‘What cottage?’ said Daisy.
‘The cottage in Melbrook,’ said her father. ‘We bought it while you were in Italy. It’s very pretty.’
‘And tax efficient,’ added her mother. She took a forkful of baby spinach. ‘We don’t actually go there very much.’
‘We don’t actually go there ever, you mean,’ said her father.
‘We went once,’ retorted her mother. ‘Don’t you remember? It was bloody freezing.’ She shuddered.
‘Anyway,’ said her father. ‘What about it?’
‘Daisy could live there and practise to her heart’s content,’ said her mother. Her eyes began to gleam. ‘And if she was down on the employee roll …’
‘She already is,’ put in her father.
‘… then all her expenses would be tax-deductible. What about it, Daisy?’
‘You’ll never fit Daisy’s piano into that cottage,’ her father had objected, before Daisy could reply.
‘Yes you will!’ her mother had retorted. ‘Of course you will. That sitting-room’s jolly big!’
‘And so is a grand piano.’
‘Not that big.’
‘When was the last time you looked at one closely?’
And so they’d argued all through supper. Daisy’s mother went and fetched the floor plan of the cottage and drew a grand piano into the sitting-room, fitting snugly next to the fireplace. Her father leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter.
‘What’s that supposed to be? A baby grand? Honestly, Diana, you’re miles out. Now, this is where it could go, but it might be a tight squeeze …’
By the end of the evening the floor plan was crisscrossed with outlines of pianos, and the question of whether or not Daisy actually wanted to live in the cottage had been forgotten. And the next evening her mother announced that she’d spoken to the estate agent, who had confirmed that there had indeed once been a grand piano in the sitting-room.
‘So there you are,’ said her mother triumphantly to Daisy. ‘All sorted. Now we just have to move you down there.’
Daisy had been down there now for three weeks and was starting to get used to it. Living on her own was all right – she’d done that in Bologna – and so was practising for most of the day, but not knowing anybody nearby was very strange. All her life she’d been used to having friends about, either at school, or in London; even in Bologna there had always been the other students to talk to. It wasn’t as if she was a particularly sociable person. In fact, at school, she’d always been considered a loner. But being a loner when you were surrounded by 400 other girls was, she thought, a different matter from being a loner when you were surrounded by empty fields.
Her parents kept asking her if she’d started talking to the villagers.
‘I’m sure they’re very friendly,’ her mother would say, her voice coming, crisp and familiar, down the phone line. ‘Just ask them how the crops are growing, or how their cows are doing …’
‘Lots of them live in bungalows,’ Daisy objected, but her mother wasn’t listening.
‘And remember, you’re working there for us, in case anyone asks.’
Daisy had remembered that when Mrs Mold had arrived.
‘I’m doing some work for my parents,’ she blurted out quickly, as Mrs Mold ran her hands lovingly over the curves of her piano. ‘For their company. It’s a management consultancy.’ But Mrs Mold wasn’t listening.
‘A Bösendorfer. You lucky thing. Do you mind if I have a play?’
Mrs Mold wasn’t actually terribly good at the piano, Daisy thought now, as she looked up at the windows of Devenish House, shiny and opaque in the sun. But she seemed very kind, and it would be nice to see her today.
She took a few steps back, until she was suddenly out of the shade of a huge rhododendron bush, and the sun was beating down on her face. She was sure today was the Swimming Day, but where was it all happening? Was she supposed to go round the side? What if she was somehow at the wrong house? She imagined herself bursting round the side of the house into a stranger’s garden, startling some innocent family drinking coffee on the lawn.
She clutched her swimming things more tightly. Her mother’s voice, firm and impatient, floated into her mind. ‘For heaven’s sake, Daisy. Just ring the bell and ask. They won’t eat you.’
The dark-blue front door was set in a rather grand porch, with grey pillars and a curved stone pediment and a bell-pull made from wrought iron. While she waited for someone to come to the door, Daisy looked around for clues, but the only other thing in the porch with her was a boot scraper shaped like a hedgehog; nothing about swimming. This was probably the wrong house. There were probably two Devenish Houses, she thought. Or maybe an Old Devenish House and a New Devenish House …
‘Hello?’ It was a man, with grey hair and a brown face and a jolly expression.
