Part 28 (1/2)

'Yes, splendid for the minute, but it's not a career.'

'Oh, but surely with two small boys to bring up and financial security under your belt, any sort of work is well, just a bit of posturing. I know you young girls feel you have to do something these days, but let's face it, you don't actually need a career!'

'Need, no, but might want,' I said firmly. 'I always had one, and never considered it posturing, and anyway, who knows, there might be other factors to consider. I might meet someone. Someone I might even want to marry,' I added brutally.

Her eyes clouded at this, and her chin shot out, almost as a defensive reflex. She collected herself.

'Well yes, of course you might. You're young, no one expects you to be a widow for ever, but this place is plenty big enough for a family, and you know, you could always add on at the back.'

I caught my breath at this. How much she'd already thought through.

'Yes, I suppose I could, and who knows, it might not happen. I may stay single. And maybe I won't be able to get back onto the career ladder either and get a proper job, because I've left it too late. In which case I may well stay here and bring up my boys, and jolly lucky I'd consider myself to be, and jolly grateful to you, too, for letting me have this lifeline. What I'm saying though, is,' I struggled to be honest, 'well, I simply don't know. I can't predict the future. Can't make any promises.'

She nodded. Glanced down at her lap. 'Of course not,' she said shortly. 'But for the boys, you know, there's such stability here. And they're starting a new school in September. Yousurely wouldn't want to hoik them out again?'

'I have no intention of hoiking them out,' I said patiently. 'But if I did, I think you'd find it would be fine. Children are very adaptable.'

'And of course, the extended family here,' she swept on, ignoring me and trying another tack, 'is marvellous for them. Not having a father, but to have his family, his parents, their grandparents, right next door-'

'Is wonderful for them, sure. But don't forget, they had all that in London. With my parents.' I looked her in the eye. 'Who they now don't see so much of.'

'Of course,' she said tersely, 'but then the boys are Fellowes, aren't they? That is their family name, a very old, family name. And roots are so important, don't you think, Lucy?'

I nodded. Probably best not to speak. Probably best to hold my tongue. Not to say, 'Oh, as opposed to my family name? My Polish/Irish immigrant roots?' Not for the first time I experienced a nasty taste in my mouth.

'And look what they've got here, too. So much s.p.a.ce, acres to run in, lakes to fish, the swimming pool they're having the time of their lives!'

I nodded again, and didn't mention that they'd had the time of their lives in London; friends in the square to skateboard with, parks to cycle in, dinosaurs to gape at in the National History Museum, less time in cars, a five-minute walk to school. Instead I picked my words carefully.

'Rose, I'm delighted you came across, and it was sweet of you to feel you had to apologise. There was no real need, I promise, I wouldn't have taken offence. But if you're looking for a guarantee that we'll stay here long term I can't give you one. I'm grateful, so grateful, as I've said before, but I truly don't know which way my life will go. If I was privy to the denouement of that little plot, I'd be delighted to share it, but I'm not, so I suppose what I'm saying is, I can't make promises.'

Her eyes glittered dangerously for a moment. Then she raised her chin. Smiled. 'Of course you can't, and who can. Golly, even those of us with the most settled of lives can't tell what's around the corner.' She lapsed into reflective silence, as at that moment, headlights shone in, glaring through the huge, plate windows, illuminating the barn, and causing us both to s.h.i.+eld our eyes. The lights dipped, and a moment later, a car came to a halt outside, the engine still running.

Rose got to her feet. 'That'll be Archie. I told him I was popping down here; he probably thought it was too dark for me to walk back.'

I slid off the stool and walked her to the door, struggling with my emotions, hoping I hadn't been too harsh. 'Rose, we do love it here,' I began, 'the boys and I. Don't get me wrong, it is idyllic, it's just-'

'I know.' She stopped me with an unexpected peck on the cheek. 'You just don't know yourself, that's all.' She gave a wan smile. 'And who does?'

I watched her get in the car, carefully tucking in her feet and closing the door behind her, but as they turned around and purred back past me, I realised it wasn't Archie driving at all, but David Mortimer.

Well, of course, I smiled. I couldn't actually see Archie consulting his watch in the library, setting his whisky aside and heaving himself out of his chair to collect his wife,worried about her walking home in the dark, but I could see him giving a nod to the man in the armchair opposite, 'Would you be so kind, dear boy?'

Yes, as ever, I thought, locking the door behind me, they had a loyal dependant at their beck and call. Unpaid, of course, but probably in receipt of favours any elderly bachelor would covet. A day's shooting here, a Sunday lunch there, unlimited access to the drinks cupboard. And he sang for his supper, too, was always good-humoured and charming. But he was a dependant, none the less. Around to do their bidding.

Chapter Twenty-one.

When I went up to Netherby the following morning to collect the boys, I discovered they weren't there. n.o.body seemed to be there, in fact, but I finally ran Archie and Pinkie down, in the pale blue breakfast room. The white linen cloth was covered in crumbs and most of the breakfast things had been cleared away, but they were still lingering over cold toast and marmalade, bathed in sunlight, and buried in the Telegraph and the Mail respectively. Archie looked up, surprised, when I asked.

'Ben and Max?' He leaned back in his chair and rustled his paper. 'No, my dear, they've gone into Oxford with Rose. Left about an hour ago. There was some talk of a puppet show, or something, I think, at the Bloomsbury. That was it, wasn't it, Pinkie?'

He glanced at his daughter, but Pinkie was absorbed in Nigel Dempster, mouth open, lips moving slightly as she read.

