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The Secret of Summerhayes
Merryn Allingham


A war-torn summerA house fallen into ruinA family broken apart by scandal…Summer 1944: Bombed out by the blitz, Bethany Merston takes up a post as companion to elderly Alice Summer, last remaining inhabitant of the dilapidated and crumbling Summerhayes estate. Now a shadow of its former glory; most of the rooms have been shut up, the garden is overgrown and the whole place feels as unwelcoming as the family themselves.Struggling with the realities of war, Alice is plagued by anonymous letters and haunting visions of her old household. At first, Beth tries to convince her it’s all in her mind but soon starts to unravel the mysteries surrounding the aristocratic family’s past.An evocative and captivating tale, The Secret of Summerhayes tells of dark secrets, almost-forgotten scandals and a household teetering on the edge of ruin.







Also by Merryn Allingham (#ulink_a7c74260-9e29-5440-8575-07532dbcdff4)

The Crystal Cage

The Girl from Cobb Street

The Nurse’s War

Daisy’s Long Road Home

The Buttonmaker’s Daughter


MERRYN ALLINGHAM was born into an army family and spent her childhood on the move. Unsurprisingly, it gave her itchy feet and in her twenties she escaped from an unloved secretarial career to work as cabin crew and see the world. The arrival of marriage, children and cats meant a more settled life in the south of England where she’s lived ever since. It also gave her the opportunity to go back to ‘school’ and eventually teach at university.

Merryn has always loved books that bring the past to life, so when she began writing herself the novels had to be historical. She finds the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries fascinating eras to research and her first book, The Crystal Cage, had as its background the London of 1851. The Daisy’s War trilogy followed, set in India and London during the 1930s and 40s.

Her latest novels explore two pivotal moments in the history of Britain. The Buttonmaker’s Daughter is set in Sussex in the summer of 1914 as the First World War looms ever nearer and its sequel, The Secret of Summerhayes, thirty years later in the summer of 1944 when D-Day led to eventual victory in the Second World War. Along with the history, of course, there is plenty of mystery and romance to keep readers intrigued.

If you would like to keep in touch with Merryn, sign up for her newsletter at www.merrynallingham.com (http://www.merrynallingham.com)










Contents


Cover (#uc47d1b9d-47fa-52f1-85be-d5bf8bda2b2b)

Also by Merryn Allingham (#ulink_579f2ba0-125d-52f5-b568-8f00384f4edd)

About the Author (#u843dc84e-6eb7-5dd4-bacf-880097b01e35)

Title Page (#u586210b9-9059-558e-9f96-0ebcbe4ed926)

Chapter One (#ulink_3dd70b32-151c-5a9e-a108-20cb4ba817f8)

Chapter Two (#ulink_c09d8395-0ace-5485-b9aa-100126940357)

Chapter Three (#ulink_230128f0-1211-5709-8233-0f346e508427)

Chapter Four (#ulink_b1558f4a-930c-597a-914c-c444f7593f91)

Chapter Five (#ulink_86691283-bdfc-5b26-9159-592ca4cdb900)

Chapter Six (#ulink_ca8395aa-7236-5b70-af86-a58252746aed)

Chapter Seven (#ulink_88559168-ace3-541e-aecd-3058d6196a76)

Chapter Eight (#ulink_3254eac0-9b20-5495-ada5-7c4be692e203)

Chapter Nine (#ulink_14d01a13-d906-55af-821f-f94dc78f63cd)

Chapter Ten (#ulink_b39dd17a-b374-5b05-ba9f-d6ee4870501b)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ulink_4778e84d-11c9-5a1d-9077-5c55c3878513)


Sussex, England, late April 1944

Something about the scene caught at him, some memory he couldn’t grasp. Behind him the tangled mass of alders – they were alders, weren’t they? – but before his eyes, a landscape he must have read about, or perhaps dreamt. He’d never been here before, that was certain. The last two years had been spent miles away, and though since January his regiment had been moving from camp to camp, this was the furthest west they had come. He pushed past the last few branches and received another scratch to add to all the others. The trees had long ago grown together to form an almost impenetrable barrier. The old fellow who’d given him a lift had heard the word Summerhayes and dropped him at what must have been the rear entrance. He should have stopped at the broken brick columns and found another way in, walked around the perimeter wall until he came to a main entrance. That was probably in the same ramshackle state, but the tanks would have bulldozed a path by now and the going would be easier. Very much easier. He should turn back.

But he didn’t. Something made him push on, that dream perhaps, a misty image he carried with him. Now that he was clear of the trees, he could see more than a few feet ahead. He appeared to be standing on what had once been a paved terrace. Beneath the heaps of dead winter leaves, he glimpsed terracotta. A Mediterranean colour, out of place in an English garden, or even an English wilderness. It appeared to circle what must have once been a lake but was now stagnant water, carpeted from one side to the other with giant water lilies. The air was slightly sour; it smelt of mud, smelt of must. In the centre of the lake, the remains of a statue, broken and chipped, rose strangely from out of the rampant vegetation. It was as though, wounded and maimed, it was trying to escape. Something about the place held him fast. He stood for a long time, feeling his pulse gradually slacken, the rhythm of his heart seeming to align itself to that of the earth. What kind of craziness was that? He shook his head in disbelief and as quickly as the heavy backpack allowed, made his way to an archway in one corner of the clearing. The exit, he imagined, but it was as overgrown as everything else, its laurel leaves a dense mass.

He looked back before shouldering through this new obstruction. On one side of the lake, there had been a small summerhouse but its roof was smashed and a giant vine had weaved its way through the corpse. Directly across the water, there had been another building, and he could see immediately that it was one built to impressive proportions. Now all that remained of it were two or three shattered columns and the raised dais they stood upon. It seemed to have been some kind of temple, for the pediment had crashed to the ground and taken several pillars with it. Did English gardens have temples? He supposed they must. In that instant, the sun emerged from a passing cloud and glanced across the remaining pillars, its rays flashing pure crystal. He gave a low whistle. The building was of marble. Once upon a time, this had been a wealthy place.

With some difficulty he pushed through the strangled archway, but was immediately brought up short. He was facing what appeared to be an acre of grass and brambles, at least six feet in height, and with no path in sight. Here and there huge palm trees rose out of the oversized meadow, spreading their arms in a riot of tough, sword-like prongs or half-tumbled to the ground, their hairy trunks dank and rotted. Between the palms, gigantic ferns hovered like green spiders inflated to monstrous size. He would never find his way through this, and he was running out of time. By now everyone would have settled their billets, his men would be waiting for orders and Eddie would be wondering where the hell he’d got to. His pal would be brewing coffee and if he hadn’t had to do that damned detour, he’d be drinking it alongside him. It had been a waste of time in any case; when he’d got to Aldershot, he’d found the regiment’s surplus equipment had already been despatched without any help from him. The logistics of constantly moving were a nightmare and he hoped this was the last camp they’d pitch before the push into Europe.

For months the regiment had been gradually inching along the south coast, practising manoeuvres as they went. It was common knowledge that an invasion this summer was on the cards; he was pretty sure it would only be a matter of weeks. He prayed, they all prayed, there’d be no repeat of the Dieppe debacle. The planners had called it a reconnaissance, his fellow soldiers a disaster. The element of surprise had been lost. A German navy patrol had spotted the Canadians and alerted the batteries on shore. His countrymen had faced murderous fire within a few yards of their landing craft – over three thousand killed, maimed or captured, and fewer than half their number returning to tell their story. He’d lost friends in that attack and mourned them still.

He pushed on, striking due north in the hope of finding some sign of men and machines, using his knife to hack a narrow path through grass that grew to the height of a small hut. It was hot and steamy and pungent. The backpack weighed heavier with each minute and though it was only April, the sun was unusually bright and he was forced to push back the fall of hair from his forehead and wipe a trickle of sweat from his face. But after fifteen minutes, he’d progressed just fifty yards. He stood still and gazed across at the tangle of grass and palms and ferns. He’d had enough.

He turned to go back the way he’d come. It was only then that he became aware he was not alone. Through the long stalks of grass, a pair of eyes peered at him, fixing him in an unnerving gaze. It was as though the grass itself was deciding whether he were friend or foe.

Then a small voice broke the silence. ‘Are you lost?’




Chapter Two (#ulink_ddc5271f-44f0-5eab-8ac0-157051da5ab8)


Bethany Merston turned into the drive of Summerhayes and saw the Canadian army had well and truly arrived. The estate had been a military base for years now, the house and grounds requisitioned at the outbreak of war, but this was altogether a far larger invasion. For several days past the clatter of men and trucks had been a noisy backdrop to life. The advance party, she’d guessed, but now it appeared the entire battalion had taken possession of the estate. And the men on either side of the drive – parking jeeps, carrying supplies, marching briskly between temporary shelters – were larger, too. They made the local population look weaklings. Unlike the natives, they’d not endured years of rationing, nor an interwar period of poor nourishment and intermittent work.

This morning, as the first trucks had rolled in, she’d walked to the village for whatever supplies she could forage, but returned with little. Neither she nor Alice nor Mr Ripley would get too fat on what her solitary bag contained. But at least she’d managed to buy cocoa powder for Alice’s night-time drink. Only a few ounces, and it would have to be sweetened with the honey she’d bartered for last week, but it would keep the old lady going a little longer. If Mrs Summer had cocoa at bedtime, she slept well. Even the drone of German bombers flying low towards London didn’t disturb her, and that meant that Beth slept well, too.

She crunched her way along the gravel drive taking care to avoid the whirlwind of activity, but walking as swiftly as she could. If the noise had penetrated to the upstairs apartment, Mrs Summer would be anxious. On reflection, her working life had altered little except to exchange the care of thirty small bodies for one elderly one. Looking after an old lady wasn’t that much different from looking after a young child. Both needed reassurance and practical help; both blossomed with kindness.

A few months ago a stray bomb falling on Quilter Street had obliterated the Bethnal Green school where she worked. It was a miracle it had happened at night and there had been no casualties, but it had left her jobless. Thank goodness, then, for the advert in The Lady. Within weeks she’d found the post at Summerhayes, though it was one she had never imagined for herself. But in wartime needs must, and a war spent here was as good as anywhere. The Sussex countryside was beautiful and the estate, though fallen into disrepair, still retained a little of its former glory. Above all the place was tranquil and, coming from a ravaged London, she was grateful for its peace, though now the Canadian army had arrived in force, peace might be a lost treasure.

One or two of the soldiers glanced curiously at her as she made her way to the side door, but she managed to slip into the house without attracting too much attention. She slid past the drawing room, catching a brief glimpse of several officers’ caps on the mantel shelf, past the dining room where desks were being shifted and typewriters arranged, and then up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alice, all that was left for the old lady of the magnificent Arts and Crafts mansion she had once inhabited. Almost certainly the senior officers would be billeted in the house, while junior officers and their men were consigned to tents in the grounds. Or maybe this time they would build more permanent structures, though she doubted it. Rumours of invasion were rife and the battalion was unlikely to stay long.

Everyone was aware that the military had increased hugely of late, a steady flow of army units turning into a flood. The whole of Sussex had become a vast, armed camp. Mortars and artillery had long been familiar sounds on the South Downs, along with the screech and clatter of tank tracks in the surrounding villages, but now you couldn’t walk a country lane without being passed by a ten-ton truck or a speeding jeep. On her last visit to the village, she’d had to jump into a ditch to avoid a rogue tank trundling down the narrowest of roads and filling it from hedgerow to hedgerow.

She had reached the cramped staircase to the apartment when the wailing hit her. Mrs Summer! She raced up the remaining stairs, fumbling for the key as she went. The new girl from the village had begun work today and Beth had thought it safe to disappear for an hour and leave her to keep an eye. Molly had been cleaning the small kitchen when she’d left, but when she finally burst through the door, the girl was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Beth found the old lady in the sitting room, hunched into the corner of a wing chair, her body rocking back and forth to the rhythm of her cries. Beth glanced wildly around and her heart sank. A white envelope. Another letter. Ripley had been told to make sure that no such letters were delivered to his mistress, except via Bethany. But the former footman was an old man, a pensioner now rather than a worker, and he would be lying down on his bed for a morning nap. She had given the same instructions to Molly before she left, but the girl had clearly forgotten.

‘Mrs Summer, it’s all right, I’m here.’

She flung the bag to the floor, unmindful that their week’s rations would be squashed out of recognition, then knelt down at the elderly woman’s side and took her in her arms, holding her close and trying to calm the demented rocking. Very gradually, Alice became still and the sobs ceased. Beth stroked the thin, grey hair into place and fished in her pocket for a handkerchief to dab tears from the deeply lined cheeks.

‘But it’s not all right.’ Alice looked up, her eyes pools of sadness. ‘It’s not all right,’ she repeated. ‘She isn’t coming.’

