Winter Solstice (65 page)

“Eighty thousand?”

“That’s what he said. Top price, eighty-five.”

“In that case you have no problems. I am delighted for you! Go for it, Elfrida.”

“We’ll have to get an architect. And planning permission. And things like that.”

“How about the doctor’s wife? Janet Sinclair. She’s an architect. Give her the job. The bonus there is that she’s local, and she’ll know all the best builders and joiners and plumbers.”

“How long will it take?”

“I suppose six months. I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to stay in the Estate House until it’s ready for us to move in.”

“Of course.”

“But you, Sam? You want the Estate House.”

“I can wait. I’m certainly not about to throw you out onto the streets.”

“But you’ll be working in Buckly. So where will you live?”

“I’ll be okay.”

A brilliant idea occurred to Elfrida, and in her impulsive way, she immediately shared it with him.

“You can live with us. At the Estate House. You and Lucy and Oscar and me. You’ve already got a room there. You might just as well stay.”

Again, Sam laughed.

“Elfrida, these are the sort of suggestions you should think about very deeply.”

“Why? Why should I think?”

“Because you may change your mind. And you must talk it over with Oscar. He may not like the idea at all.”

“Oh, Oscar will love to have you. And so shall I. It will be a new job for me. Letting out lodgings. You know, I’ve been a lot of things in my time. An actress, albeit not a very good one. A waitress, when I wasn’t working. A lady of not very respectable repute. A cushion stitcher. And now I shall become a landlady. Oh, please say yes. I feel the Estate House is already yours, in a strange way, even though you don’t own it yet. As though you were always meant to come and live there. And that’s where you should be.”

“Thank you,” said Sam.

“In that case, I accept, subject, of course, to Oscar’s approval.”

The sun was beginning to dip down out of the sky by the time the walkers returned. Oscar and Carrie were first, with Horace, who was badly in need of a cooling drink.

“How was it?” Elfrida asked, searching a cupboard for a suitable bowl for a dog.

“Perfect,” Carrie told her, unknotting her scarf.

“Such a heavenly place. And all the birds down on the shore! Ducks and cormorants and gulls … how did you and Sam get on?”

“Sam is brilliant. He’s practically drawn the plans. You must come and look, Oscar. We hardly have to do anything. Just knock bits down and build other bits, and get rid of a wall and find an Aga. Don’t gape, Oscar, it’s all very straightforward. And we’ll ask Janet Sinclair to be our architect. And Sam says we must have it all surveyed and rewired, but he doesn’t think there’s a thing wrong anywhere … come and see….”

It was half an hour before Rory and Lucy finally joined them, by which time Oscar had seen and listened to all Sam’s ideas, been persuaded, and given his consent. Carrie approved as well.

“You know, I’ve always loved the idea of an open-plan ground floor, specially in a small house. And with the new extension, it means you’ll get masses more light. Sam, you are clever. You actually are very clever. How did you learn so much about knocking down walls and drawing plans?”

“For the last two months I’ve been living with plans and projects and elevations and architects’ blueprints. I’d be pretty dumb if I hadn’t absorbed a bit of know-how….”

Now the light was fading. Carrie looked at her watch and said that it was time to go back to Creagan. Lucy still had to finish laying the table for Christmas dinner, and Carrie was going to cook a large and satisfying dish that they could eat that evening.

“Are we going to Midnight Service, Elfrida?”

“I think so. Oscar doesn’t want to come, but I’ll go.”

“Me, too. And Lucy and Sam are coming as well. We’ll have a late meal, otherwise it’s a very long evening.”

Oscar said, “We’ll play cards. I found some packs of cards in the bottom drawer of the bookcase. Who knows how to play three-pack Canasta?”

“Samba, you mean?” said Sam. “I know how. There was a great craze for it in New York when I was there.”

“I can’t play,” said Lucy.

“Never mind,” he told her.

“You can play with me.”

Eventually, having packed up the remains of the picnic, found hats and gloves, and generally sorted themselves out, the first party took their leave in Sam’s car. Elfrida, Oscar, and Horace were left behind, to lock up and follow later, but they went out of doors to see the others off.

By now, at only four o’clock, the blue dusk had crept in, and a fine new moon, delicate as an eyelash, hung above them in the sapphire sky. The snow-capped hills became almost luminous in the strange half-light, and the ebbing tide was draining the firth, revealing sweeps of beach and sandbank. Curlews still flew, skimming the shore, but other birds were silent, their song finished for the day.

