by Rachel Hore
‘Why not?’ he said, surprised. ‘I’ll come with you if you like. Mum’s gagging to know if she’s been useful.’
‘Of course she has. OK. That’s kind.’
‘This really is the back of beyond.’ Briony’s satnav had taken them through a labyrinth of narrow lanes between fields of ripening grain before it gave up trying and Luke had to turn to the map. ‘It should be the next opening on the right.’ They almost drove past the sign Thicket Farm, for it was overgrown with ivy. Briony reversed the car and drove slowly up the deep-rutted track towards a scattering of farm buildings half-hidden by the rise of a low hill.
A man of her father’s age appeared in the porch of the old flint farmhouse, hands in jeans pockets, watching them park in the muddy yard. The building was run-down, its roof patched by repairs, and the yard was criss-crossed by the tracks of farm vehicles. A pair of ageing corrugated-iron barns loomed at one side. As they got out of the car a young black Labrador pushed past its master to greet them, licking their hands, its tail rotating with joy. The man whistled. ‘Flossie, come here,’ and it retreated obediently to his side, trotting at his heel as he came to meet them, looking to its master for further instruction.
They shook hands. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought my friend Luke,’ Briony said, all the while sensing a guarded air about this man, who inspected them with curiosity in his steady brown eyes under his flop of grey hair. He was pleasant, with a weathered appearance, his local accent less pronounced now as he welcomed them. He seemed to warm to Luke, who fed him questions about the farm with a charming measure of deference.
‘What do you grow?’
‘Wheat this year, mostly,’ Mr Andrews answered. ‘A couple more days of sun, I reckon, and it’ll be all systems go with the combines. You’ve caught me, well, I won’t say at a quiet moment, but quieter than it will be in the next few weeks.’
‘I’m very grateful to you for seeing us then,’ Briony said.
‘No, you’re all right. It was a bit of a surprise for us, that’s all. Come in and meet Alison.’
Briony saw at once when she entered that the farmhouse was Alison Andrews’ domain, with rows of house plants on every windowsill, and an old-fashioned wooden kitchen with a crowded dresser. Alison, a curvaceous woman in her late fifties, all bangles and smudged mascara, greeted them in the same guarded fashion as her husband and led them through to a comfortable living room with a big fireplace. The garden door stood open and beyond lay flower beds burgeoning with late summer blooms. ‘So pretty,’ Briony murmured politely.
‘The garden’s been lovely this year, but it’s getting to the scruffy stage now. Do sit down, won’t you. I’ve got some coffee on the go if that’s what you drink.’ Alison bustled off to make it and returned a few minutes later with a loaded tray.
‘The farm’s been in our family five generations,’ Mr Andrews was telling Luke.
‘Six, if you count us,’ his wife put in, handing round the mugs of coffee.
‘Six, then, if you must,’ he said grumpily, but Briony sensed from Alison’s indulgent smile that mild disagreements were simply an enjoyable feature of their relationship rather than an indication of anything wrong. The dog, rolling on its back on a sunny patch of carpet, clearly wasn’t bothered.
‘Five or six,’ Luke said, ‘either way it’s impressive.’
‘Ay.’ Mr Andrews gave a grave nod. ‘And our daughter’s interested in taking it on,’ he said with pride. ‘It nearly wasn’t ours, though. That’s why I was surprised to hear from you.’
‘We didn’t know about you, you see,’ Alison said. ‘You won’t blame us for feeling a bit worried.’
‘Worried?’ Briony repeated with surprise.
‘My dad was the second brother,’ Mr Andrews said and it dawned on her. They obviously thought her arrival indicated some claim on their inheritance.
‘So I suppose we need to know you are who you say you are. Harry’s granddaughter.’
‘I haven’t come to take anything away from you,’ Briony said.
‘There must be some mistake, I reckon,’ Mr Andrews was saying carefully. ‘Your grandpa must have been a different Harry Andrews. I wasn’t born till 1946, so I never met my uncle. He never came home after the war. In the end he was declared dead.’
‘Dead?’ Briony was bewildered. ‘But he wasn’t. Why didn’t he come home and tell you?’