Beth took the envelope that the old lady was still clasping and extracted a single sheet of paper. With growing anger, she read: The journey has been difficult but I’ve arrived in London at last. I will try and get to you soon. You know that is what I want above all else. But I’m feeling so tired that I’m not sure now I can make it as far as Sussex. I will write again when I feel better.

Someone was playing tricks, Beth was sure. It was cruel beyond belief. The letters were typewritten and never signed, but Mrs Summer had become convinced they came from a daughter who had disappeared thirty years ago. Why the old lady believed this, Bethany wasn’t sure. It was perhaps a simple longing for it to be true. Elizabeth Summer, she’d learnt, had never contacted her family since the day she’d eloped to marry a man of whom they disapproved. Could a much loved daughter be so callous as never to have written? Beth thought not. After all these years of silence, it was most likely that the woman was dead.

When Beth had first met her employer, it seemed that Alice Summer had thought so, too. But then the letters had started to arrive – as far as Beth knew, none had come earlier – and the old lady had become convinced that Elizabeth was still in the world. It was pointless to argue away her belief. In some corner of her mind she must always have kept her daughter alive. Hadn’t May Prendergast said that despite her long standing opposition, Mrs Summer had eventually agreed to employ a companion on the basis of a single name? Bethany, Beth, Elizabeth. The letters must have ignited a long suppressed desire and given it heart. Beth hadn’t told May about the letters, and Mr Ripley and Molly Dumbrell knew only to intercept them. The fewer people who knew of Alice’s fantasy, the better.

She took the sheet of paper and folded it back into the envelope. She would destroy it, as she had with the others, and hope Mrs Summer might forget she had ever received it. She stayed kneeling by her side, continuing to cuddle the meagre frame until she felt Alice relax a little. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ she said brightly. ‘We can talk over tea – I’ve some news for you from the village.’

She’d hoped this might spark interest, but the elderly woman continued to stare into her lap.

‘I met May,’ she pursued.

‘May Lacey?’ Alice lifted her head.

‘Her mother sends you her very best wishes. She’d love to come and see you, but May says that she’s almost bed-bound now.’ Mrs Lacey had once been the housekeeper at Summerhayes.

‘She was a good worker,’ Alice mused, the past as always having the power to animate. ‘A trifle sharp at times, but a good worker. And her daughter – she was a bonny girl. She did well for herself, she married the curate – May Prendergast she became – and then she got to be the vicar’s wife. Fancy that. It was a shame he died. It’s not a happy thing being a widow and this new man at the church – tsk. I’d not give him the time of day. He is far too opinionated, far too sure of himself.’

That was probably what a vicar should be, Beth reflected, but the thought remained unspoken; it was clear that Alice liked her religion vague. ‘Mrs Lacey may not be able to visit, but May will come.’ She paused at the sitting room door. ‘She’s promised to call in later this week. She has some new children to settle in the village first. They’re evacuees from Brighton – apparently the house they’ve been staying in has been declared unsafe.’

She looked forward, as much as her employer, to May’s visits. Despite their age difference, the two of them had become good friends in the few months she had been at Summerhayes. It had been May who had placed the advertisement in The Lady.

We had the devil’s own job to persuade her to get help, May had said. Me and Mr Ripley between us. She doesn’t like change and the thought of someone new in the house sent her frantic. But then she saw your letter – you’d signed it Beth – and that was enough.

Beth never used her full name if she could possibly help it. Bethany had been her father’s choice, but it served to remind her always of an old shame and of her difference from the new family her mother had created. In this case though, it had worked to her advantage. A letter signed Beth had won her the job, that and the fact that she was not much older than Elizabeth Summer had been when she had disappeared. Alice must have been thinking of Elizabeth long before the letters arrived. Letters and long lost daughters, it was an alchemy, but it had given her employment when she was desperate for work and desperate to avoid a forced retreat to the home she hated and the family who didn’t want her.

‘Will Ivy come with her?’ Alice asked. ‘When May visits?’

‘Ivy is married now, remember? That’s why May advertised in the magazine. That’s why I’m here.’

‘I remember. Of course I remember. Dear Ivy. Such a stalwart girl. And she was Elizabeth’s maid before she was mine.’

‘I know, Mrs Summer.’ Alice must have told her a dozen times already. It was as though the missing girl had come to dominate her mind to the exclusion of all else.

‘Yes,’ the old lady was saying, ‘she and Elizabeth were maid and mistress, but that didn’t matter. They grew up together and were the best of friends. Ivy knew all Elizabeth’s secrets.’ Alice turned to look out of the window. The scene below was one of frenetic activity, but it was clear that she saw none of it. ‘All her secrets,’ she repeated, ‘except where she’d gone. Elizabeth never told her that. She didn’t want to get the girl into trouble.’

The old face drooped and a tear formed in the corner of her eye. She looked hopelessly around, then caught sight of the letter still in Beth’s grasp. With difficulty she wriggled to the edge of her seat, tensing her feet on the floor, as though she would launch herself forward. Then, with both hands, reached out for the oblong of white paper.

‘I’ll put it on the mantelpiece for now and make the tea,’ Beth said hastily.




Chapter Three (#ulink_7d2bc650-8f9d-5b06-a00a-fa22aecbdc13)


The kitchen was looking bright and clean. At least Molly knew her job even if she couldn’t remember instructions. They rarely drank tea before evening and Beth hoped there would be enough to last them the next seven days. Standing in the grocer’s this morning, it seemed as though the number of coupons in their ration books shrank by the week. She put the kettle to boil and found two clean cups. It was then she became aware that the kitchen table was smothered in flowers: a wonderful bouquet of yellow freesias and white lilies. Molly must have taken delivery of them before she left. There was a card attached and she bent to read. To dear Aunt Alice. I hope these cheer you. Gilbert.

Such a kind thought. Gilbert Fitzroy had left on business but despite all the rush and bother of departure, he hadn’t forgotten his aunt. She hoped Alice would say thank you when he returned, though she couldn’t depend on it. Gilbert might be a devoted nephew but his aunt was slow in returning his regard. Whenever he called, it seemed that Alice was too tired to see him, or she was listening to her favourite wireless programme and didn’t want to be disturbed, or it was time for lunch or tea or supper. Beth had so far been unable to discover what the problem might be. No doubt the root of the trouble lay in the past since this was where Alice dwelt for most of her waking hours. Gilbert appeared unfazed by his aunt’s evident lack of affection and continued to enquire of her health and, from time to time, sent small gifts from the Amberley estate, including today’s magnificent flowers filling the small kitchen with their perfume. She would have noticed them earlier if her nerves had not been so jangled. She must thank Gilbert as soon as he got back, even if his aunt did not. In the meantime, she would do her best to return the favour by teaching his son as much as Ralph was willing to learn. So far, that hadn’t proved a great deal; Ralph was not an academic child.

She went back into the sitting room and handed Alice her cup of tea, making sure the old lady had a firm hold of the saucer. Then she returned to the kitchen and gathered up the bouquet. ‘Look, you have flowers, Mrs Summer. Aren’t they splendid? I hope I can find a vase that’s big enough. Perhaps the Venetian one?’ That was Alice’s favourite.

The old lady’s face brightened. She loved flowers, loved colour. ‘I always had fresh flowers, every few days. Mr Harris – he was the Head Gardener – he’d cut me new blooms and they would fill the house.’

‘They must have looked lovely – and smelt lovely, too.’

‘They did. The house was very beautiful. I didn’t realise how beautiful. I should have enjoyed it more. Now this is all I’m left with.’ She waved her hand at the sitting room and the narrow hallway beyond, while Beth jumped to her feet to rescue the tea. Undeterred, Alice went on. ‘You see, I was brought up at Amberley, and it was always Amberley where I wanted to be.’

When Beth made no reply, she said, ‘Do you know it?’

Amberley was Gilbert Fitzroy’s home. ‘I know of it. It’s the estate that adjoins Summerhayes.’

‘It belonged to my parents,’ she said fiercely, as though Beth’s description had somehow disputed its ownership. ‘And then to my brother, Henry.’

‘And now to your nephew.’

Alice looked blank. ‘Gilbert,’ Beth said gently.

‘Inheritance knows no distinction,’ she muttered.

Beth had no idea what she meant, but she was concerned that at any moment the conversation would lead back to Elizabeth. ‘Talking of Amberley, these flowers are from their greenhouse. Gilbert must have asked his gardener to pick them especially for you.’

The old lady sniffed. The subject was evidently closed. ‘Can I pour you another cup?’ She thought the pot would just about run to it, though the liquid looked more like straw than tea.

‘You make a good cup of tea, Bethany. Better than Ivy, she never managed to cope with rationing.’

‘Now that she’s married to a farmer, it will be less of a problem.’

‘But Higson isn’t a farmer. Not any longer. He sold the farm – the military paid a good price for it, I believe, and that decided him. He bought a bungalow in Devon, on the coast. A place called Solmouth, Sidton…’

‘Sidmouth?’

‘That’s it. He asked Ivy to marry him before he left. She’d been a good girl to him ever since his wife died.’

‘So a happy ending?’

It didn’t seem that happy to Alice. She gave a long sigh. ‘I miss her. She was with me for so many years. Not that I’m not glad for her. Mr Higson is some compensation. She lost her first love, you know. Poor Miller – such a tragedy. He was our chauffeur, but they found him in the garden at the bottom of the estate. Drowned.’

An uncomfortable tingle started in the nape of Beth’s neck and slowly spread the length of her spine. She had walked that way once and been startled how uneasy she’d felt. There had been a kind of darkness to the place that had sent her scurrying. Afterwards she’d scolded herself for being foolish, but was it possible that the garden still held fast to a bad memory?

‘I’m glad for her,’ Alice repeated. ‘She did well for herself. And May Lacey, too. Girls from humble families. Whereas my daughter threw herself away on an Irishman without a shirt to his back. It’s a different world these days.’

Beth agreed, but she’d been only half listening. She should go in search of Ralph. She was already beginning to regret her agreement with Gilbert. The war had closed the boy’s school last year and he was woefully behind with his studies. It might have been better if his father had looked for a full-time tutor. Teaching at the same time as caring for Alice was proving a challenge, and she’d had to cancel the last two lessons. Ralph had been happy with the chance to escape since he had far more interesting things to do than sums and composition, but she couldn’t let it happen again. Today she’d told herself that she would have at least two hours with him and here was Mrs Summer, trying for an outward calm, but still deeply upset. She could see how disturbed the old lady remained from the way she was holding her cup, rattling it badly in its saucer.

Alice had an inner toughness, Beth had discovered, and she wouldn’t like it that she’d been found crying. She was trying hard to put on a brave face, but the letters had caused damage. The first one had arrived a month back, shortly after Beth had come to Summerhayes. She’d been stunned when she’d learnt the tragic history of this otherwise unremarkable woman: a husband and son prematurely dead and a daughter who seemingly had disappeared from the face of the earth at just nineteen years old. That first letter had brought all the sadness that Alice carried struggling into the light.

The letters were anonymous, but from the beginning they’d indicated that the writer, whoever they were, was bound for Summerhayes. The first one had been postmarked Southampton, suggesting a traveller from abroad, but then the second and third had come from London. In each letter the unknown writer had claimed to be drawing nearer to Summerhayes, promising Alice a loving reunion. Until today. Today the promise had been withdrawn; hence the old lady’s cries of despair. But if the writer were honest in seeking Alice, why had they gone to London? Why not travel directly to Summerhayes from Southampton? But they weren’t honest, were they? Otherwise they would have signed the letters, along with their protestations of love, and Alice would know for sure who would call and when. For a short while, the old lady’s iron certainty that the letters came from her daughter had made Beth question if, in fact, Alice were right, and that perhaps the writer was an unstable woman, disturbed enough to contact her mother anonymously. But there was too much deliberation in the pattern of the letters; that suggested a calculating mind determined to cause the maximum pain. Alice was being played with, Beth thought, but why and to what purpose, she couldn’t tell. All she could do was try to protect the poor lady as best she could.

She rescued the rattling cup and cast around for a way to soothe her elderly charge. ‘Shall I start another illustration?’ Alice loved to watch her draw, no doubt because the lost daughter had been an artist and in some small way Beth’s sketch pad reminded her of happier days.

With an effort, the old lady agreed. ‘That would be nice, my dear. What is it to be?’ She pulled herself upright and arranged her face to appear interested.

‘Let me see… we’d reached the point where Izzy is lost.’ Beth brought her companion up to date with the progress of the story. ‘If you remember, she escaped from the cottage when she was told to stay there, and now she can’t find her way out of the Tangled Wood.’ Izzy was the naughty heroine who one day, Beth hoped, would entrance a young audience. She found her pad and a handful of sharp pencils, and settled herself in the chair opposite. A forest scene would make an interesting subject. For a while, the only sound in the room was the slight scratching of pencil on paper. Then Alice spoke into the silence. ‘You do know we have an artist’s studio here? It’s in one of the attics, so the military won’t have taken it over.’

