by Anne Doughty
They all said how nice it was of her to write, what a pretty card she’d sent and how well they remembered her lovely roses. Expressed in different ways in each of the notes, however, was the critical piece of information she had been looking for. They were dropping her a line because they would not be coming to Drumsollen this year.
That was no surprise with the Americans or Canadians, but what emerged as she read and reread the notes from those nearer at hand was a dramatic shift in holiday plans. Several former guests were visiting sons or daughters overseas because airfares had now dropped low enough to make it thinkable, but most admitted, slightly sheepishly, that they were going to try one of these package holidays, because they really did want the promised sunshine, despite being faced with foreign food.
‘Trends and fashion,’ Emile used to say, to clients of the bank. ‘These are unpredictable in their appearance, but if you see the signs of either you must be prepared. Positively or negatively. The goods or services you are offering may become more desirable. On the other hand they may be superseded by some new offering that catches the eye of the market.’
His wise words exactly fitted her present situation. New offerings of cheap air travel and sunshine holidays certainly seemed to have caught the eye of the market.
As the burgeoning spring moved towards full summer, bringing blue skies and longer evenings, Clare decided to keep her observations to herself at least till the end of June. If she told Andrew of her concerns now and there was a sudden rush of bookings at the beginning of the school holidays, he would have been worried unnecessarily. If there wasn’t a rush, it would have become quite apparent to him by then.
In the event, it was Andrew who came home from work on the last Friday of June with the really bad news.
The last day of the month was always busy for Clare. As well as sharing the domestics with June, as she did every morning, when they stripped and remade the beds, tidied the rooms and checked out the soap and towels, she had the bills to pay, the lodgement to make up for the bank and the accounts to balance.
She was often still at her desk when Andrew came home. Today, for once, she wasn’t. She’d felt so tired and so frustrated by five o’clock that she abandoned the remaining paperwork, took up her secateurs and went to deadhead the first faded blooms on the roses.
The sun was still high and warm on her shoulders as she worked her way round the two large beds. The month had been kind, ideal for the garden, the weather sunny by day, but with cool nights that brought either heavy dew or light rain. The roses had thrived and had produced enough blooms for the hall table as early as mid-month.
Soothed by the warmth, the fresh air and the vibrant colours after being shut up all day in Headquarters, she was miles away in her thoughts and had her back to the driveway when Andrew arrived somewhat earlier than usual. Only when he banged the car door and startled her did she spin round and see him, a tall figure in a dark suit, his face so pale she thought he must be ill.
In her haste to reach him, she dropped her bucket of prunings and nearly tripped over it as she hurried through the rose bed.
‘Andrew, are you all right? Whatever’s happened?’
He pressed his lips together, gazed silently round the garden, then put his arms round her.
‘Clare, I’m sorry, so sorry,’ he said, dropping his face into her hair. ‘I think I knew something was brewing, but I couldn’t be sure. I’ve lost my job.’
She opened her mouth to say something just as a car drove briskly past and stopped by the stone steps.
‘Andrew, I’ll have to go. Get out of your suit and make us tea. I’ll come just as soon as I can.’
‘Love, I’m sorry it took so long,’ she said, as she hurried into Headquarters and shut the door firmly behind her. ‘They wanted to chat and I was so through myself I took up the wrong tray the first time . . . I just can’t believe this. How can a partner lose his job?’
‘Quite easily, if the term is no more than a courtesy title,’ he explained. ‘When Charles set up in Armagh, I had no money to put in to the business. He did it all. He paid all the expenses and offered me a share of the profits. He guessed at a monthly figure to give me a regular salary and he wasn’t far wrong. Now he’s decided he has to move to Belfast. So no more salary.’
He looked so woebegone as he paused and drained his cup, his tone so flat and dispirited, she longed to jump up and take him in her arms, but she knew there was more to come.
