The Red Cliffs (22 page)

“
I discourage him, but it doesn
’
t have any effect. But don
’
t worry, please, he is on his best behaviour.
”

“
I trust him least then,
”
said Neil.
“
Will you promise to ask for my help if ever you can
’
t manage him?
”

She remembered the time when she had been unable to manager Roger, and she meekly promised, before turning to dance with Malcolm.

When their holiday was over, and Ralph and Lucy returned to London, Corinne went with them for an appointment with her specialist, intending to spend a few days in town shopping for herself and carrying out commissions for Alison. Very quickly, Alison discovered how much her comfort depended on Corinne. She went home from the office to a quiet, empty house; and she went back to light snacks for supper and to breakfasts that were the least trouble. She plied her vacuum cleaner, polisher, dusters and brooms because she did not want Corinne to return to a house that had a neglected air, but she resented time used in this way that could be so much more agreeably spent in the workshop with her carving.

The evening after Corinne had left, Roger appeared at the house. How he knew that Corinne was not there, Alison had no idea. She also had no idea how to get rid of him without being openly rude, and the fact that she was wearing her working clothes made it impossible to say she was going out. She was, in fact, en route for the workshop, and Roger went there with her, perching himself on one of the stools, prepared to make himself agreeable as he watched her at work.

“
This is absolutely marvellous stuff,
”
he declared, admiring the figures that Alison had already completed
t
owards the finished crib, but Alison remembered the
“
little wooden toys
”
and did not reply.

“
These are for old Berritt?
”
he asked.

“
Yes.
”

“
No profit in these,
”
he commented.
“
I bet he wants them for nothing.
”

“
They are a labour of love,
”
she said.

“
Not many of us can afford to work for love.
”

“
I suppose I can
’
t either; but it would be a poor world if we couldn
’
t take time off sometimes to do something just because we want to.
”

They chatted quite amicably, and slowly Alison
’
s wariness disappeared. Roger invited himself to supper, and when Alison said she was having nothing but sandwiches and coffee, he went into the house to prepare them, and called Alison from the workshop when they were ready.

“
You have been ingenious,
”
she said when she saw the doub
l
e-decker sandwiches with delicious fillings which he had ready for her.

“
I have my uses,
”
he said with mock modesty.

“
I expect you would rather have a bottle of beer with yours. Do help yourself.
”

“
No,
”
said Roger.
“
I
’
m keeping on the wagon as much as I can nowadays. Getting off it can have disastrous results.
”

She did not reply, so he had to follow up himself.
“
I
’
ll never forgive myself for what happened
l
ast time I had
‘
a drop too much taken
’
,
”
he said.
“
And I have a feeling that you
’
ll never forgive me either.
”

“
But I told you that I had,
”
said Alison, wishing they could get away from this subject.

“
I know; but forgiving should go with forgetting, and I don
’
t feel that you
’
ve forgotten. And honestly, Alison, it was a most unusual lapse. I wish you would believe that. I had been celebrating a nice little windfall, and they don
’
t often come my way.
”

“
Unfortunately, we can
’
t always dictate to our memories,
”
said Alison; and, determined to be less personal, she went on:
“
w
hat was this success, anyway, that led to such folly?
”

“
Oh, a spot of successful speculation,
”
said Roger airily.

“
I
’
ve never managed to find out just what you do,
”
said Alison,
“
but certainly it doesn
’
t entail regular hours.
”

“
I don
’
t like regular hours. I like my freedom; and I can pick up a good living doing a bit of this and a bit of that.
”

She remembered a great many things she had heard about him since she had worked in the town. She remembered how he had moved into her own house on the pretext of keeping an eye on it. She remembered, too, rumours she had heard about him and Mrs. Simms.

“
Are you still with Mrs. Simms?
”
she asked him.

“
Yes, the old girl likes me there. She wants me to stay. Says she feels more secure with a man about the place.
”

“
She isn
’
t old,
”
said Alison.

