Too Close to the Sun (36 page)

‘You don’t understand …’

‘I understand that he’s your young brother and that you are all he has in the world. You feel totally responsible for him, it’s natural. And especially with the – the injury, to his leg.’

‘What about that?’ she said quickly, a little sharply. ‘What are you saying?’

Surprised at her tone, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he frowned. ‘I’m not saying anything about it. I don’t even know what you mean. What I’m saying is that with the injury to his leg he might be perceived as a little more – dependent – and that’s bound to bring out the protective feelings in an elder sister.’

‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘you don’t understand – about Billy,’ and the tears welled up in her eyes, swimming, glistening in the low evening sun.

‘
Grace
.’ He stepped forward, reaching out, one hand briefly touching her wrist before drawing it back to stay clenched before his chest.

His sympathetic gesture, the note of deep concern in his voice as he spoke her name, the very fact that he had spoken her name – all seemed to force wider the little break that he had made in the dam that held in check her defences. And the tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

‘Oh, my dear Grace.’ With his words Mr Fairman stepped closer still, and this time when he reached out for her he let his hand close around hers, and held it there. ‘My dear Grace, what is it? Tell me what it is. What is it about Billy? Please – tell me.’

‘I cannot.’ She shook her head. ‘I just – cannot.’

‘Grace –’

With a sudden gesture she moved her hand so that his touch fell away. With her hands moving to her mouth as if she would physically stop herself from speaking, she said in a little burst:

‘His injury. It’s all due to me. I did it to him.’

On its southern side the copse ended on the slope of a gentle hill, and the trees and shrubs gave way to rolling fields, fresh and green with new barley. Grace, turning, almost hurrying from Mr Fairman’s side, had come to a halt beneath a silver birch. Mr Fairman came following in her footsteps, and now came to stand a yard away. As he faced her she turned her head, so that he saw only her lowered profile, the tears running down her cheeks.

‘Tell me about it, Grace,’ he said at last.

She said nothing for some seconds, then she said, ‘We don’t talk of it, Billy and I. It’s as if we have this – agreement. The subject – it’s never mentioned.’ She paused. ‘It’s made such a difference to his life. Before it happened he was like any other boy his age, running, climbing, doing everything boys do. But then that happened.’ She raised her eyes a little and looked off, as if seeing the past go by her gaze. ‘Our mother was alive then. Billy was five, just five. It
was in the summer, June, a beautiful day. I had taken him out to go fishing. Our father had promised to take him, but then had had to back out because something had come up. So I said I would take him. Pappy had made Billy a fishing rod, and provided him with a little tin can with worms in it he had dug from the garden. We had also a glass preserves jar that Mama gave us – this was for the fish that Billy would catch. And we had sandwiches and cold tea for when we wanted our dinner – oh, yes, and I had a book and my parasol and a little rug. We had it all planned.’

She fell silent, and in the quiet they could hear the blackbird singing, so close he seemed. Mr Fairman said nothing to prompt her to continue, but just stood close by, his eyes fixed on her face. After some moments she went on.

‘We were heading for a brook not too far away, near Coleshill. But we never got there. And never have I tried to go back there since. We had only reached one field away. As we went towards a stile Billy ran on ahead and climbed up onto it. As I came up I saw that they were haymaking in the field beyond. Billy sat there watching the men at work. As I got to him he moved over to let me pass, and I did so. Then I got a few yards further on and looked back and he was still sitting there, dreaming, watching the men with their scythes. I went back to him, and said, “Come on, our Billy, or we shan’t catch any fish,” but he didn’t seem to hear me or to be paying attention.’

She paused, her eyes closing in anguish, and then continued on, sometimes speaking haltingly, and at other times letting the words come out in a rush.

‘And, just – just in fun,’ she said, ‘ – I made a kind of – kind of playful little snatch at him – as if I would catch him in my arms and drag him away. And he laughed – and I can hear his laugh to this day: the laugh of a small, happy boy – and ducked from my hands. And in ducking, trying to evade me, he fell backwards. He lost his balance and fell
backwards. And his laughter became a scream. He fell only part-way off the stile. His leg was caught up and prevented him from falling to the ground. The men dropped their scythes and came running at his scream. They only took seconds to get to us.’

She looked briefly at Mr Fairman. He stood silent, hanging on her words.

