Harbinger of Spring (18 page)

Sara gave a quick glance at a snow-plastered sign.

‘
It
’
s a country club now, so you
’
re probably right. From the number of advertisements for similar places, Norfolk is thick with them.
’

‘
Yes. This is a fine road we
’
re on now. In the warmer weather the trees lining the verges must make it
look quite beautiful.
’

‘
It
’
s beautiful even with a covering of snow.
’

‘
But I wonder what sort of road it was when the grand house was first built?
’

‘
Narrow—and deep with waggon ruts, I expect.
’
Sara paused.
‘
Father, you
’
re an old fox—what are you trying to tell me?
’

‘
That the developers and the conservationists simply must get their heads together. There has to be development, you can
’
t have stagnation, but the conservation of beauty is also necessary.
’

‘
I agree. But lack of planning has been largely the fault of your generation, hasn
’
t it?
’

‘
Don
’
t be too hard on us, Sara. Quite a number of us did try, and are still trying. If you learn from our mistakes you
’
ll do better when you see fit to take up the reins.
’

‘
I thought we had a government to look after that sort of thing?
’

‘I
n democracies, people get the government they deserve.
’

‘
Father, that
’
s a
cliché
!
’

‘
But a pretty exact statement. What
’
s this peculiar bridge we
’
re approaching now?
’

‘
Wroxham Bridge. It crosses the Bure. There
’
s a nice view of the river from the top of the bridge, but I can
’
t stop to let you see it because of it being so narrow.
’

‘
I
’
ll see it another time, on foot, or perhaps you can take me by boat. How far to your Mill now?
’

‘
About five miles.
’

‘
Then we
’
ll come by water. That
’
s the best way of seeing rivers and bridges.
’

Sara laughed.
‘
It
’
ll have to be a whole day trip, then. I haven
’
t worked out the mileage by boat, but it must be at least twenty. The
mill
is set on a tribu
tary of the river.
’

There was a ten-mile speed limit over
the narrow
hump-backed bridge, but with there being
no traffic in
sight, Sara took it at a crawl.
Her
father
raised him
self in his seat and gave an exclamation
of pleasure.

‘
Lovely! It reminds me of the Thames
at Richmond.
’

She gave him a quick side glance
as
he
settled back
again. Enthusiasm was something
he rarely showed,
but ever since they had left the
railway station he had
been pleased and interested in everything
he had seen.
Far different from Des.

Poor Des, he really had been
a
square peg
in a round
hole. She felt sympathy for
him
now.
Away from
discotheques, the dim lights of
coffee
bars
and voices
raised to a near shriek above the beat of the
latest disc,
he must have felt as miserable as a
cage-bred bird
suddenly turned loose in the wilds.

‘
Is this a National Park
area?
’
her father
asked.

‘
I don
’
t think so.
’

‘
It should be. There can
’
t
be many places in this
country like it. It
’
s so open. You can
see the horizon
from almost any angle, and that tiny
church we
’
ve just
passed—the flint cobbled round tower must
be Norman.
’

‘
It certainly looks very old.
’

Sara had
been
using the
ancient church as a landmark
for her
turning into the lane
to the
boatyard. She
negotiated
the awkward
bend
and
bumped
over the snow
-
covered ruts
to
the
yard.
Outside the
shed which was
used
as the garage
she stopped the
car.

‘
We
’
ll
get your suitcases out here,
Father. It
’
s
a bit
awkward inside
the shed.
’

She
drove in after
helping him with the
cases and
when
she
came out
again
he was outside one of
the
boathouses
talking with
Ted.

She went to
them and
saw the
stern
of a large
cruiser
in the open
doorway of the shed.

‘
Mind if I watch
?
’
her father was saying.

‘
Not at all. I
’
ll just go inside and start the winch.
’
He grinned at Sara.
‘
Keep your toes off the rail-track, Sara.
’

He went inside, squeezing past the side of the cruiser. She heard the rattle of machinery, then the iron wheels of the ponderous bogey on which the cruiser rested began to grind on the rails. Slowly the vessel came out of the shed and down the concrete slope towards the water. Sara watched the rudder and propeller submerge and slowly the craft slid gently into the water.

Her father gave a cheer, his face wreathed in smiles and his eyes bright as a schoolboy
’
s. Sara looked at him in surprise. He seemed to have dropped at least half of his fifty years.

‘
The East Anglian air seems to agree with you.
’

‘
It
’
s more than the air. It
’
s the very nature of the place. I feel so free, don
’
t you?
’

‘
Yes, and jolly hungry, too. Your impulsive safari cut short my tea.
’

‘
Well, I
’
ll just have another word with Ted and then we
’
ll get along.
’

A quarter of an hour later, Eric Seymour had another and even greater enthusiasm. Fenchurch Mill and house had him groping for words of admiration. He saw over the Mill, then wandered from room to room in the house, touching the furniture with his finger tips and displaying a knowledge of its period Sara did not know he possessed. At last she practically fled into the kitchen to prepare a meal that was more an early dinner than anything else.

She laid the table in the dining room, switching on the subdued wall light and also the table lamp against the rapidly fading daylight. Then she called to
him
and they sat down to eat.

‘
This certainly is a lovely old house,
’
he said almost wistfully.
‘
The quietness would take a little getting
used to, of course—especially for someone
like you, fresh
from the busy life of London—always
surrounded by
people and—lively ones at that.
’

Sara smiled. She knew what her father
was getting
at. He thought her generation could not
exist without
noise.

‘
I must admit there were times when
it seemed like a
cemetery, as Des put it.
’

‘
That fellow! Has
he
been here
?
’

‘
Father, please. You know he
’
s my friend
as well as
business partner. Why shouldn
’
t
he
come?
’

‘
He could have telephoned, couldn
’
t
he?
’

Sara controlled an impulse to
snap back.
‘
Father,
as it happens he was only
here
for a few hours.
I know
you don
’
t like Des, but he
’
s harmless
enough and he
’
s
a good business partner. There
’
s nothing
much wrong
with him.
’

‘
I
’
m not saying there is anything
wrong with him.
It
’
s his appearance. But can
’
t you
see—
’

‘
His appearance? How can you possibly
judge by
that? You don
’
t like Des because
he
has long
hair and
wears trendy clothes.
’

‘
I admit I
’
m prejudiced about
his appearance, but
you take it from
me, it does count. The way a man or
a woman dresses
is
a
reflection
of their personality.
’
He
paused.
‘
I
’
m sorry,
I
shouldn
’
t
be going on at you
like this. You
’
re old enough to run
your own life. But
why did he only stay
a
few hours,
if that
’
s not a rude
question
?
’

‘
He found it
too
quiet and
isolated.
I
’
ll
get the
second course,
if you
’
ll
excuse me,
Father.
’

She went into the
kitchen, glad to escape for a few
minutes. Though she had defended
Des
and
his right to
wear what he chose, she couldn
’
t help
feeling that her
father was right. Hugh, too. Her values
seemed to be
all changing, somehow, and she
wasn
’
t sure that she was
e
njoying it.