Sometimes Alice’s mind was as sharp as it must have been twenty years before. She was aware of the army’s presence in the building, aware of how much space they occupied. Beth hoped she wasn’t aware of the damage several changes of military personnel had caused to the splendid house she had once called home.

‘I know about the studio, Mrs Summer, but a sketch pad and pencil is all I need. I’m not a genuine artist – just a writer and illustrator. It’s a hobby for me.’ But one day, it might not be. One day, it might be a serious undertaking and earn sufficient money to bring her true independence. In the meantime, it was useful in deflecting Alice from her obsession. Though apparently it wasn’t going to deflect her today.

‘Elizabeth was an artist,’ she announced. ‘I have the pictures she painted – somewhere.’

‘There’s one in your bedroom, I think. And very good it is, too.’

The old lady looked gratified. ‘There are others. Lots of them. Maybe in the old studio?’

Beth had been there once and found it a chaotic jumble of mouldering furniture and broken boxes. She’d had to push past thick, furry cobwebs to get into the room and when she did, had seen immediately that part of the roof must have lost tiles because a steady drip of water had found its way through and was pooling the floorboards. She’d got Mr Ripley to fetch a bucket and asked him to remember to empty it whenever it rained. But she’d said nothing to Alice of the state in which she’d found the place. Fortunately, the old lady never went further than her own few rooms – a sitting room, a bedroom and a bathroom. Beth herself slept in what at a stretch could be described as a box room and Mr Ripley bravely inhabited one of the spare attics.

‘Let me see.’ Alice leant forward. ‘The trees are beautiful.’ She pointed to the tall, slender columns of birch that Beth had drawn, fingering their outline on the page. Their delicate leaves shadowed the winding path that the small girl would tread. ‘It is such a pity that you don’t paint. Colour would bring the image to life.’

She feared the mention of paint and colour would bring Elizabeth into the conversation once more. ‘Shall I draw Izzy into the picture? I think she’ll be happy on her adventure – to begin with at least.’

‘Yes, do that.’ Alice’s voice was weary now, her eyes heavy-lidded, and before Beth had finished the illustration, the old lady was breathing heavily. She fetched a blanket from the bedroom and tucked it around the sleeping woman. She should just have sufficient time to find Ralph and haul him up the stairs for his lesson. He was bound to be in the grounds somewhere, though finding him amid the mayhem of a military arrival could prove difficult. But if she knew the boy, he would most likely be sitting on the largest tank or questioning the gun crew on their stock of ammunition. She edged the front door shut and sped down the stairs.




Chapter Four (#ulink_be5787a2-ae77-50f4-b8ae-68c5bd9e900f)


The small boy had emerged from the thicket of grass, but he was inches away before Jos could see his entire person: his hair a thatch of light brown, his smile engaging, and his bare knees scratched and muddied.

‘I’m Ralph.’ He held out his hand.

‘Jos Kerrigan.’ They exchanged a solemn handshake. ‘You seem to know your way around this wilderness,’ Jos said. ‘Do you live here?’

‘Not here but next door – at Amberley. It’s much more fun here though. We don’t have any soldiers at Amberley.’

‘So can you show me how to get out of this darn place? Or is it all like this?’

Ralph considered the question judiciously. ‘This is the worst bit, I think, but the whole estate is pretty run down.’ That seemed an understatement to Jos. ‘I can take you to the main camp, if you like?’

‘I’d like that fine. Do you spend a lot of time there?’

‘When I’m allowed to,’ the boy said simply. ‘There’s been a camp for ages, but this week there’s been loads going on. And I’ve made a special friend.’

He was intrigued. ‘And who’s that?’

‘His name is Eddie. Eddie Rich.’

‘Is that so? He just happens to be my special friend, too.’

Ralph’s grin spread across his face. ‘He’s the bee’s knees, isn’t he?’

Jos’s deep blue eyes lit with amusement. ‘He sure is.’

‘It’s getting hot out here.’ The boy patted several stalks of grass away from his face. ‘Shall I take you to him?’

‘I’d appreciate that, Ralph.’

‘C’mon then.’ He turned round and traced a path along what Jos thought must be the thinnest line of flattened grass he’d ever seen, just wide enough for a nine year old’s feet but way too narrow for his own size twelves.

‘I’m crushing a heck of a lot of grass here,’ he called to Ralph, a few steps ahead. ‘Will it matter?’ Why it would, he couldn’t imagine.

‘It doesn’t matter at all. No one comes here except me, and it will make it easier the next time I go to the secret garden. That’s what I call it. It’s where you came in. It will make it easier for you, too, if you want to go back.’

He had no intention of ever returning to this maze of heat and bother. The grass tickled at his nose and infiltrated his ears, and on occasions he had to sway to one side to avoid a giant fern or be knocked uncomfortably into the rough trunk of a palm tree.

‘So why aren’t you at school?’ he asked conversationally, more to distract himself from the discomfort of the journey, than from any real desire to know.

‘My school’s been closed. It was just outside London, and they said it was too dangerous for us to stay.’

‘You lived at the school?’

‘Of course. I was a boarder.’

He’d heard that English families often sent their young children away to school but he’d never really believed it.

‘And now?’

‘The school moved up to Cheshire. At least, I think it was Cheshire. I don’t really know where that is.’ Neither did Jos, but it seemed strange that the child hadn’t moved with it. He must have felt settled in the school, had friends there. It seemed like a lonely life for him here.

‘My father didn’t want me to go,’ Ralph explained. ‘When I was at school near London, I could come back at weekends, you see, but Cheshire was too far. I don’t think he wanted to be on his own at Amberley all the time.’

He didn’t like to ask about the boy’s mother, fearing there had been some kind of wartime tragedy, but then Ralph said, ‘My mother’s a long way away. She’s in New York. She’s American.’

‘So it’s just your dad and you?’

‘That’s right. Well,’ Ralph said over his shoulder, ‘there are other people. Quite a few actually. There’s the butler, and the footman, and the parlour maid, and cook and a kitchen maid, and the gardener and the chauffeur…’

‘I get the picture.’

‘I could have gone to the village school, but Daddy didn’t want me to. He was going to hire a tutor and then Miss Merston came and she’s teaching me instead. It’s heaps better.’

‘And who is Miss Merston?’

The ground had gradually been sloping upwards, but in the last few yards it had taken on an even steeper incline. Beneath the weighty backpack, he was beginning to puff slightly and that didn’t please him. He’d thought himself fit enough, but he’d need to be a good deal fitter come invasion day.

‘Miss Merston is great. She rescued a bird’s nest with me last week and I’m helping the eggs to hatch. She’s a school teacher.’ Ralph sensed a little more explanation was needed. ‘She doesn’t have a school any more either, and she looks after my father’s aunt. That’s my great-aunt. Her name is Alice and she’s very old.’

They had finally emerged from the jungle of long grass and reached a gravel path. Jos breathed a sigh of pleasure, feeling solid ground beneath his feet again. He allowed himself a short stop and looked around. He was standing in what had once been a vegetable garden, he could see. Vegetable gardens, he corrected himself. The area was immense and bounded to the south by a circular brick wall against which some dessicated fruit trees still clung to a semblance of life. Vegetables had not been grown here for many a year; the soil was untilled and broken canes, rotting wooden staves and remnants of netting were strewn across its surface. In the distance, to the right, stood what was left of a string of greenhouses, their glass long shattered. Nearer to hand, a tarpaulin covered the unknown. He’d put his life on it being ammunition. It was a dismal picture and made him keen to walk on, but once through the brick arch the view was no improvement. More tarpaulins, more mounds. Several trees had been toppled and lay spread-eagled where the wind had blown them, others had brambles up to ten feet high climbing their trunks. He passed what he thought must be one of the oldest trees in the garden, stoic in its lost grandeur. A fig tree, he was sure of it. Scattered in its branches was shrivelled fruit, unharvested year on year. The gnarled trunk was punctured by bullet marks and when he looked around, he saw that nearly every surviving tree in this part of the garden was similarly afflicted. Someone had been using them for target practice. Whatever devastation had existed before the war, a succession of military occupations must have made it worse.

‘This place is in poor shape,’ he said.

Ralph looked puzzled. It was evident that for him the Summerhayes estate was fine as it was. ‘I s’pose,’ he admitted cautiously. ‘It used to look different. I saw an old photograph once. But that was a long time ago.’

The boy was still ahead of him, walking beneath the pergola that connected fruit and vegetables with the upper reaches of the garden. The pergola had once been covered by roses and its wooden structure was more or less intact, but what plants remained had grown wild, their thorns a danger to passers-by. Dodging between waving suckers, he could see lying ahead another huge open area, once a vast lawn, he presumed. At its far end was a semicircular flight of steps leading up to a flagged terrace. He could imagine the ladies of the house taking a stroll on that terrace, tripping daintily down the steps to the rolling grass. Now, not a blade was visible. The lawn had been covered in concrete and a row of trucks parked tidily across its expanse.

Noise and bustle were all around. Troops were still arriving, each truckload of men making their way to an adjoining farm where they’d pitch the tents that would be their home. Given the vagaries of the English weather, it wouldn’t be a particularly comfortable home, and he hoped that his own billet was nearer to hand – in the gardens, perhaps, despite their dilapidation. The closer he was to the house and offices, the less wading through mud he’d have to do if it rained hard.

Ralph had stopped and was looking back at him. ‘Eddie’s this way.’

He was a smart kid, Jos thought. It was a new camp with a completely different configuration from the previous one – the forward party had arrived only three days ago – yet the boy already knew his way around. Several young soldiers saluted as they passed and he managed a ragged salute in reply. The backpack was to blame.

Ralph looked up with another big smile. ‘Are you an officer then?’

‘A very junior one, kid. Eddie is too.’

‘I know. He told me. He’s in the outbuildings. We have to go this way. Have you known him long?’

‘A fair time. We joined up together when we weren’t much older than you – we’re both from the Toronto area. That’s eastern Canada.’

‘I know where it is. I’m good at geography. Well, sometimes,’ he added, evidently remembering his problem with Cheshire. ‘Have you been together ever since?’

‘We’ve been posted to different regiments in between time, but when Canada joined the war we ended up in the same battalion again.’

‘Have you been fighting together as well?’ The boy’s face sparked with excitement.

‘Oh yeah, fighting too.’ And that was some fighting. Italy. Monte Cassino. He’d been so very glad to have Eddie alongside.

A young man was shambling towards them, blond hair glinting in the spring sunshine and his gold flecked eyes warm with welcome. ‘He’s here!’ Ralph forgot his dignity and jumped up and down as Eddie came into view.

Eddie Rich wore his uniform as though it were something he’d found by chance while rummaging through a forgotten trunk, but when you looked again, Jos thought, you noticed the straight back, the sinewy arms and an expression that didn’t quite disguise a sharp intelligence.

‘Well, Ralphie, just look who you’ve found.’

‘He was lost.’

‘If he’s walked up from the depths, I bet he was.’ Eddie put his hands on Jos’s shoulders and gave him a quick hug. ‘Great to see you, pal. But what were you doing in the badlands?’

‘That’s what he calls the bottom of the estate,’ Ralph explained.

‘I was dropped off at what must have been the rear entrance, though I guess it’s not been used for a century. I tried walking up from there.’

Eddie pulled down the corners of his mouth, but his eyes laughed. ‘Not so great. Ralph to the rescue, eh?’

‘Ralph to the rescue,’ Jos agreed. ‘So when did you get here? How are things going?’

‘I came with the advance party, but the rest of the guys arrived today. They made pretty good time from Winchelsea, but as always, it’s chaos. You know the drill. How about you? How was that jewel of a town?’

‘The same as when we left it four years ago. And a completely wasted journey. Someone – God knows who – had already ordered what was left of our equipment to be sent on here. Has it arrived yet?’

‘Not that I know of, but it’s early days. So you didn’t hang around?’

‘We’re talking Aldershot, Ed. Mind you, this place doesn’t look much better.’

‘It’s seen grander days, for sure, but it’s okay. The house is kinda nice, or it was once. The colonel gets to sleep there, of course. We’re over here. I’ll show you the way. We’ve been given the Head Gardener’s office, would you believe?’

‘No tent? How did you pull that one?’

‘Don’t get too excited. We’re sharing with Wilson and Martel. And the office is twelve by twelve.’

‘We’ve still gone up in the world, I reckon. Lead on!’ He turned to Ralph who was looking uncertainly between the two men. ‘You better scoot now, but thanks for rescuing me.’

‘Before he scoots,’ Eddie put in, ‘I think a reward is in order, and I might have just the thing.’ He fished in one of his trouser pockets and brought out a small bar of chocolate.

‘Chocolate,’ Ralph breathed ecstatically.

‘He can have that later, when he’s finished his lessons.’ The voice was no nonsense but vaguely amused.

Jos turned and saw a girl that he wanted to keep looking at.