‘Fairly, he did invite me to Linen Hall Street,’ he went on wearily, ‘but he knows perfectly well I still have no money, not for the sort of set-up he wants. I think it’s all Helen’s idea and I should have seen it coming. Maybe I did and couldn’t bring myself to admit it. You always said she was a social climber and her father is rolling. I think he’s stumping up, probably offloading for tax purposes, so Helen’s pushing him.’
‘But you’re not penniless any more, Andrew. What kind of money are we talking about?’ she asked quickly.
For a moment she thought Andrew might be frightening himself, as he often did over money, but when he named the figure she shook her head in amazement. He was quite right. Of course they couldn’t produce that sort of money. She picked up her cup and took a mouthful of the tea he had poured ready for her. It was stone cold, but her mouth was so dry she drank it anyway.
‘Why is it such an enormous sum?’ she asked.
‘Well it’s Linen Hall Street for a start,’ he began, ‘as if I ever wanted to work there again,’ he added sharply. ‘Listed building three stories high, thick carpet and leather volumes in the bookcases. Portraits of the former incumbents and the Titanic on her sea trials in large gold frames. Very upmarket and fees to match. Would you want me commuting to Belfast every day?’
‘No, of course I wouldn’t,’ she said vigorously. ‘I remember how you hated it when you were articled to those three old boys when I was still at Queens. But you did seem happier in Armagh, given it’s not what you’d choose to do in the first place.’
‘I’ve tried, Clare. I have tried, but I’ve failed. I’ve let you down,’ he said, looking the picture of misery.
Clare took a deep breath and poured herself more tea.
‘If I told you Drumsollen was back to only breaking even at the moment, would you say I’d failed, that I had let you down?’ she asked coolly.
‘No, of course not,’ he replied, his head jerking up, his startled blue eyes focusing upon her. ‘I know how hard you work, but even you can’t invent bookings if they don’t appear.’
‘And you can’t stop Charles investing his father-in-law’s money in a Belfast practice. Andrew, it is not us who fail, it is our plan, or our project that fails. We only fail if we don’t face up to what happens and then let the failure come between us.’
‘Look, Andrew, the notice has gone,’ she said, as she untied the string on the gate at the foot of the curving slope of Cannon Hill.
‘What notice?’ he asked, as he pocketed the car keys and took her hand.
‘Trespassers will be prosecuted.’
‘Or persecuted,’ he added, laughing.
They walked up the steep slope in silence, grateful for the warmth of the evening, for the gold of buttercups and the calm that had followed Andrew’s bombshell. It was Clare who suggested leaving the moment John arrived, but it was Andrew himself who suggested they go to Cannon Hill.
‘The right place, at the right time,’ she declared, as they reached the tall stone obelisk on the top. ‘Clever you,’ she added, kissing him.
‘This was where it all began, wasn’t it?’ he said quietly, as they leaned against the rough stonework. ‘We came on bicycles on our first date and you promised to write to me in Cambridge.’
‘We should come here oftener,’ Clare replied thoughtfully, gazing out over the lush green countryside, the shadows now beginning to creep out from the hedgerow trees and invade the yellow-green of pasture and the gold of ripening corn. ‘It lends perspective,’ she wen
t on. ‘There’s you and me and there’s the world out there. We can’t do a lot about what happens, the world will do its own thing, but we can do something about how we manage to respond to what happens. We can always change us, if we have to.’
‘Yes, you’ve finally managed to teach me that,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ve been a bit of a slow learner.’
They fell silent. Clare saw him scan the patchwork fields. She remembered how once, up here, he’d confessed that what he really wanted to do was farm. Another time it was she herself who’d admitted freely that this countryside of little humpy hills was where she really wanted to be, but she’d be sorry if she never managed to travel beyond it.
So where did that leave them now, she wondered, standing here in the midst of warmth and sunlight, the sky a blue arc above them, at the mid-point of the year, their arms around each other.
