A Week in Winter: A Novel Page 23

  ‘And what will those people think when they find you’re abandoning your wife on some selfish, quixotic whim?’

  ‘I’ve explained my position truthfully and they’re prepared to give me a try.’

  ‘You’re such a hypocrite,’ she’d shouted. ‘You’re beyond contempt. Pretending to be so holier-than-thou whilst betraying me and then abandoning me after nearly thirty years of marriage. How will you feel when I tell our friends that?’

  ‘How will you feel?’ he’d asked quietly. ‘Happy, content people don’t walk out of loving relationships. How will you explain it, Selina?’

  She’d had no answer for him. Already she’d shied away from telling even her closest girlfriends that Patrick was leaving her—especially for such a cause. How much easier to paint him as a weak philanderer! Almost she wished that she’d let him go to Mary. It would have been so much easier, as the injured wife, to gain sympathy. This was quite different; it was humiliating. Selina stared at herself, panic rising. Furiously, she seized a bottle and began to apply her make-up.

  Later on in the morning, the west wind brought warmer weather and the thaw began. Snow fell from the trees in huge slabs, crashing to the ground, dripping from the gutters. A tractor passed up the lane, turning the soft ice to slush, and, on the higher slopes, the drifts melted away into a thousand rivulets of sparkling water.

  ‘I shall be able to go tomorrow, after all,’ said Melissa, watching as the moor dazzled in the bright sunshine. ‘No excuse now.’

  For these few days she’d been able to believe that she might never leave, that the dream would become a reality. She glanced at Rob, who was bravely resisting the urge to persuade her not to go, to sort everything out by telephone, and smiled at him.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘We’ve been through it all before. I know you have to go. I just don’t want to think about this as our last day.’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Oh, no. Neither do I. Oh, Rob, we mustn’t be miserable.’

  She sounded so suddenly desperate, so unhappy, that he shelved his own feelings and put his arm round her. These four days had been a step out of the world and it would be very hard to go back to the normal everyday.

  ‘We won’t be miserable,’ he assured her. ‘We’ll take the pick-up and go and forage. It’ll be a bit slippy but a bit of an adventure. If the tractor’s managed to come up from the village, we should be able to get down. How about it?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She rubbed her cheek against his sleeve. ‘That sounds fun. I’m nearly out of chocolate.’

  ‘Well, we can’t have that. We’ll stock up for this evening and cook ourselves a slap-up meal.’

  ‘Great.’ She sighed contentedly and then looked at him more seriously, slipping her hand into his. ‘Rob, I think you should telephone Ned Cruikshank and make an offer. He’s left several messages on your mobile and I think it’s only fair. Today is his last day, after all. Tell him you’ve got the spare keys and that we want to buy Moorgate and then he can phone Lady Todhunter.’

  ‘You’re absolutely certain?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I’m quite certain. The money won’t be a problem, I promise, and I want to be sure that the house is … ours.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘That’s fantastic’

  ‘Once the offer is accepted we’ll have time to breathe,’ she said, trying to sound casual, hoping to forestall too many questions. ‘I’ll sort things out quickly when I get back. A girl I was at law school with works at a practice in Truro. I’ll get her to do all the legal stuff. OK? And as soon as I know where I am work-wise I’ll let you know. We’ll stay in touch by mobile, shall we? I may have to stay with friends while I wind up at the practice but you’ll always have my number.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He didn’t sound too happy. ‘But I wish we could be a bit more definite.’

  ‘Ned Cruikshank will be surprised, won’t he?’ She tried to distract him. ‘To hear that you’re going to buy Moorgate, I mean.’

  ‘We’re going to buy it,’ he corrected her. ‘Not nearly so surprised as Lady Todhunter will be.’

  ‘Do it,’ she insisted. ‘Telephone him now. It would be too awful if someone who’d seen it earlier pipped us at the post. Go on, Rob.’

  ‘OK.’ He kissed her quickly. ‘I’ll do it now, before we go out.’

  ‘Fine.’ She released him. ‘I’ll go and get my coat.’

