AFTER THE NEW YEAR a mild spell set in; there were violets growing in the lane and hazel catkins trembling in the hedge. Bea, stooping to look at an early primrose, was possessed of a desire to start afresh. The soft air, which presaged spring and new life, touched her cheeks and filled her with hope. She straightened up and, breathing deeply and eagerly, walked on between the banks that sheltered the lane. The centuries had eroded this track long before it became a metalled lane; ground to dust each summer, scoured by winter rain, so the track had sunk until now, beneath the dry-stone walls, the very rock could be seen. Beech mast, acorn and seeds had rooted in the earth that covered the stones so that the hedges that flourished along the top of the walls grew high above the sunken lane. Their roots had pushed down through the soil, displacing stones, gaining a foothold. These thick gnarled roots were covered with lichen and moss and ferns, supporting small ecological worlds, sheltered from the west winds which roared above their heads.
Bea watched a company of long-tailed tits swinging in the bare branches of an oak tree above her head. They flitted busily, darting from branch to branch, until the whole party took wing and swooped away. She saw a tiny wren, fossicking amongst the drifts of beech leaves in the ditch, and felt a sense of satisfaction and gratitude. The holiday had been a great success. She had been both surprised at the warmth with which Tessa had greeted her and aware of the efforts Will had made to ensure that all three of them felt at home. He insisted that he
was very happy in his room downstairs with its proximity to the kitchen. This morning Bea had woken, unusually early, to the smell of frying bacon and had thought herself, for one brief moment, back at school. She lay for a while, thinking; if she were to settle here in the cove then the pattern of life must be set from the beginning. It seemed that Tessa would rarely be with them for any length of time so it was important that she and Will should work out a plan for living compatibly. She hoped that, having spent most of her life living in an institution, she had a head start. Will had been married, so he was used to having females—or at least one female—about the place. It was clear that he and Tessa had very quickly established an easy relationship and Bea knew that it was up to her to maintain the family atmosphere.
Rising from her bed, she had pulled on her thick plaid dressing gown, pushed her feet into sheepskin slippers and descended to the kitchen. Over the Christmas holiday she had breakfasted late, fully dressed, having given Will plenty of time to have his own breakfast and finish his chores. Up until now she hadn’t wanted to be in his way but this morning she had felt differently. If Will had been surprised to see her he gave no sign of it. There was a large pot of tea on the table and he took a cup and saucer from the dresser and put them beside her.
‘I always like to stoke up for the day,’ he’d told her. ‘If you have a good breakfast then it doesn’t matter too much what happens after that. Care to join me?’
‘Who can resist the smell of frying bacon?’ asked Bea, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘I certainly can’t!’
‘My wife could.’ As Will dropped a few more rashers into the frying pan he looked uncomfortable; as though he felt that he had been disloyal. ‘Had a delicate stomach, d’you see?’ he said. ‘Had to be careful what she ate.’
‘How very tiresome,’ said Bea bluntly. ‘For her,’ she added politely—but she had seen the small grin with which Will had accepted
her gesture of understanding. ‘Living with small boys tends to destroy one’s sensibilities. I doubt I ever had any in the first place.’
Whilst they ate they had exchanged family backgrounds, trying to trace their ancestry back to Mathilda. Bea discovered that Will was two years the elder and that his father had been killed during the evacuation of Dunkirk; they had both lost their mothers fairly recently.
‘I suppose,’ said Bea, chasing a mushroom round her plate, ‘that I always imagined that I’d look after my mother in her old age. I spent most of the school holidays with her. We were very poor. My father was not particularly strong. He was on convoy duty during the war and was torpedoed twice and I don’t think that he ever fully recovered from it. I remember him as a quiet nervous man. He taught History but he was only fifty-two when he died. My mother was eighty. I was fully expecting to look after her for a few more years yet.’
‘It must be difficult,’ said Will thoughtfully, ‘to retire from your kind of job. Must feel at a bit of a loose end, I should think. It’s a way of life, isn’t it? Not just a job.’
‘Yes,’ said Bea, after a minute or two. ‘That describes it rather well. I stayed for a while with an old friend. She’s newly widowed and rather lonely. We hoped that it might solve both our problems.’
Will remembered his conversation with Isobel in the car. ‘Sounds fraught with difficulty,’ he suggested.
