Charlotte Betts   

      

CHAPTER ONE     

February 2003     

 

Silence.

The cold gnawed into her bones and welded her cheek to the frozen ground. She opened her eye a crack. Red and white. Snow and blood. The pain in her shoulder sent white hot daggers down her arm and she couldn’t catch her breath. She tried to turn her head but she was tired, so tired… 

There were voices behind her and in the distance, far away, a siren. But the light was fading again and it would be too late; she was dying.

No, I can’t die; not yet! A sudden flash of terror or anger made her fingers twitch but it was no good; she couldn’t move. My love, where are you? I’ve waited so long and I’m not ready to die; not without holding you close one last time!

 

 

Faye was running late as usual. Bella waited on the hall chair at the foot of the staircase, her foot jiggling up and down. Abruptly she pushed the chair back and snatched up her cloak from the newel post, sweeping it around her shoulders in a swirl of black and scarlet silk. She three-quarters on to the hall mirror and made her habitual in-front-of-the-mirror face; a slight pout and a haughty lift of the chin to show off her jaw line to best advantage.

It still caught her by surprise that she had grown so old. Still, not a bad effort; she looked elegant and slightly forbidding, which was how she liked it. Good bones. If she wasn’t beautiful any more there were compensations in being a grande dame; it was extraordinary how much bad behaviour you could get away with if you were sufficiently advanced in years and imperious in manner.

“Have you been waiting for me, Bella?” Faye hovered at the top of the stairs, buttoning her coat and tucking a wisp of white hair behind her ear. Her scarf was draped carelessly around her neck, in imminent danger of slipping to the ground.

“Five minutes, at least.”

“You said three o’clock and it’s only a minute past. Is Hugh ready?”

“I sent him out to fetch the car round to the front and keep the engine running. It’s snowing again.”

“Oh! I wonder if I should put on my winter boots…”

“For pity’s sake; it’s far too late for that!”

“I suppose so.” Faye manoeuvred herself onto the stair lift and folded her arthritis-knobbled hands in her lap while the lift whined its way down the staircase.

Bella unhooked her sister’s stick from the newel post and handed it to her, then re-arranged the trailing scarf into an elegant twist. “Take my arm; the steps will be slippery.”

Outside, the Mercedes was waiting on the gravel and Hugh, tweed cap pulled down firmly over his ears and his breath making clouds in the cold air, offered his arms and escorted them both down the portico steps. He settled Faye in the back seat of the car and Bella in the front. 

“All ready to go, ladies?”

“We’d hardly be sitting here if we weren’t!”

Hugh didn’t rise to his wife’s querulous tone, merely adjusted the rear view mirror, indicated and glanced over his shoulder before moving off at a sedate pace.

Bella sighed. It was pointless explaining yet again that there was no need for all that rigmarole; the nearest cars were a good quarter of a mile away on the road at the end of the drive. Sometimes she thought his refusal to become ruffled by anything she said was on purpose to irritate her. On the other hand, he’d always been reliably good natured. Chalk and cheese. Bella and Hugh.

The avenue of chestnut trees that lined the drive stretched away in front of them, their branches a filigree of white against the leaden sky and the park land to either side virginal under its duvet of snow. Turning through the wrought iron gates onto the slushy road, Hugh tooted the horn twice, disturbing the rookery and sending a flock of birds wheeling and cawing up into the air.

“Bloody birds!” Hugh scrubbed at the remaining mist on the inside of the windscreen with a cloth.

Bella took the cloth from Hugh and wiped a vision hole through her side of the windscreen. “You know perfectly well that if you didn’t make a point of blowing your horn at them every time we went out they’d stay in the trees.”

Hugh gave Bella a sideways glance. “What? Spoil your fun? You know how you love to tell me off about it.”

Bella’s mouth twitched as she repressed a smile. “Do you have to drive so slowly, Hugh? If we’re late checking in at Heathrow we mightn’t be able to find three seats together.”

On reflection, she thought, she might rather enjoy sitting on her own without Faye continually pointing out the obvious and having to suffer the sickly smell of Hugh’s menthol throat lozenges. The poor darling suffered terribly from ear pressure trouble on planes.

Faye shivered theatrically. “Well, I hope it’s warmer than this in Paris. At least your apartment isn’t as cold and draughty as Waterleys.”

“I should hope not,” said Bella. “Not after the amount I forked out on having the new heating system installed. Although, funnily enough, I quite miss the eccentricities of the old plumbing.”

“Like the infernal banging of the pipes and there only being enough hot water for a bath on alternate Tuesdays?” Hugh chuckled. “At least we had fun sharing the bathwater!”

“Twice, to my recollection.” And that in a rush because they were late for something. Bella smiled to herself. So different from the languorous baths she had shared with her secret love over the years; stolen, steamy afternoons spent half-submerged in rose-perfumed water. She could picture him now, laughing as he reached over the side of the tub for the champagne and making her gasp as he poured an icy trickle between her breasts and gasp again as he knelt above her and licked it away…

“Damn and blast!” Hugh braked sharply and the rear end of the car slewed sideways.

