The Red Cliffs (7 page)

“
Good morning,
”
replied Alison.

“
You
’
re an early bird.
”
His voice was friendly.

“
I
’
ve been walking on the headland,
”
she said.
“
And making friends with my dogs. I hope they didn
’
t annoy you.
”

“
They were very well-behaved.
”

“
People shouldn
’
t have dogs if they don
’
t train them properly,
”
said Neil. There was a pause. Alison wanted to go on, but sought in vain for the right phrase to speed her on her way. Neil said:
“
I was sorry to intrude last night when you had company.
”

“
It was of no importance,
”
said Alison, and wondered why she was always so stiff, almost pompous, with this man.

“
I had hoped to talk to you about the house. I am still willing to buy if you want to sell.
”

“
I haven
’
t made up my mind yet.
”

“
Weil, of course, there
’
s no hurry. I don
’
t want to pester you.
”

“
If you will excuse me,
”
said Alison,
“
I have to get back to breakfast.
”

“
There is just one thing,
”
said Neil.

“
Yes?
”

He hesitated. Alison looked at him with surprise. She imagined that he was rarely hesitant.

“
Now this is really none of my business,
”
he said,
“
but I feel that I ought to give you a word of warning.
”

“
Warning? What about?
”

“
About Roger Falcon, who was at your house last night.
”

“
Oh?
”
Alison was coldly polite.
“
And why do you think it necessary to warn me?
”

“
He
’
s no good,
”
said Neil.
“
A plausible scoundrel,
I grant you that, and you wouldn
’
t be the first to be taken in by him, but he
’
s a bad hat. Watch your step with him, that
’
s all.
”

“
That
’
s all, is it?
”
asked Alison.
“
You were certainly right when you said it was none of your business. It
’
s not your business, and you needn
’
t bother to make it so. I pick my friends for myself, and don
’
t need your advice or your warning. In fact, it would be more to the point if I gave you a word of warning: to keep out of my affairs, not to interfere in anything that concerns me. I think you have done enough harm already, have enough on your conscience, through interfering in the affairs of others. Please leave mine alone.
”

She had obviously succeeded in making him angry. The strong set of his face was firmer than ever.

“
With pleasure,
”
he said.
“
I shall take no further interest. I spoke with the best of intentions, but it seems that you, like your brother, have to make your own mistakes.
”

He whistled to his dogs and strode away from her along the lane. Alison, shaken and trembling, began to cross the fields to Combe Russet Cottage. She was amazed that she could have spoken to him as she had. She was usually for smoothing things over, and it needed a good deal of courage for her to speak her mind in that way; but obviously the man was impossible, had some kind of power complex, thought he had a divine right to manage the affairs of others; but even if there was the smallest justification for him to try to influence Evelyn, who was his sister, there was none whatever for him to approach Alison.

She was still fuming when she reached the house. Lucy had managed to leave her comfortable bed and was cooking the breakfast.

“
Nice walk?
”
she asked Alison.

“
It was, until I met that insufferable Neil
Edgerton.”

“
Darling, you
’
re getting a thing about that man. He isn
’
t half as bad as you painted him. Put those things on the table, will you?
”

Alison slammed the crockery and cutlery down on the table, and Lucy raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“
You needn
’
t vent your spleen on the cups and saucers,
”
she said.
“
What made you so cross?
”

“
He had the audacity to start interfering in my affairs. I know what Tom had to put up with from him, I know he tried to get Evelyn away from
hi
m, but he needn
’
t think he
’
s going to manage me.
”

“
And how did he try to manage you? The house again?
”

“
No. This time it was Roger. He felt he ought to give me a word of warning about him, told me to watch my step.
”

“
Oh.
”
Lucy was thoughtful.
“
Of course, there is something a bit brash and bold about Roger, isn
’
t there?
”

“
He
’
s a colourful personality, yes. And you see, you
’
re already willing to be swayed by what Neil said. It
’
s a case of give a dog a bad name. Well, I shall keep to my own opinions, make my own friends, and ignore him as far as possible.
”

“
Sell him the house, Alison my pet. He
’
ll give you a good price for it, and you can come back to London to settle down again and forget both of them. Why not let him have it?
”

“
No, I won
’
t,
”
said Alison with determination.

CHAPTER FOUR

It was not until Christmas of that year that Alison finally made up her mind about Combe Russet, and it was her visit to Lucy
’
s home
‘
for the holiday that was the deciding factor. She had spent many of her Christmases with Lucy
’
s family, and never failed to feel completely at home. Mr. and Mrs. Conway had three children, of whom the two elder were married and Lucy was the youngest, and three grandchildren. Christmas with them was a happy family occasion, and Alison could not resist the occasional stabs of envy she felt, that Lucy had this background, this home always to come to, a haven and shelter, and the moral support of loving parents always behind her. A
flat
in London was no substitute for this.

