Voices In Summer Page 20

  When Laura woke, she was still there, only her face visible, her eyes dark and reproachful, her silky ears drooping.

  ‘How do you feel?’ Laura asked her, but Lucy did not stir at the sound of her voice. She sighed and rested her chin on the edge of the basket and looked more miserable than ever.

  She must have eaten something. For all her pretty looks, she was a terrible scavenger. Perhaps she had found the compost heap, or dug up a rotten bone. Perhaps she would have to be taken to the vet.

  She looked at her watch. It was nearly nine o’clock and another beautiful morning. It seemed sinful still to be lying in bed, but she was not allowed by Eve to appear downstairs until she had eaten her breakfast, which Eve insisted on bringing up to her on a tray. Laura was now so totally recovered that she would have been happy to join the others in the kitchen and save Eve a trek up the stairs, but Eve so enjoyed this little bit of spoiling that it would have been churlish not to accept with good grace.

  After a bit, she got up and cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair, and thought about Alec in New York. She immediately felt guilty again. She had written to him, an air letter, apologizing and trying to explain, but the letter somehow did not express what she wanted to say, and posting it had not made her feel any better. When he came back to Tremenheere to fetch her, it would be better. She would stop being so reserved. She would stop being polite about Daphne Boulderstone. Perhaps she would discover that Alec felt exactly the same about Daphne as Laura did, but had never actually put his feelings into words, and then they would laugh together, and everything would be all right.

  She crouched by Lucy’s basket, touched the little dog’s head, put the back of her hand to Lucy’s nose, which was warm and feverish. She was there when Eve’s footsteps came down the passage from the top of the back stairs, and Eve’s light tap sounded on the door.

  ‘Eve, I’m up.’

  Eve appeared, carrying the wicker breakfast tray. She was still in her quilted robe and looking more cheerful than she had looked for days.

  She put the tray down on the bed and said, ‘Are you feeling strong?’

  Laura stood up. ‘Why?’

  ‘Really strong? Ready for a surprise? A lovely surprise.’

  A lovely surprise. She could only think of Alec. But it wasn’t Alec who followed Eve through the door and there stopped, not smiling exactly, but looking secret and a little bit wary. She was very young, with short, bleached hair and huge grey eyes that met Laura’s, unblinking.

  Nobody said anything, and it was Eve who had to break the silence.

  ‘Laura, it’s Gabriel. It’s Alec’s Gabriel.’

  * * *

  ‘But where have you come from?’

  ‘Saint Thomas. The Virgin Islands.’

  Eve had left them, and they sat on the big bed together, Gabriel with her legs curled beneath her and her back supported by the great brass bedstead.

  ‘Did you see your father?’

  ‘No. He’d already left for New York.’ She went on, explaining exactly what had happened. Her journey home sounded to Laura like a nightmare, but Gabriel seemed to take it all in stride. She had gone back to Islington and seen Mrs Abney, spent a day in London, and then come to Tremenheere.

  She had come to Tremenheere, not to see Alec, but Laura. It was Gabriel, and she was home. She was a person, a girl, a daughter, sitting on the end of Laura’s bed. No longer a name that nobody mentioned. No longer a photograph, a drawing, a deserted attic room filled with a child’s possessions. She was here. Within touch. Gabriel.

  ‘We must let Alec know you’ve come.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ said Gabriel. ‘He’ll only worry, and there’s nothing to worry about. Eve said he’d be coming back to fetch you, so let’s surprise him then. It’s only for a few days. Let’s keep it a secret from him.’

  ‘But don’t you have to go back to America?’

  ‘No, I don’t have to go back.’

  ‘But … what will you do?’

  ‘I thought I might stay in England.’

  ‘But that would be marvellous. I can’t think of anything nicer. And Alec … oh, Gabriel, he’s missed you so much. I know he missed you so much.’

  Gabriel said, ‘Yes.’ She got off the bed and stood with her back to Laura, looking out of the window. ‘What a heavenly place this is. And palm trees too. It’s like the West Indies all over again.’ She squatted beside Lucy.

