âI've telephoned once or twice but she's always so busy,' she said mendaciously, hoping to deflect criticism.
âOh, busy!' sniffed Lydia, distracted as Gillian had hoped she would be. âShe has absolutely no need to work. Her parents left her that lovely little house and a perfectly adequate income. Interior design! It's her way of feeling superior.'
âShe's good at it though.' Gillian fanned the flames of jealousy and discontent a little higher. âShe says she only works for New Money these days. Does their Georgian houses up for them and then goes round all the antique shops buying them a past. That's what she calls it.'
âI think it's patronising,' said Lydia, remembering anew her failure to charm the tall good-looking Richard away from Elizabeth at the wedding reception.
âI can't imagine why she never got married,' mused Gillian, looking through her mother's wardrobe to see if she'd bought anything new and if so whether it might be borrowable. âShe's really stunning. And that dishy Richard is obviously mad about her.'
Lydia zipped up her skirt with a vicious whisk.
âShe always says that she's never met a man for whom it would be worth the irritation of waiting to use the bathroom. More affectation. Anyway, she's got two bathrooms.'
Gillian grinned into the wardrobe.
âOf course, she was wonderful about the wedding â¦'
âShe's your godmother, after all.' Lydia drew her stomach in and peered at herself sideways in the mirror. âAnd she can certainly afford it.'
âStill. You're quite right. I simply must get in touch with her â¦'
âOh well. She's not going anywhere. You sent your bread and butter afterwards?'
âOf course I did.' Gillian, following her mother down the stairs, allowed a self-righteous note to creep into her voice. âI wrote while I was on honeymoon. Honestly, Mum!'
âSorry, darling. Let's forget about Elizabeth, shall we? Where are we going?'
âCoolings, I thought. And I want to have a look in Russell and Bromley.'
Several hours later, back in her flat alone, Lydia sank down on the sofa with a cup of tea and wondered how Gillian had managed to inveigle the rather expensive pair of loafers out of her. From a tiny child her only daughter had been able to wind her round her little finger, wheedle things out of her, and when Angus had left them Lydia had been even more tempted to spoil her in her anxiety to keep the child's affection. She felt rather guilty when she remembered how she hadn't hesitated to pour out her resentments and hurts to Gillian, knowing that this had influenced her against her father.
Lydia made a face. After all, Angus had another family now and didn't need Gillian as she did. A mother and a daughter could be friends and she and Gillian were so close. Look how she came up to Exeter so often and took her out shopping with her and bought her lunches and cups of coffee! Of course, she did find herself occasionally talked into forking out on little treats â such as the shoes today â and, as Lydia sipped her tea and brooded on her gullibility, a saying she had heard lately slipped into her mind.
âThere's no such thing as a free lunch.'
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GUSSIE CAME BACK FROM Nethercombe full of Henry's plans for his courtyard development. When it came to Gillian, however, Nell was aware of a certain lack of enthusiasm on Gussie's part that made itself apparent more in her reluctance to speak about her than in anything that she actually said. Nell was not aware how difficult Gussie found the return to her cramped flat and restrictive economies after the space of Nethercombe, nor how painful the decisions to accept or refuse Nell's uncalculated generosity. Since Jack was away at school and Nell was not at all the sort of person to join clubs or societies, she found herself in none of the situations where acquaintances were struck up or friendships flourished. This didn't particularly bother her for Nell had an inner life of reading and imagination to sustain her. Nevertheless, she enjoyed Gussie's company and they had fallen into a habit of meeting most weeks for coffee or tea. Nell discovered early on that Gussie was not a dropper-in. She disliked being taken unawares, too, and Nell respected her feelings. She was like it herself although perhaps not quite to the same extent. They were both private people but Gussie had more to hide. She could no longer afford the small luxuries of life and if Nell had arrived unexpectedly to discover her wrapped in layers of clothing because she couldn't afford to heat the flat, or to find that there was no biscuit with her coffee or piece of sponge with her tea, Gussie would have been humiliated.
Nell did her best to protect Gussie's pride. When she discovered
that Gussie loved Shakespeare she bought tickets for the Old Vic and then told Gussie that John was working and that it was a pity to waste the ticket. There were limits of course and even she had no idea of the sacrifices Gussie made when, in an effort to repay Nell's kindnesses, she took Nell out to lunch or bought tickets for the ballet or insisted on paying for tea when they went on little trips in Nell's car. Gussie, shivering by her unlit fire and trying to ignore the pangs of hunger, wondered how long she could continue to afford the luxury of a telephone and planned to sell the last few valuable pieces that she had inherited from her mother.
