Postcards from the Past (12 page)

‘Goodness,’ murmurs Alec to Hercules. ‘You’ve certainly met your match with this fellow, old boy.’

He gets out of the car, waving to Tilly, just as a woman comes out of the door behind her. She is not very tall, very slim, in jeans and shirt and a scarlet padded gilet. Her short fair hair curls attractively and she looks very relaxed as Tilly makes introductions whilst keeping an eye on Bear. Alec lets Hercules out of the car and the two dogs begin the usual sniffing ritual of greeting.

‘Don’t worry about Bear,’ Billa says. ‘He’s far too lazy to get uptight with another dog.’

‘And Hercules is far too old,’ says Alec. ‘Bear’s a splendid fellow, though, isn’t he?’

‘He’s very special,’ agrees Billa, ‘though not everyone’s idea of a domestic pet.’

Alec laughs. ‘I can see that. He’s like a Shetland pony.’

‘I knew they’d like each other,’ Tilly says triumphantly. ‘Good boys, aren’t you?’ She strokes them lovingly. ‘Dom’s bringing Bessie up in a minute for some coffee.’

‘Rather like the chimps’ tea party,’ Billa says to Alec, ‘only with dogs. Come and meet Ed.’

He is taken into the hall where the log fire burns brightly on the old millstone, and he can see up past the galleried landing into the rafters, and he exclaims with delight.

‘Ed can tell you the history of it,’ Billa says. ‘He’s got lots of old photographs. The land rises behind the house to the first floor. Upstairs there are big double doors that open out from the gallery. They were there to allow the lorries to come in so the milk could be poured from the churns into the vats, which were down here. Before that it would have been horses and carts bringing the milk.’

‘It must have taken great vision to convert it,’ says Alec.

‘It was my father’s vision,’ she says smiling.

Her smile is tinged with sadness and Alec remembers Tilly telling him that their father died when she and Ed were very young.

‘A wonderful memorial?’ he suggests, and he is relieved when she smiles at him more openly, almost with gratitude.

‘It was good to come home,’ she admits, ‘when Philip died. Tilly tells us…’ She hesitates. ‘I am so sorry to hear that your wife died last year.’

Alec is pleased that she is so direct. ‘We’d been together for a very long time,’ he answers, ‘and it seems very odd to be alone. We bought our little cottage at least thirty years ago so that we had a foothold in Cornwall whilst we were travelling around so much. When we retired our sons wanted us to buy something much bigger but I’m glad now that we didn’t. The cottage has so many memories and it’s more than big enough now for an old boy like me on his own.’

‘I was lucky to be able to come back to Ed,’ she tells him. ‘And to Dom; that’s our brother who lives down the lane. Oh, here is Ed…’

A tall man comes out of a room on the galleried landing and hurries down to meet him, and when Dom arrives a few minutes later with his golden retriever, Bessie, everything is easy and Alec has begun to enjoy himself.

They have coffee and brownies by the fire in the hall and then go to look at the lake, with the three dogs racing around them. When Alec tentatively suggest that all they go to the Chough for lunch everyone agrees with enthusiasm.

‘We haven’t been to the Chough for months,’ Dom says. ‘We tend to walk down to our local so that we can drink. You know that Tilly pulls pints at the Chough? She says that it’s very trendy these days.’

Billa drives Ed and Dom; Tilly travels with Alec. Tilly is flushed with happiness that everything has gone so well. She twists round in her seat to praise Hercules – who is now exhausted – and Alec looks sideways at her with affection. He sees her smoothly soft skin, the thick butter-coloured hair, her brightly laughing eyes and he suddenly wishes, with an aching, poignant longing, that he was young again.

‘No fool like an old fool,’ he hears Rose mutter, and he grins ruefully to himself.

The pub is quite busy but they get a table near the fire and Alec goes to the bar to order a round of drinks. While he waits, the inner door to the lounge opens and a man looks in; it is the man from the lane, the man with the binoculars. He glances at Alec with indifference but when he sees the St Enedocs at their table an odd, wary look crosses his face and he withdraws quickly and closes the door.

Alec thinks about it, gives a little shrug, and presently forgets all about him.