  ‘Yes. But she’s not well. She was sick in the night. Luckily, she told me, and I got her out into the garden in time. I think she’s eaten something. She’s called Lucy.’

  Watching Gabriel, she realized what had been subconsciously puzzling her. ‘Gabriel, how did you find me? How did you know I was here, at Tremenheere?’

  ‘Oh,’ Gabriel leaned forward to stroke Lucy. ‘Mrs Abney knew. She told me.’

  ‘Alec must have told her before he left for New York.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gabriel. ‘I guess so.’ She straightened up. She said, ‘I’m going downstairs. Eve said she’d give me a cup of coffee. I’ll leave you to have your breakfast in peace. Your boiled egg will be hard as a stone if you don’t eat it soon.’

  ‘When I come down,’ said Laura, ‘let’s talk. There’s so much I want to ask you.’

  ‘Sure. We’ll sit in the garden and gas.’

  Gabriel closed the door behind her and went to the head of the great staircase. She stopped there, hesitating, then put her hand into the pocket of her jeans and took out the creased brown envelope. Your wife at Tremenheere is having an affair with Ivan Ashby.

  Tough and young, with the resilience and open-mindedness of her generation, Gabriel had been shocked by the evil intent of the letter, but not shocked by the actual accusation. Now, within a couple of hours of arriving at Tremenheere, she had met both Ivan and Laura. An almost frighteningly attractive man, of whom one could believe almost anything. But a woman who looked and behaved like a total innocent, naïve in her transparent pleasure at Gabriel’s appearance. Faced with an unknown step-daughter, she could, under any circumstances, have been wary, suspicious, or even jealous, but no trace of these emotions had shown in her candid delight, and her patent sincerity was clear as glass.

  For the first time, Gabriel knew stirrings of suspicion. For the first time it occurred to her that it was possible that the letter was totally untrue. In which case, who hated Laura and Ivan so much that they had fabricated such a dangerous slander?

  She went downstairs. As she crossed the polished hall, she saw the kitchen door open, and Gerald emerged, carrying his newspaper. He did not see Gabriel, but walked away from her, headed down the passage.

  ‘Gerald.’

  He turned. She went towards him. ‘Do you think I could talk to you for a moment?’

  He took her into his study, a pleasant room, smelling of cigars and books and wood ash.

  ‘Is this where you come to read the paper?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was a very good-looking man. ‘Gets me out of the way. Sit down, Gabriel.’

  She sat, not in the armchair he indicated, but in an upright one, so that they faced each other across his desk.

  She said, ‘You’ve been so kind … I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming, but there really wasn’t time.’

  ‘Delighted. Delighted to see you. Delighted to meet you, for that matter.’

  She said, ‘I’ve just told Laura that Mrs Abney—she’s the housekeeper at the house in Islington—that she told me where I could find Laura. But that wasn’t true.’

  ‘How did you know she was here, then?’

  Gabriel said, ‘I opened this,’ and she laid the envelope on his blotter.

  Gerald, leaning back in his chair, did not move. He sat looking at the brown envelope and then raised his eyes and met Gabriel’s. His expression was grave. He said, ‘I see.’

  ‘What do you see?’

  ‘There has already been a similar letter. Sent to a friend of ours in the village … a poison-pen letter.’<
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  ‘Well, this is another. I opened it because I saw the Truro postmark and I knew Laura was somewhere in Cornwall. Mrs Abney and I thought it would be all right.’

  ‘Did you show it to Mrs Abney?’

  ‘No. I haven’t shown it to anybody.’

  He sighed deeply and picked it up. ‘It was posted in Truro, on Wednesday.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  He took the letter out and read it. Then he put his elbow on the desk and covered the bottom half of his face with his hand. He said, ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘It’s horrible, isn’t it?’

  ‘You had breakfast with Ivan. Did you say anything to him?’

  ‘No, of course not. Nor to Laura. I told you. You’re the first person I’ve shown it to.’

  ‘What a good girl you are.’

  ‘Who wrote it?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘But what about the other one. Didn’t you follow the first letter up?’

  ‘No. For … reasons … we let it slide. We hoped there wouldn’t be a second letter. Now, I’m beginning to think we made a mistake.’

