Deep Water, Thin Ice (17 page)

The sound of rain beating against the windows brought her out of her brooding introspection. She went to the window and watched the water streaming down the glass, heard it trickling into gutters and running insistently down the drainpipes. It reminded her of a piece of music Simon had written which was intended to sound like rushing water. It had had a melancholic, even harrowing timbre - all chromatic woodwind sequences and unresolved melodic progressions - and she’d never liked it. It was Saturday afternoon, the weather had closed in and the wind was blowing in off the sea. She would spend the evening in the snug with the curtains drawn tight. She switched on a comforting array of lights to fight the gloom and walked through to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.

*

Down at the Lodge, Sarah had gone out. She’d said she’d catch the afternoon ferry up to Southwell to do some shopping. Theo went upstairs and into his mother’s bedroom. It was immaculate as always and there hung in the air the unmistakeable trace of her perfume. He walked to her dressing table, picked up the bottle of Chanel and put it to his nose. It was her favourite and he bought it for her every Christmas. The shaking of her hands which was now becoming so apparent had started around last Christmas; he’d noticed it for the first time when she was pulling the wrapping off her presents. It had shocked him and the cause was only too obvious but she’d drink less, he was sure, once she was back in Hillen Hall.

He put the bottle down, turned away, crossed the room again, and opened her wardrobe. It was a large, oak construction with intricate carving on the door panels, brought from the Hall along with the rest of the bedroom furniture when they’d left. Theo had known nothing of the decision to sell Hillen Hall to his aunt and move to the Lodge until he’d got back from Harrow at the end of the summer term and his things had already been moved. He’d been furious and upset at not having been included in the decision, aghast that the home he’d known, and the estate which he’d assumed would be his eventually, no longer belonged to them. And then he’d been mortified the following autumn when he’d had to go back to school. Somehow the news had got round the dorm and he’d been endlessly ragged by the boys for coming down in the world. His so-called friends came from wealthy families; they had no need to watch their finances, downsize or manage without servants. He’d never heard the end of it till the day he’d left.

It was all his father’s fault. Richard Hellyon had doted on Julian. It had been Julian this and Julian that; Julian will be just the person to keep the family name going and the business. ‘He likes antiques,’ his father had said, leaving Theo in no doubt that he was incomplete in some way for not doing so. And he hadn’t been slow to bawl Theo out whenever he stepped out of line while Julian, of course, could do no wrong.

And Julian had even liked his father’s porcelain collection. Theo’s mouth curled at the thought. The bloody porcelain figures. Richard had been so devastated at the death of his eldest son that he’d been unable to work for months; he’d just moped around the Hall. When he’d finally gone back to work he’d spent most of his time buying porcelain figures to add to his collection. He’d been obsessed with them. And the blackest joke of all was that most of them were junk. He’d insisted they were a good investment but his judgement, never strong, had been further weakened and he was regularly fooled by fakes and broken pieces, inexpertly repaired. He squandered money and there had been little enough of it in the first place. True, the sale of the Hall had enabled Theo to continue at public school – at Sarah’s insistence – but at what cost?

Theo stared unseeingly at the rack of dresses and coats running the length of his mother’s wardrobe. His father had been contemptible. Theo had been away on a yacht when the news of his father’s death came through and he’d drunk so much in celebration that he’d made himself ill, been reprimanded, and had to spend the next day in his cabin.

He glanced at the clock. Sarah wouldn’t stay long in Southwell. She never did, and she’d catch the next ferry back. He turned his attention to the contents of her wardrobe, in particular the plastic sheathed dresses at one end of the rail. These were his mother’s most prized dresses, most of which she’d had since she was young and couldn’t wear any more; her waist was no longer so narrow, her breasts were too heavy. But he could remember her in them at dinner parties and dances when he was a small boy. They had done a lot of entertaining at that time and, if the boys were good, they were allowed to stay up to see the guests arrive. Julian had showed little interest but Theo used to creep out of his bedroom after they should have settled and slink down to sit on one of the lower steps of the back staircase. From its dark interior space he could sit safely in the shadows, watching and listening.

