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‘You’re sure?’ His humorous smile was putting them all on the same side – allies against whatever eccentricity was the other side of the door. It also helped to hide his fear.
The key was stiff and the bolts unyielding. He had opened the door some half a dozen times now, but it never grew any easier and he could never overcome his reluctance to go through it. When at last he managed to push it open they peered into a long dark passage. ‘This,’ he said dramatically, ‘is the west wing. Lady Penelope seals it off more or less completely. I think she prefers to forget it’s there. To be honest, the best plan would be to demolish it.’
They could all feel the cold striking up from the dirty stone floor. The rest of the house was hot and airless in the humid summer heat but here it was abnormally cold.
Victoria felt her mouth go dry. Suddenly her optimism and her excitement had gone. ‘I don’t suppose there is any reason to see it if it’s that bad …’ she said uncertainly. A tangible feeling of dread seemed to surround her, pressing in on her from the cold walls.
‘Nonsense.’ Robert stepped into the passage. ‘What’s wrong with it? Dry rot? Again?’ The again was for William’s benefit. It might help to knock a thousand or so off the asking price.
‘No, not dry rot.’ William glanced at Victoria. He gave a tight protective smile as he saw that she had grown pale. About half of his clients seemed to feel it. The other half walked through without any comment, but even they hurried. He motioned her through ahead of him and reluctantly followed her.
With a quick, doubtful look at him she stepped into the passage after Robert. He had pushed open the first door on the left. Sunlight flooded across the empty room and into the corridor showing up the dust and scattered newspapers on the floor. ‘It’s a good sized room.’ Robert walked across to the window, his shoes sounding strangely loud on the bare boards. He peered out. ‘That must have been a formal garden once.’
‘It still could be.’ William was standing near the door. ‘It only needs tidying up. There are seven acres here. The grounds are one of the best features of the house.’
‘Why is there no mention of this room here?’ Robert had turned back to his brochure. The inconsistency irritated him. He wanted room dimensions and particulars at his finger tips.
‘There is.’ Almost reluctantly William went over to him. He riffled through the pages and stabbed at one with an index finger. ‘There. “Behind the kitchen quarters there is an unconverted wing with the potential for fourteen extra rooms”.’
‘Fourteen!’ Victoria exclaimed in dismay. ‘But that would make the house enormous. Much too big.’
‘It does seem a lot, doesn’t it?’ Once more the disarming charm. ‘The wing was added about a hundred years ago. As I said, I don’t believe anyone ever uses it.’ He glanced over his shoulder uncomfortably. The feeling was worse today; it was beating against his head like the threat of a migraine – fear and pain and nausea, gripping him out of nowhere. He swallowed hard, trying to stop himself retching. ‘Look, Mr and Mrs Holland, would you mind if I left you to wander round for a few minutes. I have to make a phone call from the car …’ He didn’t wait for their reply. Already he was edging out of the room and back along the passage towards the kitchen.
Robert ignored him, but Victoria watched him disappear, fighting the urge to follow him. ‘He doesn’t like it through here, does he?’ she said softly.
‘It does have a bit of an atmosphere.’ Robert squared his shoulders. ‘You want to see it, though, don’t you? I suggest we hurry round this bit, see the upstairs, then we can drive off somewhere and have tea. I’m frozen.’
‘So am I.’ Victoria shivered. ‘And it’s about 80° out there.’
‘It must be damp in this bit of the house.’ Robert walked back into the passage and peered through the next doorway. ‘Another good sized room. And another. Good God, look!’
Victoria stared over his shoulder nervously. In the corner of the room was an enormous heap of old tin hats. Opposite them, near the window, a dozen long poles were stacked in the corner.
‘Those hats must have been here since the war.’ Robert picked one up.
‘Don’t touch them!’ Victoria was suddenly frightened. ‘Please don’t touch them. Let’s go. I don’t like it here either.’ She could feel the unhappiness, the desperation. It seemed to pervade the room.