Nell, meanwhile, was watching John even more closely than she was observing Gussie. At some point, as 1989 drew on, she sensed that his ebullience was becoming more of a bluster, that he was attempting to convince himself as much as her. Of course, he said, nobody had expected that the housing boom could continue at such a pace: naturally it would level out but things were still good. However, Nell noticed that talk of buying their own home was no longer a regular topic of discussion and her old fears began to creep back.
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GILLIAN, TOO, WAS BEGINNING to realise that her dream of a refurbished Nethercombe was destined to remain unreality. Having obtained Planning Permission from the National Park for the conversion of his stables, Henry's whole concentration and every spare penny were devoted to the project. She was also beginning to learn that Henry was by no means the simple, quiet pushover she had taken him to be. With anything relating to the estate he was immovable.
âFor heaven's sake!' she stormed at him, when her frustration at being baulked was too great. âIf you never spend any money on the place it'll fall down. What's the point of building a whole lot of new cottages if you let this house crumble?'
Henry smiled at her. He knew perfectly well that Gillian's idea of spending money on Nethercombe meant new furnishings and hangings and had nothing to do with the structure of the building.
âBeen standing for over two hundred years,' he said comfortably. âShouldn't think it'll fall down yet.'
Gillian ground her teeth and wondered whether to dilute his complacency with the contents of her wine glass.
âIt's a wonder you're not ashamed to invite your friends here,' she said but her tone lacked confidence. All Henry's friends seemed to live in similar conditions of decaying grandeur. âAt least you ought to think about central heating. It's so humiliating when you invite your friends to dinner and they're afraid to take their coats off.'
âI've been thinking about it,' Henry said surprisingly. âI've been discussing it with Simon. Have to be careful, of course, in a house of this age. We'll see what profits we make out of the Courtyard. We might manage to run heating to some of the rooms. Not all, of course. The drawing room and the library perhaps. And our bedroom.'
Gillian breathed heavily through her nose. âHow exciting,' she said bitingly. âI can hardly wait.'
Henry went to her and put his arm round her. âPoor Gillian,' he said. âThe thing is that I'm used to it, I suppose. I know it's shabby but it's been like this ever since I can remember and it's ⦠well, it's home.'
âBut it's my home too, now,' cried Gillian, moving away from him. âYou make me feel like a permanent guest with no rights or say in how it should look or be run. How can I feel that it's my home when you and Mrs Ridley have the last word about everything?'
Henry looked at her in consternation. He hadn't realised that she felt so strongly.
âI'm sure that Mrs Ridley would be more than happy for you to take over some of the running of the house,' he said, unerringly picking the one aspect of Gillian's complaint which had no truth in it. âIt's such a big place and she's not as young as she was.'
Gillian bit her lip and turned swiftly back to him. âHonestly, Henry. You haven't got a clue. She'd hate it if I interfered. She's been in charge all these years and she'd loathe it if I muscled in and started
to tell her how to do things. A bit like you not wanting to change how it all looks. It's not my fault if I feel left out in the cold.'
Henry stood, irresolute. It was perfectly possible that Mrs Ridley may not care for interference on Gillian's part and, to be perfectly honest, he couldn't seriously imagine Gillian wanting to take over the responsibilities of housekeeping, nevertheless â¦
Gillian watched him. âI just want to feel it's my home, too,' she said, with just the right amount of pathos in her voice. âYou know, a few things of my own, as well as all the lovely things that belonged to your family.' She shrugged. âIt's not that I'm asking for much, after all. Some new curtains in the bedroom â¦' Her voice trailed away. Her smooth blonde head drooped a little.
âOh, darling.' Henry went to her and took her in his arms. âI'm sure we could afford some new curtains.' Could they? Still, it was a bit unfair on her. âTell you what. Suppose you go to Exeter and price a few things. Get an idea of the things that would make you feel more at home. I want you to be happy.' He stared down at her anxiously.
âOh, Henry.' She smiled mistily up at him. âHow sweet of you. It would make such a difference.' She slipped her arms around him and he bent his head to hers.
âDinner's in! Gettin' cold!' Mrs Ridley stood at the door watching them.
âComing, Mrs Ridley.' Gillian held firmly on to Henry as he attempted to break away from her.
The two women's eyes met and looked for a moment and then Mrs Ridley whisked out. Gillian gave Henry another kiss and they went into the breakfast room together, arm in arm.
