Authors: Marcia Willett

The Courtyard (3 page)

BOOK: The Courtyard

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â â¦
First, It was ordained for the procreation of children â¦'

Yes, well he can forget all about that, thought Gillian, keeping an expression of gentle sweetness on her face which was turned up to the vicar, and thanking God for the pill. Damned if I'm going to tie myself down â¦

â â¦ for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity â¦'

How nice that sounds, thought Henry. How wonderful to have someone to share Nethercombe. He imagined he and Gillian tucked up in the library on a winter's evening, listening to his Gilbert and Sullivan recordings and talking over the business of the day. He slipped a glance sideways and was struck by the radiant expression on his bride's face â¦

â â¦
Therefore if any man can shew any just cause
â¦”

And the trouble is, Lord, thought Gussie, who frequently had informal chats with the Almighty upon whom she looked as an ever-present spiritual friend and advisor, if I were to stand forward now and say, âThis is all wrong,' no one would understand. But it is all wrong, just as much as if Henry were a Mr Rochester and had a wife locked in the attic at Nethercombe. I can't put my finger on it but it's all simply wrong â¦

â â¦
I Henry, take thee Gillian â¦'

But will you be able to keep her? wondered Elizabeth, looking at the slim straight back of her goddaughter. Gillian's never stuck to anything yet and,âfrankly, I can't see her as a landowner's wife. Well, it's simply not my problem. As Lydia took out a delicate lace-edged handkerchief and began to exhibit signs of motherly emotion, Elizabeth stiffened a little and exchanged a tiny smile with the tall distinguished man who stood on her right. How kind of Richard to agree to give her away. I'm glad he's coming back with the others to the reception. How beautiful the flowers are â¦

â
With this Ring I thee wed â¦'

And good luck to her, thought Lucy, the chief bridesmaid, Gillian's old schoolfriend and erstwhile flatmate. And now she can jolly well cough up that back rent she owes. He's rather sweet really in a brotherly sort of way. Not Gilly's sort at all, even with that big house. I should have thought that Simon was much more her type and she was so keen on him. The best man looks rather fun â¦

â â¦
I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together â¦'

Three

NELL PUT DOWN HER book, glanced at the clock and went to put the fish pie in the oven. She was very proud of her fish pie. Gussie had given her the recipe, stood over her whilst she prepared it, and had been delighted to hear that John had enjoyed it enormously. Nell, amazed at her ability to provide something that John really liked to eat, had served it up at regular intervals thereafter and if John was heartily sick of fish pie he hadn't said so. To be honest, Nell wondered if John noticed what he was eating. During the summer he had been so excited by the success of his partnership with Martin that everything else had paled into insignificance. At last things were going right for him and Nell had agreed that it seemed as if his luck had turned. People were still putting their money into property and, since he had joined with Martin, house prices had increased by thirty per cent.

John was jubilant and Nell was beginning to believe that perhaps he had been right to leave the Navy and start a new career. Soon, he promised her, they would be able to buy a home of their own. Nell hoped so. Roomy though the flat was, it had seemed small with Jack home for the summer holidays. She had taken him to the zoo and for walks over the Downs but the high spot was the visit to Porlock Weir and the cottage. John was too busy to go with them but Nell was used to doing the trip without him and it was wonderful to be out of the city, to be surrounded instead by the smells and noises of the countryside and to watch the sea breaking against the North Somerset
shore. John hurried down for a long weekend and urged her to stay for as long as she wanted. Despite the evidence that their future looked secure, John still felt guilty that his decision to come outside had meant a reduced standard of living for Nell and guessed that she found the flat restrictive. He knew of her need for solitude and peace and how much the little cottage meant to her. Although he missed her, it soothed his conscience to know that she was happy there with Jack and, after all, he really was very busy. Martin was always ready to have a pint with him in the evening or to share a Chinese takeaway back at the flat. He was estranged from his wife and small daughter, both of whom he missed quite desperately, and was only too pleased to help John pass a lonely evening. Generally, however, they worked until quite late and through most weekends and the summer passed quickly.

It passed too quickly for Nell. All too soon September arrived and Jack went back to school, looking forward to the rugby season, firework night and all the excitement of Christmas at the end of the term. Perhaps, thought Nell, Christmas might be quite fun in a big city with all the shops and lights and decorations. She was planning to book tickets for the pantomine at the Hippodrome and hoped to go to the Festival of Christmas Carols and Music at the Cathedral. She was still wondering whether that might be rather too much for Jack, who was not particularly musical, when she heard John's key in the lock and his usual shout of greeting. She went out to meet him in the hall and he hugged her.