Now he lifted each dress out in turn, holding it up, turning it, considering it. Each one brought back an image of his mother, looking beautiful and happy. She had been stunning as a young woman with immense poise and a wonderful figure. He’d thought her a princess. He’d overheard men talk about her at the parties when they thought there was no-one around to hear. He vividly remembered being upset by some of the things they said about her. If he’d been bigger he’d have hit them and told them to shut up. She was his mother; they didn’t have the right to talk about her like that and his father shouldn’t have let them.

He pulled out an emerald green dress. It was a dress Sarah had had made soon after she’d married, made of silk brocade with a tight, shoulder-less bodice and a full, long skirt. Suspended in a separate bag from the hanger was a pair of above-elbow gloves to match. The dress was perfect. Theo laid it on the bed, moved the remaining dresses back along the rail in the wardrobe so that it looked the same as before, and closed the doors. Sarah wouldn’t miss it for a while. He picked up the green frock, looked round the room one last time, and took it through to his own bedroom.

*

For the first time Helen had invited Theo round for dinner. It was the gesture, he thought, of a woman looking for something stable from the relationship, a desire to show that she could be more than a mistress. He guessed, from odd remarks she’d made about her husband that she was increasingly disenchanted with her marriage. ‘Bob’s nothing like I thought he’d be,’ she’d complained. ‘He was so handsome at first and seemed such fun. Now look at him.
Bor-ing.
But then he was away a lot when we first started dating. I suppose I never knew him well enough.’ Theo got the impression she thought he was an altogether better prospect and she’d begun to make plans. He didn’t want to encourage her too much but, for now, he was reluctant to disabuse her.

Now he was standing at the top of the stairs which led from the gallery up to the Geaton’s living accommodation. They had a large open-plan living and kitchen area, separated by a peninsular unit, with a short passage leading to a bedroom and a bathroom. Another narrow run of stairs led up to the loft which had been converted into an en-suite bedroom. Helen had kept him waiting and forced him to knock twice before she’d let him in. Her apparent lack of enthusiasm was belied by the flush in her cheeks and the evidence of intensive food preparation laid out along the kitchen worktops.

She saw him glancing at all the dishes and bowls.

‘We’re having oysters to start,’ she said. ‘Then fillet steak and salad. For dessert I’ve made tiramisu.’ And then she added keenly, betraying her anxiety: ‘I hope you like it.’

‘Of course I do, though I don’t think we’ll need oysters.’

He smiled at her, eyebrows raised, and she giggled. She was wearing a strong musky scent and it suited her. She really was a very attractive woman. He was gambling that she was now sufficiently smitten with him to go the extra mile.

‘I’ve brought the wine,’ he said, holding up a carrier bag with his right hand. ‘Red wine
and
champagne.’ He noticed the two elegant glass flutes already taken out of the cupboard and put on the side. ‘I see I’m becoming predictable,’ he added with amusement and put the bag down in the kitchen.

‘What’s in the other bag?’ Sarah’s casual manner didn’t mask the excited anticipation in her voice.

‘This one?’ he said, holding up the bag in his left hand. It was an ordinary supermarket carrier bag containing something soft and folded. There was the crackle of paper as the bag moved. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it might be a present.’

‘A present?’ said Helen, smiling foolishly. ‘God, I can’t remember when Bob last bought me a present…just like that…for no reason. What is it?’ She reached out for it but he pulled it away from her playfully.

‘I’m scared you mightn’t like it.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ she said, staring at the bag expectantly.

‘I put it in a different bag…you know…in case someone saw me.’

Theo allowed Helen to take the bag off him and watched her face intently.

