The Red Cliffs (2 page)

She drew in at the roadside overlooking a beautiful view, to eat her picnic lunch; She stopped later for petrol at a country garage, getting out of the car to stretch her legs and filling her lungs with the fresh, sweet country air.
’
She would not linger long,
however. She was driven on by her interest in the place she was to visit: and perhaps she, too, like her brother, was driven on by restlessness, by disappointment over the failure of a love af
f
air.

At last, in the early evening, she turned off the road on to a winding lane, and from that on to a still narrower one along which the stone hedges were as high as the car, and the brambles waving from them tapped the windows. Then suddenly before her, at a left-hand turn, was the sign:
“
Combe Russet House
”
and underneath it, in smaller letters:
“
Private Road.
”
She turned left on to a well-kept drive, going slowly, her eyes moving from right, to left, left to right, trying to take in as much as possible at this first impression. Beautiful trees bordered the drive at intervals, standing well back in grass that was kept scythed, and between the trees, grand rolling countryside revealed itself. She rounded a bend and suddenly stepped on the brake. For there was another elegantly printed sign:
“
Combe Russet Cottage
”
: and behind a neatly-mown stretch of grass, an equally neat fence, and a garden in which neatness had suddenly gone by the board and everything had run riot, was one of the loveliest small houses Alison had ever seen. Lovely in a West Country fashion; long and low with walls i
m
macu
la
tely white, and roof thickly, expertly thatched: with roses rampant and still in bloom reaching up to the thatch and straggling across the windows. A gate in the fence led along a flagged path to a porch protecting the front door, and the porch too was paved with flags and had a bench seat at each side. The seats and the front door were of good, solid oak, light in colour.

“
It
’
s beautiful,
”
whispered Alison, and opened the car door and walked round to stand at the gate, admiring the house. The garden had certainly been neglected since Tom
’
s death—perhaps ever since Evelyn
’
s, so presumably it was Neil Edgerton of Combe Russet House
‘
who kept the lawn before the fence in order, so that it should be in keeping with the orderliness of the rest of his drive.

She walked round the house. To the left of it and standing apart was the garage, also white-walled and thatched, but the approach to it was waving in hay. It was a long building and Alison guessed that there was a store-room or workshop behind the garage, but she could not look in at the window for the bed of nettles that grew so thickly in front of it. She went to the back of the house, stepping carefully in the long grass, but when she looked up, she caught her breath in sudden delight. For the scene before her, the scene that awaited the occupants of the house whenever they looked out of the windows on this side, was of extraordinary beauty. Sweeping green fields that led to
a brilliant green headland sur
mounting dark red cliffs to left and right, and a great stretch of sea that was pearly in the evening light, and an impression of such space and light and peace and. freedom that Alison felt herself expanding in response to it.

“‘
What a heavenly place,
”
she whispered, and reluctantly turned from this panorama to look at the back of the house and to find it as satisfactory as the front; to recognise the newly-built sun room by Tom
’
s description of it, to see
“
how the thatch swept down at one end to within six feet of the ground over some small outhouse. She thought that if she had come to live at this place with a young husband, she would never get tired of it, never want to leave it.

Suddenly she became aware of the continuous sounding of a motor horn, and realised then that it had been sounding for some time without impinging on her mind, for she lived in an area where there was a constant noise of traffic. It. was not the horn of her own car that she heard, for that was an inoffensive little bleat compared with this arrogant and demanding noise, but she gathered that somebody was trying to attract her attention, and she hurried round the side of the house to the roadway.

The noise had stopped. A long, powerful grey car was facing her small, stubby black one, and
the driver was obviously anxious to pass. He had as obviously given up trying to attract attention, and
was reversing his car preparatory to passing Alison
’
s on the soft, neatly-trimmed lawn in front of the fence. At sight of her, he stopped the car and put his head out of the window.

“
Do you mind moving your car?
”
he called.
“
I want to pass.
”

“
I
’
m so sorry,
”
she called back, and hurried into the driving seat of her car and pressed the selfstarter. Nothing happened. Alison pressed again with the same negative result.
“
Now what
’
s the matter with it?
”
she wondered anxiously, for it was by no means a foregone conclusion that the engine would start whenever she wanted it to. She tried once or twice more. The man came to her side, impatient and exasperated.

“
H
urry up,
”
he said,
“
I have a train to catch.
”

“
It won
’
t start,
”
said Alison.
“
I don
’
t know what
’
s the matter with it.
”

“
Have you switched on?
”
he asked.

