Beyond the Green Hills (2 page)

C
lare opened her eyes and gazed round the broad terrace of The Lodge. Beside her, Andrew lay in a sun-bleached deckchair, his eyes closed, minute specks of cream emulsion paint dotting the bridge of his nose and the pale triangle of skin revealed by one of his cousin Edward’s oldest shirts.

At that moment, Teddy opened his eyes. He sat up, glanced at his watch, considered Andrew’s recumbent figure and looked down at the stretched-out figure of his sister, Ginny, her cotton shirt tucked up, her long legs already a gleaming, honey gold.

‘Five minutes more and then back to work,’ he announced firmly.

Ginny’s eyes flicked open.

‘Edward,’ she began, a look of outrage on her face. ‘Not only do you waylay us into participating in your
grand
summer
manoeuvre
when we are
all
supposed to be
on
holiday,
but now you treat us like minions. Well, it won’t do. This minion is on strike.’

Clare laughed aloud as Ginny spread herself out more comfortably, folded her hands across her stomach and closed her eyes again.

‘I didn’t waylay you,’ he protested. ‘I explained my
difficulties to Clare and Andrew when they got back from Ballintoy, and they offered of their own free will.’

‘I’m not here, I’ve gone away,’ Ginny murmured. ‘I’m on holiday on a tropical island, lying on a pure white beach, with blue water lapping the palm trees. Goodness, what’s that?’

A shot shattered the stillness. A cloud of rooks rose flapping and protesting from a clump of trees beyond the paddock. The detonation was rapidly followed by others of diminishing magnitude.

‘It’s only the breadman, Ginny,’ Edward said patiently. ‘His exhaust is exhausted,’ he explained. ‘Mum said to tell you she’d left a list on the kitchen table. And we owe him for the Armagh papers.’

Clare watched Ginny get to her feet, pull his ear and head for the kitchen. How lovely it would be to have a brother you could tease, she thought sadly, someone you could be really fond of, make jokes with, not like her own brother. Since their parents died, she’d tried so hard to be a proper sister, visited him whenever she could, brought him what small presents she could afford, but the older he got the more surly and unsmiling he became.

‘Sure, yer Granda’s done his best, I’ll say that fer him, since the day yer Auntie Polly brought him here,’ Granny Hamilton had said on her last visit to the farm. ‘An’ he admits there’s no improvement at all. William’s just one of those people with no time for anyone but himself.’

The contrast with Edward was almost too painful to bear. Although he was only just nineteen, Edward
had already shouldered many of the responsibilities his father’s death had landed on him, but he hadn’t lost his capacity to make them laugh. There was an openness about Edward, a warmth and a good-naturedness she found totally appealing.

‘Well then, Boss, shall we get back to it?’ said Andrew, soberly.

As he got to his feet, he put a hand down to Clare’s cheek and touched it gently.

‘It really is awfully good of you and Clare to help me out like this,’ said Edward sheepishly. ‘It was a far bigger job than I thought. It didn’t look so bad till I got started.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Edward,’ said Clare warmly. ‘I’ll add it to my curriculum vitae. Picture rail painted by the yard, to professional standards. Besides, I like my outfit,’ she added.

She flapped the long sleeves of the smock he’d found for her, the one his mother wore when she painted in oils. Daubed with patches of brilliant colour, it looked like a work of art itself.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind being up that ladder, Clare?’

‘No, truly, Edward. Heights don’t seem to bother me.’

The breadman’s van started up again. Edward paused, listening.

‘Back in a tick,’ he said over his shoulder, as he ran down the steps from the terrace. ‘Must give Ginny a hand. There’s enough bread on Mum’s list to feed the five thousand.’

Andrew dropped his arm lightly round Clare’s
shoulders and kissed her cheek.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No, not a bit,’ she said honestly. ‘I’ve discovered I like painting. I’d never done any before,’ she added, as they walked slowly along the terrace.

The french windows of the large, airy sitting room stood open wide, the stacked furniture beyond looming up like silent, white-clad watchers.

‘It’ll look lovely when it’s finished,’ she said, as they took their brushes from the jar of white spirit and dried them off.

‘Yes, it’s a super room. I’ve always loved it,’ Andrew replied. ‘Aunt Helen knows just where to put things for the best effect and how to make it welcoming. The furniture isn’t nearly as good as the stuff at Drumsollen, but it always looks much better.’

