A Week in Winter: A Novel (47 page)

‘You’ll come and stay with us, won’t you, Hugh? I’m going to keep a horse, maybe two. Please come and we can go riding together. We’ll stay friends, won’t we?’

He’d held her tightly, just for a moment, and given her a quick kiss.

‘Try and stop me,’ he’d said—and she’d turned to wave to him as she’d run up the track to where Maudie waited in the car. He was still leaning on the gate, watching, when she’d turned round for the last time, the old dog, Mutt, sitting patiently at his feet.

She came out of her reverie with a start as Mike gave an exclamation.

‘Good God!’ he said. ‘Look at this. Melissa wrote in the book, Posy. Did you know?’

‘She put some birds in. A nuthatch, I think one of them was. Do you know, I’d quite forgotten.’

‘But she wrote something about you. It must have been after you’d gone. You said you went first, didn’t you? Here it is. Look.’

‘Maudie came for me.’ Posy took the book and stared at the entry. ‘Met a great chick called Posy.’

When she looked up she had tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘You met each other and she wrote about you.’ Mike shook his head, near to tears himself. ‘It’s like a little message to us, isn’t it?’

Posy nodded, hardly trusting herself to speak. ‘There’s something else. A quotation, is it? “Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!” ’

Mike was silent, shaken by a thousand memories. ‘It’s Keats,’ he said at last. ‘One of Melissa’s favourites, especially … towards the end. I think your meeting was very important to her.’

He took the book and, after one long, last glance, put it back on the window seat.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get going, shall we? I can’t wait for us to be at Moorgate. Just the two of us for the first time. It’s silly, I know, but it’s like we’ve been given a special blessing. How like Melissa, the immortal Bird, to be able to reach beyond time and space and touch us with her love.’

Rob shook the quilt into its clean cover and laid it on the air bed. He stood back to study the effect and glanced about the room. Soon Moorgate would be furnished properly, lived in, alive, just as it should be. Its months of waiting were nearly over. Meanwhile he would be very snug and comfortable in the small cottage with its tiny courtyard down in Tin-tagel. The purchase had gone through very quickly and he was busy making it very much his own. He didn’t need too much in the way of furnishings: a kitchen and big living room downstairs; a bedroom, box
room and bathroom upstairs. It was quite big enough for him and he intended to build a barbecue in the sunny courtyard and add a few tubs of flowers to liven it up.

As he passed through the house, he was able to remember his obsession with a smile. It was bound to be special to him—how could it be otherwise?—but the terrible ache of desire, the desperation to own, had ebbed away, leaving him at peace. He looked in at the downstairs rooms, as clean and ready as empty rooms could be, a fire laid ready in the fireplace, and went on into the kitchen. There were provisions in the larder and the Esse ensured that there would be hot water when they needed it.

He placed a note with the word ‘Welcome’ written on the outside against a bottle of champagne which stood on the kitchen table and gave one last look round.

‘So,’ he said—and picked up the photograph of Melissa and the rug which Mike had given him. ‘Come on, my love,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s go home.’

They arrived at about teatime. Posy jumped out so as to open the gate and Mike drove in, parking in the open-fronted barn. They stood together, looking about them, revelling in their sense of belonging.

‘Rob said he’d leave milk and stuff,’ said Posy. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea, aren’t you?’

They let themselves in through the front door, enjoying every second, longing to explore the old house inch by inch now they could do so alone.

‘Tea first, though,’ said Posy. ‘And then we can really savour it. Oh!’

‘What is it?’ He followed her into the kitchen, looking over her shoulder. ‘Champagne!’ He began to laugh. ‘What a terrific thing to do. I’ll give him a buzz later.’

‘We’re going down to see him tomorrow,’ Posy told him. ‘To see how he’s getting on at the cottage. He’s trying not to be too thrilled about it but he’s dead pleased, really.’

‘It’s such a relief,’ said Mike, pushing the kettle on to the hotplate whilst Posy fetched the milk. ‘I couldn’t have felt really happy about Moorgate if Rob wasn’t happy, too.’

‘He’ll be able to come whenever he likes,’ said Posy. ‘It’ll be his second home. You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that view.’

They drank their tea, talking quietly together, making plans, and presently, arm-in-arm, they went out to look around the house, murmuring to one another.