“
Well, she
’
s in her forties—that
’
s old to me.
”
Roger laughed.
“
But why should I quarrel with my own good luck? She knows how to cook, and she enjoys looking after me. Maternal instinct, I suppose.
”
Alison felt instinctively that he was enjoying a joke at her expense, as well as that of Mrs. Simms, and knew that, this was one of those instances that filled her with unease when she first knew him, and now filled her with acute dislike.

As if he realised it, Roger sobered down.

“
When does Corinne come back?
”
he asked. The use of the Christian name annoyed Alison, since he scarcely knew Corinne.

“
Any time now. She only went to London to see her specialist.
”
She saw no reason to inform Roger of intended shopping expeditions,

“
Tomorrow?
”
he asked.

“
Probably. I don
’
t know for certain.
”

He knew at once that she was stalling. He realised that he was getting nowhere with Alison, but he would not give up. When she said that the. holiday had been very busy and exhausting and that she wanted an early night, he rose at once to leave, and asked her to walk through the garden with him. She hoped that Neil would not be passing at this time.

“
Your garden looks a little better than when you first came down,
”
he said, as they went to the gate.
“
Do you and Corinne do all this?
”

“
No. Neil sent us an old man, one of his pensioners, who gives us a few hours a week. He keeps this in order, but he really likes the vegetable garden best—as does Corinne. So I suppose I had better keep the worst of the weeds down there.
”

He realised at once that this meant Corinne would not return on the morrow, and he knew that Alison had presented him, unknowingly, with a good excuse for coming back. On the very next evening, when she returned from the office, she found Roger in the kitchen garden, sleeves rolled up, hoe in hand, busily working.

He would not listen to her protests.

“
You know you don
’
t like doing it,
”
he said.
“
You can go off and do whatever you like, while I cope with this.
”

Once installed, he would not be put off. Alison wondered what she could do about it. She could not
physically prevent him from coming to the house. She had no tangible excuse for telling him not to come. That would mean the sort of showdown she dreaded, and which might lead to a situation she could not manage. Yet her promise to Neil was not involved—there was nothing to complain to him about, even if she could bring herself to do it. She consoled herself with the thought that Corinne would soon return, and endured Roger
’
s presence with fairly good grace, so that he, only too willing to delude himself, took heart again.

CHAPTER TEN

The summer passed very pleasantly, but very busily, for Alison. She paused sometimes to wonder if she had ever worked so hard, but she enjoyed her work: in the office all day, often in the workshop in the evening; picking blackcurrants and gooseberries for Corinne to make into jam, or raspberries and peas to go into boxes into that capacious deep-freeze against the fruitless days of winter. There were times of enjoyment too; Sundays spent swimming and picnicking at the sea, or lazing in the garden with visiting friends. Ralph came to Combe Russet for a week, and Alison took a few days of her holiday to spend with him, days when Corinne made herself scarce, confining to Neil that she did not want to be de trop, and strengthening his conviction that Ralph and Alison wanted nobody else.

It became necessary for Corinne to go to London with increasing frequency to see her specialist. A
li
son felt a nagging anxiety that Corinne would decide to stay in London to save herself so much journeying, and knew that she would not like to live alone again. The only consoling factor was that the intimate friendship with Neil, which might easily be so much more than friendship, at present drew Corinne back to Combe Russet.

Roger seemed always to appear on the scene when Corinne went away. Alison could only suppose that he had his own espionage system. She did not want him there, she made excuses to keep him away, but she could not shake him off. He behaved in a way that gave her no cause for complaint, and was, in fact, very helpful, but Alison would have preferred to be without his help or company.

Later in the summer, Alison took a few more days of her holiday, and being much behind with her work for the London stores, because so much enthusiasm and labour were being expended on the crib, she intended to use the days to catch up.

Corinne left for London and the specialist, Alison spent her days in the workshop with its wide doors open to the scents and sound of summer, and, by a happy chance, Roger did not appear on the scene. Alison hoped he was away on holiday. The record player went into the workshop with her, and she chipped and chiselled and sawed and planed happily to an accompaniment of music.

