A Summer in the Country

by Marcia Willett

  She stared at him, shocked, pinned by his keen gaze. Was there pity in it? With w effort she pushed aside the overwhelming desire to shout, “But that’s not fair,” and struggled, instead, towards some kind of honesty.

  “I like her,” she cried, “I’m very fond of her but she gets away with everything. She falls on her feet every time…” she caught her breath, remembering, and burst unexpectedly into tears … “her big, flat webbed feet.” She choked on her self-loathing. “I called her Puddle-duck, you know, when she was born. I used to enjoy imagining this fat, white, duck-bodied child with tiny eyes and big flat feet.” She looked at him, pushing back her hair. “It helped me to hate her, d’you see. When I saw a photograph of her, well…” She shook her head. “You’ve seen hen She’s so pretty, isn’t she? As a child she was quite delicious.”

  He put a handkerchief into her hands and she took it automatically, rubbing her cheeks, blowing her nose, her eyes fixed on the past.

  “They came to Daddy’s funeral. She was about fourteen then. But she had no idea, no idea at all, how I felt or what I’d been through. She was simply delighted to have found her sister at last. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘We’re sisters. I’ve always wanted to meet you.’ She was so pretty, so sweet. And I felt so jealous, so utterly miserable with Daddy just buried. I hated her. I said, ‘I’ve always called you Puddle-duck.’ I wanted to hurt her, you see. I needed her to see the image of her that I’d always had in my mind. But she didn’t react. She laughed. I think she was even pleased. She saw it as a delightful, happy nickname. She even told Mummie, but Mummie knew straight away. She looked at me, right through me, and she laughed and I felt mean and small and disgusting. She said, ‘And what do you think of my ugly duckling?’ Jemima wanted us to be a family but it’s always stood between us. She’s never dissembled or pretended to be different from what she is. It’s just like she’s waiting.” Brigid wiped her wet eyes. “It’s odd, actually. She often quite deliberately tells me things that she knows I’ll disapprove of, or displays her weaknesses to me.”

  “Perhaps,” said Alexander gently, “your sister has discovered a very important truth. She sees that we serve others as much by our weaknesses as by our strengths. The only difficulty is that it takes humility and courage to be able to live by it.”

  “Mummie’s always so nice to her,” Brigid sounded exhausted, “which doesn’t help.”

  “Your mother also needs weapons,” he said. “Perhaps it’s time you laid yours down. Show me the dog biscuits and I’ll leave you in peace.”

  After he’d gone, Brigid reflected that any other man, having reduced her to tears, might have made tea or poured a drink and stood by whilst she recovered. The point was that Alexander was not like other men. In the comforting and the apologies, the truth might have become blurred and forgotten. Alexander never took that chance. Brigid drank a glass of cold tap water, tied her hair back with a faded cotton scarf and went upstairs to her work.

  CHAPTER 36

  Gregory arrived late in the afternoon. He climbed from his car, looking about him with tremendous interest, beaming with delight when Alexander emerged to greet him. They shook hands and then hugged, their words snatched from their lips by a malicious wind which tore over the moor and keened around the cottages. The two ladies watched—discreetly hidden—from the window. The cheerful roar of Gregory’s laughter was carried to them and it was clear that the two men were enjoying their reunion.

  “He looks rather nice,” said Margot thoughtfully. “Don’t you think so, Fred? Not as tall as Alexander but not as thin, either. Looks like a man who knows how to enjoy himself.”

  Frummie slid a sideways glance in her direction. “Well, if he doesn’t, dear, he will by the time he leaves Foxhole.”

  Margot grinned. “Do you think Alexander will ask us over to meet him today?”

  Frummie shrugged. “They’ll have lots of catching up to do. Anyway, he’s probably knackered after driving from London.”

  “London?” Margot looked at her sharply. “How do you know he comes from London?”

  “I asked.” Frummie looked faintly discomfited. “Well. Sort of asked. I just mentioned something about him having a long drive and Alexander said that it wasn’t too bad just coming from London.”