‘Don’t be silly. We must see it all now we’re here. Look, the stairs are along here.’
‘No, Robert. Please.’ She felt panic clutching at her throat. ‘Don’t go upstairs. Don’t …’
‘Victoria!’ He stared at her in astonishment. ‘OK. You go back. Go and look at the garden with young Mr Turner. I’ll have a quick shufty up here and then I’ll come and find you, OK?’
‘Robert …’ She raised her hand as if to stop him but already he had set off up the steep stairs, awkwardly pulling himself up by the handrail.
She took a deep breath. At the foot of the stairs a door led out onto the old terrace. She rattled the handle, not expecting it to open, but to her surprise it turned easily. It had not been locked.
The heat in the garden hit her like a physical blow. After the unnatural cold in the house it was wonderful. She threw her head back and raised her arms towards the sun with relief, then abruptly she dropped them to her sides. There was a young man standing on the terrace. Dressed in shabby corduroy trousers and an open-necked shirt, he had his arm in a sling. He turned and grinned at her.
‘Hello.’
Victoria smiled back. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was anyone else here.’ She was embarrassed, and at the same time relieved to see him. After the silence and the oppressive atmosphere of the west wing it was wonderful to see another human being. ‘Are you looking round too?’ she asked. She paused and found herself staring at him again. She knew him. Confused, she fumbled for a name, but none came. She couldn’t place him.
‘Looking round?’ He looked puzzled. ‘No. I live here. For the moment.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She was still desperately trying to think where she had met him before. ‘We understood the place was empty.’
‘Empty!’ He seemed to find the word ironic. ‘Well, I suppose it is in a way. I hate it in there. It’s so cold, did you notice? However hot it is out here. As cold as the tomb.’ He shuddered. ‘Why were you staring at me?’
She hastily looked away. ‘I’m sorry, but we’ve met before somewhere, haven’t we?’
He was the most attractive man she had ever seen. Shocked at her own reaction, she was trying to cope with the sheer physical impact he had on her. It confused and frightened her.
He didn’t seem to have heard her question. He was concentrating on the flower bed near them. And he obviously hadn’t seen the admiration in her eyes, for when he glanced back at her he scowled. ‘Not a pretty sight, am I?’ He half raised his injured arm. ‘Don’t look at me. Wouldn’t you like to see the garden?’
‘Yes. Please.’ Desperately she tried to get a grip on herself. Middle aged – well, nearly – women did not go round the country ogling handsome young men and feeling their breath snatched away by waves of physical longing for complete strangers. She concentrated hard on the flowers, as he seemed to be doing, hoping he had not noticed her confusion. ‘The garden is very beautiful.’ She hoped that her voice sounded normal. ‘Mr Turner told us it had gone wild, but it seems very neat to me.’ A crescent of rose beds curved around the neatly mown lawn, brilliant with flowers; beyond them a herbaceous border stretched towards the cedar tree, a riot of lupins and gladioli and hollyhocks.
The young man glanced at her and smiled. ‘A few of the chaps work on it when they’ve got the strength. I’m not much good. I can’t keep my balance without this damn thing.’ As he turned to step off the terrace onto the soft mossy lawn she saw he was using a stick.
‘You look as though you’ve really been in the wars,’ she said gently.
He frowned. ‘Who hasn’t? But I’m lucky, I suppose. I made it back. Look. Look at the roses. God, they’re lovely.’ He stopped and stared at them with a strange intensity.
There was a long silence. Victoria felt uncomfortable, as though she were in the way. He had withdrawn from her into some unfathomable pain. Glancing nervously back at the house, she remembered Robert suddenly and wondered where he was. She wished he would come. He had been there: through the fear and resentment; he knew how to cope with pain.
The house on this side was smartly painted. She frowned. Several windows stood open and from somewhere she could hear the sound of music – a band playing on a scratchy record. Staring up at the windows, hoping to see Robert, she glimpsed a shimmer of white at a window. Her exclamation of surprise brought the young man’s attention back to her.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I thought I saw someone up there. Someone in white.’