Chapter Five (#ulink_8ff1b45c-dede-554f-9ea9-e4af6ced5585)


‘Hi there, Miss Merston,’ Eddie said. ‘You weren’t by any chance intending to bribe this young man with my chocolate?’

‘I might be, if it helps get him to his books.’ She turned towards Ralph. ‘Mrs Summer is asleep right now and we can do some work before she wakes.’

The boy pulled a face. ‘Must we?’

‘Yes, we must. Or I’ll have to tell your father that you’re not studying as you should, and you know what that means. He’ll hire a tutor who’ll make sure your nose never leaves the grindstone.’

Ralph looked deflated and seemed ready to leave, but at the last moment went for delay. ‘This is Jos. He’s just arrived.’

‘Hey, sorry,’ Eddie chimed in. ‘I should have introduced you guys. This is my buddy, Jos Kerrigan. Jos, this is Bethany Merston, school marm extraordinaire.’

Jos hadn’t taken his eyes from the slim figure that stood close by. She wasn’t pretty, in the conventional sense, but she had a liveliness that enchanted him. Everything about her shone: her deep-brown hair glossy beneath the April sun, soft brown eyes sparkling with a hundred different lights. She wore a faded cotton print, the dress so well washed and mended, it was a wonder it still held together. He’d seen first hand the privations suffered by the civilian population, but here they mattered not a jot. Bethany Merston transcended them.

He had to stop. He couldn’t think like that. No involvement with the natives, that was his motto. Particularly the female natives. Those kind of affairs had been left behind in Canada. It had been work, work, work since he arrived in England. He was a professional soldier with a job to do and he needed no entanglements. Entanglement meant feelings and feelings meant loss and he’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime – however long that proved to be.

‘Good to meet you,’ he said stiffly.

He didn’t sound as though he thought it good. Eddie was looking at him curiously but the girl merely nodded in reply, a curt little motion of her head. ‘Come with me, Ralph, time is precious and we mustn’t waste it.’

Slightly bemused, the boy followed after her.

‘That wasn’t too friendly.’ Eddie looked across at him, his forehead puckered. The hazel eyes held a puzzled expression. ‘In fact, it was pretty darn rude and not like you, Jos, not like you at all. What’s up?’

He felt his shoulders tense involuntarily. He didn’t need an interrogation. ‘What should be up – other than I’m hot and tired and I’ve just got back from a wholly useless mission?’

‘I know it was a bad call, but still… you didn’t have to be quite so abrupt. Bethany Merston is a nice woman, real nice.’

‘I’m sure she is, but right now all I want is to offload a kitbag that’s breaking my back and get some food. I haven’t eaten since six this morning.’

Eddie made no reply but remained where he was, fixing his friend with a hard gaze. It seemed he was trying to puzzle something out. Finally, he said, ‘It’s still that woman, isn’t it? The one back in Toronto. Sylvie. Wasn’t that her name?’ His eyes had lost their questioning look and were now shrewd and measuring. ‘Gee, that was an age ago. She must really have messed you up. You just don’t like women any more.’

Jos felt annoyance grow and tried to subdue it. ‘Okay. She messed me up – for a while. But now I’m definitely unmessed and that’s the way I intend to stay. And I’m fine with women but we’re fighting a war, remember, and they’re an unnecessary complication.’

‘They’re one of the reasons we’re fighting,’ Eddie said mildly. ‘Anyway, you needn’t worry about Beth Merston. We hardly see her. C’mon, we go this way.’

For someone Eddie hardly saw, he appeared remarkably friendly with Beth Merston, but Jos kept this reflection to himself. Eddie’s success with women was legendary and it was unlikely Miss Merston would remain immune. Few women did.

‘No,’ his friend continued, as they started along the gravel path that wound its way to the left of the truck park. ‘She’s nearly always up there.’ He jerked a shoulder towards the house. ‘The old lady keeps her busy; she needs a lot of looking after by all accounts.’

He was glad to hear it. Whatever he’d said to Eddie, meeting Bethany Merston had given him a jolt. Something about her had reached down and tugged at his soul, and he needed to stamp on the feeling instantly. Sylvie had led him a merry dance, lying and cheating her way into his life, lying and cheating her way out of her husband’s. The husband of whom Jos had had no idea. He was over that, well and truly over it, and Eddie was wrong that Sylvie had soured him. In the end she’d not been so important, a rare stumble in an abiding reluctance to get involved. But this girl was different. Every instinct was warning him that she was a far greater danger to staying heartwhole than any number of Sylvies. He’d known it the minute he’d looked into her eyes.

His companion stopped outside a line of small buildings. ‘This is it. The one in the middle is ours. It’s about the only habitable part of the whole caboodle. Next door there’s a tool shed and the building at the far end, God knows what that was – it looks like it might have been a john, but primitive isn’t the word.’

Jos followed him over the threshold, bending his six-foot frame to get through the doorway. He reached up and tapped the lintel. ‘Something to remember.’

‘Don’t tell me. I must have knocked out half my brains by now.’

‘You mean there are some left?’

Eddie punched him good naturedly. ‘You’re over there.’

There were four camp beds crammed into the small space, two along one wall and two against the wall opposite. The third side of the room boasted a narrow window, whose panes were so small and so badly streaked with dirt that only the dimmest light made its way through. Once the sun disappeared, Jos thought, you’d hardly see a hand in front of you. Several pairs of trousers, one or two serge battledress jackets and the odd shirt were hanging from nails that had been knocked into the supporting beams.

Eddie saw him looking. ‘Our wardrobe,’ he quipped.

‘And these?’ Jos pointed to his bulging backpack. ‘Do we hang these, too?’

‘Stow it under the bed, if you can.’

He did as instructed and sat down heavily on the knobbly mattress. It didn’t give an inch. ‘Straw,’ he guessed. ‘Ah well, no doubt we’ll be so tired we won’t even notice the lumps. But what about a shower? I could do with one before I report to McMasters.’

‘When you do, he’ll get you to check the camouflage again. I’ve done it twice since I got here. The tents are pretty exposed and he’s obsessive. Ever since he found out about the Messerschmitts. Did you hear about that? They attacked our guys last week at Cuckmere Haven. That’s a few miles down the road and he doesn’t want a repeat. The bastards came skimming over the water at sunrise and up the valley.’

‘I’m fine with the camouflage, I just need to get a wash first.’

‘They’re fixing a washroom for us right now. The men have already got theirs, a couple of shower blocks built in the fields.’

‘And I guess the colonel’s got his. He’ll be up at the house washing in luxury.’

‘He’s billeted there, natch, along with the rest of the senior officers, but I’m not too sure about the luxury. The house is pretty beat up.’

‘Who owns it anyway? It looked a sizeable place on my way up here.’

‘It’s large enough but at one time, I guess, it must have been a good deal larger. Seems there were farms attached. We’re camped on one, though I’m not sure who owns it now. The house and gardens belong to a little old lady called Alice Summers.’

‘And your friend, Bethany, is her companion?’ He didn’t want to talk about the girl and he couldn’t understand why he was.

‘That’s it. Beth looks after her. It was Alice’s husband who built the place. Some time around the turn of the century. Since then, it’s been more or less abandoned – you’re looking at thirty years of decay. No one’s worked the land or maintained the house. And after all the money the guy must have spent on it! By all accounts, he was real wealthy – made his fortune in buttons, would you believe?’

‘So one of the nouveau riche,’ Jos joked. ‘We should feel at home, the nouveau bit at least.’

‘The old man certainly was nouveau, a business man made good, but not Alice. She’s the real deal. Comes from a local aristo family who own next door. That’s where Ralph lives.’

Jos stretched out on the mattress, trying to work his body into the lumps and mould them to his shape. ‘He told me. Some place called Amberley.’

‘That’s the one. His father is the grand seigneur of the village. He’s Alice’s nephew, by the way. I’ve never met the guy myself, but Ralph seems fond of him. His ma is in the States.’

‘So he said, though not why.’

‘I have a theory.’ Eddie flopped down on the far bunk, a grin on his face. ‘I reckon she’s done a runner. She left when war was declared and never came back.’

‘Could be she doesn’t like being bombed night and day.’

‘I don’t think that’s it. The raids here are tip and run. Nothing like London. The bombers only let fly on their way back from the city. There’s been a direct hit on a cinema or two, but otherwise it’s been a breeze. Maybe it’s Ralph’s pa – he’s not to her fancy any more.’

‘Whatever the reason, it’s a shame for the boy. He’s too young to be motherless.’

Jos knew what it felt like to live without a mother. People could be kind, could be caring, but it wasn’t the same. It was like having a spare blanket thrown over you in winter, as you slept; there was always a piece the blanket didn’t cover, a piece that stayed cold.

Eddie yawned. ‘Ralph doesn’t seem too worried. He’s got his father and there’s a mountain of servants to look after him. A different world, my friend. But he’s a great kid. He likes a bit of fun. Yesterday, we made some pretend footprints in the mud right down in the badlands. Where you came in. They were huge, animal paw prints and he persuaded one of those toffee-nosed footmen at Amberley that there was a jaguar prowling Summerhayes. When the guy came over – he’d been instructed to find out what was going on by the butler – they actually have a butler – it was a gas watching him creep around that stinking lake and then find our clay moulds hidden under a bush. The moulds were Master Ralph’s doing. He’s clever with his hands.’

Jos remembered other practical jokes Eddie had played, not all of them well received. He was a great friend and a staunch comrade, but sometimes he crossed the line without ever being aware he had.

‘I’m surprised the boy is here at all,’ was all he said. ‘And I think you’re wrong about it being a breeze. This far south must be a prime target for the bombers. The coast is vulnerable – I imagine we’re close to the sea?’

‘Two miles away. Beautiful beaches, some of them, but off limits for sightseeing. Barbed wire fences and every pebble sown with mines. Well, hopefully not every pebble. I reckon that’s where we’ll be exercising.’

Jos gave a slow nod. ‘It’s going to be a seaborne invasion all right, but where from? Several battalions have been moved east along the Kent coast, but we’ve come west.’

‘A cunning plan by the great and the good?’

‘Most likely. If there’s a large force in Dover, the Krauts will be expecting an assault on the Pas de Calais. But I learnt from a guy at Aldershot that there’s been a big deployment to Scotland, too. That would mean invading through Norway.’

Eddie rustled through an untidy heap on his mattress, looking for a cigarette. ‘It’s so damned hush hush, we won’t be told until the last minute. Are we the deception or the real thing, do you think?’

Jos gave a low whistle. ‘If we’re the real thing, it means we’ll be on our way to Normandy. And that’s ambitious, to put it mildly. The Germans are thoroughly dug in there. They look impregnable. It’ll take a huge amount of planning to get it right, if it’s even possible.’

‘We’ll be the ones to find out. Aren’t we lucky? And pretty soon. To have any chance, it’s gotta be this summer. But hey, no worries. The planning’s done and now it’s just a simple matter of practice.’ He lit his cigarette and puffed contentedly.

‘Or not so simple.’ Jos rolled off the bed and stretched his tall frame as well as he could beneath the low ceiling. ‘Can you imagine the assault – for the infantry, for the crews of the landing craft? How to beach and unbeach. Then the tank crews on how to manoeuvre ashore. You know they’ve converted the tanks to be amphibious? If we’re in the wrong place, or in the wrong order, or if we don’t liaise sufficiently with each other or don’t liaise with the air force or the navy… we could be in for a disaster that’ll make Dieppe seem like a school outing.’

Eddie looked glumly at him. ‘You sure know how to bring a man down.’

The words hung in the air and both fell silent until Jos remembered his unwashed state. ‘I must track down that shower. Coffee would be good when I get back. Then I’ll be up to the house to see McMasters and across the fields to find the men. If your guess is right, we’re on our way to the beach tomorrow.’

‘Looks like it,’ Eddie said. ‘Tomorrow and the next few tomorrows as well.’




Chapter Six (#ulink_a1ebb66d-36e5-5b47-a23c-b6c74550e5a1)


Bethany found the next few hours difficult. Ralph was even less willing than usual to buckle down to his studies and she couldn’t blame him: synonyms and antonyms had none of the appeal of the military. All the boy wanted was to talk about the tanks and trucks and guns he’d watched trundle into Summerhayes that day and, above all, talk of the new friend he’d made. Eddie Rich had been a splendid addition to his world but evidently Jos Kerrigan was as splendid, and Ralph couldn’t stop mentioning him. Jos had made a striking figure, she conceded, but it was a figure she’d no wish to know better. When Eddie had introduced them, the man’s face had changed. Quite distinctly. It had become a mask, stonily indifferent. Perhaps he was one of those men who thought women foolish, fripperies with whom to have fun, but an unwanted nuisance in serious matters.