She slowly pulled out the tissue-wrapped parcel and unwrapped it to reveal the green dress. Theo had taken it out of the plastic sheath and neatly folded it with the gloves laid on top. Sarah’s heavy perfume drifted out of the bag with it and hung in the air. Helen’s smile became fixed and her brow furrowed.

‘It’s not new,’ Theo said quickly. ‘I got it from one of those vintage dress shops, you know? Those old styles had so much glamour, didn’t they? And I thought, as soon as I saw you, that you’d look wonderful in it. You’ve got just the figure for it.’

Helen put the gloves to one side and held the dress to let it fall.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Put it on.’

‘But I’ve got a new dress on.’

‘And it’s very nice,’ he said, barely flicking it a glance. ‘Still, put this one on. I’d especially like to see you in it…tonight.’

Theo kept an expectant smile on his face while Helen shifted her gaze hesitantly between him and the dress.

‘All right then…if you want. I won’t be long.’

Barely five minutes later, Theo walked softly into Helen’s bedroom. She had only just slipped the dress on.

‘I’ve brought the gloves through,’ he said, handing them to her. ‘Here, let me fasten you up.’ He edged the dress together and carefully pulled the zip up her back. ‘A perfect fit, I knew it would be,’ he said, pulling her round and examining her.

They stood for a moment, facing each other, while he ran his eyes up and down her, studying her, checking her appearance against the image in his head. Then he picked her up roughly and carried her over to the bed.

Mick tipped his head back, shielded his eyes against the sun, and watched five mallards fly over and descend further up the water. September had just tipped into October and the weather, as if trying to compensate for a mixed summer, had settled into a fine spell. Mick wondered what the winter had in store; the seasons seemed to be all to pot. He’d seen firecrests already which wouldn’t normally have arrived yet. Did this presage a hard winter or were they just confused by the change in the weather too? He turned back to the huge bag of bird seed he’d just been to collect from a wholesale feeds supplier. Mick drove a clapped out old van which he parked on hard ground the other side of the Grenloe. From there he could access a track which eventually led onto a public road without ever being seen in the village. He locked the van, hefted the bag onto his back and made for one of the walkways. How expensive it all was these days. He’d been muttering about it a few days previously when Alex, helping out, had asked how he could afford it.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she’d immediately said. ‘That’s none of my business.’

He’d looked at her directly then. It was rare that she came out with a frank question of that kind, though he suspected that her apparent indifference simply masked her natural curiosity. He assumed that she thought questions from her would only encourage reciprocating enquiries from him and she didn’t want that.

‘I manage,’ he’d said. ‘I starve to do it of course but if I get desperate to eat I can always shoot a duck to get me through.’

She’d looked shocked for a second and then tutted. He often said things which she took seriously for a moment before realising he was teasing her. He couldn’t resist doing it; she could be very intense sometimes.

‘No, but seriously,’ she said, ‘why don’t you open the reserve up to visitors and charge them an admission fee to help cover your expenses?’

‘Because it wouldn’t be a reserve any more, it’d be a zoo,’ he’d answered impatiently. She’d touched a raw nerve. ‘It’s supposed to be a place of retreat and peace, somewhere the wildlife won’t feel threatened, not a place to have cigarette ends and sweet papers thrown down, and people complaining that the birds won’t appear to command.’ He could have added that it was a retreat for himself too, free from the accusing eyes of humans and their loaded questions and ignorant assumptions.

He was surprised she kept coming. The frequency of her attendance varied but she never allowed too many days to pass without a visit. He knew, though she never talked about it, that she’d formed a friendship with Theo Hellyon. He’d heard the gossip in the village, while he waited in the queue in The Stores or called at the Post Office. She and Theo Hellyon had been picked up by Andy Turner in the ferry from the far bank of the Kella. They’d ‘been for a picnic together’ it was said, ‘spending a lot of time together’. The prospect of romance in the village had caused a buzz of excitement. ‘How nice for her,’ he’d heard Tess Webber, the hairdresser say. ‘After all she’s been through. She must be lonely up in that big house all by herself.’