The big Discovery, tail-lights shining, disappeared up the drive. Oscar and Elfrida waited by the door until they could hear the sound of its engine no longer, and then turned and went back inside.

Elfrida said, “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want today to end.”

“Then we’ll stay for a little.”

“If I had any tea, I would make you a cup.”

“We’ll have one when we get back.”

He sank tiredly down on the sofa, where, earlier, Sam Howard had sat. He had walked, with the young ones, farther than he intended, and felt weary. Elfrida put the last bit of wood on the fire and then sat opposite him, stretching her cold fingers to the blaze.

She said, “We will live here, won’t we, Oscar?”

“If you want.”

“I do. But do you?”

“Yes. I admit, I did have reservations, but now that I have seen it again, and Sam has come up with all these ideas and possibilities, I think it is exactly what we should do.”

“It’s exciting. A new start. Architects and builders, and everything made new. One of my most favourite smells is that of wet plaster. And the next most favourite is the smell of fresh paint.”

“Furniture?”

“We can manage with what’s here for the time being. Maybe look around, pick up some pretty bits at auction. The first priority is to get the place the way we want it. Warm and light and airy. With an Aga, and a good-looking kitchen. Warmth is the most important. I can’t imagine how Major Billicliffe lived here for so long without dying of hypothermia.”

“He was one of the old school. A thick tweed jacket and long woolly underfugs, and no nonsense about feeling the cold.”

“You won’t ever be like that, will you, Oscar? I couldn’t bear it if you started wearing long woolly underfugs.”

“No. With a bit of luck I won’t ever do that.”

The shadows lengthened. Beyond the window, the bare trees faded into the darkness. Elfrida sighed.

“I suppose we should go. I mustn’t leave everything to Carrie….”

But Oscar said, “Wait. I want to talk.”

“What about?”

“Us.”

“But-” She had been about to say, We’ve been talking about us all day, but Oscar interrupted her.

“Just listen. Just listen to me.” And his voice sounded so serious and intent that she got up from her chair and went to sit beside him, close, on the old sofa, and he put out his hand and laid it upon her own. And she remembered his doing this once before, as they sat at the kitchen table at the Grange, with Gloria and Francesca dead, and neither of them able to find the words to comfort each other.

“I’m listening,” she told him.

“This is a new step we’re going to take. Together. A real commitment. Doing up this house, spending serious money, and coming to live here. As well, for the foreseeable future, Lucy is coming, too. Don’t you think perhaps the time has come for us to get married? To be man and wife? It’s a formality, I know, because if we tried, we could scarcely be more married than we already are. But it would put a seal on our union … not in a moral sense, but an affirmation of our trust in the future.”

Elfrida realized that her stupid eyes were filling with tears.

“Oh, Oscar….” She drew her hand away and began to search for her handkerchief. Old people, she had once told him, look hideous when they cry. “… You don’t need to do this. It’s only months since they died. So little time to grieve and recover. And you mustn’t think of me … because I’m not that sort of person. I will stay with you happily for the rest of my life, but I don’t want you to feel you have to marry me….”

“I don’t feel that. I love you and I honour you just the way things are, and I don’t suppose either of us gives a jot what other people think or choose to say. All things being equal, I should happily settle for carrying on just the way things are. But we now have Lucy to consider.”

“What difference does she make to how we live our lives?”

“Oh, my dearest Elfrida, just think. So far the people of Creagan have accepted us with great kindness, even forbearance. No questions. Not a single soul has cast a stone, not even a tiny pebble. But for Lucy it is different. She is going to the local school. Children are not always very kind. Rumours can be started, and even in this day and age, parents can be mean-spirited. I wouldn’t want any of that sort of thing to rub off on Lucy. As well, we have Nicola’s new husband to consider. We know nothing about him, and he’s probably a perfectly decent chap, but he might turn out to be one of those high-minded individuals with a strong and unforgiving moral code. Sometime Nicola is bringing him to visit us. We don’t want to give either of them a valid reason for spiriting Lucy off to Cleveland, Ohio, against her will.”

“You mean, he wouldn’t want to leave her with us, simply because we live in sin?”

“Exactly so.”

“So for her sake, we should be married.”

“Put baldly, yes.”

