naturally. Rob told her about his desperate bid to buy Moorgate, his race against time and how he was trying to raise the deposit.

‘That’s the real problem,’ he said. ‘I’ve got loads of work. I’m doing well, now. I can cope with the mortgage. But the deposit is something else. I’m terrified that some rich yuppie will come along and snap it up under my nose.’

‘So how do you deter them?’ she asked.

‘Oh, it’s easy. Most of them want to live in the country but they have an image of a nice, clean, sanitised world beyond their gate. Mud, cow-shit, no streetlights don’t really appeal, and Moorgate still has the look of the farm about it. It isn’t a rectory with a long drive and grounds all round it. Then again, there’s the weather. Days of driving rain and fairly consistent southwesterly winds are a turn-off. It’s bad luck if they turn up on a glorious day but it’s not too difficult to convince them that that’s the exception rather than the rule. If they have teenage children—as long as they aren’t horse mad—it’s no problem at all. They can see for themselves that there are no discos, swimming baths, recreation grounds, public transport and so on, and they have no intention of allowing their parents to be so selfish.’

‘It sounds as if you don’t have much to worry about, after all,’ she said.

‘Ah.’ Rob shook his head. ‘But then there are the people like us. People who want peace and quiet and don’t mind a twenty-minute drive to buy a loaf of bread. People who want to walk out over the moor from the garden gate and like to see muddy, tired dogs lying by the stove in the kitchen.’

‘You mean people like us—but with money.’

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. ‘Did you really come from London because you fell in love with the photograph?’

She was silent for a moment, afraid of falling into a trap. She’d pretended that her life was still as it had been before Oxford—and she must stick to it.

‘I did,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m getting tired of city life and I want to escape.’

‘Forgive me for being personal but could you really afford a house like this if you weren’t working in one of the big law firms?’

‘Well,’ she tried to maintain the casual note, ‘the London house is worth quite a lot of money, you know. Perhaps I’d find a job locally.’

‘I see.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘So what now?’

Melissa couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Instead she leaned forward, refilling their wine glasses. ‘I love it,’ she said. ‘I really do. But I’d have quite a lot to do before I could make an offer.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said slowly, diffidently, ‘perhaps between us we could manage something.’

She looked at him, then, hating to deceive him, unable to burst the golden bubble. ‘It’s possible,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s a bit… unexpected, that’s all.’

‘I know,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course it is. For me too. It’s just… I seem to be falling in love with you, Melissa.’

‘Oh, Rob.’ She took his hand. ‘It’s the same with me. Are we crazy?’

‘Probably,’ he answered soberly. ‘Does it matter?’

She laid her cheek against his hand, suppressing a terrible desire to tell him the truth. The fear of the love and admiration in his eyes being replaced by pity, his tenderness becoming a smothering anxiety, his cheerful, teasing banter smoothing into gentleness, held her back. His normal, natural, healthy love was all that was left to her now and, selfish though it might be, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy it.

‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ she said, releasing his hand, raising her glass. ‘Let’s drink to the routing of all yuppies and moneyed prospectors. You
shall
go to the ball, Cinderella. Your dream shall come true and Moorgate shall be yours.’

‘Ours,’ he corrected her, raising his glass. ‘Thank you, fairy godmother. What did we do with the apple pie?’

‘On the shelf in the larder.’ She felt a flood of gratitude that he’d been willing to allow the difficult moment to pass. ‘With the cream. It seemed the coldest place, out there on the marble slab. I hope the milk doesn’t go off.’

‘We’ve got some powdered stuff, just in case.’ He cut two generous portions of pie. ‘We shall manage, never fear. So tell me about your life in London. New readers start here. No cutting corners, mind. I want to know everything.’

Later, much later, she leaned on an elbow, watching him sleep. He’d flung off the blanket—the room was much too warm for him—and his face, turned upon the pillow, was peaceful.

She thought: I should leave now. What more can we possibly have together? I should slip away, like a thief in the night. He’d grieve for a while but he’ll soon forget me. How could such a short time of love make a real difference to his life? Better to go now, before we get too deep.

Gently, carefully, she slid away from him, pushing herself to her feet, feeling for her shawl. He’d left a paraffin lamp burning dimly and in its mellow light she trod on bare feet to the window. At some point during the evening Rob had rigged up a curtain. It hung loosely, unevenly, but it had lent an air of privacy and cosiness to the bare, empty room. Earlier, they had been too preoccupied with each other to take much notice of anything but their deep, urgent need, but now, shivering, Melissa lifted the corner of the curtain and looked outside.

Snow whirled against the window, dancing and twirling in the wind, settling, blowing, drifting. Her gasp of surprise became a soft chuckle. No chance of going anywhere tonight; no hope of a quick flight down to the car and away back to Oxford. The decision had been made for her and she felt almost weak with relief. She could stay with him a little longer, love him for a little while more.

‘You’ll freeze, standing there.’ His voice made her jump. ‘Is it still snowing?’

She turned quickly. ‘
Still
snowing?’

