Chapter Fifteen
‘I DON’T THINK they can do anything,’ said Hetty. ‘I mean, there are all sorts of building regulations, local-planning laws, stuff like that.’
‘But, my dear girl, don’t you realize what a terrible thing this is? Our beloved house under even greater threat! Thank goodness we’ve discovered it in time.’
Hetty spooned coffee into mugs, wondering how on earth she was going to keep Phyllis from going off in all directions. She handed her one of the mugs. ‘Biscuit?’
Phyllis shook her head. ‘No thank you, dear, haven’t got time to waste on biscuits. Where is he?’
‘Who? James? I’m not sure –’
‘Not James! The Barbarian! If we could just get him out of the way . . .’
Hetty was tired and sad and wasn’t at her mental best. ‘He is out of the way. He’s gone back to –’ Where had he gone? ‘– wherever he was before.’ The moment she’d finished she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. The threat of his imminent appearance might have kept Phyllis under control.
‘Thank God! That means we can act without him having to know anything about it. What a relief! I was really quite worried for a while there. He could have had the bulldozers in before anyone could lift a finger to prevent it.’
‘But he didn’t.’ Hetty concentrated very hard on sounding calm and emotionally disinterested. ‘And therefore it means we can’t do anything behind his back.’
‘Dear child, are you mad? What do you mean not “do anything behind his back”? What do you think all that sorting out and selling the unwanted pieces was all about? Of course we must do it behind his back.’
Hetty shook her head. ‘I promised him, before he left, that I wouldn’t do anything – irrevocable’ – the word ‘dreadful’ would only set Phyllis off again – ‘about the house while he was away. He’ll be back quite soon. We won’t have to wait long.’
Phyllis obviously felt she was dealing with a dangerous lunatic. ‘If we wait, he’ll prevent us. Or worse, damage the house before we can stop him.’
Hetty shook her head. ‘No he won’t, or he would have done so before now. He won’t do anything to the house while Samuel’s still alive.’
‘But how long is that going to be? The dear man looked pretty groggy last time I saw him.’ Phyllis made a gesture, which would have been a reassuring pat from anyone more demonstrative. ‘I don’t mean to worry you, dear, but he could pop off at any moment.’
‘I know. He didn’t look too well when I saw him, either. I must go and see him again. There never seems to be a moment.’
‘You do that. And let me worry about getting the house listed.’
‘Phyllis, please. I swear to you I will do absolutely anything it takes to get Connor to agree to having the house listed. But I can’t allow anything to be done behind his back.’ Knowing she had no power to stop Phyllis from doing anything she thought right, she pressed on. ‘You must understand my situation. I gave my solemn word. He would never believe me if I said it had been nothing to do with me. It was only through me you discovered the house wasn’t listed. It may not be me who told the authorities, but it would only be a technical detail, I’d be just as guilty.’
‘Guilty? My dear child, you’re forgetting the rights of the matter. That man is at present in a position to destroy this beautiful house, all it contains, and a lot of beautiful countryside as well. Just who would be committing the crime?’
‘I said that he won’t do anything while Samuel’s alive.’
‘And we agreed that might not be for very long. Red tape takes time to get tied up if it’s something you want doing, believe you me.’
‘OK, I accept we might not have very long, but Connor will be back soon. I’ll get him to do it.’
‘How on earth do you propose to do that?’
Hetty shrugged. ‘Reasoned argument, appeals to his better nature . . .’
Phyllis smiled somewhat cynically. ‘If you were a different sort of girl I’d suggest you go to bed with him.’
‘But, as it is,’ replied Hetty, somewhat tightly, ‘you don’t think that would be enough of a bribe?’
‘Of course I didn’t mean that, Hetty. I just meant you weren’t that sort of girl.’
That was all she knew. ‘But you’ll give me a chance to persuade him?’
‘Of course, I don’t want to do anything that will distress you, but what on earth makes you think he’ll agree to having the house listed when, up to now, his plans have been for demolition?’
‘I don’t know!’ Hetty felt close to tears. If only she hadn’t promised to keep Samuel’s financial problems private, Phyllis might be less insistent. ‘But I can try. And I’d rather fight him face to face, or in the courts, or anywhere, than act without him knowing what we were up to.’
Phyllis took agonizing seconds digesting this. ‘How long is he away for?’
‘He said he’d be back for the ruby wedding.’
Phyllis sighed. ‘Well, I suppose it’ll have to wait until then. But I hope we don’t live to rue the day.’
‘And you won’t say anything about all this to Peter?’
‘Say anything about all what?’ said Peter from the doorway.