âWe've had a wonderful day,' he said as he followed her through to the kitchen. âWe exchanged contracts on the house at Sneyd Park. And we've taken on two new properties. I said we'd meet Martin later for a drink. Poor old boy. It seemed a bit mean to leave him all on his own. It'll be awfully flat for him after all the excitement. You don't mind, do you darling? I'm starving. How soon can we eat?'

Nell poured him a drink, reflecting on how much more confident
he was now that things were going so well. It was good to see him so ebullient and happy and she smiled at him as she gave him his glass.

âCongratulations,' she said. âLet's drink to it. You should have brought Martin back with you. He's become quite partial to my fish pie.'

âSo have I!' declared John enthusiastically, pulling her close with his free arm and nuzzling into her neck.

His happiness and his relief that he was making a go of things was so overwhelming that it embraced even the fish pie. For the first time since those early days at Britannia Royal Naval College, when he had been so determined to succeed as well as Rupert had at Sandhurst, he felt in control of his life and his future. He looked at Nell and his heart overflowed with all sorts of mixed emotions â gratitude, love, amazement â as he beheld her beauty. His wish that Rupert could see him now was diluted with the instinctive wave of relief that he was dead and that the lifelong contest was over. He was ashamed of that relief, knowing that the contest had only ever been on his side, never on Rupert's. Rupert had been far too confident, successful, loved, ever to have felt the need to compete with anyone. Everything had come so easily to him. Their mother had adored Rupert whilst worrying over John. How humiliating, how crushing that worrying had been, made even more obvious by her confidence in Rupert and her reliance on him when their father died. How relieved John had been to pass the Admiralty Board and escape from beneath that canopy of care that made him feel like a child and sapped his confidence. The Navy and Nell between them had provided the passport to manhood and he had seized it gratefully. The honours at Dartmouth had eluded him but at least he had a son â Rupert hadn't married â and then, quite suddenly, it was all over and Rupert was dead. His widowed mother was devastated by grief and John, confused and ashamed that his overwhelming emotion was relief that Rupert would not now know that he had failed Perisher, attempted to comfort her. Surely
now, with both Rupert and his father dead, he would at last come into his own. He would be head of the family and his mother could turn to him for guidance and comfort as she had turned to his father and later to Rupert.

âOh, John,' she'd said, her eyelids swollen, her face sodden and shapeless with tears, âwhat shall we do without him?' And she wept again. Presently she pulled herself together a little and patted his hand. âNever mind,' she said, as one who was making the best of a bad job but intending to be brave about it, âI've still got you.' But her eyes wandered to Rupert's photograph and, unconsciously, she sighed and John was aware of his inadequacy and knew that his desire to be recognised on equal terms with his brother was to remain unfulfilled.

Now, six years later, John dragged his thoughts away from the past, finished his drink abruptly and smiled at Nell.

âLet's eat,' he said.

GUSSIE WAS SURPRISED AND thrilled to receive an invitation to Nethercombe for Christmas. She couldn't believe her luck. Now that the last of her friends had been installed in a residential home too far away to be visited, Gussie was beginning to feel the loneliness of old age creeping up on her. There were simply too many hours in the day in which to keep happily employed since she had retired from the university library. Her friendship with Nell was a blessing but she could hardly expect to spend Christmas with her and, even should Nell offer, she would have too much pride to accept the invitation. Nethercombe was different. Nethercombe was, in a way, her home and Henry her cousin. To Gussie the ties of blood were strong and contained obligations and she would not feel that she would be intruding at Nethercombe, grateful though she was at Henry's thinking of her.

His letter was typical of the sort of communication that she had received from him during the years: short, somewhat haphazard, tending to go off at tangents. He wrote as he thought and as he spoke and his letters always recalled him very vividly to her mind. At least it
sounded as though he found married life satisfactory but Gussie was not convinced. Her first impressions were usually reliable and it was very early days. She was looking forward to being able to observe for herself exactly what sort of fist Gillian was making of her position as mistress of Nethercombe and wondered how she had reacted to Henry's suggestion â not for a second did Gussie think that the idea had come from Gillian â that Gussie should spend Christmas with them. How dear it was of him to think of her. She sat down at once to reply to the letter promising herself that, when it was done, she would allow herself the luxury of a telephone call to Nell to tell her the good news.