In the back seat, Faye let out a shriek and clutched at Bella’s head rest before they came to a juddering stop an inch away from the bumper of the Peugeot in front. The driver leaned out of his window and gave them the finger.

“Close one!” Hugh exhaled, pretending not to notice the rude gesture. “Black ice, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Bella wound down her window and peered up the road. “Looks like road works.” 

Fifteen minutes later they had only moved a few hundred yards and the tension was rising.

“We’ll have to find another route,” said Bella.

Hugh pulled out of the line of stationary cars and turned back the way they’d come. “Shall I stop and fetch the atlas from the boot?”

“Too late for that! Turn left through Stanfield and then there’s that other little village, you know, the one with the Norman church and the village green…”

“Sounds like every English village to me. As long as you know where you’re going?”

It soon became clear that Bella didn’t. Hugh pulled up in a farm gateway and dodged through the now thickly falling snow to fetch the atlas. Lips pursed, he studied it. “We’ll be lucky to catch that flight now. Still, let’s give it a go!”

Faye leaned forward through the gap between the front seats and held out her hand for the atlas. “Shall I navigate? I’ve got my reading glasses here.”

Hugh drove off, clutching the steering wheel hard and peering through the windscreen at the swirling snow. “It’s getting worse.”

“Turn left up here and then right.” Faye peered at the map. “Or is it left?” She turned the map upside down.

“Oh for goodness sake, give it to me!” Bella undid her seat belt and stretched over to the back seat to snatch the map from Faye’s hands.

“Bella! Give it back!” Faye hung onto the map in a grim a tug of war. “Hugh! You need to turn right. Here! Turn now or you’ll miss it!”

Almost too late, Hugh saw the turning and wrenched the steering wheel hard to the right.

Bella, still twisted around in her seat and hanging onto the map, saw Faye’s eyes suddenly open wide. Without warning, Bella was flung backwards so fast that the breath thumped out of her. There was an ear-splitting crash and the grating screech of shearing metal. The side of her head thudded into something hard and her shoulder twisted in its socket, the sudden pain so agonising that she could only open her mouth in a silent scream. The world tumbled around her and she was tossed from one side of the car to another like a pea in a rattle. She heard Faye cry out. Upside down, the car skidded along the road, thumped into a tree and the door burst open. A sudden sharp draught as she was sucked downwards into a void and then a monstrous whack to her head made her see fireworks. Pain and shock took over and she drifted away.

 

Silence.

The cold had gnawed into her bones and welded her cheek to the frozen ground. She opened her eye a crack. Red and white. Snow and blood. The pain in her shoulder sent white hot daggers down her arm and she couldn’t catch her breath. She tried to turn her head but she was tired, so tired… 

There were voices behind her and in the distance, far away, a siren. But the light was fading again and it would be too late; she was dying.

No, I can’t die; not yet! A sudden flash of terror or anger made her fingers twitch but it was no good; she couldn’t move. My love, where are you?  I’ve waited so long and I’m not ready to die; not without holding you close one last time!

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

August 1939

 

At the time it had seemed a good idea to walk. Now, the sun burned down on him from a cloudless sky and the heat hung heavy in the still, afternoon air. Johnny put his suitcase, tennis racquet and the bunch of flowers down for a moment and leaned against the gatepost while he wiped his face with a handkerchief. The station master had said that the taxi would be back in half an hour but Waterleys Hall was only three miles away and he had been too impatient to wait. Now he regretted it; arriving in a muck sweat wasn’t the best way to impress the lovely Veronica.

He hoisted up his burdens again and started the trek up the carriage drive past the lodge and towards the house which shimmered in the distant heat haze. As he drew nearer he was taken aback by the size and elegance of Waterleys Hall. Built from bricks the colour of faded roses, the original Georgian house had a façade with a dozen or so symmetrical windows and then Edwardian additions flanked each side. The Victorian rectory where he had grown up was a substantial, though ugly home, but nothing about his friend Neil in the year that they had known each other had led him to believe that he lived in such grandeur.

The avenue of chestnut trees marching through the open parkland afforded some shade and he began to hope he might not look quite so red-faced and sweaty on arrival if he took his time. Except that he had already wasted enough time. High in the blue dome of the sky above him rooks circled, their cawing mocking his fear that Neil would have already snatched his opportunity.

“Come and stay at Waterleys,” Neil had said to Johnny and Richard just before they went down from Oxford. “We’ll get up a party and have some fun; something to look back on if there is a war. Play a spot of tennis and take the boat out.”

“What about girls?” asked Richard. “It isn’t a party without girls. You’ve got sisters haven’t you?”

“Too young to be of any use. But you can ask Veronica. And perhaps she can bring some of her friends?”

