by Jan Harvey
‘How old was she when she died?’
‘Twenty-five, too young. She was the second member of the family they lost to the war. Her brother Henry had already been killed in France. Both of them died there and they’re buried out there, as far as we know. My mum was heartbroken. That’s why we named the next pup Alice, you see, we’d got Prince from the big house and she was company for him. Prince and Princess Alice after the real Princess. Prince had been Miss Alice’s dog, you see, but when she died… well, mum took him on, poor lad. Ogden was set to drown him, no one wanted him, that upset my mum something chronic.’
‘Why didn’t George keep him?’ I asked.
‘Oh he was in Scotland, or somewhere, didn’t want a dog around.’
‘Did he come back to Lapston?’
‘I don’t know, I really can’t remember, but I would say not. The house was left empty and the next thing we heard was that Mrs Russell owned it.’
‘What happened to George, and Carrick?’
‘I think, no I can’t remember anything about George.’ Norman scratched his head. ‘But Mr Carrick is still with us, he’s in a home going towards London. He’s not very well, but he’s with us all right, must have reached his century by now. Would you like the address?’
I thought I was hearing things. It hadn’t occurred to me that any of them were still alive. ‘Yes, I would like it, how do you know about him?’
‘He came back. He came to visit the house in the seventies. My mum opened the door and he was there, large as life and twice as handsome. He was a lovely man.’
‘What was it like seeing him? Did you speak to him?’
‘Oh yes, I showed him that picture of Miss Alice, and my mum had him stop for a cup of tea. It really upset him mind. They talked a good deal, I left them be. I had to go and work in The Crown; I did bar work in those days, you see.’
‘What did he say to your mum?’
‘Oh this and that. They talked about the house and he said he wanted to go up and see it again, but wanted to go alone. It was deserted, of course, by then. He left but he kept in touch by phone, the odd time.’
‘Norman, thank you, you’ve been very helpful,’ I said, standing up and taking him by the hand, his skin was rough and papery. The old eyes were rheumy and pale, but there was a twinkle in them.
‘I never married,’ he said, ‘but if I did, I’d have married a pretty lady like you.’
I felt a knot of emotion rising in my throat and I turned to Rory who leaned across and patted the old man on the shoulder in turn. ‘Thanks, Norman, I hope Carrick’s okay,’ he said kindly.
‘Ah, he’s old and creaky like me,’ came the reply. ‘But you two still have plenty of years ahead of you. I hope you’ll be very happy together. You can tell when two people are meant to be together, and you’re it.’
I turned to correct his assumption but Rory was between us, blocking the doorway, and the moment was lost.
‘See,’ said Rory as we walked on up the lane. ‘Even old Norman is on my side.’
I didn’t reply – because I didn’t trust myself.
46
I arrived at Lapston at lunchtime on Christmas Eve. There was a heavy brooding sky in keeping with the dark thoughts in my head. Everything was my fault and I knew it. I will never be able to forget how I treated her and I will never forgive myself if I live to be a hundred.
As I passed through the huge iron gates, the lawn spread out before me a deep, viridian green and the house, with its frontage clad in ivy, sat low at the end of it as if it were hunkered down for winter. Mrs Hall answered the door. She was not the smart, cleanly presented Mrs Hall I knew, but a tired and drawn character more at home in a Dickens’ novel, her eyes ringed in raw, red skin.
‘Mr Carrick!’ She looked so pleased to see me it near broke my heart. ‘Oh Mr Carrick, I don’t believe it. They didn’t say you were coming.’
I embraced her; her bones were thin beneath her cardigan. For the first time ever, I noticed she was wearing trousers. She apologised and told me they were good for manual work, something forced on her since there were no other staff in the house.
‘I should have gone with Lizzie,’ she said as she led me into the chill of the hall. ‘I should have gone, but Mr George has me on a retainer and I couldn’t face leaving you and, and, poor Al–’ Mrs Hall began to cry, so I led her gently to the stairs where we sat side-by-side on the third step. The house seemed to creak and groan around us with no happy sounds to fill it and I knew, at that moment, that the conversations and laughter we had all shared were gone forever.
‘When did you hear?’ I asked. She had taken a lace handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes with it.
‘Yesterday, just before midnight, Mr George rang. My legs gave way; I could not take it in, our beautiful girl, my darling Alice. I haven’t stopped crying since, I didn’t sleep at all.’
‘And how did it happen, do you know?’
‘He said she was flying over France in a plane taking supplies to a field hospital. I don’t understand, Mr Carrick. It was carrying medicines. It would have had a red cross on it, yet they still shot it down.’ Mrs Hall wept, her body wracked with huge sobs, the poor thing had been on her own since she received the news. I had my arm around her, although I was fighting back my own tears. ‘All I want to know is do you think she died straight away? I couldn’t stand the thought she was lying in some damp French field in pain, not my Alice.’ Mrs Hall sobbed again.
‘I’m practically certain it would have been instantaneous.’ I lied because I too feared the worst. ‘I’m sure it would have exploded as it hit the ground.’
We sat there the two of us, heads leaning together, and I realised in all my life Mrs Hall had been my one true mother, the one who loved us best.
