Winter Solstice (40 page)

“Yes.” He smiled.

“But I can’t sort that one out until I’ve spoken to your host.”

“Did Hughie McLennan, whoever he is … did he mention a price?”

“Yes.”

“Am I allowed to be told?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand. Between the two cousins. The two owners.”

“So if Oscar gave Hughie seventy-five thousand, he could buy him out.”

“He could.”

“It’s not that much money, is it?”

“By today’s standards, no.”

“But Oscar mightn’t have seventy-five thousand. In fact, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t. And he’s so unworldly, he wouldn’t know where to lay his hands on such a sum. Anyway” she shrugged “it’s absolutely none of my business and nothing to do with me. I just think it would be nice if he could stay here.”

“I promise you, I’m not going to throw him out.”

“You couldn’t. It’s his house.”

“Half house.”

“Sitter’s rights. The security of his own bricks and mortar.”

Suddenly, defusing a small tension, he laughed.

“You’re so right about that. I bought my first flat, freehold, when I went to work in London. It was a great feeling. That’s some years ago now.”

“Where was your flat?”

“Eel Park Common.”

“How funny.”

“Why funny?”

“I’ve got a little house in Ranfurly Road. That’s only about half a mile away.”

“Is that where you live?”

“I will, in February, when I get the tenants out.” Sam looked a bit confused, and Carrie suddenly felt sorry for him, because, perhaps, she had not been particularly forthcoming. The thing was, she didn’t really want to talk about herself.

“I’ve been in Austria for three years, in Oberbeuren, working for a travel firm called Oversees. That’s why I let my house. But now I’m back, based in London again. I’m still with the firm, but I’ve been offered a job in their head office, in Bruton Street.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“You’ll miss Austria and the mountains.”

Carrie said, “Yes.” For a moment, neither of them spoke, and the silence was fraught with unsaid words. Then she moved in her chair and looked across at him.

“Your glass is empty. Would you like another drink?”

Oscar and Elfrida, arm in arm, and making their way with tremendous caution, walked home together. It was nearly eight o’clock, very dark, with thickly falling snow, but there were street lamps all the way and so no need for the torch which Oscar, with some forethought, had tucked in his pocket. As they proceeded along the footpath that led along the top of the hill, the town was spread below them, and they could see, beyond the topmost leafless branches of other people’s trees, the round lighted face of the clock tower. All looked so transformed, so magical that Elfrida was compelled to stop and gaze.

She said, “Oscar, I do wish I could paint.”

As she had a firm hold of his arm, he had to stop, too.

“Is this an appropriate moment to dwell on the might-have- been?” he asked.

“Why not?”

“I have snow trickling down the back of my neck.”

“But wouldn’t it be lovely to be able to capture such a scene? To pin it down forever? The snow, falling into the light of street lamps and bright windows. And the clock, like a constant moon. The only thing one couldn’t paint would be the smell of peat-smoke.”

“It would, I agree, be a satisfying exercise. But please, let us go home.”

The lane sloped steeply down alongside the wall of Oscar’s garden. There was a handrail there, and they descended in single file, holding on to this like passengers leaving an aircraft. At the bottom was their back gate, and the bright light suspended over their own back door.

Safely home.

In the scullery, emulating Mrs. Snead, they shed wet coats, snow-encrusted boots, and sodden hats, and hung them about the place to dry. Elfrida said something about supper, but Oscar wanted to wait for a bit. He was full of smoked-salmon sandwiches and mince pies. As well, he had been prudently abstemious, because of the walk home, and wanted a large whisky before settling down to yet more food.

Elfrida went ahead of him, and in the kitchen greeted her dog with loving words, and was opening the oven door to peer at the good-tempered kedgeree when she heard him say, “My whisky has gone. My bottle of whisky is not here.”

“Are you sure?”

He joined her as she closed the oven door, looking a bit put out, which, because he was Oscar, wasn’t very much.

“It’s walked.”

“Perhaps Carrie felt like a tot.”

“I thought she was meant to be still in bed.”

“You can still be in bed and feel like a tot. Haven’t you got another bottle?”

“Yes, but that one was open.”

“Let’s investigate.”