  ‘But it’s criminal to write things like that. It’s a crime.’

  ‘Gabriel, there’s no word of truth in it. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I wondered. But how do we know it isn’t true?’

  ‘Because I know Ivan and I know Laura. Believe me, I’ve lived long enough, and I’ve seen enough of my fellow men to know very well if something—clandestine, as this infers—was going on under my roof. Ivan’s my stepson, not always the most discreet or sensible of men, but he would never be such a fool, or such a knave, as to seduce Alec’s wife. As for Laura’—he spread his hands—‘you’ve met her yourself. Can you see her doing a thing like that?’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ Gabriel admitted. ‘I’d worked that out for myself. But there must be some justification.…’

  ‘Oh, a couple of outings together. To an antique shop … for a picnic. Ivan’s a kind fellow. He enjoys the company of any attractive woman, but basically his intentions are triggered off by a sheer goodness of heart. And it’s landed him in trouble, I can tell you, over the years.’

  Gabriel smiled. It was like having a weight lifted from her heart to hear Ivan described in such glowing terms, even if he was Gerald’s stepson, and Gerald was bound to be slightly biased.

  ‘In that case, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Perhaps we should get in touch with your father.’

  ‘No, we mustn’t do that.’

  ‘Not even to let him know you’re here?’

  ‘Let’s keep it a surprise. After all, he hasn’t seen me for six years, and he thinks I’m still in Virginia.… It’s not as though he’ll be worrying.’

  ‘I’d be happier telling him.’

  ‘Oh, don’t. Please don’t. If you don’t mind me staying on here until he comes, that’s what I’d rather do.’

  Gerald gave in. ‘All right.’

  ‘But I still don’t know what you’re going to do about the letter.’

  ‘Will you leave that to me?’

  ‘I think we should tell the police.’

  ‘I will if we have to, but for Eve’s sake I’d rather not.’

  ‘What’s Eve got to do with it?’

  ‘Everything,’ he told her. ‘I’ll explain another time. The first letter made her ill with worry, but she’s looking better now than she has for days, and I’m hoping that your unexpected appearance has put it out of her mind. Meanwhile, I think you should try to do that too. It’s not your responsibility any longer. So why don’t you just enjoy yourself? Go and sit in the sun in the garden. Go and find Laura and make friends.’

  When she left, he read the letter again, then put it back into its envelope and stowed it away in the breast pocket of his old tweed jacket. He got to his feet and went out of the study and back to the kitchen, where he found Eve in her cooking apron, chopping vegetables for soup.

  ‘Darling.’

  He kissed her. ‘I have to go out for half an hour.’

  ‘Are you going into the town? I need some groceries.’

  ‘Not just at the moment. I’ll go later, though, if you want.’

  ‘You are a love. I’ll make a shopping list.’

  He opened the back door. She said, ‘Gerald.’ He turned. She smiled her old smile. She said, ‘She’s sweet, isn’t she? Gabriel, I mean.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Gerald and went out.

  In his car he turned left at the gate and headed up the hill on the road that led over the moor. After a mile or two he came to a fork and a signpost, one arm of which pointed to Lanyon, the other to Carnellow. He took the road to Carnellow.

  It had once been an isolated tin-mining village. A couple of rows of blank-faced cottages, a ruined engine house and stack, a bleak chapel. Up here, high on the moor, even on the stillest day, there was always a wind. When he got out of the car, this wind whined in his ears, and all about him, the moor rolled, patched here and there with emerald green of bog, tall grasses leaning in the breeze.

  From the old chapel came the clangor of activity. The whine of a circular saw, the banging of wooden mallets. The original doorway had been opened up into an aperture the size of a double garage, and heavy doors, on runners, were pushed aside to reveal the interior of the workshop. Over this entrance was a new sign, recently erected: Ashby and Thomas.

  Outside the factory, timber was stacked, seasoning beneath a makeshift shelter. There were a couple of vans and Ivan’s car. Shavings, like ringlets, blew about. He could smell the sweet, new-sawn wood.

  A boy appeared, carrying a chair, which he was loading into one of the vans.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Gerald.

