Voices In Summer

by Rosamunde Pilcher

  ‘I thought you were an architect.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I was a practising architect for a number of years, in Cheltenham of all places. But when I came down here to live I realized that there simply wasn’t enough work. There was no call for a man with my qualifications. Anyway, designing furniture isn’t that different from designing houses, and I’ve always liked working with my hands.’

  ‘Are you going to stay here always?’

  ‘If I can. Provided I don’t blot my copybook with Gerald and get flung out of Tremenheere. It’s your first visit, isn’t it? How do you like it?’

  ‘It’s heaven.’

  ‘Mind you, you’re seeing it under ideal conditions. Just wait till the winds blow and the rain starts pouring down. You’d think it would never stop.’

  ‘I was a bit apprehensive about coming,’ she admitted, and somehow it was possible to do this, because he was an easy person to talk to. ‘You know, to stay, by myself, with people I’d never met. Even though they are Alec’s relations. But the doctor said I wasn’t to go to Scotland, and I didn’t actually have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘What…?’ he sounded astonished. ‘No relations of your own?’

  ‘No. Not one.’

  ‘I don’t know whether to envy you or be sorry for you. Well, don’t worry about it anyway. My mother’s most favourite thing is looking after people. Every now and then Gerald has to put his foot down, but she persists. He grumbles that she’s turned his house into a bloody commune, but he only becomes annoyed with all us hangers-on when he thinks that Eve’s looking tired. Have you met Drusilla?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the dreaded Joshua? I’m afraid Drusilla’s coming to Tremenheere was my responsibility.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘I’ve really no idea. She turned up at Lanyon about a year ago, with the infant Joshua and a man called Kev. I suppose he was Joshua’s father. He called himself an artist, but his pictures were so appalling that no person in his wildest moment would dream of paying good money for them. They lived in a little house on the moor, and then one evening when they’d been there about nine months, Drusilla turned up at the pub with her backpack and her flute case and her baby in a grocery carton and the news that Kev had decamped on her and gone back to London and another woman.’

  ‘What a brute.’

  ‘Oh, she was quite philosophical about it all. Not particularly resentful. Just homeless and broke. Mathie was in the pub that evening, and at closing time he took pity on her and took her home to his wife, and they looked after her for a couple of days, but it was obvious that she couldn’t stay there, so I had a word with Gerald and she moved into the cottage at Tremenheere. She seems to have settled down very nicely.’

  ‘But where does she come from?’

  ‘Huddersfield, I think. I don’t know her background. I don’t know anything about her. Except that she is a trained musician. I think she once played in an orchestra. You’ll hear her practising her flute. She’s very good.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘No idea. I suppose about twenty-five.’

  ‘But what does she live on?’

  ‘Social Security, I imagine.’

  ‘But what will happen to her?’ Laura persisted. She found this all fascinating, a glimpse into a life that she had never had to imagine.

  ‘Again, no idea. Down here, we don’t ask those sort of questions. But have no fears for Drusilla. She and Joshua are born survivors.’

  As they talked, the road had climbed, the terrain altered. Bosky lanes had given way to open countryside, reclaimed moorland, with distant views of rounded hills topped here and there with the engine houses of disused tin mines, piercing the skyline like jagged teeth.

  They came to a sign, Landrock, and a moment later entered the village, not as picturesque as the others they had come through, but a collection of bleak stone terraces, built around a crossroads. On the four corners of this stood a pub, a newsagent, a post office, and a long rambling building that had once, perhaps, been a barn. It had small, dusty windows crammed with seductive junk, and over the door hung a sign.

  WM. COLESHILL

  SECONDHAND FURNITURE

  BRIC-À-BRAC

  ANTIQUES

  Ivan slowed down and drew up at the pavement’s edge. They got out of the car. Up here, on the hill, it was cooler, the air fresh. There did not seem to be anybody about. They went through the open door of the shop, down a step. Inside the temperature dropped by ten degrees or more, and there was the smell of damp and decay and musty old furniture and wax polish. It took some time to grow accustomed to the dark after the bright sunshine out of doors, and as they stood there, a stirring came from the back of the shop. A chair was pushed back. Out of the gloom, edging his way between cliffs of stacked furniture, emerged an old man in a sagging cardigan. He took off his glasses, the better to see.