Ralph had taken at least sixty minutes to labour through the two columns of words she’d prepared, and now he was tapping his pencil against his head and looking longingly towards the kitchen window. A slight stirring from the next room broke the silence. Alice was awake and Beth must attend to her before she took Ralph through his spidery list. The old lady was always a trifle grumpy when she woke, and this afternoon she had been jerked from a deep sleep by the crash of equipment being unloaded just below her window. As Beth had anticipated, she was fractious and it took a while to settle her into a comfortable chair, bring her a glass of water and switch on the wireless to warm. It was almost two o’clock, time for Alice’s favourite – Afternoon Cabaret on the Home Service – though she doubted the old lady understood one in four of Bob Hope’s jokes.

When she went back to the kitchen, Ralph had left his seat and was pressing his forehead against the window, looking wistfully down at the garden. It was a hopeless situation; there was no chance she would get more work out of him today.

‘You can pack up your books,’ she said, admitting defeat, ‘but on one condition.’

Ralph whirled around, an overjoyed expression on his face, and started flinging school books into the leather satchel he carried.

‘I said on one condition,’ she reminded him.

Surprised, he stopped buckling the satchel’s straps. ‘You’re to go straight home. No wandering around the gardens, no talking to the soldiers. Is that understood?’

He looked crestfallen but then nodded his head in agreement.

‘And you learn the final column of synonyms when you get back to Amberley. I’ll test you the next time you come.’

‘That’s a second condition.’

‘Or we can do it right now.’

‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll learn them tonight.’

‘Good. I won’t see you tomorrow but come the next day, in the morning. Mrs Summer will have a visitor with her and we can work in here while they talk. Come around ten o’clock.’

The boy nodded agreement. ‘You’re okay, you know, Miss Merston.’

She smiled wryly. ‘Thank you for your approval, Master Fitzroy. Now go on, hurry home.’

When he’d gone, she checked on Alice and found her smiling quietly at the wireless. All was well. She would have time to begin supper, such as it was. There was no meat again, but plenty of vegetables. Every garden in the village had its own plot and there was still an abundance of winter stock from which to choose. This morning on her way back from the grocer’s, she’d helped herself to a whole bagful from the heap left outside someone’s garden gate. She started to peel the bunch of carrots. The soldiers would almost certainly be eating a great deal better than this. Their kitchens had gone up several days ago, part of the advance guard that included Eddie Rich. No doubt he and his friend were enjoying a ration-free meal right now.

Thinking about it annoyed her. Not the rationing, civilians had known for years the sacrifices they must make. It was thinking about Kerrigan that annoyed her. Ralph, it seemed, wasn’t the only one who had him on their mind. When she’d first seen the man, she’d thought him attractive. He had an open face and she’d liked the way that even with a military cut, a shock of hair had fallen across his forehead. His eyes, too, had charmed – they’d been the blue of a deep ocean, a mystical blue in which you could easily lose yourself. But then she’d seen their expression. That had been decidedly unmystical. Decidedly unfriendly. His frosty manner had sent out warning signals. She should forget the attraction she’d felt. Here was a man who could hurt her, and she had no intention of allowing that to happen. She lacked the confidence, the self-belief, to cope with heartache. Her stepfather had seen to that.

Eddie was different. She had known him only a few days but he was as friendly as he was good looking, and though she was unlikely to succumb to his charm, she enjoyed talking with him. He’d made her a friend, but that didn’t mean his friends had to be hers. True friendship was rare and true love even rarer. What began as hearts and roses soon became an exercise of power. She’d seen that for herself. And men were not essential for a loving life; if you looked hard enough, love was everywhere. She’d found it in the job she did and the children she’d taught and they had repaid her love a hundred fold. Once this interminable war was over, she would be on her way back to London, to begin again to build a life for herself. The last of the carrots splashed into the saucepan and she searched around for matches. Jos Kerrigan would take up not a second more of her time than was necessary. She struck the match with force, then waved it towards the gas ring and promptly burnt her fingers.

Two days later, she was clearing Alice’s breakfast tray when May Prendergast arrived in the kitchen just after nine o’clock. Her friend was short of breath from climbing the two flights of stairs and made her apologies between gasps.

‘Sorry, if I’m putting you out, Beth, but I had to come early. I can’t stay as long as I’d hoped either. I’ve to call on the evacuees as soon as I leave here. We’ve found places for the children but there have been a couple of problems settling them in. And guess who’s sorting that out?’

She took off her coat and hung it on the back of one of the only two chairs the kitchen possessed, then unpinned her hat. ‘How are you anyways?’

‘Fine. It’s been a trifle noisy with the soldiers arriving en masse, but it seems to have calmed now. I imagine they’ve dug themselves in.’

‘Mass is the right word,’ May agreed. ‘There’s certainly plenty of ’em. I walked up from the lodge and there are vehicles and men both sides of the drive, and goodness knows how many in the rest of the gardens and on the farm. But it’s the same in the village, mind. Men, tanks, jeeps. You can’t move without falling over them.’

Beth once more filled the kettle while her friend walked across to the window and glanced down. ‘Another army camp,’ she murmured, looking out across what had once been rolling grassland. ‘Old man Summer will be turning in his grave. This place was his pride and glory.’

‘Needs must, I suppose.’ She tipped a small measure of tea into the pot. ‘He was a button maker, wasn’t he?’

‘That he was – from Birmingham, I heard my mother once say – but buttons or no buttons, he had an eye for beauty, that one.’

‘You must have seen the gardens in their heyday. Were they so very beautiful?’ She poured the weak liquid into two cups and passed one to May, then sat down opposite.

‘They were wonderful, flowers covering the terrace, peacocks on the lawn, and enough fruit and vegetables to feed a town. I was often at Summerhayes in those days, waiting for my mother or doing odd jobs for pocket money. We had a small cottage close by, on the lane leading to the village – so as Ma could look after us, you see, but still be on call at the house twelve hours a day. She was one of the best housekeepers ever.’ The words were said with pride. ‘It was a hard life, but the cottage came rent free and we ate off the estate. That was important for the family – with no father to provide.’

May had never before talked of family; she must have siblings, possibly in the village. ‘You have brothers and sisters then? Where are they?’ And then she wished she hadn’t asked.

‘Just one brother. Joe.’ Her friend’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He was the nicest brother a young girl could have. He was a gardener here, but then he signed up with the rest of them. The First War,’ she said in explanation. ‘I remember that day. A black day if ever there was. Every gardener on the estate downed tools together and then, two by two, they walked to Worthing to enlist.’ She paused and looked down at her cup. ‘He didn’t come back. None of them did.’

Beth cast around for something to soften the difficult moment. ‘If the gardens were as marvellous as you say, the house too, I can understand why Mrs Summer gets distressed at times.’

‘It’s a mournful state the place is in,’ May agreed. ‘Everything crumbled and ruined, and worse now with the army. But then no one wants their house taken over by the military. And no doubt it feels worse for her, knowing that Amberley isn’t suffering likewise. The old lady didn’t have the money or the connections to keep Summerhayes safe, that’s what it was. She didn’t go to Eton or Oxford or belong to a gentleman’s club. Not like Mr Fitzroy – he could make sure his home stayed untouched.’

As if on cue, they heard footsteps on the uncarpeted staircase and seconds later, Gilbert Fitzroy appeared at the open door, trailing a somewhat sulky son. Both women jumped to their feet, May’s knees bobbing the smallest of curtsies. Old habits die hard, Beth thought.

‘I understood you were in London, Mr Fitzroy.’ She was surprised and none too pleased to be entertaining him so early in the morning.

‘I got back late last night and thought I’d make myself useful by bringing young Ralph over.’

She wasn’t sure exactly why he considered this useful, but then she remembered the flowers he’d sent to Alice. She pinned a smile firmly to her lips and managed to stumble out a proxy thank you.

‘I’m glad she liked them.’

He was looking particularly smart, she noticed. He must have bought the clothes in London. New clothing was largely unobtainable now, but if you had money you could probably run to ground anything you wanted.

‘I’m sorry to intrude on you both,’ he went on, ‘but I felt I should make sure Ralph got to his lesson.’ His voice was smooth as cream, but he looked genuinely concerned. ‘At the moment, I’m not certain he’s using your time wisely, Miss Merston. Or would you mind if I called you Bethany? We are working together now – in a manner of speaking – and it seems right not to be so formal.’

She sensed rather than saw May pull a face beside her, but without appearing to notice, Gilbert continued in the same unruffled tone. ‘I was hoping I might see my aunt, too.’ He must long ago have detected Alice’s antipathy, Beth was sure, yet he seemed willing to remain the dutiful nephew.

‘I’ve brought her a new book. Hatchards had it in their window and as soon as I saw it, I thought it was just the thing for her. More flowers, you see, plenty of them.’ He flicked through the pages of the brightly coloured volume he carried. Given the rationing of paper, that too would have been expensive. And she would be the one to read it, since Alice’s eyesight was failing badly and a daily newspaper was often the most she could manage.

‘How kind of you,’ she murmured. It was a good job that she liked flowers as much as her employer.

‘Do you think I might see her? Just a brief chat, I promise. I like to keep in touch with the old dear.’

His smile was friendly enough, though there seemed a lurking shadow of satisfaction that for some reason made her think of a basking seal. ‘I’ll see how she is, Mr Fitzroy. She didn’t have a good night and may not be up to visitors.’ That would be Alice’s get-out.

‘Gilbert, please call me Gilbert.’ He smiled again, this time without guile.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be on first name terms with him. She had been happy with the professional relationship they’d established, but she found herself returning his smile.

‘I’ll be back in a moment. And Ralph, find your homework, and make sure you’re ready for the test we spoke of.’

‘Ah yes,’ his father said. ‘The test. An excellent idea.’

Alice lowered her magnifying glass when Beth appeared in the doorway. The old lady had begun her painfully slow read through the newspaper and was unhappy with this intrusion into her morning routine, but presented with the fact that her nephew was in the kitchen and had brought her yet another gift, she allowed herself to be persuaded.

‘Only a few minutes though,’ she grumbled. ‘You must come and get him.’

Left alone with May and her pupil, Beth was curious. ‘Why did your father bring you today? He’s never done that before and you’ve been coming for several weeks.’

Ralph kicked the table leg with one foot. ‘He says I play too much,’ he announced moodily. ‘And maybe I should be in school – but I don’t want to go away. It’s much more exciting here.’

‘Then you’d better work hard and prove him wrong. I’m taking Mrs Prendergast into my bedroom to finish our tea, but make sure you know those synonyms inside out by the time I get back. And write me some sentences using the first five words on the list.’

Ralph gave a theatrical sigh but obediently picked up his pencil.




Chapter Seven (#ulink_3ad211a5-d050-5d95-8711-6c329bcfe12d)


‘I won’t stay more than a few minutes,’ May said, when they’d decamped to Beth’s bedroom. ‘I can see you’ve got your hands full.’ She jerked her head towards the sitting room. ‘When he’s done, I’ll pop in to see Mrs Summer and then I’ll be off.’

‘He won’t be long,’ Beth said. She found a nook on the window seat while May took the narrow bed. ‘I have strict instructions to rescue her. She seems to have little affection for him.’

‘She can be a difficult woman. Not so much nowadays mebbe, but I remember my mother often coming home in a fury about something the mistress had said or done. It wasn’t that Mrs Summer was harsh or aggressive – no shouting orders, that kind of thing. She was vague and sort of floaty. You couldn’t put your finger on it really, I think that’s what got to my mother. Ma never knew what was wrong, just that something was wrong, and the mistress wouldn’t be happy until it was put right. Just plain irritating, if you ask me.’

‘I think she must have mellowed since then, and I wouldn’t have thought she’d give Gilbert Fitzroy problems. It sounds odd, but once or twice these last few weeks when he’s come to see her, I’ve thought him almost scared.’

‘Gilbert? Scared? He wouldn’t be scared. He’s a deep one, though. Mebbe he’s just keen to keep on the right side of her and wants to make sure he doesn’t put a foot wrong.’

‘Why so keen? Alice is a frail old woman. She’s no hold over him.’

May pursed her lips. ‘You could be wrong there. He’s the heir to Summerhayes. He’ll want to make sure the place comes to him.’

‘But surely it will. She wouldn’t disinherit him?’

‘Who knows? She’s probably too much a daughter of Amberley to do such a thing, but old people get funny ideas in their heads. And she don’t like him, so you never can tell. He’s probably busy buttering his bread on both sides.’

‘He can’t need another estate, though. He has Amberley. What would he want with this wreck of a place?’

May took a long sip of the weak tea. ‘There’s always been bad blood between the families over Summerhayes. The old man, Henry Fitzroy – he was Gilbert’s father – hated the place. He reckoned it was unfairly taken from Amberley.’

‘And was it?’

‘Not that I know of. Nor anyone else. Alice married Mr Summer and he gave the Fitzroys a lot of money, leastways that was the rumour. In exchange, he got Mrs Summer and a large chunk of the Amberley estate.’

‘So if it was all legally tied up, why the problem?’

‘The Fitzroys are the problem, my dear. They’re somewhat crafty and they’ve an exaggerated idea of their own importance. Old man Fitzroy never accepted the settlement.’