  Margot brooded for a moment, watching while Alexander with extensive sweeps of his arm explained to Gregory the setup at Foxhole.

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean he lives there,” she said. “Does it? He might have been visiting, on his way from somewhere else.”

  “Possibly.”

  A silence, during which time several bags were removed from the car and placed on the track whilst the two men continued to talk.

  “I do love Alexander,” burst out Margot irritably, “but he can be so infuriating ”

  “He sees through us,” said Frummie, her eyes on the tall, thin figure. “It’s impossible to wheedle him.”

  “That’s what I mean,” cried Margot. “And yet you can’t get anything out of him. Have you noticed that, Fred? Quite unfair.”

  “He’s a remarkable man,” agreed Frummie. “I’ve never met anyone quite like him before, I must admit. Definitely a challenge.”

  “Well.” Margot looked at her slyly. “That’s an admission, coming from you. Have you found out where he’s going when he goes north?”

  “Not really.” Frummie frowned, puzzled. “I asked him if he had his own place and he said he had. So then I asked him if it were in the country and he said it was and that it was a big place but only a small bit of it was his. I’m paraphrasing, you understand. It took quite a long time to get to the root of it. I said, ‘Oh, you mean sheltered housing or something like that.’ You know. Just to draw him out. And he laughed and said, yes, it was something like that.”

  “You didn’t tell me all this,” said Margot jealously, clearly put out. “How long have you known?”

  “I’m telling you now,” said Frummie unperturbed. “And he only told me this morning when I popped over to see if there were anything I could do. It was when we were talking about how far Gregory was driving. It just fell rather neatly into place.”

  “Mmm.” Margot craned to watch Gregory follow Alexander into the cottage. “Perhaps he’s bought a flat in one of those big old country mansions. You know the sort of thing I mean? It’s very fashionable. You get to use the grounds and there’s usually one of those electronic thingies on the gate. Very posh. I wonder if it’s that?”

  “I suppose it could be. I wonder what it would be like.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard it can be great fun.” Margot sounded suspiciously encouraging. “They have a swimming pool and a sauna and restaurants and hairdressers. It’s like a little world all on its own. Suzy and Jim moved into one in Hampshire. I stayed with them for a few days. My dear! Absolutely rolling in it! The lap of luxury. They played bridge and tennis and there were lots of lovely drinks parties. I was green with envy, I promise you. You’d love it, Fred.”

  Frummie smiled her down-turned smile. “Sounds like you’re trying to sell it to me, dear.”

  Margot laughed, dismissing such a foolish notion. “Don’t be silly. I only meant what with Alexander being so fond of you and it all being in the family, so to speak… Well, you might get the chance of a visit, that’s all.”

  “I might. If that’s the sort of place he means. I can’t quite see Alexander in that kind of company. He’d put their backs up in no time at all.”

  “Of course, Suzy and Jim chose one with a particularly social reputation. It’s quite famous. Retired people with lots of money who like to enjoy themselves. Alexander probably couldn’t afford quite that sort of place. Maybe it’s a slightly less posh one. I’m sure Gregory will tell us, once we get to know him.”

  The two men had reappeared and Gregory was taking a familiar-looking cardboard box from the back of the car whilst Alexander picked up the remaining suitcase.

  “Seems like he’s brought some booze with him,” said Margot
happily. “Didn’t I say that he looks like a man who knows how to enjoy himself?”

  “You did. What’s more important, he looks like a man who likes to help other people to enjoy themselves. He looks rather fun, I do admit.”

  Margot glanced at her sharply. “Hands off, Fred! We decided that he was mine. You decided. Too late to change your mind now!”

  Frummie rolled her eyes sideways. “Who says I’m changing my mind? But it’s rather up to Gregory, isn’t it? Perhaps Alexander might bring him over later to say hello.”

  “I think I’ll take a bath,” said Margot, as if seized by a sudden inspiration. “Is that OK, Fred?” She nipped off towards the stairs with surprising alacrity. “Shan’t be long.”

