The Secret of Summerhayes. Merryn Allingham

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СКАЧАТЬ had been hastily converted from several of the attics that had once taken up the entire top floor of the house. Summerhayes was large; where Beth came from it would be called a mansion, but even so she and Alice were squashed into a modest sitting room, two small bedrooms, an even smaller kitchen and a minuscule hall. It was good of Gilbert to make the offer and it would be bliss to enjoy space and comfort, but she remained unconvinced. The idea of spending whole mornings at Amberley made her uneasy.

      ‘I couldn’t leave Alice for that length of time,’ she prevaricated. ‘The most I’m ever away is an hour to get to the village and back.’

      ‘Ripley is still living in the house, isn’t he? I see precious little sign of him whenever I’m here, but he is a pensioner of the estate. He could sit with my aunt while you’re at Amberley. Earn his keep.’ It was said with a smile but the words set her teeth on edge.

      When she didn’t respond, he said, ‘Let me know when you’ve had time to think it over. I believe it would work well – for all of us.’ He patted Ralph on the shoulder. ‘See you later, old chap. And mind that you work hard this morning.’

      Beth walked with him to the upper staircase and hoped he wouldn’t find a reason to loiter. But when he turned to her at the open door, it was to launch yet another surprise. ‘There’s a dance at the village hall tomorrow night. It’s supposedly to welcome our new defenders, but really it’s a rare chance for the village to enjoy itself. I thought you might like to go. You need a break and I can always give you a lift if you don’t fancy the walk in the dark. The Bentley has just about sufficient petrol. Ripley will do the honours, I’m sure – he’ll enjoy an evening with Alice.’

      She doubted that, but Gilbert was down the narrow staircase to the first floor and had disappeared before she could respond. She felt ruffled, the peace of the morning destroyed. She didn’t want to make decisions about Amberley or about a village dance.

      When May emerged pink-faced from the sitting room a few minutes later, she appeared almost as ruffled. ‘Phew! She was in a bit of a taking. Goodness knows what he said to her. But she’s much calmer now – I left her settling down for a nap. I must be off, my love, time for me to visit my refugees. And you’ve a refugee of your own to mind.’ She directed a smile towards the kitchen while cramming her hat on her head.

      Beth handed her her basket. ‘I hope he takes his father’s words to heart or I’ll feel I’m taking money under false pretences.’

      ‘The boy will either learn or he won’t,’ her companion said philosophically. ‘It’s not your problem.’

      But something else was. ‘May,’ she called out, as her friend made her way down the tightly packed stairs. ‘Should I go to the dance at the village hall? It’s tomorrow evening.’

      ‘That’s the best idea you’ve had for weeks.’ May beamed with enthusiasm. ‘I’ll come and sit with Mrs Summer if you like.’

      ‘I wouldn’t ask you to do that. You’ll want to go yourself and Mr Ripley will look after Alice, I’m sure.’

      ‘She’d prefer it was me. But why do you ask?’

      ‘Gilbert Fitzroy mentioned it. He offered me a lift to the village.’

      May’s eyebrows rose steeply once more, this time forming almost vertical question marks, but she said nothing and made her way down the remaining stairs in silence. It left Beth feeling confused and a little troubled.

      They weren’t to exercise on the beach after all, but on the east side of the Adur river. When they landed in France, so the briefing went, they’d need to negotiate river crossings where the bridges had been destroyed by a retreating enemy. A Bailey bridge was the answer and all day they’d practised an assault across the river using portable canvas-sided boats, alongside the engineers building the bridge. It had been a long day before the final vehicles had trundled their way across. Jos was tired in mind and body. Depressed, too. The exercise had shown just how difficult it was to move an army through enemy terrain. And it assumed they had actually landed in France.

      It was impossible to see how they were ever to get a foothold in that country, let alone storm the fortifications along the coastline. For soldiers in war, the chance of death was ever present and several times he’d come close to it in Italy, but now it was no longer a chance but a racing certainty. Even as the landing craft ramps were lowered, they would be pummelled by machine-gun fire and artillery shells. If they made it to dry land, they would be throwing their frail bodies against concrete and limb-destroying machinery, crawling upwards across an open beach while the Germans sat prettily in their cliff-top bunkers, annihilating them from a comfortable distance. It was a mad, mad plan and they would need the devil’s own luck to be successful. But he understood that it was the only possibility. They would have to go through with it, risk all, and bear the consequences.

      And what, after all, was he leaving behind? Who would grieve for him? His proxy parents who’d cared for him on and off for most of his childhood? Mostly on, since his own father had so often been incapable. And their children, who had been as near to brothers as he was likely to get. But there was only distance now; their lives had taken them in different directions. For a while, they would mourn a lost cousin but three, four thousand miles away, his death would seem like another world. And his father? Unlikely. On good days, he knew his son but there weren’t many of those. Jos’s visits to the hospital were, for the most part, conducted in silence and he would sit guiltily counting the minutes until he could decently leave. The nurses, of course, were relentlessly upbeat. Your father is doing really well. Yesterday, he walked in the garden and helped Charlie pick flowers. Charlie was the ward clerk. He likes Charlie, he talks to him. And there was that veiled accusation. He talks to the ward clerk but not to his own son.

      Jos didn’t return to his billet immediately. All the men with whom he shared would be there, and right now he had no taste for company. Instead he wandered down through the gardens, past the tanks, past the temporary cook-and-bath houses, and under the pergola of straggling roses to the abandoned vegetable garden. He would go back to that wild place, he decided, the one where young Ralph had found him and led him out. Out of the wilderness. How biblical it sounded. If only his own wilderness were as easy to leave behind.

      When he got to the brick archway, he stopped. Glancing through it to the jungle beyond, he saw that the narrow pathway that he and the boy had made only days before had disappeared and instead an acre of tall grass and overhanging tree ferns lay before him. Did he want to risk the ignominy of getting lost again? But still, something was calling him to walk through the morass, to find his way to that enclosed space at the very bottom of the estate. The badlands, Eddie had called it. And he was right. A sour-smelling ruin if ever there was, yet the need to return was strong. It must be the feeling that he’d dreamt the place, a feeling that persisted even though it was utterly illogical. Dreamt it or read about it perhaps. As a child, books had been a sanctuary amid the turmoil of an unhappy home, and he had been a voracious reader. He had loved tales of England, of knights and horses, of palaces and jousts. He must have borrowed a book from the library that mentioned Summerhayes, though he doubted the estate had ever seen a knight or a joust. Horses maybe, before the motor car displaced them.

      Reluctantly, he turned back. He had wanted to find the garden again, walk the cracked pathway, circle the stagnant lake and pay homage to its shattered temple. But now was not the time. He had work to do and he needed a shower and a change of clothes. A day submersed in water meant he smelt of river weed himself.

      When he got back to the small brick building, Eddie was just emerging, a towel slung over his shoulder. ‘Down to the showers, my friend, we’re going dancing.’

      ‘You may be, but not СКАЧАТЬ