Winter Solstice (63 page)

“That was good of you, Rose.”

“Betty gave the place as good a clean as possible, scrubbed the kitchen floor and such, and the bathroom, which was in a terrible state. A disaster. Poor lonely man. It’s sad to think of him dying alone, with no family. You said the funeral would maybe be at the end of the week? Will you let me know? I’d like to be there.”

“Of course… and it’s going to be a cremation. But we’ll take you with us to Inverness, in the car.”

“It wasn’t his fault the wee place fell into such disrepair. But no doubt you’ll be altering things for yourself, and if you get the builders in, they’ll tear the place apart and make a lot of dust.”

Oscar said, “We haven’t finally decided if we’re going to take up residence.”

“And why should you not?” Rose sounded quite indignant.

“Major Billicliffe would never have left it to you in his will had he not thought that you would live there. Just imagine -the chance to come back and live at Corrydale again after all these years.”

“It might not be large enough, Rose. You see, we may have another young person coming to live with us.”

Rose let out a hoot of unexpectedly earthy laughter.

“Don’t tell me you’re having a wee baby.”

Oscar remained unfazed by this wild suggestion.

“No. No, Rose, not that. But you remember, I told you we were expecting visitors for Christmas. Lucy is fourteen, but her mother has just remarried, in America, and rather than send her back to London, she’s going to stay with Elfrida and me for a bit, and go to the school in Creagan.”

“But that will be splendid. And good for us all to have another young person about the place. She can be Mends with Betty Cowper’s family. They’re a bit younger, but a cheery bunch. And it’s paradise for children here at Corrydale. They have the whole estate to themselves for bicycle riding, and no fear of being knocked to Kingdom Come by some great lorry.”

Elfrida turned from watching the birds, and went to join Oscar and Rose to sit in an antique wheel-back chair and reach for her coffee-cup.

She said, “Perhaps we could make Major Billicliffe’s house a little larger. Build on an extra room, or something. We’ll have to see.”

“You’ll need to get the planning permission,” Rose warned sagely. For all her years, she was up to all the tricks of the local authorities.

“Tom Cowper put up a greenhouse without the permission, and as near as a whisker he just about had to tear it down again. And where is the little girl now?”

Elfrida explained.

“They’re driving over later. Lucy and her aunt, Carrie, who’s a cousin of mine. And Rory Kennedy. And Sam Howard. Sam was an unexpected guest. He called in at the Estate House, and then got stuck there by the snow. Couldn’t get back to Inverness.”

“And who is he?”

“He’s going to run McTaggarts in Buddy.”

“Well, I never did! What a party you’ll be for Christmas. When Oscar telephoned me to tell me you were coming today and bringing a picnic, I got the key from Betty and went along and laid a wee fire, in case the place was cold for you. But on a day like this, you could eat a picnic in the garden. It’s as though the good Lord wanted you to see it at its best.”

“Yes,” said Elfrida.

“It does seem a bit like that.”

Rose was both old and tiny, but spry as a bird. She wore a tweed skirt, a blouse with a brooch at the collar, and a red Shetland cardigan; and her bright dark eyes seemed to see everything without the help of spectacles. Her hair, thin and white, was dragged back from her brow in a little bun, and the only apparent sign of ageing showed in her hands, which were worn and knuckled with arthritis. Her house was just as neat, colourful, and confident as she herself; polished tables stood awash with scraps of china, mementos, and snapshots, and over the fireplace was an enlarged photograph of Rose’s brother in seaman’s uniform, who had been drowned at sea when the Ark Royal was sunk during the Second World War. Rose had never married. Her whole life had been dedicated to Mrs. McLennan and to Corrydale House. But she was not in the least sentimental, and the fact that the house was now a hotel and no longer belonged to the family was one that she took entirely in her stride.

She said, “And what will you all be doing tomorrow?” Elfrida laughed.

“I’m not sure. Opening presents, I suppose. We’ve got the tree in the dining-room. And then we’re going to have Christmas dinner in the evening.”

“Christmas dinner! I remember Christmas dinner parties at Corrydale in the old days, with the long table set with all the lace mats and the candlesticks. There was always a house party, friends and cousins and relations, and everybody dressed up in dinner jackets and evening gowns. Christmas Eve, it was the same. Very formal. And men, after Christmas Eve dinner, all the house party would get into motors and drive to Creagan for Midnight Service in the church-and there was a car, too, for the staff, and anyone who wanted to go. And what a sensation they created, walking into the church and down the aisle, all dressed up, and Mrs. McLennan, in long black taffeta sweeping the floor and her mink coat, leading the way. People liked to see that. So elegant and festive. And the men in their good overcoats and their black ties. You won’t remember that, Oscar.”

