A Week in Winter: A Novel (4 page)

She stared at him, watching him as he turned away, sipping his tea, staring out across the moor, and felt a twinge of uneasiness. Rob Abbot was
the last person in the world to let his imagination run away with him but he seemed rather distant today, unresponsive, not at all his usual joking self.

‘Of course not,’ she said briskly. ‘What nonsense. Anyway, ghosts don’t cook bacon. Are you absolutely certain that none of your men could have taken the keys, Rob? I have this feeling that there were several keys on a smaller ring, attached to the big one. Could you have taken them off and put them down somewhere?’

He turned back to her, frowning. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought it over. It’s possible, of course. A lot of keys pass through my hands, and I’m usually very careful, but I suppose it’s possible that I may have taken them off and left them lying about. But why should anyone take them? I’ve asked the boys, of course, and they’re all as puzzled as I am. I certainly can’t imagine any of them having any use for them. The house is empty, nothing to take, and it’s clear that nobody’s squatting in it. At the same time …’

‘It’s odd, isn’t it?’ She grimaced. ‘Rather creepy. Come and show me the sitting room—I haven’t seen it since it was finished—and then we’ll decide what’s to be done about the office. How annoying it is. Not that it will take long to get it decorated. I hope you won’t abandon me before it’s done.’

‘No, I shan’t do that.’ He put his mug down on the draining board. ‘It’s always good to have some indoor work as the winter comes on and I wouldn’t want to leave a job unfinished.’

‘It’s taken rather longer than you thought, hasn’t it?’ Maudie asked as they passed into the hall and she paused to look appreciatively at the oak staircase, restored now to its simple, natural state. ‘You’ve done well, Rob. It looks right. Not like some tacky conversion. It’s retained its dignity.’

He looked about him. ‘She’s like an elderly countrywoman,’ he said affectionately. ‘Strong, kindly, sheltering. She’s not some passing fad for a pseudo townie who wants to pretend he’s living the good life.’

Maudie glanced at him, touched by his warmth. ‘The trouble is, now that the farmland has been sold off, Moorgate isn’t really a farmhouse any more. And she’s right off the beaten track. I’m not certain exactly who would buy it.’

‘No offers yet, then?’ He led the way into the sitting room. ‘Mr Cruikshank seems very keen.’

She laughed. ‘He’s young,’ she said tolerandy. ‘He’ll get a lot of interest from the type of people you’ve just described but it’s too big a house for a second home and it’s a long way from London. Lots of people work from
home these days so maybe it’ll attract a young family who can afford to ferry their children about and pay the heating bills. This warm wet climate can do such harm.’ She paused. ‘Have you been lighting fires in here, Rob?’

The square sitting room faced southeast and the natural stone walls had been washed with cream paint. Built into the alcove to the right of the inglenook fireplace was a glass-fronted cupboard, the oak floorboards had been stripped and polished, and the original wooden shutters were folded back on each side of the sash windows. In the fireplace, on the big, central slate, was the remains of charred twigs and a few half-burned logs in a pile of soft grey ash.

He glanced at it indifferently. ‘I had a trial run after the chimney sweep had been in. I did the same in the other room just to make sure the fires were drawing properly. There’s a pile of logs out in the barn so it seemed a good idea. Apart from anything else it doesn’t do any harm to give the place a warm through. Actually, I was going to suggest that we might light the Esse and have some background heat if she hasn’t sold in a month or two. I can pop over and keep an eye on her until you get a buyer.’ He hesitated, shrugged. ‘If you want me to …’

‘That would be very kind of you,’ Maudie answered. ‘If it isn’t a trouble. It’s not a bad idea to light the Esse. Better to pay for a bit of oil than have damp coming in. Should we have put in proper central heating, I wonder?’

‘Too late now,’ Rob said firmly. ‘And it would have been very expensive to lift these slate floors. Natural fires are best in these downstairs rooms and the Esse runs two radiators upstairs and heats the kitchen. It’s more than adequate with the night storage radiators in the other bedrooms. Don’t fuss.’

She grinned at him. ‘Are you married?’

‘No,’ he answered shortly. ‘What’s that got to do with central heating?’

