The Red Cliffs (3 page)

Strange that Mr. Rolands had known she was at Combe Russet, she thought. Allowing for the grapevine, there still had to be somebody who knew and could pass on the news; and the only person who definitely knew was Neil Edgerton. He, however, probably had dozens of friends, and he only had to mention her arrival to one of them; and it was highly probable that several people might be watching and waiting to see if such a desirable house was coming on the market. Perhaps even Neil Edgerton himself. Perhaps Neil Edgerton more than anybody else. It had belonged to him once, and what more natural than that he should want it back? It was a small property set down right in his larger one—he would almost certainly want to keep strangers out.

Alison became wary. His grey car had passed her while she waited for Mr. Rolands. Might he have been returning from an interview with the house agent? The would-be purchaser was a local man, one who knew the house and loved it; it was hardly necessary for him to come and see it. Whom could all this fit better than Neil Edgerton? In that case, why did he not come and ask her himself?

The more thought she gave to the matter, the more she felt sure that he was the would-be purchaser. She had no friendly feelings towards him and her immediate reaction was that he was the last person to whom she would sell. He had been so consistently unfriendly towards Tom, had continually disapproved of him, belittled and badgered him that Alison did not choose to do anything that would help or please Neil. Nest morning, she telephoned Clive Rolands.

‘
I
’
ve been thinking over the ta
l
k we had yesterday, Mr. Rolands, and your offer to sell the house.
”

“
We would be pleased to help you in any way we can.
”

“
But there is just one thing. I understand that Mr. Edgerton is interested in this, too.
”
She stopped deliberately there, having made her shot in the dark to hear what Mr. Rolands would reply. He paused too, wondering how she could have heard that, and how much she knew.

“
He could well be,
”
he said, as if the possibility had just struck him.

“
In that case,
”
said Alison,
“
I
’
m not quite sure if you ought to raise your client
’
s hopes.
”

“
Well
.
.
.”
Mr. Rolands appeared to be pondering.
“
One un
derstands, of course, Mr. Edger
ton
’
s prior claim. It did belong to him, he spent a great deal on it, and it is on his land. If he is interested, it would not do, as you say, to encourage anybody else.
”

“
Mr. Edgerton could not be your special client, Mr. Rolands?
”

Hard, he thought, this girl is sharp. But he said, with a hint of reproach in his voice:

“
I did tell you, Miss Springett, that several people were interested in Combe Russet.
”

“
Yes, you did, Mr. Rolands,
”
said Alison, and felt that
she
had her answer.

“
Mr. Edgerton has been in touch with you?
”
he asked.

“
No.
”

“
We should still be pleased to help you. Would you like us to contact him for you?
”

“
You are very kind, but if Mr. Edgerton is interested, he can get in touch with me himself.
”
That should give them something to think about, Alison told herself. If Neil Edgerton was trying to keep his intention a secret, to work through a third person—perhaps to keep the price down, perhaps to avoid meeting her—he had signally failed. She guessed that the two men would be in contact very shortly, and wondered how soon their conversation would bring a result.

It brought one very soon. That afternoon, as she went on with her work of taming the wild front garden, the grey car drew up at her gate, and Neil Edgerton stepped out of it and crossed the neatly
-
trimmed grass strip to her fence.

“
Miss Springett,
”
he said, and it was more a statement than a question.

“
Yes,
”
said Alison, unsmiling.

“
I am Neil Edgerton,
”
he said.

“
Yes, I gathered that.
”
Alison was non-committal, almost bland, leaving the initiative to him.

“
I would very much like to have a talk with you. There are one or two points to be discussed. At any time convenient to yourself, of course.
”

“
Why not now?
”
asked Alison.

“
Excellent.
”
He waited a moment, expecting her to ask him into the house, and when she did not, he motioned to the open front door and said:
“
Shall we go in?
”

“
I like it here,
”
said Alison.

He looked at her with sharpened awareness, recognising an aloofness in her. He had intended to be aloof himself, to be as little involved with any member of the Sp
ri
ngett family as possible, to get the business of buying back the cottage over as quickly as possible and get her off his land. If she felt much as he did, so much the better.

Alison looked back at him as coolly as she could, but she was in fact considerably less self-possessed than she appeared. She saw in this man a complete antithesis of Tom, and she could see how he would have overborne her brother, diminishing him, robbing him of his confidence. And the feeling she had had for Neil Edgerton before, a resentment on Tom
’
s account chiefly, became now a personal dislike. His bearing was too confident. He obviously expected to be able to overcome every obstacle, he had belief in his own power. He was handsome enough, she had to admit, in a hard and unfeeling fashion: he was above middle height, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped; roughish fair hair with just enough red in it to make it shine golden in the sun, cold grey eyes, a firm jaw and a purposeful expression. She saw at once that he liked to get things done, that, unlike Tom, he would not leave until tomorrow what could be done today.

