Coming Home (163 page)

By twenty to nine, Nettlebed was starting to get edgy, because Loveday still had not returned. It wasn't that he was imagining an accident, nothing disastrous like falling off the edge of the cliff and breaking her ankle. Loveday knew the cliffs like the back of her hand and was as sure-footed as a little goat. But his responsibility for her irked. He already regretted his collusion, and simply wished that she would come back, now, before he was forced to come clean and break the news to the Colonel that not only had Loveday left her husband, but had, at the same time, disappeared.

Preoccupied, he wandered, in a most uncharacteristic way, around the kitchen, going to the window, taking a mouthful of tea, carrying a single saucepan through to the scullery, mopping up a bit of spilt milk, going back to the window.

Not a sign of the wretched girl. His concern, by now, was touched with irritation. When she did turn up, he was going to give her a slice of his mind, in the same way that a mother will smack a child who has just almost been run over by a bus.

At ten to nine, fed up with hanging around and watching the clock, he let himself out of the scullery door and walked across the courtyard, and out onto the back drive, where he stood in the wind and looked for her, down the length of the garden and towards the sea. But there was nobody on the path from the woods. From his vantage point, however, he could see the big garage where all the family cars were housed, and one of the doors to this stood open. He went to investigate and saw that the little fishmonger's van was gone. The implications of this were seriously ominous. Unless, of course, a robber had come by in the night and driven it away. But if a robber had come, he surely would not have taken the van, with Mrs Carey-Lewis's Bentley sitting there just asking to be nicked.

By now in something of a state, he returned to the house, but this time went in through the gun-room door. And there found Tiger, tired out and fast asleep in his basket.

‘Where's she gone?’ he asked, but Tiger only blinked and went back to sleep again.

And then the third thing happened, which clinched everything. As Nettlebed went back to the kitchen, he heard, from upstairs, from his own flat, the unmistakable roars of rage from Nathaniel Mudge.

Time's come, he told himself.

At that moment, Mary Millyway appeared through the door from the passage, bearing, in her hands, the dining-room coffee-pot. ‘Just going to…’ she started, and then stopped. ‘What's that racket?’

Nettlebed felt like a schoolboy caught pinching apples. ‘It's Nat Mudge. He's up in the flat with Mrs Nettlebed.’

‘What's he doing here?’

‘Loveday left him. Seven-thirty this morning.’

‘Left him? Where's she gone, then?’

‘I don't know,’ Nettlebed admitted miserably. ‘She went off for a walk. Said she needed to clear her head, think things through. Said she'd be back by breakfast-time. And she's not.’

‘Think things through? What does that mean?’

‘You know. Her and Walter.’

‘Oh God,’ said Mary, which was an indication of her despair, because in all the years they had worked together, Nettlebed had scarcely ever heard her blaspheme.

‘She took Tiger, but Tiger's back in the gun-room.’ Nettlebed went on, in the tones of one determined to make a clean breast. ‘And the little van's not in the garage.’

‘Think she's run off?’

‘I don't know.’

Nat's screams by now had reached a crescendo. Mary set down the coffee-pot. ‘I'd better go and see to that child. Poor Mrs Nettlebed, she'll be demented.’ She set off, across the kitchen and up the narrow stairs. ‘Who's making all that din then, Mary wants to know?’

So one problem at least was being dealt with. Nettlebed, left alone, untied the strings of his butcher's apron and laid it over the back of a chair. He smoothed his sparse hair with his hands and went, upright and dignified, to find the Colonel and lay bare his soul.

He went into the dining-room and closed the door behind him. Nobody took much notice. He cleared his throat.

The Colonel looked up from his paper. ‘What is it, Nettlebed?’

‘Could I have a word, sir?’

‘Of course.’

Now both Mrs Carey-Lewis and the young doctor were paying attention.

‘It's…rather delicate, sir.’

Mrs Carey-Lewis chipped in. ‘Delicate, Nettlebed? How delicate?’

