The Ivy Tree (20 page)

He had made a quick movement in the dark. His hand came down over mine in a kind of pounce, and gripped it hard against the bar. ‘Stop this!' He spoke sharply. ‘You're hysterical. Think, can't you? What the hell's the matter with you tonight? You know quite well this is nonsense. If you go now, what sort of questions d'you think will be asked? Then heaven help us both, and Lisa too.'

‘I don't see how they could find out—'

‘Another thing. There's no possible excuse you could give for going now. You'd see that, if you'd behave like a reasonable human being instead of a hysterical girl.'

‘I told you—'

‘Oh, don't be a fool.' He sounded exasperated, and thoroughly angry. ‘When you came back here – you, Annabel, I mean – you must have known you'd have to face me. If, after twenty-four hours, you decide you can't “take” me any more, what's Mr Winslow going to think? He's no fool. He's going to assume that I've made myself objectionable – made another pass at you . . . raked up the past and upset you . . . something, anyway – and this time he mightn't be prepared to forgive me. No.'

‘Oh. Yes. Yes, I do see that. Well, we could think of something else—'

‘I tell you,
no!
For one thing, we still don't know for certain about the terms of this Will, or even if there
is
to be a new Will. Even if you're right, do you think I want him cutting you right out, as he certainly would if you left tomorrow?'

I stared painfully at the shadow beside me. ‘What do you mean?'

‘My dear little conscience-stricken nitwit, do you think I want to see him splitting his capital two ways instead of three? If you stay, I get your share as well as my own. If you go, I go halves, if I'm lucky, with Julie . . . I'm talking about money now. I need the money to run the place. It's as simple as that.' His hand moved over mine, holding it hard down on the bar. ‘So, darling, you'll stay. You'll go on playing the sweet repentant prodigal. And you'll play it till you collect at least Annabel's rightful share of what money's going. Is that clear?'

‘No.'

‘Girl dear, do I have to give it to you in a children's comic strip? I can't put it any clearer. And in any case, it doesn't matter. You'll do as I say.'

‘No.'

Silence.

I said shakily: ‘I didn't mean I didn't understand. I just meant no.'

For a moment I thought his stillness would explode into violent anger. I could feel it running through his wrist and hand into mine. Then the tension changed in quality. He was peering at me, as if he would pierce the dusk to read my face.

He said slowly: ‘You still haven't told me the reason for all this. Now, supposing you do . . . Well? Something's scared you, and badly, hasn't it? No . . . not the horses; something important . . . And I'd give a lot to know just what . . .'

His voice had altered completely. The anger had vanished, and in its place was only a kind of curiosity; no, more than that; a kind of speculation.

Where his anger had failed to frighten me, it was absurd, now, suddenly, to be afraid. I said hurriedly: ‘Nothing's scared me. It's just . . . I told you, I've had a rather ghastly day . . . I'm sorry, I – oh, don't ask me any more questions,
please
! I – I've done quite a lot for you today. Do this for me. We
can
think of some way, I know, if you'll only help . . .'

For the first time, I touched him of my own volition. I reached my free hand and laid it over his, where it held mine over the bar of the gate.

Then, suddenly, the moon was there, swimming up behind the tree-tops into a milky sky, and the shadows of the trees bored towards us, blue and hard as steel, across grass awash with silver.

I could see his face clearly, bent to mine. The expression of his eyes was hidden; the moonlight threw back a glint from their curved, brilliant surfaces, hiding everything but an impression of blackness behind. I was again sharply aware of that terrifying single-track concentration of his. The bright, blank eyes watched me.

Then he said, quite gently: ‘You mean this? You really want to give it up, and go?'

‘Yes.'

‘Very well, my dear. Have it your own way.'

I must have jumped. He smiled. I said, incredulously: ‘You mean, you'll help me? You'll let me go – give it up, and you'll just wait and see . . . fair means?'