‘H-hello.’ Daisy couldn’t prevent her voice from trembling. ‘I was told …’ Suddenly she was lost for words. Was she really about to tell a strange man that she wanted to come and swim in his swimming-pool?
‘Have you come for the swimming?’ Hugh said, helpfully.
‘Y-yes!’ said Daisy thankfully. ‘My name’s Daisy Phillips. Mrs Mold told me …’
‘Ah, of course! Frances!’ said Hugh. ‘Well, you’re very welcome!’
Daisy looked helplessly at him. Suddenly Hugh’s expression changed.
‘The signs are up, aren’t they?’ he said.
‘S-signs?’ Hugh darted out into the drive.
‘I might have known it! Ask her to do anything … Look, I’m sorry about this,’ said Hugh. ‘There should have been signs telling you where to go. The pool’s through there.’
‘Oh good,’ said Daisy, with relief. ‘And w-where should I get changed?’
Hugh looked again at Daisy Phillips. She was a tall girl, about eighteen, he guessed, with clouds of dark hair floating down to her waist, and a pale, pale complexion. Her dark eyes flew downwards at his gaze; her hands rubbed one another anxiously; one white-espadrilled toe nervously circled the blue and green tiles of the porch. He tried to imagine this girl changing nonchalantly amongst the other ladies of the village in the sweaty, rubbery atmosphere of the changing tent and failed.
‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘quite a lot of people come already changed, so why don’t you use one of our bedrooms?’
‘Really? Are you sure that’s all right?’
‘Quite all right,’ said Hugh heartily. He felt an unaccountable need to reassure her. ‘Now,’ he said, as though to a six-year-old, ‘why don’t you pop upstairs, and when you come down, you’ll find the pool out there, through the conservatory. That way.’ He pointed down a passage. Daisy nodded. ‘And meanwhile, I’ll go and sort out the signs for the drive,’ added Hugh.
‘Which room should I use?’ asked Daisy, as he disappeared.
‘Oh, just use any old room,’ Hugh called over his shoulder. ‘Any room at all.’
It was not Daisy’s fault that the first room she should pick on was Meredith’s. She cautiously pushed the door open, then gave a horrified, ‘Oh!’ She was looking at a large corner room, painted a deep red and dominated by a large mahogany bed. On one wall was a carved grey marble fireplace. Propped up against another was a huge gilt mirror. And in the middle was a thin, brown, sinewy woman, with long black hair, a forbidding expression and no clothes on.
‘Don’t you usually knock?’ she said in a casual American accent, starting to pull on a black many-strapped swimming-costume.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Daisy said, bright red and trembling. ‘I thought … I just …’ Her words dried up. Why hadn’t she knocked? ‘I-I was looking for somewhere to change.’
‘Well, how about the changing tent?’ suggested Meredith drily. ‘That’s where you’re supposed to change.’ Daisy gaped at her.
‘He didn’t say …’ she began. ‘He told me … to come upstairs.’
‘Who?’
‘Mr …’ Daisy broke off. She didn’
t know his name; or did she? Had Mrs Mold told her? Was it Devenish, like the house?
‘Look, never mind,’ said Meredith abruptly. ‘Since you’re here, you can help me get into this thing. See these straps? I can’t get them right.’
Cautiously, Daisy advanced towards Meredith. A web of interlaced black Lycra straps lay untidily across her back.
‘Just yank them into place,’ instructed Meredith. Daisy put up her hand awkwardly towards Meredith’s back. She pulled one of the straps downwards and another upwards. ‘I have a picture of it somewhere,’ said Meredith. ‘That might help.’ She strode over to a small Victorian wash-stand in the corner of the room, piled with papers, magazines and books. ‘Here!’ She tossed a glossy magazine at Daisy, who, startled, dropped it on the floor.
‘Butter-fingers,’ said Meredith, coming over. She caught a glimpse of herself in the big gilt mirror as she passed. ‘I guess it looks OK now.’ She shook back her hair and looked at Daisy with glinting green eyes.
