by Ivy Ferrari
Near lunch-time she kept an eye on Chris, who eventually disentangled himself from a visiting group of archaeologists and waved her over to a group of boulders above the site. It was a dull day, with a hint of rain on the wind. They sat facing the vast saucer of the Tyne Valley, watching the laden clouds drift over the far fells.
‘Well, what’s all the mystery about?’ Chris produced his own sandwiches and a can of light ale.
‘I told you, it’s something about Bruno—well, Helen, anyway.’
His glance was almost exasperated, she thought. ‘You’re not still fretting yourself to a shadow over that business, Tina? I thought you’d had time to get over all that.’
She was shocked. ‘Why, have you?’
He said firmly, ‘I’ve already told you it’s best to let the whole scandal die a natural death—and kinder to Bruno in the end.’
‘But you wouldn’t close your mind to new evidence, surely?’
He frowned. ‘You’re talking like something out of Agatha Christie ... New evidence?’ He gave her closer attention. ‘Just what have you been up to, young Tina?’
‘It’s about pigeons,’ Tina said, hoping by shock treatment to jerk him into awareness.
‘Pigeons?’
She detailed the events at Quarry Farm. He listened in patient silence, then said:
‘But surely Matt’s right? What does it prove after all—the existence at one time of a boy and girl affair, which could have flared up again—possibly because Helen was lonely and unhappy. Why should it have any connection with Bruno? Helen certainly wasn’t interested in anyone else while he was around. And I should know. I saw them together often enough.’
‘But we don’t know.’
Chris drank some beer, attacked another sandwich. ‘What can you do about it, anyway? Tell Adam Copeland?’
‘I don’t see why he shouldn’t know. But Helen’s coming back next week, and he warned me not to upset her. It’s put me in rather a fix ... Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Chris. Matt said such a queer thing. He warned me that if I told Helen Copeland it would be like that old game with the matches—pulling out the bottom one of the pile and having the lot collapse.’
Chris lowered his beer-can. ‘A bit fanciful, isn’t it?’
‘He was serious, Chris. Now I’m more than ever convinced that Helen has a lot to hide.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘All?’ She was puzzled.
‘All you have to tell me? Is this the end of Revelations, so to speak?’ he joked mildly.
‘Why, yes. Isn’t it enough?’ She began to eat her own sandwiches, relieved to have the telling over.
‘I’d say it was a very small storm in a tea-cup—and that Matt’s right. Better to leave well alone.’
Tina’s temper rose. ‘Bruno’s name will never be cleared if we keep on leaving well alone.’
‘He doesn’t need to be cleared in our eyes, Tina.’ Chris laid a compelling hand on her arm. ‘And you say Helen’s coming home? You’ve got to consider her feelings.’
‘I’ve told you, I’ve already been warned about that.’ There was bitterness in her voice.
‘You are a guest in their house, remember.’
‘I’m not likely to forget that. It still doesn’t mean the truth has to be smothered.’
‘And what is the truth?’ he shrugged. ‘You’ll probably never know. Why not be content to leave things as they are?’
‘And you were Bruno’s best friend?’
She saw a sadness in his eyes. ‘Yes, I was. Maybe I’m not living up to your conception of me, Tina. But I never pretended to be perfect. Perhaps you just expected too much. Men are much more inclined to let things, alone. We haven’t women’s curiosity or their urge to keep probing. It seemed much more important to take over Bruno’s work here, to see he got due recognition for his investigations. Right?’
‘I suppose so.’ She got up, feeling the chill of the wind matching that of her own heart. ‘I suppose you think I’m being silly and hysterical—and—well, over-dramatic about all this. But I’d rather be that way than the way you are. It seems so cold-blooded, even if it is sensible.’
Chris glanced at his watch, cast a comprehensive glance over the dig. The workers, lunch over, were returning to their sections, the bright anoraks and sweaters vivid dots of colour against sable earth and yellow-trodden grass.
‘Well, we won’t go on about it. Time I was back on the job.’ He got to his feet. ‘No hard feelings, Tina?’ And he gave her his old patient smile.