‘Why?’ asked Bea sharply. ‘Why should it be any more difficult than what we are contemplating here?’
‘Because it’s her home,’ answered Will promptly, although he sounded much more confident than he felt. ‘She would have to be a very generous sort of woman for you to be able to feel that you had as much right in it as she did. This is your home as much as mine. Quite different I would have thought.’
Bea was silent, mollified by his reply, rather surprised by her flash of aggression. It was evident that she was still feeling rather sensitive when it came to the question of belonging.
‘It is different,’ she admitted, watching him spread marmalade on his toast with a generous hand. ‘But it’s rather difficult to feel at home in a house you never saw before in your life.’
‘And with two people you never saw before in your life?’ He was smiling at her. ‘Are we crazy to try it? Is that what you’re thinking?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s just that I’m not particularly looking forward to telling Norah that I’ve finally made up my mind. She’ll think I’m quite mad. And I have to go back to pick up my belongings from the flat. I hope the landlord can find someone to take it over.’
‘Like me to come along?’ Will made the suggestion lightly but his heart beat anxiously. He had no wish to patronise her.
‘Come with me?’
‘I wondered how much stuff you’ve got? Could you manage it on the train? We could drive up and pack it in the back of the Morris. It’s amazing how much she’ll take if you drop the back seat.’
It occurred to Bea that it would be a great deal easier to cut the ties to her old life with Will’s comforting presence in the background but she was not used to people sharing her burdens or shouldering her problems. It sounded rather tempting … Her independent spirit struggled against such weakness. She sat with her eyes on her empty plate, attempting to justify an acceptance of his offer. Will watched her.
‘Difficult trying to struggle with it all on the train,’ he pondered, hoping to ease her into seeing it as a sensible proposition whilst maintaining her pride. ‘Of course you could hire a van but it seems a bit daft with the old Morris out there. Or maybe I’ll get on with getting us a car. We’ll need one, won’t we? Or would you prefer that we had one each? I can understand that. Perhaps we could try sharing one for a start.’ He beamed at her. ‘It’s going to be great fun. Don’t you think? Lots to look forward to. Look, I’d be very glad to come with you. I’d like to see the school and where you worked for so long. Fills in the blank bits, d’you see? And it would be a bit of a jolly.’
She looked at him and discovered that she could accept his friendliness. ‘Thank you, Will,’ she’d said. ‘That would be very kind.’
Now, as she walked in the lane she wondered what Norah would think of him …
‘ … AND I THINK IT’S just too bad of you,’ hissed Norah, when Will had excused himself and disappeared to have a pipe in the garden, ‘to bring this cousin—or whatever he is—along with you. I’d have preferred to talk with you alone.’
‘He is my cousin,’ said Bea calmly. ‘No whatever-he-is about it.’
‘And furthermore,’ continued Norah, discounting this observation, ‘I have to say that I think it’s quite mad. Going back to your old friends at school was foolish enough …’ She looked at Bea sharply. ‘Well, it was, wasn’t it? I was right, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes, Norah,’ sighed Bea. ‘You were right.’
Norah nodded, smug self-satisfaction writ large upon her face. ‘Of course I was. You can’t go back. I warn you, it never works.’
‘But I’m not going back,’ said Bea. ‘I’m going forward.’
Norah stared at her with a rather unpleasant look on her face; it had an avid, unhealthy kind of eagerness mingled with a measure of contempt.
‘So you’re going to live with this … cousin?’
‘With Will. Yes.’ Bea looked back at her and felt a sense of revulsion. ‘For goodness’ sake, Norah. Don’t look so … so prurient. There’s nothing like that about it at all. We are sharing the house, the three of us. We have a young cousin called Tessa. I told you all about it in the letter. Please try to accept it. I hope you might come and visit me there. It will be lovely in the summer.’
Before Norah could reply, there was a light knock on the door and Will appeared. He smiled at them both.
‘Sorry to break up the party but we ought to be getting on …’
‘Of course.’ Bea was on her feet, trying to hide her relief. ‘Forgive
me, Norah. I’ll be in touch. Don’t forget that invitation. Give my regards to Andrew.’
They kissed goodbye, though Norah’s face was stony and she barely acknowledged Will’s farewell …
‘What invitation?’ asked Will suspiciously after they had been driving for some miles in silence. Bea snorted and then she began to chuckle.
