A Week in Winter: A Novel (22 page)

‘I love it,’ she said dreamily. ‘I absolutely love it.’

A short silence.

‘Well.’ Mr Cruikshank sounded confused. ‘Well, then. Miss… er, Mrs—’

‘I’d like another look,’ she said, turning swiftly round. ‘Alone. I need to be quite alone.’

His startled expression made her want to laugh. ‘Of course. I quite understand. I’ll be downstairs. Take all the time you need.’

He went away, across the landing, along the passage, down the stairs. When she could no longer hear him she gasped, a huge, deep breath, and whirled lightly on her toes. Sunshine splashed on the warm cream wall and flowed down on to the bare varnished boards. Quickly she went from room to room, learning them, imagining them furnished and lived in, and when she could delay no longer she went downstairs. She saw the front door close tactfully behind the agent and paused in the hall before going once more into the sitting room and study, and finally the kitchen.

Presently she went to find him. He was on the lawn, examining the shrubs, but turned as she approached, watching her eagerly.

‘It’s … perfect,’ she said.

He smiled blindingly at her. ‘I have to say I agree with you. If I had the money I’d buy it myself.’

‘Would you?’ She smiled back at him. ‘You don’t look like a countryman, Mr Cruikshank.’

‘That’s what Rob Abbot said.’ He was too shy to insist that she should call him Ned. ‘I
do
love the country but actually I’m transferring to the London branch. Should be fun …’

‘Rob Abbot?’ She was frowning, not really paying attention. ‘You mentioned him before. Who is he?’

‘He’s the chap who did all the work on the place. Lady Todhunter had terrific faith in him but he likes his own way, does Rob. He’s a great guy, though. We’ve become good chums since the key business.’

‘Key business?’

Standing in the shelter of the tall shrubs, warm in the sunshine, he told her about the mystery of the keys, the locked rooms, the fear of a squatter.

‘How strange,’ she murmured. ‘How very strange.’

‘All done with now, though,’ he said quickly, fearing that he might have given her a distaste for the house. ‘It all came to nothing. It’s a wonderful position, isn’t it? So peaceful.’

‘Mmm.’ She turned away from him, biting her lip.

‘Well.’ He didn’t want to sound too eager. ‘Seen enough inside? Want to have a look at the outbuildings?’

‘What I’d really like,’ she said persuasively, ‘is to spend some time getting to know the place. I live a long way away, Mr Cruikshank, and I can’t simply pop up and down. Do you think I could have the key, just for a couple of days?’

He looked dismayed. ‘I don’t think I could do that. Company policy …’

‘After all, the place is empty, isn’t it? It’s not as if I’m going to make off with the furniture.’

‘We’re simply not allowed, you see …’

‘It’s a lot of money …’

Another pause.

‘I could come again, any time you like,’ he said unhappily. ‘I’m honestly not being difficult.’

‘It’s not quite that simple,’ she said wistfully. ‘You see, if I could have the key I shouldn’t bother to go and see all the other houses I have lined up. I’m certain I should just settle for this one. On the other hand …’

She shrugged and he stared at her desperately.

‘It’s more than my job’s worth.’

‘But didn’t you say that you were transferring to London?’

He looked alarmed. ‘Same company …’

‘But a long way off. When are you leaving?’

‘Well, this weekend, actually.’ He brightened. ‘Listen. Rob Abbot has a set of keys. He sometimes shows clients round only I couldn’t catch him this morning. Supposing I arrange with him—’

‘What a good idea,’ she interrupted swiftly. ‘You can say that Mr Abbot has mislaid his keys and you’ve left yours with him so that he can show people round. Meanwhile I’ll take my time, measure a few things, and then leave the keys with Mr Abbot. Brilliant! How clever you are, Mr Cruikshank.’

‘Well.’ He hesitated, his intention having been quite different but somehow finding it impossible to say so. She was certainly very keen and, after all, it wasn’t a bad story and he’d be gone by the weekend. ‘I suppose so. But you mustn’t drop me in it at the office.’

‘As if I would.’ Her smile was brilliant. ‘Now, how can I contact Mr Abbot? I promise I shan’t keep the keys a moment longer than I need.’

