Deep Water, Thin Ice (14 page)

‘Partly? So what else dictates it?’

‘The weather, the position, the vegetation, shelter, predators. The Grenloe is slow and shallow, a mixture of marsh and stream. There are some deeper channels and I’ve dug some ditches. The secret to attracting a variety of wildlife is to provide a variety of habitat. You see the reed bed there? There used to be lots of reed bed in Britain, hundreds of miles of the stuff, but it’s been lost to drainage and development so just a few pockets remain and there are certain creatures which need it to survive.’

‘Really? So this is rare?’

Mick nodded almost imperceptibly, staring out over the water.

‘Relatively. It’s not a big reed bed, but big enough to be attractive to certain species like the sedge warbler, Cetti’s warbler, bearded tits. And we’ve even had a bittern here – not to nest. It’s a bit small really. Still…maybe one day.’

‘A bittern? What’s that?’

‘It’s a very reclusive kind of heron.’

‘Is there one here now?’

‘No. I haven’t seen one here since last winter. We’ve had one overwintering here the last two years. I’m hopeful next year…’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, we’re coming to the end of the nesting period now for most species. Summer can be a quiet time for birds.’ He returned his gaze to the water, scanning automatically slowly back and forth. ‘You might be lucky. We have water voles too, but they’re very shy. You might hear the ‘plop’ as they slide into the water from the bank but that’s probably all.’

He fell silent. Alex stared out across the water. She’d taken the dark glasses off and he could see her eyes sweeping back and forth, trying to spot something move. He noticed how pale the blue of her eyes seemed against the darkness of her hair. But what made her eyes really striking was a ring of darker blue around the pupil. He pulled his eyes away and looked out of the window too.

‘Look,’ he hissed urgently, grabbing the binoculars and focussing towards the edge of the reed bed. He stared through them for a minute and then thrust them into Alex’s hands. ‘There. See the willow in the distance over to your right? Now bring the glasses down in a straight line to the edge of the reeds. There’s a brown bird there, wading. Pink legs, red bill.’

She waved the binoculars about wildly.

‘No. Where? I can’t see anything but the reeds. Oh wait a minute. I’ve got it. Wow. It’s got red eyes.’

‘That’s right. It’s a water rail. They feed on insects and molluscs, sometimes the odd vole or even a small bird, dead stuff even. They’re scavengers really.’

Alex watched with a rapt expression as the bird prowled through the water, foraging with its long bill. Mick touched her shoulder.

‘Turn the glasses to the left,’ he mouthed. ‘You see the bank over there. There’s a low horizontal branch leaning out over the water.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It looks like it’s been put there deliberately.’

‘It was. Look…there. He’s back. Near the end of the branch.’ A kingfisher had just shot up out of the water to perch on the stick. A fish was rapidly disappearing down its throat. ‘The kingfishers have nearly finished nesting too. They’ve got their nesting tunnels in that bank over there, out of sight of here unfortunately. But they like a branch over water like that to dive from.’

Alex watched the dancing iridescence of the damp plumage in the sunshine.

‘I’ve never seen one before,’ she murmured. ‘It’s beautiful.’

From that moment on, he could tell she was hooked. Several times over the next couple of weeks Alex appeared in the clearing. Susie became so used to her that she’d run to meet her, bark just once, dance at her side for a bit of attention, and then trot along ahead of her, escorting her to the hide.

Mick was astonished that she kept coming back and he wasn’t sure how to react to this new intruder into his life. He’d reached a point where he thought he preferred solitude; it made him feel safer and he was comfortable with it. So he refused to encourage her, treating her with wary disdain, and yet he’d hear that familiar welcoming bark from Susie, and would know she was back. Irresistibly he found himself going to join her in the hide for a short while, telling her odd things, answering questions, or just saying nothing. It became a strange sort of habit.