‘No hard feelings.’ she said mechanically, and watched his tall figure running in his loose-limbed way down to the dig.
She had achieved nothing, after all. Chris had always been a man who abided by his first decisions. Whether she liked it or not, she was still very much on her own...
A restless, uneasy week followed. Feeling she had better stay away from Quarry Farm for the present, Tina spent some evenings in Carrie’s borrowed car, visiting as yet unseen stretches of the western Wall.
She explored the Nine Nicks of Thirlwall, where the craggy ridge carrying the Wall was broken into successive peaks and depressions. Actually she counted only seven, and remembered that Adam had told her two had been destroyed by intensive quarrying.
Another evening she went as far as Gilsland, the pleasant little town on the river Irthing, where the Poltross Bufti flowed through a deep gorge to form the boundary between Northumberland and Cumberland. At Willowford she found the beginnings of the turf wall, which from this point had stretched to the Solway coast, only at a later date having been replaced by stone to match the eastern section.
From Birdoswald she climbed to the outpost fort of Bewcastle, a thousand feet high on Gillalees beacon, which had once housed a thousand legionaries. But her greatest thrill was to see the Quarry at Coombe Crag where some excavating legionaries had carved their names in the living rock.
It was a private and exhilarating experience, to have her cardboard Wall come to life in a thousand ways. Yet she knew, even as one evening she drove the whole way to the Wall’s western outpost on the Solway Sands, that for her one stretch of the Wall would always have an emotional rather than a historical significance—the section from Chesters to Housesteads, the country of Hadrian’s Edge.
Towards the end of the week the weather, which had been kind to her expeditions, changed from brilliant to dull days, with blustery winds and cold lashing rain which cast spring into a mere memory. During a break between showers, feeling she needed fresh air, Tina turned westwards through the woods.
At the little dell before Sandy’s cottage she found Rosie crouched by the burn, sailing paper boats. The child looked chilled and disconsolate, she thought, her red knitted hood clashing horribly with her delicate hair and colouring. She reflected that she had never seen the child prettily dressed. Obviously Francey put all her efforts to her own adornment.
‘Hallo, Rosie. Isn’t it cold for you to be playing out?’
Rosie scowled. ‘I don’t care.’ She stood up, kicking at the mossy bank with a rubber-booted foot. ‘Where are you off to, Tina?’
‘Just for a walk. Like to come?’
She shook her head. ‘Matt’ll get mad if I’m late for supper. He’s always chasing me up since yon health visitor came.’
‘But you’ll soon be better now.’ Tina said gently. They’ll have you right in no time, when you go to hospital.’
Rosie’s face registered a quick range of emotions. ‘I’ve told them, I don’t want to go. My throat’s better. It’s no’ aching any more.’
Tina felt she had better not pursue the subject. ‘How’s Daring Denise these days?’ she asked.
Rosie’s face brightened. ‘Last week she was in the desert, on a camel, an’ she found buried treasure an’ then she was kidnapped by a desert tribe, on’y she was too smart for them. She wriggled out under the tent an’ found an English laddie who was a prisoner too, an’ they trekked across the desert wi’ on’y one bottle
o’ water, then they found a lot o’ British soldiers in a jeep, an’ got to ride with them all the way to their camp. An’ the soldiers, they made Denise their pin-up!’
‘She certainly gets around.’ Tina smiled.
A rough buffet of wind came. Rosie shivered. ‘I’d best be off home, Tina.’
‘Yes, I think you should. And, Rosie, you won’t worry about the hospital, will you? I had to go into one once, when I was your age. And you know what, I didn’t want to come home again.’
Rosie looked dubious. ‘You must have been daft!’ was her ungracious reply as she jumped the burn and ran up the opposite slope.
Tina walked on towards Sandy’s cottage, feeling she had made little impression. She ached for Rosie, bearing all a child’s unreasoning fears without much adult understanding. She had hoped recently that she had made progress, that the little girl trusted her, but today there had been a return to the old defiant sullenness. There didn’t seem much she could do until the hospital stay was over. She could only hope that Rosie’s attitude would change once she settled into the ward.
