Wishing Water (54 page)

‘You mean beyond the fact that it’ll destroy top grade farming land and wild life habitats?’ said Meg dryly.

Lissa acknowledged these words with a sad shake of her head. ‘Having right on your side is never enough though, is it?’ It hadn’t been enough to win her freedom from Philip. And in their cold, sterile life together Lissa despaired of ever knowing the joy of love again.

It was apparently, perfectly legal for him virtually to rape her within the sanctity of marriage, just as the Water Board was permitted to rape their land.

‘You look done in,’ Meg told her softly. ‘You need to get more sleep.’
 

‘Of course I need more sleep,’ Lissa snapped, then apologised when she saw Meg’s face. ‘Sorry. Not your fault. But what can we do? Everyone is sympathetic, or supportive but more concerned over the possible loss of Winster. Jimmy and the other boatmen are worried that the extraction of water from the lake will lower the water level too much, ruin the shoreline and prove a hazard to the tourist industry. Others are concerned about the rivers, or tunnels under Longsleddale. How can we all win? It isn’t possible.’
 

And how could she find the strength to continue with her fight? She was tired of fighting. Her own future looked bleak whatever happened, and all her energy was used up.

Lissa sat by the big hearth at Broombank, despair and failure eating into her soul. In this mood she almost believed Philip’s judgement of her to be correct. She was incompetent. A useless mother, wife, and even daughter to Meg. She could feel the tears standing proud in her eyes but refused to shed them. The time for crying was done.

‘Thee’ll get no work done by laiking theer,’ said Joe, coming in on an icy blast of wind and settling himself with his pipe in the opposite corner.

Meg gave a hollow laugh. ‘It’s good to see you’re so busy, Father.’

‘A chap can take a spell to put up his feet I dare swear, when he’s visiting his family.’ He adjusted his cap upon his head, without removing it, and looked from his daughter to his granddaughter as he sucked on his pipe and waited for his pint pot of tea to be brought to him. ‘Well, you two’s a cheerful pair, I must say. Lost a shilling and found an ’appeny, have thee?’
 

‘Don’t start, Father,’ Meg warned.

‘Is it this water business?’
 

‘Yes, it is.’
 

‘Don’t say they’ve got you licked?’
 

Lissa sank back in her chair and tried to smile. ‘Yes, Grandad, I think they have. But then, when do I ever win?’
 

‘I don’t know what you’re both worrying over. It’ll never happen.’
 

Lissa sighed, unable to summon the energy to bring one old man into the present. ‘It’s looking as thought it will.’

‘Over my dead body. Anyroad, it’ll cost too much. Don’t carry water well, don’t limestone.’ His tone was scornful. ‘This dale ain’t like Thirlmere, or Mardale, with half a lake in it already. And the dam’ll have to be twice as wide. Bankrupt the Water Board, it would. Won’t be done in my lifetime, that’s for sure. Never find the money.’
 

Lissa leaned forward in her chair, staring at the old man. ‘What did you say?’
 

Joe was always happy to repeat himself when he had an attentive audience, so he said it all over again, at leisure. But Lissa was on her feet before he’d finished.

‘I have to go.’ Then she was running out of the house, getting in the van and driving with the wind in her tail all the way back to Carreckwater.

At Nab Cottage the water consultant had just sunk his knife into a steak and kidney pudding, his favourite repast, when Lissa burst in without even a knock.

‘When are the geologists coming?’ she demanded. Jimmy, Renee, and Andrew Spencer stared at her, mouths agape as if she had dropped through the roof.

‘Er ... it’s on their rota of visits,’ said the Manchester man in pompous tones. ‘I can’t say exactly when. Why?’ He lifted a forkful of succulent steak and steaming pastry to his mouth but Lissa stopped him.

‘You know that any dam they build will have to be wider than Mardale’s, and more expensive?’
 

‘We’ve taken that into account,’ he informed her loftily, irritated by the way she was holding on to his wrist while the tantalising drift of steam from the rich meat and gravy tickled his nostrils. ‘The reservoir would also be twice the size and therefore more profitable.’
 

‘Have you taken into account the quality of the stone?’

‘That is for the geologists to investigate but I see no problem.’ Again he attempted to lift his fork but Lissa was having none of it. She held fast.

‘There’s a limestone pavement runs right under the dale, did you know that? Full of cracks and crevices, nooks and crannies that would never hold water in a million years. Never has so far, apart from one boggy bit that we leave to nature. Have you taken that into account, Mr Water Consultant?’
 

He looked stunned and tried, ineffectually, to disguise his concern.

Lissa shook his arm. ‘Well, have you?’
 

The portion of steak pudding fell from his fork to the floor and he grieved for it. ‘Broomdale is gritstone and granite, like Shap Fell,’ he insisted.

‘Some of it is, yes, but my grandfather has lived in that dale all his life and if he says there’s limestone, then there is.’ She offered up this information with triumph in her voice, a toss of silken curls and a wide smile. ‘Wouldn’t that make a big difference to your Board’s plans?’
 

‘The limestone could be sealed.’
 

‘At what cost?’
 

Too high, said the expression on his pale face and he set down his fork with a trembling hand. Much as he’d enjoyed these visits to the Lake District, and there was no doubt that he had benefited financially, as had his dear mother who now had her own personal attendant to save him the bother of fetching and carrying for her, nothing at all had gone right. Manchester Water Board had grown irritated with his frequent alterations of plan and gone so far as to appoint other consultants to check out the area. Nor had they expected such opposition, so well planned and orchestrated. It was developing rapidly into a nationwide campaign being talked about on radio and TV. Barristers, members of parliament, poets and every man and woman in the street deemed themselves fit to express an opinion on the subject. It was really most disconcerting.

