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‘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.