As she reached Sandy’s cottage she heard a drumming on the window. Next moment his tall figure appeared in the doorway. ‘Tina, can you spare a minute?’
She was glad of the distraction, curious too, for she had not seen Sandy since the debacle of the fancy dress dance. He asked her in, offered her a welcome glass of cider, but seemed a little slow in coming to the point.
‘Shouldn’t your Australian lodger be here?’ she asked. ‘I thought this was his week.’
‘Oh aye, he’s here. Just gone down to the Brown Cow.’ Sandy drummed his large fingers on the table. ‘And how’s Carrie?’
Tina hesitated. ‘Haven’t you seen her—since—’
‘Aye, I saw her ... But there, she was angry and fretting. I wouldn’t judge her by what she said then, on the spur of the moment, you might say. And it did her good to get it off her chest.’ But he seemed troubled. ‘Maybe she was right, at that. I should have told her about the fancy dress, not left it as a surprise. The worst surprise she ever had, you might say.’
‘I shouldn’t worry too much.’ she comforted him. ‘Carrie isn’t the kind to carry a grudge for long.’
He nodded, and after what appeared to be some kind of struggle with himself, said: ‘Does she still go on about yon Air Force bloke she lost in the war.’
‘She mentions him sometimes. I don’t suppose she’ll ever really forget him—unless perhaps something happened to disenchant her.’
Sandy set down his mug and asked: ‘What was his name again—some kind of nickname, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes—Lofty, because he was tall. But his real name was—wait a minute—oh yes, Laurence Ames.’
Sandy’s speech now seemed to have deserted him altogether. He sat tracing imaginary patterns on the table with a hefty forefinger.
‘I shouldn’t worry about Lofty,’ Tina assured him. ‘I’ve always thought that if enough time goes by Carrie will realise she can’t live on dreams.’
‘Aye, but you see, pet, time’s just what we’re both short of. We’re not young any more. It would be a good thing now, wouldn’t it, if she could find out whether he was alive or dead?’
Tina nodded. ‘But it’s not very likely to happen, is it?’
‘You never know. But there, I mustn’t keep you. You’ll be wanting to be away to your supper.’
Tina was puzzled. Something seemed to be stirring in Sandy’s brain, but she couldn’t guess what, unless he was thinking of having enquiries made regarding Lofty. And after such a passage of years, his chances of success must be pretty hopeless.
At supper that evening Adam spoke of Rosie’s hospital admission. ‘I’ve advised Francey and Matt to keep a close eye on her, just in case she gets second thoughts.’
‘Think she’ll disappear again?’ Carrie asked.
‘It could happen, knowing Rosie. Though it might turn out to be no more than a token gesture. I can’t see her really running away. She’s quite a timid child at heart despite her tough ways.’
Tina was not so sure. Rosie was also a child of unreasoning fears, which might be strong enough to drive her to reckless acts.
Adam turned to her. ‘You don’t seem to get to Quarry Farm much these days. Got tired of slumming, or is Matt boring you with his pigeons?’ His eyes were mild but searching.
His mention of the pigeons was unfortunate, disturbing as it did her confused mass of doubts and perplexities regarding Matt.
‘Neither!’ She spoke rather shortly. ‘I’ve just been doing other things.’
‘Oh, I thought you might have been—disenchanted?’
This was so near the truth Tina was startled. It had been hurtful to know Matt had deceived her, that their friendship was surely ended and that she was now alone. She was glad when Isa burst in with the pudding and caused a diversion.
‘Yon lodger of Sandy Armstrong’s has come all the way from Australia.’ she announced. ‘Just to have a look at the Wall! My, some folks have queer ways o’ spending their money.’
She set down the pudding before Carrie, but continued to hover.
Adam looked up expectantly, a quirk at his mouth. Sure enough Isa drew herself up and intoned in a pulpit voice: ‘As a bird who wandereth from her nest, so is a man who wandereth from his place.’