He gave a strained smile. ‘Probably one of the nurses.’
‘One of the nurses?’ She stared at him. ‘Do you have nurses to look after you?’ Her eyes were wide with sympathy.
‘Of course.’ His eyes were clear grey, his face handsome, tanned. He glanced down at his arm ruefully. ‘They’re threatening to take this off.’ Just for a moment she could hear the fear in his voice.
She didn’t know what to say.
Visibly pulling himself together he stared at her. ‘You were right. We do know each other, don’t we?’
‘I thought so.’ She forced herself to smile.
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Yes,’ he repeated with conviction.
She frowned. Her emotions were sending her conflicting signals. There was something achingly familiar about his eyes, his mouth, his hands; something so familiar that, she realised suddenly, she knew what it was like to have been held in his arms and yet he was a stranger. She turned away abruptly. ‘Perhaps we met when we were children or something.’
‘Perhaps.’ He smiled enigmatically. ‘Who did you come to visit? It obviously wasn’t me.’ There was a trace of wistfulness in his tone.
‘We came to look at the house.’
‘Oh?’ He stopped, gazing down at the grass. ‘Interested in history, are you? It must have been lovely here, before they moved us in.’
Victoria smiled. ‘Your family have lived here for a long time, have they?’
‘My family?’ He looked at her in amusement. ‘No, my family don’t come from here.’ He stepped down onto the soft soil of the flower bed and picked a scarlet rose bud. ‘Here. For you. It goes with your dress.’ He held it out to her. As she took it their fingers touched and the electricity which passed between them left them both for a moment confused. She slipped it behind the pin of the brooch she was wearing.
‘Thank you.’
He was frowning. ‘You’re wearing a wedding ring.’
She looked down at her hand, startled. ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘My husband is here. He was looking round upstairs. I ought to go and join him, really.’ She hesitated. She couldn’t bear the anguish in his eyes. ‘He was injured too – in the Falklands. He’s out of the army now.’ There was another long silence. ‘I can’t remember your name,’ she said at last.
‘It’s Stephen.’ He said it almost absent-mindedly, ‘Stephen Cheney.’
The name meant nothing to her. Nothing.
‘May I go and bring Robert to meet you?’ she asked after a moment.
He was staring at her again, leaning heavily on his stick, his eyes intense. The silence between them was tangible. It stretched out agonizingly. Then at last he spoke. ‘You and I were lovers once,’ he whispered, ‘in a land, long ago.’
She went cold.
For a moment they were both silent, stunned by what he had said, then he laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It’s a quotation. At least, I think it is. If not it ought to be. Perhaps I’ll write it myself. Yes, go and fetch your husband. I’d like to meet him.’
Victoria turned and walked slowly back across the grass towards the door into the house. She stopped as she put her hand on the handle and turned to look back over her shoulder. He was standing watching her. Jauntily he raised his stick in salute.
She let herself into the cold corridor with a shiver and ran to the stairs. ‘Robert? Are you up there?’
‘Here. Come and see this.’ His voice was distant. ‘This place is really weird,’ he went on as she found him in the end room. ‘Look at these –’ He broke off. ‘Victoria, darling, what is it?’
For a fraction of a second she hesitated, then she threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh, Robert!’ She buried her face in his shirt, clinging to him. ‘Robert. Where have you been?’
‘Only up here.’ He steadied himself with difficulty and pushed her gently away from him. ‘Victoria, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I was suddenly so afraid I was going to lose you.’ She could feel it again; the terror; the pain; the dread. It spun around them in the air.
He laughed. ‘No such luck, Mrs Holland. You’re stuck with me. How was the garden?’
‘It’s beautiful.’ She had to be outside again. She couldn’t bear to be inside another minute. ‘You must come down and see it. I met one of Lady Penelope’s guests. He said he’d like to meet you.’ She knew she was gabbling.
