House of Echoes (4 page)

She did not follow him for a moment. Turning round slowly she stared about her at the empty room. The silence of the house was beginning to oppress her. It was as if it were listening, watching, holding its breath.

‘Joss! Come and see.’ Luke was in the doorway. He was beaming. ‘It’s wonderful.’

Joss gave herself a small shake. With a shiver she followed him through the doorway and immediately she felt better. ‘Luke!’ It was, as he had said, wonderful. A small, bright room, full of mellow autumn light, looking down across the back lawns towards the small lake. The walls were lined to the ceiling with books except where an old roll top desk stood, with in front of it a shabby leather chair. Round the fire stood a cluster of three arm chairs, a side table, an overflowing magazine rack and a sewing basket, still with its silks and needles, witness to the last hours of Laura Duncan’s occupancy.

Joss stared round, a lump in her throat. ‘It is as if she just stood up and walked out. She didn’t even take her sewing things – ’
She ran her hand over the contents of the basket. There were tears in her eyes.

‘Come on.’ Luke put his arm around her again. ‘Everything was planned. She didn’t need her sewing things, that’s all. She was looking forward to a life of leisure in France. I bet in her shoes, you wouldn’t take your darning needles either.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘The desk is locked. Is the key there, in the box?’

It wasn’t. They tried a succession before they gave up and resumed their tour of the house. The only other room on the ground floor was a small sitting room which looked out across the drive. The squeaking shutters opened reluctantly to show their car, already dusted with crisp brown leaves from the chestnut tree on the edge of the front lawn. On the grass a trio of rabbits grazed unconcerned within a few feet of its wheels.

At the foot of the stairs Joss paused. Above them a gracious sweep of oak treads curved around out of sight into the darkness. Aware that Luke was immediately behind her she still hesitated a moment, her hand on the carved newel post.

‘What’s the matter?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just had the feeling – as if there was someone up there. Waiting.’

Luke rumpled her hair affectionately. ‘Perhaps there is. The skeleton in the cupboard. Come on, let Uncle Luke go first.’ He took the stairs two at a time, disappearing around the corner and out of sight.

Joss did not move. She heard his footsteps echoing across the floor, the now familiar rattle of shutters and suddenly the stairs above her head were flooded with light. ‘Come on. No skeletons.’ His footsteps crossed the floor again, growing fainter until she could hear them no more.

‘Luke!’ Suddenly she was frightened. ‘Luke, where are you?’ Slowly she began to climb.

The stairs creaked slightly beneath her weight. The polished handrail was smooth and cold under her palm. She looked up, her concentration focused on the upper landing as she rounded the curve towards it. A broad corridor ran crossways in front of her with three doors opening off it. ‘Luke?’

There was no reply.

She stepped onto a faded Persian rug and glanced quickly into the doorway on her right. It led into a large bedroom which
looked out across the back garden and beyond it, over the hedge towards a huge stubble field and then the estuary. The room was sparsely furnished. A bed, covered by a dust sheet, a Victorian chest of drawers, a mahogany cupboard. There was no sign of Luke. The doorway half way down the landing led into a large, beautiful bedroom dominated by an ornate four-poster bed. Joss gasped. In spite of the dust sheets which covered the furniture she could see how exquisite it all was. Stepping forward she pulled at the sheet which lay over the bed to reveal an embroidered bedcover, matching the hangings and tester.

‘So, Mrs Grant. What do you think of your bedroom, eh?’ Luke appeared behind her so suddenly she let out a little cry of fright. He put his arms around her. ‘This is the kind of style to which you would like to be accustomed to live, I suspect?’ He was laughing.

Her fear forgotten, Joss smiled. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s like Sleeping Beauty’s palace.’

‘And Sleeping Beauty needs a kiss from a prince to wake her up and show her she’s not dreaming!’

‘Luke –’ Her squeal of protest as he pulled her onto the high bed and began to kiss her was muffled as he climbed up beside her. ‘I think we need to stake our claim on this bed, don’t you, Mrs Grant?’ He was fumbling for the buttons on her jersey under her jacket.

