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‘It’s a lovely evening. Shall we put cardies on, and have it on the terrace?’
Jeannie said it was a good idea, and was there any parkin left?
‘We ate it all, but Mum and Dad might come up for the day, next week, and she’ll bring some with her. I particularly asked her to. I thought they might’ve come on Sunday, but Dad’s busy, judging at flower shows.’
We sat there without speaking because Jeannie had closed her eyes and was taking long, slow breaths.
‘Penny for them,’ I said when I’d had enough of the quiet.
‘I was just thinking that I could get out of publishing,’ she smiled, holding out her empty cup, ‘if I could find a way to bottle this air. People in London would pay the earth for it.’
‘Then before you do – give up publishing, I mean – I think I ought to tell you that I’m getting ideas about the next book.’
‘Good girl. That’s what I like. Unbridled enthusiasm. Got anything of a storyline worked out?’
‘We-e-ll, what would you say if I told you it would have Deer’s Leap in it, and the year would be 1944? Will war books be old hat by the time I get it written?’
‘Dunno. Depends on who’s writing them, and the genre. Would it be blood and guts, sort of, or a love story?’
‘A love story – and tragic.’
‘A World War Two Romeo and Juliet, you mean?’
‘Mm. I was talking to Bill on Wednesday night. He told me there had been a lot of crashes hereabouts and that Acton Carey wasn’t a very safe place to be.’
‘And you feel strongly enough about that period to write about it with authority? There are a lot of people alive still who would soon let you know if you got anything wrong.’
‘I’ll tell you something, then.’ It was my turn to take a long, deep breath. ‘When I was at the library I saw a book about all the Bomber Command airfields in Lancashire during the war and bombing raids flown from Acton Carey are all listed in it. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get all the details. The Lancasters must have gone somewhere else, because in July 1944 the American Army Air Corps took the place over.’
‘I wonder where those squadrons of Lancasters went.’ Jeannie was getting interested.
‘I don’t know. But I did see the war memorial in the village. Remember Danny said the names of a crew that crashed hereabouts were included with the local dead?’
‘Yes. But I wonder why one particular crew, when there must have been a lot of crashes …’
Jeannie was interested, all right. It gave me the courage to jump in feet first and say, ‘I can’t tell you that, but I’m going – just this once – to talk about someone we agreed not to talk about again.’
‘Your ghost? I knew we’d get round to him sooner or later!’
‘His name was Jack Hunter,’ I rushed on. ‘There’s a J. J. Hunter on that memorial and the date is 8 June. It was one of the last raids flown before the Royal Air Force left Acton Carey. In the book it says it was a daylight raid on a flying bomb site in France.’
‘So why can’t he accept it? Doesn’t he know he’s on a war memorial?’
‘I don’t think he’s grasped the fact yet that he’s dead. I think,’ I said, not daring to look her in the face because I didn’t think, I knew, ‘that the girl who lived here and the pilot were – well, an item.’
‘And you want to write about them, even though you know he was killed?’
‘I’d use different names. No one would know.’
‘Except the girl who once lived here if she’s still alive. It’s just the kind of book she’d be interested in, she having had first-hand experience, kind of.’
‘I said I’d disguise it. There is a story there, and I’d handle it very gently, Jeannie.’
‘Yes, I do believe you would. You aren’t a little in love with that pilot, are you?’
‘Don’t be an idiot! Why would I want to fall in love with a ghost? Be a bit frustrating, to say the least!’
‘From what you’ve said, he seems the exact opposite of your Piers.’
‘He isn’t my Piers. I’ll admit we had something going once, but it’s wearing a bit thin – on my part, that is. But I don’t find Jack Hunter attractive!’ I crossed my fingers as I said it.
I lay in bed with the windows wide open, listening to the strange, waiting stillness outside; mulling over what we had talked about. And I thought about Jack Hunter too, and his slimness and the height of him and that I had found him attractive. Maybe that was why I wasn’t in the least afraid of him – or what he was. Excited, maybe, when he was around, but no way did he frighten me. That pilot was exactly my type. I’d already decided, hadn’t I, that if I’d been around these parts fifty-odd years ago, I’d have given Susan Smith a run for her money?