‘Nothing,’ she answered, feeling another twinge of uneasiness. It was unlike Rob to be so—she tried to define his mood—so
preoccupied;
as if half of him were off somewhere else. Perhaps he had woman trouble and her question had touched a nerve. Certainly he was not on his usual cheerful form. ‘Nothing at all. I’d better look at these firmly locked doors, I suppose. Are you OK, Rob? Plenty of work coming in?’

‘Too much, if anything.’ He led the way back to the kitchen. ‘I’ve fallen a bit behind schedule here, I’m afraid. The truth is, it’s been an unusually dry summer and I’ve been giving the lads outside work on another site while I carried on inside here.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ she said quickly, anxious lest he should think that she was criticising him. ‘People can come and view, after all. You’ve done splendidly.’ She watched as he indicated the door to the office, turned the knob, put his weight against it and pushed. ‘Yes, well, that’s not going anywhere, is it?’

‘It’s a lovely old oak door and I don’t want it broken,’ he said. ‘Come outside and see the other door. It’s sturdy but not particularly worth saving. That’s the one I’d go for, I think. No point in smashing windows.’

Outside, on the path which ran along the side of the house, Maudie tried the unyielding door and attempted to peer through the grubby window. A fold of cloth obscured her view and she shook her head as she stepped back, dusting her hands.

‘I take your point. What shall we do?’

‘Better leave it to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll get it opened, now I have your permission. We’ll do as little damage as possible but I’ll need some time to get it sorted inside.’

‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Mr Cruikshank. There’s one thing, though. If it’s been locked up since the tenants left there might be things which need sorting out. I suppose you could try to break it down whilst I’m here. If we’re going to have a new door it wouldn’t make much difference, would it?’

He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I’d rather not leave the house with a broken door,’ he said. ‘Anyone would be able to get in, wouldn’t they? I wouldn’t want to arrive tomorrow morning and find the house full of New Age travellers. There’s a party of them up on Davidstow, so I’ve heard. Give me a chance to think about this. I want to be able to leave the place secure, whatever I do.’

‘Sounds reasonable. Telephone me when you’ve done it and if you need me I’ll come down.’

‘I’ll do that.’ He looked at her, smiling a little. ‘I promise not to sneak off with any treasures I find.’

She was pleased to see him relaxed again, less touchy. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘why don’t we go down to the pub and have a pint and a sandwich before I go home?’

He laughed. ‘Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. I’ll lock up and be right with you.’

Driving back towards Launceston Maudie found herself rehearsing different ways of telling Selina that Moorgate was to be sold. Her fear was that, in a fit of misguided nostalgia, Selina might insist that she and Patrick should buy it. Despite the injection of cash from the sale of the London house, Maudie knew that her stepdaughter was not in a position to attempt such a quixotic act; not unless they intended to sell up and move to Cornwall. The idea of Selina living on the edge of Bodmin Moor made Maudie snort with laughter; childhood holidays were one thing, real life another. Selina’s smartly shod feet required a pavement; her love of entertaining and being entertained demanded delicatessens, theatres, restaurants. No, it was unlikely that she and Patrick would make any such sacrifice. The real problem was that Selina might insist that Moorgate should be kept as a place for holidays; that she might try to persuade Patrick that it was their duty to save it.

Looking out at the bleak moorland landscape, the black, twisted thorn, the dying, rusty bracken, Maudie suddenly felt all the melancholy of the season. She knew that she was, once again, to be cast in the role of wicked stepmother. Patricia and Simon, happily settled in Australia, would receive letters and telephone calls reporting this latest calumny, and Selina’s boys—Chris and Paul—would be prevailed upon to add their weight of disapproval. As she slowed to allow a sheep to meander across the road, Maudie shrugged. Patricia was too far away to lend more than a token support; as for the boys, they didn’t give a damn about Moorgate and were
too busy with their own lives to take action. For once, however, Posy might be on her mother’s side.

Rain misted the windscreen, drifting across from the sea in thick vaporous clouds, smothering the granite outcrops in its clammy embrace, obliterating the road ahead.

‘Damn,’ muttered Maudie, switching on the car’s sidelights and turning the windscreen wiper to intermittent. ‘Damn and blast.’