  Frummie remained at the window, watching the crate and the case being taken indoors. Presentiy the two men reappeared and Gregory reparked the car, turning it and then tucking it in closely to the wall whilst Alexander watched and gave directions. He climbed out again, locked the door and slipped the keys into his pocket. Alexander followed him through the gate and, as Gregory disappeared into the cottage, Alexander turned towards her and raised a hand in a friendly salute. Frummie laughed aloud, delighted with him, but remained for some time at the window, still half hidden by the curtain, absorbed in her own train of thought.

  JEMIMA REPLACED the telephone receiver and gave a howl of frustration. MagnifiCat jumped on to the windowsill and sat watching her, his tail curled tidily around his paws.

  “What shall I do?” she asked him. “I can’t find anyone to do the Hope Cove cottage on Saturday. No one! Janet’s got a stomach upset, Judy’s taking her mum shopping and Sally’s got something on at school. I’m going to have to do the changeover myself. Oh, what a waste of a morning! Why do people want to come on holiday so late in the season?”

  She riffled through her address book, muttering under her breath, trying to be reasonable. At least he was coming for the weekend. Beneath the overriding excitement, anxiety nagged. Was she being a fool in believing that they had a future together? Had she taken too much for granted? She’d gradually convinced herself that she could confide in Brigid; tell her about this new, exciting relationship and the subsequent unwelcome shock. Carefully, hopefully, she’d persuaded herself that Brigid might understand and share her thoughts and fears, only to be cast suddenly into doubt. Even as she’d walked into Effings she’d still been in two minds about it but, oddly enough, as soon as she’d seen her sister, sitting waiting for her, her anxiety had evaporated and she’d suddenly felt a sure confidence. There had been something open and candid about Brigid’s expression; her body language was welcoming, her smile warm. There had been tension, yes, no doubt about that, but it had been on Brigid’s side: an uncharacteristic nervousness which had surprised and disarmed.

  Jemima, remembering, laughed almost bitterly. How typical that on the day she’d screwed her own courage to the post, preparing to unburden her soul, Brigid had been going through exactly the same mental process. Watching her, Jemima had realised that Brigid was feeling just as she did herself: she recognised in her sister the urgent need to begin before she lost her nerve. Jemima had felt first amazed, then very touched. She could hardly believe that the cool, reserved, sensible Brigid was telling her—her, the scatty, disorganised, foolish Jemima—these personal details. She’d almost forgotten her own troubles in hearing Brigid’s. It was as if she were discovering a completely new woman; not the Brigid she’d known at all. She was riveted, finding it almost impossible to believe that she should act without Humphrey’s knowledge and consent—that she should take such a chance, to risk her little cottage… She’d listened, fascinated and then horrified, as the tale unfolded. When she’d heard about Bryn’s flight and the unpaid debts, she’d guessed what was coming but she’d easily imagined Brigid’s shock and fear and could readily understand how difficult it had been to tell Humphrey.

  “What on earth did he say?” she’d asked. ‘Twelve thousand pounds! You must have been out of your mind.”

  Brigid had talked on, her hair pushed back behind her ears, her home-made pâté forgotten, sipping occasionally from her glass of wine. When she’d explained about taking over the school, Jemima had felt a thrill of excitement ’That’s a brilliant idea,” she’d said at once. “Fantastic! Surely Humphrey will go for that, won’t he?”

  “It was Alexander’s idea,” Brigid had admitted. “It was so clever of him to think of it.”

  She’d recounted her conversation with Humphrey, how she’d practised what she called her “gamesmanship,” until they were both laughing. Somehow the tension was released at last and Brigid began to eat her lunch whilst Jemima took it all in.

  “Do you mind that he’d still be away?“_she’d asked. “Just when you thought you were going to have time together?”

  “I don’t think I have any choice,” Brigid had answered honestly. “I can’t drop him in the shit and then complain about it, can I? Actually, though, to tell you the truth I’ve been rather dreading his retirement.”

  Another shock! Jemima had stared at her in surprise.