‘That was it,’ she said, looking away again. ‘The younger of the two men took him down and carried him home, I walking at their side. He was so kind, the young man. He wept as he walked; even now I can see the tears in his eyes. When we got home Pappy called the doctor. Billy’s leg was broken in two places and – as you can see – it never set properly.’ She turned and looked him in the face. ‘I ruined his life,’ she said, then turned her face away again.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true.’ She stood looking out, standing in the tree’s shade. To her fancy, facing out over the gently rolling fields was like being on the edge of the world. ‘I am so selfish,’ she said.

‘You? Selfish?’

‘Yes. Here have I just been thinking only of myself, all afternoon, and Billy will never be right. How can I imagine, even for a moment, that I have dilemmas, difficulties …? When there’s that boy …’

‘I meant what I said,’ he said, ‘I think Billy’s stronger than you think.’

She looked at him at this, frowning. ‘He never refers to it. He’s never once reproached me.’

‘He knows it was an accident. He knows how much you regret it.’

‘Even so.’

Her voice was full of unshed tears, and her eyes briefly closed again, shutting them in. He moved to her, closer, and reached out, his hand touching her shoulder. He began to
draw her towards him. For a moment she allowed him to do so, then she froze and then stepped away, shaking off his touch.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, apologizing for the liberty.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Oh, please. I couldn’t bear that also.’

‘Bear what? What do you mean?’

‘Miss Lewin will be here soon, and soon Sophie will be going away to school.’

‘Miss Lewin? What has she to do with anything?’

‘Sophie told me. Miss Lewin is coming back to Corster.’

He nodded. ‘Well, I understand that’s what she told Sophie in her letter. But it was the first I heard of it.’

Grace looked directly at him at this. ‘Isn’t it so?’

‘As I just told you, it didn’t come from me. That’s what Miss Lewin has written to Sophie, but it’s come purely from herself.’ He paused, then added, ‘There’s been no invitation from me.’ Another pause. ‘And nor is there likely to be.’

‘But Miss Lewin –’

‘Miss Lewin may say whatever she wants, and I have no control over her tongue or her pen. But I can assure you of the truth. Can I put it more plainly than to say that she means nothing to me?’ He studied Grace’s expression as if reading the response to his words, then added, ‘There was a time when certain people thought perhaps there was something between us – and Miss Lewin has probably been among those people – but I can assure you that I was not among them.’

‘But she came to stay in Corster – to visit you and Sophie.’

‘It was not by invitation. Except by her own.’

They were words Grace had longed to hear, but still she could scarcely believe she had heard them. ‘Is that true?’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Grace.’

‘No, of course you would not.’

‘But please tell me – why are you so concerned about
Miss Lewin, and about Sophie going away to school?’ He added quickly, ‘I don’t know whether I dare interpret your words the way I would like to.’ He paused. ‘Do I dare to, Grace?’

‘Sir?’

‘I don’t want to sound immodest, but is it possible that your – your attitude towards me has something to do with Miss Lewin?’ He paused. ‘Do I dare to think for one moment that you have some fondness for me?’

And Grace said, almost on a cry, ‘Oh, Mr Fairman, please don’t ask such a thing lightly. You wouldn’t do so if you knew what it means to me.’

Now he moved towards her again, and reached out to her again, and grasped her shoulders and turned her towards him. And this time when she moved as if to pull away he held her. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t draw away, for I shan’t let you go.’ He paused, ‘Unless you tell me you want me to.’

She did not speak. She remained there as his arms wrapped more closely around her, drawing her to him, nearer. She was aware of everything that was happening and almost of nothing. She could hear the sound of the blackbird singing his evensong; she could feel the texture of the man’s waistcoat; beyond his head the sweeping green of the barley field in the dying light; she was aware too of the smell of him, a mixture of his tweed waistcoat, his cotton shirt, the scent of his skin and his hair oil. She knew all these things, yet at the same time her knowledge of it all seemed to be almost swept aside by his presence and what was happening. All at once his mouth was on her own, his lips pressing hers, tenderly at first and then more strongly. And it was a revelation, the kiss, his holding her. Nothing like it had ever happened before, and she felt the utmost desire to give herself up to it. When at last he released her, she stood with her mouth a little open, gasping slightly at the shock of it all.

‘Oh, Grace,’ he said, and his hand came up and touched at her hair, at her cheek, ‘I’ve wanted to do that for so long.’