‘Do you think Gilbert feels that way, too?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s bound to rub off, isn’t it? In any case, he’ll want Summerhayes to prop up his own estate.’

‘But Amberley is rich.’

‘’Tis at the moment,’ May said cryptically, raising her eyebrows into two large question marks. ‘It’s his wife that funds it, leastways that’s what people say. She hasn’t been near the place since war was declared, and what if she goes for good? There’s rumours they don’t get on, but he needs her, I reckon. He’s overspent on that place, something chronic. She’s some kind of heiress. American.’ May sniffed. ‘If she don’t come back and her money stays with her, he’ll be after Summerhayes. And he’d make a tidy sum on it, even in its present state.’

‘Ralph told me his mother was in New York. It’s strange she’s stayed away so long, but maybe she feels genuinely frightened. The bombing hasn’t been anywhere near as bad here as it has in London but still… I wonder why she didn’t take her son with her.’

‘He—’ and again May jerked her head towards the sitting room ‘—wouldn’t let her. A bit of a row about it apparently, but in any case I don’t think Ida was too worried. Not exactly mother of the year. And it wasn’t just the war to my mind. That was a good excuse for her to pack up and go. Gilbert Fitzroy isn’t everyone’s choice of a husband.’

‘Well, she did choose him,’ Beth said stoutly. ‘So she must have liked something about him. And he’s been good to us. I know the presents for Alice are trivial, she can take them or leave them, but he’s gone out of his way to help. He found us a new cleaning woman and that, let me tell you, is worth its weight in gold. If I had to add cleaning to my duties, I don’t think I’d ever sleep.’

‘Molly Dumbrell, isn’t it?’ May gave a small huff. ‘I’ve heard she’s a good enough cleaner but—’

‘But what?’

‘She’s also no better than she should be, if you know what I mean. And Mr Fitzroy recommended her? Well, well.’

Beth was about to probe this cryptic remark when the opening and closing of the sitting-room door halted their conversation. Evidently Gilbert had been dismissed. Beth, with May following, slipped back into the small hall to meet him and found Ralph by his side.

‘Did she like the book?’

Gilbert smiled ruefully. ‘I’m not sure she did.’

‘Daddy said she put it on the table and didn’t even open it.’

‘Then I’ll try to persuade her to take a look,’ May said briskly. ‘I’ll go in now, if you’ve finished, Mr Fitzroy.’

‘Be my guest. I hope you have better luck than I did.’

Beth was certain her friend would. For the old lady, May was a link to the past, but not such a close link that she brought with her disagreeable memories. Alice would be able to reminisce at will and May could be relied on to say the right things.

‘Well now, Master Fitzroy,’ she turned to Ralph. ‘Time for that test, I believe.’

‘Before you begin,’ Gilbert cut in, ‘I have a proposition for you.’

She was on the alert. He was an attractive man with a very obvious brand of charm. Men were best kept at a distance and attractive, charming men, even more so. It would certainly be foolish to become embroiled in any proposition.

‘I was wondering, Bethany.’ He lingered on her name. ‘Would you consider coming to Amberley to give Ralph his lessons?’

She was momentarily taken aback. It was the last thing she’d expected, but in the surprised silence Ralph piped up, ‘Daddy, no. I’d much rather come here.’

‘I know you would and that’s the trouble. You’re far too interested in the military. And while the army is here, your concentration will be on them rather than on what you should be learning.’

His father was right. Without the distraction of soldiers and tanks, Ralph was bound to give more attention to his lessons.

Gilbert’s smile was affable. ‘I think it’s a sensible idea. By rights, of course, my aunt should be living with us at Amberley. It would certainly make things easier. I’ve tried to persuade her it would be for the best, but she’s incredibly stubborn. Even when a bomb blew her windows out, she refused to move, though one of the Amberley cellars has a first-class shelter. It could house a dozen people. In fact, the whole house has space and you do seem a trifle cramped here.’

That was putting it tactfully. The apartment had been hastily converted from several of the attics that had once taken up the entire top floor of the house. Summerhayes was large; where Beth came from it would be called a mansion, but even so she and Alice were squashed into a modest sitting room, two small bedrooms, an even smaller kitchen and a minuscule hall. It was good of Gilbert to make the offer and it would be bliss to enjoy space and comfort, but she remained unconvinced. The idea of spending whole mornings at Amberley made her uneasy.

‘I couldn’t leave Alice for that length of time,’ she prevaricated. ‘The most I’m ever away is an hour to get to the village and back.’

‘Ripley is still living in the house, isn’t he? I see precious little sign of him whenever I’m here, but he is a pensioner of the estate. He could sit with my aunt while you’re at Amberley. Earn his keep.’ It was said with a smile but the words set her teeth on edge.

When she didn’t respond, he said, ‘Let me know when you’ve had time to think it over. I believe it would work well – for all of us.’ He patted Ralph on the shoulder. ‘See you later, old chap. And mind that you work hard this morning.’

Beth walked with him to the upper staircase and hoped he wouldn’t find a reason to loiter. But when he turned to her at the open door, it was to launch yet another surprise. ‘There’s a dance at the village hall tomorrow night. It’s supposedly to welcome our new defenders, but really it’s a rare chance for the village to enjoy itself. I thought you might like to go. You need a break and I can always give you a lift if you don’t fancy the walk in the dark. The Bentley has just about sufficient petrol. Ripley will do the honours, I’m sure – he’ll enjoy an evening with Alice.’

She doubted that, but Gilbert was down the narrow staircase to the first floor and had disappeared before she could respond. She felt ruffled, the peace of the morning destroyed. She didn’t want to make decisions about Amberley or about a village dance.

When May emerged pink-faced from the sitting room a few minutes later, she appeared almost as ruffled. ‘Phew! She was in a bit of a taking. Goodness knows what he said to her. But she’s much calmer now – I left her settling down for a nap. I must be off, my love, time for me to visit my refugees. And you’ve a refugee of your own to mind.’ She directed a smile towards the kitchen while cramming her hat on her head.

Beth handed her her basket. ‘I hope he takes his father’s words to heart or I’ll feel I’m taking money under false pretences.’

‘The boy will either learn or he won’t,’ her companion said philosophically. ‘It’s not your problem.’

But something else was. ‘May,’ she called out, as her friend made her way down the tightly packed stairs. ‘Should I go to the dance at the village hall? It’s tomorrow evening.’

‘That’s the best idea you’ve had for weeks.’ May beamed with enthusiasm. ‘I’ll come and sit with Mrs Summer if you like.’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to do that. You’ll want to go yourself and Mr Ripley will look after Alice, I’m sure.’

‘She’d prefer it was me. But why do you ask?’

‘Gilbert Fitzroy mentioned it. He offered me a lift to the village.’

May’s eyebrows rose steeply once more, this time forming almost vertical question marks, but she said nothing and made her way down the remaining stairs in silence. It left Beth feeling confused and a little troubled.

They weren’t to exercise on the beach after all, but on the east side of the Adur river. When they landed in France, so the briefing went, they’d need to negotiate river crossings where the bridges had been destroyed by a retreating enemy. A Bailey bridge was the answer and all day they’d practised an assault across the river using portable canvas-sided boats, alongside the engineers building the bridge. It had been a long day before the final vehicles had trundled their way across. Jos was tired in mind and body. Depressed, too. The exercise had shown just how difficult it was to move an army through enemy terrain. And it assumed they had actually landed in France.

It was impossible to see how they were ever to get a foothold in that country, let alone storm the fortifications along the coastline. For soldiers in war, the chance of death was ever present and several times he’d come close to it in Italy, but now it was no longer a chance but a racing certainty. Even as the landing craft ramps were lowered, they would be pummelled by machine-gun fire and artillery shells. If they made it to dry land, they would be throwing their frail bodies against concrete and limb-destroying machinery, crawling upwards across an open beach while the Germans sat prettily in their cliff-top bunkers, annihilating them from a comfortable distance. It was a mad, mad plan and they would need the devil’s own luck to be successful. But he understood that it was the only possibility. They would have to go through with it, risk all, and bear the consequences.

And what, after all, was he leaving behind? Who would grieve for him? His proxy parents who’d cared for him on and off for most of his childhood? Mostly on, since his own father had so often been incapable. And their children, who had been as near to brothers as he was likely to get. But there was only distance now; their lives had taken them in different directions. For a while, they would mourn a lost cousin but three, four thousand miles away, his death would seem like another world. And his father? Unlikely. On good days, he knew his son but there weren’t many of those. Jos’s visits to the hospital were, for the most part, conducted in silence and he would sit guiltily counting the minutes until he could decently leave. The nurses, of course, were relentlessly upbeat. Your father is doing really well. Yesterday, he walked in the garden and helped Charlie pick flowers. Charlie was the ward clerk. He likes Charlie, he talks to him. And there was that veiled accusation. He talks to the ward clerk but not to his own son.

Jos didn’t return to his billet immediately. All the men with whom he shared would be there, and right now he had no taste for company. Instead he wandered down through the gardens, past the tanks, past the temporary cook-and-bath houses, and under the pergola of straggling roses to the abandoned vegetable garden. He would go back to that wild place, he decided, the one where young Ralph had found him and led him out. Out of the wilderness. How biblical it sounded. If only his own wilderness were as easy to leave behind.

When he got to the brick archway, he stopped. Glancing through it to the jungle beyond, he saw that the narrow pathway that he and the boy had made only days before had disappeared and instead an acre of tall grass and overhanging tree ferns lay before him. Did he want to risk the ignominy of getting lost again? But still, something was calling him to walk through the morass, to find his way to that enclosed space at the very bottom of the estate. The badlands, Eddie had called it. And he was right. A sour-smelling ruin if ever there was, yet the need to return was strong. It must be the feeling that he’d dreamt the place, a feeling that persisted even though it was utterly illogical. Dreamt it or read about it perhaps. As a child, books had been a sanctuary amid the turmoil of an unhappy home, and he had been a voracious reader. He had loved tales of England, of knights and horses, of palaces and jousts. He must have borrowed a book from the library that mentioned Summerhayes, though he doubted the estate had ever seen a knight or a joust. Horses maybe, before the motor car displaced them.

Reluctantly, he turned back. He had wanted to find the garden again, walk the cracked pathway, circle the stagnant lake and pay homage to its shattered temple. But now was not the time. He had work to do and he needed a shower and a change of clothes. A day submersed in water meant he smelt of river weed himself.

When he got back to the small brick building, Eddie was just emerging, a towel slung over his shoulder. ‘Down to the showers, my friend, we’re going dancing.’

‘You may be, but not me.’

‘Don’t be a grouch. It’s just a village do – they want to welcome us to the bosom of their community.’

‘This is community enough. I’m happy to stay here.’

‘There’ll be a band,’ Eddie tempted. ‘And you know you love swing.’

‘I can imagine what kinda band.’

‘It’ll be the real thing. A couple of the guys were saying the village has hired a gang from Brighton. That’s the local fun palace. It should be good.’

‘Then go and enjoy. I’ve a report to write for McMasters on today’s hullabaloo. We avoided disaster by the skin of our teeth and there’ll need to be a rethink.’

‘You can do it tomorrow. Manoeuvres have been cancelled and we’re being stood down.’

‘How did that happen?’ Jos had been preparing for another day of punishment and was taken aback.

‘Our near disasters won’t have gone unnoticed. I guess the colonel will be doing his own rethink, so maybe you don’t need to write that report after all.’

‘Then God knows what’ll be in the new plan.’

‘You won’t know until tomorrow. So, c’mon, spivvy up and let your hair down.’

‘Thanks for the invite, Ed, but I’m beat.’

‘Me too, but never too tired to dance.’ Eddie looked at him closely. ‘Sure it’s not because there’ll be women there?’

Eddie was closer to the truth than he realised. But it wasn’t women he wanted to avoid; it was one particular woman. He hadn’t been able to get her face out of his mind. He needed to keep clear of her or she would get under his skin. She had got under his skin. But no further.

‘Chicken,’ Eddie taunted.

His friend wasn’t giving up. And how likely was it that Bethany Merston would be there? She had her old lady to look after. He gave in.

‘Okay, okay. I’ll come.’




Chapter Eight (#ulink_edc48e6a-aaea-59e9-a5af-09b909c16a78)


She was tempted by the dance, she couldn’t deny it. Whenever she’d had the opportunity, she had loved to dance, but she was unsure of leaving Mrs Summer in Ripley’s care. It was true the old lady had seemed more settled in recent days. Elizabeth was no longer a name on her lips and she appeared to have forgotten the letters. Beth had continued to keep a sharp eye out for the postman, collecting any mail from the panelled hall immediately it arrived, but there had been no further alarms. She began to hope that the letters had stopped, though why they should have done was as much a mystery as to why they’d begun in the first place. But although Alice had recovered her placidity, leaving her for an entire evening was a step in the dark and Beth hesitated. Mr Ripley, though, when she talked to him, seemed unfazed by the idea and assured her that he and the mistress would be fine.