‘Family, madam.’

‘Well, we're all family here, Nettlebed. Unless it's something you particularly don't want Jeremy and me to hear.’

‘No, madam.’

‘Well, please tell us all.’

‘It's Loveday, madam.’

‘What about Loveday?’ The Colonel's voice was sharp. He knew a crisis when he saw one.

‘She turned up in my kitchen this morning, sir, at half past seven. With young Nat. Walked down from Lidgey. There seems…’ He cleared his throat and started again. ‘There seems to have been some trouble between the young couple. Between Walter and her.’

A long pause. And then Mrs Carey-Lewis said, ‘Has she left him?’ and her voice no longer teased.

‘It would appear so, Madam.’

‘But what's
happened?
’

‘I think, madam, that Walter's eye has been caught by another person. A young woman. He has been meeting her in the pub at Rosemullion. He never came home last night.’

The three of them were staring at him, wordless, and in apparent total astonishment.
They never had any idea,
Nettlebed told himself, which made nothing any easier for him.

The Colonel spoke. ‘Where is she now?’

‘That's it, sir. The trouble. She went off for a walk, to be on her own. Said she'd be back at half past eight, for breakfast.’

‘And it's now nearly nine.’

‘Yes, sir. And she's not back, sir. But she took Tiger with her, and Tiger's home, in the gun-room. And the small van has gone from the garage.’

‘Oh.’ Mrs Carey-Lewis sounded despairing, and small wonder. ‘Don't say she's run away.’

‘I blame myself, madam. I let her go, and then I never heard her return. I was seeing to the breakfast. And with this wind banging about, madam, I suppose I never heard the little motor car.’

‘Oh, Nettlebed, nothing could be your fault. She's very naughty and wicked to go off like that.’ She thought about this. ‘But where on earth would she go? And where is Nat?’

‘Mrs Nettlebed had him with her up in our flat. He was asleep, but he's woken now. Mary's with him.’

‘Oh, the poor, darling precious.’ Mrs Carey-Lewis abandoned her letters, pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. ‘I must go and see the little boy…’ As she passed the Colonel, she paused to hug him and drop a kiss on the top of his head. ‘Don't get in a state about it all. She'll be all right. We'll find her…’ And she was gone from the room.

The Colonel looked up at Nettlebed, who met his eyes. He said, ‘Is this so-called affair news to you, Nettlebed?’

‘Not entirely, sir. I have seen Walter and the young woman together more than once, in the pub at Rosemullion.’

‘Who is she?’

‘She's called Arabella Lumb, sir. Not a nice type at all. No better than she should be.’

‘You never said anything to us.’

‘No, sir. Not my place. And I'd hoped that it would blow over.’

‘Yes.’ The Colonel sighed. ‘I see.’

Another pause, and then for the first time, Jeremy Wells spoke. ‘You're quite certain she's not still down on the cliff?’

‘As certain as I can be, sir.’

‘Do you think I should go and look?’

The Colonel considered this suggestion. ‘It might be as well. Just to set our minds at rest. But I think that Nettlebed's prognosis is probably right. And Tiger would never have come back to the house without her.’

Jeremy stood up. ‘I'll go anyway. Have a scout around.’

‘That would be good of you. Thank you.’ The Colonel, too, rose to his feet, folded his newspaper and laid it neatly on the table by his plate. ‘And I think, before we do or say another thing,
I
must make my way to Lidgey, and find out what the hell is going on.’

Within the space of half an hour, Jeremy had jogged, at a brisk pace, down to the cliff, done a thorough reconnoitre, and then jogged back up the hill again. It was a good thing he was fit.

He found them all in the kitchen, Diana and Mary and the Nettlebeds and young Nat, still in his pyjamas, and finally placated by food, a serious breakfast which he was on the point of finishing, sitting at the end of the kitchen table. Mary was beside him, and the others were disposed about the place in various attitudes, gathered together for company, as people will in times of uncertainty or anxiety. Before opening the door, he heard the buzz and murmur of their voices, and Nat's high-pitched pipe demanding attention, but as he went into the room, they all stopped talking and looked at him. He shook his head. ‘Not a sign. I went right across the beach to the other headland. Loveday's not there.’