‘Huge, comfortable sofas …’ said Mike, in the sitting room.

‘Oh, yes, but not too smart. No fussing if the dogs climb on them.’

‘Or the children?’ He was smiling at her.

‘Of course not,’ she said indignantly. ‘It’s their home, isn’t it?’

They crossed the hall to the other room.

‘So what about this as my study, then?’

‘It would make a wonderful playroom.’ Her voice was wistful. ‘A really terrific living room for everyone. And it’s so sunny.’

‘Perhaps you’d like me to work in the loosebox?’

‘The pony wouldn’t like that.’

They laughed together, softly, intimately, and, as they climbed the stairs, Posy glanced behind her. She’d had the oddest idea that someone was following them.

‘It’s such a lovely room.’ They were standing together at the window of the big bedroom. ‘We’ll have the bed facing the window so that we can see the trees.’

‘This is the nursery.’ She was very confident about it. ‘Isn’t it perfect? With the room next door, and the small bathroom, it makes it the children’s quarters.’

‘I must put up a swing on the lawn.’

‘Under the escallonia hedge.’

They paused on the landing to look out across the moor and Mike slipped his arm about her.

‘Don’t you think old Rob made the bed look inviting?’ he murmured.

She chuckled, holding him tightly. ‘I don’t remember,’ she answered teasingly.

‘Then let’s go and have another look,’ he said.

Maudie poured herself some coffee, sliced the top neatly from her egg, and settled herself to look at her letters. It was a promising selection: a letter from Daphne, a card from Posy and the autumn catalogue from the Scotch House. She slit open Daphne’s letter and began to read it as she ate her egg.

‘It’s being such a success,’ she’d written. ‘Emily and Selina get on so well and Selina has really fallen for Tim. He adores her. It’s such a relief I can’t tell you, but then I don’t have to, do I?’

Maudie laid down the thin blue sheets for a moment. She’d been shocked to see how much Daphne had aged when she’d returned from London. They’d spoken on the telephone, and Maudie had realised that it had been a great ordeal for both of them, but she’d been quite frightened at the haggard appearance of her old friend.

‘It’s worth it,’ Daphne had said, relaxing in an armchair, sipping hot tea. ‘I cheated and said some brutal things but we’ve worked our way through it and she’s coming to terms with it. She’s not giving away too much too soon, but at least she’s still speaking to me. If we can get her out to Canada we shall be home and dry. Emily will see to that. Emily and Tim.’

‘It was very brave of you,’ Maudie had said, ‘and now you must relax for your last week. We’ll have a wonderful time.’

‘Have you forgiven me, Maudie?’ she’d asked. ‘For deceiving you and making you worry?’

‘It’s all over,’ she’d answered. ‘In fact, I wondered if you might like these.’

She’d opened the drawer and offered her friend the leather folder. Daphne had taken it wonderingly, opening it cautiously. She’d given a little gasp when she saw the photograph of the young Hector—looking so like Tim—but as her gaze fell on the other photograph of Hector and herself, her face turned pale. She’d sat immovably, studying it, and then she’d closed her eyes.

‘Where on earth did you find it?’ she’d asked faintly, pressing the folder to her breast. ‘Oh, Hector …’

Maudie had kneeled beside her, putting an arm about her. ‘I just found it,’ she’d said, ‘and I thought you might like to have it.’

They’d looked at one another for a long moment, two elderly ladies remembering days and nights of love, until Daphne had leaned forward and kissed her.

‘Now I know that you’ve forgiven me,’ she’d said. ‘Oh, Maudie, how foolish we are.’

‘It’s certainly foolish to kneel down at my age,’ grumbled Maudie, getting up painfully. ‘So tell me what you think about Posy’s bombshell and how did Selina take it? If only I could have warned you …’

With the mysteries solved and secrets shared and forgiven, the last week had been such a happy one.

‘I shall come out to see you,’ Maudie had promised, as they’d said goodbye at St David’s. ‘Perhaps for Christmas. Kiss Emily and the children for me …’

It had been hard to watch her go, Maudie’s link with Hector and the past.

‘I miss her,’ she said aloud—and Polonius stirred and wagged his tail sympathetically, sitting up to look hopefully at the toast rack. Maudie frowned at him severely. ‘Don’t think you’ll get round me that easily,’ she said. ‘You’re still in disgrace.’