The Andrews exchanged doubtful glances.
‘His name wasn’t in the book at the church,’ Briony remembered, and explained further. The Andrews didn’t know why Harry’s name hadn’t been mentioned. They rarely went to church, so had never looked.
‘Well, there we are,’ Mr Andrews said, putting down his coffee, half-drunk. ‘We thought Uncle Harry died in the war and now here you are saying you’re his granddaughter. We don’t know what to say to you, except that the farm is legally ours now.’
‘I don’t want the farm,’ Briony said. ‘Honestly. What would I do with it? Luke here will tell you I can’t be given a pot plant without killing it.’
‘That’s true,’ Luke said, with a laugh.
‘It’s not worth anything either,’ Mr Andrews said dismally. ‘All debts, and it’ll be worse once the subsidies go.’
‘No, it’s yours,’ Briony said with feeling. ‘I simply want to know what happened. I . . . I had no idea that my grandfather had gone missing, only that he’d fought in Italy in the war and presumably come home, met my grandmother in London and decided to settle down near her family. I was given some letters from that time, that’s what brought me here. I only heard about you because Luke’s parents met you.’
‘You said that on the phone,’ David Andrews reminded her. ‘Artist lady, isn’t she? Do you remember, Alison? That evening at the farm shop.’
‘Yes, they were nice,’ Alison nodded. She covered her husband’s hand with her own and they gazed into one another’s eyes. Briony realized then how much anxiety she’d caused them. They must have thought that Harry’s granddaughter had come to reclaim her inheritance, that they might lose everything. She had no idea what happened in law when someone who’d been thought dead turned out to be alive, and wasn’t sure she’d bother to find out. She had no intention of disturbing their lives any further.
As she and Luke drove away from the farm, promising to keep in touch, Briony breathed a sigh of relief. But she was full of questions, and at the bottom of the hill she pulled into a layby and stared out at the golden corn rippling like a lion’s back in the breeze.
‘What’s the matter?’ Luke asked softly.
‘Sorry, I’m having a wobble.’ She covered her face with her hands, suddenly immeasurably tired.
The way he squeezed her shoulder was friendly, sympathetic. She let her hands drop and gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m beginning to think I’m going mad. Grandpa let his family believe he was dead – why would he have done that?’
Luke shook his head. ‘Perhaps he’d fallen out with them.’
‘But even if he had, how cruel. It makes me wonder what will I find out next? I’m almost wishing I’d never been given Paul’s letters. They’re turning my life upside down.’
‘They are, aren’t they?’
They were silent for a while, then, sighing, Briony reached for the gearstick and they moved off again, slowly at first.
‘It’s curious,’ Luke said.
‘What is?’
‘How your grandfather, Paul and Sarah all seem to have been involved in something together. I mean, that note you found in your grandpa’s box that he was supposed to pass on to Sarah. Why was he never able to give it to her? Maybe if you find out what happened to any one of the three then you’ll solve the whole puzzle.’
She thought about this. ‘Yes.’ She supposed he was right. ‘But how do I do that?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Is it worth talking to Mrs Clare again? She’s the one who knew them all.’
‘Robyn? Possibly. I don’t know that she likes me a
sking questions.’ Briony was hesitant, remembering the sense she’d had that Robyn was holding back. Was it simply some matter that she wished to remain private, or was she shielding someone? It was impossible to say.
‘Just go gently, Briony. Explain it’s for your own peace of mind. Tell her about Italy, if you like. About Mariella and how you were given Paul’s letters.’
‘I promised Mariella that I’d try to find out what happened to the soldiers at the villa, and to Sarah.’
‘It is all linked, isn’t it?’ Luke said carefully. ‘Like Aruna said. What was it . . . ?’
Briony waited, looking at him enquiringly and, as she did so, some light dawned in his expression.
‘What did she say?’ she asked, anxious, but he shook his head.
‘Something about unfinished business. She didn’t like the Villa Teresa at all. Told me later that while we’d been there, when she was waiting outside, a man arrived in a flash car and spoke to her in Italian. He was pretty angry. She thought he wanted to know what she was doing there and was careful not to say she was waiting for us. She was worried he might have come storming in after us, that he might be violent.’
