Deep Water, Thin Ice (6 page)

But now, in an effort to stop the foxgloves dying, she wandered with them round the garden. The only flower beds which had apparently received any recent attention were the ones edging the front lawns though what flowers they had once possessed were now choked with weeds. One of the sheds round the back of the kitchen was full of rusty tools and Alex picked her way in through the cobwebs and undisturbed grime, brushing silken tendrils off her hair and flinching in disgust, picked up a heavy spade and trowel, and escaped into the fresh air again. Making a mental note to clear the shed out and clean it, she set off with her tools to sort out the flower bed.

*

The following Saturday, some four days later, with the sun already high and warming her back, Alex, in cropped trousers, a sleeveless t-shirt and white canvas shoes, was washing the front door, a bucket of pine cleaner by her feet, a pair of yellow rubber gloves on her hands. Behind her the hard, sandy earth of the front path, its fine gravelled surface long since reduced to a few hard granules, looked as if it had been polished. The beds between the shaggy lawns and the paths had all been weeded too. Few plants had survived but everywhere there was bare, turned earth, and shrubs cut back within an inch of their lives. In one place near the path the two foxgloves had been pushed into the earth and drowned with water. Once she’d started, Alex had been driven to continue.

Now, as she rubbed at the dirt and bird droppings on the door, she was struck by the quietness. All she could hear was the wind in the trees, the calls of the gulls over the harbour and, perhaps, with a little imagination, the distant sound of surf on the beach. It was the hottest day of the year so far and the sun glinted off the white paintwork and brought beads of sweat to her upper lip as the midday temperature soared. Memories of the honeymoon she and Simon had spent in Italy came to mind. They’d divided their second week between Florence and Verona but the first week had been quiet, like this, and hot, under a fierce and burning sun. They’d spent it in rural Tuscany, cycling from one remote small hotel to the next. Simon had studied music at Cambridge and cycling had become a bit of a hobby for him. Alex was less adept and fell off more than once on the hilly roads. She smiled for a moment, remembering him standing over her laughing, shaking his head in mock despair, and then hauling her to her feet. He’d immediately fussed over her, looking for bruises, tickling her and teasing her until they were laughing and then kissing…

Footsteps intruded on her thoughts and she looked round. A man was approaching her carrying a large bunch of white chrysanthemums. She turned to face him, the cloth still in her hand.

‘Yes?’ she said cautiously. She’d heard no delivery van and couldn’t imagine who’d be sending her flowers there anyway.

‘Miss Munroe? My name’s Theo Hellyon. I know you don’t know me but we have met before, sort of. Well…here, these are for you.’

He awkwardly thrust the paper-wrapped flowers at her and she took them on a reflex and then frowned down at them.

She looked back up at his face.

‘We’ve met…? I’m sorry. I don’t remember.’

‘No, well. It was at the funeral.’ Theo looked down at his feet and shifted his weight uneasily from one large foot to the other. Alex was reminded of Ben when he was doing something polite Erica had told him to do.

‘The funeral?’ Alex tried to cast her mind back but she could recall little of it now. It had passed in a haze.

‘I’m Simon’s cousin. We hadn’t seen each other for a while but we were very close once. I’m so sorry Miss Munroe. It was a terrible thing to happen.’

Alex looked into Theo’s face, mouthing his name, the furrow in her brow deepening. Did she know of him? She couldn’t remember Simon saying anything about him.

‘Thank you,’ she said automatically.

She stared at the man in front of her. It was uncanny. He had the same mellowed public school accent and his hair was so similar: dark tawny, receding just a little, a little curly, not as long of course…

‘It looks like you’ve been gardening,’ Theo said, breaking the silence. ‘The poor old place needs a bit of attention I dare say. It hasn’t been loved in years.’

‘Mm?’ Alex forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘No. It looks like it.’ She glanced round the garden. ‘Actually,’ she said apologetically, ‘I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. But I started to clear a patch of ground to put a couple of plants in and I got carried away.’

