Wishing Water (22 page)

Derry squinted through the rain, trying not to think that he could be somewhere warm and dry, enjoying a pint in the King’s Arms with his mates maybe. ‘There’s a house,’ he said in surprise. ‘Surrounded by tall trees.’
 

‘Larkrigg Hall. Yews and oaks all about it.’ Lissa smiled. ‘Or yows and yaks as Grandfather Joe would say. That’s where I might have lived, if my mother had kept me. It’s where my grandmother still lives.’
 

‘Saints alive!’ Derry said, forgetting all about the rain as his mouth dropped open. ‘That’s some pad.’ No wonder she’d appeared so stuck up at first, with a place like that behind her.

‘I suppose it is. But I hate it. I hate my grandmother too. She doesn’t want me and I don’t want her. Any more than my mother wanted me. Any more than Meg wants me now.’
 

They were both staring at her, not daring to challenge her words because of the venom and desperation in her voice.

‘I don’t care. I don’t need anyone. Not Rosemary Ellis, not Meg, not my mother. No one.’
 

‘Everyone needs someone,’ put in Jan quietly.

Lissa only shook her head, flicking back the wet curls from her face with a defiant gesture. ‘I’m a woman now, not a child, and can cope on my own.’
 

‘Hear hear,’ murmured Derry, though not with any great conviction. Her mood bothered him, as it clearly bothered Jan.

Lissa turned away suddenly and if either of them noticed her dash a hand across her eyes, they put it down to the rain. Best not to question her any more today, Derry decided. He put an arm about her shoulders. ‘Come on, you’re wet through. We all are. Let’s go home and put the kettle on.’
 

She smiled up at him, slipping her arm into his. ‘Yes, let’s go home. I’ve looked my fill for today, perhaps for a lifetime. There’s nothing for me here.’
 

There was a note pinned to the garden shed door when Derry got back that Sunday evening. It was from Renee. ‘Mr Brandon called. Wants to see you in his office, first thing.’ There followed several exclamation marks.

Had the old lady complained because he’d failed to explain the papers to her. Oh, crikey!

The thought of the interview kept him awake half the night, worrying himself into more discomfort than usual in the narrow bed that just about filled the small wooden shed. A cold wind blew through the gap under the door, lifting the newspaper he’d used to block it and giving Derry cause to wonder what he was doing here. Why didn’t he find somewhere better to live?

The cold light of Monday morning found him tapping politely on the glass panel of the inner office door, his heart in his boots as he prepared for the worst.

He was wearing his sober grey office suit, pristine white shirt and blue tie with silver diamonds down the middle, half wishing he’d found the courage to wear his new blue silk waistcoat. It wasn’t strictly businesslike but it might’ve given his confidence a boost. Derry was shocked to find his hand actually shaking as he turned the knob in answer to the command to enter. He thrust back his shoulders and swung into the room. Nevertheless, it was a pale imitation of his usual swagger.

‘Renee said you wanted to speak with me.’ Whatever he had to face he’d do so with courage. Even so he was shocked by the cold anger in Brandon’s face.

‘You’ve gone too far this time. There’s no excuse for such loutish behaviour.’
 

Derry hastened to his own defence. ‘I thought you’d want me to leave the legal explanations to you. It’s not really my job, is it?’
 

Brandon glared at Derry in perplexed fury. ‘What you are jabbering about?’
 

‘The old lady, Mrs Fraser, who else? She didn’t understand all those long words and to be honest,’ he flushed beetroot red,’ neither did I.’
 

‘I’m not talking about a foolish old woman, nor any dratted document. I’m talking about my boat.’
 

Now it was Derry’s turn to gape. ‘Your boat?’
 

Brandon leaned across the polished mahogany surface of his desk to glare at Derry. ‘Why did you do it? In revenge for the yacht race, I suppose.’
 

‘D-do what?’
 

‘Don’t play games with me, I’m not in the mood. You holed my boat in revenge.’
 

‘Holed your…?’ An awful realisation dawned. ‘Good God, are you saying someone has damaged your yacht?’
 

