Part 4 (1/2)
She straightened. ”Mrs. Underwood,” she replied curtly. ”Everyone calls me Mrs. Underwood.”
”Oh,” Miranda replied, feeling foolish.
”Let me know when you're ready for pudding,” she repeated with a smile. ”Syrup sponge was Mr. Lightly's favorite.”
After lunch David's satisfied gaze rested on his wife. There was nothing like a belly full of good food to make him feel h.o.r.n.y. He ran his hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair. ”How would you children like to watch a video for a while?” Miranda frowned. Hadn't he forbidden Gus to watch television? ”Mummy and I would like a siesta.” Her frown melted into a smile. Gus jumped down from his chair.
”Make sure you watch something that Storm will enjoy,” Miranda shouted as they bolted for the playroom. David took his wife's hand.
”How about it, Mrs. Claybourne?”
”How about it indeed,” she replied, squeezing his hand. She felt the warm sensation of their reconnection.
”Well done, darling. You've found a cook and a gardener. There's a fire blazing in the hall and the children are happy. Now you can make me happy.” He stood up and led her out of the room.
”I don't think Mr. Underwood is a proper gardener,” she murmured as they walked into the hall.
”He'll do for the time being. He can light fires and burn leaves. Besides, it's autumn. There's not a lot one can do in autumn.”
”Everyone keeps telling me this used to be the most beautiful garden in England. I'm beginning to feel we're committing a terrible sin not looking after it.”
”It's only a garden, darling.” He led her upstairs and into the master bedroom. ”Now let's get down to the important business before I have to catch that train to London.”
Gus and Storm sat in front of the television watching Nanny McPhee. They had already seen it before, loads of times, but it was the only DVD that they both enjoyed. Storm noticed Gus had been rather quiet over lunch, as if he was keeping a delicious secret. He fidgeted on the sofa, his gaze drawn outside by an invisible magnet. After a while he announced that he was bored of the movie and was going outside. ”Can I come, too?” Storm asked, not because she wanted to play with him, but because he reeked of something mysterious.
”No,” he replied. ”I want to play on my own.”
”That's not very nice,” she complained. ”You're a poo!”
”You're a baby.” He stood up and marched out of the room.
Storm gave him a minute, then followed him.
Gus noticed Mrs. Underwood's car had gone, taking Ranger with it. He was disappointed. The dog had been good company. The perfect company, in fact, for a boy who liked to play on his own. He wasn't stupid like Charlie. Gus ran off through the field to the little bridge. The clouds had cleared and the sun shone, catching the ripples in the river and making them sparkle. The air was sweet with the smell of wet earth and foliage, and the breeze had turned unexpectedly warm. He hurried across to his secret cottage, and climbed inside.
Storm watched from a distance. She had never been to that side of the garden. There was something wild and enchanting about it as the light glittered magically on the raindrops quivering on the gra.s.s and leaves. She saw her brother disappear inside the cottage and stood awhile looking about. The stone bridge delighted her, reminding her of the bridge in Winnie-the-Pooh. She leaned over and gazed onto the water. Below, she could see pebbles and rocks hidden among the weeds. She wondered whether there were fish and decided she'd ask her mother for a net so she could catch one. Then she turned her attention back to the cottage. Gus had been in there a long time. She knew he'd be cross if he discovered she had followed him. She bit her nails and gazed longingly at the cottage, half hoping that Gus would appear. But he didn't. She wondered what he was doing in there. Slowly, she began to walk towards it.
She peered through the window to the left of the front door. It had already been rubbed clean by Gus's sleeve so she could see inside. She gasped as she took in the room. Someone obviously lived there. With an accelerating heart she tiptoed around to the window on the other side of the front door. Pulling away the long tentacles of ivy so she could see in, she thought perhaps this was Snow White's house or Goldilocks's and imagined the seven dwarves were out with their spades or the three bears were sleeping upstairs.
Suddenly Gus appeared around the corner. ”What are you doing here?” he demanded ”This is my house!”
”No it isn't,” she retorted, withdrawing from the window.
”I told you I wanted to play on my own.”
”But I've got no one to play with.” Gus's rejection was like a slap on the face. Storm's cheeks burned and her eyes glittered with tears.
”Tough!”
”I want to go inside.”
”You can't.”
”Why not?”
”Because only boys can climb in and besides, you don't know the pa.s.sword.”
”What's a pa.s.sword?”
