‘Is it because of Linda?’ His face was stricken.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t explain. There is something wrong, my love. It wouldn’t work.’ The sleek white profile of the swan before her blurred and shimmered for a moment in her tears. She hadn’t planned to say it; the decision had been quite impulsive and yet, now that it was made, she felt a strange sense of release.
Edward gazed out across the lake, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He looked completely lost.
‘Think again, Janie. Please don’t decide just like that. Let’s talk about it. Let’s go home.’
But she had walked away across the park alone.
He sent her back the ring. ‘Even if you still feel you could never marry me, Jane darling, keep it please. To help you remember the good times – and there were good times, weren’t there? …’
She smiled faintly and kissed the cold stone and put it into the back of a drawer. She wouldn’t need his ring to help her remember.
She had met Ian when she had been at her lowest ebb in the arid, empty days of the summer. Somehow she had accepted the loneliness, the separate oneness of existence and she had gone on living. Slowly she had found again her friends from the time before she had met Edward, but somehow their kindness, their understanding only touched the surface of her being. Inside she was alone and crying.
The memory of the daffodils comforted her even then. They remained. Deep in the earth they were drawing strength back into themselves from their dying leaves and next year they would come again, renewed and beautiful. They would comfort Edward and give him pleasure and perhaps remind him of the good times they had had together. She had not guessed then that she too would take strength from the dying of her love and that it would come again.
It was in the picture gallery that she had first seen Ian; he was standing gazing at a painting of some wild flowers and they remained side by side for a while, rapt in the painting, unconscious of one another.
Then slowly he had turned and looked at her and seen the expression in her eyes.
‘Flowers shouldn’t make you cry,’ he said gently and strangely she had not been embarrassed that he should have seen. They had walked on slowly together, pausing before some paintings, passing others, companionable even then when they were strangers and she had not thought it odd that he should buy her a cup of coffee. Later she had even smiled again, her tears forgotten.
She had agreed to see him occasionally almost against her will, resenting the involvement, determined not to risk unhappiness again. But there was no need for unhappiness, no need for reserve. Ian was the kind of man who possessed an essential quietness and kindness which reassured but did not demand.
‘Remember the good times, Jane,’ he had said to her with a sad smile when she had told him everything. ‘Every beautiful woman needs memories like those. Don’t try and forget. Build on your dreams.’
They returned to the gallery often and the flower picture became special to them. Each time they would go and look at it first and then they would smile and he would take her hand.
Ian was watching her twisting the crisp green stem between her fingers. He put his arm round her and pulled her gently against his shoulder. He had seen the tears at once as she looked at the daffodil, but he did not say anything. She would tell him what she was thinking in her own time if she wanted to. He had known from the start that he could never push her and he had never tried.
She dropped her head to the daffodil in her fingers and sniffed it sadly. She was picturing again the little back yard with its brilliant blooms. Was Linda there to cut them this year? Somehow she didn’t think so.
Poor Edward. She hoped he was happy. One day perhaps she would meet him again and she realized suddenly that it would be without bitterness, without sadness for what might have been, for how could she be sad when she had found Ian and his love for her? With him there was never sick apprehension, never fear, nor hesitation. There were no doubts at all.
‘You’re the woman for me, Janie,’ he had murmured once as they walked together through the early dusk. ‘I’m only waiting till you recognize it, darling.’ She did not tell him, then, that she already knew it.
Ian glanced at her sideways. ‘Come on, it’s getting late. My parents will be wondering where on earth we are. You’re not shy of meeting them are you?’
She pulled up the collar of her coat against the wind. ‘A little perhaps.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s a big step, meeting someone’s parents.’
A step that Edward had refused to take.
Ian laughed. ‘You’ll love mine, you’ll see. Come on. Let’s go home.’
When Edward had said those words, she had walked away.
They climbed back into the car and set off again slowly down the winding lane. She glanced at him, watching his fair hair blowing in the wind from the lowered window and found suddenly that she was smiling.
Footsteps in the Attic
They both heard it at the same moment. Somewhere upstairs a door banged and there came the sound of running feet.
Mike stood up quietly and picked up the poker. Glancing at Tessa he put his fingers to his lips. ‘Wait here,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll get them this time.’ He tiptoed to the door and opened it.
The hall was in darkness. Cautiously he made his way to the stairs and crept up, stopping abruptly as the treads creaked beneath his weight.
Her face white, Tessa followed him as quietly as she could into the hall. She waited breathlessly, peering up into the darkness after him and it was several moments before she noticed that the front door swung gently ajar.
With a click all the upstairs lights came on. ‘All right, come on out. I know you’re there,’ Mike roared.
Tessa gasped, but his challenge was followed by a complete silence.
A moment later he appeared above her and leaned over the banisters. ‘No sign,’ he called. ‘Not a bloody sign. I don’t understand it.
‘Did you look on the top floor?’ She found that her voice was trembling.
‘I’ve even looked in the airing cupboard. There is nothing there. Nobody.’
‘The front door was open again, Mike.’