She heard the rumble of his laughter. ‘It had just started when I got back with the pick-up. I thought it might when it turned warmer, but I didn’t want you deciding that you should rush off back to London while there was still time. Come back to bed, wench. I can hear your teeth chattering.’

She went back to him, laughing helplessly, and they rolled together, holding tightly, forgetting everything but each other.

The snow lasted for two days. Rob and Melissa, cut off and isolated, took advantage of every second of it. The snow had drifted from the northwest, piling up against the back of the house, but Rob was able to dig a path to the woodshed and they had enough provisions to keep them from starving.

‘Thank goodness we bought plenty of chocolate,’ said Melissa, munching happily, leaning against the Esse whilst Rob washed his hands at the sink after ferrying logs into the sitting room. ‘I must have had a premonition.’

He came across, reaching for the towel on the rail, smiling down at her. ‘You should be as big as a house,’ he commented. ‘How do you stay so slender?’

She didn’t answer, simply shaking her head, and he slipped his arms about her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, staring out of the window at the snowy landscape. It was beautiful and unreal, a fairytale setting which enabled her to believe in this moment of escapism, this flight from reality.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said suddenly. ‘Just a little one. It looks so perfect out there now the sun is setting. Shall we?’

‘Why not?’ He couldn’t resist her. ‘The snow is far too deep behind the house but it’s not too bad in the lane. We’ll see how far we can get.’

In the lane they turned up towards the moor, passing through the gate beside the cattle grid, wading through the snow. Out of the shelter of the
trees it was impossible to tell where the road ended and the moor began and they went slowly, pausing to stare about them.

‘It’s quite magical,’ murmured Melissa. ‘Everything is transformed’—and her heart ached with the pain of it.

She thought: How can I bear it? How can I face the end, now, knowing what I am losing?

Yet as she stood there, gazing over the moor, she became aware of an unusual sensation of peace; a quiet strength; as if her heart had been touched by a certainty of something so overwhelming, so all-embracing, that it ceased to fret and grieve and was stilled into a steady rhythm. The moor rolled away from beneath her feet, stretching onward to the earth’s fiery rim where the sun was dipping into the sea, and long blue shadows reached across the snowy land. In the east a star was hanging, bright as a lantern, and silence wrapped about them both, embracing them in its healing restfulness.

She had no idea how long they’d stood together, touched by these mysteries, before they heard a hoarse, eerie shriek and a barn owl, drifting on blunt wings, passed above their heads and came to rest on a post some way below them. Roused from their reverie they smiled at each other, delighted at such a sight.

‘She nests in a barn just below Moorgate,’ said Rob. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’

‘Beautiful,’ agreed Melissa. ‘And cruel,’ she added, thinking of the sharp talons and strong, hooked beak.

‘Well, that’s life.’ Rob tucked her hand under his arm. ‘Owls have to eat too. I have to admit, however, that I wouldn’t want to be a part of the food chain. One long struggle for territory, food, or a mate. Living in permanent fear of death.’ He misinterpreted the shudder that she gave, pressing her hand closely beneath his arm, dreading the moment that she would leave him. ‘Don’t go away,’ he said foolishly. ‘Stay with me at Moorgate.’

Her eyes burned with tears but she hugged his arm, trying to laugh. ‘I have to go. You know I do.’

‘But you’ll come back?’

‘Of course. Part of me will never go at all. It will stay here always.’

‘I don’t want a bit of you,’ he grumbled. ‘I shan’t be satisfied with that.’

‘I have to sort things out,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry. Moorgate will be … ours.’

He sighed. ‘Why can’t I believe it?’

‘Because you have no faith. I’ve told you that between us we can raise
the deposit. Stop doubting. Once I’m back in London and have made the arrangements you can put in an offer. I’ll sort out all the legal side. We’ve been through all this before, Rob. Stop fussing and let’s just enjoy these few days without anxiety.’

‘It’s only because you won’t say when you’ll be back. I hate not knowing.’

‘I can’t tell you. You know I have to go away on this big case I’ve got. It’s simply impossible to give you a date. But I’ll stay in touch. I promise. You must get on with buying the house.’

‘If Lady Todhunter knows I want to buy it she’ll give me time to sort things out, I know she will.’

He sounded more cheerful and Melissa gave a sigh of relief It was not always easy to head him away from these emotional moments, yet she could not bring herself to tell him the truth; to shatter his happiness. At least he would have Moorgate. The few thousand pounds she’d made out of her London flat would make up the deposit; a small recompense for the joy he’d given her.

‘Well then. Let’s not worry about the details.’

‘I’m a fool but I have this terrible feeling that once you leave I shall never see you again.’

Silence fell between them like a sword, cutting off intimacy. The sun had set and the shadows were deepening. A chill breath of wind moved lightly over the land and the barn owl rose from his post with an unearthly cry. Melissa suddenly remembered that Geoffrey Chaucer had referred to this bird as a ‘prophet of woe and mischance’ and she shivered.