‘If that's the way you want it.' He paused, and added, very kindly: ‘We'll go straight in now, and tell your grandfather that you're not Annabel at all. We'll tell him that you're Mary Grey of Montreal, an enterprising tramp on the make, who wanted a peaceful niche in life in the Old Country, and a spot of assured income. We'll tell him that the three of us, Lisa, myself and you – all of whom he trusts – have plotted this thing up against him, and that we've been laughing at him all day. I don't know what passed between you in his bedroom this afternoon, but I imagine that he might be quite sensitive about it, don't you? . . . Yes, I thought so. And when we've assured him, at the end of this long, happy day, that Annabel's as dead as mutton for all we know, and has been this last five years . . . Do you see?'

The horses moved nearer, cropping the long grass. Through the hanging trees the river glittered in the growing moonlight. Across it a heron lumbered up on to its wings, and flapped ponderously down-river.

Eventually I said: ‘Yes. I see.'

‘I thought you would.'

‘I should never have started it.'

‘But you did. With your eyes open, sweetie.'

‘It would kill him, wouldn't it? Whatever sort of scene . . . I mean, if we told him, now?'

‘Almost certainly. Any shock, any sudden strong emotional reaction, such as anger, or fear . . . Oh yes, I think you can be sure it would kill him. And we don't want him dead – yet – do we?'

He laughed. ‘Don't worry, sweetheart, that's not the plan at all. I only said it to wake you up to the – er – realities of the situation.'

‘To frighten me, you mean?'

‘If you like. If I want something badly enough, you know, I get it. I don't count small change.'

I said, before I thought: ‘I know that. Don't think I haven't grasped the fact that you once tried to murder Annabel.'

A long, breathless pause. Then he straightened up from the gate. ‘Well, well. You
have
put two and two together and made five, haven't you? Well, go on believing that; it'll keep you in line . . . That's settled then. We carry on as planned, and you, my lovely, will do as you're told. Won't you?'

‘I suppose so.'

His hand was still over mine. The other hand came up under my chin, and lifted my face to the moonlight. He was still smiling. He looked like every schoolgirl's dream of romance come true.

I moved my head away. ‘Don't hold this against me, honey, will you? I've said some pretty hard things to you, but – well, you know as well as I do what's at stake, and it seemed the only way. I'm not worrying really that you'll let me down when it comes to the push . . . This was bound to happen; I was expecting it. It's reaction, that's all. It's a highly emotional set-up, and you've taken more than enough for one day. So we'll forget it, shall we? You'll feel fine in the morning.' His hands touched my cheek, and he gave a little laugh. ‘You see how right I was to choose a nice girl? That conscience of yours does give me the slightest advantage in the mutual-blackmail pact of ours, doesn't it?'

‘All right. You've made your point. You're unscrupulous and I'm not. 'Vantage to you. Now let me go. I'm tired.'

‘Just a minute. Do you think the blackmail would run to just one kiss?'

‘No. I told you this afternoon—'

‘Please.'

‘Con, I've had enough drama for one day. I'm not going to gratify you by struggling in your arms, or whatever. Now let me go, and let's call the scene off.'

He didn't. He pulled me nearer to him, saying, in a voice nicely calculated to turn any normal woman's bones to pulp: ‘Why do we waste our time quarrelling? Don't you know yet that I'm crazy about you? Just crazy?'

‘I've gathered,' I said drily, ‘that you've your very own way of showing it, as a rule.'

His grip slackened. I thought, with satisfaction: that's spoiled your routine, anyway. But it hadn't quite thrown him out of gear. He gave a little laugh that managed to make what I had said an intimate joke between us, and drew me closer once more. His voice sank to a murmur, somewhere near my left ear. ‘Your hair looks like melted silver in this light. Sure, and I'm—'

‘Oh, Con, don't!' How, short of cruelty, could one get through? I added, a little desperately: ‘Con, I'm tired—'

Then, even as Con himself had rescued me that afternoon, rescue came. The grey mare, who had been browsing her way, unnoticed, steadily nearer and nearer the gate, suddenly lifted her beautiful head, and thrust it between us, blowing gustily, and still chewing. A froth of grass-stains went blubbering down the front of Con's white shirt.

