Sail Upon the Land (14 page)

‘What about finding a small room downstairs and lighting a fire?’ she said brightly. ‘We could boil a kettle on that little butane stove and have some tea. Did you bring cake or biscuits?’

Munty smiled at her hopeful face. ‘Yes, chocolate cake. An American recipe called Devil’s Food. The pastry chefs are always experimenting. I hope you’ll like it.’

‘Never heard of it, sounds gorgeous.’ There was a lot to be said for going out with a grocer.

They went downstairs and found a small room they hadn’t noticed before, tucked away off the hall. To their joy it even contained a sagging old sofa, and some packing cases they could use as tables.

‘I’ll go and find the stopcock, and bring the hamper in here. This can be our headquarters.’

Munty headed for the service areas.

Excited, Melissa went through to the kitchen to see if she could find any kind of cloth or duster. There was an old dish towel hanging from the range, and she picked it up. It was stiff, moulded to the shape of the rail, but it would do. She considered whether they could get the range itself going, but then decided an open fire and the butane stove would be more manageable. She tried the tap, and with a choking cough and whistling of pipes, a brown trickle emerged. She left it turned on, and went into the larders to explore further.

She couldn’t help thinking they could pull all these little rooms out and make a nice big modern kitchen.

A sensation swept over her in a rush of coolness and heat. This beautiful house and a man who appeared to like her. She was only eighteen, but that wasn’t all that young, was it? Could this be it? The thing that was meant to happen, where you fell in love and got married and lived happily-ever-after? The thing that was meant to solve your life? If that was what this was, then there was nothing to be ashamed of at all.

But what if Munty thought she was too easy, coming down to his house in the country and lying to her parents. She’d hardly struggled, gone over like a skittle in fact. Oh dear. But then this was all very different from what she knew of vile seducers. Wasn’t it more plying you with Madeira and tipping you backwards on to a chesterfield sofa? Tea and cake seldom featured in the rapist’s armoury in any book she had sneaked under the covers at night and read by torchlight.

Munty’s arrangements seemed more calculated to be friendly and welcoming than seductive and scary. And he’d been so nice. Nice enough for her to trust him overnight?

Back in the kitchen, the water was now running clear, and she soaked the cloth, squeezing it out tightly. She heard Munty coming down the worn brick passage, and called out to him:

‘Water’s on. I’m just going to wipe up the worst of the dust in that room, so we don’t sneeze.’

‘Thank you. I’ve brought plates, cutlery, glasses but stupidly no teacups. Can you have a quick look in the cupboards and see if there’s anything here? The Army might have left something. All the family china is in storage I think.’

Melissa had a look, and located some thick white pottery mugs in a cupboard. Having given them a wash, she also found a bucket under the sink. She’d better change out of her pretty blue frock if she wasn’t to get into a mess.

She went out to the car to get her things. The lake shone pewter in the gloaming. Small clouds, grey on top, apricot underneath, floated in the duck-egg sky above a sinking sun which flung primrose light from the horizon. Cold air blew off the lake and wrapped itself around her ankles as she lifted her bag out of the car.

She located a large downstairs lavatory, and went and locked herself in, changing into a long-sleeved shirt, pedal pushers, socks, sneakers and the big floppy jumper with holes in the elbows that had belonged to Daddy. She immediately felt better, warm and safe. She caught a glimpse of her new bikini at the bottom of her bag. Perhaps she would have a swim in the lake if it was hot again tomorrow. In the sunlight it had looked so inviting, with the pontoon stretching out into the middle all ready to jump off.

Leaving the lavatory, she detected a delicious smell of wood smoke creeping towards her. Anxiously, she wondered when the chimneys had last been swept. She trotted towards their ‘headquarters’ and burst through the door, saying, ‘Munty, what if the chimney catches fire?’

‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s very unlikely to happen with just one fire. And I’m sure the chimneys were used during the war. Being the Army, they would have swept them.’

Reassured, she flopped on to the sofa, Munty’s appreciative eyes upon her.

The kettle he had brought with him was just about to sing on the butane stove. The cake stood on the plate, darkly inviting.

