Wild Grapes

by Elizabeth Aston

  “One looks down into the Great Hall, the other into the adjoining Chapel.”

  Gina’s mind wasn’t on squints or Great Halls or chapels, but rather on what Harry was busy about.

  “Harry,” she managed to say, pushing him away by a few inches. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I do,” said Harry, who was definitely enjoying himself. “Of course, being a perfect gent, I’ll stop if you tell me to, but I think it would be a pity. I feel that a good time is going to be had by all.”

  “What are you doing?” shrieked Gina.

  “Sssh,” said Harry. “They’ll hear you in the Hall.”

  “Who will hear me?” asked Gina, giving up the unequal struggle and doing a little exploratory work of her own.

  “Ghosts,” said Harry. “Mmm, blissful flesh. Not much of it, mind you, but what there is is definitely all right. Now, be quiet, you’ll have to get used to this, if we’re going to get married.”

  But I don’t want to marry you, a small uninvolved part of Gina’s brain was saying quietly. And this is comforting, not to say exciting, but is it helping? Sex isn’t about helping; on the other hand, it can complicate matters. And then, was it right to make love to the son while you were wondering enviously what the father might be doing elsewhere?”

  It all gets murkier and murkier, thought Gina.

  “Champagne,” said Don cheerfully. “You need it, sudden exposure to Victor in full flood is very startling to the system. No, no, no quibbling. I sometimes drink beer, never touch horrors like whisky and vodka, but, needless to say, I’m a great wine man. Wilf always keeps a bottle or two of decent fizz on ice for when I pop in. Nothing like it for a summer drink.”

  Wilf passed a bottle of Krug across the counter, glistening with chilly droplets. He plucked three tulip-shaped goblets down from a rack, drew out a tray from beneath the counter, and handed the whole lot over with a flourish.

  Don steered them through the pub and into the garden. It overlooked some of Don’s vines; from it you could take a narrow path down to another terrace at the bottom of the hill, on the river bank.

  “We’ll stay up here,” said Don. “Too hot to climb back.”

  “Besides, there’s a breeze up here.”

  Don gave a charming smile as he saw Nicky perched on the wall. “Come and join us,” he invited. “I’ll get another glass.”

  “Let me,” said Byron, jumping up.

  “I thought you were ignoring me,” said Nicky, flashing her green and golden eyes at him.

  “No, no,” said Don. “I was surprised to see you here, though. Since you weren’t at dinner at the Hall, I had supposed you were away.”

  “The prospect of the whole Cordovan family was too much tonight.”

  Byron came back with the glass.

  “This is Nicky,” said Don. “And these are Nadia and Byron. Nicky is working for the family at the moment,” he explained. “So she usually dines with us at the Hall. My sister has her twenty-first birthday coming up, and Victor is giving a ball. First for several years; the Heartsease balls used to be quite a tradition.”

  Nadia sipped her champagne appreciatively. “You’re the one who tried to do a shop for Don, only failed.”

  “I don’t think we’ll go into that,” said Don hastily.

  “Why?” said Nadia.

  “Personal reasons,” said Nicky. She gave Don a smouldering look. “I was going through a bad patch around then. Family-wise. It was all rather too much.”

  “And family-wise, all’s well now?”

  “Don’t be nosy, Nadia,” said Byron uncomfortably.

  “I’m not nosy,” said Nadia. “I like to know.”

  “Anyone will tell you,” said Nicky. “No secrets around here. I split up with my husband. We have two small children. It’s all a little difficult.”

  “Did your husband get up to hanky-panky with another woman? Or another man, this being England?”

  “No,” said Nicky, beginning to squirm under the relentless interrogation. “Not exactly. We just found we didn’t get on.”

  “When there are small children, it’s your duty to get on,” said Nadia severely.

  “Nadia!” Byron tried again.

  Don was savouring his champagne, and watching the two women with an amused look on his face. “It’s interesting to hear a young woman talk about duty,” he observed. “What about Nicky’s personal fulfilment?”

  “Nicky’s fulfilment should wait,” said Nadia firmly.