He swore lamentably, and let me go.

The mare rubbed her head hard against me. Trying not to laugh, I ran a hand up to her forelock, and with the other hand held her gently by the muzzle, keeping her head away from Con. I said, shakily: ‘Don't be angry! She – she must have been jealous.'

He didn't answer. He had taken a pace away from me, to pick up the tools and the coil of wire.

I said quickly: ‘Please don't be angry, Con. I'm sorry I've been a fool tonight, but I was upset.'

He straightened, and turned. He wasn't looking angry. His face held no expression whatever, as he regarded me and the mare.

‘So it appears. But not, apparently, by the horses.'

‘The – oh, well,' I said, pushing the mare's head to one side, and coming away from the gate, ‘I told you it wasn't that, didn't I? And she's awfully gentle really, isn't she?'

He stood there, looking at me. After a moment or two he said in a curiously dry, abrupt tone: ‘Well, so long as you know just where you are.'

‘Oh yes,' I said wearily, ‘I know just where I am.'

I turned away and left him standing there in the lane, with the fencing-wire in his hand.

The path to Forrest Hall looked as if nobody had been that way for a hundred years.

I don't remember consciously deciding to take it: I only wanted to get away from Con, and not to have to encounter Lisa for a little while longer. I found myself, with no clear idea why I had come this way, walking rapidly away from the house, along the river path that led towards the Hall.

The moss was silent underfoot. To my left, the sliding sparkle of the water lit the way. Big trees edged the path, lining the river bank. The track was ribbed with the shadows of their trunks, thrown slanting by the moon. Now last year's beech-mast crackled under my feet, and I thought I could smell lime-blossom, until the path led me up to the high wall that girdled Forrest, and there the neglected overgrowth crowded in, with its stronger scents of ivy and rotting wood and wild garlic and elder-flowers.

Set deep in the tangle was the gate leading through into the Hall grounds. The elder-bushes, and the ivy cascading over the wall, had almost hidden it from sight. It creaked as I pushed it, and opened crookedly on one hinge.

It was darker in the wood, but here and there, in some chance patch of moonlit sky framed by the branches, burned a star, sparkling blue-white, like frost. The air was still, and the vast trees kept quiet their tangled boughs. The river made all the sound there was.

You could easily have missed the summer-house if you didn't know where it was. It stood a little back from the path, under the trees, and rhododendrons had run wild up the bank in front of it, until its entrance showed only as a gaping square of blackness behind the other shadows. I had gone straight by it when an owl, sweeping past me low down, like the shadow of a flying cloud, startled me into turning. Then I saw the hard edge of the moonlight on the tiles of the roof. A flight of shallow steps, blurred by moss, let up through the bushes.

I paused for a moment, looking at it. Then I left the path, and made my way up the steps, pushing aside the sharp leaves of the rhododendrons. They were as stiff as leather, and smelt bitter and narcotic, of autumn and black water.

The summer-house was one of those once-charming ‘follies' built by some eighteenth-century Forrest with a taste for romance. It was a small, square pavilion, open in front, and pillared with slender Ionic columns of peeling plaster. The floor was marble, and round the three sides ran a broad seat. A heavy, rustic-seeming table still stood in the centre of the floor. I touched it with an exploratory finger. It felt dry, but thick with dust, and, I suspected, birds' droppings. In the sunlight of high summer, with the bushes trimmed back, and the view of the river, and cushions on the benches, the place would be charming. Now it was a home not even for ghosts. Pigeons would nest there, and perhaps a blackbird or two, and the owl in the roof. I left it and went down the steps to regain the path.

There I hesitated, half inclined, now, to go back. But the events of the day still pressed on me, and the woods were quiet and fresh. If they were not full of comfort, at least they offered solitude, and a vast indifference.

I would go on, I thought, a little further; as far as the house. The moonlight was strong, and even when the path turned (as it soon did) away from the river, I could see my way fairly easily.