“No. I was never at Corrydale for a Christmas.”

“When Hughie was here, all the old traditions went out the door. I don’t think he ever went to the church, even on Christmas Eve. Sad, when you think about it. That he, such a fusion less creature, should be the one to take over the place, and let it all slip through his fingers.” She shook her head and sighed at the iniquities of the hopeless Hughie.

“But that’s all in the past now. And how about you, Oscar? Will you be going to the Midnight Service? No need for a car. Just step across the street.”

Elfrida did not look at Oscar. She had finished her coffee and now laid the empty cup and saucer down on the little table alongside her chair.

“No, Rose. I shan’t be going. But maybe the others …”

Oh, Oscar, Elfrida thought sadly.

But she said nothing. His apartness, his withdrawal, was his own problem, and one which only he could deal with. It was a bit, she decided, as though he had had a disagreement, a row with an old friend. As though words had been spoken which could never be unspoken, and until one of them proffered the hand of friendship, the impasse remained. Perhaps by next year, she told herself. Another twelve months and he would feel himself strong enough to take this last hurdle.

She said, “I shall certainly go. The church at night is so beautiful, and as you say, it’s just a step across the street. The others can do what they want, but I think Lucy will want to come, and certainly Carrie. How about you, Rose? Will you be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. My nephew Charlie said he’d drive me into Creagan.”

“We’ll see you, then.”

Oscar remembered something. Or perhaps he just wanted to change the subject.

“Rose, I had another small bequest from Major Billicliffe, but one about which I do not feel so enthusiastic. The dog.”

“Did he leave you his dog? Brandy?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do you not want her?”

“No. I don’t think I do.”

“In that case, Charlie will keep her. He likes the old girl, and she’s company for him when he’s working in the shed. And his children would be heart-broken to see her go.”

“Are you sure? Hadn’t we better speak to Charlie first?”

“I’ll speak to Charlie,” Rose told him, in tones which boded ill for nephew Charlie should he not fall in with her plans.

“He’ll keep the dog, all right. And now, how about another cup of coffee?”

But it was time to leave. They all got to their feet, and Rose took the key from inside an old flowered teapot which stood on the mantelpiece. This she gave to Oscar. Then she came to the door to see them out.

“Why do you not leave your motor here, and walk to Major Billicliffe’s house? It’s only a step, and there’s not much parking space.”

“It won’t be in your way?”

“And why should it be in my way?”

So they did as she suggested, only pausing to open the door of the car and let Horace out, because while they had been chatting with Rose, he had remained incarcerated, in case he chased a rabbit, or put up a pheasant, or otherwise misbehaved himself. He leaped lightly down, and was at once delighted by local smells.

“For a dog,” observed Elfrida, “this must be a bit like being let loose in the perfume department of Harrods. Eau d’autre chi en He’s going to buy a bottle and dab it behind his ears.”

High above, rooks cawed from empty branches, and Elfrida, gazing skywards, saw the white, ruler-straight line of a jet stream being dragged across the blue sky by a four-engine passenger airplane. It was so high that she could scarcely see the plane, just the jet stream, but it was headed north-west, flying, she guessed, from Amsterdam.

“Do you ever think, Oscar, that in that tiny dot, people are eating nuts and reading magazines and ordering gin and tonics?”

“In truth, it never occurred to me.”

“I wonder where they’re going?”

“To California? Over the Pole.”

“Over the North Pole for Christmas. I’m glad I’m not going to California for Christmas.”

“Are you?”

“I’d rather be going to Major Billicliffe’s house for a picnic. We must find a new name for it. We can’t go on calling it Major Billicliffe’s house now that he is no more.”

“It used to be the forester’s house. But I believe that in the fullness of time it will simply become Oscar Blundell’s house. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“Oscar, everything you say makes sense.”