  ‘Ullo.’

  ‘Is Ivan in there?’

  ‘Yes, ’e’s about somewhere.’

  ‘Get him, would you? Say it’s Admiral Haverstock.’

  The boy, perhaps impressed by Gerald’s authoritative manner as much as his title, set down the chair and disappeared, only to return a moment later with Ivan beside him. Ivan in shirt sleeves and a pair of old-fashioned bib-and-brace overalls.

  ‘Gerald.’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you. Won’t take a moment. Let’s go and sit in the car.’

  He told Ivan the sorry tale and showed him the second letter. As Ivan read it, Gerald saw his fist clench on his knee so tightly that the knuckles turned white. As Gerald had said, Ivan said, ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Nasty business,’ said Gerald. ‘But this time, of course, I know it’s not true.’

  Ivan said drily, ‘Well, that’s a good start anyway. What a filthy thing. And you say Gabriel read it in London and brought it with her! She must have thought I was a real four-letter man.’

  ‘She knows there’s no word of truth in it. I told her so and I got the impression that she was happy to believe me.’

  ‘You don’t still think it’s May.’

  ‘Well, who is it, old boy?’

  ‘You don’t think…? I wondered about this after the first letter, but I didn’t say anything. You don’t think it could be Drusilla?’

  ‘Drusilla?’

  ‘Yes, Drusilla.’

  ‘Why should it be her? What would she get out of writing scurrilous poison-pen letters?’

  ‘I don’t know. Except that’—Ivan began to look faintly embarrassed—‘well, after I helped her, you know, fixed for her to come and live in the cottage … she did come over one evening and made it quite plain that she was grateful and if she could repay me in any way, she’d be more than pleased. But it wasn’t anything to do with … loving. Just a business proposition.’

  ‘Did you take her up on it?’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t. I thanked her and said she didn’t owe me anything and sent her home again. She bore no grudge.’ He thought about this, and added, ‘Apparently.’

  ‘Would Drusilla be capable of writing a thing like that?’

  ‘She’s a funny girl. I don’t
know. I don’t know her. None of us does. We don’t know her background, we don’t know what makes her tick. She’s a mystery.’

  ‘I agree with that. But why should she want to hurt Silvia?’

  ‘No idea. I don’t think she’s particularly fond of Silvia, but that hardly merits sending the poor woman a poison-pen letter. And Drusilla certainly doesn’t have strong views about drink. She enjoys her jar.’

  Gerald thought this over. ‘Ivan, that letter was posted in Truro on Wednesday. Drusilla never goes farther than the village. She can’t, with the baby in the pram. There’s no way she could get to Truro.’

  ‘She could have asked May to post the letter for her. In an odd fashion, they seem to have made friends. May sometimes gets things for her when she’s in Truro, stuff for Joshua that Drusilla can’t buy in the village. So why shouldn’t she have posted a letter for Drusilla?’

  It all seemed perfectly reasonable. And so impossibly awful that Gerald wished that, like Eve, he could somehow put the whole sorry business out of his mind.

  Ivan said, ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘I suggested to Gabriel that we should get in touch with Alec, but she wouldn’t let me. She doesn’t want him worried. Anyway, he’ll be here by Tuesday.’

  ‘Gerald, we have to do something before he comes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you think we should get the police in?’

  ‘And what if it is May?’

  After a bit, Ivan said, ‘Yes, I see your point.’

  ‘Let’s leave it for another day.’

  Ivan smiled at his stepfather. ‘You’re not acting in character, Gerald. Procrastinating. I thought naval time was five minutes beforehand.’

  ‘It is.’

  “‘The difficult we can do at once, the impossible may take a little longer.’”

  ‘Don’t you quote myself at me. And perhaps this is an impossible one. Perhaps it will take a little longer. When will you be back, Ivan?’

  ‘I’ll maybe take a make and mend, be home for lunch. You look like a man who needs a little moral support.’ He got out of the car, slammed the door behind him. ‘See you later.’

  Gerald, his heart filled with affection and gratitude, watched him go. When Ivan had disappeared back into his workshop, Gerald started up the engine of his car and drove back to Tremenheere.