”You see, you don't even know what it is.”
”You're mean.”
”Go and cry to Mummy then.”
Storm began to sob. Gus watched her impa.s.sively. ”You're not my brother!” she said. ”I hate you!” And she turned and ran along the riverbank, ignoring the little stone bridge that would lead her home.
V.
The little stone bridge at sunset. The amber light playing upon the smooth surface of the river..
Gus watched her go then returned to the cottage. He was furious that she had discovered his secret but felt a niggling worry that she hadn't returned over the bridge, but had continued up the river into unknown territory. In London their mother had never let them out of her sight. In the park, if they had so much as disappeared behind a bush she would have called them back, her voice tight with panic. Now Storm was wandering about on her own. Gus felt guilty. If anything happened it would be his fault. The worry didn't niggle for long. He began to explore upstairs where two bedrooms and a bathroom nestled beneath the eaves. The sun shone in through the windows and caught the flakes of dust stirred up by his footsteps, making them sparkle like glitter. It was quiet and warm, the air charged with something magical. Gus forgot all about Storm and stepped inside the first bedroom.
Storm hurried along the riverbank, sobbing loudly. She hated Gus, she hated the countryside, she hated her new school and she hated the new house. She wanted to go back to London, to her old bedroom, to her school where she had lots of friends, to all that was cozy and familiar. After a while she came to a fence. On the other side was a field full of cows. Afraid of the possible presence of a bull, she leaned on the gate and rested her head on her arms, her woolly coat soaking up her tears like a sponge.
Suddenly she was aware of being watched. She heard the squelch of hooves in the mud and a gentle snorting as the s.h.i.+ny black cows warily approached her. If she were Gus she would have tried to frighten them, but Storm was frightened herself. She raised her eyes but dared not move. They formed a semicircle on the other side of the gate, jostling each other forward, their large eyes bright and curious. Storm was sure they could knock down the gate if they wanted to.
”Put out your hand,” came a voice beside her. She was surprised to see a stranger lean on the fence and extend his hand towards the cows. He smiled at her and his weathered brown face creased about the eyes where the crows'-feet were already long and deep. He had the kind of smile that warmed a person from the inside and Storm immediately felt better, as if the lonely hole in her heart had been temporarily plugged. She remembered her mother telling her not to talk to strangers. But this man was nice, not at all like the horrid men she had been warned about.
Storm copied the man and stuck out her hand. At first the cows didn't move any closer, just observed the extended hands, snorting their hot steamy breath into the damp October air. Storm waited, excited now that she was no longer alone. She noticed the man's hand was rough and dry, the skin on his palm etched with hundreds of lines like a road map. At last the cows began to edge their way towards them, slowly at first and then with growing confidence. Storm began to tremble as one of the cows stretched its neck and brought its wet nose closer. ”Don't be afraid,” said the man. He had a funny accent. ”They're Aberdeen Angus cows, very gentle creatures. They are afraid of you.” He put his hand closer to hers and the cow blew onto their skin. ”You see. She likes you.” With the back of his fingers he stroked the cow's nose. The cow put out her tongue and licked Storm's hand.
”Her tongue is all rough,” she said, giggling with pleasure.
”That's because it's got to grab hold of the gra.s.s. If it were smooth the gra.s.s would slip through.” The rest of the herd now saw that the two humans were friendly and surged forward, wanting their own turn. ”We have some new friends,” he said and laughed. He was surprised that the child had suddenly made him happy. A while ago he had been sitting on the riverbank, head in his hands, the unhappiest he had been in twenty-six years.
”What is your name?” he asked.
”Storm.”
”Storm is an unusual name. My name is Jean-Paul.” He studied her flushed face, grubby where her tears had fallen, and felt a wave of compa.s.sion. A child her age shouldn't be wandering the fields on her own. ”Do you live near here?”
”Hartington House,” she replied, repeating the name her mother had taught her. Jean-Paul blanched and for a moment he was lost for words. ”It's the other side of the river,” Storm continued. But Jean-Paul knew that. He raised his eyes as if he could see over the trees to where the house nestled in the neglected gardens.
”I think I should take you home,” he suggested quietly. Storm nodded, disappointed. She didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay with the cows. Jean-Paul sensed her disappointment. ”You can come back another time. The cows will always be pleased to see you. They know you now.”
”My brother doesn't want to play with me,” she said. ”He's mean.”