A few moments, and they had traversed the hundred yards or so that lay between the two cottages, and were there, standing in the open gateway of Oscar’s new property. It was a twin of Rose’s house, but not nearly so appealing, and the rusted car parked before the front door did nothing to enhance a first impression. Elfrida, with Oscar at her side, remembered that first dark evening when, exhausted after the long journey, they had finally run Major Billicliffe’s abode to earth, and come to collect the key of the Estate House. So much had happened since then that she felt as though years had passed. They walked up the driveway, the soles of their boots scrunching on sea-pebbles, and Oscar put the key in the lock, turned it, and then the brass knob. The door swung inwards, and she followed him, fingers crossed, indoors, and so into the little sitting-room.

It felt very cold, and a bit dank, but not nearly as bad as Elfrida had remembered and feared. The window at the back of the room let in a flood of sunshine, and Betty Cowper and Rose, between them, had scoured, cleaned, emptied ashtrays, shaken rugs, polished furniture, dispatched much rubbish, and scrubbed floors. Over all hung the smell of strong soap and carbolic disinfectant. The roll-top desk had been closed, and the trolley which Major Billicliffe had called his bar cleared of old bottles and used glasses. Even the dingy cotton curtains had been washed and ironed. In the fireplace were laid paper and sticks, all ready for kindling, and there was a brass bucket (polished) filled with coal, and a pile of dry logs on the hearth.

Oscar said, “First things first,” removed his jacket, and knelt to set a match to the newspaper and to start the sticks crackling. At the back of the room stood the door against which poor Brandy, howling and frustrated, had, from time to time, flung herself, causing Elfrida to be frightened out of her wits. Now, she went, cautiously, to open this, and found herself in a mean and chill little kitchen, built of breeze-blocks and with utilitarian steel-framed windows. It had a clay sink, a wooden draining-board, a tiny refrigerator, and a gas cooker. A small table was spread with an oilcloth, and worn linoleum covered the floor. Not much else. A half-glassed door to her left led out onto a bit of paving, where stood a broken wheelbarrow, a digging fork, and a dried-out tub containing dead geraniums. There was no sign of a hot pipe or any sort of heating and it all felt cold as charity.

She went back to Oscar, who was piling coal onto flames. She watched him add a log or two. She said, “How did the Major keep himself warm?”

“Probably didn’t. I don’t know. We’ll find out.” He pulled himself to his feet, dusting off his hands on the seat of his corduroys.

“Come. Let us go and explore.”

It did not take very long. They went through the small lobby into the other room; Major Billicliffe’s dining-room, where Oscar remembered the old man’s drip-dry shirts draped over the backs of the chairs. But here, too, Betty and Rose had been busy, and all was cleaned and put to rights. The old cardboard boxes and piles of newspapers had disappeared; the table was decently polished and set about with four chairs.

From this room, stairs, very steep and narrow, led to the upper floor, and they ascended and inspected the two bedrooms. In Major Billicliffe’s bedroom, only a couple of ancient leather suitcases, firmly closed, remained as evidence of the former occupant. They were, Elfrida guessed, packed with his more respectable clothes. The bed was covered with a fresh cotton counterpane, and rag rugs had been laundered.

“We could move in tomorrow,” Elfrida observed. And then hastily added, in case Oscar should take her at her word, “If we wanted to.”

“Dear girl, I don’t think we want to do that.”

The second bedroom was smaller, and the bathroom, if not exactly the disaster that Rose had predicted, spartan to a degree, and not conducive to long soaks in scented water. The bath, which stood on feet, was stained and rusted, the basin cracked, and the linoleum beginning to curl up at the corners. A clean, threadbare towel hung on a wooden towel-rail, and a bar of Lifebuoy soap sat on the basin.

The best thing about the bathroom, like the kitchen, was the view. Elfrida, with some difficulty, got the window open and hung out. It was very still and quiet, but she could hear the movements of the trees, like a whisper, in some mysterious, unfelt breeze. And then two curlews flew by, headed for the water, calling their sad and lonely cry. Below her, the garden lay untended and neglected. Rough grass, clumps of weed, two rusted wash-poles with a bit of rope suspended between them. Nothing, it seemed, had been done for years, and yet she did not feel either depressed or disheartened. The view, the same view that she had admired from Rose’s window, was there. The sloping fields, the dazzling blue water, and the distant hills. And she thought that, for a house that was not exactly bursting with happy memories, it had a good feel to it. It had been neglected, but was not without hope. It simply needed, like any human being, a bit of laughter and some tender loving care, and it would leap into life again. The only thing was, they’d have to do something about keeping themselves warm.