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Authors: Marcia Willett

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BOOK: The Courtyard
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Gillian looked at Elizabeth. A curious smile played around her godmother's lips and she shook her head.
‘Don't tell me you've forgotten all those birthday and Christmas presents, Gillian?' she asked softly. ‘The answer is categorically “no”.'
Gillian attempted to appear puzzled and simply succeeded in looking foolish. She flushed brightly and Richard gazed at them both in surprise but was too well-mannered to ask questions. Elizabeth got to her feet.
‘More coffee anyone?' she asked but Gillian had risen too with a great show of looking at her watch.
‘Must dash, I'm afraid,' she said. ‘Just a flying visit to see how you are. Got a lunch date in Exeter. No, no. Don't come out. See you.'
Mortified and disappointed, Gillian covered the road to Exeter in record time but, as she drove, her brain was busy thinking over the things that Richard had said. Even to her infatuated mind it made good sense. If Sam had buyers there shouldn't be a problem and when they were face to face across the lunch table she found herself mentioning it. Sam was far too experienced to show the tiny flicker of anxiety he felt as she put her finger on the weakness he hoped would pass unnoticed. He'd already lined up a couple of chums who, for a fee, were prepared to state to any interested party that they would be buying one of the converted barns but he knew that Gillian would not be easily taken in and realised that the time had come to bind her even more closely to him.
‘The banks are very nervous at the moment,' he told her, allowing their hands to touch as though by accident on the tabletop. His fingers stroked the inside of her wrist and she shivered a little. ‘At the height of the boom they lent too much with too little collateral and they've been very badly burned. They're all much more cautious than they were even six months ago.' He smiled at her, lifting her hand to his mouth and mumbling kisses into its palm whilst keeping his eyes on hers. ‘You know, I simply can't concentrate on work today. Do you have to hurry home?' He watched her breast rise and fall as her breathing quickened and the colour stained her cheeks. ‘Jeremy's had to go abroad.' He made it sound as though it had just happened. ‘I wonder if you'd care to come and see where I'm living? What do you say?'
Gillian nodded, trying for the insouciance that she usually had at her command in these situations.
‘Why not?' she said with a little shrug.
But her voice was husky and her hand trembled in his and Sam smiled to himself as he helped her into her coat and he kept his arm about her as they went out into the cold November afternoon.
 
 
NELL WAS ONLY TOO pleased to accept Gussie's invitation to Nethercombe for Christmas and was relieved to find that it needed very little encouragement to persuade John to shut the office for the whole of the holiday. Although the promise of funds tied up in his mother's house had yet to become a reality, the knowledge of it kept him from the despair he had known just before the cottage was sold. Nevertheless, he was withdrawn and preoccupied. There had been no movement now in the market for months and the bills were beginning to mount and the demands starting to trickle in again. By the time the mortgage on the cottage had been paid off, Jack's fees dealt with and his own debts settled there had been precious little left from the sale. It might be possible to raise up to sixty per cent of the value of the house in Bournemouth but the question asked by his bank was: how would the loan be repaid? John suggested that a charge be taken over the property which would be put up for sale but the manager was cautious. Properties had been on estate agents' books by this time for up to two years and prices were still dropping. He might be prepared to take a charge over the house against the loan but how did John propose to pay the interest until the house sold? John had no answer to this interesting question. He put the house up for sale hoping for a miracle but the strain of keeping this from Nell was very great especially as she was given to observing at intervals how much safer she felt now she knew that they had a bolt hole.
Gussie read out Nell's acceptance at breakfast and gave a private
sigh of relief. She'd feared that Nell might be too proud to take up the offer and she and Mrs Ridley already had great things planned.
‘Perhaps we'll have another little party,' suggested Henry, smiling at Gillian who was fiddling with some toast. She'd been very quiet these last few weeks. When Gussie broke the news of Nell's pregnancy to him he'd wondered, with a great upsurge of joy, whether Gillian might be in that interesting condition. If so she was keeping it very much to herself. ‘What do you think? Jack really enjoyed his New Year's party, didn't he? What about Boxing Day? Things can go a bit flat, can't they, when you're young?'
‘Absolutely.' Gillian attempted to pull herself together. ‘Sounds a great idea. I suppose Mr Ridley's marked out the tree?'
Henry, who always had a Christmas tree from the estate, nodded. ‘All organised.' He turned back to Gussie who was deep in Nell's letter. ‘How's John doing? He must be pretty desperate.'
‘Well, I think his mother's death may have eased that problem a little. Although one shouldn't look at it like that. Apparently there's a big house in Bournemouth which they could sell, I suppose, if things get too bad.'