Yesterday, whilst Maudie had been examining her new car, checking the switches, learning her way round it, she’d left the gate open and Polonius had sneaked out. Once he was safely clear, no raised voices or whistle blowing, he’d padded along happily, down to the bridge. Having pursued several interesting scents, he’d set off again, along the lane to Lustleigh. He’d gone some way before he’d come upon the car, pulled in tight to the hedge, the driver fast asleep. It was a warm and sunny morning and the occupant had left his window open. His seat was tilted back and he was snoring a little; a rep taking a breather between calls. Polonius had paused to look at him. Usually, at his approach, there was some kind of disturbance, a reaction—generally involving rapid movement and a lot of noise—but this man had slept on, unaware of Polonius watching him. Polonius had come closer, right up to the window, interested by the noise issuing from the man’s open mouth. Receiving no response, he’d put his head into the car with a loud and throaty ‘woof’ and, as the man came blearily awake, he’d licked him generously and wetly around the face.

With a startled cry, the man had shot upright, grappling clumsily with the seat lever. Pleased by this attention, Polonius had barked loudly, prancing a little before thrusting his head through the window again. Shouting, gesticulating, the man had attempted to start the car, whilst also trying to close the window, and Polonius, thinking that this was some kind of new game, had barked himself hoarse before the driver had managed to gain control and the car had shot off down the lane. He’d followed it, rather puzzled, until, above the receding noise of the engine, he’d heard the whistle being blown.

Maudie had missed him fairly soon and, having hunted about the house
and garden, had followed him into the lane blowing furiously on her whistle. The car had nearly knocked her over.

‘If that’s your dog, lady,’ the driver had yelled, braking violently for a moment, ‘he should be properly controlled. I’ve a good mind to report you,’ and he’d rocketed off again. A few moments later Polonius had trotted into sight, pleased with his morning’s work, refusing to be cowed by her remonstrances.

Now, seeing that no toast was to be forthcoming, he yawned contemptuously and stretched himself out again on the veranda.

‘I’m not surprised that Posy doesn’t want you,’ muttered Maudie. ‘We’re stuck with each other, you and me.’

‘It’s not that we don’t want him,’ Posy had protested. ‘It’s because I’m not sure that he’ll be able to adapt to Mike and a baby. He’s just got used to you and it seems mean to ask him to start all over again. And he’s so big and boisterous. Poor Luke will never learn to walk. He’ll be knocked over every time he stands up. Do you really mind, Maudie? He can come to us if you ever want to go away.’

Maudie had grumbled, pretending that she’d known how it would be all along, but secretly she was relieved. She’d become surprisingly attached to Polonius and had been rather dreading being alone again. As for Polonius, he regarded Maudie as his own property and had settled so happily at The Hermitage that she, too, wondered if he were rather too old to cope with yet another change in his life.

She opened Posy’s card, smiling at the familiar spiky writing, the little pictures drawn round the margins.

Maudie stood the card against the marmalade with a little sigh. How strange that first Rob and Melissa, and then Mike and Posy, should meet and fall in love at Moorgate. It was extraordinary—and yet somehow so terribly right: that the brief week in winter for Rob and Melissa had
resolved itself into a happy future stretching ahead for Mike and Posy and little Luke. As for herself, after September there would be no more weekends …

‘Don’t start that,’ she told herself sternly. ‘I shall go and see them at Moorgate and there’s my trip to Canada to plan. Perhaps I’ll build an extension so that Posy and Mike and Luke can come and stay. And Emily and Tim …’

She spread some butter on her toast and opened the catalogue. The glossy pictures of rich tartans and supple tweed jogged at her memory. What had happened to the letter and samples that Miss Grey had sent last autumn? She felt a spasm of guilt, remembering that she had never replied to the letter, and, pushing back her chair, she went to look in the desk drawer. There it was, the thick envelope, put away until she had the time to think about it. She sat down again, eating her toast, looking at the soft squares of tartan, recalling the day that they’d arrived. That was the morning she’d had a card from Posy, asking her if she’d give Polonius a home, and the letter from Ned Cruikshank, telling her that Moorgate was nearly finished and wondering about the missing keys. How long ago it seemed; how much had happened since.