A Tangled Summer

by Caroline Kington

  Alison’s eyes widened, ‘How did you swing that, Simon?’

  ‘I didn’t “swing” it, Ali. Banks don’t like to think their employees behave unprofessionally. If you’d made a complaint, which we could have substantiated, they would be in a very difficult position. This is an easy way out for them.’

  Alison shook her head. ‘I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve made everything come right for us. If only,’ she added, wistfully, ‘I could make things come right for you.’

  Simon put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Unfortunately, you can’t do that, but you, Alison, and your family have made it easier, in all sorts of ways. Above all else, you’ve kept me sane.’

  Alison slipped her arm round his waist and hugged him. She wanted so much to make him happy, but she knew there was not a lot she could do or say. Then a thought struck her. ‘Talking about sanity…is your friend, Marcus, entirely sane?’

  The unexpected question made Simon laugh, ‘Yes, I think so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘He came over this morning and spent hours taking loads of photographs of everything – broken tractors, the old duck pond, even the stinking puddle round the silage bunker…’

  ‘He works with pictures all the time. He sees things we don’t. Listen, Alison,’ Simon became serious. ‘I want to tell you something and I need to ask a huge favour of you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Alison had a premonition it wasn’t going to be something she would like very much, and she was right.

  ‘I’ve been offered a job. It’s going to take me overseas, to South Africa, in fact. There’s an important company in trouble there and they want me to go as soon as possible.’

  Alison went cold. ‘When? How long will you be gone for? Oh Simon!’

  ‘They want me to go by the end of this coming weekend. I don’t know how long for, could be six months, or could be longer. Don’t look so stricken, Ali. Be pleased for me. It’ll be a new country, new people, and I shall be far removed from any chance meeting with Helen and the baby. I’ll be back, don’t worry. I’ll come and dance at your wedding to Al, that’s a promise!’

  But she couldn’t raise a smile, even at that prospect. Simon stopped and turned her to look at him. ‘I have to come back, anyway,’ he said. ‘If I didn’t, Duchess would never forgive me.’

  ‘Duchess! Oh poor Duchess, she’ll be desolate!’

  ‘Yes, but I can’t take her with me. Will you look after her, Alison?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Alison suddenly felt weepy and flung her arms round Simon, ‘Take care of yourself, Simon. Please take care. I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘And I shall miss you; you and Duchess. You mean a lot to me, little Alison, and I don’t intend to lose you. I‘ll be back.’

  * * *

  ‘No thanks, Mum. I haven’t got time, and anyway, I’m not really hungry.’

  For the first time in his life, Stephen had refused food.

  Jenny, in the process of serving out a plate of sausage and beans, stared at him with concern, ‘Are you all right, love? You’ve been hard at it all day; you must eat something before your rehearsal. Are you feeling unwell?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Ange wants me to pick her up a bit earlier, so I’ve got to dash.’ And he almost ran out of the kitchen, before his mother could question him further.

  Stephen had spent a miserable day. Not only was he thoroughly upset by what he saw as his brother’s perfidy, but he was worried about Angela. She had been so quiet the evening before. She’d not wanted to talk about anything apart from the farm proposals; she’d not responded to his attempts to kiss her, and then she’d suggested that she wasn’t sure about marrying him… He, Stephen, was sure. He’d never been more certain about anything. Once the fog of his obsession with Nicola had rolled back, he could see clearly that Angela was worth a million Nicolas, that she would make him happy in a way nobody else could, and he didn’t want anything to get in the way of their future together.

  He had thought that Angela felt the same way. But it seemed he was wrong. Had something happened to make her change her mind? Was it something that he’d done? And then there was that threat of Gran’s looming over his head. He’d have to tell Angela about that, and if she was uncertain already…

  Then Angela had phoned him at lunchtime and had asked him to meet her a bit earlier than usual, so they could talk. About what, she hadn’t said, so he had spent the afternoon in fruitless speculation. No wonder he wasn’t hungry.

