Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
. . you and Fa," Alexa had pleaded. "You won't still be having a row, will you? I couldn't bear it if there was a hateful atmosphere. ..."
And, "No, of course not," Virginia had assured her. "Forget that. . . . We'll have a great time. . . ."
Promises were not made to be broken, and she had enough pride to know that this one was no exception. By Friday, Edmund would be home again. She wondered if he would bring her another gold bracelet and hoped that he would not, for now it was not only Henry who lay between them, like a bone to be snarled over, but Virginia's new knowledge, both of herself and her husband. She felt that nothing would be either simple or straightforward again, but somehow, for Alexa's sake, she would make it seem that way. It was basically a question of getting through the next few days. She imagined a series of hurdles. Alexa's arrival, Vi's picnic, Edmund's home-coming, Isobel's dinner party, Verena's dance, all to be taken, one by one, without betraying a single base emotion. No doubt, no lust, no suspicion, no jealousy. Eventually, it would be all over. And when the September visitors were gone, and life was back to normal, Virginia, freed of commitments, would make plans for departure.
She waited for the dawn, from time to time turning on her bedside light to check the hour, but by seven o'clock she had had enough of this pointless occupation and was grateful to abandon her bed with its twisted sheets.
She drew back the curtains and was met by a pale
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blue sky, a garden streaked with long, early shadows, and a thin ground mist hanging over the fields. All these were potential signs of a fine day. As the sun rose, the mist would be burnt away, and with a bit of luck, it might become really warm.
She knew a certain relief. To have been met by cold, grey, and rain, today of all days, would have been almost more than she could bear. Not simply because he
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pirits were low enough without extra depressions, but, as well, whatever the elements threw at them, Vi's birthday picnic, willy-nilly, would take place. For Vi was a stickler for traditions, and cared not if all her guests had to crouch beneath golf umbrellas, paddle about in rubber boots, and cook their damp sausages over a smoking, rain-sizzled barbecue. This year, it seemed, they were to be spared such masochistic pleasures.
Virginia went downstairs, dealt with the dogs, and made a cup of tea. She thought about starting to cook breakfast, abandoned this idea, and went back upstairs to dress and make her bed. She heard a car, dashed to the window, saw nothing. Just some person passing the gates as they headed down the lane.
She returned to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. At nine o'clock the telephone rang, and she sprang for it, expecting some explanation of Alexa, stuck in a motorway telephone kiosk. But it was Verena Steynton.
"Virginia. Sorry to ring so early. Are you out of bed?"
"Of course."
"Heavenly day. You haven't got any damask tablecloths, have you? White ones, and huge. It's the one thing we never thought of, and of course Toddy Buchanan can't produce them."
"I think I've got about half a dozen, but I'll have to take a look at them. They were Vi's; she left them behind when she moved out."
"Are they really long?"
"Banquet-sized. She had them for parties."
"You couldn't be an absolute saint and bring them up to Corriehill this morning, could you? I'd come and fetch them, only we're all going to be doing flowers, and I simply haven't got a moment to spare."
Virginia was glad that Verena could not see her face. "Yes. Yes, I could do that," she said, sounding as obliging as possible. "But I can't come until Alexa and Noe
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ave arrived, and they aren't here yet. And then I've got to go to Vi's picnic. . . ."
"That's all right ... if you could just drop them in. Endlessly grateful. You are a love. Find Toddy and give them to him . . . and see you tomorrow if not before. Bye-eee ..."
She rang off. Virginia sighed in some exasperation, because this morning the last thing she wanted to do was to drive the ten miles to Corriehill and then back again. However, after years of living in Scotland, she had become programmed to the local customs, and one of these was that in times of stress it was a case of all hands to the wheel-even if it was somebody else's
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and putting a cheerful face on inconvenience. She supposed throwing a dance counted as a time of stress, but even so wished that Verena had thought of table-cloths before the last moment.
She wrote "Table-cloths" on the telephone pad. She thought about the picnic and put a large chicken into the oven to roast. By the time it had cooked and cooled, hopefully Alexa would be here, and she would get her to carve it into handy chunks.