‘What time do you expect George and Madame Roussell?’
‘Oh, I don’t, Mr Carrick.’ She sniffed. ‘They were going to come back but then Madam Roussell pointed out there is nothing to come back for. Miss Alice will be buried over there and she felt it would be best for Mr George to be amongst his family and friends, in Scotland. I wasn’t expecting anybody, especially not you.’
‘Really?’ I said, chewing over her words. Family and friends? Not a thought for me. ‘Mrs Hall, what have you been doing here on your retainer?’
‘Oh I look after everything now. I’ve put the house to bed, covered all the furniture with dustsheets, and I just live in the kitchen with only my hens to keep me company in the whole place. I had to give Lizzie the dog, Miss Alice’s dog. I couldn’t look after a young puppy, not at my age and with so much to do.
I nodded thoughtfully. ‘How would you like a house-keeping position in Oxford?’
She turned to look at me, her mouth dropping open in surprise. ‘Do you know of someone who is looking?’
‘Yes, that is I am, it is me. I need someone to keep house for me. I tried cooking and I find that I’m not very adept at it.’ I managed a smile. God knows how.
‘Oh Mr Carrick, I cannot tell you what that means to me. I would love to come and be your housekeeper, I have been so lonely here. I have not had the heart to tell Mr George, but since Mr Grant and Lizzie…’
‘Then you will come home with me, and I say let us do it after some lunch, while the iron is hot, as they say.’ Anyone hearing the tone in my voice may have mistaken it as positive, but I was putting on a facade for the sake of Mrs Hall and for a moment she looked visibly brighter, but then her face dropped a little.
‘But what about Mr George and–’
‘You leave that to me, I shall write to them. They will receive the letter after Christmas and, by that time, you and I will be long gone. They deserve no better in my opinion.’
‘Oh but–’
‘Oh but nothing, Mrs Hall,’ I told her, standing up. ‘You and I will support each other.’
/> ‘My hens,’ she said. She looked mortified at the thought of leaving them.
‘Pack them in a crate and bring them with you. I have a coop in the garden, and a vegetable patch that needs some care and attention. Now, I must talk to Ogden, and of course Jim, about the horses.’
‘Oh Mr Carrick, they’ve gone,’ she said with alarm, palms pressed to the sides of her face.
‘Gone?’ my heart missed a beat. ‘Gone where?’
‘To the kennels. Madam Roussell telephoned on Tuesday and said arrangements had been made for them to go to the kennels – they’ve been destroyed.’
47
When he kissed me, it was so gentle that I felt only the finest brush of his lips on mine. I pressed my hands against his chest; it felt solid and real under my flattened palms. Then he leaned in and this time I could feel a pressure in his kiss and it spoke of the longing we had for each other.
A thousand feelings rushed through me. Nerves in my stomach somersaulted and sent shock waves through my body. He tasted so good, as if everything I had ever wanted was in front of me right then, everything I had ever dared to dream of.
I had a choice, step away or step right in. I placed my head against his cotton shirt and felt safe as he wrapped his arms around me.
‘I must go,’ I said, but I didn’t move.
‘Stay.’
‘I can’t, Rory. I must go, and I don’t trust myself at all.’ I expected one of his quips, but he was silent. I pulled away and refused to look at him as I searched in my bag for the car keys. I fumbled and dropped them, knowing that he was watching me. I could almost feel the ache in him. My stomach was churning with desire, something I had not felt in years.
‘Bye, Rory,’ I said, but when I glanced up at where he had been standing, he had turned and walked away.
48
I was seething with anger as I dialled the kennels. It was Hodgkins, the houndsman who answered, and when I heard his voice I could barely speak.
‘Hodgkins, it’s Maxwell Carrick here. Is it you who took our horses away?’
‘Yes, sir, Mr Carrick. We came for them Tuesday as directed.’
‘Are they… have you?’
‘Oh no, Mr Carrick, I waited, you see. I said to Cyril and Jack, you remember Jack from Swinford? I said I wasn’t at all sure about any of this, I hadn’t heard from you or Miss Alice and, although it was on direct orders, I said no, I don’t think we ought to do this. Not old Jester. You won the Berner’s cup on him in thirty three, I said the old fellow deserves more respect than that.’
Tears welled up in my eyes.
‘Oh thank God.’ The relief flooded through me. ‘Thank God you had the good sense. Where are they now?
‘I have them here, we’ve got all these empty stables and only ten hounds we’ve got plenty of room.’
‘And feed?’
‘Yes, we’ve got enough for Jester and Miss Alice’s Beau. Tell her he’ll be just fine, we’ll look after him.’
There was a long empty silence.
‘Are you still there, sir?’
‘Yes,’ I replied weakly, I gathered everything about me and told him the news. ‘I’m afraid Miss Alice has passed away, Hodgkins, she was killed in France.’
There was a stony silence, then I heard him take a deep breath. ‘Not Miss Alice too, not her.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ I could barely speak. I knew the image of her was in his mind as it was in mine – those eyes, the sparkle in them. Neither of us said a word then, at length, I said, ‘Hodgkins can you do me a favour? Will you take on Jim, our lad, to look after them? He knows them well and, until you hear from me, say nothing to Mr Amsherst about them. If any questions are asked, the horses belong to me. Send me your bill, I will forward my address, and make sure I pay the appropriate rate for Jim.’