  She was obviously looking out for him because she was out of the house as soon as he drew up in the land rover. To his great relief, when she climbed into the cab, she leaned across and kissed him on the cheek and smiled. He turned the engine off and turned to her. Whatever happened, there was never going to be a right time and he had decided to take the plunge, come what may.

  ‘I know you want to talk to me about something, Ange, but first there’s something I’ve got to tell you. Something I’ve told no one else and it might upset you. I can see that it might, anyway, if you didn’t believe that I love you, which I do, love you, that is…’

  Angela turned to look at him, her eyes bright, ‘Do you, Stephen? Do you really?’

  He took her hand. ‘Yes, I do, Ange. I really do. All that stuff I said to you on Tuesday, I meant it, all of it. It’s like I’ve suddenly woken up to what I want.’

  ‘You want the farm to survive, more than anything, don’t you, Stephen?’

  He nodded.’ Of course, because that’s my life, and yours, too, I hope. But if you didn’t want…if you didn’t want to farm, I’d rather lose it, than you.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, Ange, I really mean that.’

  She leaned across, took his face in her hands and kissed him. After a dizzying few minutes, she let go and breathlessly asked, ‘What was it you was going to tell me, Stephen?’

  He looked down at his hands, took a deep breath, and began. ‘It’s to do with my gran… She’s quite strong-willed, you know…an’ she owns half the farm, an’…’

  He froze, suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that Elsie’s stupid ultimatum was putting his whole future in jeopardy. And he also realised that what he’d said to Angela was true: if it came to a point where he’d have to choose between the farm and her, there was no contest.

  Angela took his hand in hers. ‘Go on, Stephen, tell me.’

  ‘A couple of weeks back, Charlie did something really stupid, which really got up her nose. Being the sort of person she is, Ange, she told us that unless we got our act together within the year, she would cut us out of her will. If we did, you know, what she asked us, then…then she would give us her share of the farm.’

  Silence.

  Nervously Stephen cast a glance at Angela.

  She was looking at her hands folded in her lap and he could not read her expression. ‘What did she ask you to do?’

  Stephen could find no way of making it less awful. ‘Find a wife,’ He finally blurted out, ‘But Ange, that’s not why I…’

  ‘Stephen,’ Angela looked up at him, her eyes sparkling, ‘I’ve been thinking about it, ever since I heard. I admit I was upset at first, but then, I thought, you’ve got eleven months and two weeks more to find someone else. It’s like something from a Greek Legend or a Grimm’s fairytale. Do you want to take up the quest, to find the perfect bride?’

  ‘No, Ange,’ Stephen was humbled. ‘I’ve found her. I know you’re the only one I shall ever be truly happy with.’

  Angela, glowing, flung her arms around him. ‘Kiss me.’

  It was Stephen who broke off this time, panting and feeling a little puzzled. ‘Hold on, Ange, you said, “Ever since you heard.”How did you hear? I never told anyone.’

  ‘Nicola told me. She came to the library to warn me.’

  ‘How did she know?’ Stephen was comple
tely confused.

  ‘She hinted that you’d told her. That’s what hurt, Stephen. The thought that you’d told her and you hadn’t told me, your best friend.’

  ‘I would never keep anything back from you, Ange. I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?

  ‘Yes.’ Angela said, happily. ‘Yes, I know that. When Mr Babbington gave me a lift home last night, we talked and he helped to make everything clear. He’s very fond of you, Stephen, and he said you were the most honest man he knew. That you would never say anything you didn’t mean. I told him about Nicola and he said I should talk to you and not leap to conclusions. He was so kind. So that’s why I phoned, I was going to ask you about your gran, but you got there first and I can’t tell you how happy that’s made me!’

  ‘I wonder, who told Nicola…?’ But, Angela’s mouth on his, that particular question never got answered.

  It was inevitable that this conversation, and the long embrace that followed, meant that when June Pagett and the Merlin Players arrived for their evening rehearsal, there was no sign of Stephen and Angela, and the stage was bare of furniture and props. Mrs Pagett was loud in her annoyance, and bullied the actors into setting up for themselves. Nicola found herself being questioned and then taken to task by Gerald and the others.