Gillian, who had returned somewhat listlessly to her toast, frowned and sat up a little.
‘House?'she enquired casually.
‘Mmm? Yes. That's right. A big family house, Nell says. Not that it would be easy to sell at the moment, I imagine. Still, money could be raised against it, I suppose, if they were in trouble. I hope it won't come to that. I know that Nell regards it as a safe place if things get worse.'
‘I can't imagine what they can be living on.' Henry looked worried. ‘It must be a nightmare. And yet we've managed to sell another cottage.' He shook his head. ‘It doesn't seem quite fair somehow.'
Gillian seemed to have been struck by a deeply engrossing idea and it was Gussie who answered.
‘Well, you've kept your prices at a very sensible level, my dear. And the cottages are really so charming.'
‘I think it's your knack with the clients.' Henry pursed his lips. ‘You've really picked up the jargon. Mr Ellison says that he'll give you a job any time you like.'
‘Really, Henry,' said Gussie but she flushed with pleasure. ‘We're getting quite a jolly little community, aren't we? The Beresfords are charming and Guy is a very quiet young man. And Mrs Henderson's about to move in at last. I must admit, it took so long for her to sell her previous house, I feared we would never see her here.'
‘And what do you think of the new chap?'
‘Mr Jackson,' said Gussie thoughtfully. ‘He wants it as a
pied-à-terre.
He's been made redundant but he's managed to find a job in Plymouth. He doesn't want to move the family down from Gloucester so they've decided to sink his redundancy money into the cottage. Of course, it's tiny but they can use it as a holiday home and keep it as an investment for when things pick up again. Meanwhile he can live in it from Mondays to Fridays. I thought it was an excellent plan.'
‘So does he, I'm delighted to say.' Henry beamed at her. ‘Only one to go. We've been incredibly lucky, haven't we?'
He looked at Gillian, inviting her to share with him in their good fortune. It was plain that Gillian hadn't heard a word but Henry was pleased to see that there was a sparkle in her eyes and she looked more like her old self.
‘Sorry. I was miles away.' She smiled at them both. ‘I was trying to remember where we put the Christmas decorations. Only a week to go. I think I'll pop into Exeter and do a bit of shopping. If the Woodwards are coming I must think about presents for them.'
‘Oh yes,' agreed Henry at once. ‘Something nice for Jack and something pretty for Nell. Should we get a present for the baby?'
‘Not yet.' Gillian pushed back her chair. ‘Plenty of time for that when it's born. It'll be Nell who needs cossetting. I'll have a look around for something special.' She went out.
‘Seems to have cheered her up.' Henry looked pleased. ‘She's been looking a bit peaky. The thought of a party will jolly her up a bit.'
‘Mmm.' Gussie looked thoughtful.
For some reason she heard a warning note ringing in her mind. What was it? She shook her head. She was getting old and imagining things, that was all. Henry was watching her and she smiled at him. He grinned back.
‘It's going to be a wonderful Christmas,' he said.
 
IT WAS BOXING DAY, after the party – held in the afternoon because of Jack – before Gillian had a chance to speak with John alone. Gussie hurried Nell away saying that she must rest and Jack went off with Henry into the library to watch a film on the television. John sat on in the drawing room, staring into the fire and wishing that he could stay there for ever. How wonderful to be released from the endless treadmill of worry and fear. He looked back at his naval career now with something like astonishment. Could that lighthearted man who enjoyed life and always had money in his pocket possibly be himself? Since Martin had left, his sense of isolation had increased and he felt terribly alone. He knew that, in these past few months, Nell had been trying hard to stay calm and unworried, to keep the lines of communication open between them, to show him love and support. However, now that he was deceiving her about the house in Bournemouth, he felt a great weight of guilt which in turn made him feel in some strange way almost resentful towards her. He dropped his head back against the cushions and shut his eyes. How unfair life was! Why should he be driven into the ground, beset by problems, whilst Henry lived in this great pile, with two farms, various cottages and a successful courtyard development? John preferred not to think of the responsibilities which tenants and land brought, the careful husbanding and use of resources or the sheer hard physical work which kept Henry busy. He only knew it must be easier for Henry than for himself. He fetched a great sigh of self-pity.
‘That sounds like a whisky sort of sigh to me.'