*

Theo, sitting in his cabin on the yacht, finished writing the postcard at the tiny fold down table, put the pen down and reread his cryptic message, grinning. It was to Helen, addressed to the gallery, written with his left hand and signed from N.B. A few times, with playful coyness, she’d called him a Naughty Boy for the things he got up to in her bedroom. He’d responded by pointing out that she didn’t seem to mind and she’d giggled. He’d been round to her flat twice more since that first visit, armed with champagne, and she hadn’t hesitated to let him in. When he promised before he came away that he’d send a card from Italy, she panicked and told him not to. ‘Suppose Bob sees it?’ she said. ‘How would I explain that away?’ Theo just teased her, enjoying her fear. ‘You’ll manage,’ he said. ‘Be creative. You must know several Theos. How would he guess?’

Of course he wouldn’t sign his name but he was sending the card more to give himself the pleasure of running close to the wind as much as anything else, of knowing that he was cuckolding the man behind his back and – near as dammit – broadcasting the fact. It was part of the game and gave him a surge of adrenaline. It was small enough punishment for having his car clamped and making him look stupid. He had to prove a point. But he liked Helen well enough; physically she was just his type and she was keen for diversion so she was anxious to please. He liked that; it massaged his sense of power.

He pulled the next card close on the table in front of him and stared at its virgin surface, popping the biro on and off with his thumb. He sighed; this was an altogether different matter. What to write to Alex? How to hit just the right tone suggesting easy friendship but nothing too familiar? He wasn’t sure. He’d thought he was beginning to get a hold on what sort of person Alex was but when he’d last spoken to her before leaving she’d been quite distant and he’d had to check himself. She was confused, he reasoned, which was to be expected after losing Simon like that. But something had happened during her sister’s stay which she didn’t want to talk about and he wondered if it was something her sister had said which was making her act differently. Now, with her guarded behaviour, he worried a little how much influence the sister had over her and how he would be able to counteract it. Could he win the sister over? And if not, would he be able to get Alex to like him enough to ignore the opinions and doubts of her friends and family? He’d noticed the suggestion of an obstinate streak in her, a reluctance to be dictated to, and, provided he was careful, he thought that could work to his advantage.

He shook his head, surprised at his own doubts and uncomfortable with them. He generally had the assurance of someone possessed of many favours – handsome features, education, ability and charm - and he knew how to temper his confidence with a pleasing hesitation at times or an occasional note of self-deprecation. And it was indeed this easy self-assurance which tended to work in his favour; it made people believe him. He’d learned as a child that if you said something with enough conviction, even adults believed you. So it was important to keep faith in himself. Maybe he’d let the importance of this relationship affect him and he was analysing it too much. He pulled the postcard closer and scribbled a quick message, paused to check it over and nodded approvingly. That was the way to do it: relax; be positive. He signed it and put it on the pile to post.

*

Alex glanced round the sitting room again, smacked a couple of cushions on the sofa and walked to the fireplace. She picked up the postcard propped up on the mantelpiece and smiled. A flash of sunshine and blue waters. Theo had sent it from Sorrento and it had taken a week to arrive. She read it for the umpteenth time.

Weather is wonderful, food is not, company is worse. Amazed to find I remember the decorating with such pleasure – what a laugh we had! Home early August. Let’s go wild and do the drawing room!

PS. Don’t tell mother about the food – she’ll inform the Red Cross.

Did we laugh? Alex wondered. She supposed they had and felt a little guilty for it.

She stared at the card. He signed his name with a huge, flourishing capital T while the rest of the name disappeared into a squiggly line. A surprisingly small hand for someone so outgoing, she thought, though Simon’s signature had been similar. It was uncanny that they had so much in common. But Simon would never have been as flippant as that. Where Theo was light-hearted and upbeat, Simon had been temperamental. Loving, tender and charming when things went well, he could be darkly despondent too, sometimes finding it hard to shake off a bad performance for days. Alex suspected Theo would simply laugh about a failure and then forget about it.

