The Winter Folly (16 page)

Delilah gave him a grateful smile. ‘That would be wonderful, Ben, thanks. I’ll use all my powers to persuade John. You’re a star. I don’t know what we’d do without
you.’

Ben shrugged and said, over-lightly, ‘It’s fine. I’m happy to help. John knows that.’

She wondered why he said it in that tone, as though there was some resentment there, something she should know about. John had always seemed perfectly amiable towards his younger cousin
although, now she considered it, he gave the impression of doing Ben a favour by letting him manage the Fort Stirling gardens. She said without thinking, ‘Ben, why do you look after the
gardens at the house? Don’t you have enough to do with the farm?’

He brightened at the mention of the gardens. ‘Ah, well – I just oversee the farm. I keep an eye on it and direct things when I’m needed, but otherwise I let them get on with
it. I’m not really a farmer; I only do it because my dad can’t anymore. My real love is the gardens, so I prefer to spend my time there, doing what I really enjoy.’

‘Weeding?’ she said with a laugh.

He laughed as well. ‘I couldn’t do all the weeding there, even if I wanted to. Erryl does a lot, and the other gardener who comes up to help from April to November. But I like to
manage it, plan and control it. You’ve no idea of the satisfaction that comes with creating a wonderful garden – getting nature to do just as you want and making plants strong, healthy
and beautiful.’

‘You’re right, I haven’t. It’s not my world at all. But I love the results. The gardens are so gorgeous. They feel like they have a restorative power, as though they can
heal people.’

Ben gave her an eager look. ‘Absolutely – that’s what I think too. Nature
can
heal. I’ve got a dream that one day we could open the gardens to people who really
need them. We could offer ways for people with problems – like depression or addiction – to get in touch with nature. And there are kids who’ve only known concrete and inner
cities all their lives – we could do some real good for them. If Fort Stirling were mine, that’s what I’d do.’

Delilah stared back at him, touched by his passion and a little excited by his inspiration. That was exactly the kind of thing she thought the house had the potential for: its mighty size and
grandeur could be channelled into something positive and life-affirming, rather than allowing it to dominate everything to no purpose. ‘Have you suggested that to John?’

He gave her a sideways look as though uncertain what to say, then said tentatively, ‘John’s not exactly keen on allowing people in through the gates. He’d prefer to keep them
out if he could.’

‘Yes – but I’m working on him.’

A sympathetic expression crossed his face. ‘As long as he’s not working on you.’

‘What do you mean?’ she said, startled.

‘Oh . . .’ He looked away, a little shame-faced. ‘I don’t know. You came here so bright and happy in the winter. And now . . . well, you don’t seem the same,
that’s all. You look a bit beaten somehow.’

‘Do I?’ She was astonished that he’d noticed.

He looked back at her and his gaze seemed somehow more penetrating. ‘Yes. As though you’re finding it all a bit much. I think you’re a very good thing for John but I
can’t help wondering if he’s such a good thing for you.’ He reddened slightly and looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, I’m talking out of turn. I don’t mean to
imply anything about John – I’ve nothing against him. I’m just worried about you.’

It was most odd the way such a tiny amount of sympathy could affect her. She felt suddenly shaky and needy, on the brink of blurting out everything: the way John had changed and the pain he
seemed to suffer, her misery at not getting pregnant, and the effect the house was having on her, grinding her down so that she felt a little smaller every day. If she told him, what would happen?
She had a sudden longing for as much kindness as he could give her. When she spoke, her voice sounded reedy and trembling. ‘I’m doing my best. But it isn’t easy.’

He nodded. ‘I bet you thought you’d be able to sort the place out, but the house isn’t a place that’s easily changed.’ A concerned expression crossed Ben’s
face. ‘I admire you for taking it on, that’s for sure.’

She felt a stinging behind her eyes and told herself to get a grip. The kettle began to whistle on the stove top and when Ben got up to make the tea she took the opportunity to regain control.
To hide her emotions, she said loudly with a laugh, ‘I’m learning how eternal everything is. I can’t so much as rehang a curtain or move a photograph frame. You know that old
folly? I told John we should do it up and repair it, and he nearly had a fit. He told me the whole place was bad luck.’