‘Just put her to bed, Miss Merston, and I’ll read to her. Or we’ll listen to the wireless together. And I’ll make sure she gets her nightcap.’

‘I’m not certain when the dance will finish. It could be late.’

‘It’s no matter. Once she’s asleep, I’ll leave her in peace and doze in here.’ They were in the sitting room. ‘You deserve a bit of a break. I know it’s not easy.’

‘Mrs Summer is no problem.’ And to be honest, she wasn’t. It was the unvarying nature of their daily routine that could be wearisome.

The old man shook his head knowingly. ‘She is and she isn’t. It were always the same. Mind you, it were her husband who were the real problem. Old Summer could be a hard man, though a fair enough employer. But Mrs Summer was always fidgeting over the household arrangements, never quite telling you what she wanted. I don’t think half the time she knew herself. It fair drove Mrs Lacey and me to distraction.’ Since this was very much what May had said, Beth could well believe him. ‘But you leave her to me, I can deal with her.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised him.

‘Mind you do more than think about it.’

It was a kind offer but it wasn’t only Alice preying on her mind. If she went to the dance, what should she do about Gilbert’s offer? Probably accept it. It was just a lift. He could have no personal interest in her; he had a wife for heaven’s sake. But when they’d first met, his handshake had lasted just a little too long and, several times since then, she’d surprised him gazing intently at her. But she was allowing her imagination to become lurid. The offer of a lift wasn’t a date, and the dance itself was simply to welcome the Canadians to the village.

They were another problem, of course. Why did she keep finding problems? Eddie was certain to be there. He wouldn’t be able to resist the fun, and he’d take plenty of comrades along with him. If Jos Kerrigan were one, he most definitely wouldn’t be fun, and she didn’t fancy dancing her heart out while he scowled from the fringe. She was sure that Eddie would try to persuade him into going, but the more she thought of it, the more certain she became that he would fail. Lieutenant Kerrigan was unlikely to be a man who’d enjoy a village hop. And the thought of dancing, of throwing off the dreary pattern of wartime life for just one evening, was intoxicating. She weighed up the arguments.

She would go. She would go and enjoy herself despite the fact that her one best dress had faded slightly in the wash and her second best pair of shoes were scuffed at the heel. She feared the sole was coming loose, too – all the more reason to give them one last outing. Her frock and shoes were dowdy, but at least she could make something of her hair. Instead of tying its length at the nape of her neck she would pin it up, winding it into soft layers and pulling down a few tendrils to frame her face. While Alice slept that afternoon, she practised and after several unsatisfactory attempts, managed something with which she was happy. A puff of powder and a smudge of lipstick and she would be fine. No one would notice her dress. Outside, the blackout reigned and once inside the village hall, the lighting would be mercifully dim. She would dispense with Gilbert’s lift, she decided, and walk there by torchlight. That way, she would feel in no way bound to stay with him for the evening.

Her plan went like clockwork. Alice was amenable to being put to bed ahead of time and for once seemed excited by the evening ahead. She had demanded that Ripley bring the pack of playing cards and was looking forward to gin rummy and to beating her old butler. It was doubtful how accurately either of them would decipher the cards, but Beth was sure they would enjoy the sparring. She laid out the tray for the nightly cocoa, and a small plate of biscuits for them both. Before she left, she did a last twirl in front of the half mirror that was all her bedroom offered, and thought she looked passable. Her hair was positively elegant. Everything had gone swimmingly, so why was her stomach clenched tight? It must be that she’d become so unused to social occasions that taking herself to one felt as though she were climbing a very high mountain. But climb she did and, flashing her torch from side to side along the country lane, she reached the village without mishap. It was fortunate that all military activity had been suspended that evening. She would have hated to be forced again into a ditch and ruin the one decent outfit she possessed.

From the moment she reached the top of the main street, she could hear the music. A swing band was playing and they were surprisingly good. She found herself walking to the rhythm of the notes, the music growing louder as she made her way down the street and turned left into the narrow alley that led to the village green and the hall at its western edge. She was brought up short by seeing a sizeable group of soldiers gathered outside the building. All of them were carefully groomed and pressed, their shoulder flashes bearing the single word Canada, and their uniforms barely distinguishable from their British counterparts’, except for a better material and a more stylish cut. She was unsure whether or not to go on, and the men seemed equally uncertain, loitering outside the entrance. Then the door was flung open and May stood on the threshold. Several young girls in their best frocks appeared in the doorway beside her.

‘Bethany, you’ve come.’ Her friend peered through the darkness at her. ‘It’s good to see you. And you chaps,’ she said to the hesitating soldiers, ‘do come in.’

‘Yes, please come in. We need you to get the dance going,’ one of the girls said. And that seemed sufficient invitation for the men to throw away their cigarettes and a trifle sheepishly allow themselves to be escorted inside.

The red, white and blue bunting used on the village green for every Empire Day since the turn of the century had been strung from beam to beam along the walls and across the ceiling. It gave the hall the look of a liner about to set sail. The old-fashioned wall brackets had been draped with branches of forsythia, and the lights shining through the foliage bounced a bright yellow around the walls and splashed the floor with colour. Each wooden board had been brought to sparkling life, every inch diligently polished with beeswax from the local hives. That must have hurt a few knees, was Beth’s first thought.

May pressed a glass of homemade lemonade into her hand. ‘Nothing stronger, I’m afraid. Not at the moment. The men are sure to produce something more exciting once they relax.’

‘They do seem a little stiff.’

‘Shy, would you believe? But the lasses will untie their tongues.’

She wondered what else would be untied during the evening. Already several of the young women wore flushed faces and one of them sported a blouse half unbuttoned from her exertions.

‘Great to see you, Miss Merston. I hoped you’d come.’

It was Eddie Rich, freshly laundered, and looking as handsome as a Greek god. She glanced in the direction from which he’d come and saw Jos Kerrigan standing in the shadow of a supporting pillar, his face devoid of expression.

Eddie took hold of her hand. ‘And you’re tapping your feet already. Definitely time to dance.’ She was reluctant to agree; it was just what she’d feared, having to dance beneath an unfriendly gaze. But before she could refuse, Eddie had propelled her onto the dance floor where the band had changed rhythm and was playing a quickstep. For several seconds, she felt her feet fumbling for the steps, but he was an excellent dancer and it took only a short while for her to be skimming smoothly across the polished floor.

‘Hey, you’re a real shincracker, Miss Merston.’

‘A good dancer? I’ve a very good partner. And please call me Beth. Miss Merston is beginning to sound odd.’

‘Beth it is,’ he said, steering her around the curve of the dance floor and narrowly missing a frowning Jos. She looked up at her partner and smiled. In this light, Eddie’s eyes were almost golden. He was impossibly good looking, but he posed no threat to her peace of mind and she felt herself relax into his friendly clasp.

‘I hoped you’d find time to come tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to see a familiar face.’

‘I’ll always find time for dancing.’

‘Even after today’s exercise?’

‘It was tiring, sure, but we’re pretty well settled at Summerhayes now. It’s beginning to feel like home. But you didn’t bring Ralph with you and I was looking forward to seeing him.’

‘I didn’t mention the dance to him, but in any case I doubt he’d be allowed to come.’

‘That’s a pity, but it won’t stop us. And if my ear is tuned right, the fun’s just beginning. It’s the jitterbug.’

‘You dance that?’

‘Don’t I just. And if you don’t know it, I’ll teach you.’

And when the band began to play, she found herself being pushed this way and that, twisting and turning to the beat, so that in a short time she was completely breathless. ‘I shall be begging for mercy any moment,’ she said, tipping her head back and laughing aloud.

‘No mercy. Not from this guy.’ Eddie, too, was laughing.

But when the jitterbug music faded and the band segued into a foxtrot, Eddie whirled her towards the side of the room. Only fair, she thought. There must be plenty of girls he wanted to dance with, and she couldn’t cling to him as her one and only friend of the evening.

Small groups of soldiers were gathered around the edge of the dance hall, talking, smoking, some drinking. She noticed that several bottles of whisky had made their appearance alongside the lemonade. The evening could be heading towards rowdiness, and that would be the time to leave. Skilfully, Eddie weaved a path through the slow-moving couples, pivoting her across miraculously opened spaces to the very edge of the dance floor. With one last twirl, he bumped her to the side of the room and into Jos Kerrigan. Kerrigan’s face remained impassive, his features moving not a jot, even when a warm Beth was spun into his arms. But instinctively he put out his hands to catch her.




Chapter Nine (#ulink_c1cdf292-09e9-5000-95c3-3266cbda0001)


‘Go, guy. Enjoy the dance,’ was Eddie’s parting injunction, as he cut across the floor towards the glamorous redhead he must have spied earlier.

Beth tried to disentangle herself, growing hotter by the second. ‘I’m sorry. Eddie is…’

‘Eddie is a menace.’ His tone was surprisingly gentle. ‘But he’s set us up to dance, so why don’t we?’

She could think of several reasons but she liked the way he was holding her. And liked fresh tangy scent. Slightly dazed, she nodded agreement and together they slipped back into the mingle of dancers. The rhythms of a slow foxtrot allowed her to catch her breath, though not for long. Dancing with Jos Kerrigan, she found, was not conducive to a stable pulse. Whereas Eddie had been fun, flinging her this way and that but never once losing the beat, Jos held her close, as though she were something precious. And while she danced with him, she felt she was. The slow, sensual rhythm gradually entwined them, their warmth seeping into each other. It was the oddest feeling, as though their individual bodies had become a single entity, wrapped and enclosed within the strains of the music. She daren’t look at him to discover whether he felt it too, but instinct told her he must.

They were coming to the end of the dance; the music faded and the band readied themselves for a new number. He still held her close and, shamefully, she wanted nothing more than to stay right where she was. But a disturbance behind them made them both turn. A man was pushing his way across the dance floor to reach them.

‘I thought it was you, Bethany. I spotted you from the doorway. Sorry I’m a bit late, a last-minute hitch, but why didn’t you telephone? You should have let me call for you.’ Gilbert nodded briskly at Jos, as though he had only just noticed him.

Jos allowed his arms to drop and she felt the coldness they left behind. She wanted to say something, something to rescue the moment, but her mind was empty. In the awkward pause, Gilbert took his chance and reached for her hand. ‘Shall we?’

She looked for Jos, but he had turned on his heels and was lost once more among the smokers and whisky drinkers.

‘A waltz,’ Gilbert said. ‘How traditional, but very enjoyable.’

She had to acknowledge that he was a decent dancer, but the magic of the evening had gone. Fatigue was setting in and growing by the minute and when, after two consecutive dances, he proposed finding a drink, she braced herself to say goodbye. ‘To be honest, Gilbert, I think I should go home. Mr Ripley is minding Alice, but I’m reluctant to leave him too long. He’s no longer a young man. He’ll be tired, he’ll want to get to bed.’

She saw a shadow of annoyance pass across his face. ‘You must go, of course.’ There was a false heartiness in his voice. ‘But I insist on driving you.’

‘There’s really no need. I’ve a powerful torch and I can easily find my way. And you’ve hardly danced. Stay and enjoy the rest of the evening.’

‘I’ve danced enough to satisfy the village. The old noblesse oblige thing, you know. And I wouldn’t dream of letting you walk home alone at this hour.’ She wondered what he imagined might happen to her along a quiet country lane. ‘In any case, it’s my fault for turning up so late.’

She would have preferred to go alone, but his insistence made escape difficult – unless she were prepared to make a scene. And she wasn’t.

‘I’ll get my coat,’ she said.

‘Good. The Bentley is parked in the High Street. I’ll meet you there.’

The night air gave her a shock, but after the cloying thickness of the hall, it felt invigorating. A group of young soldiers stood to one side of the door enjoying the freshness of the evening. She heard a scuffling and saw several couples shrink from sight into the bushes opposite. Pulling her coat tightly around her, she brushed past a tall figure standing to one side of the group. She knew, even in the darkness, that it was Jos. He stiffened as she walked past, but didn’t say a word.

‘Over here,’ Gilbert called, waving to her from the junction. The car was parked a few paces away, its silver bodywork gleaming beneath a moon that, for the first time that evening, had swum free of the clouds.

Within minutes they had left the village behind. He drove fast but expertly along the lane she had walked earlier.

‘I hope you won’t find that my aunt has been difficult.’ He half turned his head to check her response. He wanted to talk, and she felt she owed him that at least since she’d brought him away from the dance far too early.

‘I’m sure she’s been fine – as long as she’s won. I left her playing cards with Mr Ripley,’ she said in explanation.

In the driving mirror, she saw him give a wry smile. ‘The butler playing cards with the mistress? What a topsyturvy world we live in.’

‘I don’t think Mrs Summer thinks of him as her butler any more. He’s just Ripley, an old man who shares her house.’