  ‘Ah … Ivan!’

  ‘Hello, Mr Coleshill.’

  Laura was introduced. Remarks were made about the weather. Mr Coleshill asked after Eve; then he and Ivan disappeared into some dim recess to look at the pine furniture the old man had acquired. Left alone, and very happy, Laura pottered around, squeezing herself into inaccessible corners, tripping over coal scuttles, milking stools, broken umbrella stands, piles of china.

  But she was not simply pottering, because she was looking for a present for Eve. There had not been time before she left London to buy a gift for her hostess, and she had felt badly arriving as she did, empty-handed. When at last she came upon the pair of china figures, the shepherd and the shepherdess, she knew at once that they were exactly what she had been searching for. She inspected them for cracks or chips or mends, but they appeared to be in perfect condition, if a little dusty. She blew at the dust and wiped the shepherd on the skirt of her dress. His face was white and pink, his hat blue, encircled by tiny flowers. She wanted them for herself, which is perhaps the best criterion of all when giving presents. Holding her find, she made her way back to the main part of the shop, where Ivan and Mr Coleshill, having apparently transacted their business successfully, were waiting for her.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how long I’d been. I found these.… How much are they?’

  Mr Coleshill told her and she reeled. ‘They’re genuine Dresden,’ he assured her and turned them up in his dirty long-nailed hands to show her the mark on the bottom. ‘Dresden and in perfect condition.’

  ‘I’ll have them.’

  While she wrote the cheque, Mr Coleshill went away and returned with her purchase, bulkily wrapped in dirty newspaper. She gave him the cheque and took the precious parcel from him. He went to the door to open it for them and let them out. They said goodbye and got into the car. After the chill of the shop, it was good to be warm again.

  Ivan said, ‘I think you probably paid too much for them.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘They’re charming.’

  ‘They’re for your mother. Do you think she’ll like them?’

  ‘For Eve? What a darling girl you are!’

  ‘I’ll have to wash them before I give them to her. They can’t have had a bath in years. And perhaps, on the way home, I could stop off somewhere to get some pretty tissue paper. I can’t give them to her wrapped in dirty newspaper.’

  She looked at him. He was smiling. ‘You’re obviously a person who loves to give presents.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I always have. But…,’ she added, in a burst of confidence, ‘before I married Alec I could never afford to give people the sort of presents I really wanted to buy. But now I can.’ She hoped that she did not sound mercenary. ‘It’s a lovely feeling,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘There’s a gift shop in the town. We’ll get some paper there when we’ve had our swim.’

  Laura stowed the parcel at her feet, where it could not fall and break. She said, ‘And you? Are you pleased with what you’ve bought?’

  ‘Yes. Quite satisfied. Although
like you I’ve probably been rooked. But so what? He has to make a living. Now’—he started up the engine—‘let’s forget about shopping and go to Gwenvoe and jump into the sea.’

  * * *

  Silvia lay in the deck chair, where yesterday Laura had lain. After his stint of hoeing, Gerald had taken himself off to the town to deal with a few small masculine errands, and Eve had grasped the opportunity to calm her troubled conscience, and telephoned Silvia to ask her for tea. Silvia had accepted the modest invitation with alarming alacrity and come at once, walking the short distance up the road from her little house.

  It was now five thirty, and they had had their tea. The remains of this stood on a low table between them, the empty teapot, the thin Rockingham cups and saucers, a few biscuits that had not been eaten. Lucy, who had decided that if she couldn’t be with Laura, she might as well be with Eve, was curled up in the shade beneath Eve’s chair. Eve was stitching at her tapestry.

  She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d have thought they’d be home by now. I hope Ivan hasn’t made Laura do too much.… At Gwenvoe he usually walks up the cliff path for a bit and swims from the rocks, but that really would be too much of a climb for her. I should have said something.’

  ‘I should think Laura’s perfectly capable of looking after herself,’ said Silvia.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.…’ Eve raised her head, needle poised. A car roared up through the village. ‘Talk of the devil, there they are now. I wonder if I should go and make a fresh pot of tea.’