‘Mummy always says be prepared when you go out of town. English summers can be very tricky. Even when I’m going to a ball I always take a cloak and jumpers for the next day.’

‘Sensible woman.’

He cut the dark squashy cake, and passed her a slice. He used little muslin sachets of P&Q tea in the pot. She had never seen them before – Mummy always used loose tea leaves – but it tasted fine. She bit heartily and appreciatively into her chocolate cake, which was quite unlike her mother’s in taste, colour, texture and every other way.

‘I love this,’ she said. It was all so new and different, so happy, so daring, so exactly suited to her desire for a change. She was committed, she had to stay the night. He took nightlights out of the hamper and arranged them along the stone chimneypiece. Soon the room was glowing as it would have done in its heyday.

‘The champagne isn’t going to be all that cold,’ Munty said. ‘I think I’ll go into the village to see if the pub can give us some ice. You’ll be OK here by yourself, won’t you? I don’t think there are any ghosts.’

Melissa lay back luxuriously on the dusty old sofa, sipping her hot tea and nibbling her delicious cake. Even if there were ghosts, they would surely just be benign members of Munty’s family.

‘I’ll be fine.’

He left and she could hear the engine of the MG starting up outside the window. It was odd to be in the big old dark house by herself. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, so she tried relaxing on the sofa, but the desire to explore was very strong. She took a nightlight from the chimneypiece, put it on a plate and walked out through the door into the hall.

Her shadow appeared huge and stooped on the walls beside her. Now Munty wasn’t there, she indulged in the idea that this glorious tatty space was hers to do with as she wished. Deep in her genes lay the sure commercial instincts of Big George Bourne. She knew from hearing her parents talking that lots of grand people were so broke that they had got rid of their big houses – pulled them down, handed them over to the National Trust or sold them to be schools or lunatic asylums. No one could afford to keep these old places going any more.

She had been to dances in houses that had been hired just for the night, both in London and in the country. Maybe smart people who had sold their ‘big house’ would like to hire Castle Hey for dances, weddings, parties, even family weekends? It was an exciting idea, and she walked through the big empty rooms thinking about how it would work. Munty owned it outright. It was just a question of getting it into show condition.

There were four reception rooms on the ground floor. Upstairs she counted eight bedrooms on the first floor – Castle Hey was not big enough for a school or other institution. There was only one bathroom. There needed to be more, and more modern plumbing. Her nerve failed her then and she couldn’t face venturing further to see what was above. She was ashamed of letting her imagination run away with her too.

She heard the car coming back, and tripped down the stairs with her candle to greet him in the hall.

‘Isn’t this fun,’ he said, clutching a big bag of ice. ‘Let’s get the champagne chilled.’

She followed him to the fire. He plunged two bottles of champagne into the bag of ice, then offered her olives and peanuts. She said she’d wait for the drinks, and they sat quietly watching the flames.

‘So, Melissa, what do you think of the house?’

Not ‘my house’, she noticed.

‘I think it’s ravishing. I love it. I love how pink it is, and that it isn’t too big. I can see it being beautiful when you’ve done it up.’

‘Good,’ he said, settling back with his arm around her shoulders. She turned her face towards him, knowing he would kiss her. They remained locked together for some time.

Does this mean I love him? she wondered. Was it wrong to let someone kiss you if you didn’t love them? She liked him, and appreciated what he was doing for her. But she had no desire to die for him, for instance.

Munty pulled himself away from her and went over to the champagne, twisting the cork off with an expert flick and pouring the chilled wine into glasses he conjured from the hamper.

Sipping it, she decided she was in heaven. An ecstatic excitement boiled up inside her, but she knew from experience not to express it or let it overwhelm her. She had a lump in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears. He handed her a stuffed olive and settled himself back down beside her, not noticing her agitation.

‘Melissa, I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be, or anyone I would rather be with right now,’ he said. ‘You’re the most lovely girl to come here and be with me in this old wreck. I don’t think I could have faced up to it without you.’