Ben brought over the teapot and mugs. He was a good advertisement for gardening as a way of keeping fit, she thought as her eyes drifted over his strong physique. ‘Oh yes, the
folly.’ He poured out the tea. ‘We used to play there when we were kids, but on pain of a hiding if we got caught. They boarded it up eventually and I think it was going to be knocked
down. Then John got a letter from the heritage people saying the thing had been listed and he couldn’t touch it. I can’t say I’m fond of it myself. It’s kind of
creepy.’

‘I know what you mean, but that’s because it’s such a wreck. I think it’s rather elegant and it could be amazing if it was restored.’

Ben looked doubtful. ‘I can’t imagine what you’d do with it. It’s so odd – too small to be a house, not much use as anything at all.’

‘That was why it was a folly, I suppose. Something that cost a lot for little effect.’

Ben passed her a mug of tea and pushed a plate with some cake on it towards her. ‘There were some rumours about the old place.’

‘Really?’ She was interested. ‘What?’

‘Not very nice ones. Apparently there were a couple of deaths up there.’

‘Deaths? What do you mean? Accidents?’

‘No – suicides, I think. People jumping off. Goodbye, cruel world and all that.’

‘Suicides,’ echoed Delilah. ‘Do you know who?’

Ben shook his head. ‘No, sorry. Honestly, my parents didn’t talk about things like that to me. It was probably just rumour, or something that happened outside living memory. I
shouldn’t think it’s been possible to climb high enough up the folly to jump for decades at least.’

‘But still,’ Delilah said, ‘it explains why there are bad connotations with it, doesn’t it?’

She remembered John’s stormy expression and the fear she’d seen in his eyes as he looked at the old place. He implied that he’d come closer than most to plummeting off the
folly. Perhaps that, coupled with the rumours of strange deaths, were what caused his intense dislike.

‘It’s a grim old thing. I can see why John doesn’t like it,’ Ben said, taking a big bite of lemon cake. ‘This cake is the business, by the way. You must tell Janey
she’s a marvel.’

She smiled. He looked so nice and normal munching away across the table from her. The kitchen, so much smaller than the vast flagged one at home, was cosy and comforting. She wondered what the
rest of the cottage was like. Perhaps she and John would have been happier in a place like this, a home that was the right size for two.

‘I’d better go in a minute,’ she said. ‘John doesn’t know I’m here.’

He looked straight at her and for a guilty moment she felt as though they were engaged in a conspiracy. She and Ben had already as good as agreed that John was difficult, and that he was making
her miserable. Now she had admitted that she’d come here without telling her husband, as though it was an act of disloyalty towards him, instead of the desire to see a friend. She felt a
blush climb over her cheeks and hoped that Ben had not noticed it.

He continued to gaze at her intensely and then said in a low voice, ‘Well, we’d better make sure you get home soon. I don’t want to get you into trouble. But have your tea
first before you go, won’t you?’

Driving back over the brow of the hill towards the house, Delilah felt a sense of dread at going back there. Once she’d imagined that this place was the setting for the
finale of her very own fairy tale; now she felt the story was running in reverse, taking her in quite the wrong direction. Fort Stirling looked almost sinister, sitting in its giant hollow, its
windows dark, waiting for her to return so that it could beckon her back into its dark interior.

The kitchen was deserted when she went in, John nowhere to be seen. He was still shut away in the estate office and didn’t emerge until she had already gone up to bed and was asleep.

When she left for the early train to London the next day, John was dead to the world, the covers up around his ears, so she wasn’t able to say goodbye.

1965

Prince Albert gazed out from his memorial towards the circular hall that also bore his name, his black form sitting beneath its Gothic canopy as though he were in his own
private cathedral, still fretting over affairs of state. Around him were the symbols of how much he had to worry about – agriculture, manufacture, commerce and engineering – and the
great nations of the world represented by semi-clothed goddesses holding tridents aloft.