Carrie said sharply: ‘All right, Isa. I don’t know that I’m in the mood for texts tonight.’
Tina had never heard her sound so bitter. There was disillusion everywhere, she told herself. Carrie’s belief in miracles had certainly been shaken by Sandy’s blunder. And perhaps Isa’s text had conjured up visions of a lost or wandering Lofty, never to be found this side of eternity.
Isa glared at Carrie. ‘A good text never did a body any harm.’ She added triumphantly: ‘I doubt you’ll find that pudding’s caught on a bit.’
‘I had noticed.’ Carrie said drily.
Adam intervened smoothly: ‘My grandmother used to assure me that the burnt skin was the best part. All right, Isa, thank you.’
When Isa had gone, he turned to Carrie. ‘That wasn’t like you.’
‘No, it wasn’t, was it?’ Carrie pushed back her chair. ‘Maybe I’m just disenchanted too.’
‘What, with a splendid Mithraeum temple only just uncovered? Don’t tell me you’re tired of archaeology?’
‘No, of course not ... With life, perhaps.’ The last words were uttered almost inaudibly. She rose abruptly and left the room. Adam and Tina exchanged glances.
‘I think Carrie needs a holiday.’ he said. ‘Not only has she spurned the pudding, she’s forgotten to serve it.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Tina took over, strangely moved at being able to do him this humble service.
They finished their meal almost in silence, yet she was intensely aware of his presence at the head of the table. The silence soon held an electric quality that was almost unbearable. At last he broke it.
‘We won’t be so quiet next week, with Helen home.’
‘Why, does she make her presence felt?’
He grinned faintly. ‘You could say so. She’s restless, never settles long to one thing. And when she’s bored she plays Rimsky-Korsakov records at full belt.’
‘Oh,’ said Tina politely.
‘Of course she may be more subdued after her illness.’ She thought his face suddenly shadowed and wondered again just how much of a burden the wilful Helen had been on his life. Possibly the reason he had never married...
He went on, more vigorously: ‘I hope you two will hit it off. I know you are too generous not to try, at least.’
Tina felt a little suffocated. Generous—he thought her generous?
‘Carrie thinks the world of you.’ he continued. ‘It’s not every young woman who will bother to understand an older one. And I have a hunch Carrie needs understanding at the present time. But I hope Helen will be deserving of your friendship too.’
‘Do you?’ she said bleakly. The pro
spect dismayed her. Nothing she had learned of Helen’s ways had produced in her much enthusiasm.
Perhaps he sensed something of this, for an awkward silence fell. She was aware of a heaviness of spirit in him, and when she had poured his coffee he excused himself and took it along to the office, his expression forbidding.
She watched him go forlornly. Once more she thought, nothing will ever be the same again when Helen comes...
After a while she roused herself and took the coffee tray along to Carrie’s den. As she had hoped, the older woman was quite composed again and welcomed the coffee. She even remarked, rather gruffly, as she changed the position of a gleaming Spitfire: ‘I hope you didn’t take any notice of what I said in there. I’m getting childish, if you ask me.’
Composed Carrie might be, but her strange mood had not really passed. Tina longed to do something to help, never guessing that the moment was almost at hand, or of what earth-shaking proportions it was to be.
The following morning Adam dictated his letters as usual. He seemed in a brisk no-nonsense mood, looking more rugged than usual in the thick tweeds and heavy boots he wore in readiness to attend a ploughing demonstration on one of the distant farms. There were none of the usual pleasant comments or snatches of local gossip. Yet Tina felt it was no reflection on her, but rather that he had things on his mind. Helen again, she guessed.
‘That’s it, then. Oh, and if Sharp calls tell him where I am. And the sawmills might ring about the timber for High Hope. Tell them the farm will be sending their own lorry.’ He hesitated in the doorway, added on a softer tone: ‘And have a good day!’
Grey eyes met blue in what seemed a timeless moment, then he was gone. Tina sat motionless until the sound of the Land-Rover had died away ... ‘Have a good day.’ he had said. And now she knew with a deep dismay that there could be no good days unless they were shared with him.