The telephone rang again. This time it was Edie.
"Would you be able to give me a lift to the picnic?"
"Yes, of course. I'll come and pick you up. Edie, I'm so sorry about Lottie."
"Yes." Edie sounded curt, which was the way she always sounded when she had been much upset but didn't want to talk about it. "I felt bad." Which left Virginia uncertain as to whether Edie felt bad because Lottie had had to go, or because of Virginia's involvement in the whole sorry affair. "What time should I be ready?"
"I have to go to Corriehill with some table-cloths, but I'll try to be with you around twelve."
"Has Alexa come yet?"
"No, not yet."
Edie, imagining death and destruction, was instantly anxious. "Oh my, I hope they're safe."
"I'm sure. Perhaps heavy traffic."
"Those roads scare the life out of me."
"Don't worry. I'll see you at midday, and they'll be here by then."
Virginia poured another mug of coffee. The telephone rang.
"Balnaid."
"Virginia."
It was Vi. "Happy birthday."
"Aren't I lucky with the weather? Has Alexa come?"
"Not yet."
"I thought they'd have arrived by now."
"So did I, but they haven't shown up yet."
"I can't wait to see the darling child. Why don't you all come to Pennyburn early, and we'll have a cup of coffee and a chat before we head off up the hill?"
"I can't." Virginia explained about the table-cloths. "I'm not even certain where to find them."
"They're on the top shelf of your linen cupboard, wrapped
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n blue tissue paper. Verena is a nuisance. Why didn't she think of asking you earlier?"
"I suppose she's got a lot on her mind."
"So when will you all be here?"
Virginia made calculations and laid plans. "I'll send Noel and Alexa up to Pennyburn in the Subaru. And then I'll go to Corriehill in the small car, and on the way back I'll pick up Edie and bring her to Pennyburn. And then we'll pack all of us and all the picnic gear into the Subaru and go on from there."
"What a splendid organizer you are. It must have something to do with having an American mother. And you'll bring rugs, won't you? And wineglasses for yourselves." Under "Table-cloths," Virginia wrote "Rugs, Wineglasses." "And I'll expect Noel and Alexa at about eleven o'clock."
"I hope they're not too exhausted."
"Oh, they won't be exhausted," Vi assured her breezily. "They're young."
Noel Keeling was an urban creature, born and raised in London, his habitat the city streets and weekend forays into the diminishing countryside of the Home Counties. From time to time his pleasures took him farther afield, and he'd fly to the Costa Smeralda on Sardinia, or the Algarve in southern Portugal, invited to join some house party, where he would play golf or tennis or indulge in a bit of yachting. Sightseeing, gazing at churches or chateaux, admiring great tracts of vineyards did not enter his plans for enjoyment, and if such an outing was suggested, he usually found good reason to opt out, and instead spend the time either lying by the swimming pool, or drifting down to the nearest town to sit beneath the awning of a pavement bar and watch the world go by.
Once, some years ago, he had come to Scotland to join a few friends in a week of salmon fishing. That time he had flown to Wick from London, there been met by another member of the party, and driven to Oykel Bridge. It had been raining. It rained the whole way to the hotel, and continued to rain for the remainder of their stay, the downpour interrupted at infrequent intervals by a slight clearing of the mist, which revealed a great deal of brown and treeless moorland and very little else.
His memories of that week were mixed. Each day was spent thigh-deep in the flood of the river, flogging the swollen waters for the elusive fish. And each evening was passed in a cheerful blur of conviviality, eating quantities of delicious Scottish food and drinking even larger quantities of malt whisky. The surrounding scenery had left no impression whatsoever.
But now, at the wheel of his Volkswagen Golf, and driving the last few miles of their long journey, he realized that he was not only on familiar ground, but also in unexpected territory.
The familiar ground was metaphorical. He was an experienced guest, with long years of country weekend house parties behind him, and this was by no means the first time he had approached an unknown house to stay with strangers. In years gone by, he had devised a rating for weekends, awarding stars for comfort and pleasure. But that was when he had been much younger and poorer, and in no position to turn down any invitation. Now, older and more prosperous, with friends and acquaintances to match, he could afford to be more selective, and was seldom disappointed.