‘I thought what’s-his-name said the house was empty.’
‘He obviously didn’t realize. It doesn’t matter.’ She glanced round again, at the long empty corridor and the silent rooms leading off it and she closed her eyes, trying to stave off the overpowering feeling of unhappiness which swept around her. ‘I saw Stephen’s nurse up here from the garden. Did you meet her?’ The air was stuffy; no windows were open. There was no music. The upper floor echoed with emptiness.
‘A nurse?’ He looked puzzled. ‘No, there’s been no one up here. No one at all.’
They both glanced over their shoulders.
‘That’s strange.’ She bit her lip, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘When I was out there, I could hear music. The windows were open …’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘You must have been looking at another part of the house. Come on, I’ve seen enough.’
‘We’re not going to buy it, are we?’ Suddenly she minded terribly. Irrationally, she wanted the house. She wanted it as she had never wanted anything before.
He shook his head. ‘It needs too much money spending on it, I’m afraid and it is far too large for us, you must see that. Sad, though. It’s a lovely place.’
She bit her lip. ‘I want to live here, Robert. I must live here.’
He stared at her and something in her eyes alarmed him. He was swamped by a sudden sense of foreboding; he could feel the cold coming at him from the walls, threatening to overpower him. Somehow he forced himself to smile; somehow he kept his voice calm. ‘Well, let’s see the rest of the place, then we can talk about it some more.’
At the foot of the stairs she put her hand on the door handle. ‘Come and see the gardens. They’re so lovely.’ Her fear had subsided as quickly as it had come. It had been an irrational, silly moment. She pushed at the door and frowned, rattling the handle. It seemed to have locked itself.
‘Here. Let me.’ Robert shook it hard. ‘You are sure it was unlocked?’
‘Of course I’m sure. It must have latched.’ He could hear the rising panic in her voice again.
‘Never mind, Victoria darling, it doesn’t matter.’ He put his arm round her, pulling her to him. ‘We can walk round the outside before we go.’
Victoria moved away sharply from his strangely alien embrace and with a little sob she turned and ran down the passage.
Robert stared after her in astonishment and fear, then slowly he followed her.
William was waiting for them in the main entrance hall. ‘Ready to go upstairs?’ He glanced at them surreptitiously. They both looked agitated; uneasy.
‘Why not?’ Robert followed him towards the staircase.
‘What did you think of the west wing?’
‘Not a lot,’ Robert smiled tightly. ‘What on earth happened to it?’
‘The house was used as a nursing home during the first war and they used that wing for the operating theatre and wards for the worst injured men.’ William glanced at Victoria who had gone white. ‘When the family moved back in about 1920 they left it as it was. Just closed the door and pretended it wasn’t there until they forgot about it. And I think each successive generation has done the same since. Did you see the stretcher poles? They always give me the creeps.’
‘So that’s what they were.’ Robert shuddered. ‘Something I know a bit about.’
‘It’s an unhappy place,’ Victoria put in quietly.
William nodded. ‘I suspect a lot of young men died here. Luckily the rest of the house seems unaffected. I wouldn’t let it worry you.’ He didn’t give them time to react. Turning, he led the way up the broad unlit sweep of stairs. Halfway up he stopped. ‘Mrs Holland?’
Victoria was standing where they had left her. Her face was drained of colour.
‘The nurse. Stephen’s nurse. She was wearing some sort of big white head dress …’
‘No, Victoria.’ Robert limped back down the stairs towards her. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Just stop it. What you saw was a real nurse. A modern nurse. She probably saw me in the distance and decided to go back downstairs.’
William was frowning at them from the staircase. He felt a shiver touch his spine. What had she seen? One of his colleagues from the firm had seen something when she had stayed to lock up after showing some people around a few days before. That was why she had refused to come this morning. ‘You can deal with that place,’ she had said. ‘I’m not going there again!’
He glanced at Victoria. ‘What happened?’ he asked cautiously.