She replaced the postcard and apprehensively glanced round the room, checking that it looked as good as she could make it. Sarah Hellyon was coming for coffee. The postcard had been the catalyst for the invitation. A pang of guilt had made her ring the Lodge and offer to return Sarah’s hospitality. Alex had half hoped she’d refuse. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but Theo’s mother was a little odd. She’s all right really, she reassured herself, just give her time, barely acknowledging to herself the faint apprehension that this was what happened to widows who spent too much time on their own. But the prospect of entertaining Sarah in the house she had once called home sat awkwardly on her and when the doorbell sounded Alex perceptibly jumped.

Sarah had her back to the door when Alex opened it, taking in the view down to the harbour. When she turned she was smiling.

‘Alexandra,’ she said in that light voice, at once innocent and yet suggestive of criticism. She reminded Alex of a school teacher she’d had who’d always smiled broadly whilst telling you how awful your homework was. ‘So kind of you to invite me,’ Sarah added as she came in, exuding a strong scent of Chanel.

Alex led the way into the sitting room where Sarah paused in front of the fireplace and looked round.

‘I haven’t managed to decorate the sitting room yet,’ Alex said, gesturing towards the peeling wallpaper. ‘I’m afraid this room’s been badly neglected. It’s going to be a lot of work. We could sit in the snug if you’d prefer?’

‘The snug?’

‘The little room across the hall.’

‘Ah, the sitting room. We called this the drawing room. No, this is fine.’ Sarah vented the suspicion of a sigh, gazing round again. ‘I chose this wallpaper.’ She smiled and shrugged dismissively. ‘Still, that was years ago wasn’t it? You get foolishly nostalgic with age.’

Alex smiled tactfully. ‘Please take a seat,’ she said, waving a hand towards the mismatched easy chairs. ’I’ll go and make the coffee.’

Sarah slowly lowered herself down into one of the chairs and elegantly crossed her legs. She wore seamed stockings, the seams immaculately straight. Walking through to the kitchen, Alex idly wondered where she bought them from.

When she returned with the tray of coffee things, Sarah was still sitting in the chair, straight-backed, staring apparently impassively around the room.

‘We used to have wonderful soirees in here once upon a time,’ she said with a smile. ‘Everyone would come.’ She gave another shrug. ‘Of course, people don’t do that sort of entertaining any more. It is a shame.’

‘How long has it been since you lived here Mrs Hellyon?’

‘Twenty-four years.’ As an afterthought, she added: ‘You must call me Sarah.’

Alex smiled her acknowledgment and poured the coffee.

‘Do you miss it? It must be strange living so close.’

‘No, no, The Lodge is perfect for me. Easy to look after.’

Alex passed Sarah her cup and saucer and saw her hand shake as she took it and then added milk. A little milk spilt in the saucer. ‘Silly me,’ Sarah muttered, stirred in two cubes of sugar and then sat back, clutching the cup and saucer tightly together as if they might escape. She stared at the top of Alex’s head for a second as if trying to remember something.

‘Theo is such a restless boy,’ she said suddenly.

‘Theo? Yes, he likes to travel doesn’t he?’

‘Yes. I think it’s about time he stayed still a bit. He doesn’t get a chance to drop any roots.’ Sarah carefully extracted the cup from the saucer and lifted it to her mouth. It didn’t shake and she appeared to drink with more confidence, replaced the cup and looked at Alex again.

‘It’s important to put down roots, don’t you think? Find somewhere you feel comfortable and settle.’ Sarah paused for Alex to answer but after a moment’s expectant silence she carried on. ‘I think Kellaford Bridge is a perfect place. There’s something for everyone here isn’t there?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Of course. There’s the boating and the beach if you like that sort of thing. But then come a little inland and it’s such pretty, quiet countryside.’

‘Yes, it’s very nice.’ Alex was ill at ease. Sarah was different from their last meeting, too chatty. It sat oddly on her. Desperate to find something to say, her eyes fixed on a silver brooch Sarah was wearing, a solid but elegant miniature model of a sailing boat.

‘That’s a lovely brooch,’ she remarked.

‘Thank you.’ Sarah automatically looked down and fingered it. ‘Theo brought it back for me from Paros.’