All through the holiday she was reminded of Combe Russet. This, too, was a house in the country, and when Alison looked out of the windows at the gentle rise and fall of the fields retreating into the mist, she thought of the more beautiful vista of fields and cliffs and sea available to her from her own house. She decided that she could not let it go; and having so decided, she must choose between letting it furnished and living in it herself, and she knew that she wanted to live there herself.

“
Take the plunge,
”
she told herself.
“
Find yourself a job down there, give up the job in London, and see how you make out. If you can
’
t manage, then will be the time to let it furnished, and what will you have lost? If you come back to London, you can always get another job.
”

There was a welcome relief in having decided at last. She knew that she had been putting off the decision because this was what she had wanted, all along, to do. She was now sure enough to be able to discount all Lucy
’
s arguments, and began to make her plans.

She would stay in London through January and February and go to Combe Russet when signs of spring were in the air. Meanwhile she would get Roger to send her the local papers and see what sort of jobs were to be had there. She went carefully into costs, counting up the rates, the property tax, the fuel, probable help in the garden; and setting against them the fact that the property was in such good repair and so well decorated that she need not spend money on it for years.

“
And I can grow stuff in the garden,
”
she told Lucy,
“
and live on salads. And I shall start carving again
—
there are at least two of the big stores up here who will take my stuff—probably three.
”

“
And when are you going to have time to do all this?
”
asked Lucy sceptically.
“
A job all day, a house, to look after, cooking to do, a garden and woodcarving?
”

“
I shall organise myself,
”
said Alison airily.
“
I am not, definitely not, Lucy, to be put off.
”

“
You
’
ll be nervous at night.
”

“
Yes, I probably shall. I shall have to get over that.
”

“
More easily said than done.
”

“
In the last resort, I could let off a bed-sitting room.
”

“
Ah well, good luck to you. I shall miss you, Alison.
”

“
Come down and see me as often as you can.
”

“
You
’
ll have to write to that woman who has been pestering you about the house.
”

“
Mrs. Marport, yes. She
’
ll be disappointed. Apparently she lived on the edge of the Combe Russet estate all her life until she married, and then she went off to the north. But now she is widowed, she can think of nowhere nicer to live than my house. She sounds such a nice person, in her letters and on the phone, that I
’
m sorry for her disappointment, but it can
’
t be helped.
”

Roger sent her the papers she had asked for, and a letter from him came at the same time, written in a large scrawling handwriting that covered a great deal of paper.

“
Dear Alison,
”
he wrote,

“
Here are the papers you wanted, two locals for two weeks, but I can
’
t imagine what you want them for, and I admit to being curious. I hope you find what you want in them, and if there is anything more I can do for you, at any time, don
’
t hesitate to ask.

“
I have been keeping an eye on your house for you, and all is well. Don
’
t forget to let me know when you are coming down and I will see that fires are lit and the
w
ater hot and so on. As a matter of fact, after the heavy rains we had for days about Christmas time, I did think the place was damp, so I set to lighting the boiler and the fires and getting it dried out, and a friend came up
w
ith me and dusted and swept, and the place looked a picture. But Neil Edgerton, following his customary habit of snooping, and his customary love of managing everything, had to butt in and make a fuss. I showed him the key you left me and told him that everything was arranged with you, but he acted as if he still owned the place himself, practically ordered me off, and I don
’
t mind admitting that it nearly came to blows! I have no doubt he will write to you himself, suspicion being second nature to him; so if you do hear, you
’
ll know what it
’
s all about.

“
When are you coming down next? It will be a
p
leasure to see you again. In the meantime, I
h
ave cleared all that long grass from the front of the garage and levelled off the ground, and if you would authorise me to get some clinker and some beach, I would have some sort of useful path down for the car by the time you get here.

“
Yours, Roger.
”

Alison showed the letter to Lucy.

“
He seems to be taking quite a bit on himself, doesn
’
t he?
”
asked Lucy.

“
I
think it
’
s his way. I don
’
t think he
’
s the kind to stand on ceremony, and he was, after all, Tom
’
s friend.
”

“
He certainly has his knife in Nei
l.”

“
So had Tom, remember.
”

“
And he
’
s awfully anxious to please you. Why?
”

“
It couldn
’
t be my charms
?”
asked Alison lightly.

