The Red Cliffs (26 page)

She began to see Neil
’
s point of view, however. She knew now, very well, what Evelyn
’
s background had been, and how Neil would be concerned for her. She even thought he might have interfered more. And she could see how he would resent this house failing into the hands of Tom
’
s sister, when he had spent so much money and been at such pains to make it beautiful for his own. She could excuse the mild stratagems he had resorted to, to get it back again.

At last she came to the present. Where had all this led them? What could he be talking about when he referred to these
‘
petty annoyances
’
. What, besides letting the bullocks into the barley, was worrying him now? Her conscience was clear, but she should find out what it was all about so that she could clear it up.

But did he care if it was cleared up or not? She had said, but certainly not meaning it:
“
I
’
ll be happy if you never stop and speak to me again.
”
That was foolish, spoken in the heat of the moment. He had said, however, that he would promote that happiness. But, she thought, slightly uncomfortably, he would not be able to keep that up. They were sure to meet. When Corinne returned, there would be the usual cocktail parties or dinner parties, and perhaps the recent friendly state of affairs could be re-established.

A few days later, Corinne did return, and, as usual, she brought with her a whiff of fresh air from the outside world. Her ankle was now out of plaster,
b
ut she
w
as to have frequent massage, and to do daily remedial exercise. She had a pronounced limp, but had been assured that this would go as the ankle strengthened. Alison wondered a little gloomily if Corinne
’
s days with her were numbered, knowing how much she would miss her cheerful, easy-going, competent presence round the house.

“
Paris
w
as wonderful,
”
Corinne declared.
“
All the Parisians were coming back after their holidays, and all the foreigners were beginning to go. My mother and father were very disappointed that you didn
’
t go with me, because they were looking forward to meeting you. For one thing, they were, so pleased that I was happy and comfortable all the summer, and for another, they think you
’
ve been good for me. They say I
’
ve matured, that I
’
m not so
haywire!
”
Alison thought that it was far more likely to be Neil
’
s influence that had matured and settled her.

“
I think I shall go back to Paris again soon,
”
said Corinne,
“
and you must visit us then. It
’
s going to be so long before I can dance again that I shall face facts and give it up most probably. But I don
’
t think you should live here alone when I go, Alison. You don
’
t look after yourself properly. How did you get on without me?
”

“
I
’
m not nearly so inefficient as you seem to think,
”
smiled Alison.

“
I didn
’
t say inefficient; but you don
’
t bother enough about yourself. Did you see many people?
”

“
Yes, they rallied round. Lunch here and dinner there. Hugh and Dorothy Berritt took me under their wing.
”

“
And Neil?
”

“
Oh, I
’
ve quarrelled with Neil.
”

“
What, again?
”

“
He seems to think I
’
ve been doing a poltergeist act round his farm. Nonsense, of course.
”

“
What sort of act?
”

“
Letting bullocks into barley fields—wanton damage—and other things he didn
’
t specify.
”

“
Explain properly,
”
said Corinne, and Alison explained, so that Corinne said if Alison hadn
’
t done them somebody had, and who was there who bore her a grudge—or bore Neil one: and instantly Alison remembered Neil
’
s saying that Roger had borne him a grudge for years. Roger might well bear her a grudge too, now that she had turned down his offer of marriage so decidedly, and she could well believe that he would do his best to disturb relations between Neil and herself, since he seemed to suspect her feeling for Neil. Roger, too, had plenty of opportunities to pocket one of her headscarves without her knowing, and the more Alison thought of it, the more she was convinced that Roger was at the root of all the trouble, and that a sensible conversation with Neil would clear the whole thing up.

It seemed she might have an early opportunity, for Corinne was bent on entertaining. She was
soon on the telephone to Neil.