Driving carefully she cast her mind back to brighter, sunnier days; a glorious summer twenty years before, when she and Daphne had spent the holidays at Moorgate. Daphne’s daughter, Emily, had been unwell and Selina, committed to assisting with the boys’ school trip to Venice, had been let down by the au pair who was supposed to be looking after Posy. It was Hector who had suggested that they should all go to Moorgate: Maudie and Posy; Daphne and Emily. The sea air and walks on the moor would be good for them, he’d said and, somehow, it had all been arranged—although Selina was clearly unhappy at the plan. Hector and Philip, Daphne’s husband, appeared at intervals—punctuation points in the long, slow, hot days which slid seamlessly past. By day the house had been filled with sunshine; the flagged floors shockingly cold to hot, bare feet; by night the bedrooms were washed by moorland air and moonlight.

Slowing the car a little, peering into the mist ahead, Maudie remembered the old wooden swing in the shade of the escallonia hedge where Emily would sit, idly pushing herself, dreaming about her forthcoming wedding, whilst Posy splashed about in the paddling pool, squealing with delight. Daphne would lie, recumbent on the old plaid rug, her book open across her chest, her eyes closed, as Maudie poured iced lemonade from a tall, frosted jug, the sunshine burning her bare arms. Later they would have an early supper in the huge, cool kitchen; swimsuits drying on the rack above the old solid-fuel Aga; Posy, newly scrubbed, drowsing in her high chair; Emily, bright-faced, chin in hands, describing her wedding-gown; Daphne moving quietly between table and range, cutting new brown bread, placing a bowl of sweet, wine-red raspberries beside a bowl of thick, crusted, yellow clotted cream.

Darling Emily: what an enchanting bride she’d been at the end of that magical summer; drifting up the aisle in cloudy white, with small Posy staggering behind, the train clutched in hot, determined fists, the wreath of flowers askew over her eyes. Darling Emily, slender and fragile beside Tim’s tall, broad-shouldered figure. The next summer they’d returned to
Moorgate. Emily was pregnant and Tim had agreed that the country air would do her good. This time, however, Selina and the boys had been members of the party and Maudie and Daphne feared ructions. By sheer good fortune, some of Selina’s friends had taken a cottage at Rock and the boys had been loud in their insistence that it was more fun to be on the golden sands with their chums than to be impeded by two old women, one young pregnant one and their small, tiresome sister. Reluctantly Selina had given way before the demands of her sons and her friends so that, once again, the four were left much to their own delightful devices. For a few years the pattern had continued, until Hector had decided that Moorgate should be let on a long lease.

Young though she’d been, Posy insisted that she could remember those summers, had even, once, whilst staying with friends, insisted on being driven over to see Moorgate. The long-suffering tenants had given them tea and let Posy show her friends over the house. Her love for Moorgate was more genuine than Selina’s, and Maudie dreaded breaking the news to her. She hoped that Posy was too involved with her friends and her studies to be truly miserable but it would not be a pleasant task. Posy was her darling; the baby who had broken down her defences, shattered her pride and made her vulnerable.

‘We all have our favourites,’ Daphne had said once, her eyes on Emily’s sleeping, peaceful face. ‘It’s only natural, I suppose. The thing is not to let it show to the others.’

Emily had been everyone’s favourite, arriving long after Daphne and Philip had given up hope of having children. She had Daphne’s short nose and small square chin, her cornflower-blue eyes and blonde hair. Even if she hadn’t been such a miracle child she would still have been special. She was beloved of old and young alike; sweet-tempered, merry-hearted, generous, fun.

‘She’s such a darling,’ people exclaimed—and so she was. Daphne brooded over her with an odd mixture of delight, relief and gratitude that touched Maudie’s heart.

‘You are besotted with that child,’ she’d said—and Daphne had looked almost guilty, defensive.

‘She might so easily have been a boy,’ she’d answered.

‘You’d have loved him just the same,’ Maudie had suggested, surprised.

‘Yes,’ she’d replied quickly. ‘Yes, of course. Only I’d always so longed for a little girl, you see.’

How anxious Daphne had been whilst Emily was having her babies; how relieved when it was over.

‘It’s a girl, Maudie,’ she’d cried down the telephone. ‘She looks just like Emily. Both quite well. Oh, thank God! Thank God!’

She’d been quite hysterical with joy and relief. The second time round it was another girl, just like her beautiful mother, but Daphne’s reaction had been exactly the same. Maudie had teased her about it but Daphne was unrepentant.

‘You have no idea how happy I am,’ she’d said. ‘Darling Emily …’ and she’d burst into tears.