Ten
By the time Clare and Andrew arrived back at Drumsollen to let John get off home, they were in need of a second supper. Too tired to go into Armagh to fetch fish and chips, they made scrambled egg and toast and sat down at the kitchen table, daylight still filtering down into the shadowy room at almost eleven o’clock.
They were still sitting there as the clock struck midnight. By then, the sky had finally darkened enough for a scatter of stars to appear. Reluctant to put on the overhead lights, they went on talking, the kitchen lit only by the concealed lighting over the work surfaces and the tiny stars of red and green on large appliances that hummed and whirred quietly.
By the time they finally made their way to bed, they’d managed to call up a small spark of possibility. It might come to nothing, but it was worth a try. They already had a plan for the morning.
‘Going to be hot again, June,’ Andrew said, coming to collect the shopping bags. ‘We’ve done the Laverys’ breakfast and they’re just settling up. We’ve a wee extra job we need to do in Armagh,’ he explained, as he took the list she handed him. ‘Is it all right if I take Clare with me and leave you to hold the fort? She says you’re not to bother with the upstairs, and we’ll be back in good time,’ he promised.
June nodded abruptly, gave that short, sharp laugh that used to disconcert him, and said; ‘Aye, away on the pair of you.’
The city was busy, the streets so full of traffic and shoppers they had to park on the far side of The Mall. The air was still cool under the trees, but the light was dazzling out on the cricket pitch where the groundsman was inspecting the crease for the afternoon’s match.
They moved briskly across The White Walk, crossed the road, and walked up Russell Street on the Hartford Place side to the tall, terrace house opposite the Police Barracks where Andrew had worked since he’d come to Armagh.
It was a long time since Clare had been to Andrew’s room. The idea of referring to it as Chambers had always made them laugh. As she climbed the stairs ahead of him, she thought sadly that running a guest house when they were half The Staff didn’t leave much time to do things together. Even at weekends they had to work separately to get all the jobs done. Someone had to be available in Headquarters, unless, like this morning, June had agreed to cover for them.
‘A poor thing, but mine own,’ said Andrew, as he unlocked the door of his room and she walked over to his desk.
‘Do you really think Charles owns this house?’ she asked, running her eye over the tall bookcases and the faded wallpaper in between.
‘I’m fairly sure he does,’ he replied. ‘I could ring and ask him now,’ he offered, nodding to the phone on his desk.
‘Let me have a better look first,’ she said quickly. ‘I can’t remember the kitchen, but I know there is somewhere you brew up. And there’s a bathroom on this floor too. I do remember that,’ she said, laughing. ‘It has a huge bath with claw feet and brass taps exactly the same as the one in Gosford Row when the High School was still there. We used to keep our hockey sticks in it.’
‘I think you’ll find this one full of box files,’ he said easily, as he followed her on to the landing and watched her continue her inspection.
‘What about the top floor?’ she asked.
‘Haven’t been up there for ages. Papers, I should think. I used to see Thelma passing my door with the odd armful.’
Their feet echoed on the uncarpeted stairs which did a sharp twist and ended at a minute landing. There were two doors standing open, revealing two smaller rooms with sloping ceilings. Brilliant patches of sunlight reflected back from the bare boards, but apart from dust and cobwebs both rooms were entirely empty.
‘Looks like Charles has been busy,’ he said sharply.
‘But wouldn’t he be responsible for storing or destroying the firm’s documents?’ she said gently.
‘Yes, I expect so,’ he agreed, striding across the larger of the two rooms and looking down into Russell Street. ‘Must be hot,’ he declared, ‘the policemen have their sleeves rolled up. Did you know there’s a regulation number of folds when they’re on point duty?’
‘Well, what d’you think?’ he asked, after she’d looked through the dusty sash windows and checked they did still open.
‘I think it’s worth a phone call,’ she said steadily, after they’d stepped carefully down the worn stairs and sat down again in his room.
‘Do you remember when we had the flat over the Gallery after Jessie and Harry started working on the Malone Road house? It wasn’t any better than this, but we managed. We didn’t even have a bath, we had to wash in the kitchen. We could make this place quite nice with a lick of paint and some remnants of carpet.’