Theo grinned. He had an infectious smile.

‘I’ve probably pulled out all sorts of important plants,’ she said, smiling back. ‘And I found a few muscles I didn’t know I had. I couldn’t walk the first day after the digging.’ Theo’s grin widened. She thought he had kind eyes. And there was something in the line of his mouth and the way his shoulder twitched before speaking which reminded her of Simon. There it was; she couldn’t deny it. He reminded her of Simon, in look and mannerism. ‘Would you like to come in?’ she heard herself ask and some part of her wondered why she was doing this.

‘Well, perhaps just for a minute. I don’t want to disturb you.’

‘You’re not…really. I could do with a break.’

She pushed the door open again, picked up the bucket and led the way inside, taking him left into the sitting room.

‘Take a seat. Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee?’

‘Coffee, thanks.’

‘I’m afraid it’s instant.’

‘Instant coffee would be fine.’

Alex dumped the bucket in the utility room, peeled off the gloves, brushed herself down and made their coffee. Apart from the delivery men who’d brought her new washing machine and the mattresses – and she didn’t think they counted - this was the first time she’d had anyone actually in the house since she’d been there. She returned with a tray bearing two mugs of coffee and a small jug of milk.

‘I’ve no sugar, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I don’t take it and never thought to get any.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Here, let me take that.’ He took the tray from her and put it on the coffee table.

She handed him a mug, the best she’d been able to find in the cupboard, and they sat down opposite each other. There was a brief awkward silence.

‘I believe you’re a singer,’ Theo began hesitantly. ‘I know your name of course but I can’t pretend I know anything about your music, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right.’ Alex looked down at her hands and rubbed the palms together. She noticed she’d still got soil stuck under her nails and she’d already scrubbed them till they’d nearly bled.

‘Are you preparing for a concert or anything now?’ he asked politely.

‘No.’ She answered almost before he’d finished and looked up at him with a defiant expression. ‘No…I’m having a break.’

Theo smiled warmly.

‘Good idea. And you’ve come to a great place to have one.’

Alex was surprised. He was the first person who seemed to think she was doing the right thing.

Theo sipped his coffee and flinched.

‘You
do
take sugar,’ she said. ‘I am sorry.’

Theo shook his head.

‘It’s good for me. No problem.’

Alex picked up her mug and settled back in her seat. She caught herself staring at him.

‘I don’t want to be rude,’ she said slowly. ‘But I didn’t even know Simon had a cousin.’

‘Oh?’ Theo laughed, nervously she thought. ‘Well I suppose he was living a very different life and we all seemed a long way away.’

‘So that’s why his mother had this house down here? He has family in Kellaford Bridge? Do you live nearby then?’

Theo looked embarrassed and replaced his cup in the saucer.

‘Look, I should probably tell you before someone else in the village does. You obviously know nothing about the family background and it’d be better coming from me. We – that is my family - used to live here.’

‘Here? In Hillen Hall? I don’t understand.’

‘Why would you? My parents owned the house and grounds but, to be honest, it was always a struggle to manage the place. My father didn’t inherit any family money to speak of when my grandfather died, just the house and the family antiques business. The business wasn’t that strong either. My brother Julian died when he was young and with me growing up I think my parents felt they were rattling round in it. Anyway, my father wanted more money to put into the business so he sold the house and grounds to his sister Felicity, Simon’s mother. She had married into money and was pleased to have the house. My parents kept the Lodge and its garden and moved in there. You’ve seen the little house on the drive? It worked out well for everyone.’

‘Oh.’ Alex nodded. ‘I see.’ She hesitated. ‘Then, this is kind of strange: I’m entertaining you in your own house.’

Theo shook his head.