She had not switched on the ignition. A burning blush swept into her face for such incredible stupidity
—
such unusual stupidity, for she was not given to such lapses. It was the man
’
s obvious annoyance that had confused her; as it confused her now, making her stall the engine, making her reverse very bad
l
y on to the long grass before the garage. As soon as there was space enough to pass, the long grey car shot past her, rounded the bend and was out of sight; and Alison sat where she was at the driving wheel, angry and trembling.

All the delight she had felt at the discovery of Combe Russet Cottage had been swept away by this brief encounter. She had no doubt that the man she had just met was Neil Edgerton and his appalling rudeness seemed to confirm all that Tom had ever told her about him. She could not swallow that
“Hurry up, I have a train to catch.” He might have sai
d Please hurry, or even Do hurry; but that Hurry
up, brus
q
ue and impatient, might have been used to
a troublesome employee. And not even a thank-you,
or more hurried
“
Thanks
”
as he passed. Alison saw
that even a house as lovely as this one which had unexpectedly come to her could be spoiled and become a burden if it was always overshadowed by bitterness and enmity. Perhaps Tom had endured a good deal for Evelyn
’
s sake.

She took her suitcases and went through the garden, once more to the front door, and let herself into the house with the key. It had the faint mustiness and stale smell of all shut-up houses. She left her bags in the hall and opened the door to the right, to find a small attractively furnished dining room. She opened the window to let in the fresh evening air before she crossed the hall to the sitting room to fling open the windows there too: french windows that overlooked the headlands, the red cliffs and the sea, two other windows looking out to the overgrown front garden and the drive to Combe Russet House. It was easy to remember in this room that Evelyn and Tom had been interior decorators, easy to see where Evelyn
’
s talent had lain. Alison remembered with what enthusiasm they had set about producing this room, how Tom had sat in the London flat describing it to her. They had removed an interior wall to make two smallish rooms into one large one, and had put in the french windows, for, incredible as it seemed to Alison, the previous occupiers had had no view over those beautiful headlands out to sea. Evelyn had made a beautiful room here, achieving an effect of light and space. There were some beautiful pieces of furniture, too, and Alison could not help wondering at their presence, remembering that the expensive furniture in their London flat had had to be sold.

She continued her tour of inspection: a very modern kitchen next to the dining room, with a connecting hatch, a small room off the hall which Tom had obviously used as an office or study, the newly-built sun room with a door to the study and another on to the paved terrace outside the living room. Upstairs, there was one large bedroom with windows facing south to the sea and north to the drive, three other
bedrooms, quite luxuriously ap
pointed bathroom and an imposing array of cupboards built in on the long landing.

At the end of her tour, Alison was puzzled. She could not imagine how Tom and Evelyn had financed new building, extensive redecoration and furnishing. It had been necessary for Neil Edgerton to rescue them from the disastrous results of their plunge into business, but Alison felt sure he would not countenance the extravagance of which there were signs everywhere. The enormous deep-freeze in the kitchen might possibly be excused on the grounds that they expected to grow a great deal of produce themselves, but the expensive furnishing of bedrooms? the tall stacks of every kind of household linen in the linen cupboards? the gay chairs and rugs and tables in the sun room? Evelyn, Alison decided, must have inherited a legacy from another relative as well-to-do as her own brother.

“
And now it is mine,
”
thought Alison, and was filled with astonishment, and immediately following that thought came another.
“
If Ralph had asked me to marry him, perhaps I could have kept it. We could have had a flat in town, and have come here for our holidays. Our friends could have stayed with us too. We might even have honeymooned here.
”

Sadness descended on her. All day, her interest and curiosity had kept it at bay, but now that she had arrived, her anticipations had been satisfied. Twilight had fallen, the colour had gone out of the sea and cliffs and countryside, and a hushed stillness had settled on the house and fields. She tried to drive away the melancholy mood that threatened her, telling herself that purely physical hunger was lowering her spirits, but now that Ralph was back in her mind, he would not be forgotten, and she could not tell which was the stronger, her resentment against him or her longing for him.

She went to the kitchen in search of food, but the deep-freeze was a mockery. If Evelyn had ever stocked it, Tom had depleted that, stock and it was almost empty. Alison had packed enough food to deal with an emergency, and she fell back on her own sandwiches and fruit, and drank black coffee made from a long-opened tin found in the larder.

She was tired from the long
d
rive, and decided to go early to bed to escape her melancholy. If she and Ralph had not so recently broken with each other, he would have been certain to accompany her on this journey, they would have explored
“
together and found delight in everything together, and she would certainly not have been going so early to bed. Nor would he have permitted such rudeness from Neil E
d
gerton to go unchallenged. Alison moved restlessly as she remembered that incident. She would put it out of her mind. She would put Ralph out of her mind too. One man was no more acceptable to her than the other. She was finished with men.