They went out of the kitchen and upstairs, but on the landing, Elfrida paused. For, from behind the closed door of the sitting-room, she heard the low murmur of voices. Oscar heard them, too. They looked at each other in some mystification. Oscar said, “I think I know where my bottle is.”

“Shh.” Silently, Elfrida tiptoed to Carrie’s half-open bedroom door. She peered in, and then returned to Oscar’s side.

“Not there,” she told him in a dramatic whisper.

“Empty bed.”

Oscar, gamely joining in, also dropped his voice.

“And she has a visitor.”

“Who can it be?”

“A mystery. Why don’t we go and find out?”

Which they did.

Opening the sitting-room door, they came upon a peaceful and companionable scene. The lovely room, curtained and softly lighted. The fire blazing, the two most comfortable chairs drawn up to its warmth. And in them, looking as though they had known each other forever, Carrie and a complete stranger. Possibilities instantly flashed through Elfrida’s mind. An old acquaintance of Carrie’s, perhaps, come in search of her. A long-time admirer, staunchly constant…. Carrie turned her head and saw them, and at once rose to her feet.

“Elfrida. You’re back. We didn’t hear you. Did you have a good party?”

“Yes, it was splendid. But you’re not meant to be out of bed.”

“I got bored.”

By now the unknown man was also on his feet, standing in front of the fire, and waiting to be introduced. Elfrida’s first impression of this stranger was one of business-like formality, in his beautifully cut dark-grey suit, his neat tie, and his closely barbered head of hair. He was tall and long-legged, with a tanned complexion that accentuated his light hazel eyes. And despite her sixty-two years, she knew a frission of physical attraction that dimmed in no way her affection for Oscar. It was just a sort of recognition, an ardent memory of how things, once, had been for her.

“Elfrida, this is Sam Howard. Elfrida Phipps. And my host, Oscar Blundell.”

“How do you do?” They all shook hands.

Sam Howard said, “I’m really sorry about this intrusion.”

“Why is it an intrusion?”

“Because I’m in your house, unasked….”

At this juncture, Oscar spied his whisky bottle.

“There it is! I wondered where it had gone.”

Carrie laughed.

“Did you think I was secretly boozing? I am sorry. I brought it up to give Sam a drink. Do you want one?”

“Badly. I purposely had an abstemious evening, so that I would be fit to walk Elfrida home through the snow.”

“In that case,” said Carrie, “I shall give you one. But I’ll need to get down and get some more glasses. What about you, Elfrida? I’m having a glass of wine….”

“I’ll join you.” Elfrida suddenly felt tired. She sat, with some relief, in the middle of the sofa, with her long legs stretched out in front of her.

“I’ve been standing for two hours, eating sandwiches and mince pies.”

“Anyone else there?”

“Oh, yes, a proper party. Three other couples; all so chatty and welcoming.”

“How about Lucy?”

“She disappeared with the Kennedy children to some other room, and hasn’t been seen since. They’d gone to the reeling by the time we left. Just the way it should be.”

“That’s good. I’ll get those glasses and another bottle of wine. And soda for Oscar….”

She left them, and Elfrida heard her running downstairs. Oscar by now had sat himself down in his own armchair and they were left with the strange man. Oscar, Elfrida knew, had no idea what he was going to say to him, and so she came to his rescue. She did this by smiling in her most friendly fashion, and saying, “Now tell us exactly who you are, and why you’re here. You must be an old friend of Carrie’s.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

He reached for a chair and pulled it up to sit near Elfrida, leaning forward to speak to her, with his hands clasped between his knees.

“I never met her before this evening.”

“Goodness,” said Elfrida faintly.

He began to explain, and they listened. He was Sam Howard. He worked for Sturrock and Swinfield, the textile conglomerate that had taken over the defunct woollen mill in Buddy. McTaggarts. He was coming here to work as managing director.

Elfrida was none the wiser, but Oscar picked it up at once.

“Peter Kennedy told me about McTaggarts’ being taken over, but I didn’t realize that things were already moving.”

“They aren’t exactly moving yet, but we’re on our way.”

“That’s splendid news.”

“I hope so.”