Jack Hunter danced perfectly, I knew it, and I felt an ache of regret that I would never dance closely with him. Then I felt relief that every time we kissed I would never know the fear it might be our last.
‘Stupid!’ I hissed into the pillow. Not only did I see ghosts, but I’d fallen in love with one!
I plumped my pillow and turned it over. I wasn’t in love with the man! I only wanted to be, with someone very like him; someone who was flesh and blood and whose kisses were real!
‘Deer’s Leap,’ I whispered indulgently, ‘what have you done to me …?’
Chapter Six (#ulink_d67d3d3f-e8a0-5919-8ae6-31055b4a9424)
I awoke early in need of a mug of tea, after which I would throw open all the downstairs windows and doors – get a draught through the house.
August mornings should be fresh, not oppressive. I looked towards the hills as I let Hector out. Clouds hung low over the fells and there was little blue sky to be seen.
I put down milk for the cats and the clink of the saucers soon had them crossing the yard in my direction. Tommy had not slept on my bed last night, but then cats are known to find the warmest – or the coolest – places and he’d probably slept outside.
I drank my tea pensively, trying to push the words out of my mind that were already crowding there. Today and tomorrow were holidays – even if the weather seemed intent on spoiling them.
Did bad weather stop aircraft taking off and landing during the war? I frowned. Fog certainly was bad – it could still disrupt an airport – but how about snow on runways, and ice? Perhaps conditions like that gave aircrews a break from flying; a chance to go to the nearest pub or picture house. Or scan the talent at some dancehall, looking for a partner who might even be willing to slip outside into the blackout. Did they snog, in those days, or did they pet, or neck? Things – words, even – had changed over the years. Words! My head was full of them again; words to find their way into the next book, even though I was barely halfway through the current one!
I showered and dressed quickly and quietly, then told Hector to stay. I was going to the end of the dirt road to leave money for the milkman.
‘Good boy.’ I gave him a pat, and some biscuits, then shut the kitchen door. If Jack Hunter was at the kissing gate, I didn’t want trouble, even though dogs are supposed to be frightened of ghosts. Cats, too.
As I closed the white gate behind me, it was evident that no one was there. The kissing gate was newly painted in shiny black. Perversely, I touched it with a forefinger and it swung open easily.
There were letters in the wooden box, mostly bills or circulars. Only one, a postcard view of Newquay, was addressed to me.
Having a good time. Weather variable. Hope all is well. D. & B.
I glanced up at the sky. The weather was variable in the Trough of Bowland too. What was more, I’d take bets that before the day was out we would have thunder.
When I got back, Tommy was waiting on the step, purring loudly. I could hear Hector barking and hurried to tell him to be quiet before he woke Jeannie.
I stood, arms folded, staring out of the window. If a prospective buyer looked at Deer’s Leap on a day such as this, I thought slyly, one of its best assets – the unbelievable, endless view – would be lost. I supposed too that the same would apply if they came in winter, when the snow was deep. The view then would be breathtaking – if they managed to make it to the house, of course. Still, even if we had a storm today it wouldn’t be the end of the world. My troubles were as nothing compared to those of Jack and Suzie.
Hector whined, rubbing against me. Lotus was nowhere to be seen, but Tommy prowled restlessly, knowing a storm threatened.
I piled dishes in the sink, then set the table for Jeannie. Like as not she would only want coffee – several cups of it – but laying knives and forks and plates and cups gave me something to do.
Even the birds were silent. A few fields away, black and white cows were lying down. They always did that when rain threatened, so they could at least have a dry space beneath them when the heavens opened. Clever cows!
I turned to see Jeannie standing there, yawning.
‘Hi!’ I smiled. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Hi, yourself.’ She pulled out a chair, then sat, chin on hands, at the table. ‘I woke twice in the night; it was so hot. I opened windows and threw off the quilt then managed to sleep, eventually.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Please. Why is everything so still?’