‘Luke, we can’t – ’

‘Why not? It’s your house, your bed!’

She gasped as his hands, ice cold from the chill in the house, met the warm flesh of her breasts and pulled away her bra. Her excitement was rising to match his. ‘Luke – ’

‘Shut up.’ He dropped his mouth teasing her with his tongue, his hands busy with her skirt and tights. ‘Concentrate on your husband, my love,’ he smiled down at her.

‘I am.’ She reached up pulling away his sweater and shirt and pushing them back so that she could kiss his chest, his shoulders, pulling him down towards her, oblivious to everything now but the urgency which was building between them.

In the corner of the room a shadowy figure stood motionless, watching them.

‘Yes!’ Luke’s cry of triumph was muffled by the hangings of the bed. In the ceiling beams the stray sunlight from the garden wavered and died as dark clouds raced in from the east.

Clinging to Luke, Joss opened her eyes, staring up at the embroidered tester above her head. A rosette of pale cream silk, threadbare, cobwebbed, nestled in the centre of the fabric. Stretching, contented as a cat, Joss gazed round, not wanting to move, enjoying Luke’s weight, his warmth, his closeness. It was a moment before her eyes registered something in the corner, another fraction of a second before her brain reacted. She blinked, suddenly frightened, but there was nothing there. Just a trick of the light.

Luke raised his head at last and looked down. Joss was crying.

‘Sweetheart, what is it?’ Contrite he wiped the tears with a gentle hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’

She shook her head. ‘Take no notice. I’m all right. I don’t know why I’m crying.’ Sniffing she wriggled away from him and slid off the bed.

Pulling down her skirt she went to retrieve her tights from the dusty boards. It was as she was putting them on that the sound of a bell pealed through the house.

Luke stood up. Pulling his sweater on over his head he padded across to the front window and looked out. ‘There’s someone at the front door!’ He smothered a laugh. ‘How embarrassing! Our first visitor and we’re caught in delicto!’

‘Not caught!’ She pushed her feet into her shoes and smoothed her hair. ‘Go on, then. Let them in.’

They couldn’t. Of the front door key there was no sign. By dint of shouting through the two-inch keyhole, Luke directed their visitor to the back door and it was in the shadowy kitchen that they received their first guest, a tall distinguished-looking woman, dressed in a heavy woollen coat, swathed in a tartan scarf.

‘Janet Goodyear. Next-door neighbour.’ She extended a hand to them both in turn. ‘Sally Fairchild told me you were here. My dears, I can’t tell you how excited the village will be when they hear you’ve arrived. Are you seriously going to live here? It’s such a God-forsaken pile.’ Pulling off her gloves and throwing them on the table she walked over to the range and pulled open the door of one of the ovens. She wrinkled her nose cheerfully. ‘This kitchen is going to need at least twenty thou spent on it! I know a brilliant designer if you need one. He would make a really good job of all this.’

Luke and Joss exchanged glances. ‘Actually, I want to leave the
kitchen as it is,’ Joss said. Luke frowned. Her voice was ominously quiet. ‘The range will refurbish beautifully.’

Their visitor looked surprised. ‘I suppose so. But you’d do much better, you know, to swop it for a decent Aga. And God help you when it comes to the roof. Laura and Philip were always having trouble with the roof.’ She turned back from her poking around, her smile all warmth. ‘Oh, my dears, I can’t tell you how lovely it will be to have neighbours here. I can’t wait for you to move in. Now, what I’ve actually come for is to ask if you’d like to pop over for lunch. We live just across the garden there; in the farmhouse.’ She waved a vaguely expansive hand. ‘My husband owns most of the land round here.’

Joss opened her mouth to reply, but Luke was ahead of her. ‘It’s kind of you, Mrs Goodyear, but we’ve brought our own food. I think on this occasion we’ll take a rain check, if you don’t mind. We’ve got a lot of measurements and notes to take while we’re here.’