“When does it all get going again?”

“We have to rebuild the place first.”

Elfrida interrupted.

“What happened?”

“There was a long series of misadventures,” Oscar told her.

“And then a flood which destroyed everything.” He turned back to Sam.

“Have you been in this business for a long time?”

“All my life, really. My father owned a small mill in Yorkshire.”

“Well, bless my soul. Where are you based? In London?”

“I have been. But I’ve been working in New York for the last six years. Then, in November, I got called back to London, to take this project over.”

“Does this mean you’re going to be living up here?”

Now Carrie reappeared, with a second tray bearing bottles and glasses. Sam sprang to his feet and went to relieve her of this, and they spent a moment or two juggling for space on Oscar’s table, shifting the ice bucket and setting out the glasses. The wine bottle was still frosted from the fridge, and Sam drew the cork neatly, poured wine for E1frida, and brought it over to her.

“How about you, sir?”

“Oh….” Oscar looked gratified. It was pleasant to sit by the fire and have some other man deal with hostly duties.

“A whisky and soda would be splendid. And no ice.”

Sam poured the drink for him.

“Does that look about right?”

“Perfect.”

He topped up Carrie’s glass.

“What about you?” Elfrida asked him, but he said he was all right, he hadn’t finished his second drink, and then he rescued it from the little table by the fire and returned to his chair at her side.

Carrie said, “How far have you got?”

“Sorry?”

“Explanations.”

“We’ve heard all about the woollen mill,” Elfrida told her.

“Surely there’s not more excitement to come?”

“You’d be surprised, Elfrida.” She was back in her chair, curled up like a cat.

Elfrida waited.

“Surprise me, then.”

Sam Howard took over again.

“This is all rather personal and very complicated. Just say that before I came up here, after I got back from New York, I was staying in London with old friends-Janey and Neil Philip. They have a house in Wandsworth. One evening, an old acquaintance of Janey’s parents came for dinner. He was called Hughie McLennan.”

He paused, perhaps deliberately, giving time for this bombshell to sink in. Which seemed, to Elfrida, forever. Then Oscar spoke.

“Hughie! You wouldn’t be talking about my cousin Hughie?”

“Yes, I think I probably am.”

“But Hughie’s in Barbados.”

“No. He was back in London. To see friends and deal with various business matters, I guess. Then he was going off to spend Christmas and the New Year with somebody called Maudie Peabody in the south of France.”

“What an extraordinary coincidence.”

“We talked for a bit, and then he learned … I think Janey told him … that I was coming up here, to Buddy, to take over at McTaggarts. And he asked me where I was going to live. And I said I didn’t have any place, but that I’d have to find somewhere. And from his pocket he produced the key to this house. He said he owned half of it, and his cousin the other half. But that he wanted to sell.”

Oscar said, “Well, I’ll be buggered,” and Elfrida decided that his bad language, under the circumstances, was really very mild.

“What a little shyster he is. Always was. Why the hell didn’t he get in touch with me?”

“To give him his due, I think he did try to telephone. You lived in Hampshire, I believe. He rang Hampshire, but got no reply.”

“His father … Hector. Hector knew where I was, that I’d come here, back to Creagan. Why didn’t Hector tell him?”

“I think he hadn’t seen his father. And didn’t plan to get in touch until he came back from France, before he returned to Barbados.”

“Well, what a turn-up for the books.” Oscar, shattered at the perfidy of his cousin, took an enormous slug of his whisky, and brooded a bit over the whole monstrousness of the situation.

“Why did he suddenly decide to sell this place? We’ve boxed along for so many years, sharing the trickle of rent, I never imagined he’d want to put it on the market. And certainly not without discussing it with me.”

“My guess is that he needs a bit of ready cash.”

“Not surprised. Alimony for three ex-wives must cost a bomb. But then he always went through money like a hot knife through butter.” He thought of something else.

“Did you come to this arrangement through an agent?”

“No. He intended going to Hurst and Fieldmore the day after I met him. But decided that a private sale would be more satisfactory on all sides.”

“You knew I shared the ownership?”

“Yes, he told me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said nothing could possibly be arranged until you, his cousin, had been consulted.”