She accompanied him into the yard, promising to be in touch very soon, and went out into the lane to wave him off, shutting the gate behind her, the keys held tightly in her hand. When the noise of the engine had died away, and the only sounds she could hear were the rooks’ strident conversation and the high, thin cries of the lambs, she turned very slowly and looked up at the house.

Rob Abbot locked the door of his mobile home, which was parked in the corner of the farmer’s field, climbed the stile and set out over the moor. The house stood above him washed warm by the evening sun, the grove of trees creating a dark backdrop. It was becoming more difficult, with spring drawing on, to make his entrances and exits unseen but he’d dropped a few hints that he was caretaking the place and hoped that this was enough to satisfy any inquisitive eyes. He knew that he was obsessed but he simply couldn’t help himself; from the earliest days the house had charmed him. He remembered standing in the damp empty rooms, seeing all the character and beauty beneath sagging wallpaper and peeling paint;
envisaging the grain and sheen of oak beneath scratched paint and dull varnish. The vision had remained before him as he’d worked, as each room had responded to his loving care. After a while he’d been unable to bear to leave the house. It had been impossible to imagine anyone else living there. He’d needed to return, once he’d dropped the men off, so as to be alone in the house, to feel the peace settling on it again after the hammering and sawing and general busyness of the day. He’d park the pick-up by his caravan and, packing up a few necessities, he’d slip away, over the stile and across the moor in the shadow of the thorn, letting himself in by the side door.

Pausing in his climb, staring up at the windows which reflected the blazing fire of the sunset, he laughed as he recalled how he’d fought a rearguard action with Lady Todhunter and the wretched Ned Cruikshank. Ned was easy meat, of course, but Lady Todhunter was quite a different kettle of fish. He could still remember the shock he’d had that morning when he’d come round the corner of the house and found her standing in the yard. Rob blew out his lips, remembering his fear that she might guess what was going on. He’d suggested she should move her car into the yard, so as to give him time to dash back into the house and hide all obvious signs of occupation, but at every step his heart had been in his mouth.

‘It doesn’t feel as cold as I’d expected,’ she’d said, drinking her tea, ‘and what’s that smell. Bacon?’

He’d had to think on his feet with that one and he’d come out with a feeble suggestion of ghosts. It had distracted her—but only momentarily—and he was ready for her when they got to the sitting room and she’d asked if he’d been lighting fires. Nevertheless, it had been a very nasty moment. Once she’d agreed that he should keep an eye on the place, light up the Esse, make certain that the place was warm, it had made life much easier, giving him an excuse for being around at odd moments—but he’d lost his secret, private quarters. The office, with the loo and storeroom, had made a perfect base within the house. He’d been able to keep his bits of furniture, a cache of food, some blankets, well out of the sight of prying eyes. How his heart had pumped when she’d suggested breaking the door down while she watched. The idea of squatters had been a brilliant one; it had bought him the time he needed but that was all. At least he’d been given the opportunity to carry on working on the office, of staying in the house, but with Ned Cruikshank rolling up with potential buyers his peace of
mind was shattered. Fortunately, nobody as yet had asked to see what was inside the locked cupboard under the stairs.

Striding over the sheep-nibbled turf, Rob smiled to himself as he thought of how eagerly Ned had accepted him as a caretaker, as someone responsible enough to show clients round. The fact that Lady Todhunter trusted him was enough for Ned, always glad to be saved the long drive from Truro, and how easy it had been to drop a word, here and there, to put those clients off and frighten them away. For how much longer, he wondered, could he hold out before someone made an offer and pipped him to the post. His fists, driven into his pockets, tensed with frustration. He’d almost exhausted his list of cash-raising possibilities and time was running out. Oh, it was easy to deter potential buyers with horror stories of the climate when the rain was lashing down, or you couldn’t see ten feet beyond the window because of rolling mist, but with the summer ahead it would be much more difficult.

Glancing up, as he neared the house, he frowned, narrowing his eyes. He thought he saw someone standing at the kitchen window, staring out over the moor. Instinctively he drew back into the shadow of the thorn, watching. The sun was settling lower now and the dark window seemed to frame a pale, insubstantial form; a woman looking out. He’d imagined it before, and his stories of ghosts weren’t quite without foundation, but his ghosts were simply the kindly echoes of those who had gone before and he did not fear them. He mocked at himself—he was letting the house get to him, he knew that—and when he looked again there was nothing there. He covered the last few yards swiftly, swung himself over the ring fence, checked that Ned Cruikshank’s car was not in the yard and finally let himself in through the back door.