“
Hallo, Neil. Yes, it
’
s me, I
’
m back again. Yes, of course, a marvellous time. And you?
...
And now that I
’
m back you must come to dinner. Lucy and Ralph are coming down for a long weekend before winter finally sets in, so please come on Saturday. Can you? What?
...
My dear Neil, what nonsense; of course she wants you to come to dinner. All right, I
’
ll ask her. Alison! You do want Neil to come to dinner, don
’
t you? There you are, Neil, she
’
ll be delighted if you come, and I
’
m longing to see you, naturally.
”

When she had talked a little longer, she rang off and turned to Alison.

“
Now don
’
t grumble at me. I refuse to have you and Neil quarrelling—you ought to be the best friends in the world.
”

Alison felt faintly sad and dejected. No doubt, because Corinne was fond of them both, she wanted them to be friends. When Corinne announced her intention of returning to Paris, a new hope had sprung up in Alison,, but now, listening to the frankness with which she spoke to Neil, Alison realised that there need be nothing permanent about the return to Paris, and that the decision to give up
d
ancing could be a corollary to her deciding to marry Neil.

Lucy and Ralph arrived for their long weekend, having travelled by train and been met by Alison and brought to Combe Russet, where the fires were now lit, and the doors closed, and everything turned inward instead of outward. Autumnal winds rushed or sighed around the house, and the leaves dropped continually from the trees, accenting the warmth and comfort inside. On Saturday evening they gave their dinner party, to Neil and his friend Malcolm, to the Berritts and the Rolands, all by now, well known to each other.

“
I come whenever I can,
”
Hugh Berritt said,
“
to see the progress of our crib. I hope I shall get a glimpse of it this evening. It
’
s so beautiful I feel I don
’
t deserve it.
”

“
I
’
ve all but finished,
”
said Alison.

“
Let
’
s all go out after dinner and see it,
”
suggested Lucy.
“
I was telling Simon Warby about it, Alison. Simon Warby,
”
she explained to the others,
“
has exhibited one or two of Alison
’
s things in Bond Street. He was most interested and wants to come down and see it. I think, if he thinks it good enough, he would like to exhibit it before Christmas; and send it back in time to go into the church. I said I would mention it to you.
”

“
He can certainly come and see it, whenever he likes,
”
said Alison.

Throughout the evening she studied Corinne and Neil together, as unobtrusively as possible. She had already seen with what pleasure he greeted her, and she saw later that, under cover of a lively conversation round the fireside, these two conducted a conversation of their own at the far end of the room, where Corinne was gathering coffee cups onto a tray. Corinne was vivacious, one expression chasing another from her animated face, her hands employing their usual wealth of gesture. She seemed to have a good deal to say to Neil, and Neil was quite absorbed, smiling down at her, occasionally putting in a brief remark. They looked so remarkably at home together that Alison felt a sinking of the heart. What good was it to try to put herself right with Neil? What result could it have? It scarcely seemed worth the trouble to try to arrest his attention when it was focused securely on somebody else.

It was no real comfort to her, moreover, to find Ralph so attentive, so devoted. Perhaps a small consolation to her pride, but that was all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mr. Simon Warby arrived at Combe Russet at the end of October, on a wild and wet afternoon, but found comfort and a welcome waiting for him at the Cottage. He was to stay overnight, and Corinne had asked Neil and the Berritts to meet him at dinner, but before that, he went out to the workshop to see the crib.

Corinne and Alison had cleaned up the workshop, but had decided to leave the figures there, rather than bring them into the house, since that was more like the original stable. They had arranged them as they would be arranged in church at Christmas time. They were all there, the Madonna with her strange beauty, resting a hand on the manger where the Child was lying, Joseph beside her, the wise men and the humble shepherds, the animals; but not carved in any traditional style, unlike any crib that Simon Warby had seen before. He knew at once that he was going to exhibit it in Bond Street, and he hoped that he might be able to buy it. He knew that it was promised to the vicar, but that might be only for the Christmas period, and in any case, when most churches were so short of funds, even the vicar might consent to see it sold.

Alison was delighted with his reception of it; and was only too pleased to show him everything else she was doing or had completed.

“
You
’
ve come on enormously,
”
he said at last, causing her great gratification.