‘Twenty thou!’ He exploded with laughter when at last they had managed to get rid of her. ‘If she knew that we are going to move in here without a penny to our name she would probably have us struck off her Christmas card list before we were ever on it!’

‘I don’t think she meant to sound so frightening. I quite liked her.’ Joss had pulled open one of the tall cupboards. ‘She’s right in one way, though, Luke. There is a lot to do. The roof – presumably – water, electricity; we don’t know if it all works. And the stove. I suppose we could get it going –’ she stared at it doubtfully ‘ – but it is going to gobble fuel.’

‘We’ll cope.’ He put his arms round her again and gave her a hug. He was, she noticed, looking happy for the first time since he had found out about Barry’s treachery. Really happy. ‘For a start there was a massive amount of coal in one of the sheds in the courtyard, did you notice?’ he said. ‘And there will be logs. We’ll manage, Joss. Somehow. You’ll see.’

A
n empty beer glass had left a wet ring on the pub table which Joss was busy transforming into a figure of eight with variations when David Tregarron fought his way back towards her from the bar carrying two spritzers and a bag of nuts.

The head of the History Department at Dame Felicia’s School in Kensington, David was thirty-eight years old, two years divorced and, as house master and second head lived above the job, over four dormitories of unruly little boys, in a Victorian flat with minimal mod cons. His divorce had been an unpleasant messy business, and Joss had been one of his anchor points at the time. She and he might not agree over teaching methods but her loyalty to him as his marriage had unravelled had been unswerving. She had comforted him as his wife took off into the sunset with her new man, propped him up in the staff room with coffee and Alka Seltzer and cheerfully agreed with all his maudlin lamentations over a woman she had never actually met.

When once, some time after the divorce was made absolute, he had grabbed her hand and said, ‘Joss, divorce Luke and marry me,’ he had realised as soon as he had said it that he was only half joking. He had seen the danger in time and pulled himself together. Being fond of Joss was permissible. Anything more was totally beyond the pale.

‘So, how is Luke taking all this new-found wealth?’ He lowered himself cautiously onto a plush-covered stool and passed her one of the glasses.

Joss gave a wry grin. ‘Amazement. Relief. Disbelief. Not necessarily in that order.’

‘And you?’

She sighed. ‘Roughly the same. I’m still pinching myself. So much has happened to us in the last few weeks, David! I don’t
think even in my wildest dreams I ever imagined anything like this happening to us!’ She sipped thoughtfully from her glass for a moment. ‘It was nice of you to call and ask me out. Do you know this is the first break I’ve had away from the house in days. There has been so much to do. The firm going under has been a complete nightmare.’

David grimaced. ‘I was so sorry to hear about it.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are they making Luke bankrupt?’

Joss shook her head. ‘No, thank God! The mews cottage has saved us. Luke’s grandfather bought it after the war when it was worth a few hundred pounds. When Luke’s father gave it to us as a wedding present he handed us a fortune, bless him.’ She gave a sad, fond smile. ‘It’s going on the market for a lot of money. If I ever get my hands on Barry I’ll throttle him personally if Luke or the police don’t get to him first. Our lovely little house!’

‘That’s really tough. But now you have your stately roof in East Anglia to fall back on.’

She gave a wry grin. ‘I know. It sounds like a fairy tale. It is a fairy tale! Oh, David, it was so beautiful! And Luke is full of plans. He’s going to turn his hand to restoring old cars again. He is a trained engineer after all, and it’s what he always loved doing best. I think he was pretty sick of spending all his time on management and paperwork. And they’ve let him keep some of the machinery and tools from H&G– it’s out dated by other people’s standards apparently and the buyer didn’t want them. He’s retrieved lathes and boring and gear-cutting equipment and all sorts of stuff. I hope he’s right in thinking he can make us some money that way, because we’re going to be awfully short of cash. Next summer we can live off the garden, but it’s a lousy time of year to be starting out as gardeners! Do you realise we’ll be moving in only a few weeks before Christmas!’