Clare laughed wryly. There was a time she’d known the furniture at Drumsollen only too well. As the housekeeper’s Saturday girl, she’d polished it regularly. She’d cursed the assorted objects that had to be moved from every surface before she could begin, but the smooth, mellow wood was lovely to touch. Even dusting the carving and the delicate inlay work had been a pleasure.

As she went to place her ladder below the next unpainted section of picture rail, she caught sight of Andrew’s face, sad and anxious, his lips pressed together, a sure sign he was uneasy.

‘Will you be going over to Drumsollen this week?’ she asked cautiously.

‘I suppose I should.’

Without looking at her, he prised the lid off a new
tin of paint and stirred the contents. She waited patiently, knowing there was more to come.

‘Edward says he got a cool reception when he went to make sure the roof repairs had been done properly,’ he began. ‘If she couldn’t be nice to her caring landlord, she’ll hardly be very keen to see me. Now Grandfather’s gone she doesn’t even have to be civil.’

‘Maybe she’s lonely, Andrew.’

‘Hard to imagine her missing anyone. She must have loved him once, I suppose. But then, showing your feelings wasn’t the done thing in their day, was it? Could we ever get like that, Clare?’

He looked so utterly miserable Clare abandoned her ladder, took the tin of paint out of his hands and put her arms round him.

‘Maybe age takes love away,’ she said, sadly. ‘I don’t know any old, married people who even seem to like each other any more. Granny Hamilton only speaks to Granda now when there’s some bit of everyday business she has to mention, yet she gave up going to America to marry him.’

‘Will you come with me?’ he asked suddenly, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe.

‘Where to?’

‘Drumsollen.’

‘Oh, Andrew, don’t you think that might make it worse? I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me for tackling her at your Uncle Edward’s funeral.’

To her complete amazement, Andrew threw back his head and laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘That cap you wore,’ he said, still laughing. ‘I’ll never forget it I can still see you standing there, telling her what you thought of her. It must be the only rime in human history the Missus has apologised to anyone. It ought to be recorded in the Annals of the Richardsons,’ he said, pausing and kissing her. ‘Please, Clare. Come with me. She’s going to have to know sooner or later. Let’s get it over with.’

‘All right, I’ll come,’ she said quickly, as she caught sight of Edward and Ginny walking along the terrace towards them.

‘Thank you, love. That’ll help,’ he said, a look of profound relief on his face.

When they emerged from the shadow of the long line of trees beyond the mental hospital, they saw the gates of Drumsollen standing open. As Andrew swung the bonnet of Aunt Helen’s car between the stone pillars, Clare glanced across at the low wall beyond them. In another life, she and Jessie used to park their bicycles there while they nipped across the road, down to their secret sitting place by the small, deeply entrenched stream.

‘Well, here we are,’ said Andrew flatly, as he stopped the car and glanced up at the worn stone frontage of the three-storeyed mansion.

Clare squeezed his arm encouragingly.

‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we? You’d think we were going for an interview.’

To her surprise, he didn’t smile. He didn’t even seem to hear her. She watched him straighten his tie
in the driving mirror and brush non-existent hairs from his shoulders before he got out. He was wearing his best trousers, a clean shirt, his college tie and blazer. Apart from Uncle Edward’s funeral, she’d never seen him dressed so formally before.

‘Are my seams straight?’

He studied her legs minutely and nodded before he realised she was trying to make him laugh. He pressed his lips together again and smiled bleakly.

‘She can’t eat us, Andrew. Why are you so bothered?’

‘I don’t know. Honestly, Clare, I don’t know.’

He reached for her hand and they walked up the stone steps towards the heavy front door. It too stood open, the entrance hall in shadow beyond.

‘My goodness,’ Clare said, in a whisper, as they stepped across the threshold, leaving the afternoon sunlight behind.

‘What is it?’

‘Everything,’ she said, stopping dead before the polished table with its long out of date copies of
Country
Life
and
Shooting
Times.

She looked up at the chandelier above her head, its cut-glass drops tinkling minutely in the movement of air from the open door. ‘I’d forgotten how big this hall is. And the way the ancestors stare down at you. I must have got used to it the year I worked here. Don’t you feel it pressing down on you?’