  Upstairs, she sat down on the window seat for a moment. She felt terribly tired and very weak but quite determined to make certain that Moorgate should be Rob’s. Nothing else mattered now. It was all that she had left to give him. He had made her happier than she had ever been, enabled her to forget the horror that lay ahead, given her the opportunity to have some kind of stake in the future that she would never see. Soon, quite soon, he would be able to put these few days aside—to remember them always, yes, but begin to build a new life for himself here at Moorgate. She could give him that, at least: the chance to live in the house he loved more than anything in the world.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, waiting for Ned to answer the telephone, Rob was thinking how odd it was that, now that he was able to make an offer on Moorgate, the house mattered less than it had ever done before. Since Melissa had come into his life, so dramatically and unexpectedly, everything else had taken second place. His passion for Moorgate had paled before his love for her. He knew now that, as long as they were together, he wouldn’t really mind too much where they lived. She was so special, so rare, so utterly beloved, that he couldn’t imagine life without her now. Moorgate was a bonus, no doubt about it, but she was all that mattered.

  ‘Hello, there.’ Ned’s breathless voice broke into his thoughts. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. What weather! Are you OK?’

  ‘Very OK.’ Rob was smiling. ‘Hold on to your hat, Ned, I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you.’

  Maudie kicked off her gumboots at the back door and hurried into the living room to pick up the telephone receiver. As she placed her hand upon it the bell was abruptly silenced.

  ‘Damn,’ she said crossly. ‘Damn and blast. I do find that so annoying. Don’t you dare come in here, you wretched animal, until I’ve wiped your paws.’

  Whilst Polonius submitted to having his feet dried, Maudie decided that one of the advantages of living with a dog was that you could talk out loud to yourself without being considered odd.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘That’s that, then. Thank goodness it’s warmed up and we can get out for a good walk again. Move over, you great lump. That’s it. Now the back ones. Good! There you are. All done.’

  She hung the towel to dry and filled the kettle. Just as she was reaching for the teapot the telephone began to ring.

  ‘Curses!’ she muttered. ‘Don’t you dare hang up. Yes? Hello?’

  ‘Lady Todhunter?’ Ned Cruikshank sounded quite jubilant. ‘It’s me. Ned. Terrific news. We’ve had an offer for Moorgate. A very good one.’ He named a figure. ‘I think you’ll be happy with it.’

  ‘I am indeed. That’s wonderful, Ned. Is it the woman you were telling me about?’

  He started to laugh. ‘You’ll never believe this. I didn’t. It is the girl I told you about but it’s Rob Abbot, too. They’re buying it together.’

  ‘You mean she’s an old friend? What an odd arrangement. Of course, I know he loves the house …’

  ‘Well, actually, it seems he’s only just met her. It was love at first sight and they want to live at Moorgate.’

  ‘Good grief! Isn’t that rather sudden? I do hope Rob knows what he’s doing. He’s so level-headed and … well, sane.’ Suddenly she remembered her first meeting with Hector, the way they’d looked at one another, and she smiled to herself. ‘It sounds wonderful. I hope they’ll be very happy. I shall go down to see him and meet her.’

  ‘She’s an absolute sweetie.’ He sounded confiding, rather breathless as usual, and she felt an absurd surge of affection for him.

&n
bsp; ‘I’m going to miss you, Ned,’ she said. ‘I hope you do splendidly in London.’

  ‘So do I,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to bring this one off, Lady Todhunter. It’s the icing on the cake.’

  ‘Bless you,’ she said warmly. ‘And Ned? Make sure you get that commission.’

  ‘I will.’ He was laughing. ‘The office will be getting in touch and all the wheels will grind into action but I’ll tell Rob you accept his offer, shall I?’

  ‘You certainly may. Tell him I’m delighted. Many thanks, Ned, and good luck.’

  She replaced the receiver and stood for a moment, lost in a reverie. The relief was very great but there was a measure of sadness, too. She remembered the summer she’d spent there with Daphne and Emily, and the baby Posy. How happy they’d been. Maudie sighed as she went to make her tea, hoping she’d made the right decision.