He ran down, the poker still in his hand and examined the lock, clicking it open and shut and running his hand down the door jamb. ‘I don’t understand it. I suppose it must be local kids playing around. One of them could have got hold of a key, I suppose, but whoever it is it’s got to stop. I’ll fix the door now and get some bolts tomorrow. And this time I’m going to ring the police.’
Tessa stood behind him, gnawing at her knuckle while he phoned.
‘You’re probably right, sir, about it being kids,’ the duty officer agreed after listening to Mike’s explanation. ‘We have a lot of trouble with them and if, as you say, your house has been lying empty for some time they’ve probably found a way of getting in to play there. They could have been doing it for months and no one’s spotted them before.’
‘What did he say?’ Tessa asked as Mike hung up.
‘Pretty sure it must be kids,’ he repeated. ‘They’re going to send someone out tomorrow.’
It snowed again in the night so any footprints the intruders might have left were obliterated and the CID men who arrived as Mike and Tessa were finishing their breakfast found nothing to give any clue as to who they had been.
‘It gives you a funny feeling, doesn’t it?’ she said later with a shiver. ‘To know there’s someone wandering around your house, I don’t like it.’
‘You’re not regretting moving here are you, Tess?’ Mike had brought an armful of logs in with him after seeing off the policemen. He threw them into the basket in the corner and stamped the ice off his boots.
‘Of course not. I love this house. It’s not really so isolated – it’s only the snow that makes it so quiet.’ She opened the window to throw out the crumbs from the breakfast cloth. ‘Mike! There’s someone out there now. By the gate,’ she hissed suddenly. ‘Come and look.’
br /> He was behind her in a second, peering over her shoulder. Two men stood by the gate. One of them was pointing at the roof of the house.
‘They look more like prospective buyers than burglars,’ Mike muttered meditatively. ‘Perhaps they haven’t heard that it’s sold. This is your chance Tess. We could resell quickly at a vast profit.’ He grinned at her teasingly.
‘Never!’ She folded the cloth and put it in the drawer. ‘Come away from the window, Mike. They’ll think you’re watching them!’
‘I am watching them.’ He opened the window again and leaned out. ‘Hello! Can I help you?’ he called, his breath smoking in the frosty air.
The taller of the two men raised a hand and tramped across the frozen lawn, his face reddened with cold above the upturned collar of his sheepskin jacket.
‘When did you folks move in? The house was empty last time I saw it.’ In spite of the irritation in his tone his face had a naturally friendly expression which Tessa found reassuring.
‘Only a week ago,’ Mike told him. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late if you wanted to buy.’
The man laughed. ‘Not buy. Borrow maybe. Can we come in and explain?’ Mike raised an eyebrow, ‘I think you’d better. The door’s round there.’ He jerked his hand towards the side of the house.
Three minutes later their visitors were seated at the kitchen table and Tessa had the coffee on again. The red-faced man introduced himself as Pete Sanders. ‘We’re looking for a Georgian house like this for location shots for a film – part of a TV series. This one is just right. Beautiful, old, neat and surrounded by nothing – no telegraph wires that show from the front and, as I thought, empty!’ He grinned expansively.
The other man was staring round the kitchen. ‘Isn’t it very big just for the two of you?’ His abrupt question was curious rather than rude.
Tessa smiled. ‘We’re hoping to run it as a guest house next summer – or at least bed and breakfast.’
Sanders nodded. ‘Perfect place I should think. Now. The thing is, I’m in a hurry. The shots I want require snow. If you’d agree I can get everyone up here today as soon as possible, because this snow’s not going to last, I hear and my budge won’t cover the synthetic variety. I usually give people a lot more warning than this when we want their house, but this is special.’ He smiled winningly.
Mike glanced at Tessa. Her eyes were shining.
‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun. As you said, we’re isolated and in this weather the neighbours haven’t been falling over themselves to call. At least …’ He hesitated. He had been on the point of talking about their visitor of the evening before – the third time they had heard him in the house – but he changed his mind.
Sanders had brought out some notes. ‘All I shall want from you is that you keep out of sight. The house is supposed to be completely empty and our hero, played by Jim Dixon,’ he glanced at Tessa knowingly, ‘will walk up the front path – we’ll have to brush out the footprints – he’ll knock, walk round a bit, looking up at the windows, knock again, go back to the lane, get on his horse and ride away. OK?’
‘Is that all?’ Mike sounded disappointed.
That’s all.’
‘The TV studios are only about twelve miles from here, apparently,’ he said after he had escorted the two men back to their car. ‘That’s how Pete knew the house. He’s had his eye on it for ages and he’s been waiting for snow. The rest of the series is more or less finished, I gather and it’s due to go out quite soon. And – they’re going to pay us!’
Tessa sat down opposite him. ‘It’ll be fun seeing ourselves on TV … Good advertising when we start the B&B … Mike, where are you going?’
He was reaching for his jacket.
‘I said I’d clear away the empty crates round the side and shift the car into the barn. They’ll be back in less than two hours. He said his men would do it, but I’d rather get it tidy.’ He dropped a kiss on her head and hurried out.