Melissa took a big slug of her cold fizzing champagne, and turned her face into his shoulder to prevent him from seeing her flush. She breathed slowly to calm herself down. She didn’t want to say anything, as excitement threatened to push her over the edge. What did he mean, he couldn’t have faced it without her? If he was speaking the truth, and there was no reason to think he wasn’t, she had made a difference to him. Shy Melissa, with her difficult foot and her unpredictable, overwhelming feelings. A real grown-up man was grateful to her. If he wasn’t to be frightened off, she had to get a grip on herself.

Munty propped himself on one elbow and watched Melissa skipping away from him towards the glittering water. Her neck, revealed by the new short haircut, was slender, holding up her fair ruffled head. He was moved by her back view, its exposure to him and to the house behind with its rows of windows silvery and blanked out by the sunlight. She had pulled away, hot from his kisses and the noonday sun, and leapt up laughing, saying she wanted to cool herself in the lake. Jumping over rank tussocks, running down to the muddy edge, she squeaked when her bare feet hit hidden pebbles in the grass.

The sun shone into his eyes, blinding him. He pulled the brim of his Panama hat forward the better to appreciate her figure in the two-piece bathing suit. Freddie had dragged him off the year before to see a film called
How to Stuff a Wild Bikini
, where Buster Keaton, playing the world’s most unlikely witch doctor, conjured a shapely girl out of pink smoke into just such a spotty skimpy bikini. He supposed that was what the two-piece was called these days. Whatever its name, he found he had to roll on to his belly on the blanket as he watched, ashamed of his reaction. He remembered the almost naked girls in the film dancing on the beach, and forced his feelings firmly down. Melissa was a nice girl, and they’d only just met. Anything more than kissing was out of the question.

Those shift dresses concealed curves and, slender though she was, her waist was highly indented like a violin, only smooth and white. Her bottom stuck out, rounded and pert, encased in the tight-fitting blue knickers covered with big white spots. Her smooth white thighs, delicate knees and slender ankles were perfection in his eyes. He wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. In that moment he realised that he was in love with her.

She was a doctor’s daughter, not an heiress at all, but the idea began to build that they could work out the conundrum of the house together. Before he hadn’t had a clue where to start. She seemed so enthusiastic, describing all kinds of clever ideas she’d read about, in her breathless hurrying voice. He was touched by how careful she was to say ‘you could’ and ‘your’ house. They discussed the dashing Earl of Bankworth’s waterskiing demonstrations on his lake, the wild animals roaming the park at Tillingham Hall, and Lord d’Ingham’s giant dolls’ house on display to tourists. All rather desperate measures to keep the property in the family – and the family in the property.

‘Whatever works is worth doing though, isn’t it?’ she turned her questioning face up to his.

He’d do anything to make her happy. He found himself shrugging off the passivity that always led him to trickle into the paths of least resistance. This sense that he could achieve anything if only she was near thrilled him. More honourable too to marry for love and passion, and not for money to mend the roof.

He glanced round at his house to take his mind off her delicious body and the painful urgency he was feeling. Castle Hey stood behind them in the sunlight, glowing pink.

Like her lips, he thought.

The big arched oak front door stood slightly open. By half closing his eyes, he could transform the façade into something perfect. When he looked properly, he could see broken windows, sagging guttering, slates missing from the steeply pitched roof, one chimney snapped off halfway up. A near ruin and a big one.

They’d spent the night fully clothed and covered in blankets on the vast four-poster. Holding her warm body close to his, even hampered by fabric, had filled him with a visceral aching longing. In the end, unable to bear it, he’d slipped off the high bed, leaving her asleep, rolling himself in one of the picnic blankets to try and sleep on the Army cot. He’d surprised himself by waking up refreshed with the sun streaming through the dusty windows.

Calmed, he looked round again at Melissa, to see her tiptoeing along the old pontoon. Her hands were flexed as she kept her balance on the wooden slats.

‘Melissa,’ he called. ‘I’m not sure it’s safe. And the water’ll be very cold.’ She’d said she was just going to dip in a toe and maybe paddle.

He’d better swim himself to cool down. He took a deep breath and stood up, all evidence of his feelings for her firmly suppressed by thoughts of dry rot and leaking roofs, and walked across the grass on to the pontoon. He averted his eyes from Melissa’s body.