  ‘Wait and see if they want one,’ said Silvia sensibly.

  They listened. Car doors slammed. Voices could be heard. Laughter. Next moment Ivan and Laura appeared through the escallonia arch and began to walk across the sunlit grass towards the two watching, waiting women. Ivan and … yes, it was Laura. But so subtly changed from the pale girl who had arrived at Tremenheere two days ago that Eve, for an astonished second, scarcely recognized her. But of course it was Laura. Laura with her dark hair wet and sleek from swimming, wearing a loose sleeveless sundress that exposed long bare arms and legs already tanned to a warm honey brown. As they watched, one of her sandals came loose. She stood on one leg to deal with this, and Ivan put his hand on her arm to support her. He said something and she laughed.

  Lucy heard her laughter. She sat up, pricked her ears, saw Laura, and ran to greet her, tail and ears flying. Laura, with her sandal fixed, stooped and gathered Lucy up into her arms and got her face licked for her pains. They came on, across the grass, the fair young man, the dark pretty girl, the little dog.

  ‘Hello!’ called Eve when they were within earshot. ‘We wondered what had happened to you. Did you have a lovely time?’

  ‘Yes. Gorgeous. We’re cool at last. Hello, Silvia, I didn’t know you were here.’ Ivan stooped and kissed Silvia’s cheek beneath the enormous black sunglasses, and then took the lid off the teapot.

  ‘Anything left? I’ve got a hell of a thirst.’

  Eve laid down her tapestry. ‘I’ll make some more,’ but Ivan stopped her, with a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t stir yourself, we’ll get some for ourselves.’ He collapsed on the grass, leaning back on his elbows. Laura knelt at Silvia’s feet and set Lucy down beside her. She smiled at Silvia. ‘Hello!’

  ‘Where did you take her?’ Silvia asked Ivan.

  ‘To Gwenvoe. It was packed with screaming people, but you were right. The swimming was perfect.’

  ‘I hope you’re not too tired,’ Eve said to Laura.

  ‘No. I feel marvellous. All refreshed.’ She knelt there on the grass, glowing from her bathe, looking, thought Eve, about fifteen.

  ‘Have you never been down to Cornwall before?’ Silvia asked her.

  ‘No. This is my first visit. When I was a child I lived in Dorset and we used to go to Lyme Regis in the summertime.’

  ‘Alec and I used to play on the beach here together when we were both very young.… I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to chat with him when he was here, but Eve’s promised that we shall have a good gossip when he comes back to fetch you. He’s gone to Scotland?’

  ‘Yes. Salmon fishing.’

  ‘And you still live in London?’

  ‘Yes. The house Alec’s always had, in Islington.’

  ‘I used to go to London quite often, in the old days, when my husband was alive. It was always rather a treat. But I haven’t been for ages. Hotels are so dreadfully expensive now, and everything costs so much … even taking a taxi practically bankrupts me.’

  ‘We’ve got a spare bedroom. It’s not very smart, but you’d be more than welcome if ever you wanted to make use of it.’

  ‘How very kind.’

  ‘You just have to ask. Alec would love to have you, I’m certain. It’s Abigail Crescent. Number thirty-three. Or you could telephone. Eve’s got the number.’

  ‘Oh, I do think that’s thoughtful. I’ll maybe take you up on it one day.’

  ‘I really mean it. I wish you would.’

  Eve was talking to Ivan. ‘How did you get on with Mr Coleshill?’

  Silvia heard the name and joined in with their conversation. ‘Did you find any pretty things, Ivan?’

  ‘Yes, it was a worthwhile trip. I got a beautiful dresser and some very nice wheel-back chairs. So good-looking, I think they might be worth copying. Mathie will be thrilled.’

  ‘Oh, darling, what a lovely, successful few days you’ve had,’ said Eve.

  ‘I know. Laura and I have decided that we should celebrate. So there’s going to be a cocktail hour in the coach house this evening. Or it might even be a champagne cocktail hour if I can find the right sort of bottles. Silvia, you’re invited too. About seven o’clock.’