‘The calm,’ I said, ‘before the storm. We’ll have one before so very much longer. Are you afraid of thunder, Jeannie?’
‘No. Are you?’
I shook my head. ‘Want instant, or a ten-minute wait?’ I grinned.
‘Instant, please.’ She yawned again. ‘You’re a busy little bee, aren’t you? How long have you been up?’
‘Since seven. I’ll just see to your coffee, then I’ll nip down to the lane end and collect the milk before it rains.’
All at once, I wondered how it would be when it snowed. It took me one second to decide that if I lived here I wouldn’t care.
‘We won’t go down to the Rose if the weather breaks, will we?’
‘No point,’ I shrugged. ‘There’s lager and white wine in the fridge. We can loll about all day and be thoroughly lazy.’
‘I’m glad I came, Cassie,’ she smiled.
‘I’m glad you did,’ I said from the open doorway. ‘Won’t be long.’
I didn’t expect anyone to be at the iron gate, or even walking up the dirt road, and I wasn’t disappointed. Ghosts, I reasoned, were probably the same as cats and dogs and didn’t like thunderstorms.
I put a loaf and two bottles of milk into the plastic bag I had learned to take with me, and set off back. It could rain all it liked now.
I wondered if there were candles in the house in case the electricity went off like it sometimes did at home when there was a storm.
I made another mental note to ring Mum tomorrow from the village, then sighed and quickened my step, glad that for two days I had little to do but be lazy.
Jeannie crossed the yard from the outhouse where Beth kept two freezers.
‘I think we might have chicken and ham pie, chips and peas tonight. And for pudding –’
‘No pudding,’ I said severely. ‘Not after chips! And is it right to eat Beth’s food?’
‘Beth told us to help ourselves – you know she did.’
‘OK, then.’ I decided to replace the pie next time I went to the village. ‘And are there any candles – just in case?’
‘No, but Beth has paraffin lamps. Everybody keeps them around here. Are you expecting a power cut?’
‘You never know. It could happen if we get a storm.’
‘Then thank goodness the stove runs on bottled gas! At least we’ll be able to eat!’
‘Do you think of anything but food? No man in your life, Jeannie?’
I had stepped over the unmarked line in our editor/author relationship, and it wasn’t on. Immediately I wished this personal question unasked. I put the blame on the oppressive weather.
‘Not any longer. I found out he was married – living apart from his wife.’
‘No chance of a divorce?’
‘His wife is devoutly Catholic, he said.’
‘He should have told you!’
‘Mm. Pity I had to find out for myself,’ she shrugged. ‘Still, it’s water under the bridge now.’
She said it with a brisk finality and I knew I had been warned never to speak of it again. So instead of saying I was sorry and she was well rid of him, I had the sense, for once, to say no more.
The storm broke in the afternoon. We sat in the conservatory, watching it gather. The air was still hot, but Parlick Pike and Beacon Fell were visible again, standing out darkly against a yellow sky.
‘This conservatory should never have been allowed on a house this old,’ Jeannie said, ‘but you get a marvellous view from it for all that.’ It was as if we had front seats at a fireworks display about to start.
‘Are the cats all right?’
‘They’ll go into the airing cupboard – I left the door open. Hector will be OK, as long as he stays here with us.’ She pointed in the direction of Fair Snape. ‘That was lightning! Did you see it?’
I had, and felt childishly pleased it was starting. I quite liked a thunder storm, provided I wasn’t out in it.
It came towards us. Over the vastness of the view we were able to watch its progress as it grew in ferocity.
‘You count the seconds between the flash and the crash,’ I said. ‘That’s how you can calculate how far away the eye of the storm is.’
We counted. Three miles, two miles, then there was a vivid, vicious fork of lightning with no time to count. The crash seemed to fill the house.
‘It’s right overhead,’ Jeannie whispered.
That was when the rain started, stair-rodding down like an avalanche. It hit the glass roof with such a noise that we looked up, startled.
‘Times like this,’ Jeannie grinned, ‘is when you know if the roof is secure.’
I knew that old roof would be; that Deer’s Leap tiles would sit snug and tight above.