GILLIAN, WHO WAS PLANNING to fill Nethercombe with as many friends as she could for Christmas, was surprised though not particularly put out when Henry told her that Gussie had accepted his invitation. She raised her eyebrows at him.

âWon't she feel rather out of it?' she asked. âI mean she's a bit old, isn't she? To fit in with our friends?'

âGussie's a friend too,' said Henry, who was wondering who all these friends might be. âI'm very fond of Gussie. Always remembered to have a present waiting for me when I went back to school. Good presents, too.'

âLovely for you.' Gillian gave a mental shrug and rolled her eyes a little. Touching excursions to the past were not her forte but she had decided to be tolerant about Henry's passion for anything ancient and decaying, even when it extended to his relatives.

âWell, it was,' said Henry, eyes turned inwards to dormitories, first nights back, the misery of being away from Nethercombe. âThose are the things that make all the difference. People remembering you.'

âIf you say so.' Gillian spread marmalade with a lavish hand and crunched toast.

Henry, brought back to the present by the crunching, smiled at his wife.

âThere was a green woodpecker on the bird table this morning,' he said. âWonderful birds. And a nuthatch. The cold weather brings them in.'

Gillian swallowed her toast and poured some coffee. If it wasn't antiquities or Gilbert and Sullivan, it was the Natural World. She sighed and stirred in sugar, wondering if she might persuade Lucy to meet her for lunch in Exeter. Life at Nethercombe wasn't as exciting as she'd hoped. Henry had a small circle of friends, mostly other landowners, who weren't her sort at all and, apart from occasional dinners with this little group, he never seemed to go anywhere or do anything. He worked hard on the estate, she was prepared to concede that, but he was perfectly content to spend the evenings reading or watching television or listening to music. Gillian was biding her time. She had great schemes for the redecoration of the house and then she planned to entertain on a grand scale: no point in having a house the size of Nethercombe if you didn't use it. In the summer she would have parties round the pool that was built on a little natural plateau of ground below the house. Backed on three sides by towering rhododendron bushes and falling away to the meadow on the fourth it was an enchanting spot. It only needed a few things done to it to make it perfect for parties. So far, her suggestions had fallen on deaf ears but it was just a question of time. She was much too clever to try to rush him. Now, as he finished his eulogy on the family of long-tailed tits he'd seen up in the beech walk, she smiled at him and pushed back her chair.

âI've got to dash up to Exeter,' she told him. âReally boring. Poor old Lucy's got some sort of drama going on and she's asked me to meet her. Can't let her down. So I shan't be here for lunch.'

âRight.' Henry stood up too. âPoor Lucy. Give her my regards. Drive carefully.'

She gave him a quick kiss and he watched her go, still dazzled with the speed with which she did everything, darting hither and thither, laughing at things which her friends said that were outside his comprehension, making him feel slow and stolid beside her. It didn't
worry him at all. Henry didn't waste time on introspection or expend mental energy worrying about talents he didn't have. All sorts were needed to make a balance and he could see no reason why he and Gillian shouldn't be very happy. He felt that each of them was adjusting very well to the other's way of life and that, given time, they would settle down comfortably together.

Henry smiled to himself as he went to tell Mrs Ridley that Gillian wouldn't be in to lunch. He was remembering Gussie's letter: precise, informative, to the point. It was exactly like all the other letters he had received from her over the years and as such was comforting. She had been delighted by the invitation and he had been delighted by her acceptance of it. Christmas was a family time, underlining the sense of continuity and, now that he was married and the festivities would be properly observed, he felt that she would have as happy a time at Nethercombe as she would with her friends in Bristol. Henry had no idea of Gussie's lonely existence or financial restraints and not for a moment would she have let him suspect that all was not very well with her. To him it was all quite simple. Gussie loved Nethercombe and now that he was no longer a bachelor living in a cosy, untidy old muddle, it would be very nice to invite her down more often. She loved to walk in the grounds and had as great a passion for the natural world as Henry himself.

Henry hummed a line from
Princess Ida
as he went down the long passage that led to the kitchen.

GILLIAN, HAVING NO SUCCESS in rousing her friend, descended on her mother's flat in Southernhay and invited her out to lunch. Lydia, undeceived by this gesture of filial generosity, took it at its real value but accepted nonetheless. A free lunch is a free lunch.

âHave you seen Elizabeth lately?' she asked as she went to get ready for this treat.

Gillian prowled restlessly, suspecting censure if her answer were to be in the negative.

BOOK: The Courtyard

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