Although they hadn’t known each other before Oxford, it had turned out that Richard’s family farmed on the Berkshire/Hampshire borders a few miles from Waterleys Hall. Richard’s sister, Veronica, had visited him earlier that term and Johnny and Neil had both been instantly smitten by her blonde prettiness. Johnny had guessed the party was an excuse on Neil’s part to make an opportunity to see her again and he’d been determined to stake a claim before his rival. It had been galling, therefore, to receive a three line whip from his father because the Archbishop was coming to stay that same weekend to be guest speaker at the confirmation service on Sunday. In the end a compromise was reached; he stayed to welcome the Archbishop but then skipped off early, arriving at Waterleys on the Saturday afternoon instead of the Friday lunchtime.

Trudging along in the melting heat, the drive was even longer than it looked. Reaching the end at last, Johnny came to a circular pool with a plashing fountain in the courtyard at the front of the house. He dropped his suitcase onto the gravel and dipped his hands in the greenish water. It was barely cool enough to be refreshing but nevertheless he wrung out his handkerchief in the water and wiped the back of his neck with it.

“Are you Johnny Sinclair?”

He turned and found himself face to face with a black-haired girl. She had a determined little face with a slightly beaky nose. “Hullo! Where did you spring from?”

“I was waiting for you. But I thought you’d come by taxi.”

“I wish I had. It’s too hot for walking today. And who are you; one of Neil’s little sisters?”

She nodded. “I’m Isabella. But I’m thirteen. And Faye is nearly fifteen.”

“Quite grown up then. Look, is there any chance you could show me my room so I can change my shirt before I meet everyone? It’s beastly hot and I’m all sticky.”

She looked him up and down with critical, dark eyes. “You are a bit, aren’t you? Come on then; we’ll go in the back way.”

He followed her as she trotted around the side of the house, ducked in through a side door and down a long passageway. A maid bustled out through the kitchen doorway carrying a loaded tray and started as she saw them.

“Oh, Miss Isabella, you nearly made me drop the tea tray!” She bobbed her head to Johnny.

“It’s all right, Elsie. I’m just showing Mr Sinclair to his room.”

“Yes, miss. And I’m serving tea on the lawn so don’t you be long.”

Isabella clattered up the back stairs with her hair flying and pushed open the swing door at the top. “It’s this way.” She darted along the wide corridor and opened another door. “You’re in this room; it’s one of my favourites because you can see the lake.”

“So you can.”

Johnny dropped his baggage on to the counterpane, pushed up the sash window and leaned out to look at the expanse of water in the distance. The window sill was hot under his hands and he could smell the newly cut grass below. Half a dozen young people were ambling across the lawn from the tennis court to where tea tables had been set up in the shade of a large cedar tree. He picked out Veronica’s blonde head as she walked along beside Neil, swinging her tennis racquet and laughing at something he’d said. Damn, no time to waste! It was particularly irritating that back in Oxford he’d been sure she favoured him over his friend. But now that she’d spent twenty four hours with Neil he might have lost the advantage…

“Do you want to wash?” The girl picked up the abandoned bunch of flowers and snapped off a wilted bloom. “There’s a basin in the corner.”

“I’ll just have a quick slosh; don’t want to be late for tea.”

“I’ll wait for you then.” Isabella sat down on the bed, intently watching his every move as he pulled off his shirt and splashed his face and chest.

“That’s better. Turn your back; I’m going to change.”

Hurriedly he stripped off and slipped on his tennis clothes, attempted to comb flat the lock of blonde hair that always flopped over his forehead and picked up the wilted bouquet together with his racquet. “Let’s go!”

She gave him an impish little grin and set off down the corridor. They went down the main staircase this time; mahogany panelled and spongy with thick carpet. Oil paintings in ornate gilded frames lined the walls.

“Are the portraits of your family?”

“Some of them. This one is my grandfather, Mother’s father; he’s Brazilian and this one is of her mother and she’s French. Mother grew up in France so we’re all bilingual.”

“Me too! My aunt married a Frog so I learned my French by staying with them for most of the school holidays. Is that why Neil is reading French at Oxford?”

“Didn’t you know that?”

“I’m studying theology, not languages. Neil’s in my rowing eight.”

“Are you going to be a priest then? You don’t look like one.”

“You don’t have to go into the ministry if you read theology. Anyway, I haven’t decided yet what I’ll do. My father has always hoped I’d go into the Church though.”

Isabella stopped in front of the next portrait. “This one is my other grandmother; she lives in Harrogate. And this one is Mother. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? But all the other pictures came with the house. Father always says they make it look as if we’ve lived here for generations instead of only since 1920.”

“I see.” Johnny’s mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. “Anyway, you’ve always lived here?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Except when they sent me to boarding school.”

“Aren’t you there now?”

She shook her head vigorously. “I hated it and after I ran away for the third time Father said I needn’t go back. I go to a day school now and I quite like it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m never going to live anywhere but at Waterleys.”

Johnny thought that might be true; she seemed like a girl who knew what she wanted.

Outside again they walked across the lawn towards the gathering. He knew Neil, Richard and Veronica, of course, and there were three girls, the youngest of whom had the same black hair as Bella and Neil, and an older couple who Johnny guessed to be Neil’s parents. He presumed Matthew, Neil’s younger brother, was the dark-haired boy sitting in the dangerously tilted chair juggling with tennis balls. A black Labrador lay panting in the shade of the Cedar tree.