  ‘Did you see Angela?’

  ‘How did she take it?’

  ‘Was she upset?’

  ‘Do you think that’s why she’s not here tonight? Couldn’t face us?

  ‘Or Stephen for that matter. If she told him we knew, then maybe he wouldn’t want to face us.’

  ‘What about our rehearsal?

  ‘Supposing neither of them comes back?’

  ‘What’s going to happen to our performance?’

  ‘It’s really hard to get a decent stage manager…’

  ‘And we’ve gone and lost two really good ones…’

  ‘We shouldn’t have interfered…’

  ‘Nicola shouldn’t have interfered, you mean. What business was it of hers to say anything?’

  ‘We’re going to be in a right mess if one of them doesn’t come back…’

  ‘Nicola’s really upset the applecart…’

  It was with some relief that Nicola saw Stephen and Angela walk in, hand in hand, half an hour late, unapologetic and clearly very happy.

  * * *

  ‘You must be joking, Tucker, if you think that I’d be prepared to pay that much for your dump of a place.’

  Hugh Lester, his eye now a glorious, autumnal yellow and brown, glared at Charlie, who sported a resplendent red and purple eye, and who sat, unperturbed, sipping his beer. They had met as agreed. The bar, a comfortable red plush haven, smelling of beer and furniture polish, was empty, apart from one couple tucked away on the window seat, engaged in an intimate conversation. Having served Charlie and Hugh, Linda had left them to it and gone back into the public bar.

  Charlie had been very subdued all day. The fight with his brother had upset him, and the revelation that the rest of the family all knew about the Lesters anyway, and backed Stephen’s approach to dealing with the farm’s problems, left him feeling redundant and side-lined. The prospect of the meeting that Gran had called for that evening further added to his gloom. He hadn’t had a chance to soften her up to the idea of selling to the Lesters, and she had indicated in the strongest possible terms last night that she did not approve of his proposal to do so. He had considered cancelling the meeting with Hugh Lester, but at the thought of everything Hugh had done to them, at the prospect of the struggles facing them trying to meet the bank’s demands in the months to come, and at the thought that there would never be enough money for a reconditioned motocross bike, let alone a new one, Charlie was filled with an overwhelming desire to see Hugh Lester suffer in some way. So he had decided to spin him along.

  Sitting opposite him, Charlie viewed his family’s enemy dispassionately. He was certainly well preserved for his age – what was he? Fifty? He looked strong, clean-shaven, with a firm jaw and prominent cheek bones; his hair was thick and black, and his eyes – such a cold blue. There was nothing soft or humorous in his face and it was not made any more attractive by the glaring, blood-shot eyeball. He was surprisingly short – Charlie had not met him often and then he was usually in his car, or on a horse, so his height took Charlie aback. ‘That’s probably why he’s such a bully’, he thought to himself. ‘He’s a short-arse.’

  He sipped his beer and smiled in response to Hugh’s terse rejection of the figure he’d proposed. ‘There’s no need to be uncivil, Mister Lester. That “dump of a place” is our home, so it has a price. I’ve told you, I had the farm and house valued. You’ve told me you want Marsh Farm. I’ve told you what we want for it…’

  ‘It’s a preposterous amount. Way above the valuation figure, I’m sure. It’s not worth it.’ Hugh was getting impatient.

  ‘No? But Mr Lester, it’s what you’re going to have to cough up, if you really want it. And from what I’ve heard, you really want it…’

  Hugh glared at Charlie. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean: interfering with my bank manager – sending your wife out to make love to him so he puts the screws on us. You must want it really bad, Hughie, or is that the way you normally do business – using your wife?’

  With an explosion of anger, Hugh leapt to his feet and grabbed hold of Charlie’s shirtfront. ‘You little piece of shit. I don’t have to take that from someone like you. Apologise!’

  Charlie got to his feet, and towered above Hugh. ‘I think you should let go of my shirt, Hughie, or I’ll colour the other eye for you.’