‘I don’t know what I feel,’ he replied, looking round him as if he was hoping to find some way of escape. ‘Let’s go down to the kitchen and tell June
we’re here.’

‘Ach, there’s ye’s are, the pair of you.’

Before they’d time to move, they caught the echo of footsteps on the wooden stairs from the kitchen. Breathless from hurrying, June Wiley, once Andrew’s devoted nursemaid, then housekeeper, now the sole remaining pair of hands in this huge house, crossed the threadbare carpet and threw her arms around them both.

‘I was listenin’ fer the car. My, yer both doin’ powerful well,’ she said, looking them up and down. ‘Aren’t ye glad to be home, Andrew? An’ I’m sure Clarey’s glad to see ye back. Ach, Clare dear, I shoulden call you that these days.’

‘Call away, June,’ said Clare quickly, her eyes misting with tears. No one had called her Clarey since Granda Scott died.

‘It’s great to see you, June’ she said, returning the hug. ‘Can we come home with you and visit John and the girls when you finish?’

‘Deed aye. Sure they’re expectin’ ye both. We’ll want to hear all yer news. But I’d best not keep ye’s now. She’s waitin’ fer ye.’

She nodded significantly. Putting an arm round each of them, she walked them across the hall to the foot of the broad, carpeted stairway.

‘Ye’ll see her badly failed, Andrew, since the Senator went. She can hardly walk at all, but don’t let on I told you. I’ll see ye’s later.’

Their feet made no sound on the wide, and shallow stairs, the once-red carpet now faded by the sun that flooded through the tall windows and made
patterns on the walls. The air in the broad first-floor corridor struck chill. Clare shivered and felt goose pimples rise on her bare arms. She squeezed Andrew’s hand as they approached the one room in Drumsollen she had never been permitted to enter.

‘It’ll be all right, love,’ she whispered, as they paused at the door.

‘Come in.’

The voice that responded to Andrew’s knock had lost nothing of its imperiousness. Madeline Richardson, The Missus to her one-time servants, her family, friends and acquaintances, sat in a high carved wooden chair that was well padded with cushions. She wore a silk blouse and pearls, a pleated tweed skirt and matching cardigan, heavy stockings and stout walking shoes – just what she would have worn in the long past days when she would go out to instruct the gardeners, or to pick the flowers she always arranged herself for the guest bedrooms.

Now the garments hung on her emaciated body. Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollow, her rouge an unconvincing area of colour on skin the colour of parchment. Her hands, bony and blue-veined, gripped the arms of her chair. Remaining upright was clearly an effort of will.

‘Andrew, bring that low chair for Clare, over here beside me, if you will,’ she said, before there was any question of kiss, or handshake. ‘What a splendid day for your visit. I’m sure you had a pleasant drive from Caledon,’ she went on, without looking at either of them.

Clare seated herself on the low chair, her eyes
almost level with the small undulations in the pleated skirt that marked the position of The Missus’s knees. Not having been invited to sit down, Andrew stood waiting awkwardly.

‘I’ve ordered tea for four thirty. Perhaps, Andrew, you would help Mrs Wiley with the trays. I know you always like to chat to her. And I shall have a word with Clare.’

It was not yet four o’clock. Andrew departed without a word. Whether he felt relieved at having been dismissed, or angry that his grandmother had managed to avoid greeting him, in any way, Clare would have to find out later.

‘Eh bien, Clare, I hear you have been in Paris. Did your studies go well?’

The voice was quite firm, its intentions clear. Perhaps it was to be an interview after all. Clare looked up at the haggard face. There were creases of pale eye shadow on the drooping lids and carefully pencilled eyebrows above the large, over-bright eyes. They watched her closely, waiting.

‘I didn’t go to study. Not directly. But I did learn a great deal. My professor found me a family in Paris who wanted an au pair. Actually, I spent more time in Deauville than in Paris.’

A smile of pleasure, of longing almost, lit up the old woman’s face, filling it with an animation Clare had never seen before.

‘Deauville! Oh, que j’aime Deauville.’

Clare was more taken aback by the softness of her tone than by the sudden move to French. She’d heard her speak the language before, but this was
not how it sounded when she’d reprimanded Andrew for speaking to a servant.