At dinner, Warby realised that he stood no chance of buying the crib. Exhibiting it was all he could hope for.

“
You have it all packed up, and sent up to me,
”
he said,
“
and I shall have it in my big window for the last two weeks in November and the first two of December; and you shall have it back in good time for Christmas.
”

“
I can see that our crib is going to be famous,
”
said the vicar.

“
Perhaps Alison will be famous too,
”
put in Corinne.

“
I don
’
t hope for that,
”
said Alison.
“
Or perhaps I should say I don
’
t expect it, but it would be good to be able to do it a
s my regular job; just to keep on
at it.
”

She glanced up and saw that Neil was looking at her seriously and thoughtfully; and it occurred to her that he could not make up his mind which was the real Alison, this one who loved to work and could apply herself to it, or the one who seemed so quarrelsome and who allowed herself the stupidities of wanton damage. She returned his look with equal seriousness and a sudden quickening of her heartbeat, longing to show him an Alison that he did not know existed.

Mr. Warby went back to London, and the vicar made himself very useful in finding the right box.es for the figures. He would have packed them there and then, but Alison wanted to make small, last
-
minute adjustments to them.

“
Could you come back tomorrow and help me?
”
she asked.

“
Certainly. When will you be here?
”

“
All day. Mr. Deeprose told me to take off a day or two. He
’
s very interested in all this—he is even going to London to see it in Bond Street. I think he goes up for a shopping expedition with his wife, so it
’
s killing two birds with one stone.
”

“
I keep thinking how much Neil
’
s sister Evelyn would have admired it,
”
said the vicar.
“
She used to help us a good deal in one way and another, and she loved unusual things.
”

“
You knew her very well, Hugh?
”

“
I suppose I did, over a number of years.
”

“
Would you say that her marriage was very unhappy?
”
asked Alison.

He looked at her doubtfully, and she added:

“
I would be so glad if you told me the exact truth.
”

“
But I don
’
t think you would like it.
”

“
That doesn
’
t matter—
I
can take it.
”

“
I should say she was very unhappy at the end.
”

“
Neil says my brother neglected her. Was that so?
”

Hugh Berritt wondered if anything was to be gained by going over old ground, but when Alison insisted, he slowly came out with a story that substantiated Neil
’
s. Apparently not only Neil and his friends knew this story, but most of the town, too. Tom had been generally condemned, and Falcon with him, as one of the prime causes, for Evelyn had been very much liked.

“
Poor Tom,
”
said Alison.
“
There was no evil in him, Hugh, only weakness. The months that he lived after Evelyn
’
s death must have been torment for him.
”

But now she knew with certainty that Neil had been right, that Neil had done everything possible for the young married couple, and that she had misjudged him, through Tom
’
s misrepresentations, all along. If only she had known all this much earlier, if only Tom had not lied so consistently to her, she and Neil could have made a better beginning.

“
Tomorrow, then,
”
said Hugh Berritt at last.
“
I
’
ll be here at mid-morning, Alison.
”

Before they left the workshop, they stood to take a last look at the figures.

“
I can
’
t tell you how grateful I am,
”
he said,
“
and how much I appreciate all the work that has gone into it. We shall use it every year, and I hope people will come from far away to look at it.
”

“
I
’
m grateful too,
”
laughed Alison,
“
because I
’
ve had such intense pleasure and interest myself.
”

She had dinner with Corinne and went earlier than usual to bed, intending to go into the workshop early for the last-minute adjustments. She slept well, relieved that the whole thing had been so satisfactorily finished, and woke refreshed. Corinne insisted that she should eat a good breakfast before going out, and when Alison went, Corinne began to clear the table.

Alison paused in the garden to breath
e
the cold, damp air. Then she noticed that the door of the workshop was swinging in the wind, and was annoyed at her carelessness in not locking it last night. She felt sure she had latched it securely when she and Hugh left. She walked over to the workshop and went in.