 “We thought you were never coming!” Neil, sitting next to Veronica, placed a proprietorial arm along the back of her chair as Johnny approached. “How’s the aged uncle? Come and meet my parents. Mother this is Johnny Sinclair.”

Mrs Locke, olive skinned and elegant in a silk frock, extended a languid hand to him.

Johnny handed her the flowers. Bella had been right; she was beautiful. “I’m afraid they’ve wilted a bit in the heat.”

She smiled faintly. “How kind. We will put them in water and then we will see. Let me present my husband.”

“How do you do, sir?”

“You should have telephoned from the station; I would have sent the car for you.” Mr Locke shook his hand heartily; a down-to-earth foil to his exquisite wife. “Faye, pour Johnny some tea, will you?”

Johnny pulled up a chair next to Veronica and Neil. “So, what have I missed?”

“We’ve been playing tennis. Veronica and I have just thrashed Richard and Muriel. And this is Joan. She’s been stuck with partnering Matthew until you arrived.”

Matthew, still juggling, attempted a wave and miscalculated, bouncing the balls across the tea table. The girls shrieked and the dog went into a frenzy of barking.

Johnny removed one of the balls from the cucumber sandwiches and presented it to Joan. She smiled back, showing rather a lot of teeth. Her looks were what Johnny’s mother would call ‘unfortunate’.

“Hello, Joan.” He deliberately avoided Neil’s mischievous glance and set about being polite to the poor girl.

 

 

Neil, Richard and Johnny lounged on the grass beside the tennis court watching the girls play, while Isabella acted as ball boy.

“Veronica plays a lively game,” said Neil as she smashed a ball over the net at a cowering Faye. He lifted a hand towards her as she glanced coquettishly over her shoulder at him.

“Killer back hand,” said Richard. “Even though she’s younger than me.”

Isabella scampered off to retrieve the ball and lobbed it back to Veronica with rather more force than it warranted, thought Johnny. He caught a glimpse of Veronica’s white knickers as she bent to pick it up and his body was suffused with sudden heat.

She rubbed the ball against her buttock, bounced it a few times on her racquet and executed a faultless serve to Muriel. The ensuing rally was fast and furious until she lunged for the ball winging its way towards Joan and stumbled. She gave a cry and crumpled to the ground.

Johnny leaped up and ran to her assistance, closely followed by Neil.

“Where does it hurt?”

            China blue eyes brimming with tears she pointed at her ankle.

Johnny tentatively pushed down her sock and touched the pale skin underneath. “There’s nothing to see.”

            “But it hurts so much!”

“Better get her back to the house,” said Neil. He scooped Veronica up into his arms and carried her off. “Bella, run on ahead and ask Mother to phone for the doctor.”

Cursing himself for the missed opportunity, Johnny watched as Veronica wound her arms around his friend’s neck and buried her face in his chest.

 

 

Dr Edwin Harwood parked the Morris on the gravel at the front of the house, unstuck himself from the driver’s seat and buttoned up his jacket over his waistcoat. He hated this heavy heat; it made the starch in his shirt collar chafe his neck. He picked up his bag, walked briskly up the stone steps and waited in the shade of the portico until the maid answered the bell.

“The young lady is in the garden, if you’ll please to follow me, sir.”

It was his first visit, having only joined Dr Macfarlane’s practice the previous month and he glanced about with curiosity. The hall with its lofty ceiling was cool, and his footsteps echoed as he absorbed a fleeting impression of a pale stone floor, wide staircase and mahogany doors. He felt suddenly small and insignificant in such grand surroundings and was put in mind of his first days at boarding school. He had hated school.

The maid led him into a pale gold drawing room and through French doors to the terrace. A sea of faces turned towards him.

Old Dr Macfarlane had told him about the Lockes.

“Francis Locke is a good sort; family money. Father made a packet in the Great War; manufacturing something or other. Bad smoker’s cough. Wife is a Beauty and knows it. Exotic. Foreign, of course, which accounts for the looks but no backbone. Thinks she’s delicate. Headaches, that sort of thing. Nevertheless, her cook serves a jolly good plain dinner, which you’ll be sure to discover for yourself in time.”

“Do you often see the Lockes socially?”

“Every couple of months, I suppose. It’s always a pleasure to visit Waterleys Hall; perfect example of a fine Georgian gentleman’s residence. And the Lockes are good clients. New money of course; second generation. Still, perfectly decent people and well liked. And never any trouble over the account.”

Edwin pursed his lips. The ‘new money’ comment pricked. He had only been able to buy his way into Dr Macfarlane’s practice since his estranged father had died and left him well provided for. Extremely well provided for.

 “Then there’s Miss Maude,” Dr Macfarlane had continued, “Mr Locke’s sister. Unstable.”

“Unstable?”