‘I’ve invited her to stay,’ she admitted, and burst out laughing at Will’s horrified expression. ‘Don’t worry. She won’t come.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Will fervently. ‘Please forgive me if this is tactless but how on earth did you imagine you could live with her?’
Bea felt a twinge of guilt mixed with relief. Norah was an old friend and it was disloyal to laugh about her. At the same time she was glad that Will saw the difficulties involved in living with her; it made her feel less guilty. She told him so. He shook his head.
‘It wouldn’t have worked,’ he said. ‘Best to find out early before damage is done.’
Bea stared out through the windscreen and prepared herself for the meeting with Marian Goodbody, the headmaster’s wife. She had decided not to collect her belongings and sneak away like a thief in the night. Instead she had telephoned Marian and arranged to have tea with her. After their last meeting Marian had been cool but Bea said that she had some news to tell her and Marian’s curiosity had got the better of her pride, especially when Bea asked if she might bring a friend.
‘A friend …?’ Marian had hesitated and Bea had grinned to herself. ‘Why, yes, I suppose so …’
‘His name’s Will Rainbird,’ she had told her. ‘See you at three o’clock then.’
As they drove into the quadrangle and parked outside the headmaster’s house, Bea was overcome by a fit of nerves.
‘I have the feeling that I am about to behave very badly,’ she told Will. ‘Marian and I have never hit it off.’
Will looked alert—Bea had reluctantly told him something of her last interview with the headmaster’s wife—rather like someone preparing for a scrap.
‘Nothing to lose,’ he told her. ‘Aha! Is this She Who Must Be Obeyed?’
Bea saw that Marian had appeared at the front door and nudged him in the ribs. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘For heaven’s sake, you’re supposed to be helping, not encouraging me.’
From that moment, or so Will told Isobel afterwards, the meeting went downhill.
‘How nice to see you, Bea,’ Marian stood at the top of the steps, looking graciously aloof. ‘And this is … your friend.’ She took in his cavalry twills and tweed coat—Bea had bullied him into dressing for the occasion—and extended her hand. ‘How nice …’
‘Will Rainbird,’ said Bea nonchalantly. ‘This is Marian Goodbody, Will. She is the headmaster’s wife.’
At this point Will seemed to lose his nerve. He took Marian’s outstretched hand and kissed it. Marian coloured a little, smiled upon him, obviously affected by this courtly and unexpected gesture and led them inside. Behind her back Bea stared at Will outraged by this over-friendly, if not downright sycophantic, behaviour and Will gazed back helplessly; shoulders, hands, even eyebrows, raised, in abject apology.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered, ‘Got carried away …’
Bea pushed him irritably ahead of her into the drawing room where tea was laid and Marian waited, her eyes on Will.
‘Do sit down,’ she said. ‘This is very nice. I admit that I can’t wait to hear your news, Bea.’ She looked girlishly excited. ‘Now you mustn’t think I’m being inquisitive, Mr … er Rainbird … what a delightfully unusual name, isn’t it? But Bea and I are old friends, aren’t we, Bea, dear?’
‘Certainly old, anyway,’ snapped Bea rudely—and tried desperately to control her uprush of anger. ‘We’ve known each other for many years.’
With a look of patient resignation, Marian turned to the tea-tray. Her glance at Will said that, whatever kind of friend he was, he had her sympathy. Will tried to look non-committal. She began to deal with the tea.
‘The thing is,’ said Bea, sitting upright on the cretonne, ‘I’ve really come to say goodbye.’
She paused whilst Marian continued to pour, head politely inclined, waiting for Bea to continue. Bea glanced at Will who sent her a tiny wink. Encouraged, she cast around for inspiration.
‘I’m so glad,’ said Marian fatally, ‘that you saw the wisdom about not remaining in the town.’ She smiled at Will. ‘Don’t you agree, Mr er, Rainbird, that it is better to make a clean cut when certain parts of our lives come to an end? I’m sure you see the wisdom in Bea making a new life for herself. You can imagine how hard it would be for her to be on the edge of a community that she has served so faithfully.’
‘Don’t talk about me as if I’m deaf, Marian,’ said Bea, irritation returning. ‘Don’t do that “Does she take sugar?” stuff.’