“
Yes, it could, but I have an odd feeling that it isn
’
t. Darling, watch your step with him.
”

“
You
’
re using Neil
’
s words. You see, you have let yourself be influenced.
”

“
Perhaps. Have you told Ralph about him?
”

“
Yes, I think so. At least, I said that a friend of Tom
’
s was keeping an eye on the house for me.
”
Alison was silent for a moment or two, and then went, on:
“
I don
’
t talk about it to Ralph much. Combe Russet is something I want to keep to myself for a while.
”

“
You still don
’
t trust him?
”

“
It isn
’
t quite a question of trusting him; more a question of knowing him. I expect I would have poured out everything to him last summer, discussed everything with him; but now
”
I know him to be a different person from what I imagined then. I
’
m doing what people always seem to be telling me to do—watching my step.
”

“
Poor Ralph.
H
e
’
s pa
y
ing dearly for his mistake.
”

“
It was a pretty big mistake.
”

“
And he
’
s been so devoted all the winter—you must admit you
’
ve had some good times with him.
”

“
I do admit it, but I know there
’
s a wolf in that sheep
’
s clothing.
”

“
I should think Roger Falcon is far more likely to be the wolf than Ralph.
”

“
Just because he looks like a pirate,
”
laughed Alison.

“
Anyway, will you do me one small favour?
”

“
Anything I can. What is it?
”

“
When you go down to Combe Russet, don
’
t let Roger know you
’
re going.
”

“
And how will that be doing you a favour?
”

“
I want, to test, one or two theories of mine.
”

“
But Roger specially asks me to let him know.
”

“
That
’
s why,
”
said Lucy cryptically.

“
I think it would be rather disobliging,
”
said
Alison,
“
but to please you, I
’
ll go without telling him.
”

She went on a cold, blustery March day, her car loaded with her personal possessions. Such furniture as she possessed was left with Lucy for the time being, but her clothes, many of her carvings, her typewriter, record player, small sewing machine and pieces of pottery—in fact, all the impedimenta gathered together by a girl living in a flat—went with her. There had been a light fall of snow in the night, which in London had already changed to a slushy film blackening the pavements, but when she reached open country, it lay in white drifts against the hedgerows and scattered on the higher fields.

She had started early and drove steadily all day, stopping for her picnic lunch on the roadside and later for a cup of tea at a roadside snack bar. The sun appeared, hesitantly at first and then with more strength, brightening the white clouds chased across the sky by the high wind. This trip to Combe Russet was more of an adventure than either of the others had been, for now she had burned her boats behind her. She had given up her job, and given up her place in the flat to a friend of Lucy. She was going to look forward and not back. The unhappy and disappointing things were behind her: Evelyn
’
s death and Tom
’
s, the disillusionment about Ralph. The present and the future were what mattered.
’

It was early evening when she came to Combe Russet, with still enough daylight to see that daffodils were coming out in bunches along the front of the garden fence, and that Roger had made a wide, dry path of beach to the garage door, which was a great improvement on the lank grass growing there before. She drove the car into the garage, took a suitcase and bag with her and left the rest of her things to be unpacked later.

She went into the house, and the warmth that greeted her could not be entirely due to the contrast with the boisterous evening outside. Surely, the boiler was alight, heating the radiators: very thoughtful of Roger, but very expensive, too, for fuel. She put down the suitcase and carried the bag into the
ki
tchen—and there she paused in amazement.

The hitherto spotless kitchen was anything but spotless now. The table was littered with used cups
a
nd saucers, many of which had been used as ashtrays, crusts and crumbs spilling off a bread board, sauce bottles, tins of instant coffee, empty cigarette packets, dead matches, screws of paper. The sink was filthy and held more dirty dishes. Very dirty tea-cloths lay crumped on the draining board. The binette for rubbish, was overflowing.

Alison looked about her for a minute or two, and then walked into the sitting room, where, although it was not in such a parlous state as the kitchen, there were still signs of occupation, with crumpled cushions, overflowing ashtrays and scattered newspapers. One bedroom and bathroom assured her that Roger had been keeping an eye on her house from all-too-close quarters. She wondered for how long. The number of towels and sheets in the linen basket suggested that he had appointed himself resident caretaker ever since those rainy days at Christmas.

She was hungry, but she could neither cook anything nor eat it until some of the mess was cleaned up. She found an apron, wrapped it round her slim form, ran a plentiful supply of hot water into the sink and began to clean that. She had not long started when the front door opened, and somebody came into the hall whistling cheerfully. Alison stopped what she was doing and listened. The whistling suddenly stopped. No doubt he had seen the suitcase. She waited grimly.