Brandon rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as if for assistance. ‘Stop pretending, Colwith. I’ve no time for your lies.’
 

‘I’m not lying.’ Every vestige of colour had drained from Derry’s cheeks, leaving them almost as white as his shirt. ‘Why would anyone make a hole in your yacht?’
 

‘Why indeed? You had the motive and no doubt the opportunity, as you know where I moor it. Who else could it be?’ He let the words hang in the air and in the long moment that followed Derry desperately searched for an answer.

‘One of your clients, someone with a grudge?’
 

Philip gave a mocking laugh. ‘I don’t take that kind of client on, as you well know. This isn’t a criminal practice. You don’t suppose Mrs Fraser goes in for vandalism, do you? Or perhaps Mr McArthur? Come, Derry, admit to it. Your air of innocence doesn’t convince me and it certainly won’t convince the police.’ He reached for the phone.

Derry’s was filled with alarm. ‘Don’t ring the police. I didn’t do it, I swear. I didn’t touch your damn boat. It hasn’t sunk, has it?’
 

Brandon’s fingers drummed on the telephone. ‘Fortunately not. But you’ve made a mess of the hull. It’ll cost a small fortune to repair.’
 

‘Oh, God. I didn’t do it, I swear.’ Derry stood transfixed with horror, appalled by the accusation. ‘I wouldn’t do such a thing. Why would I?’
 

‘Save your winsome charm for your lady friends, it cuts no ice with me. We both know why you did it. Because I beat you in that race.’
 

Derry was desperately trying to pull himself together, to think, but his mind refused to operate beyond the horror of his predicament. ‘I did win, you know I did. It was you trying to ram me, not the other way round.’
 

‘Can you prove it? I was on the starboard tack, remember. Therefore I had right of way.’
 

‘In theory. I’m innocent and that’s the truth.’
 

Barndon’s voice almost purred. ‘If you’re so certain of being able to prove your innocence, you’ve nothing to fear from police questioning, have you?’ He lifted the receiver. ‘Assuming they would take your word against mine.’ Charcoal eyes seared into brown.

‘I wouldn’t stand a chance,’ Derry said, hopelessness in his voice. ‘They’ll call me a Ted, a rabble-rouser, a trouble-maker.’
 

The telephone receiver slid back into its cradle. ‘Very well, I will agree not to call in the police. But I feel bound to terminate your employment.’
 

Derry gasped. ‘
Why?
My
dad could repair the boat.’ His offer was treated with silent contempt, as if he hadn’t spoken.

‘On numerous occasions you’ve been given warnings for insubordination. You cavort all over town when you should be working. Pester Miss Henshaw and Christine, and play foolish games in the office. Now you’ve gone too far. I’m perfectly justified in having you sacked, Colwith. My patience is exhausted.’
 

‘But…’
 

‘I strongly advise you to leave town,’ Philip mangled a paper clip to little more than a crumpled piece of wire in his fingers. ‘Go and seek this fame and fortune you talk so much about.’

Derry was appalled. ‘You’ve declared me guilty without a trial. That’s not fair.’
 

‘Take a week’s notice, or we’ll let the local constabulary decide the matter. The choice is yours.’

Chapter Eleven

Lissa felt oddly nervous as they stepped off the bus. There’d been no problem with Jan as she’d claimed to have plans of her own, so here they were. Just the two of them. She could feel her heart beating fast at the prospect of a whole day alone with Derry on the fells. Clothed in their tawny brilliance, they looked so achingly inviting Lissa could hardly wait to get up there. With a pale, shining sun and clouds too high for rain, it seemed a perfect autumn day, an opportunity to prove she wasn’t as frozen and stuck up as Derry imagined.

The bus dropped them close to Troutbeck and they didn’t speak as they started to walk up through the village. Lissa shyly kept several feet of track between them as they made their way past farmsteads, seventeen-century statesman houses with their quaint spinning galleries, along narrow walled lanes and beside the bubbling beck that gave the village its name.