'Think that was it,' muttered Archie, going back to his own paper. 'Didn't she mention it?'

'No! No, she didn't.'

'Ah.''So, did she say what time she'd be back?'

'Hmmm?' He frowned abstractedly from the depths of Court and Social, then glanced over at his daughter who was audible now. 'To yourself, please, Pinkie!' he snapped. 'b.l.o.o.d.y expensive schools and you end up with r.e.t.a.r.ds.'

I cleared my throat. 'Any idea what time she'll be back, Archie?'

'Didn't say, my dear,' he muttered, then glanced up. 'Could well take them out to lunch, though, I suppose? Loves their company, eh?' His pale blue eyes widened.

Yes, I thought hovering, and so did I. I sucked a piece of my hair nervously as he went back to his paper. And I didn't seem to be seeing much of them these days. They were always either up here, or out with some member of the Fellowes family, but then again, that was probably my fault, I reasoned guiltily. I had been rather preoccupied of late.

Archie glanced up again. 'Sorry Lucy, was there something else?'

'Oh, no. No, nothing else' I turned to go.

In other words, 'Why are you lingering, woman, when a chap's trying to have a quiet breakfast?' Not, 'Pour yourself a cup of coffee, Luce, and pull up a chair.' And Pinkie hadn't even deigned to raise her head to say good morning. It hadn't escaped my notice of late, that without the boys in tow, my presence lost a lot of its attraction at Netherby. I turned on my heel. And nice of Rose, too, I thought, as I stalked angrily down the oak-panelled pa.s.sage, to take the boys without asking me. I mean yes, sure, a puppet show with Granny was terrific, and I was determined not to overreact, but I'd only seen her last night. She might have mentioned it.

I headed off towards the back of the house, my footsteps m.u.f.fled by Persian runners, then crossed through the main hall, shoes squeaking suddenly on the black and white, limestone flags. The French windows were already thrown open to the terrace at the back to accommodate the antic.i.p.ated heat of yet another glorious day. The frazzled thyme and sage squeezed between the yellowing York stone didn't look up to bracing itself for yet more baking, but down below, the rose garden bloomed more confidently. Beyond the roses, the s.h.i.+mmering expanse of pale green park stretched down to the lake, which was visible only as a phosph.o.r.escent glow, and then rose up again and away into the distance. Swapping this sudden burst of light for the door under the stairs, I followed the gloomy back corridor, pushed through the green baize door and headed for the stable yard.

As I made for the back door, I pa.s.sed the kitchen. The smell of bacon grease hung in the air, together with the usual steamy fug which seemed to accompany anything Joan cooked. I was about to walk on, when I was halted by a sob. I paused, stepped backwards and peered in. Joan's broad back was obscuring my view, and the steam didn't help, but she was standing behind someone seated at the kitchen table. The sob came again. I hesitated, then went in. Trisha was sitting with her elbows on the table, forehead propped up in her hands, whilst Joan, a plump arm around her, patted her shoulder awkwardly. Trisha swung a tear-stained face round at my approach.

'Sony.' I hesitated. 'It's just, well I heard . .

No, no, it's OK,' sniffed Trisha, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 'Come in, Lucy. I was going to come and talk to you anyway.'

'What is it? What's wrong?' I hastened over and sat beside her. Joan, relieved to be able to abandon her post, hurried away to the boiling vat of water on the stove which had clearly been bubbling away for some time.

'Boy trouble,' Joan muttered darkly, s.n.a.t.c.hing a tea-towel from a rail to drag the cauldron off the heat. 'And with the worst possible candidate if you ask me.' She picked up the heavy pan and staggered with it to the sink, pausing to rest it on the edge. She turned. 'I told her, right from the start, Lucy: it ain't no good hankering over someone like Jack Fellowes. He'll never settle, and that's the end of it. I'm not sayin' he's a bad lot, but I've never seen him more than five minutes with a girl and that's a fact. I told you, right from the start, didn't I?' She jerked her head accusingly at Trisha, before pouring half a hundredweight of potatoes, together with the boiling water, into a vast colander in the sink. Clouds of steam obscured her.

I covered Trisha's hand with mine and squeezed it. 'Oh Trisha, Joan's right, I'm afraid.' I sighed. 'Jack is just too fickle. G.o.d, I wish I'd warned you too, but I had no idea you were in so deep.'

This prompted a fresh outburst of tears and her head dropped like a stone into her arms.

'I am, I am in deep, and I can't help it. I - just love him so much!' Her m.u.f.fled voice came up from the scrubbed pine table. 'And Lucy,' she raised a tear-stained face, 'he had no idea! Absolutely no idea! Thought it was just a bit of fun, thought hanging around with me was great, until I mentioned yesterday that it might be nice to get away from this place, 'cos I've got a bit of holiday coming up, just a weekend, but I thought, you know, we could go away. Stay in a nice pub or something, but he was like, ”Oh my G.o.d, a relations.h.i.+p!” I tell you, you've never seen anyone retreat so fast in your life.'

I grimaced. 'Yes, well, I can imagine one might not see him for the dust on the soles of his trainers. G.o.d, he makes me cross sometimes. It's just so typical of him, isn't it, Joan?'

'As I say, he ain't a bad lot,' Joan muttered carefully, intent on shaking the colander full of hot potatoes in the sink. Tut he can't settle, that's his problem'

'And the thing is,' Trisha sniffed, 'I'm sure there's someone else. The other day he went to London you know, with you Lucy and when he came back, he was really oh, I don't know distant. Distracted. Hardly spoke to me. I'm sure he was with some tart up there,' she finished vehemently.