A moment later she stood stock still, staring in front of her with unbelieving eyes; rooted to the spot and feeling empty and faint. For there was no crib arranged before her; but on the floor there was a smashed, hacked, broken pile of wood, and a great axe lying beside it. Somebody had taken that axe in the night and aimed great blows at the exquisitely made figures, reducing them to jagged, split, splintering pieces of wood, ruined beyond any hope of redemption.

Alison was incapable of movement. The shock was so great that at first she felt nothing, but was curiously vacant and numb. The fiendish work had been done so well that much of the broken pile was unrecognisable; only here and there did her eyes pick out part of a face, a hand, the smooth flowing line of a garment. She closed her eyes against this desolation, swaying slightly where she stood.

Corinne came running lightly across the garden, and her voice called out:

“
Alison! Alison! Neil
’
s on the phone, and he wants to know
...”
She had arrived at the door of the workshop, saw Alison first, pale as a ghost, and then the smashed pile of the crib. She gasped, and the two girls looked at each other, Corinne horrified, Alison almost fainting.

“
Oh, darling,
”
said Corinne, on the verge of tears,
“
whatever has happened? Who could have done this? Somebody has gone mad.
”

She remembered Neil, waiting on the telephone. She ran back to the house, with her light limping run, and snatched up the receiver.

“
Neil, something dreadful has happened. Do come at once. Alison
’
s crib has been completely destroyed
...”
 

She needed to say no more. He rang off and raced out to his car, already waiting on the driveway, and drove at speed the short distance to the cottage. He went straight to the workshop and looked in.

Alison was on her knees in front of the ruined remains of her summer
’
s work. In one hand she held part of the smooth, sad, beautiful face of the Madonna, in the other a piece of the splintered manger. A cold, fierce anger rose up in Neil at the sight of the destruction. He went into the workshop and Alison turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were drenched with tears which streamed down her face and dropped on to her sweater.

“
My dear,
”
he said,
“
my dear.
”
He leaned over her and pulled her gently
t
o her feet, and she turned into his arms, crying bitterly. He held her closely, comfortingly, murmuring words of comfort to her, giving her a large, clean handkerchief. Corinne, almost in tears herself, did not seem surprised at what was happening.

At last Alison managed to pull herself together. She made no effort to release herself, but she dried her eyes and calmed down a little.

“
Darling,
”
said Neil,
“
tell me just what happened.
”

“
I came in this morning and found it like this,
”
said Alison.
“
It was all right when the vicar and I left it last night
...
. Oh, the poor vicar! He was coming this morning to help me pack it—he
’
ll have to know.
”

“
I
’
ll go and ring him up,
”
said Corinne, and went back to the house.

“
Alison darling, I
’
m so sorry,
”
said Neil.
“
Such a shameful waste. It
’
s the work of a madman, but we
’
ll
f
ind out who it was. We
’
ll have the police on this.
”

“
I think I know,
”
said Alison miserably.

“
Then who?
”
asked Neil urgently.
“
Who can there be who hates you to this extent?
”

“
Roger Falcon. He called it playing with little wooden
toys; he always resented it. And he bears me
a worse grudge than he bears you, because I wouldn
’
t marry him.
”

“
Good God, that he should have the impertinence to ask you!
”
At the thought of it, Neil gathered her closer into his arms.
“
Alison, you do need somebody to look after you,
”
he said.
“
I blame myself for this. I
’
ve shilly-shallied this summer, and if I
’
d taken a stronger line this might not have happened.
”

“
You can
’
t blame yourself,
”
she said. At last she moved slowly away from him, at last surprised to find herself so secure and so consoled where she was.

“
Where is Falcon living now? Do you know, Alison?
”

“
With a Mrs. Simms. Do you know her?
”

“
Very well. I
’
m surprised she puts up with him.
”

“
He can be charming,
”
said Alison.

“
Only to women, and only sometimes. A man would see through him at once. Darling, will you be all right if I go off and find him now? And I
’
ll ring the Inspector, who is a friend of mine, too.
”

“
What will you do?
”
asked Alison, alarmed.
“
That depends on how I find him. Will you be all right, Alison?
”