‘She didn’t say anything about this to me!’ Briony felt surprised and not a little let down. Why hadn’t Aruna mentioned any of this?
‘Didn’t she? I don’t know why not. Perhaps she forgot or didn’t want to scare you.’ There was distance in Luke’s tone, as though for an instant he’d forgotten she was there beside him in the car. They came to where the road curved, then the familiar descent through the tunnel of greenery, but as Briony slowed down, searching for the great gateway to appear to their left, the gloomy lane filled with blue light.
‘What the . . . ?’ Luke said as she braked to allow the ambulance to pass in front of them and under the arch. They watched it speed silently up the drive to the Hall, its light flashing, and stop outside the entrance. By the time Briony had parked, the paramedics had gone in.
She was alarmed. ‘Perhaps we can help.’
They hurried across, and Briony tiptoed up the steps of the Hall and peeped into the gloom. There was no one on reception, but from beyond, along the corridor, came sounds of activity. She retreated to where Luke was waiting outside.
‘It’s Robyn, I think,’ she said in a sober tone. She wanted to stay, to find out what had happened.
‘We’d better go,’ Luke said sternly. ‘I’m sure she’s being looked after. We don’t want to get in the way.’
Just then her attention was drawn by a movement in the darkness within and soft footsteps on the carpet. ‘Kemi,’ Briony cried, seeing her appear, head bowed, shoulders hunched. ‘What’s happened? Is Mrs Clare all right?’
When Kemi looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I found her lying on the floor,’ she whispered. ‘It’s like she’s had a stroke or something. The dog was barking in a funny way so I got the spare key and . . . They’re taking her to hospital. I’ve got to call her son.’
‘Can we do anything?’ Briony said, but Kemi shook her head.
‘Avril’s just come. She’s packing a case for her.’
‘Briony,’ Luke whispered, touching her arm. ‘I think we should go.’
Before she could reply there was the sound of commotion from along the corridor, and they stood back as two uniformed paramedics wheeled a stretcher out into the hallway then over the threshold. On it, swathed in blankets, lay the narrow figure of Robyn Clare. Her eyes were open, but clouded with confusion. Briony followed and looked down at her from the top of the steps.
There were a short few seconds while the stretcher was tipped at an angle to fit it into the ambulance and Briony and Mrs Clare locked glances. Alarm leaped into the older lady’s eyes and her lips moved in a soundless appeal. Then the stretcher slid forward and the contact was broken. Avril and the suitcase were handed in after and the doors closed tight.
Briony, Luke and Kemi stood forlornly in a line as the ambulance set off down the drive, then Briony insisted on staying while Kemi rang Robyn’s son. She was shaking when she finished the call, but told Briony that Lewis Clare was coming down straight away.
From the muffled recesses of the house, a dog began to howl, a ghastly, mournful sound. ‘Poor old Lulu,’ Briony said. ‘I’ll take her if you like.’
‘If you could for now, that would be great. I suppose I ought to stay here.’
‘Will you be all right?’ Luke asked her and Briony murmured that she could come back to Westbury Lodge with them, if she wanted. Kemi was still so young, though she had managed the emergency splendidly.
The girl looked uncertain. ‘I’ll call my mum. And Greg, to tell him what’s happened. I’ll be fine. Come on, let’s find Lulu.’
Towing the animal, which puffed and snorted, Luke put his arm through Briony’s and steered her down the path to the cottage. Her distress was apparent as she fumbled for the key. He took it from her and got them indoors and he bid her sit while he made tea quickly and efficiently. Then he sat down opposite her at the kitchen table, forearms folded, shooting her anxious glances. Lulu gazed up at them from the floor, tongue hanging loose and panting.
‘Poor lady,’ Briony sighed, circling the rim of the mug with her finger. ‘I hope she’ll be all right.’
‘I’m sure someone will tell us and at least her son will be with her. I think you’ve done all you can. When does this dog eat, do you think?’ A plastic carrier bag containing Lulu’s pink bowl and a couple of exotic-looking food sachets lay on the floor.