  “Dreading it? But why? You always seem so happy together. You have so much fun.”

  “I know.” Brigid had looked worried, guilty. “It’s just… I have this need to be on my own. I like solitude. It’s great to have him home—-of course it is—but I get a bit twitchy if there’s someone around all the time. I know it sounds really weird, doesn’t it…?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Jemima had answered quickly. ‘It doesn’t sound weird at all. I’m exactly the same.”

  “Are you?” Brigid had looked up ather, toast poised midair. “Really?”

  “I’d thought it was just me. I’ve always hated sharing with people and I’ve never been able to have anyone living in with me long teim. I can’t relax properly or do my own thing. I’m kind of on edge all the time.”

  “Yes, that’s it.” Brigid had sounded almost excited. ‘That’s exactly it. How extraordinary.”

  They’d stared at one another, pleased at this mutual discovery, as if it had strengthened the bond between them.

  “It must be genetic.” Jemima had grinned at her sister.

  ’Though we certainly don’t inherit it from Frammie. She’d rather live with anyone than be alone.”

  “Oh, I know.” Brigid’s expression had been a mixture of amusement and despair. “At least she’s got Margot at the moment. Not to mention Alexander and Gregory to keep her busy.”

  They’d laughed together companionably, enjoying this new depth of relationship growing between them. Unwilling to spoil it, Jemima had decided to keep her own problems a secret for the moment. She sensed that it would be better to continue to concentrate on Brigid’s disclosure.

  “So what do you think Humphrey will do next?” she’d asked—and the rest of the time together had passed in speculation and conjecture and Brigid’s hopes for the future.

  MagnifiCat stretched a languid leg, leaning to lick his flank, and Jemima rested her chin in her hands, watching him, continuing to readjust long-held assumptions about her sister. She still felt certain that it had been wise not to introduce her own dilemma at that point: that it had been right to postpone her own needs until a later date. They would serve to reinforce this new closeness which was building between them. Brigid had offered her a gift of her fears and weaknesses: next time it would be her turn. She sighed deeply. She could confide in Louise but it seemed unfair to burden her with worries when she was just managing to hold her own again. No, she must deal with this one alone for the time being. Of course, it was always possible that die coming weekend might solve all her problems.

  A tiny flame of excitement flickered in her gut and a surging wave of happiness buoyed up her flagging confidence. Surely all would be well? If only she could find someone to do the changeover for her at Hope Cove then she could really look forward to the weekend. Two whole days together. She allowed herself to relax into anticipation: to melt with love and expect
ation. He had sounded very ebullient, very affectionate; teasing her with the news he would be sharing with her.

  “I never thought that relocating would be such fun,” he’d said. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering leaving London.”

  “I felt like that once,” she’d said, making it sound very casual: a kind of “Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt” kind of indifference, as if he were still catching up on what was really cool. “But now… well.” She’d made it sound like a shrug. “Who needs it?”

  “I’m beginning to believe that I don’t. I can’t wait to see you again.”

  “That’s good.” She’d wondered how she could possibly continue to play it so casually whilst all the time her hand was gripping the telephone as though it were a lifeline and her body was clenched in a spasm of need and love. “Not too long till Friday.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  She’d heard him sigh and immediately had felt anxious that she’d been overdoing it, longing to cry, “I love you. I want you to be here nowV

  “I’m going to see Annabel tomorrow evening,” he’d said—and her stomach had instantly curdled with fear; her hands were icy.

  “Oh?” The small sharp word had sounded curt; loaded with terror.

  “Well, she asked if I’d go over.” He’d sounded conciliatory. ‘There are still things to discuss and she’s got some of my stuff. You know how it is.”

  “Sure ” She’d made herself answer calmly, even cheerfully. Yet why shouldn’t she show her insecurity; ask for confirmation of his love? Why not give him the chance to comfort and reassure her? Some instinct warned her against it: some deep intuitive sense told her to wait.

  “I miss you,” he’d said softly. “I really miss you.”

  They’d talked nonsense for a while; teasing each other affectionately, laughing, making plans …