  Silvia turned her blind, black gaze in his direction. ‘Oh … I don’t think—’ she began, but Eve interrupted her.

  ‘Now, don’t start making excuses, Silvia. Of course you must come. It wouldn’t be a proper party without you. And if you can’t find any champagne, Ivan, I’m sure Gerald’s—’

  But no, said Ivan. ‘I’ll go out and buy some and put it on ice. This is my party.’

  * * *

  An hour later Laura was in her bath when Eve came to call her. ‘Laura, you’re wanted on the telephone. Long-distance from Scotland. It must be Alec.’

  ‘Oh, heavens.’ She got out of the warm, scented water, wrapped herself in a large white towel, and went downstairs—her bare feet leaving damp marks on the polished treads—to where the telephone stood on a chest by the front door. She picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Laura.’

  He sounded very far away, as indeed he was.

  ‘Oh, Alec.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m all right. Did you have a good drive?’

  ‘Yes. Did it in one go. Got here about nine o’clock in the evening.’

  ‘You must be exhausted.’

  ‘Not really.’

  Laura hated the telephone. She always found it hard to speak naturally over the horrid instrument, or even to think of anything to say.

  ‘What’s the weather like?’ she asked now.

  ‘Pouring with rain and pretty cold, but the river’s full and there are plenty of fish. Daphne caught her first salmon today.’

  Pouring with rain and pretty cold. Laura looked up and saw through the long windows the cloudless sky and sunbaked garden of Tremenheere. She might have been abroad, oceans away from her husband. She tried to imagine Glenshandra drenched and chill, but it was unimaginable, and this was not just because she had never been there. She thought of Daphne, booted and mackintoshed, wielding her hefty salmon rod … the talk in the evening over large whiskys, sitting in some little lounge by a necessarily blazing fire. She was grateful not to be there, and this shameful gratitude immediately filled her with guilt.

  ‘Oh, how lovely.’ She made herself sound pleased and enthusiastic, smiling into the telephone receiver as though Alec could see her. ‘Send her my love.’ A
nd then, ‘Send them all my love.’

  ‘What have you been doing?’ he asked. ‘Resting, I hope.’

  ‘Well, I rested yesterday, but today I met Ivan and we went to a lovely beach and swam.’

  ‘Ivan’s back, then?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he got back this morning.’

  ‘How did Bristol go?’

  ‘I think successfully. He’s celebrating tonight. Has asked us all for drinks in his house.’ She added, ‘Champagne cocktails if we’re lucky.’

  ‘Well, it sounds as though you’re enjoying yourself.’

  ‘Oh, Alec, I am. I really am.’

  ‘Don’t do too much.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I’ll ring you again.’

  ‘Yes, do.’

  ‘Goodbye, then.’

  ‘Goodbye…’ She hesitated. ‘Goodbye, darling.’

  But she had hesitated too long, and he had already put down the receiver.

  * * *

  Eve, showered and changed into a thin dress, came out of her bedroom and made her way, by the back stairs, down to the kitchen. Here, after Ivan’s party, they were all going to partake of an informal supper. She had already laid the table and it looked rustic and pretty, with checked napkins and white candles and a pottery jug filled with marguerite daisies.

  Gerald, already changed, had gone to fetch May from the station. May always had her evening meal upstairs in her room, but Eve had set places for both Ivan and Silvia and now stood wondering whether she should set one for Drusilla as well. She didn’t know if Ivan had invited Drusilla to what he insisted on calling his cocktail hour, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t come. With Drusilla, one never quite knew. In the end, she decided against it. If necessary an extra place could be added at the last moment.

  Having made up her mind, she left the kitchen and went out into the warmth and herb-scented air of the courtyard. From their rooftop the doves cooed and murmured, indulged in sudden bursts of flight, their wings spread white against the deep blue sky. Ivan had no garden to his house, but she saw that he had arranged chairs and small tables in a companionable group outside his open front door. Silvia had already arrived and was sitting with a cigarette lighted and a wineglass in her hand. Ivan, talking to her, leaned against a table, but as his mother approached, he straightened.