Lissa could see that she had won. It was written plain in his eyes.

And so it proved. By Christmas, Meg had word that the Water Board would not be pursuing their decision to create a holding reservoir in Broomdale. The land had proved unsuitable for their purpose. The family were jubilant.

‘Bless you, Grandfather,’ Lissa cheered, hugging the old man.

‘Nice to know we old ’uns still have some use,’ said Joe, pink-cheeked and smiling for once.

Victory was sweet. Lissa’s achievement turned her into a local heroine, at least for a time. Even Grandfather Joe was quoted in every paper, and there was a picture of him standing on Broombank land, the neb of his cap set straight on his round head, looking as proud as if he’d saved it single-handed.

Their success seemed to add further fuel to the ongoing contest with the Water Board but everyone knew that it was only a matter of time now before they admitted defeat over the question of another reservoir. The debate would continue, the battle rage on for a while yet, and a major public enquiry was planned, but the people of Lakeland had the bit between their teeth and did not intend to lose. The land was too precious, the loss to the nation would be too great.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Victory over Broombank also meant that Philip lost his prospective purchaser for Larkrigg Hall. All the fight seemed to go out of him after that. He spent more time locked in his study with a bottle of whisky at his side. Correspondence came regularly from the bank manager, and frequent telephone calls were taken behind closed doors.

Lissa found herself consoling him, almost forcing him out of his study to eat or go out, but he showed little interest in attending either the Golf or the Yacht Club. Each evening he downed several gin and tonics, barely picked at his food and then started on the whisky. It was Lissa who made the decisions now.

‘Larkrigg must either remain empty until the twins are old enough to decide for themselves, or we could perhaps find a tenant. In the meantime I’ll have the water turned off and see the windows are properly boarded up.’
 

‘We should still sell it. It could save us. Do you realise we could lose our home?’ His eyes were bleary with drink and worry. ‘I owe the bank more than I can repay and as a solicitor I’m not permitted to go bankrupt. I’d be struck off.’
 

This news jolted Lissa but she knew better than to show it. ‘Then let them have it. It’s only a house. We could live in the flat over the shop.’
 

She might very well have suggested they camp in a cave, so horrified was his response. ‘Never. I refuse to live in a flat. I have my status to keep up.’
 

‘Perhaps if you’d been satisfied with less status we wouldn’t be in this mess. What has happened to all your money? Why are we in such dire straits?’
 

‘Nannies, cars, houses, entertaining. And that damned Manchester man, greedy little tyke!’

Lissa wanted to say that the source of the greed was closer to home but managed to hold her tongue. A small frown creased her brow. ‘You did pay Elvira Fraser a proper sum for the house, didn’t you, Philip?’
 

He made a sound of disgust and reached for the whisky bottle again. ‘Questions, questions, questions. Do you never stop?’ Watching him, Lissa thought that if he really had got the house cheap or, if Derry was right and perhaps paid nothing at all, then to lose it to the bank would be fitting retribution for Elvira’s penniless death. But not for the world would she say as much.

With Broomdale safe and her little shop continuing to thrive, Lissa wished she could solve her personal problems as easily. She’d created as good a life for herself as she could but Philip still had no intention of letting her go. He had merely lengthened, not cut, the chain.

She once spent an afternoon, when she knew that Philip was safely out of town, going through the desk in his private study at home. She wasn’t sure what she searched for but found nothing of interest, nothing that she understood. There was probably nothing to find.

‘Why don’t you search his office?’ Renee suggested when Lissa confessed to this piece of snooping.

Their friendship had been bruised by Renee’s failing to collect the twins that day, but Lissa had forgiven her. Renee loved the twins to bits, and how could she have known Philip would use blackmail in that way? The fault was as much her own. She shouldn’t have been so trusting as to sign a piece of paper unread, should have realised it might not be what it seemed. But then it was easy to be wise after the event. He had tricked them all.

Now there would be no divorce. Derry was gone, and she was back where Philip wanted. His good little wife.
 

‘I did hope he might take a mistress,’ Lissa told Renee, with a wry smile. ‘But he’s taken to drink instead.’
 

‘That’s men all over. Never do what you want them to.’ And they both had to laugh.

Sarah came skipping into the shop, plump cheeks glowing. ‘It’s snowing again, Mummy. Can we go skating on the lake?’
 

‘No, darling.’

‘
Please.’

‘There isn’t enough ice on the lake. It would break. Absolutely not.’
 

Beth came in and added her own pleas to her sister’s, tugging at Lissa’s hands, one on each side.

‘At least you have these two to keep you going.’
 

‘Yes,’ Lissa agreed, eyes shining with love and laughter. ‘Thank goodness. I’ll take you to play snowballs. Will that do?’
 

She wrapped them up warmly and off they went, hand in hand along Carndale Road, through St Margaret’s Churchyard, past the Marina Hotel and down to the benches by the shore. She never thought of those youthful summers now. It was too dangerous, and much too painful.

‘Let’s build a snowman,’ Beth shouted, grey eyes bright.

They were searching for bits of stick to mark his nose and eyes when Renee came hurrying up, holding her side and panting for breath. ‘It’s Miss Henshaw. She says you are to come at once to the office.’
 

‘What is it?’
 

‘I don’t know. Go on, I’ll look after these two.’
 

Lissa turned and ran back up the church steps and across the busy crossroads of Benthwaite Cross. She did not stop even to think, or hope, what this summons might be about. Miss Henshaw was waiting for her at the door, a rather shabby but flustered woman in a navy suit with her glasses dangling on a chain about her neck.

‘We have visitors,’ she said, half under her breath as she pulled Lissa in to the little kitchen and closed the door. Lissa’s heart leapt, robbing her of the ability to speak for a whole half minute.