It was there that Neil found her one morning, drawn by the magnificent music of a Brahms piano concerto. She wore light blue jeans and a blue shirt open at the neck and short-sleeved. There was sawdust on her shoes, and small curled shavings clung to her jeans, and it occurred to him that she looked completely happy.

“
Good morning, Alison.
”

She swung round, startled, and then smiled.

“
Good morning.
”

“
Corinne is not at home?
”

“
She
’
s in London. Specialist again.
”

“
Pity. I
’
m off to Land
’
s End and thought she might like to come with me. I even had a lunch hamper packed for us.
”

“
You
’
re out of luck today,
”
she said, swinging her hammer.

Neil hoped not. He came further into the workshop.

“
May I look?
”
he asked.

“
Help yourself,
”
said Alison, and went on with her work. Neil strolled round looking at her latest pieces, paused by the group of figures for the crib, studying them seriously, and then stood near Alison watching her at work, realising that in this place she had a sureness and confidence that were often lacking in her. After a while, she desisted and looked up at him.

“
You aren
’
t going to spend the whole day shut up in
h
ere, are you?
”
he asked.

“
I don
’
t feel shut up, not as I would in a house. When both doors are wide open, I feel one with the outside. Every time I look up, there is that heavenly view; green fields, red cliffs, sea that is every possible changing colour. I hear the birds singing and see the leaves turning in the wind.
”
She had, in fact, watched the constantly changing scene with great pleasure, the hay in Neil
’
s fields cut and lying in bales, the corn slowly ripening, berries appearing on the hedges where flowers had been.
“
No,
”
she said,
“
I never feel shut in.
”

“
All the same, it would do you good to get away from it for a time.
”

“
I
’
m so much behind with my work that I daren
’
t.
”

“
Come on, Alison,
”
he said, with sudden persuasion in his voice,
“
down tools and come to Land
’
s End with me.
”

She looked up quickly at the change in his voice, and he looked deep into her shining blue eyes. On sudden impulse, she said:

“
What a temptation!
”

“
Say you
’
ll come,
”
he said, this time with conscious charm,
“
it would be good for you and make my day for me.
”

“
It would be a pity to waste that lunch hamper,
”
she said.

“
Good for you. You
’
ll come?
”

“
But I must go and change.
”

“
There
’
s no need. Come as you are. I
’
ll drop you while I keep my appointment, and then we
’
ll lunch, and later we
’
ll swim. Just run and get your swimsuit.
”

She allowed herself to be
overborne, fetched her swimsuit and joined him at his car; and then began one of the most delightful days of her life. They talked of many things, and would then drop into a friendly silence for a time, before a chance dropped remark would lead them into absorbing conversation again. They had never talked like this. Alison, who was always so much on her guard with him, had completely dropped that guard today. She asked him questions about himself, what he liked, what he thought about different affairs. She talked, too, about herself, revealing herself unconsciously to him.

“
I love Combe Russet,
”
she said, in answer to a question from him.
“
I didn
’
t have to settle down, I recognised it as my rightful place at once. In London, I always felt like one ant in an ant heap, but out in the country I feel that people are much more individuals. I don
’
t feel crowded in, pressed down.
”

“
You felt crowded in, in London?
”

“
Yes. I was frustrated. There was never time to do all I wanted to do. Now I
’
m not frustrated, and I
’
m having a darn good try to do those things I want to do; and one hopes, of course, that each thing one does is a bit better than the last. Unfortunately, you don
’
t know; you
’
re not a very good judge of your own work. Oh dear, what an awful confusion of Is and yous and ones—I hope I
’
ve made myself clear.
”

“
Considerably clearer than I
’
ve ever seen you before,
”
he said.

It was true. For once, she had not shut herself away behind a wall. This was an Alison that delighted him. Getting an idea of her background, he also got a gratuitous idea of Tom
’
s.