“But Gloria …”

“Gloria, of all women, would understand.”

“It’s such a short time, Oscar.”

“I know.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am sure. Because one thing is truly certain, and that is that you have helped me to start again, and it is you who have made a dark and painful time not only bearable and possible, but even joyful as well. I think you carry joy around with you. We can’t go back. Life, for both of us, can never be the same as it was, but it can be different; and you have proved to me that it can be good. I told you a long time ago that you could always make me laugh. As well, you have made me love you. Now, I cannot imagine an existence without you. Please marry me. If I wasn’t feeling so bloody stiff, I’d get down on one knee.”

“I’d hate you to do that.” Elfrida, having at last found her handkerchief, now blew her nose.

“But I’d like to marry you very, very much. Thank you for asking me.” She put her handkerchief away, and once more he took her hand.

“So. We are betrothed. Shall we break the news or keep it to ourselves?”

“Let’s keep it to ourselves. Secretly relish. Just for the time being.”

“You are right. There is so much going on. Let us get Christmas behind us, and then I shall take you to Kingsferry and buy you a diamond ring, and after that, we can announce our happiness to the world.”

“I have to be truthful,” Elfrida admitted.

“I’m not all that mad on diamonds.”

“Then what would you like me to buy you?”

“An Aquamarine?”

And Oscar laughed, and kissed her. And they might have sat on, in the gloaming, for the rest of the evening, but the last of the logs had burnt out, and the house, with the sun gone, grew cold again. It was time to leave. Outside, the air, so quickly, had chilled and it was winter again. A wind stirred from the north, shivering the leafless branches of the big beech tree that stood opposite their gate.

Elfrida, her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, looked about her. The moon was rising, the first star pricked.

“We’ll be back,” she said, to no one in particular.

“Of course.” Oscar locked his front door, took her arm, and with Horace at their heels, they walked, in the deep-blue evening light, down the pebbled path.

Christmas Eve.

It’s nearly eight o’clock in the evening, and there’s still masses to do. I must write everything down, otherwise it will be lost forever. So much has happened. The worst was Mummy ringing yesterday in the middle of Elfrida’s party to say that she has married Randall Fischer. I think it was the worst thing that ever happened to me, because all I could think about was having to go and live in America, and lose all my friends, or else have to live with Gran in London on my own. And not fit in or be wanted in either place. It was really dire. I had horrible hysterics and made myself feel quite ill and was beastly to Carrie, but that’s all over now.

Anyway, now it is all sorted out, and I’m going to stay here, in Creagan, with Elfrida and Oscar for the time being, and go to day-school in Creagan. Rory was the one who told everybody that I must do this, and I am so pleased that he and I had time to talk, when he was fixing the television. So that he knew exactly how I felt, even if nobody else did. I think he is really my best friend. He is going to Nepal in the mid the of next month and is tremendously excited about it. I shall miss him, but will see him again, I am sure, when he gets back in August. Whatever has happened by then, I shall make a point of seeing him, and I shall be fifteen then. Fifteen sounds much older than fourteen.

So this morning I woke up and knew that everything was going to be all right, and it was like having a huge weight off my mind. Carrie rang Gran and told her about our plans, and she went along with them; and then later she rang Mummy in Florida, and with a bit of coaxing, persuaded her, too. Actually, it didn’t take very long. And then I had a chat with Mummy, and managed not to sound too delighted, in case she took offence and changed her mind.

So then Rory appeared, and we got a picnic together, and Sam drove us over to Corrydale. I have always longed to go there and see it all. It is beautiful and it was a beautiful day, with no clouds or wind and really quite warm. Oscar’s little house is too sweet, tucked away on the estate with a few other little houses in view, great big trees, and a long view of the water and over hills. It was tremendously quiet: only bird-song, and no sound of traffic or anything. The house isn’t very big and is fairly shabby and dreadfully cold, but Oscar had lit a fire which made it look cosy. There are only two bedrooms, and the one I shall have is a bit gloomy, but Elfrida says it will be better when they have done a few alterations. Sam thought up lots of clever ideas, and when it is finished it will look really nice. It has a garden, a bit weedy, and a sort of little terrace where we all went out and ate our picnic. Elfrida says there are other children, called Cowper, who live nearby at the farm, and they go to the Creagan school, too; so maybe when term starts, I can get a lift in the mornings with them.