Marian passed her a cup, her lips tightening. Will absently patted his pocket for his pipe but, remembering where he was, took a cup of tea instead. She looked at him meaningly but he was afraid to smile back lest Bea should see and misinterpret his smile. He busied himself with the sugar bowl.
‘I had no intention of upsetting you, Bea,’ said Marian, maintaining her saintly air of tolerance. ‘I have been very worried for you. Though you mayn’t believe it, I have your welfare very much at heart.’ She looked at Will. ‘It will probably come as no surprise to you, Mr er Rainbird,’ (‘Oh, for goodness’ sake call him Will,’ said Bea, ‘and have done!’) ‘that Bea has been a somewhat unconventional, if extremely popular, matron. If I may venture such a remark without being taken to task again.’ She shot an unfriendly glance at Bea and smiled again upon Will. ‘Naturally we are all concerned for her future.’
‘I’m very gratified to hear it,’ said Bea acidly, ‘though I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that it comes as a bit of a surprise. Anyway,
there’s no need to concern yourselves further. I’m delighted to tell you that I’ve inherited a considerable estate in Devon and I’m moving down there. In fact I have already moved. I’m sure, given your anxiety for my welfare, that you noticed that I wasn’t about over Christmas or the New Year.’
Marian, who had come to attention at the words ‘considerable estate’ ignored the jibe. She goggled at her. ‘An estate? But who … I didn’t realise that you had …’ She stopped.
Bea grinned evilly. ‘You didn’t know that I had respectable relations? Landed gentry, even? No, neither did I. I am as surprised as you are, dear Marian. However, it solves the question of my future. I must be in Devon to oversee it.’
‘I see.’ Marian looked dumbstruck. ‘And er, Will. Are you …?’
‘Oh, I come with it, d’you see?’ said Will easily, avoiding Bea’s anxious eye. ‘A kind of factor or land agent. She has to put up with me, too, I’m afraid.’
‘I think she’s extraordinarily fortunate to have you,’ she answered crisply. ‘So tell me.’ She settled more cosily into her chair, trying to hide her envy, ‘where exactly is this estate? How large is it?’ She laughed a little, making big eyes at Will. ‘We shall expect an invitation, you know. What fun! I don’t know Devon too well.’
Will inhaled heavily through his nose and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving. ‘It’s on the south coast,’ he said casually. ‘Tucked right away by the sea. Difficult to find.’
‘This is so exciting. A considerable estate, you said. Is the big house in good order? How much land …?’
‘It’s in very good order,’ said Bea recklessly. ‘Much too big for me, really. Will has a little cottage in the grounds. And there’s a dower house in the private cove with a cottage for staff and a boathouse …’ She gulped at her tea.
‘Well!’ Marian closed her mouth which had been hanging open during these revelations. ‘Well, I must say. We shall look forward to visiting you. Now where … ?’
Will shot his cuff and looked at his watch. ‘Sorry, Bea. We really ought to be on our way.’
Bea jumped to her feet. ‘Absolutely. Look, we’ll pop in later, Marian. We’ve got to collect my bits from the flat …’
‘SORRY,’ SHE MUMBLED LATER to Will as they drove back to Devon. They had left a message for Marian saying that they’d had to rush away, lest she should demand an address or a telephone number. ‘I warned you that I might behave badly.’
‘I think you were splendid,’ said Will. He pulled hastily into the inside lane as a Mercedes snarled past, its driver gesticulating rudely. ‘Perfectly ghastly woman.’
‘I don’t know why you had to go kissing her hand,’ grumbled Bea, staring out at Somerset.
‘Neither do I,’ admitted Will guiltily. ‘It just came over me. She unnerved me, standing up there on the steps …’
Bea glanced sideways at him, his hair rumpled, his slate-blue eyes fixed anxiously on the road, and was filled with remorse. ‘You were terrific,’ she said. ‘I behaved shockingly. She always brings out the worst in me.’
‘“considerable estate”,’ quoted Will, beginning to grin. ‘“Dower house in the cove”, “cottage for the staff”.’
‘Don’t!’ said Bea guiltily—and burst into hearty laughter. ‘Her face,’ she moaned. ‘Her face when I was telling her!’
‘And what’s all this about being unconventional?’ he asked, settling down to a steady fifty, which was all the Morris was capable of doing comfortably. ‘We have an hour or so before us. New readers start here …’