On the road back to Berron Wick Grace relived the kiss. She sat in the trap with Billy beside her, but felt some kind of invisible attachment to the man in the driver’s seat. And so many times he turned and looked at her, and caught her eye, and made some little murmur of words – though he did not need to seek her attention, for always she was waiting for him to turn, for him to look at her. And now all her life was changed.

When they reached Asterleigh House, Mr Fairman drove the trap around to the back of the house and pulled up in the stable yard. Billy and Grace got down and solemnly Billy thanked the man for all his kindness during the day. Mr Fairman told him it had been a pleasure. ‘And what shall you do now?’ he said to Billy.

Billy gave a little laugh. ‘I shall go to bed, sir.’

Mr Fairman laughed too. ‘I should think you need it. Which is your room? Can we see it from here?’

Billy stepped back a little and raised his arm, pointing up. ‘There, sir, the third one from the end, on the second floor.’

Kester Fariman looked up. ‘Ah, yes. Well, you have a nice outlook, over the stable yard.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is it a nice room?’

‘Very nice. Though not as big as Grace’s. Hers is the next but one on the left.’

‘Ah, I see.’

Billy said goodnight then, and Grace said, ‘I’ll come in and see you in a minute,’ and he went into the house.

When he had gone, she and the man stood looking at one another.

He said, in a voice that only she could hear, ‘I want to kiss you, Grace,’ and she smiled at the secret and the happiness,
knowing that she wanted it too, and that it would almost certainly happen if they were quite alone and free from the possibility of being observed.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I must go in.’

‘Must you?’

‘I must.’

‘Then I shall see you on Monday.’

‘Yes, on Monday.’

Upstairs on the second floor she went into her room where she washed, and changed into her old day dress. Then, feeling refreshed, she went along the landing to Billy’s room and knocked on the door. At his voice she went in and found him in his nightshirt, just getting up from saying his prayers. She watched as he got into bed and then sat on the coverlet beside him.

‘Don’t you want any supper?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks. I ate so much.’

‘So I noticed.’ She smiled. ‘And did you have a good day?’

‘Oh, Grace, yes.’ He gave a deep sigh of pleasure. ‘It was one of the best days of my life.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Grace, you should have come up to the tower with us. You’d have loved it.’

She smiled. ‘I’m not so sure that I would. I’m not fond of heights.’

‘Oh, it was quite safe. It was so exciting. I’d like to go there again some day.’

‘Well – maybe one day we will.’

‘Mr Fairman said he’ll take me.’

‘Well, that would be nice.’ She smiled. ‘You go to sleep now.’ She leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘Goodnight, our Billy.’

‘Goodnight, our Grace.’

From where Grace sat at her open window she could see the sun sinking lower, going down beyond the stable roof in a blaze of rose and gold, backlighting the tall elms and throwing them into stark relief. Returning from Billy’s room to her own, she had paced the floor for some minutes and then forced herself to sit. But she had felt no sense of resting. And even now after all this time she had not.

The night was warm, and the sweet, summer-scented air drifted in. Her room was in darkness now, and she struck a match and put it to the wick of the lamp. A moth, attracted by the light, flew in and fluttered about the glow. Loath to attract more, she got up to pull the window in a little. And then, looking down, she saw a figure in the yard below. A man stood looking up at her window. At first it was hard to tell whether it was Kester or Mr Spencer – they were much alike in colouring and build. She stood unmoving, looking down at him. And then, his right arm came up in a salute, and he turned his head so that she could see his face. It was Kester. After a moment’s hesitation she put up her own hand. Then, the next moment, he was turning, taking the mare’s bridle and leading her out of the yard.

Although much of the work was done as regards unpacking and placing all the artefacts in the house it was arranged that Grace would still go to Birchwood House to teach Sophie for a further week, so that Grace could lend a hand should it be required. And she could hardly wait for the time each day for the cab to pick her up. Each morning she stood ready and waiting at the library window, watching for the carriage to arrive, and as soon as the ring came at the door she was down the stairs, fighting the urge to hurry, nevertheless forestalling the maid: ‘It’s all right, it’s my cab to take me to the station,’ and was away out of the door. Her greatest fear was that Mrs Spencer would at the last minute send some message to ask her to remain at Asterleigh House or get her to undertake some errand that would prevent her going. Fortunately it never happened.