*   *   *

Bear lies on the cool slates in the hall, exhausted after his morning with Hercules and Bessie. The house is silent, everyone has gone out, and he is quite alone. Usually he likes to go along for the ride but today he is content to rest, to stretch his big body out on the cold stone floor and sleep. He dreams that he is running, chasing and being chased in his turn, and his great paws twitch and he makes grunting noises. Suddenly the noise of the back door opening disturbs him from his sleep; the dream fades and he lies, waiting. He is too tired to get up and go out into the kitchen to welcome his people home so he stays, stretched out and relaxed, listening. He hears footsteps moving around in the kitchen, cupboards doors opening, closing, and moments of silence. The footsteps approach the hall and the door is pushed wider open. Bear prepares to get up but he sees that the man who is standing in the doorway is a stranger. He can smell all sorts of emanations coming from this man: excitement, tension, anxiety. There is something else that Bear doesn’t like, doesn’t trust, and he moves suddenly, heaving himself up. His deep growl is formidable. The stranger sees him and steps backwards.

‘My God,’ he says very quietly. ‘OK. OK. Good fellow. Sit. Stay,’ and he backs out again, closing the door before Bear can approach him. He can hear the stranger moving about in the kitchen again, then the back door closes and there is the sound of footsteps moving away down the drive. Bear goes to the kitchen door, tries to push it open, but it is firmly closed. His water bowl is in the kitchen and now he can’t get to it. Bear sits down again, leaning heavily against the door; he slides down and stretches out. Soon he is asleep.

*   *   *

‘You forgot to lock the back door and you closed the kitchen door,’ Billa says to Ed. ‘Poor old Bear’s been stuck in the hall with no water.’

‘I might have forgotten to lock the back door,’ says Ed, ‘but I didn’t close the kitchen door. I never close it if we’re leaving him here.’

‘Well, I certainly didn’t,’ says Billa. ‘Poor old fellow. He hasn’t stopped drinking since I let him out. Perhaps Tilly closed it. Or Alec.’

‘I like him, don’t you?’ says Ed. ‘He made me feel very insular. Bit like Dom, living all over the world.’

‘I like it that he didn’t brag about it, though. It wasn’t a travelogue or an endless recital of anecdotes.’ She takes a deep happy breath. ‘It was just such fun. He’s like one of us. Tilly was right when she said that we ought to get together. Have you seen my mobile? I’m sure I left it here on the table.’

Ed shakes his head. ‘You usually take it with you.’

‘I know but I remember thinking I wouldn’t bother. We all went out in such a muddle that I just left it on the table. Damn. I can’t bear it when I lose it.’

‘Check your study,’ he says. ‘I know you think you left it here but clearly you didn’t.’

He picks up the letters from the kitchen table. Billa must have opened the end-of-year statement from their accountant before they went out, though she doesn’t usually put it back into its envelope, and he glances down the column of figures of the company’s accounts.

‘If you’ve seen this I’ll file it,’ he says as she comes back from her study, looking irritated.

‘I haven’t looked at the post today,’ she says crossly, ‘and my mobile’s not there.’

‘Phone the pub,’ he advises. ‘Just check. It’s worth a try.’

She sighs impatiently but takes the directory from the shelf and turns the pages. As he wanders away into the hall she can hear her voice, explaining, asking the question.

‘Any luck?’ he calls, and she comes into the hall looking puzzled.

‘He says that a man handed it in just now. Says it was down the side of the chair I was sitting in. That’s really weird. I was absolutely sure I left it here.’

Ed shrugs, raising his eyebrows, making a face calculated to tease her out of her irritation.

‘Oh, stop it,’ she says. ‘I am not losing my marbles. Damn. Now I’ll have to go and get it. Oh, wait. It’s Tilly pub night, isn’t it? She can pick it up for me.’

Ed sighs with relief. The panic is over and he wants to restore some of their earlier good spirits.

‘I’ll light the fire,’ he says. ‘Looks like we’ve got a card from young Harry. Or have you read it already?’

‘I told you I haven’t looked at the post.’ For some strange reason she feels scratchy, unsettled, all her happiness sliding away.

‘Well,’ Ed says pacifically, looking at the slit envelope, clearly not believing her, ‘read it now. Maybe he’s coming home.’

Dear Ed and Billa,

How’s everything with you? I’ve been staying with friends in Canada for a few weeks but Dom will have told you that I’m on my way home to see you all. I had to send this card because the chap on the front looks just like Bear. Don’t quite know yet when I shall be in Cornwall – probably in the next week or so – but I’ll stay in touch as I move on.

Lots of love,

Harry

Billa’s spirits lift again; the card restores her happiness.

‘Look at this,’ she says to Ed, who is breathing life into the fire with the bellows. ‘Harry says he might be home next week. Dom said he was working his way here by degrees. It’ll be so good to see him.’ She holds the card so that Ed can see the picture of the big brown bear. ‘He says it reminded him of Bear.’