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JOHN SAT IN THE corner of the bar, his pint barely touched on the table before him. Despite Martin's assurances that there was no need to panic, John could feel his newly found confidence ebbing gently away from him. The boom was over, the winds of change were blowing
and, outside the comforting structure of the Navy, John felt vulnerable. Even within the safety of his partnership with Martin, in the middle of the excitement of rising prices and big profits, he had seen that life outside was very different to everything he'd known. Going straight from school to Dartmouth he had merely exchanged one establishment's set of rules and regulations for another's and civilian life ran on very different lines. John no longer had the rings on his sleeve to show people at a glance where he belonged and what attitude they should adopt towards him. Nor could he read the signals in reverse. Categorising people into upper and lower deck, junior or senior officers had got him into a lot of trouble. Had he not been able to go straight into a partnership with Martin it was doubtful that he would actually ever have left the Navy. Once outside he realised that a partnership wasn't like being the captain of a submarine. Nobody was terribly impressed: the most unlikely people seemed to own companies, run enterprises. The glory that had eluded him within the service seemed still beyond his grasp in civilian life and John missed the privileges of rank, the shared language, the feeling of camaraderie. He was good with the clients but, apart from Martin, found it difficult to make friends. None of this would have mattered if business had stayed at the same level, fast, exciting, profitable.
But supposing things went wrong? John took a long swallow at his beer and summoned his common sense. Because the boom was over didn't mean that they couldn't make a perfectly adequate living. Perhaps they had been unwise to move the office to larger more expensive premises. The purchase of the lease had taken every penny but there seemed to be plenty more to come. Supposing ⦠? John finished his drink and stood up. He mustn't brood; that way madness lay. He must get home to Nell.
Nell. At the mere thought of her his heart sank again. She had been so against it all and now it seemed unlikely that they would be able to buy their own place. Not that she ever mentioned it. As long as she
had the cottage at Porlock Weir she seemed happy enough, although the holidays were difficult. Jack was growing fast. He had needed new uniform this term and next year the fees would have to be found. The fund that Nell had insisted on for the two years would be finished. John felt his stomach tighten. Supposing ⦠? He picked up his glass and went to the bar.
âSame again, please.'
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GUISSIE WATCHED THE APPROACH of autumn with fear in her heart. Her mind turned this way and that, seeking new ways of making economies, of keeping warm, of paying the rent. The money simply wouldn't stretch. The summer visit to Nethercombe had been a mad extravagance, paid for by the sale of her last remaining pieces. The trouble was that buyers recognised the look and smell of poverty and she knew that she should have got much more. In the end she was grateful for what they gave her. It bought her a return ticket to Totnes and left her a tiny sum against the depredations of winter. Perhaps now was the time to leave her flat and move to a bedsit. Gussie put her thin, age-mottled hands over her eyes and shook her head. Whilst she could move from her bedroom to this sitting room, tiny though it was, and have a separate kitchen and bathroom, life still held a shred of dignity. But to live, eat, cook, sleep all in one room ⦠Gussie took her hands from her eyes and straightened her thin shoulders. âSoldier's daughter, soldier's sister,' she murmured but the mantra was beginning to lose a little of its power and she turned to a more reliable and infinite source of support.
âThe thing is, Lord,' she sighed, getting to her feet and wondering whether a mid-morning cup of coffee was too much of a luxury to be considered, âwhere one lives really shouldn't matter, I know that. But it does. Pride's a terrible thing but it does help to keep one going, but I know that You, Lord, will help me to bear whatever may come. And I have dear Nell who is such a comfort.' She opened the
fridge door and stared bleakly at the small quantity of milk in the bottle. Her experienced eye assessed it: two more cups of tea or coffee, three at the most. One after lunch and one at tea-time and just enough for an early morning cup before the milkman arrived. She could only afford one pint every other day. Or she could have a late night cup of tea, so comforting and warming at bedtime, and hope that she didn't wake too early â¦
âI'm afraid not this morning,' she said, turning from the emptiness of the fridge. âWhy is it, dear Lord, that we always crave most for what we can't have? We all drink far too much tea and coffee. All the same â '
The telephone's cry interrupted her communication with the Almighty and she hastened to lift the receiver.
âGussie?' Nell's voice was clear and cheerful. âHow are you?'
âNell, my dear. Very well. And you?'
âFine. We're all fine. Listen. Jack and I want to take you out to lunch. No. No excuses. He's off to school next week and he wants to say goodbye to you. And it's to thank you for babysitting. All right, Jack.' Gussie could hear Jack's voice in the background, uplifted in protest. âI know you're not a baby. OK. For Jack-sitting, then. Sorry, Gussie. Please come. How about today? It's such a perfect day. We thought that we'd head out into the country. Are you busy?'
âNo.' Gussie felt an unusual and unwelcome suspicion of moisture about her eyes. âNo. Not busy at all. I should like to very much.'
âThat's wonderful. We'll pick you up in about half an hour. Oh, hang on, Jack's saying something about a book. You were going to write down the title and author for him. Something about the Romans?'
âOh yes. I did promise him. He's doing it in History next term. But I wasn't certain if he really wanted it.'