‘Not at all. Really. It’s not like that. I was a child when we lived here. These days I travel a lot with my work. I don’t stay anywhere long.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Anything to do with boats really. I love them. I’m a marine engineer by training but I often crew yachts for people who have money but no sailing experience. It’s good money and I get to see the world. Between times I do a bit of boat design and building.’

Alex nodded.

‘I suppose that’s an obvious career choice when you grow up somewhere like this,’ she remarked politely. ‘I haven’t had much experience of boats myself.’

‘Well, you’ll get plenty of opportunity round here,’ Theo said with a smile. ‘You’ll need to take the ferry to go upriver to Southwell – they call it Suth’ll locally; it takes ages by road. And it’s the nearest place that’s got any half decent shops.’

There was silence and Alex cast about for something else to say. ‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ she offered.

‘Thank you. It’s a long time ago now.’

‘And you say you were…close to Simon at one time?’

‘When we were children. Simon used to come here to spend his summer holidays. Aunt Phil couldn’t cope with having him round the house all the time and used to pack him off here. He was pleased. It meant he could run around more. Phil was so protective.’ Theo rolled his eyes and grinned. ‘Well, you must have met her so you’d know.’ He finished his coffee in a long gulp and put the cup down on the table. ‘Thank you for that.’ He stood up. ‘Anyway I must be going. It was good to see you again.’

Alex stood up, slightly confused.

‘You say Simon came here a lot?’

‘Every summer for a while. Why?’

‘Oh nothing.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t remember you from the funeral. Thank you for the flowers. I must put them in some water.’

She showed him to the door, opened it and he stood a moment, then turned and rested a hand lightly on her arm.

‘I remember what it was like when Julian died,’ he said softly. ‘He was a couple of years older than me and I idolised him. Difficult times.’ He squeezed her arm very gently. ‘I do understand. Be gentle on yourself, that’s my advice. Oh, and if you need to know anything or maybe need a hand with something, give me a shout. I’m staying at the Lodge with my mother at the moment. She’s a widow now and likes the company. Here…’ He pulled a paper till receipt out of a pocket. ‘Have you got a pen?’ She went inside, grabbed one from by the telephone in the hall and gave it to him. ‘Here’s the number,’ he said, scribbling on the paper against the wall.

He thrust the paper in her hand, smiled and was gone, taking the path back to the drive in long strides. He turned at the corner to give her a brief wave before disappearing out of sight.

‘Simon came here every summer,’ Alex muttered to herself as she walked back into the drawing room and began to clear away the coffee things. ‘I wonder why he didn’t say?’ But Simon was a composer and a talented musician who lived on a different plane to most people. He was always listening to music or making it, or even just humming to himself. He probably didn’t think it was important.

She put Theo’s phone number by the phone. ‘So you’re Simon’s cousin,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Nice.’

‘I won’t be able to come down before the beginning of the school holidays. Our neighbours have got that house in Lowestoft you remember? And Ben gets on quite well with their son Graham. Anyway, they’ve offered to take Ben along too. So I’ll see you then and you can show me this fancy place you’ve inherited.’

Alex was silent. The false brightness and throw-away manner of her sister’s voice did nothing to disguise her agenda. Ever since her arrival in Devon, Erica had pestered her about when she was going back to London. There’d been veiled hints at first and then frank questions and barbed comments about Alex’s damaged career. But Alex wasn’t ready to go back. Spring was moving smoothly into summer. It was the beginning of June and she thought maybe she’d got past the worst now. She’d got a routine of a kind, she knew where things were, she was even starting to get to know people. A couple of times she’d taken the ferry to Southwell - it navigated its way upriver for a few hours either side of high tide - and caused amused comment locally by the number of bags she’d carried back and struggled with over the quay to her car. She couldn’t pretend that she always felt good; she didn’t. There were still days when she struggled to get out of bed. But she was coping and the last thing she needed was Erica – loyal and loving and compulsively overbearing - breezing in and trying to organise her. Her sister had all the tact and sensitivity of a journalist scenting a controversial story.