‘Yes I will, sir, I will look after them for you and Miss Alice even if she in’t here no more. It’s a scandal what she was proposing.’
‘Who?’
‘The French lady. She told us to bring them here. I tried to say it was up to their owners and she said they were a waste of money and that you and Miss Alice had moved on.’
‘So it wasn’t Major Amsherst who called you?’
‘Oh no, sir, it was her. I asked to speak to him but she said I was being disrespectful. I was upset by that because I’ve always been very observant of my dues.’
‘I apologise on their behalf,’ I said, as the anger was rising inside me. ‘I am very sorry for any inconvenience caused. Madame Roussell is French, from Paris, they are not known for their love of horses.’
‘I heard they eat them over there, sir. Is it true?’
‘I do believe it is.’
‘Defies belief, Mr Carrick, how anyone can look a horse in the eye and think of eating it, I’ll never understand, it would be like eating a loyal friend.’
‘I’m indebted to you for what you have done, and tell anyone who is up to it that they can both be ridden out. So many people are missing their horses they might appreciate it and I’m afraid I can’t ride for a while.’
‘Will do, sir, and you can take it from me they will be well cared for, I’ll speak to Jim directly.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘Can I say that you’re a very fair and good man. And I’m very sad about Miss Alice, we all will be in the village.’
‘Thank you.’
49
Sarah was home for the weekend, she was full of news about her company and the redundancies and her plans for her holiday in Rhodes. She enthralled her father. I watched him gazing at her, chin resting on his hand, we both still marvelled that between us we had produced someone so amazing.
‘So how are things here?’ Finally she turned her attention to us and I took a seat beside her at the table. ‘Still bored of being retired, Mum?’
‘No, she isn’t now,’ Steve cut in. ‘She’s up to all sorts.’
I ignored him, he was trying to get Sarah on side and make fun of me. ‘I’ve been working on a village book, the history group has asked me to edit it for them,’ I told her.
‘Work on it, edit it, give up all your time to it, but they won’t respect you and listen to your advice. I don’t know why your mum hasn’t told them where to go, I would,’ Steve chipped in.
‘Thank you, Steve, that’s not very helpful.’ I chided him gently but there was an underlying tone that Sarah picked up on. Her eyes darted from him to me.
‘What have they been saying?’
‘Oh nothing, they’re a bit stuck in their ways, a bit like your father,’ I replied pointedly.
‘Your mum’s doing all this research and they don’t appreciate it, they have no idea who they’ve got working for them. Ungrateful I call it,’ said Steve.
Sarah turned to me. ‘Is that true?’
‘Sort of, but I’m having such a good time researching I really don’t mind.’
‘She’s been climbing through old ruins with a mad old bloke who hasn’t heard of Health and Safety.’
‘He’s not old and he’s not mad!’ I exclaimed, realising instantly that I was far too quick to defend him.
‘How old is he then?’
‘I don’t know, about my age, perhaps a bit younger. He has three children, the oldest one is twenty.’
‘Oh really,’ said Steve. ‘I thought he’d be a sort of David Bellamy character with sideburns and a woolly hat.’
Sarah snorted with laughter.
Suddenly, I felt wounded, stupid I know, but I didn’t want Rory to be talked about like that.
‘I’d like to meet him,’ said Sarah.
‘Well, you can’t,’ I said proprietarily. ‘He’s away, abroad, on a job.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Landscapes,
a gardener, he designs gardens.’
‘How lovely,’ replied my daughter cheerfully. ‘And you say he’s single?’
‘Sarah!’
‘Oh Mum, I’m only asking. Single men over forty need to be logged and registered with the society for diminishing returns.’ I must have looked shocked, because she quickly added. ‘Mum, these days age is no barrier, I dated a sixty three year old last year.’
Steve looked horrified. “Sarah, I’m sixty four and I’m your dad.’
‘And if something happened to Mum and a nice, attentive forty-four-year-old came along, you wouldn’t kick her out of bed would you?’
I could see Steve mentally adding up the pros and cons in his mind.
‘Excuse me, I’m still here,’ I joked, and we all laughed.
‘Right, I can’t stay around here all day I have to tee off in half an hour,’ Steve said as he stood up and kissed Sarah on the top of her blonde head. ‘Find a nice forty-four-year-old to date and make sure you send him to me first to be vetted.’ He stalked out, feeling in his pocket for his keys, then he groaned as he slung his golf bag over his shoulder and we heard the door being closed.
‘Tell me about him,’ said Sarah when he’d gone.
‘Who?’
‘This man.’
‘Which man?
‘The one you’re in love with.’
50
Mrs Hall stood looking around my small lounge. She had slept on the short journey to Oxford, exhausted as she was, and we both arrived in Jericho feeling careworn and dejected. My house had some lovely features arched ceilings and the kitchen was almost hexagonal. It was rather rustic with an old range that I presumed had demised, for no effort of mine would light it.