  She thought: At least it solves the problem for Patrick. Perhaps now Selina can forget Moorgate and she and Patrick will be able to make a new start.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It was terrible to leave him, to drive away down the lane, letting him believe that she’d be back soon, waving cheerfully. Only the thought of Mike, waiting for her in Oxford, and all the arrangements yet to be made regarding Moorgate kept her steady. There was still a great deal to do, to be organised, and, as she conned it over in her mind, she was able to maintain some kind of composure. She felt tired—and the further she travelled from Rob and Moorgate so the weariness increased—but she knew that the greatest danger lay in the depression which hovered, which waited to convince her that there was no point in making any effort now; that there was nothing to try for, nothing to keep hope alive. Whilst she’d been with Rob at Moorgate she’d managed, for gloriously happy stretches of time, to believe that a miracle might happen. His love had strengthened her, his need had made her strong. His ignorance of her physical condition had allowed her to imagine that it did not exist. Now, without his vitality to warm her, his happiness to give her courage, the chill in her bones seemed to creep around her heart and weaken her. Even holding on to the steering wheel was an effort.

  Nevertheless, she knew that she must not, this time, stop for the night. If once she broke her journey to sleep she feared that she might never find the energy necessary to start off again. No, she must keep going, making do with short breaks for coffee. Mike, she knew, would be angry with her but he would be too relieved to see her to be cross with her for long. She considered turning off the A38 for a break at Bovey Tracey, half wondering if she might see Posy again, but decided against it. This time it would be different: the window table would be occupied by other people and her holiday feeling would be woefully absent. Better to remember things as they had been on that sunny morning. It was dangerous to go back; it invited disappointment. She could hardly believe that only a week had passed since she’d wandered in the town, browsed in the bookshop, and talked to Posy. Melissa wondered if Posy would ever see the message she’d written for her and remembered the odd feeling of warmth and friendship she’d felt for her. How she wished she could turn back the clock and be starting out again on her Moorgate adventure.

  She swallowed down the treacherous tears and glanced at her watch. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be at home for tea. She decided that when she was very nearly at Oxford she would telephone Mike. By then it would be too late for him to worry about her but he would have a chance to make any preparations he considered necessary for her arrival. It would be wonderful to see him and Luke. Concentrating on this, looking forward to hot coffee at Taunton Deane, Melissa drove on.

  Watching her go, Rob felt that his world was going with her. The prospect of life without her was dull and empty and he could hardly remember how he’d managed before her arrival. He knew now that he’d only been half alive. The whole week had been extraordinary; even the weather had conspired. As he went back into the house, alone again, a thousand questions presented themselves. During this last week, buying Moorgate, being together, falling in love, all these things had seemed perfectly reasonable. Now, walking from room to room, staring out at the drizzle, he wondered if he’d been seized by a form of madness. It would be quite easy to believe that he’d dreamed the whole thing; that his obsession with Moorgate had driven him crazy. He longed to speak to her again, needing reassurance, looking about him for some sign of proof, but all evidence of her occupation had been cleared away; the hamper and her rugs packed into her car. She’d promised to telephone him round about lunchtime and he checked—not for the first time—to make certain that his mobile was switched on. Everything they’d used had been washed up or put away and the house felt oddly empty.

  Standing in the sitting room, remembering how he’d first seen her standing looking down at his beanbags, he reflected that it was strange that Melissa—who loved the house so much—had broken Moorgate’s spell over him. She had shown him that his passion was as nothing compared with his love for her. She had released him and he was glad of it. The obsession had been a burden and it was a relief to be free from it.