“
Very well,
”
he said, and stood at his ease before her.
“
As you know, Miss Springett, this house and land
were part of my estate before I
made it over to my sister. I intended it to be a security for her and her children, and I should never have disposed of it to anybody else. So that, if you intend at any time to sell the property, I should very much appreciate the opportunity to buy.
”

“
I
’
m sure you would,
”
said Alison drily,
“
but what makes you think I intend to sell?
”

“
I understand that you live and work in London.
”

“
I could as easily live and work somewhere else.
”
Alison had not even distantly thought of such a thing until that moment.
“
I imagine a good secretary can get work anywhere.
”

“
The point is,
”
he said,
“
that, if you decide to sell, will you give me the first refusal?
”

“
I will think about it.
”

“
You must see the desirability of restoring it to the original estate. Even the justice of doing so.
”

“
I can see that it
’
s desirable from your point of view, certainly. But I have a feeling, Mr. Edgerton,
that you and I would see a great many things from different points of view.
”

“
That I can understand,
”
he said.

He understood a good deal more. He understood that she had been intending to sell when Clive called upon her and had only reconsidered when she knew who wanted to buy. She could be making up her mind to hold out for three reasons: simply to keep him on tenterhooks, to sell the property to a third person from sheer spite, or to raise the price.

There was a long pause, which Alison determined she would not be the first to break, Neil looked about him at the garden. He saw the results of her unskilled efforts to reduce it to order, but he also saw that she had worked hard at it. He said:

“
When you have had time to think about
i
t, I will approach you again. And while you are thinking, I hope you will remember that when my sister and your brother were very much in need of help, I made this over to them. You might take that into account.
”

“
You made it over to your sister, Mr. Edgerton, not to
‘
them
’
. And you need not worry—I shall remember everything you
’
ve done.
”

He glanced quickly at her, recognising a double meaning. She had all her defences up, this one, but it would do her no good. He was determined that Combe Russet Cottage should not go to strangers.

“
There is another thing,
”
he said.
“
I have been working the fields, as your brother did nothing with them. I can
’
t bear to see land that is in good heart beginning to run down. Have you any objection if I continue to keep them in order until you decide what you are going to do?
”

“
No,
”
said Alison,
“
no objection. I, too, hate to see anything spoiled.
”

“
Thank you. Well, I shall see you again, Miss
Springett. Good afternoon.”

He went to the gate and through to his waiting car. Alison watched him go, and wondered if any interview could have been conducted with less cordiality. She had left all initiative to him, but he
h
ad neglected everything but essentials. He might have said How do you do? and shaken hands when he introduced himself. He might have asked her how she liked the house and all that had been done to make it beautiful and labour-saving. He might even have mentioned Evelyn
’
s death or Tom
’
s accident. After all, were they not related in a fashion? He had made it all too plain that he wanted as little contact with Alison as possible.
“
And that suits me too,
”
she thought.
“
He
’
s as hard and cold as they come. And if he thinks I
’
m going to hand over Combe Russet Cottage to him as easily as that, he is very much mistaken. I have an idea that that man is accustomed to getting his own way, and doesn
’
t mind riding rough-shod over people to get it, but he
’
s not riding rough-shod over me.
”
She was surprised to find herself trembling slightly, and to realise that she was feeling angrier than she had done for many a long day.

She walked into the house and into the model kitchen to make herself some tea, considerably shaken by the interview. She could never bear an atmosphere of ill-will. Quarrelsomeness, nagging or bitterness could upset her so that she felt physically ill, and she was surprised to find herself quite prepared to quarrel with this man, whose confidence was so absolute that it was a challenge to her independence of spirit.

She had intended to sell, the house, thinking that there was no alternative, but now she began to wonder if it would be possible to keep it. She had said to Neil Edgerton that a good secretary could get work anywhere, but that was only true where the
w
ork existed, and perhaps it did not exist in such a remote country area. In the town, however, where Clive Rolands had his office, there must be other professional men and business firms, and although they would not pay the high London rates, she might manage to run the house. For she had fallen in love with it, and the beautiful, peaceful, silent country side round it; and now, suddenly, after her interview with Neil, she knew th
at she did not want to sell it.

“
It would probably be crazy to keep it,
”
she told herself.
“
I
’
ll go back to London and talk the whole thing over with Lucy. When I get away from it, I shall see things in better proportion. It
’
s lovely here now, with good weather, but what about the long, dark nights of winter? and the wind and the rain and the mud? But she could not convince herself that it would ever be anything but beautiful, and when she left early on Sunday morning for her long drive back to London, she left reluctantly, feeling that she could never bear to let it go.