“
And why shouldn
’
t I like the country?
”
she asked.
“
I spent my early years in it.
”

“
I imagined you a town child. Perhaps because I always thought of your brother as a townsman.
”

“
We grew up in the country, but it was Christopher and I who really loved it. Tom not so much. But it didn
’
t last long enough, that wonderful period. I
’
m sure I idealise it: I remember everything was wonderful—the mulberry tree and the fig tree growing outside the back door, with great ripe figs on it: the swing under the big oak; sinking on our home-made rafts on the pond, tea in the garden, blackberrying along the lanes.
”

“
All those things are part of my childhood too,
”
he said.

“
But for you it lasted. When our parents died, it ended for us. Everything good ended. I was perhaps too young to understand what was happening, and Christopher was old enough to be sensible and feel some responsibility. It was Tom who was thrown thoroughly out of kilter, who could never quite get over it.
”

“
And when did you discover your talent for woodcarving?
”

“
Oh, when my brothers had knives and I had to have one too. When they carved initials on trees and I had to do it too. We all picked up pieces of wood and started carving, but mine was always the best, and always seemed to astonish everybody. Soon I wasn
’
t happy without a piece of wood and a hammer and a chisel.
”

When Neil had kept his appointment, he drove her to a small, secluded cove which they reached by the perilous descent of a steep, scrub-grown cliff and had entirely to themselves. They lunched extremely well on the level stretch of golden sands, with grey rugged cliffs that stretched into the sea, and the waves breaking far out to end harmlessly in creaming foam on the beach: and as soon as a reasonable time had elapsed after eating, they changed into swimming clothes and went into the sea. Alison, who was not such a strong swimmer as Neil, came out first, stretched herself on the golden sand to dry and sunbathe, and was soon asleep, lulled by the sound of the sea. When Neil joined her, she did not wake. He towelled himself vigorously and sat down beside her, lighting up the enjoyable after-swim cigarette, and looking down at the sleeping girl. He noticed at once her resemblance to Tom Springett, and this was something that he did not want to see, so he concentrated on the things in her that
w
ere unlike her brother. The dark, dark hair, softly waving away from her face so that the pure, lovely line of her forehead was exposed: the sweep of thick dark lashes, and the beautiful, silky skin that tempted one to touch. But the mobile mouth, relaxed in sleep, was so like Tom
’
s that he turned his glance away with a momentary feeling of revulsion. He was not a man to repine about the past, to cry over spilt milk, but the manner of Evelyn
’
s death, the waste of his beautiful, cherished sister, was a hurdle he had not yet been able to get over.

He reasoned with himself. All that had nothing to do with this girl, and soon he was sensible enough to turn back towards her, to wake her by sifting sand slowly on to her arms and shoulders, and to watch her slightly puzzled waking with delight.

“
Have I slept long?
”
she asked.

“
Quite long enough, lazybones,
”
he said, smiling down at her. She did not smile back. Her deep blue eyes looked into his grey ones and found them anything but cold now. She was assailed by the most curious mixture of feelings. She wanted to delay the passing moment, to savour something that this moment had for her, yet not knowing if she would welcome the
‘
something
’
or turn away from it. She had an unreasonable and reckless desire to turn into his arms, and, afraid that some of this desire might be visible in her eyes, she looked away from him towards the sea. The picnic hamper caught her eye and she reminded herself that this outing had not been arranged for her benefit, but for Corinne
’
s; and that was a sobering thought, one that brought disappointment with it and an odd flatness. She said:

“
I
’
ll go and dress,
”
and took her towel and went to her rock-bound dressing room, wondering what had happened to her that she should be jealous of Corinne.

The ascent of the steep cliff was difficult, and Alison, following in Neil
’
s footsteps, was forced to stop.

“
Isn
’
t there an easier way?
”
she asked.

He turned to look back at her.

“
I
’
m afraid not. Give me your hand,
”
he said.

He took her hand firmly in his, swinging the lunch hamper from the other, and helped her safely to the top; but once there, he did not relinquish that secure, comforting hold. They went hand in hand to the car, and now, because it was no longer necessary, that close handclasp took on a special significance. Now he was keeping her hand in his simply because he wanted to, and an odd thrill jumped through Alison at the thought. Only when they reached the
car, and he thrust
open the door for her, did their hands slow
l
y, reluctantly, separate.