The kitchen was suddenly very silent. She stooped and threw a couple of logs onto the fire and it blazed up, spitting frost up the chimney, filling the room with the scent of old dried apple. Upstairs she could hear Mike walking about, squeaking the boards, pushing furniture.
But Mike was outside. Only a moment before he had gone out of the back door.
Her heart hammering suddenly with fear she ran to the door into the hall and opened it. The front door was standing open, allowing the blinding snow-light to flood in across the floor and up the stairs. Mike must have let himself in and gone up for some reason.
‘Mike?’ she called, her hand on the banister. ‘Mike, is that you?’
The house was completely silent again. She pushed the door shut and then cautiously she began to mount the stairs.
‘Mike?’ She stopped at the top and peered down the passage. There was no sign of him.
Then, distantly, she heard the car start, the engine coughing reluctantly as it was revved into action. Looking out of the landing window she could see Mike sitting at the wheel, the driver’s door half open, his foot playing on the accelerator as clouds of blue smoke billowed round the car. She watched as he turned it and backed it into the barn, closing the heavy double doors before he walked back across the yard towards the front door.
She glanced round uneasily. ‘Is there anyone there?’ she called, her voice shaking a little, but the silence in the house had already told her that the bedrooms were empty.
She ran back down the stairs. ‘You left the front door open, Mike and you know we want to conserve all the heat we can.’
He was riffling through the drawer in the kitchen table. ‘Never touched it. I’ve just been putting the car away. A hinge is nearly off one of the doors on the barn. Have you seen my big screwdriver?’ Exasperated, he slammed the drawer shut and went to peer at the clutter of tools on the windowsill.
‘Mike, the front door was open again just now. And I heard someone upstairs. If it wasn’t you, who was it?’ Tessa swallowed nervously.
He turned to her at last. ‘Upstairs. Are you sure?’
‘I just told you.’
‘Damn cheek! And in daylight too.’ He picked up a heavy pair of pliers from the tools and went purposefully to the door.
Tessa followed him. ‘I closed the front door,’ she whispered. ‘It was wide open.’
He went up two at a time and flung open the first door on the landing. The room was empty. So were all the others.
‘No one here,’ he commented as he closed the bathroom door.
‘Look upstairs,’ she whispered. The second, attic floor was dark and as yet empty of furniture.
Mike ran up, leaving her on the first landing peering after him. Minutes later he was down again. ‘No, not a thing. It must have been the wind. Perhaps when I opened the back door, the front blew open.’
She followed him down, unconvinced. ‘I heard furniture being moved.’
‘Boards creaking? All old houses are full of strange noises. We’re just not used to our own yet. Perhaps all the noises we’ve heard have just been that – noises.’ He shrugged. ‘Look, Tess, I must get on shifting those boxes and tidying the yard. Sanders will be back with his camera crew or whatever they’re called and we won’t be ready for him.’
Tessa stood at the door for a while watching him, then she went to the phone.
‘Mr Forbes? This is Tessa Gordon. Do you remember? You sold the Old Rectory to us. Did you by any chance give the keys to anyone else to come over, anyone who didn’t return them?’ The line crackled and she could imagine old Mr Forbes drawing himself up indignantly at his desk.
‘Naturally the keys were given to any prospective buyers, Mrs Gordon. But they were always returned to my office. And after your husband bought the property naturally all the keys were given to him. May I enquire why you are asking?’
She smiled quietly in spite of her worry. ‘Well, to be honest, Mr Forbes, we think someone has been in here a couple of times, coming quite openly throu
gh the front door. They must have had a key from somewhere.’
There was a moment’s silence on the line and then the quavering voice asked, ‘Have you actually seen anyone, Mrs Gordon?’
‘Well, no, why?’
‘I just wondered. Have you told the police?’
‘Yes. They were out here this morning.’
‘I see.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Gordon. I don’t think you should make too much of these incidents, I … er … well, I seem to remember the vicar, old Mr Somerset, mentioning to me once or twice that a similar occurrence had happened to him. He … well, he seemed to think there was a perfectly natural and … er … happy explanation.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tessa was frowning. ‘You mean he gave the keys to someone? Told them they could come in?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. Look, Mrs Gordon, you must excuse me now, but I have a client waiting. Perhaps I might call on you one day next week when I’m over in your part of the world. I might just be able to explain.’
She stared at the receiver in her hand. He had hung up.
‘Sounds as though he knows what it’s all about, though,’ Mike commented as they had a quick sandwich in the kitchen later. I hope it’s not something he should have told us before we decided to buy. He’s a funny old geezer, Forbes. He was very thick with the Rev. Somerset, too, I gather.’
They watched the arrival of the television crew with great interest, astonished at the number of people who seemed to be involved in the afternoon’s work, their enthusiasm slightly dampened by the fact that they were expected to douse the kitchen fire at once, but mollified by an invitation to the mobile canteen which had followed the cars, vans and horse box into the lane.
‘Now, no peeking,’ Sanders instructed as a camera was being brought into position by the gate. ‘In fact, why not watch from out here. You’ll be able to see everything much better.’
They stood and watched as beneath the skilled hands of his men their house took on all over the lonely derelict appearance which they had been at such pains for the last week to dispel.