‘Didn't think she would be,’ said Nettlebed, but Diana thanked him for going to check. Mrs Nettlebed, her stout legs encased in heavy elastic stockings, had a teapot handy, keeping warm on the Aga. ‘Like a cup, would you, Dr Wells?’

‘Thank you, but I won't.’

‘Do you think…?’ Diana started, and then stopped and glanced at Nat, stuffing a toast-crust into his face. ‘Jeremy, we're trying not to say too much in front of you-know-who.’

Mary said, ‘Little jugs have big handles.’

‘Perhaps, when he's finished his breakfast, you should take him up to the nursery, Mary. Find something for him to put on that isn't pyjamas.’ She gazed forlornly at Jeremy. ‘I wonder what's happening. I do wish Edgar would come back and tell us…’

Which he did, almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. He had walked to Lidgey, because it wasn't worth getting the car out and driving the long way round by the road. And he'd walked back. Came across the courtyard, and in through the gun-room. They heard the resounding slam of the door. The next moment he was with them, pulling off his tweed cap, and with an expression on his face as sombre and angry as Jeremy had ever seen it.

He said, ‘Mary, take the boy away,’ and when she had whisked Nat out of the kitchen, and the door had closed behind them, the Colonel came to the table and pulled out a chair and settled himself into it.

They all waited in some trepidation, and he told them the sorry saga. Arriving at the big farmhouse, he had gone inside, and there found the Mudges in a state of what could only be called shock.

Mr Mudge, silenced by disbelief and shame, had scarcely spoken a word, but Mrs Mudge, who had always enjoyed relating disaster, even if it happened to be her own, had vociferously and indignantly (in between countless cups of tea) given the Colonel a lively account of all that had taken place.

Walter had not returned in time to see to the milking, and his two old parents had finally done it themselves. Not until they were finished, the cows turned out again, and the milking parlour cleaned and scoured, did their errant son appear, still in his good clothes and looking much the worse for wear.

He had shown no remorse. When taxed, he had told the Mudges that he had had it, up to here; was chucking his hand in, moving on. He was fed up with Nancherrow, with Lidgey, with the Carey-Lewises, with serfdom. Fed up with the responsibilities of wife and child, with a marriage that he had been forced into, and in-laws who looked down their noses at him. He was getting out. He'd been offered a job in a garage out Nancledra way, and he was going to live up Veglos Hill, in her caravan, with Arabella Lumb.

When the Colonel was done, there was a long silence, during which the only sounds to impinge were the heavy tick of the kitchen clock and the faint hum of the electric refrigerator. They were all behaving, thought Jeremy, like a lot of mustered ratings waiting for Captain's Orders. Only Diana opened her mouth as though to make some remark, caught her husband's uncharacteristically steely eye, and prudently closed it again.

‘So that's the situation. I've done my best to reassure the Mudges. They can be held responsible in no way for the behaviour of their son. I've also asked them, for the time being, to keep their mouths shut. Mudge will have no trouble in doing this, but Mrs Mudge is a naturally garrulous lady. However, they realise that no good can come from a lot of gossip, though I'm afraid that it won't take more than a day for the tidings to spread through the entire district of West Penwith. Discretion goes for all of us as well. For Loveday's sake. The first person to be enlightened and prepared must be our solicitor, Roger Baines.’ He reached into his breast pocket and took out his gold hunter watch. ‘Ten o'clock. He should be in his office by now.’ The Colonel rose to his feet. ‘I shall go and speak to him, on the telephone from my study.’ He looked about him, from one grave face to another. All nodded agreement to his proposals. And then his gaze alighted on the face of his wife, and his expression softened and he smiled. ‘I'm sorry, my darling Diana, you were about to say something.’