‘So,’ she said casually, ‘what’s your name? And what do you do? Nothing that needs co-ordination, I hope?’
‘My name’s Daisy Phillips,’ said Daisy, blushing awkwardly. ‘And I …’ She stopped as a sound made Meredith’s head rise suddenly. From outside came the purring and crackling of a car coming down the drive. Meredith quickly strode over to the window. Looking past her, Daisy could see a dark-green car and a slim man with dark eyes and greying temples getting out of the driver’s seat. Meredith remained motionless for a moment. Then she turned around and gave Daisy a distracted look.
‘Look, you can change in here if you like,’ she said. ‘Just take your stuff with you when you go, and pay at the entrance table. All right, Daisy Phillips?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy. ‘Thank you.’ Meredith turned to her reflection in the gilt mirror and tossed back her hair.
‘How does my suit look?’ she demanded.
‘Fantastic,’ said Daisy honestly.
‘It ought to,’ said Meredith, ‘it cost enough.’ She picked up a deep-red towel, slipped her feet into a pair of black leather sandals and closed the door behind her.
Outside, on the landing, Meredith paused and allowed a small dart of delight in her chest to flower a little. Through the circular window above the stairs she could still just see the corner of Alexis Faraday’s car. He was here; Alexis was here. Downstairs, maybe, or outside, already lying back and soaking up the sun. Meredith threw back her shoulders and began to walk down the stairs. Then she remembered: sunglasses. Abruptly she turned back and threw open the door to her room. Daisy looked round, startled. She was down to only a pair of knickers.
‘Forgot my shades,’ said Meredith. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Daisy blushed; a delicate pink which spread down as far as her full white breasts. Meredith watched, interestedly, as the colour gradually faded. ‘Got sun block?’ she enquired, picking up a pair of opaque black sunglasses.
‘Y-yes,’ stumbled Daisy.
‘Good,’ said Meredith, ‘you need it.’ And without further comment she left the room, put on her dark glasses and made her way out to the swimming-pool, and to Alexis.
Ten miles away, in an unbearably hot, dusty and clogged line of traffic, Barnaby finally lost his temper.
‘All right, Katie!’ he shouted. There was sudden silence in the car. ‘Stop whining! If you’ve really changed your mind; if you really want to go swimming, then we’ll go swimming.’
With a suddenly heavy heart he brutally changed into reverse gear and, ignoring the irritation of the other drivers on the road, swung the car round. He changed gear again, put his foot down, and sped off down the clear side of the road, back towards Melbrook, the Delaneys’ house, and the swimming-pool.
Chapter Three
Amelia and Katie were doing somersaults in the shallow end of the pool. Katie loved doing somersaults. She whirled round in the water, clutching her nose tight, feeling breathless and blue and shiny, then emerged into the warm sunny air with triumph.
‘There!’ She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. ‘I went round twice.’
‘No you didn’t,’ said Amelia, who was bouncing up and down on the floor of the pool. ‘I was watching.’
‘I did! It felt like twice.’
‘It was a very long once,’ conceded Amelia, ‘but it wasn’t twice. Even I can’t go round twice; I always run out of breath. Now,’ she instructed, grabbing Katie before she could plunge into the water again, ‘I’ll do a handstand, and you see how long I stay up. Count like this, one thousand, two thousand.’
‘OK,’ agreed Katie. ‘Then me.’ She watched, swimming breathlessly on the spot, as Amelia disappeared under the blue water. A moment later a pair of wavering legs appeared.
‘One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand, five thousand,’ counted Katie rapidly. Then she stopped. Was she going too fast? ‘Six thou–sand,’ she enunciated carefully, ‘sev–en thou–sand.’ On the other hand, perhaps that was too slow. She trailed a finger in the bright iridescent surface of the swimming-pool. The water was just right; cold enough so that she’d squealed when she jumped in, but not so freezing that she had to keep moving. It was perfect.
Now that she was in the pool, she couldn’t think why she’d ever wanted to go and do boring old fishing with Daddy. It had been horrible in the car; all boiling hot and smelly, and the car seat had burned her legs, and then when they got in the traffic jam, Daddy had started getting cross and shouting; not at her, at the other drivers, but still it wasn’t very nice. And she’d started thinking about Amelia and Mummy, and started wishing she was with them, running and jumping with a huge refreshing splash into the pool. And the more she wished, the hotter she felt, and the longer the car journey seemed.