‘Joss, I’ve had an idea.’ David edged himself out of the way of a crowd of noisy drinkers who were settling around the table next to theirs. ‘That’s why I persuaded you to come and have this drink.’ He paused and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I know you and I didn’t always see eye to eye over history and its teaching!’

Joss laughed. ‘Always the master of understatement!’

‘And we’ve had the odd tiff.’

‘Ditto.’ She raised her eyes to his fondly. ‘What is this leading to, David? You are not usually so deferential in your suggestions.’

‘First, tell me, are you intending to go back to teaching up there in your new home?’

Joss shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I expect there’s a village school – I don’t even know that yet – but I shouldn’t think there’s any scope locally for the kind of teaching I do. Anyway, I think I’ve had it with teaching, David, to be honest.’

‘You weren’t sorry when you handed in your resignation before Tom was born. Even I could see that.’

‘And you were probably relieved to see the back of me.’ She looked down at her glass.

‘You know that’s not true.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re a good teacher, Joss. I was desperately sorry to lose you.’ He paused. ‘In more ways than one.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. Pulling himself together with a visible effort he went on. ‘You care about the kids, and you inspire them. Something not all history teachers manage by any means. I know we sometimes rowed about your methods, but I was only worried about your ability to stick to the curriculum.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I’m making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is, that I’ve a suggestion to make and I don’t want you to get hold of the wrong end of the stick. This is not an insult or a sinister plot to undermine your intellectual integrity. And above all I am not criticising your knowledge or interpretation of history, but I think you should give some serious consideration to the idea of turning your hand to writing. Fiction.’

He waited, his eyes fixed on her face.

‘Which is more my line than serious history, you mean.’ Joss hid a smile.

‘I knew you would say that!’ He smacked the table with the palm of his hand. ‘No, it is not what I mean. All right. You told the kids stories. They loved it. I don’t think it was good history but it was good teaching. They wanted more and they missed you like hell when you left. Joss, what I’m saying is that you are a born story teller. You could make money out of it. I’m sure you could. I’ve read some of your short stories. You even won that competition. I’m being serious. I have a feeling that you could do it. I know one or two people in the publishing business, and if you like, I will show them some of your writing. I don’t want to get your hopes up too much because it’s a chancy business, but I have a feeling about you.’ He smiled at her again. ‘A good feeling, Joss.’

She returned his smile. ‘You’re a nice man, David.’ She reached out her hand to his.

‘I know.’ He left his fingers lying there beneath hers on the table for just a moment too long then reluctantly he withdrew them. ‘So, I have your permission to show some stories around?’

‘You have my permission. Thanks.’

‘And I can come and see you as soon as you’re settled?’

‘Of course you can. I shall miss you, David.’

He picked up his glass. ‘And I you, Joss. And I you.’

Joss was kneeling on the floor packing china when she told Luke of David’s idea that evening.

He considered it for a minute, his head on one side, then thoughtfully he nodded. ‘You can write and you did win that competition. Joss, it’s a brilliant scheme!’

‘Winning a competition with a short story is not the same as making a living out of writing, Luke.’

‘No, but you could give it a go. And we are going to need money, Joss. Make no mistake about it.’

She frowned, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat on the floor. ‘It’s going to be tough at Belheddon, isn’t it.’

He nodded. ‘Just pray the roof doesn’t leak. Your mother and father meant well, leaving the place to you, I’m sure they did, but it’s going to take some looking after.’

‘We’ll manage though. Or you will. I’m glad I married a practical man! And who knows, once we’re settled, maybe I’ll even write a best seller, too.’ She glanced up at him through the dark fringe of her hair. ‘It’s a dream come true, Luke.’

He slid from his chair and sat down next to her amongst the debris of boxes and partly packed cups and plates. ‘I know it is, Joss.’ Putting his arm round her shoulders he pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘Just remember, we have to keep a tight grip on reality. We are going to have to work our socks off to keep that place going, and it’s not going to be easy.’