John jumped and opened his eyes. The room was half in darkness; the heavy brocade curtains pulled against the damp raw afternoon and only one lamp lit, casting a pool of light onto the polished mahogany table on which it stood at the far end of the room. By the glow from the fire, John saw Gillian standing at the drinks table. She wore dark leggings that showed off her long straight legs and a loose silky crimson jersey – which continually seemed about to slip from one shoulder but somehow never did – beneath which she was obviously wearing nothing at all. He heard liquid splashing into a glass and presently she stood before him, holding out a heavy cut-glass tumbler two-thirds full of gold. He took it with a surprised but grateful exclamation of pleasure and she curled up at the other end of the sofa, facing him and holding her own glass. She raised it to him.
‘So here's to us. We've hardly had time to have a chat, have we? How are things with you?'
John returned her salute and took a sip before he spoke. He'd been very much aware of her during the last few days – private glances, little smiles, a quick kiss under the mistletoe – and he'd enjoyed the sensation. It made him feel like that man he'd remembered earlier; someone who'd known how to enjoy himself and who'd always had an eye for a pretty girl.
‘Oh, not too bad.' He would have liked to make a bid for her sympathy by pouring out his troubles but instinct warned him this may not be wise. He didn't want to give the impression that he wasn't on top of things or unable to cope.
‘That sigh said that you've got things on your mind. It's a cold old world at the moment, isn't it? And now with a new baby to worry about …' Her voice trailed away and the understanding in it wooed him into accepting her point of view – that the baby must be a nuisance rather than a blessing – without question.
‘It's come as a bit of a shock.' He turned the glass in his hand, watching it catch and reflect back the flash of the firelight. ‘Nell had a
few problems after Jack and then it seemed as if she would never have another. We got a bit careless to tell you the truth.' He shook his head and swallowed some more whisky.
‘Poor John.'
Her voice was soft and when he turned to look at her she smiled at him with such warmth and intimacy that he was momentarily thrown off balance. After a moment he smiled back and then took another gulp from his glass. He stared into the fire, his heart beginning to tick rather faster than usual and a whole variety of emotions swirling round in his brain.
‘How about another drink?'
She kneeled up in her corner and held out her hand for his glass but John held onto it and nothing seemed more natural than that she should subside next to him, her legs tucked beneath her. He felt the warmth of her body and the faint seductive whiff of her scent and, as she bent her head, the short blonde hair brushed against his shoulder.
‘It seems almost unfair,' she said, and he had to bend his head closer to hers to catch the words, ‘that Henry should be doing so well when other people are having such difficulties.' Since this had been his own thought only moments before he could hardly contradict her. ‘It's sheer luck that his is a courtyard development. They're the only sort of properties that are moving. I've got a friend who's got one. He says the market's absolutely dead.'
‘It is.' John tried to ignore the proximity of the breast which now, somehow, seemed to be pressing against his arm. ‘It's desperate.' He swallowed some more whisky and tried to concentrate. ‘Is your friend doing OK?'
‘Poor Sam.' Gillian gave a throaty little chuckle. ‘His partner walked out on him. Wife trouble or something. Left him in the lurch.'
‘That happened to me.' In his readiness to identify with this unknown friend, John made the mistake of turning to look at her. Gillian looked up at him, her golden brown eyes wide with sympathy, her lips parted a little.
‘People can be real shits,' she said.
He stared at her and then turned quickly away.
‘He's got the site but no money to develop it with,' said Gillian reflectively. ‘And three people all waiting to buy the cottages. Tough on him, isn't it?' She shifted a little and the softness of her breasts and the scent in his nostrils made John tremble.
‘Bloody for him.' His voice was hoarse.
‘Mmm. Sure you won't have that drink?' This time her hand covered his on the glass. ‘Whoever goes in with him will make a killing, that's for certain.' She leaned a little to take the glass and her cheek almost brushed his own. ‘It's a gold mine. The site has to be seen to be believed. It's really nice here but that one's spectacular. That's why he's got people fighting to buy the cottages when they've been converted.'
Her face was inches from his and as he released the glass into her hand he took her chin in his fingers and kissed her. She seemed to melt into the kiss and the blood hammered in his head, blinding him to everything but the feel of her. She moved in his embrace and he let her go abruptly.
‘For heaven's sake don't say you're sorry.' She was smiling at him. ‘If you haven't realised that I've been longing to do that all Christmas, you're not the man I think you are.'
Once again she imposed her will on his. It would have taken a different, stronger character to refute the implication that he was a virile, red-blooded male to whom a flirtation with his host's wife was not only acceptable but somehow admirable. She moved away to replenish the glasses and John with an ease born of practice hastened to assuage his guilt by telling himself that, had Nell been more loving, more willing in bed during these past months, this might never have happened. Nevertheless, he cast about for some way of defusing the tension.
BOOK: The Courtyard
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