‘She seems hungry now. Are you hungry, Lulu?’ Lulu obligingly licked her lips and appeared interested as Briony bustled about, but when she set the food bowl on the floor, Lulu simply sniffed at it and turned her back.
‘She’s grieving,’ Briony said. ‘They say dogs always know if their owner is in danger.’
‘Probably just overindulged,’ Luke smiled. ‘She needs a good walk if you ask me. Let’s go and look at the walled garden, get her to scamper round a few times.’
‘We don’t want to kill her off, Luke. A sedate walk might be safer.’
They let the dog off the lead in the garden, but she stayed close to them, pausing frequently to sniff at perfectly ordinary clumps of grass, then flopping down in a sunny spot from where she watched Luke inspect the fruit trees and write notes in a small black book. Briony sat on the bench nearby and watched him too. He had that enviable ability to lose himself in his work, she thought, seeing him ruffle his hair and tap his pencil on his lower lip as he frowned over some problem. She thought lazily how completely at ease with him she felt. How lucky Aruna was to find him. Perhaps they’d settle down and have children and ask Briony to be godmother. She’d never been a godmother – her brother William and his wife weren’t into that sort of thing – and she rather loved the idea of it.
Her thoughts were broken by a growl from Lulu, who hauled herself to standing and yapped, her ears twitching, before trotting towards the doorway next to the cottage where they’d come in. Through it, hands in pockets, strolled the confident figure of Greg. He ignored Lulu sniffing at his shoes, clearly used to her, nodded at Luke across the garden, then turned his attention to Briony, who was walking quickly to greet him.
‘You’ve spoken to Kemi?’ she asked, her brow furrowing with concern.
‘Yes, half an hour ago. Poor old Robyn.’
‘Is there any news?’ Seeing her distress, Greg took her hands in a firm grip and she felt again that melting sensation, a warmth that passed right through her.
‘I don’t believe so. I thought I’d better come and check you’re happy with the mutt.’ He glanced at Lulu. The pug gave a final discontented snort and sank back down on the grass with a groan.
‘She’s all right, aren’t you, Lulu? I need to find what her routines are, that’s all.’
‘No idea myself. We’ll have to ask Avril, the cleaner. But if you’re content to look after her for the time being, then I’m sure everyone will be grateful.’
/> Briony glanced across at Luke and was surprised to see him staring at them, notebook clutched to his chest, a hesitant expression on his face. Somewhat self-consciously she withdrew her hands from Greg’s and took a step back from him. Luke came over to them.
‘This is the friend I told you about, Greg. Luke Sandbrook.’ The pair exchanged manly handshakes.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Greg remarked. ‘So, what do you think of the place?’
Luke gazed about him, then smiled at Greg. ‘It’s wonderful. It has such a lovely atmosphere.’
‘Yes, it does. Reckon it has possibilities?’
Briony listened as the men spoke of historical reconstruction, the old plan on Mrs Clare’s wall, Greg’s commercial ideas of a plant nursery and farm shop.
‘The greatest challenge might be irrigation,’ Luke told him. ‘Whatever the old system was – if there was much of one – it might need replacing.’
‘That sounds expensive. Still, I’d like to pursue it further. If you’ll let me know your rates we can discuss a proper brief.’
‘Fine by me,’ Luke said, tucking Greg’s card into his notebook and pocketing it.
‘Good.’ Greg stood, hands on hips, chest out, a lord of the manor contemplating his realm. Luke’s pose, arms folded, suggested the expert consultant, unfazed. Squaring up to each other, Briony noted, fascinated.
Greg cracked first. ‘Well, if you’re all right, Briony, I’ll ask someone to be in touch about the mutt.’
‘Please. And let me know as soon as you hear anything about Mrs Clare.’
‘Of course.’ He gave her a lingering look and Luke a perfunctory nod, then turned to go, the lowering sun glinting off his hair and his expensive watch. Beside her, Luke audibly breathed out, but he said nothing and Briony was glad.
‘Will you do it?’ she asked him, meaning the garden.
‘I don’t see why not. It’s a nice job if he’s not tricky to deal with. I’ll come back another time to take proper measurements.’