  Don raised an eyebrow at Nicky. “You see, my dear. A novel viewpoint.”

  Nicky blew into the bubbles in her glass, and said nothing.

  As Gina came out of Harry’s room, she bumped into Aimee, who was wafting past in a cloud of silk negligee. A look of displeasure crossed her lovely face.

  “You’ve been in there with Harry. You reek of sex. It’s appalling.”

  “I what?” said Gina, completely taken aback. How could she reek of anything, bathed and splashed as she was with one of the dozen delightful essences in Harry’s bathroom?

  “You’ve been making love with Harry. No, not making love, having sex.”

  “I hardly think...” began Gina.

  “What a mistake, what a risk,” said Aimee dramatically.

  What was she on about? wondered Gina. Risk? Harry had used a condom, these were dangerous times. Mistake?

  “You should learn about love, not have sex in passing like a person who hasn’t any feelings, any emotions, like a whore in the streets. Only in your case for comfort, not for money.”

  Gina was furious. If ever there was a grande horizontale, it was Aimee. How dare she lecture her on sexual morality?

  “I dare because I’ve no time for idle sex and instant lust,” said Aimee scornfully. “My affairs are of the heart, they are amours. Not casual encounters, scratching an itch.”

  “It’s absolutely none of your business what I do with my body,” said Gina, flabbergasted at this attack.

  Aimee took no notice. “You should discover what love is. First, there’s the attraction, dalliance, flirting. Heartache and despair,” she added in languorous tones. “Elation and wild happiness and becoming one person with your lover. What does this have to do with rolling around on an old bed with Harry?”

  “How do you know I don’t love Harry?” enquired Gina.

  “That’s a stupid question,” said Aimee. “Just think about what you’ve done, and you would do again at the beckoning of a finger with who? My father? Another of my brothers? Leave it alone. Wait until love comes creeping up and taps you on the shoulder. Then you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  She was gone, leaving a livid Gina on the landing.

  I hate this family, Gina said to herself, heading for the stairs and the safety of her own room. I hate all of them. And she burst into tears; tears of fury and rage and sadness for the difference between what she had just done with Harry and what Aimee had been talking about.

  “Bugger them all,” she shouted as she banged her bedroom door behind her.

  CHAPTER 12

  “All fixed,”said Harry.

  Perhaps, Gina had thought as she wandered the terraces in the light mists of dawn, perhaps, when I see Harry again, I’ll find I am in love with him. And so all my problems will be solved.

  She wasn’t, and they weren’t.

  “Fixed?” she said doubtfully.

  “Your weekend. I’ve found somewhere for you to go today until Sunday.”

  “Where?” said Gina, thinking of places where Popplewell might roam.

  “Just round the corner. Next village, actually. Don’t worry, your pa won’t find you there, visitors to the Hall never wander into the villages on their first stay; too much comfort and space at home. Sometimes they leap into powerful cars and drive hither and thither to the races or rowing or a ghastly golf do, if sportily inclined. But they tend to give Heartsbane a miss.”

  “I can’t imagine Dad roaring around the countrysid
e in a powerful car,” said Gina, thinking of her bohemian father. “And I don’t think races are his thing.”

  “No, I can understand that. Even so, I think we can guarantee to keep him away from Heartsbane.”

  “He may want to go to Heartwell,” said Gina, remembering.

  “Why should he?”

  “He and my mother were married there.”

  Harry was surprised enough to show it. “Were they, now? A romantic, your father? The sentimental type? Likely to revisit the scene of his nuptials? Blissful marriage, was it? And by the way, we have spoken only of your father. Where does your mother come into all this? And why, if I’m not prying, is your pa called Zandermann while you are Heartwell?”

  “My mother’s name is Heartwell. When she and Dad split up, she went back to using her own name. I stayed with her, so I had her name as well.”

  “And she came from these parts?”

  “I guess so. The name, and being married here... She never talked that much about her upbringing in England. But she and Dad got married here in Heartwell, it must have meant something.”

  “She never lived in Heartwell?”