  ‘You do that and I’ll have you back in court, for a bit more than being drunk and disorderly.’

  ‘You do that and I’ll have you in court. Nobbling the bank – I don’t know what the courts call it these days, but I bet it carries a heavier sentence than my clocking you one would, particularly when I have been so provoked, and not just with your wife playing with my bank manager, but making malicious calls to the boys in white coats about our dairy, trying to bribe my hired man, and blackening my name in the village so we lose our leased meadows? As I said, you must want our farm really bad. Is there nothing you will not stoop to, Hughie?’

  For a moment, Charlie watched Hugh change all colours of the rainbow, then he released his hold on Charlie’s shirt and pulled himself back, knocking his chair over with a clatter. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Linda reappear in the bar. ‘You’ll regret this,’ Hugh muttered thickly. ‘I’ll make sure of it. You’ll regret taking me on…’

  ‘Are we adding threats to our list of things we stoop to, Mister Lester? If so, allow me to make one of my own: if I so much as get a whiff of any action taken by you against my farm or my family, I shan’t hesitate to take a full description of you and your wife’s antics to the press. It’s the sort of story they’d love!’

  With an inarticulate cry, Hugh turned on his heel and charged out of the pub.

  And with an insouciance he was not feeling, Charlie picked up his unfinished pint and went to join Linda at the bar.

  * * *

  The meeting had been arranged for ten o’clock. The kitchen had been tidied, all traces of supper had been cleared away and the kettle was gently hissing on the Rayburn, ready for demands for tea. Jeff, whom Elsie had also invited to the family gathering, was sitting at the kitchen table unpacking a box containing a food mixer. It had belonged to his wife and had been sitting at the back of a cupboard, unused for years, he told Jenny. Stephen, and Angela who had also been invited at Elsie’s request, were expected back from their rehearsal at any moment. Charlie had just returned from The Grapes, armed with a tube of instant tan that Linda had given him. He had disappeared off to the bathroom to touch up his white wings while they were waiting for Stephen and Angela to arrive. And Alison was sitting at the ki
tchen table with Jeff and her mother, telling Jenny about Simon’s plans, and about looking after Duchess.

  ‘That’ll be nice, dear, company for Gip. We shall miss Simon, though. What a friend he’s been to us, eh? And how’s that young man of yours doing?’ She was knitting something that looked like a small tea cosy, in bright red wool, impregnated with little flecks of yellow.

  ‘I spoke to him this afternoon. He says he feels a lot stronger today.’

  ‘Good. I’m looking forward to meeting him. I must bake a cake for you to take in to him. Now I’ve got Jeff’s lovely mixer to use, I’ll be able to bake cakes every day. You know what they say about hospital food… How long are they going to keep him in?’

  ‘He doesn’t know. His leg was broken in quite a few places and he’s going to have to find somewhere to stay because he’ll be on crutches, so he’ll need quite a bit of care.’

  ‘Won’t he go home?’

  ‘He’d rather die. Do you know, Mum, his parents had him put in a private room when he was still unconscious. When he came round, he ordered the nurses to put him back on the ward!’

  ‘Goodness me, Ali, his poor parents, how they must feel – they’d only want the best for him!’

  Alison realised that the whole Lester thing had passed her mother completely by. Maybe one day, before she brought Al home, she’d attempt to explain things to her.

  The door opened and Stephen ushered Angela in.

  ‘That’s pretty, Mrs Tucker,’ Angela sat down, admiring Jenny’s dexterity with the needles. ‘What are you knitting?’

  ‘A strawberry.’ Jenny held it up for Angela to see. ‘Or rather, a hat shaped like a strawberry. I saw one for sale the other day, for ten pounds, and I thought: I could knit that for a fraction of that price. My friend Rita suggested I make a few and sell them in her shop and in the Farmer’s Market. Oh, Stephen, here’s a funny thing, I quite forgot to tell you earlier. This lady phoned this afternoon – Harriet something – I’ve written it down. She wants to come and see us. Something about an article for a magazine called…now, what was it called? It’s written on that pad over there, Ali, read it out, would you?’