CHAPTER TWO

Neil Edgerton walked briskly into the office of the estate agent, his hand outstretched to the pa
r
tner who rose from his desk, and the girl who had shown him in withdrew slowly, her eyes on him until the last moment, for Neil Edgerton was a name to conjure with in that district.

The men shook hands and exchanged greetings, and Clive Rolands pushed forward a leather armchair for Neil.

“
Well, what can I do for you today?
”
asked Clive.

“
I
’
ll come straight to the point. There
’
s somebody down at the Cottage, and I presume it
’
s To
m
Springett
’
s sister. I want you to approach her for me. I want to buy back the property, incorporate it with mine as it always was. I imagine she will want to sell—she works in London—and I don
’
t want it to go to strangers.
”

“
I shall be pleased to do it for you. I must say it
’
s hard luck, Neil, to have to buy back a property you so recently gave away.
”

“
Quite, and one that this woman will expect to sell at a fancy price because of all the improvements for which I have already paid once. Ironical, isn
’
t it?
”

“
It certainly is, but I think nobody could have foreseen the turn of events.
”

“
I ought to have foreseen the possibility, anyway. But women shouldn
’
t die in childbirth these days, and I thought I had everything nicely tied up for Evelyn and her children. It was a blow to see the place going to Tom Springett. But now, perhaps, there is a chance to get it back. Once it
’
s sold to somebody else, and I have no control over it, well, I might have
all
kinds of undesirables at my doorstep.
”

“
Yes, I se
e that. Are you to be mentioned as
a prospective buyer or do you want your name kept out of it?
”

“
I don
’
t think it matters. She can
’
t be so unreasonable as not to see that T should have it back again—particularly at a price
.
”

“
I
n
my experience,
”
s
aid Clive drily,
“
women can always be unreasonable,
t
hey don
’
t see things as you or I would.
”

“
And she is a Springett,
”
said Neil.

“
Yes, as you say, she is a Springett. Well, it won
’
t do any harm to keep you out of it at first, out of the first nibble. Now what about price?
”

“
I can see that I shall have to stand the racket, for doing the job of improvement so thoroughly. After all, the Cottage is hers and I suppose she c
oul
dn
’
t be blamed for wanting to make as much as she can.
”

They discussed the question of the price to be offered, and Clive said he would get in touch with Miss Springett that day.

“
And keep me informed, will you?
”

“
Of course. I
’
ll ring you later. I can
’
t tell you, Neil, how sorry I am that everything turned out as it did.
”

“
Thank you. Well, that
’
s life,
”
said Neil, and rose from his chair. Clive knew better than to detain him. Once his business was finished, he was off. He was not one to waste time in casual conversation. Clive saw him to the door and returned to his desk thoughtfully.
“
Neil can be a surprisingly tough customer at times,
”
he thought.
“
Well, that
’
s life! I
’
d like to know what he really felt about Evelyn
’
s death, and about the Cottage going to a stranger when he had spent so much on it. He
’
d never show what he felt, that
’
s certain, but surely something more than
‘
Well, that
’
s life
’
.
”
He reached for the telephone, and as a result of the conversation that he had with Miss Springett, went out to his car and drove away from the town towards Combe Russet.

Alison waited for him in the garden. The autumn day was fine and sunny, too good to spend indoors when it was possible to be out. Armed with a sickle, shears and secateurs, she was attacking the overgrowth in the garden with more ardour than skill,
b
ut it was at least possible to walk from the garden gate to the front door without being caught by brambles; and to peer into the workshop window without being stung by nettles. Now, after two days in the house, she thought she had seen everything, and felt orientated. She had walked over her property and been surprised at its extent. Neil Edgerton had cut the hay at the appropriate time and carted it away, and there had been no arable crops. He had also, by arrangement through the solicitor, taken over the fat bullocks in the
fields and
the hens in deep litter. She had found a vege
table
garden, well stocked with yo
ung
fruit bushes, but Tom had not planted vegetable . The
r
e was an orchard too, obviously planted
n
ewly for Evelyn, and still a long way from bearing
. S
he had discovered that the green headlands and red cliffs were much farther away than she had thought, and that she would have a long walk to reach the sea. She had found that the space behind the garage was a workshop, and she had stood in it with her
fi
ngers itching for a chisel, regarding the hopeless untidiness of it, and seeing what an idea
l
place it would make for her carving. Tom had never been tidy or orderly: this workshop was ample evidence of it. It must have been Evelyn who was responsible for the order in the house. In that respect she and her brother had been cast in the same mould. Alison decided that she would tackle the chaos in the workshop before she returned to London.