At first she hadn’t said anything; she’d been very quiet and good. Then she’d just said a few things like, ‘I’m hot,’ and, ‘Can we stop for a drink?’ and, ‘How much further is it?’ But then, when Daddy started getting cross, she’d said in a half sob, half sigh, ‘I wish we were going swimming.’ She’d said it a few times, and at first she’d thought Daddy wasn’t listening, so she’d said it with more and more feeling, until eventually he’d suddenly shouted very loudly and turned the car round. And when she’d started crying, he’d said that he wasn’t really angry, and maybe, after all, a swimming-pool was the best place to be on such a hot day.
He was right, Katie now thought, leaning back and admiring her shiny starfish-decorated swimming-suit. She wanted to stay in here all day, and all night; for the rest of her life, maybe. She lay her head lazily against the surface of the water and felt cool blue wavelets lap into her ears.
Then, with a start, she realized she’d stopped counting Amelia’s handstand. ‘Eight thousand, nine thousand, ten thousand,’ she said quickly, watching Amelia’s legs. The legs faltered and fell back into the water.
‘How many?’ Amelia’s wet face appeared in front of her.
‘Ten thousand.’ Amelia frowned.
‘Is that all?’
‘My go,’ said Katie quickly. She plunged down, clutching her nose, feeling for the bottom of the pool with one outstretched hand. But balancing on a single palm wasn’t easy, and after only a few seconds she collapsed back into the water.
‘Only three thousand,’ said Amelia. ‘You should do it with two hands.’
‘But it hurts my nose,’ wailed Katie. ‘All the water goes up it if I don’t hold it.’
‘Can you open your eyes underwater yet?’
‘Of course I can.’ Katie was scornful.
‘OK then, let’s dive for coins. We’ll go and get them off Mummy.’
Louise was lying on her back, enjoying the sensation of the sun burning into her face. She had deliberately chosen a spot on the grass slightly apart from the group of chatting women which she would normally have joined. Now, above the sounds of splashes and shrieks from the pool, she could hear Sylvia Seddon-Wilson beginning on some long, no doubt exaggerated, and no doubt highly
amusing anecdote. But Louise didn’t feel like chatting, or even listening. She felt like being on her own and thinking.
If she lifted her head very slightly and swivelled her eyes to the right, she could see Barnaby, ensconced in a deck-chair next to Hugh Delaney. In spite of herself, she felt a pang of pity for him as she watched him. He should have known better than to expect Katie to last even a short car journey without vociferous complaint, Louise thought. If he’d just ignored her, and managed to get to wherever the fishing was, Katie would soon have forgotten her woes and they would probably have had a lovely day.
As it was, he’d arrived twenty minutes ago, a disconsolate miserable sight, made even more so as Katie sprang free of his grasp, yelling, ‘Mummy! We’re here! We came swimming, after all!’ Everyone had looked up; everyone had taken in the situation at a glance; eyes had swivelled from Barnaby to Louise and back to Barnaby.
Barnaby had come over and explained, in a few sentences, what had gone wrong. Louise had mustered a sympathetic word or two of reply. And then, as the surrounding eyes watched, Barnaby had made his way over to the other side of the swimming-pool where Hugh – stalwart Hugh – had already pulled over a chair in preparation for him. The entertainment for the village was almost complete, thought Louise bitterly. Now all that was needed for their delectation was an appearance by Cassian, village anti-Christ.
Louise knew the village’s opinion of Cassian. She knew the village’s version of events. No-one had asked; everyone had assumed. They had assumed that when Louise popped over to Cassian’s cottage and ended up spending the evening there, something suspicious must be going on. They had assumed that when Barnaby arrived at The George, silent and angry and without Louise, he had found some sort of confirming evidence. No-one – and here Louise wriggled angrily on her towel – no-one had noticed that the problems between her and Barnaby stretched way back before Cassian had arrived in the village.
Swimming Pool Sunday Page 4