Alexandra walked towards the memorial, excited and apprehensive, tingling with nerves at what she was doing. Had last night really happened? It seemed like a dream but she had only to think
herself back onto that crowded dance floor and imagine Nicky’s body close to hers for all the fearsome deliciousness to flood back. She hadn’t imagined any of it, and Nicky’s note
was further proof, if she needed it.

She was afraid of what might happen but nonetheless she had dressed carefully for the meeting. Her usual conservative clothes seemed hopelessly stuffy after what she’d seen in the club,
and the warm day outside called for something easy and fresh. In her wardrobe was a pale pink short-sleeved dress that buttoned at the top and had a belt at the waist from which the skirt flared
out. She had no memory of buying it – perhaps Sophie had lent it to her – but it was just right. She slipped it on and put on her sandals. She stroked mascara over her eyelashes to get
the sooty look Polly had given her for the photographs and put on frosted pink lipstick. Then she hurried out of the barracks and headed west towards the Kensington end of the park. At every step,
her conscience told her she must turn back, and warned her that seeing Nicky was a reckless thing to do, knowing how he made her feel.
I mustn’t
, she told herself, but there was no
earthly way she could stop. She was being pulled towards him as irresistibly as if he held a rope that was tied about her waist and was reeling her in to him.

What about Laurence?
asked the voice in her head. But she refused to listen. How could she turn away from something that made her feel so alive, and condemn herself to a living death
with her husband? She knew that was what she ought to do. She knew that if she saw Nicky, something frightful might happen. But she also knew that whatever it was would be wonderful too, and she
was powerless to resist.

Then, suddenly, she saw him sitting on a bench near the memorial, hunched over and looking almost as lost in thought as the effigy of the prince. He wore a white linen jacket instead of his
bright pink one, blue trousers instead of the black leather, and a striped scarf at his neck. He was staring at the ground in front of him, his hands clasped. The sight of him provoked a turmoil of
excitement in her belly that radiated out over her skin, prickling like hundreds of tiny needles. Nervous butterflies swirled inside her. It was not too late to turn back. He didn’t know she
was there.

‘Hello!’ she called, heedless of what her conscience was saying. The sight of him was like sweetness to her soul.

He looked up and a smile illuminated his face. As she neared him, she wondered what it was he had that Laurence lacked so entirely. Nicky was handsome but Laurence wasn’t ugly. It was
something about the light in his eyes, his spirit and vivacity that made him so different from all the other men in the world. Nicky seemed touched by a magic that gave him a glowing aura and it
pulled her towards him with an irresistible force. As a child, she’d always admired him with a kind of giddy hero-worship, but that had been nothing like this. They were grown-up now and she
knew beyond all doubt that this was a grown-up emotion.

‘You’re here.’ He stood up and kissed her cheek, then took her hands in his and gazed down at her. She felt breathless and weak as he touched her. ‘We need to talk about
last night.’

‘Yes,’ she said simply. Now that she saw him, the fearful nervousness she had been feeling on the way here vanished and she knew that she would surrender to him completely if he
wanted her to. It was something she had no control over. She ought to feel guilty because she was married but it would make no difference at all to what happened.

‘I know it’s ridiculous.’ He laughed nervously. ‘We hardly know each other . . .’

‘Yes, we do,’ she corrected. ‘We always have.’

‘You’re right. I feel as though we’ve always been connected. When I’m with you, nothing else seems quite real.’

They stared at one another, knowing they stood on the brink and that in one more moment it would be impossible to turn back. Something would be said and then they would have to make choices.

Except that Alexandra knew that she had no choice at all.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ he said softly. His hands tightened around hers. ‘You’re filling every corner of my mind. All I can think about is being close to
you.’

‘It’s the same for me.’ She smiled back. She was filled with a sense of delicious calm, the kind she once used to feel on Sunday afternoons when her father went to his study
and she did jigsaws on the floor of the drawing room while her mother sat and sewed or read aloud. It was the feeling of being at home, where she belonged. ‘I just want to be with
you.’

‘This is madness,’ Nicky said, shaking his head. She loved the way his hair was so tousled. She wanted to reach up and touch it. ‘Shall we go to my place? Somewhere we can be
alone.’