“Manic depressive type. No real trouble, at least, not yet. Need to keep an eye. And four children; pair of each. The daughters look just like their mother only rather more lively. Usual childhood illnesses. Youngest son had an appendectomy last year. I’ll take you with me on my next visit and introduce you.”

But as it had turned out Dr Macfarlane had contracted summer influenza from the Austin children and taken to his bed, leaving Edwin to make the Lockes acquaintance on his own.

“Dr Edwin Harwood.” The maid announced, before disappearing back into the house.

The terrace was full of people, most of them young, and they were all looking at him. He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, suddenly uncertain. Mrs Locke, he presumed it was she, came forward.

“Where is Doctor Macfarlane? Is he not here?” She spoke with a slight accent and carried with her the drift of some exotic perfume; too heavy for Edwin’s taste.

“He is unfortunately confined to bed with the influenza so he asked me to come instead. I’m his new partner.”

“Oh, I see.” She offered her hand and it lay unresponsive in Edwin’s palm for a second. “I heard there was a new doctor. We think a great deal of Dr Macfarlane. He is not too ill, I hope?”

“I’m sure he’ll soon be back on his rounds again.” Edwin suddenly sneezed, loudly and explosively and Mrs Locke backed away in apprehension.

“Do you have the influenza, too?”

“Don’t be alarmed, Mrs Locke; I suffer only from a touch of hay fever.”

The patient, a pretty little blonde, was lying on a chaise, flanked on either side by a young man vying for her attention. She turned a wan face to Edwin and smiled bravely.

“I think I’ve broken my ankle, doctor.”

“Let me have look.” She wore a tennis dress, rather short, and as he crouched down beside her he caught a glimpse of her inner thighs. Her legs were long and slender and one foot was bare. He struggled to control his breathing as he lifted her foot and gently pressed the now empurpled skin on her ankle. She winced and he pronounced a sprain.

“I’ll bandage it up for you but you’ll need to rest it. I’ll come back and see you again in a few days.”

“Oh! But I’m going home tomorrow.”

“We shall see,” said Mrs Locke. “Perhaps it will be necessary for you to stay a little longer, Veronica, so that this so charming doctor can look after you?”

“I really think she should, Mother,” said one of the young men at Veronica’s side. “She shouldn’t be moved when she’s in such pain.”

“It’s only a twisted ankle; she’s not dying!” said the youngest girl, a small replica of her mother.

“Shut up, Bella! Can’t you see how much it’s hurting her?”

Edwin sat on a garden chair next to his patient and lifted her leg so that her heel rested on his knee while he bandaged her ankle. She bit her lip and had her hands held by her two swains throughout her ordeal. Edwin tried not to look too deeply into the shadows between her thighs, while Bella sat on the floor beside him and watched him closely with mocking dark eyes. A black dog plodded over and sat down beside her, panting hot breath into Edwin’s face.

“There we are; all done. Keep the foot elevated and put some ice on it.” He stood up and ran a finger around the inside of his collar. It really was unbearably warm. He sneezed again.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Veronica lifted her eyes to his and smiled. “I feel so much better now. You have such kind hands.”

Isabella jumped up, snorting with derision and stalked off across the terrace.

“You seem overheated, Doctor Harwood,” said Mrs Locke. “Faye, take the doctor to the kitchen and ask Mrs Kettle to give him some lemonade.” She drifted away, sank onto a reclining chair and closed her eyes.

Edwin watched her fanning herself with a napkin; she had totally forgotten him already. Dismissed to the kitchen! That woman had treated him as if he were some lowly servant! Sudden rage at the slur boiled up but he’d missed the moment to request that the lemonade be brought to him on the terrace. The young people clustered around his patient, chattering and exclaiming and he was ignored. Stung, he turned to leave.

Another girl with dark hair, older than Isabella, caught at his coat sleeve. “This way, Doctor.”

Following her through the drawing room and hall again he couldn’t help noticing how her rounded buttocks moved under her summer frock. Briefly, he imagined biting into them, like peaches.

Just then he heard quick footsteps and turned to see an elderly woman with a froth of white hair running down the stairs. She was peculiarly draped in a variety of fluttering silk shawls insecurely pinned to a transparent nightdress and not very much else.

“Oh, Aunt Maude!” said Faye. “Are you better? I thought you were resting in bed for a few days?”

“Dear child! How can I rest? The sun is shining and there’s a party going on. I saw the young people playing tennis and it all looks such fun! I’ve had the most marvellous idea; we can put on a tableau. Greek gods and goddesses. Now don’t you make that face at me, young lady! Look; who am I?” She clasped her hands to her chin and twirled around, 

“Aunt Maude, of course.”

“No, no. Can’t you see? I’m Persephone. I don’t have a pomegranate but we could pretend with an apple. You, now you would make a wonderful Diana; if only we can persuade one of those lazy Labradors of your father’s to act like a proper hunting dog. And this young man with the cross expression?” She put her head on one side and studied Edwin. “Thor. It has to be Thor with that thunderous face. But you’ll have to take off those glasses. Well? What do you think?”