‘Aunt Alice doesn’t think much at all, does she? I don’t like to say this, Bethany, but it’s struck me recently that she isn’t all there up top, if you know what I mean.’

She was startled and hastened to reassure him. ‘She’s a little vague, I know, but that’s just her way. Her mind is fine. If ever she’s confused, I think it’s because she finds life at Summerhayes so different now.’

‘I imagine she does. Who wouldn’t? The other day when I called, I had a good look around the house and it’s a mess. The panelling is scratched, the floors are ruined – when I was a boy, they were a brilliant golden oak. The shine on them could outdo the sun and as for the decorative glass! Boys don’t usually notice these things, but I do remember the way those glass panels threw amazing colour into every room.’

‘Then I’m glad she can’t see what the house has become.’

‘No, indeed. Best she stay within her own four walls. I reckon some of the furniture is missing, too, and that would upset her greatly.’

‘I wouldn’t know. The house is much the same as when I came in January, except that Mrs Summer has sold some of the paintings.’ But not Elizabeth’s, was her unspoken thought. ‘Perhaps it’s the pictures you’ve missed rather than the furniture.’

‘I was thinking more of the huge sofa that used to be in the drawing room. It was upholstered in the best velvet. And the ladder back chairs in the dining room. They were designed by Philip Webb and would cost a fortune now.’

He took the final bend at speed but was quick to correct the car. ‘I suppose we should be glad there’s still furniture left and that the panelling hasn’t been torn down for firewood. My aunt’s husband was a modern man, but even he didn’t manage central heating and these old houses are cold.’

‘Tear the panelling down?’ She looked nonplussed. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘Plenty, or so I hear. Military men don’t like being cold.’

She gave a little puff of breath. ‘Thank goodness it’s April then and we needn’t worry. Not for a few months at least.’

‘If rumour has it right, we can forget worrying for longer than that. A grand invasion is on the cards in the not-too-distant future and our Canadian friends will be in the thick of it.’

Her heart flinched. An image of Jos Kerrigan lying dead on a French beach had her squeezing her eyes shut, trying to erase the picture.

Gilbert swept the car off the lane and brought it to a halt at the lodge gate. He rolled his window down as the sentry approached. ‘Just taking this young lady home, soldier.’ There was a satisfaction in his voice that she didn’t like.

The sentry flashed a torch into the darkness of the car and, recognising Beth’s face, waved them through. As soon as they drew up at the front entrance of the house, she had the car door open and was clambering out. She’d no wish to dally.

‘Thank you for the lift, Gilbert. It’s kind of you to go out of your way.’

He cut her thanks short. ‘I hope you’ll be coming to Amberley, as I suggested. I’ve had a room made ready and Ralph has moved all his books and papers there.’

He was putting her on the spot and he knew it. When she hesitated, he pressed further. ‘At least give it a chance. If you don’t think the arrangement works, there’s no harm done.’

It was all so reasonable there was little she could do but agree.

‘Tomorrow then. I’ll call for you. Around ten o’clock, shall we say?’

Before she reached the top of the stairs, she saw that the door of the apartment stood wide open. Her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. She ran up the last few stairs and into the tiny hall. An eerie quiet blanketed the apartment. Where was Mr Ripley? She tiptoed into the sitting room, thinking that perhaps he had fallen asleep and forgotten to lock the front door. It was always kept locked. There were too many people on the move in and out of the estate, and in the general confusion anyone could evade the duty sentry by climbing over the perimeter wall and walking into the house unnoticed and unchallenged.

But the sitting room was empty. Had Mr Ripley returned to his attic room and left the door temporarily ajar? It was unlikely and her stomach tightened. She must make sure that Mrs Summer was safely asleep. But when she pushed open the door to Alice’s bedroom, she saw immediately, even in the near dark, that the bed was empty. Panic clawed at her. The elderly woman had gone. Somehow she must have opened the front door and crawled down the stairs to the ground floor. Even now she must be wandering the gardens with poor Ripley in pursuit. Why ever had she gone to the dance? It was the stupidest thing she could have done.

As she stood there, she heard a noise. It was coming from the far corner and she pushed the bedroom door further ajar so that the light from the hall fell diagonally across the floor. Then she saw her – and nearly fainted with shock. Alice was at the window. The curtains had been drawn back, the blackout rolled up, and light blazed across the concrete below, an open invitation to any passing German plane. The old lady’s hands were splayed across the glass as though she were trying to thrust her way through its panes. Periodically she beat her forehead against the window, all the time emitting a barely audible moan. Now Beth’s ears were attuned, she shivered at the sound; it was like that of a small, wounded animal. Had Gilbert been right when he’d suggested, just minutes ago, that his aunt’s mind was as fragile as her body?

As softly as she could, she walked over to the half-prostrate figure and took her by a night-gowned arm. ‘Mrs Summer, it’s me, Bethany. You must come back to bed.’

But Alice refused to move. She was surprisingly strong and her figure grew more rigid with Beth’s attempts to loosen her clasp on the window. And all the time she continued the soft moan, though it had grown noticeably harsher the minute she’d felt the touch of a hand. It was the most dreadful sound and Beth could feel her scalp spiking with fear.

‘Mrs Summer,’ she repeated. ‘You will get cold if you stay out of bed. Let me help you back.’

This time Alice must have heard her because she twitched her head and breathed heavily, opening and shutting her mouth, as though she were suffocating. Struggling to get words out, but finding it impossible.

Beth stayed holding her fast, until finally the elderly body collapsed against her and Alice found the words she’d been seeking. ‘They’re there,’ she said, and then kept on saying, ‘They’re there, they’re there. I can’t get to them. But I must.’

Beth was seriously alarmed. Gilbert’s prophecy seemed to be coming true before her eyes. ‘Please come away from the window,’ she pleaded.

‘I can’t,’ Alice said simply. ‘I have to get to them. I have to get to Elizabeth.’

The letters may have stopped, at least temporarily, but it was clear that Alice had not forgotten. The desire to be reunited with her daughter still burnt bright.

‘Elizabeth isn’t there,’ Beth said softly.

‘Yes, yes. She’s there,’ Alice insisted. ‘She’ll be with Joe, you’ll see, she’ll be with the others.’

Somehow she had to get the old lady safely back into her bed. She would need to use cunning. ‘You can’t reach them through the window so why don’t we wait for them here? They’ve seen you now and they’ll come. You can wait for them in bed. You’ll be warmer there.’

Alice turned and stared at her for what seemed like minutes. Then she let go of the glass and allowed herself to be led towards the bed. With difficulty Beth steered the tired figure onto the mattress and covered her gently with sheet and quilt, then strode back to the window and reeled down the blackout, pulling the curtains smartly closed.

‘Rest a while, and I’ll make you a hot drink,’ she told her. ‘You’ll feel much better for it.’ Alice lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

It would have to be cocoa again, which meant three cups in one day and their ration was dwindling fast. But there was no help for it. She must lull the poor woman to sleep and hope that slumber would clear her mind, and that by morning she’d realise whatever she’d seen had been imaginary.

The kettle had reached a brisk boil when Mr Ripley staggered through the still open front door. Beneath the naked electric light, his face was an unhealthy crimson. His few strands of hair were impossibly tangled and the old cardigan he wore was scattered with small pieces of broken twigs and odd leaves. He tottered towards her, leaving muddy footprints on the kitchen floor.

She felt immense relief. ‘Thank goodness you’re back. But whatever’s happened?’

His breath was coming in great heaves and when he was finally able to speak, his voice rattled in his chest. ‘She saw a ghost, Miss Merston, on the lawn. She didn’t call it a ghost, mind. She said he was real.’

A distorted imagination, as she’d thought, but she still found herself asking, ‘Did Mrs Summer say who it was that she saw?’

‘Oh yes, it were Joe Lacey. She were certain of it.’

‘May Prendergast’s brother?’

Ripley nodded. His breathing was gradually returning to normal. ‘He had his gardening apron on, and twine around his trousers and she said he was wearing his old felt hat. She reckons they’ve come back, the gardeners that is. All of ’em. And they’ve brought Elizabeth with them.’

Somehow, that made things worse. ‘And you went to investigate?’

Again Ripley nodded. ‘I had to. She were fair beside herself. I thought if I looked as though I were doing something, it would calm her down.’

‘And was there anyone there?’ She felt stupid even asking the question.

‘No. Not a thing. I searched what’s left of the lawn and the rest that’s under concrete, just in case. Then I went round every bush and every tree that she can see from her window.’

That explained his dishevelled appearance. He’d had no torch and must have felt his way in total darkness. He was well over seventy and she dreaded to think what harm he might have come to.

‘You did your very best. You must sit down and rest.’

She’d been tardy in offering him a chair but, still bewildered from the encounter with Alice, she wasn’t thinking clearly. The sight of the old lady in that long white nightgown trying to push her way through the window had been terrifying. She was realising now just how terrifying. They had managed to avoid a major calamity, but only just.

She left Mr Ripley slumped in the kitchen chair and went back to Alice to check on her. At the door, she saw the old lady had drifted into a deep sleep. A mercy. And one cup of cocoa was going spare.

‘Here,’ she said to Ripley when she returned to the kitchen. ‘You should drink this.’

‘That’s kind of you, Miss Merston. I’m feeling a bit shook up, I have to say. I’m not as young as I was, not for midnight rambles.’

‘Indeed not, and you must never do that again. But I know you wanted to help her and I appreciate what you were trying to do.’ She reached out and clasped his hand.

‘I didn’t like to see her in such a taking. I went back to collect my book, you see – I’d left it on her bedside table – and then I found her, out of bed and trying to get through the window. Leastways, that’s how it looked. It gave me a real turn. I thought if I went down to the garden to investigate it would pacify her, but it didn’t.’

Beth shook her head, remembering the scene all too vividly. ‘I doubt anything would have pacified her – except perhaps sleep. What do you think actually happened?’

‘I don’t rightly know. Perhaps she heard a noise and got out of bed to look. She might have caught sight of something blowing across the garden. The soldiers leave so much rubbish around, and there’s been a wind getting up these last few hours. Mebbe she thought it were a figure, a real person.’

‘And decided it must be the one person she wanted to see.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘Miss Elizabeth must be dead. At least, I reckon so. She’s been gone thirty years and not a word. I’ve known that girl since she was so high, and if she were alive, I know she’d have written. But the mistress never would believe it. Master William afore he died tried to make her see sense. He’d waited for his sister for years, but in the end he decided she weren’t coming back. It made no difference. His ma kept saying that Elizabeth was alive and that she would come back – to her mother.’

He paused and rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘It’s funny really. The old lady were always closest to her son, or so it seemed to all of us. But it’s her daughter she misses most.’

Beth thought about it. ‘Maybe she can accept her son’s death more easily. She knows for certain that he’s gone. She buried him after all. But Elizabeth is different. She doesn’t know what happened, so her daughter remains tantalisingly alive for her.’

Ripley rubbed his chin again. This was a little too whimsical for him. Beth brought the discussion back to earth again. ‘Why did she decide it was Joe Lacey she saw?’

‘I thought of that,’ he said proudly. ‘I reckon it were Mrs Prendergast coming here the other day. It reminded her of Joe and all the men who worked with him in the gardens.’

‘So if all these people from the past were coming back to see her, it must follow that Elizabeth would be among them?’

‘I reckon so. Hallucination they call it, don’t they?’ The cocoa was working wonders.

‘They do, Mr Ripley,’ she said sadly. ‘They do.’




Chapter Ten (#ulink_f0184c87-c1b1-545a-a4e3-ec857f7b322c)


Gilbert was at the front door of the apartment before she’d had time to wave Molly Dumbrell off the premises and talk to Mr Ripley about the morning ahead. She felt flustered and irritated. It was a kind gesture to drive over from Amberley, but it hadn’t been necessary. The walk there was two miles at most and she had little to carry, but here he was already, under her feet and pacing the worn hall carpet. He was in the way of Molly and her brush and the two of them did a small dance around each other. The girl had turned an unusually bright shade of red and, for a moment, May’s unfathomable remark seemed to make sense. But in another, Beth had dismissed it. Village gossip, she thought, and rushed into her bedroom to collect handbag and hairbrush. Through the window, she saw the Bentley parked on the front drive, its silver bodywork gleaming in the morning sun.

‘Ralph can’t wait to get started,’ Gilbert threw at her as she ran back into the hall. ‘He’s already at his desk.’ His joviality was edged with impatience; having his son ensconced at Amberley must mean a good deal to him. ‘He seems happier now that he’s on home territory.’

She thought it unlikely but stopped herself from saying so. Instead, she sped past him to the kitchen and hurriedly packed away the breakfast dishes. Ripley had followed her and stood in the doorway.

‘Mrs Summer has had her pills,’ she told him, ‘but could you put the bottle back?’ She handed him the Veronal tablets. ‘Top shelf of the bathroom cabinet. And don’t worry about lunch. I’ll be home in good time.’




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