  Gina shrugged. “Not that I know of. Mom’s not one to look back. She lives in the present.”

  “Where is the present at the moment?”

  “What? Oh, I see what you mean. In Italy.”

  “Does she work there?”

  “No, she lives with some creepy guy who’s rich; she doesn’t need to work.”

  “And your dad lives in America.”

  “New York.”

  “Serge? Zandermann?”

  “Father Russian, mother Lithuanian, if you really want to know. Emigres. In the thirties.”

  “So they met in America.”

  “No, in London. Dad was over here for an exhibition. They met on the tube.”

  “Ah.”

  “Dad picked Mom up on the Piccadilly Line.”

  “Did he?”

  “Literally. She had slipped on the escalator and was in danger of being squashed by the rush-hour crowds. Dad’s a big man, and he rescued her. They got married two weeks later, and divorced five years after that. End of story.”

  “So why did they get married at Heartwell?”

  “Don’t ask me, I wasn’t there. Her family came from here; I suppose she felt it was better than Chelsea register office or some anonymous church.”

  “Have you any grandparents alive?”

  “Both my mother’s parents died at the end of the war. I’ve got a Russian grandma, but she’s anti my mother and anti me. She wasn’t very keen on me to start with, wanted a grandson. So when my mom upped and offed, we lost touch.”

  “Sad, really,” said Harry.

  “No different from any number of other people.”

  “But you haven’t got any real family.”

  “No.”

  “Unlike me. I have family in abundance.”

  “Yes, lucky you,” said Gina lightly.

  Harry snapped out of his questioning mode and moved into gear. “Okay, this is the plan. I’m taking you to Sybil Longthorpe. She has a cottage in Heartsbane, lives alone, except for her grandchildren who come on visits. They’re due, but not yet, so she has room.”

  “Is she a friend, or family?”

  “So much of a friend that she’s almost part of the family. She was a classics teacher; brilliant, used to coach us all in the hols - apart from Aimee, of course, who’s impervious to education except for love poetry. She started my sister Olivia off on her very distinguished academic career.”

  “She sounds a bit formidable.”

  “No, tough-minded, but a good egg. She’s retired from teaching; she writes books now. Very successfully.”

  “I don’t know the name.”

  “She uses various pseudonyms,” said Harry.

  “Won’t Hester and Julia - and everyone - think it odd if I disappear for a weekend?”

  “Not at all. We shall say you are an ex-pupil of Sybil’s and wanted to see something of her while you’re in these parts. I doubt if anyone will make any closer enquiries.”

  “If you’re sure...”

  “Best I can do. Pack whatever you need, and I’ll take you over, introduce you. Jarvis is going to pick up your pa at about half past twelve, so we need to get a move on.”

  I feel like a refugee, thought Gina, as she trailed upstairs to her room. I don’t want to stay with a strange classics teacher, I bet she’s ghastly. And whatever will I find to do in the evenings?

  “You’re the woman from the train!” exclaimed Gina.

  Sybil Longthorpe was, indeed, tight-lips on the twelve-forty from Oxford. However, she didn’t seem at all tight-lipped standing in the garden of her cottage, with her long stripy skirt billowing around her and a welcoming smile as she saw Harry.

  Harry gave her a boisterous hug. “Do I take it that you and Gina have met?”

  “Not met, but we sat in a train together.”

  “I got off at Heartley Junction, but you went on.”

  “Yes, I was going down to the coast to see my daughter. Normally, of course, I would have changed at the Junction, as you did, to come on the branch line to Heartsease.”

  Porny books, Gina was thinking, as she remembered the manuscript she had helped to pick up. That’s what she writes; hardly surprising that she uses a pen name.

  “Come in,” said Sybil. “Now, Harry, why all this secrecy? Why do I have to pretend Gina was a pupil of mine?”

  “Only so that she has a reason for nipping off for the weekend. We’ve a guest coming that Gina knows. For various reasons, she doesn’t want to meet him at present.”

  “Fine. No, I prefer not to hear any more. It sounds distinctly murky, and I don’t want to be involved. I’m very happy for you to stay here, my dear. You can help me put up the swimming pool I’ve just bought.”