“Wasn’t Thor a Norse god, Aunt Maude, not Greek? Anyhow, I’m not sure the others will want to join in; all too busy showing off to each other. Why don’t you go and ask Father about it? But perhaps you’d better put on some more clothes first.”

“Francis? But he’s such a spoilsport. Never mind, I’ll go and see what the young people say.” Aunt Maude disappeared in the direction of the garden.

“Oh dear!” said Faye. “Father had hoped she would stay upstairs for a few days. Aunt Maude is rather excitable sometimes.”

Edwin refrained from comment.

In the kitchen, Mrs Kettle sat at the table reading the paper and massaging her bunions, enjoying the respite between afternoon tea and starting the preparations for dinner.

“Mother said to give Doctor Harwood some lemonade. Don’t get up; I can do it.” Faye went into the pantry and fetched a jug of lemonade and then a glass from the dresser. She poured the drink and offered it to him, smiling her mother’s smile.

Edwin hesitated. Slowly he took the glass and drank the lemonade down in one, as if it were some of his own nasty medicine. 

 

 

Dinner had been a lively affair with so many young people present and Dolores Locke had made only a token attempt to keep it decorous. Frankly, that was simply too much effort. She sank onto the drawing room sofa with a sigh and closed her eyes, letting the sound of voices wash over her like the sea.

Isabella, busy with a nice soft pencil, was curled up on the window seat with a sketch book on her knee, listening. She knew if she drew attention to herself Mother would probably send her to bed but there had been talk of charades and dancing after the grown ups had finished their coffee. She was good at charades.

“Would you really enlist straight away? If there is a war.” Veronica rested her chin on her hand and gazed at Johnny with wide-eyed admiration.

 “Only thing to do. It’s the army for me.”

“I thought you said you’d stay on at Oxford?” said Neil.

“Changed my mind. If we don’t defend our country there may not be any universities afterwards.”

 “What about you?” Veronica transferred her attentions to Neil.

“Johnny’s right, of course. Plenty of time to finish our education after we’ve seen off that nasty little Hitler man. Tell you what Johnny, if it comes to it, we’ll join up together.”

“Richard would have to stay on at the farm,” said Veronica. “Father wouldn’t let him go to war.”

“Someone has to grow the nation’s food.” Richard sounded defensive.

Aunt Maude stood up so abruptly that she upset her coffee. “I really can’t bear all this talk of war!” She held a handkerchief to her mouth and paced back and forth. “You have no idea what it’s like. War, I mean. How lives are ruined… All the young men... gone! You boys think it’s a great lark putting on a uniform and going off to fight. But people die…horribly. The War took my Henry.” Tears streamed down her mottled cheeks. “And now where am I? Lonely and living on my brother’s charity!”

“Now, now, Maudie.” Francis Locke, chain smoking by the open French windows, rested his hand on her arm. “You’re becoming overwrought, old thing.”

“Tell them; you must tell them, Francis! Just like last time, the Hun are watching and waiting to kill us. We’ll all be gassed! Like my Henry.” Eyes wild, she stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth to stifle the sobs.

“We’ve all got our gas masks, Maudie, should such an unlikely thing happen. Dolores, my dear, I think it might be a good idea…?”

Dolores shrugged. “Perhaps, Faye? She knows much better than I how to soothe her when she is like this.”

Faye jumped up and took her aunt’s arm. “There isn’t going to be a war, Aunt Maude. Father told me it’s just a lot of silly talk. Why don’t we take a walk on the terrace, where the air is cooler? I’m sure you’d feel better for a little air.” Soothing and cajoling, Faye led her aunt out through the French windows.

“I agree with Maude,” said Dolores. “Enough of talking about war! It is not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Francis, should we telephone for the doctor?”

“We’ll wait and see. Faye may be able to prevent her from having one of her turns. Besides, Dr Macfarlane is ill and I don’t know if the new chap would understand her when she’s like this.”

“I thought the new doctor was splendid,” said Veronica, her bandaged ankle resting on a footstool. “He has such gentle hands.” She eyed Neil from under lowered lashes.

“We should have asked him to join us for dinner tonight,” said Francis.

“He is too young; I wasn’t sure if I liked him,” said Dolores. “Doctor Macfarlane is always most agreeable and attentive.”

“Dr Haewood was jolly cross when you sent him to the kitchen for his lemonade,” said Bella. “I expect he thought he should have had it on the terrace with us.”

“Are you still here, Bella? I thought I told you to go to bed after dinner?”

“I’m not tired yet, Mother.” Bella bent her head over her sketchbook and gave the impression of being too absorbed to be disturbed.

Dolores sighed again and said no more.

 

 

Something woke Johnny with a start. Light was seeping around the edges of the curtains but all was quiet except for the dawn chorus. Then he heard it again; footsteps on the gravel under his window and a suppressed giggle. Pulling aside the curtain he saw Neil staggering his way across the lawn carrying Veronica in his arms. Damn!