The kitchen felt warm and welcoming and he breathed more easily, relaxing as usual now that he was home. He took the frozen dinner from his backpack, peeled off the lid and put the silver foil dish into the oven of the Esse. Next he stood a carton of milk on the draining board and pushed the kettle on to the hotplate. A china mug stood upside down on the draining board and he placed it the right way up and took a tea caddy and a bag of sugar from the cupboard under the sink. He laid the backpack on the floor, first removing his mobile telephone, and then stood for a moment, looking at the mobile and frowning. Laying it beside the mug he went out into the hall, taking a key ring from his pocket as he went. At the
foot of the stairs he hesitated, trying to identify the faint, elusive scent which lingered, drifting in the cooler air of the hall. Shaking his head, wondering if Ned had been round earlier with a client, Rob unlocked the small padlock and opened the cupboard door. First he brought out a gateleg table, then a rickety, cane-seated chair, and finally two large beanbags. He took the table and chair into the kitchen, set them up beside the Esse and then went back through the hall and into the sitting room. Here he picked up a long, heavy, cast-iron poker, pushed together the remains of burned wood and hot ashes and then carefully placed other logs on top. From the pile of wood, stacked at one side of the inglenook, he drew out a pair of bellows and began to blow new life into the ashes. Presently, when he was satisfied that the fire was well alight, he went out into the hall, returning with the beanbags which he put together before the fire.

As he straightened up he paused, listening intently. Was that a footfall in the big front bedroom overhead? He glanced at his watch, shrugging off his jitters, and then out at the twilight, wondering whether to fasten the shutters. Unwilling to close out the quiet, gold-flushed evening, he went back to the kitchen and made himself a mug of tea. Stirring in the sugar, he stood looking out over the flowing, rippling moorland, enjoying the last of the sunset, listening to the blackbird who was singing in the garden. He sipped the hot sweet tea with pleasure, filled with a poignant sense of undefined longing which these very early spring evenings often induced, aware of the house breathing around him, echoing with former lives and other passions. With a sigh, he set down the mug and went back to build up the fire.

The girl was standing by the inglenook, staring down at the beanbags. He checked just inside the door, with a barely concealed gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs, and she turned to look at him. She was quite beautiful; slender, with a sweet, bright face and an enchanting air of eager vulnerability.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘You must be Rob Abbot.’

Afterwards he could never remember exactly what happened next. He was plunged into madness, into magic, into love.

He stared at her, as if she were a ghost—‘I thought you were,’ he admitted later—and she began to chuckle, going towards him across the bare clean boards, her hand outstretched.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said repentantly. ‘I tricked Mr Cruikshank into letting me keep the keys. I simply couldn’t bear to leave Moorgate, you see. My name’s Melissa.’

He cursed then, but laughing at himself, reaching for her hand, feeling an absurd desire to raise it to his lips.

‘I knew that wretched boy would bring me down,’ he said ruefully. Yet he smiled at her, not feeling in the least at risk. ‘I realised earlier that my mobile has been switched off all day. You’ve caught me red-handed.’

She seemed to be in no hurry to reclaim her hand. ‘I guessed,’ she said—and her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘He told me about the missing keys and all the other things and I just knew what had happened. You see, I would have done exactly the same myself. Well, I have, haven’t I? I’ve tricked him into letting me have the keys so that I could be here alone, pretending that Moorgate was mine.’

‘After only one viewing?’

‘Oh, yes. That’s all it needed. What about you?’

‘Not much longer, I must admit. Once Lady Todhunter had gone, that
very first time, and I was able to be alone, the magic began to work. I just felt I belonged here.’

‘That’s it,’ she agreed eagerly. ‘Oh, I was very taken with the photograph but as soon as I saw the house I felt like that. As if I belonged.’

‘Well.’ He raised his eyebrows, teasingly. ‘In that case, we have a problem, don’t we?’

‘Do we?’ she asked provocatively—and he burst out laughing, in love, crazy, utterly happy.