  Swimming pool? Gina wondered if years among the Greeks and Romans addled your wits.

  “They call it a splashpool. A giant paddling pool. It’s for my grandchildren. My study overlooks the garden at the back. They can play in the pool; I can work; we’re all happy.”

  “Excellent notion”, said Harry. “I’ll leave you to it. See you anon, Gina.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and another enthusiastic hug to Sybil.

  “How like Harry,” said Sybil thoughtfully, as he disappeared round the corner.

  “In what way?” said Gina.

  “Vanishing at the first sign of work.”

  “I thought he worked quite hard.”

  “Oh, yes, but to his own benefit. Not for others.”

  “He’s been very kind to me.”

  “I’m sure he has.” Sybil became brisk. “I’ll show you your room. Let me warn you, it’s tiny. A shock after the Hall, but the bed is comfortable, and I dare say you’ll find it peaceful without the owls.”

  “There do seem to be a lot of owls about at the Hall.”

  “Yes, well, there would be, wouldn’t there?” said Sybil cryptically, as she led the way indoors.

  “Sitting room to your left, my study to your right, kitchen through there. Watch your head as we go upstairs, there’s a beam... oh, yes, well, you know about the beam now. Bathroom, my room, your room, box-room. Coffee?”

  “Thank you,” said Gina, putting her bag down on the little trestle table at the foot of the bed. She looked around the enchanting room, white muslin fluttering at the windows, old roses on the wallpaper and counterpane, and a faded rose carpet on the floor.

  “If you hang out of the window, you can see the sea,” said Sybil. “However, you’ll probably land on your head in the garden first, so I wouldn’t advise it. Come down when you’re ready.”

  The little white van drew up outside the cottage with a squeaking of brakes.

  “Wilf,” said Sybil, not looking up from the instruction manual.

  Wilf came round the side of the house, carrying a large white cardboard box which was obviously heavy.

&
nbsp; “Two doz of the usual, Sybil,” he said. “Got a visitor, have you?”

  Sybil straightened up. “I expect you’ve met Gina, who’s at the Hall. An old pupil of mine.”

  Wilf s face lost its foxy, enquiring look. “Ah, that’s it, is it? Another of they learned ladies, is it?”

  “That’s right,” said Sybil. “Lovely to have her here, and she’s going to help me put up a pool in the garden.”

  “I’d heard you’d been buying an item in a big box,” said Wilf. “Terrible time you’ll have with that. I bought one once, when the kids were small. Easy to put up, they said.”

  “And wasn’t it?”

  “Easier to build a house,” said Wilf with relish. “You’ll be at it all weekend, a-swearing and a-cursing. Well, when her’s done, come along to the Bunch of Grapes and have one on the house to celebrate. You’ll have earned it, to be sure.”

  “Just let me get my purse,” said Sybil. “Two dozen, you said? Here you are.”

  “And thank you,” said Wilf. He took a last look at the box containing the pool, and gave another disconcerting whoop of laughter. “I’m glad ’tis you and not I that’s got to struggle all weekend with she,” he said ominously, and climbed back into his van.

  “Beer,” said Sybil as she opened one of the boxes Wilf had brought. “Czech beer. A particular brand which I acquired a taste for when I was out there for a while. You can’t buy it at the off-licence, but Wilf gets it for me. Put some bottles in the fridge; we may need it if Wilf’s not exaggerating.”

  “This looks quite straightforward,” said Gina, frowning at an exploded diagram of a pump. “Apart from the drawings, that is. The first thing we have to do is level the site.”

  “That,” said Sybil, looking at the bumpy patch of grass where she proposed to put the pool, “could present a problem.”

  After several hours’ work, it became clear to Sybil and Gina that neither of them were at all practical.

  “I can deal with electricity,” said Sybil. “I can clear a drain, even heave a tile back on the roof. I can garden. But this is beyond me.”

  “The trouble is,” said Gina, “that although they say ‘level the site’, they don’t tell you how.”