But the game, if it was to be properly played, had its own appointed rituals. And so, in his suitcase stowed in the boot were not only his dinner jacket and a selection of suitably countrified clothes, but a bottle of The Famous Grouse for his host, and a generously large box of Bendick's handmade chocolates for his hostess. As well, this weekend involved birthday presents. For Alexa's grandmother, celebrating her seventy-eighth year this very day, there were shiny boxes of soap and bath-oil from Floris-Noel's standard offering to elderly ladies, both known and unknown; and for Katy Steynton, whom he had never met, a framed sporting print depicting a sad-eyed spaniel with a dead pheasant in its mouth.
Thus, bearing gifts, he abided by the rules.
The unexpected territory was a physical thing, the astonishingly beautiful county of Relkirkshire. He had never imagined such rich and prosperous estates, such verdant farmlands, immaculately fenced and grazed by herds of handsome cattle. He had not expected avenues of beech, roadside gardens filled with flowers in such profusion and such colour. Driving overnight, he had watched the light creep into an overcast and misty dawn, but now the sun had done its work, and the greyness was dissolved into a morning of brilliant clarity.
With Relkirk behind them, the road was clear, fields gold with stubble, rivers sparkling, bracken turning to saffron-yellow, the skies enormous, the air crystal-clear, unpolluted by smoke or smog or any horror that the hand of man could produce. It was like going back in time to a world that one had thought gone for ever. Had he ever known such a world? Or had he known it once and simply forgotten that it had existed?
Caple Bridge. They crossed a river, deep in a ravine far below them, and then took the turning signposted "Strathcroy." The hills, still bloomy with heather, folded away on either side of the narrow winding road. He saw scattered farmsteads, a man driving a flock of sheep up through green pasture fields to the rough grazing beyond. Alexa, with Larry on her knee, sat beside him. Larry slept, but Alexa was palpably tense with the scarcely suppressed excitement of coming home. In truth, she had been in a state of happy anticipation for weeks, counting the days off on her calendar, searching the shops for a new dress, getting her hair cut, buying presents. For the last two days, she had been spinning like a top with last-minute arrangements; packing for the pair of them, ironing all Noel's shirts, emptying the refrigerator, and leaving with a neighbour the spare keys of her house in case it should be invaded by vandalizing bandits. All this was accomplished with the transparent enthusiasm and energy of a child, and Noel had witnessed her furious activity with fond tolerance, while refusing to pretend that he felt the same way.
Now, however, with the long journey behind him, with the sunlight streaming down from that vast and pristine sky, the clean air blowing through the opened window, the fresh prospects revealed at each bend of the road, her excitement suddenly became contagious, and he was filled with ridiculous elation-not happiness, exactly, but a surge of physical well-being that was perhaps the next-best thing. Impulsively, he took hi
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and off the wheel and laid it on Alexa's knee, and at once she covered it with her own.
She said, "I'm not saying 'Isn't it beautiful' all the time, because if I do, it'll just sound too banal for words."
"I know."
"And coming back is always special, but it's more special this time because you're with me. That's what I've been thinking." Her fingers twined with his. "It's never been quite like this before."
He smiled. "I'll be on my best behaviour and try to keep it that way."
Alexa leaned over and kissed his cheek. She said, "I love you."
Five minutes later, they had arrived. Reaching the little village, they crossed another bridge, through open gates and up a drive. He saw the lawns, the banks of rhododendrons and azaleas, glimpsed the open view through to the hills that lay to the south. He drew up in front of the house, the house familiar from Alexa's photograph, but now reality, standing before him, solid and substantial, with the towering conservatory jutting out at one side. Virginia creeper, now turning crimson, framed the open front door, and before Noel had even switched off the ignition the two spaniels were there, not posed obediently at the top of the steps, but racing down them, in full cry and with ears flying, come to investigate the new arrivals. Larry, rudely awoken, gave as good as he got, yapping from Alexa's arms as she got out of the car.