He dressed rapidly and cleaned his teeth, spilling tooth powder on the carpet in his haste, and then quietly tip-toed along the silent corridor with shoes in hand. He wondered if it was too late for him to still have a chance with Veronica. Maybe it was but he was blowed if he’d let Neil have a completely clear run.

Outside the morning air was cool as he scuffed his feet into his shoes, leaving the laces trailing, and followed the marks of Neil’s footsteps across the dewy grass. The tracks led to the lake but then disappeared at the gravel path which ran around it. Which way to go? It would take at least fifteen minutes to walk the whole way round the lake. To the right the path disappeared into a tunnel of willows and to the left there was an ivy clad boathouse but there was no sign of Neil or Veronica.

He began to walk towards the willows but then he heard the muted rattle of rowlocks. A boat slid out of the boathouse and he saw Neil pulling on the oars and propelling them across the still water. Morning sunlight gilded the lake so that it looked like a sea of pewter and Veronica lay back on a pile of cushions, trailing a hand in the water.

Johnny stepped back from the path, leaned against the trunk of a beech tree and watched in silence as they progressed to the middle of the lake. There was a dull ache in his heart as he realised that no starry-eyed girl could possibly resist such a romantic setting.

Neil shipped the oars and moved towards Veronica, making her squeal as the boat rocked. She stopped squealing when Neil lay down on the cushions beside her and kissed her. Five minutes later the two were still locked together.

Too late. Bitterly, Johnny came to terms with the fact that he’d never kiss Veronica now. The unspoken contest between himself and Neil was finished. Unable to watch any more, he mooched his way along the path, hands in his pockets until he came to the boathouse. Inside, it was shadowy, mould scented and empty. He kicked a stone into the water with savage intensity and then three more, one after the other.

“Bugger, bugger, damn and bugger!”

“Hey! Do you mind not doing that? And don’t you know it’s rude to swear?”

Johnny started and peered into the gloom at the back of the boathouse.

A small white hand appeared above the waterline by his feet, closely followed by a dark head. “Here, silly!”

“Bella! What are you doing in there?”

“Trying to have a nice quiet swim but there doesn’t seem to be much chance of that. I was going to wait until you’d gone but I’m too cold. Pass me my pyjamas, will you? I want to get dressed.” She scissor kicked her legs behind her and her bare bottom appeared, then disappeared in the water.

Amused, Johnny realised that she was skinny dipping. “Here, I’ll put them down on the edge. My turn to look the other way while you dress.”

“Make sure you do!”

“My eyes are closed. Why didn’t you bring your costume?”

“I saw a heron on the lake so I grabbed my sketch book and ran straight outside in my night things. I hadn’t thought of swimming then so I didn’t bring my bathers. And I wasn’t expecting there to be so many people fussing around out here at this time of the morning.”

“You’ve seen your brother with Veronica, then?”

“’Course I have. He’s been mooning over Verruca all weekend. You both have.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know; ‘Oh Veronica, you’re so brave! Oh Veronica, let me sit beside you and hold your hand!’ Don’t know how you can; she’s so soppy!”

“Veronica isn’t soppy! She’s very pretty and she plays a jolly good game of tennis.”

“Well, I don’t like her.”

“I guessed that.”

“And she didn’t join in properly with charades, last night. ‘I can’t do it because my ankle hurts too much!’ What tosh! She’s just useless at acting.”

“How can you know that?”

“This isn’t the first time she’s been to Waterleys, you know.”

“It isn’t?” This was the first that Johnny had heard of it. So Neil had won even before he’d arrived and he could have saved his energy chasing after her.

“Her family have Manor Farm at Little Barton, which is only a couple of villages away, and Neil’s been hanging around her all summer. He even went over to help with the haymaking.”

“The swine! He never let on.”

“Don’t worry; he got awful blisters on his hands. And she’s been here too; I hate the way she sucks up to Mother. Mother says I ought to learn some manners from her instead of being such a tomboy. I ask you! You can turn round now.” Bella wrung the water out of her long black hair and picked at the pyjamas which clung to her wet body. “Ugh! I don’t have a towel. Can you carry my sketchbook, only I’ll make it all wet?”

Johnny took the sketchbook and flicked through the pages. “I say! These are jolly good. I like this one of your mother.”

“She’s easy to draw because she’s always lying down. Mathew is hopeless; he can never sit still.” She glanced at Johnny from under her eyelashes. “There’s one of Veronica with you and Neil on the next page.”

He turned the page to find a sketch of a smiling Veronica with her foot on a stool and himself and Neil each sitting on an arm of her chair, leaning protectively towards her. “Oh!” Looking closely, Johnny saw a small pair of devil horns poking out from Veronica’s hair and one tooth had been blacked out.

Bella’s dark eyes were alive with mischief. “You’ve noticed, then?”

“Not very kind.”

She shrugged.

“But you have talent.”

“One day I’m going to be a famous artist. Or maybe I’ll design things.”

“What kind of things?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe beautiful buildings; museums or palaces. Or perhaps I’ll make hats.”