‘I wouldn’t want to hug that chap,’ says Ed. He is relieved that Billa sounds happy again and he experiences a moment of very real pleasure at the thought of seeing Harry. He’s particularly fond of Dom’s grandson. ‘Have you thought any more about us leaving Mellinpons to Harry?’

Billa lets the card fall on to her lap. ‘I think about it quite a lot,’ she admits. ‘After all, there’s nobody else to leave it to, except Dom. It’s quite right that we made him the beneficiary in our wills, after all, he is our father’s eldest son. At the same time, Dom’s older than both of us and he’ll never need Mellinpons. I think it would be really good for it to go to his grandson. Dom’s cottage will go to his two girls and, let’s face it, they’ll simply sell up. Of all of them, Harry’s the only member of the family who’s ever likely to come back to Cornwall. I just worry about whether it might cause trouble in the family. That Harry’s been singled out, I mean.’

‘But we hardly ever hear from the others, do we? Only through Dom. Harry’s spent holidays and weekends here when he was at Oxford. He Skypes us and sends emails. He’s the only one of Dom’s grandchildren who has any real interest in us. Clearly Dom must leave his property between his daughters but we can do as we like.’

Billa nods. Secretly she’s rather surprised that Ed feels so strongly; usually he’s very aware of people’s feelings and how they might be upset. In this case it is clear that his love for Harry is stronger than his inhibitions.

‘I wish Dom had changed his name to St Enedoc,’ she says. ‘After all, his mother simply picked a name out of a hat to go on the birth certificate as his father. James Blake didn’t exist. I don’t blame her – back then it was a very difficult situation to be in – but once the truth came out Dom could have simply changed it.’

‘I think that it’s because our father never acknowledged him. He refused to see him. I think that Dom’s found that very hard and that’s the reason he wouldn’t take his name.’

‘He made it clear, though, in his will, didn’t he?’ says Billa. ‘The cottages were left for Dom and funds to make certain he could continue with his education. Of course, Mother couldn’t bear the sight of him, which didn’t help. And ghastly Tris calling him a bastard and his mother a whore. God, Dom was so angry. That’s why I’d like to leave Mellinpons to Harry. To kind of make up for things. I know it’s silly but he looks so like Dom. Well, like you, too. When I see Harry it’s like time has swung backwards and we’re all young again. And he is our great-nephew.’

‘And the girls are our nieces,’ Ed reminds her. ‘It’s a bit of a problem, but, in the end, it’s our decision.’

‘Maybe seeing Harry again will push us into taking the final step,’ suggests Billa.

Ed nods, smiles at her and goes upstairs, taking his letters with him.

She stands the card on the top of the chest and stares at the picture of the brown bear. Since they’ve come back from the pub she’s been feeling unsettled, like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way, and it’s not just to do with losing her mobile. Clearly, she must have snatched it up and dropped it into her pocket on the way out while everyone was discussing who would travel with whom, and which cars to use, and whether Bear and Bessie ought to go. Even so, she can’t remember doing it and she still has that odd feeling – as if she’s being watched: spied on.

Bear comes to sit beside her, leaning against her legs, and she strokes his head, pulls his soft ears. He pants a little, and gazes at her intently. She smiles at his expression and puts her arm around his neck.

‘Look,’ she says, picking up the card. ‘It’s one of your relatives,’ but Bear isn’t interested in the card. He, too, seems ill at ease, restless.

‘Come on,’ she says at last. ‘I thought you’d still be exhausted after all that dashing around earlier but I think you need a walk.’ She shouts up the stairs to Ed. ‘Bear and I are going down to the lake,’ and they go through the kitchen and out into the sunshine together.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The weather changes slowly, gently. As the east wind swings round to the west a silver curtain of rain is drawn across the peninsular, drifting, swinging, obscuring the hills and the sea. Trees, half-hidden by mist, appear as ghostly twisted semi-human shapes; old woodland gods with untidy tresses of ivy trailing from their outflung arms. Silver drops of moisture hang in the hedgerows where thorn and ash and oak have grown for a thousand years.

Coming in from the greenhouse Dom hears a woodpecker drumming in the woods and stands still to listen, his heart quickening with pleasure at this forerunner of spring. He kicks off his boots, pauses to give Bessie a rub with the old towel he keeps inside the door for this purpose. She stands obediently and then bounds away from him into the kitchen, tossing the leather bone she’s holding in her mouth, daring him to reach for it. He does, just to please her, and immediately she jerks her head away, keeping the bone out of his grasp, bowing down on her front legs with her tail waving happily. He seizes the bone suddenly, catching her off balance, and tosses it through the open door, down the hall, where it lands all amongst the post on the doormat.