A car approached, and she turned expectantly, thinking that this would be the Mr. Rolands who wanted to talk about the house; but it was the long grey car she had seen before, and it sped past her and was gone before she could banish the expectant look from her face. It was possible that the driver had not seen her, but she suspected that he had chosen not to see her. Since the polite thing for him to do would be to call on her, Alison could only suppose that the feud between him and Tom was so bitter that he did not want to be involved with any member of Tom
’
s family. It was also possible that he felt bitter about r
elinquishing Combe Russet Cotta
g
e
and seeing it go out of his own family.

The next car to round the bend stopped at th
e
garden gate, and Alison went to open it for the men who came to meet her.

“
Miss Springett?
”
he asked pleasantly.

“
Yes, and you are Mr. Rolands. Won
’
t you come in?
”

They went into the house, and Alison showed him
i
n the sitting room.

“
This is charming,
”
he said.
“
I haven
’
t bee
n in
this house since all the improvements were made. This is beautifully done.
”

“
The whole house is beautifully done,
”
said Alison.
“
I believe it is about the house that you have come to see me?
”

“
Yes indeed. I hope you will excuse my thrusting myself on you, Miss Springett, but if you are, by any chance, thinking of selli
n
g the house, my firm would be very happy to act for you.
”

“
I see. Thank you.
”

“
The whole Combe Russet Estate is, of course, ver
y
well known round here. It is quite a beauty spot and has magnificent views, and you would have no difficulty whatever in selling the house, especially in such good repair and so beautifully decorated. In fact, I think I may say that several people are interested in it already. They know that nothing else could be built in their vicinity.
”

“
Would you like some coffee while we talk?
”
asked Alison.
“
It
’
s ready.
”

“
Thank you.
”

Alison brought in the coffee tray and poured a cup for Mr. Rolands. She smiled at him, and he decided that Miss Springett was a most attractive g
irl
. He liked dark hair and blue eyes, and this girl had most beautiful eyes. She was slim and lissome too
,
and there was a gentleness in her voice which he found most appealing.

“
May I ask if you have made any plans in connection with the house?
”
he asked.

“
I
’
m afraid I have to sell,
”
she said.
“
It
’
s the only reasonable thing to do.
”
Mr. Rolands reconsidered his recent words that women could always be unreasonable.
“
Of course,
”
went on Alison,
“
I
’
d like to keep it, but it wouldn
’
t be at all practicable. I work in London, and in any case, I should never be able to afford to keep it up. I need a good house agent at the moment, while my courage is screwed to the sticking point, because if I stayed here much longer, I should hate to sell. I
’
m in grave danger of falling in love with the place.
”

“
That I can understand; but if you feel you must sell, I hope you will allow us to act for you There is, of course, no need to decide immediately—you will want to assure yourself of our integrity and so on: but I know we can do as well for you as any other firm—perhaps better.
”

“
How did you know I was here?
”
asked Alison suddenly.

“
My dear Miss Springett, all country districts have their grapevine—these things get known.
”

“
I suppose so. And you say you know people who are definitely interested in the house?
”‘

“
Yes, several. One client in. particular.
”

“
I should hate it to go to anybody who wouldn
’
t really appreciate it.
”

“
I know this client would appreciate it.
”

“
I am staying here until Sunday morning only. I expect he would want to come and see it.
”

“
He is a local man and he already knows the house and likes it—I believe he has been here since Mrs. Springett redecorated. He may not need to trouble you.
”

“
It would be no trouble. Perhaps his wife would like to see it anyway. I know I would want to see a house before I bought it—even if I had seen it before.
”

“
I will speak to him,
”
said Clive Rolands,
“
and let you know.
”

“
It might be as well. I have a feeling that I shall soon be looking for plausible reasons for keeping the house, which I can
’
t afford to do. And he wouldn
’
t
want it furnished, would he? I should have to dispose of all the contents.
”

“
I can help you with all of that, if you wish.
”

Alison smiled at him again, and he was surprised to find himself still so susceptible.

“
You are very kind,
”
she said.
“
Give me a day or two to think about what you have said. I don
’
t want to do anything in a hurry.
”

She saw him off, and walked thoughtfully round to the back of the house, to stand gazing out over the scene she already
loved
.
Today
the sea was blue. Almost too much colour, Alison protested; blue sea, red cliffs and the brilliant green of the fields and headlands; and high white clouds sailing slowly across the blue. For a moment she longed for Ralph to be there with her; wished she could keep this house and share it with him, and not go back to London but stay here looking after hens in deep litter, carving in the workshop, slowly filling that enormous deep-freeze with fruit from the garden. Next moment she decided that he did not deserve it, and reminded herself once again that she had finished with him for good.