The Watcher in the Garden (21 page)

It was Terry who moved and spoke first. He released Mr. Lovett, ran to the new, raw edge of the garden and shouted, “Catherine!”

She could not answer and she found her face wet with tears. But at last she shouted back, “You knew I was here?”

“I always know where you are.” His voice was resentful, not at all friendly, but he added, “You're mad to be down there. Are you all right?”

At last she loosed her numbed grip on the jagged edges of rock and stood cautiously on her feet on the small level piece of hillside. She looked up, saw Terry peering down, and saw that there was now a foothold for her to climb higher. He pulled her the last bit, and she found she could no longer stand and sank on to the ground.

“Bloody little fool,” said Terry, scooped her up and took her to where Mr. Lovett was standing waiting, helpless without his stick.

Somehow they got to the house. “What does it look like?” said Mr. Lovett, and these were the first words he had said.

It still stood there, but it wore a slightly bedraggled look. “A chimney has fallen,” said Catherine. “And the courtyard wall has cracked. The house looks all right.”

At that moment the front door burst open and Bob hurled himself down the steps. “I couldn't find you,” he said. “Conrad was under your bed so I thought you must be in the house. But I couldn't find you. I—” He saw Terry and stopped dead.

“If the house is all right we'd better go into it,” said Mr. Lovett.

It was a silent session in Mr. Lovett's study. Bob brought in coffee and Mr. Lovett was given a whisky. He was the only one to speak. “I'm in your debt,” he said to Terry. “You must have saved my life.” He did not make it sound as if a great boon had been conferred.

At last Catherine spoke. “He did,” she said. “He did.”

Across the silent room Terry looked at her. He opened his mouth, seemed about to speak and shut it again.

Years later when Catherine knew Mr. Lovett even better, and when the Nicholsons' unprofitable garage occupied a small corner of the garden, she said to him, “Why didn't you go back when you felt the first of the tremors? You must have known what it was.”

He had leaned towards her and smiled and patted her knee. “It's sometimes nice to feel you are part of things. I hadn't much to lose. In any case, I have always tried to tell you that in my garden I am taken care of.”

When they went into the garden again everything was very quiet. But it was the quiet of crisis passed. There was still no wind, but the tension had gone from the day. The birds had begun their nesting and singing again and the spring blossom still hung on the boughs of the cherry trees. Above, though no one noticed, the clouds were breaking up and the sun had pushed through. Catherine walked beside Terry to the road above. As they passed under the cherry trees a small gust brought a cloud of white blossom down on their heads. In an instant Terry had jumped back, away from the trees.

“It's only petals,” she said. “They won't hurt you.” When she saw his eyes move, suspicious and fearful, about the garden she added, “Can't you feel that now you are welcome here?” He said nothing and as usual there was no expression in his face. But he stepped back on to the path and they walked on.

At the gate they stopped. Catherine looked at him accusingly and said, “You are the bad of me, you know?”

He did not answer her for a moment, but then he said slowly, “You must be the good of me, and this time you have won.”

She felt a great strength rising inside her. She looked full into his pale, cruel face and let the strength, and the fire that supported it, envelop him. “I shall always win,” she said. “In the end.”

At last he smiled and held out his hand. She stretched out her own and put it into his.

The uproar she faced when she got home affected her not at all. It was hard to say whether they were furious or delighted. For once everyone's nerves were on edge but her own. They had felt the quake. They had heard the noise and had watched, stunned, as pictures fell off the walls. And eventually Rupert had tottered into the house, white, almost speechless, dirty and shocked. It had taken him a long time to say he had not been able to find her. He was in bed now, sedated. They were prepared to give Catherine the same treatment but she waved it all away. It was enough for her just to see them all again, the people she loved, and to know that Rupert was safe. She had no intention of explaining anything.

Watching Diana so easily assume the role of ministering angel she gave a small sigh. For her it was not going to be as easy as that, but there was no doubt in her mind, and no regret, either.

 

 

 

 

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