As they laboured uphill the distance between them shrank to a matter of inches.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Derry said, and Lissa was surprised to hear a nervousness in his voice even greater than her own. Then a farmer stopped and offered them a lift.

‘It’s a bonny day.’

‘Aye,’ Derry agreed.

‘Going up the fell?’
 

Derry agreed they meant to walk up to High Street by way of the Tongue.

‘Jump in then. I’ll save thee the boring bit up this road. Then you’ll know where you’re at.’
 

And so he did. Lissa sat with Derry on the bumpy leather seat and thought how lucky she was to be here with him now, alone. It was all very exciting. And what could he possibly want to talk about?

The farmer dropped them above Troutbeck Park Farm, saving them two or three miles. They thanked him and he waved them off, warning them to take care.

‘Watch the weather. It’ll come in from the west.’
 

‘Thanks.’ They set off through the gate to cut across country, over rocks and through thick clinging bracken. They climbed stiles, bridged the beck and negotiated boggy ground which sucked at their boots. Yellow loosestrife bloomed and the sedge grass and rushes were thick beneath their feet. A family of meadow pipits ‘pheeped’ crossly at being so rudely disturbed. When they finally reached firmer ground with Ill Bell rising above them, they stopped by mutual consent for a rest and a sip from their water bottle.

‘It’s a tough, steep haul of two and a half thousand feet. Think you can make it?’

Lissa gazed up at the steep climb, Thornthwaite Crag to the left, III Bell to the right, and grinned. ‘Of course.’
 

‘We’ll take it slow.’
 

‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’ Lissa asked, as they set off up the track.

‘Philip Brandon.’
 

Violet eyes sparkled. ‘Every time we talk about your boss, we quarrel. I want nothing to spoil this wonderful day. I’ve shown you my favourite places, now you can show me yours.’
 

‘Maybe you won’t enjoy my company as much as you do his.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Didn’t I say we’d quarrel? I won’t hear another word on the subject of Philip Brandon.’ And she strutted ahead in high dudgeon, forcing him to hurry to catch her up.

Derry was in despair. How could he explain about him being forced to leave if she refused to let him explain? Not that Lissa would necessarily believe him. She hadn’t believed him about the yacht race. Accused him of making it up and of being a bad loser. So why should she believe him innocent now? He sighed. Girls! You couldn’t understand them.

But he’d no wish to spoil this day either. He straightened his spine, eased the rucksack on his back and decided he’d tell her later. It’d taken him months to get her alone like this, he wasn’t about to mess it up now.

They stopped for a much needed rest half way up to admire the view. ‘Isn’t it utterly breathtaking?’ Lissa said, rubbing the cramp in her calves, though the walking was getting easier as she found her second wind.

‘This is the same path the Roman soldiers would have taken from the Windermere valley to reach High Street, where they marched right across the tops in their quest to get to Scotland. They fought a battle here with the Britons, on Scot’s Rake. Can’t you just see it?’ His brown eyes shone and Lissa had to laugh.

‘I wouldn’t like to do this climb in full armour, with breastplate and sword.’ They both gasped at the thought. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit - well, blow hot and cold, as you put it, Derry. I’ve had a few things on my mind lately.’
 

‘I’d like to think we’ve called an end to our own battles,’ he agreed.

Lissa smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his response flow through her, setting her blood surging. He did like her, he really did.

It came to him then, with a jolt, just how much he would miss her when he left. But he had his career to think about, didn’t he? Which was more important? He wished he could decide.

‘I’ve thought about that question you asked me,’ she was saying, ‘and I’ve decided. I will be your girl, if you still want me to be.’

She was blushing furiously and Derry was puffing out his chest as if she’d told him he was the most handsome man in the universe. Yet inside his heart was sinking, knowing this made it worse. But what could he do if he stayed in Carreckwater? Be a waiter at the Marina Hotel? Build boats that fewer and fewer people wanted to buy because they preferred the new moulded plastic and fibreglass. And how could he give up his music? He leaned forward and kissed her softly upon her lips. The thrill of it ran through her like a forest fire as, hand in hand, they walked on up the track.