‘So do we move in and live poor but happy ever after?’ he asked with a large grin. ‘Very handy for the shops and we can walk round The Mall together every day.’
She laughed, grateful to see how his mood had changed since the bad moment upstairs when the empty rooms spelt out the fact that Charles must have been preparing for this move for some time.
‘No, I think we can do better than that,’ she replied soberly. ‘If we can rent the house from Charles and let these rooms to some young couple like we were, we’ve got something towards the overheads. You’d have Charles’s room on the ground floor with Thelma . . .’
‘Then all I’d need is clients knocking at the door,’ he interrupted, sounding much less easy.
‘But, Andrew dear, you’ve been dealing with clients here in Armagh for six or seven years now. You are known. Not all of Charles’s clients were the great and the good, though that’s what Helen would have liked, I know. You’ve come home pleased often enough and told me that you’ve been able to help someone who’d had a raw deal. Not as often as you wanted, I know, but it’s a start, until we see how things go at Drumsollen.’
‘Yes, that’s true. There are people I’ve helped,’ he admitted slowly. ‘Though what earned my salary was probably doing the donkey work for Charles’s briefs. That’s gone.’
‘Yes, of course it has. And we don’t know how it will all work out, love. But do let’s see if we could set you up on your own. If it’s possible without breaking the bank, would you give it a try?’
‘Yes, of course I would. Anything to help to keep us solvent. Am I going to complain about sitting here trying to drum up business when you’re doing exactly the same thing in Headquarters? Fair’s fair, Clare.’
‘Why don’t you give Charles a ring,’ she suggested. ‘I doubt if Helen’s out of bed yet, but he will be. You mustn’t blame him for what’s happened, Andrew,’ she continued. ‘He’s done what he’s done because he’s had to, but I don’t think he’s changed in his feelings towards you. I’m sure he’ll do what he can to help, but you must give him the chance.’
By the time they’d carried the heavy bags back to the car and loaded them into the boot, they were both hot, sticky and longing for a drink.
‘There are tins of soda water in one of these carriers,’ Andrew said, rummaging around in the nearest one. ‘Can you drink from the tin?’
‘Don’t have to. Picnic mugs in t
he glove compartment,’ she replied, opening the passenger door and reaching down into the warm and steamy car. ‘Somewhat dusty, but technically clean,’ she added, blowing on them, as she brought them out. ‘Let’s sit on the wall for a few minutes till the car cools off a bit.’
‘Oh, that was good,’ she said, pausing, mug in hand after a long swallow. ‘Mine was still cool from the chill cabinet. How was yours?’
‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘Marvellous things bubbles.’
‘Poor man’s champagne,’ she said cheerfully, feeling a lift in spirits that told her something of great significance for the future had been resolved between them.
‘You were right about Charles,’ Andrew said, sheepishly, as they went on sitting side by side in the heavy shade of a chestnut. ‘He does want to help. Said he’d ring with a figure this afternoon. Can’t ask for better than that, can you?’
‘I know it was a dreadful shock for you, love, but just think how hard it was on Charles. You’ve worked together for all this time and never an upset between you. Oh yes, I know you’ve had disagreements, but so have we. What’s important is that there’s never been any bad feeling between you any more than there’s been between us. Perhaps Charles is not as happy about this move as he pretends to be.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Andrew replied. ‘I think he was upset yesterday when he told me. He boomed a bit, like he does in court when he’s on a sticky wicket, but I was in such a bad way myself I wasn’t thinking about him. Mea culpa.’
She held out her hand for his picnic mug and the empty tin. ‘Love, we mustn’t forget June. You told John you’d run her home and I promised we’d not be late.’
‘So did I,’ he said jumping up and pulling out his car keys. ‘Have you home in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,’ he added, as she dropped the empty mugs and tins on the back seat.