“Hats!”

“Don’t laugh! Why not hats? Mother says nothing makes her happier than a new hat. I could make a lot of people very happy with my hats.”

“I don’t doubt it.” 

“I’m starving. Shall we go and have breakfast?”

Johnny glanced back at the rowing boat still drifting on the lake. The entwined couple hadn’t moved. “I suppose so; there’s nothing to stay here for.”

“If you ask me, you’ve had a lucky escape. Poor Neil!”

“I’m not asking you, you miserable child.”

“I’m not a child!” Bella’s eyes glittered with fury. “Why does everyone treat me like one? I’m certainly more grown up than that Veronica. Come on, I want to show you something.” She turned and trotted out of the boathouse.

Kicking a last stone into the water, Johnny decided to follow. After all, he had nothing better to do.

Bella left the lake path and launched herself into a tangle of rhododendron bushes. “Come on! This is a short cut.”

Twigs snatched at Johnny’s hair as he pushed his way through the undergrowth behind her until they came to a clearing in the centre of the shrubbery. Rhododendrons met overhead forming a leafy cave.

“We used to have a Roman camp in here when we were children,” she said. “Isn’t it fun? Mrs Kettle used to make us a picnic and sometimes we made dampers on a bonfire. Until Kettle, that’s the gardener, caught us and told Father. Neil and Matthew were thrashed but Faye and I just had a lecture on The Perils of Fire.”

“Quite right too.”

“No it wasn’t! The fires were always under control. Anyhow, this isn’t what I wanted to show you. Come on!” She disappeared into the other side of the thicket.

Sighing, Johnny followed. They came to a brick wall and she hurried along beside it until they arrived at a gate, half covered in ivy.

“There’s another entrance nearer to the house but I like this one best.” She pulled aside the overhanging vegetation and creaked open the gate.

“Oh! It’s a kitchen garden. Have you brought me here to show me the cabbages?”

Bella flashed him a scornful glance. “Look!” She pointed to two large mounds. “Anderson Shelters. To save us from bombs if there’s a war. Father said it was best to be prepared and he bought two; one for us and one for the servants. They cost £10 18s each and Kettle had to dig them in. Father had to pay him extra because it took ages and he hurt his back.”

“I’m not surprised; it’s a lot of digging for one man.”

“He had the gardener’s boy to help. And Neil did a bit. But it was a waste of time because Mother and Faye refuse to go in them.”

“Why is that?”

“Spiders. Shall we have a look inside?”

“Are they very spidery?”

Bella nodded. “And damp. Not scared, are you? Watch the steps and be careful where you put your feet. There seems to be a problem with water. I don’t know if it’s rain filling it up or if it comes up out of the ground. It’s cold in here, even though it’s summer, isn’t it?”

“Still, better to be spidery and damp than dead from a bomb.”

Bella shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked up at Johnny with a small frown. “Will there be a war? No one will talk to me about it; not even Father. He tells me not to worry my little head about it.” Suddenly she banged her hand on the curved wall of the shelter in a spurt of frustration. “Why can’t he treat me like a proper person? If there is a war I’m just as likely to be killed as he is! I have a right to know! Please tell me; what do you think?”

Johnny was moved by her passion. In spite of her prickliness about her age there was a vulnerability about her that made him want to keep her safe from the harsh realities of life. On the other hand, he knew enough of her already not to attempt to fob her off with half truths. He watched a trickle of water run from her wet hair down her cheek and wiped it away with his thumb.

“I’m afraid I do think war is inevitable.”

She gave a small nod, her velvet brown eyes serious. “Thank you. I keep having this horrible feeling that something very terrible is going to happen; you know, like when you’re sure that if you don’t jump into bed from the other side of the bedroom a goblin will leap out from under it and catch you by the ankle?” She shivered slightly and looked at him enquiringly.

Johnny had to repress a small smile. “I do know exactly what you mean.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same again, is it?” She put a hand on his arm, her fingers clutching his shirtsleeve.

Her gaze locked with his and as Johnny looked into her eyes, time seemed to stop. The pupils of her eyes dilated and it was as if he could see right into her soul. Age was irrelevant; her hopes and fears were the same as his. The future, if indeed there was one, stretched ahead of them both, unknown and frightening.

Her lips, moist and rosebud red, were slightly apart as she looked up at him and he felt himself lean slowly towards her, as if drawn by a magnet. He could feel the beating of his heart but was powerless to move away.

Outside the shelter a blackbird sent up a sudden cry of alarm, breaking the spell. Bella blinked and let go of his shirt.

Johnny broke out into a cold sweat. My God, what had he been thinking of? He ran his hand over his face. “Come on,” he said. “You’d better get out of those wet things or we’ll be late for church.” 

In silence, they walked back towards the house and breakfast, both lost in thought. Bella ran upstairs to dress and he went to his own room to shave and change. This is ridiculous, he thought; Bella is still a child. But there had been something very unchildlike in her eyes when she looked at him. And she was quite right, nothing was ever going to be the same again.