  Rob locked the back door and walked round to the yard. Standing beside the pick-up he looked at the house. Now that the fever had left him he could see it clearly again: a solid, well-proportioned farmhouse in a delightful setting. Remembering his behaviour during the last six months he felt rather foolish and he smiled to himself, shaking his head. There was no question but that he’d been temporarily mad. Nevertheless, it would be good to own Moorgate, to live in it with Melissa, to raise their children here on the edge of the moor. Moorgate had brought them together. He stood for a moment watching the rooks, thinking about the events of the last week. There were so many things he’d never asked her, so much still to learn about her. He glanced at his watch. It was possible that in less than an hour he might be speaking to her. The thought raised his spirits, made his heart beat a little faster. Whistling to himself, he climbed into the pickup and drove out of the yard and down the lane.

  Posy, settled at a corner table in the bar of the Wykeham Arms, watched her father at the bar. He looked different but she couldn’t immediately decide how. He was talking to the girl behind the bar, laughing with her, hands in his pockets, and, for the first time, Posy was able to see him as other people saw him; not as her father but as a man in his own right. Her critical faculties—naturally sharp—were always on the lookout lest he should behave foolishly, be embarrassing, but she was beginning to realise that this intolerance was a measure of her own insecurity.

  ‘That’s how it started with your mother,’ Maudie had said, fairly recently, ‘but she never grew out of it.’

  This remark had given Posy food for thought. She had no wish to be like her mother, whose glance could wither, whose barbed, acid remarks could destroy happiness, yet she had begun to see how easy it might be to use such power over others; to control them. The difficulty was that you needed to feel very safe, very confident, to be unaffected by the behaviour of people for whom you cared. She had a horror of any form of showing off but living with Jude and Jo had gone some way in helping her to be more tolerant.

  ‘After all,’ Jude had observed, ‘it’s not your problem if someone behaves badly, not even if you’re related to them. Stay detached. It needn’t affect you.’

  ‘But it does,’ she’d argued. ‘If it’s your mother, say, or a friend, it’s bound to reflect on you, isn’t it? So people could say, “Poor thing, fancy having a mother like that,” or whatever.’

  He’d smiled at her. ‘Come on,’ he’d said affectionately. ‘Are you so unsure of yourself that you can’t cope with the opinion of idiots? No one is perfect, we all know that. My feelings for you don’t change just because you know or love somebody who isn’t wonderful all the time. I thought that love was about that. You know? Loving people because of what they are, not in spite of it.’

  The problem was exactly that: she was that unsure of herself. Perhaps it was due to the continual battle with her mothe
r all through her childhood. Selina had made it clear that the unconditional love she poured out on the boys—no matter what they did or said—was not available to Posy. Because of her affection for her step-grandmother, Posy had been punished by a withdrawal of love, made more obvious by the indiscrimination with which it was lavished on the boys. Especially on Chris, who assiduously courted his mother’s approval and slyly rejoiced in his small sister’s regular falls from grace. Paul had been less affected, remaining as detached as possible, but nevertheless unwilling to stick his neck out.

  Watching her father coming towards her, carrying drinks, Posy remembered how often he had championed her cause and defended her. Immediately she was engulfed in guilt. He had always been so loving yet she had been so critical when he’d had his own fall from grace. Where had her loyalty been then? She had rejected him out of hand, not waiting to be certain that he was guilty, unable to be generous.

  ‘The sandwiches will be along in a minute.’ He put the glasses on the table and sat down. ‘I was just telling the girl behind the bar that this place has hardly changed since I was here thirty years ago, although dear old Miss Sprules has gone.’

  ‘It must feel odd,’ said Posy, ‘coming back after all these years. Meeting Mum and all that.’ She paused, drinking some lager to cover the confusion of how she should proceed. She still didn’t quite know why he’d come down alone to see her and it was impossible to ask outright. ‘Is Mum OK?’

  He frowned, as if puzzled by her question, debating how he should answer it, and Posy felt a twinge of anxiety.

  ‘She’s perfectly fit,’ he said, ‘but not particularly happy.’

  It was such an odd answer that Posy began to laugh. ‘I’m not sure that Mum is ever particularly happy, is she?’ she asked. ‘It’s not how she works, is it? What’s the problem? Is she still going on about Moorgate? Honestly, Dad, it would be really crazy to let her buy it.’