Hetty closed her eyes tightly and counted to ten to stop herself screaming. The man had an uncanny ability to know when Connor wasn’t about, thought Hetty. He doesn’t come near the place for days, and the moment Connor’s gone he’s in through the back door like a stray cat. She wished all these people would get out of her kitchen and leave her alone. She opened her eyes again and tried to smile.
‘Oh come in, Peter. You might as well know, I suppose. Phyllis will tell you everything.’
While Phyllis did so, Hetty stared out of the kitchen window, detaching herself from the character assassination that was going on behind her.
Clovis, the old cat, was picking his way across the yard with surprising agility. Connor was one of the few people who allowed Clovis to sit on him. Most found his breath too offensive. Even Peter had muttered that it might be kinder to have him put down. But you couldn’t just kill an animal because it smelt.
All this occupied her mind on one level; the rest was filled with resentment for Peter and Phyllis, the people she was so fond of, and who had done so much to help her. The trouble was, having helped her, they now felt they owned her and could tell her what to do.
‘Any chance of a cup of coffee?’ Peter drew her attention back into the room.
‘Sorry, I was just thinking. Another one, Phyllis?’
‘No thank you, dear.’
Hetty put water in the electric kettle, which Connor had bought as back-up. The water would take too long to boil on the stove.
When at last she carried a cup of coffee across to the table, Phyllis and Peter were regarding her as anxious parents do before they tell their wayward child she is going to be sent to boarding school. You’re going to be miserable, they were going to say, but it’s for your own good.
‘I think I’ll have a cup,’ she declared, not wanting to hear their homily. Too much caffeine would make her jumpy, but then, she already was.
Phyllis waited until Hetty had her mug full. ‘Come and sit down, dear. We must make a plan.’
Hetty sat. ‘I think I explained to Phyllis,’ she said for Peter’s benefit, ‘I can’t do anything behind Connor’s back. Anything that’s irrevocable. And I can’t let you two do anything either.’
‘At the risk of sounding like a bully, how do you propose to stop us?’ Peter stirred the coffee that Hetty had forgotten to put sugar in.
‘I can’t stop you, not really. But I can remind you that the house doesn’t belong to Connor yet. I’m pretty sure Samuel would have known whether or not his house was listed. And if he’d wanted it listed, he’d have done something about it. You can’t go behind the back of someone old and sick.’ Phyllis had played this card, so she could too.
Peter and Phyllis regarded each other. The child had made a point they’d really have to consider.
‘And I don’t think now is quite the time to ask Samuel about it. Do you? I mean, he’s pretty frail, and reminding him of his mortality, which such a subject is bound to do, wouldn’t be very kind.’
Hetty sipped her coffee so they wouldn’t see the triumph in her expression. She might not have won the war but, with luck, this would hold them at bay until Connor got back.
‘Don’t you want the house listed, Hetty?’ Peter’s brown eyes were full of reproach and confusion.
‘Of course I do. But not in an underhand way that is likely to upset Samuel or Connor. I promised Connor I wouldn’t do anything behind his back.’ She turned to Phyllis. ‘He knew how much stuff we’d sold, about the Clarice Cliff vase and everything.’
‘Oh dear, awkward for you, was it?’
‘Not really. He didn’t mind. But he said he wouldn’t put up with anything else being sold or disposed of.’
‘She is in a very invidious position.’ Phyllis addressed Peter.
He turned to Hetty. ‘Is there any way you can get in touch with him, so you don’t have to act behind his back?’ He winced as he sipped his coffee.
Hetty thought of the list of numbers, the instructions, the time difference, the fact that no one spoke English. ‘No. What we have to do,’ she went on, having delivered this convincing lie, ‘is get the place in even better shape so, when he comes back, it’s a going concern, and not a drain on Samuel’s limited resources.’
Phyllis drew a clutch of marmalade jars towards her. ‘I see your point about not acting behind anyone’s back. But the usual rules of decency can be suspended in exceptional circumstances?’ Her upward inflection made the statement a tentative question.
Hetty shook her head. ‘Not in this case. And isn’t that someone arriving?’
That night Hetty took the dogs up to bed with her, but really felt too tired to worry about being alone in the house. ‘As long as the burglars come quietly, and don’t wake me,’ she told Islay, who, being female, was more likely to worry than Talisker, ‘I don’t mind.’
One of Caroline’s pet tradesmen had arrived that afternoon and fitted a security system, a fact that made Hetty simultaneously glad that Connor was out of the way, relieved that the contents insurance would now be valid, and anxious about how the man was to be paid. He had waved away her inquiries on the subject with an airy gesture. ‘I’ll let you know,’ he’d said glibly.
‘Could you just give me a rough figure? So I can have it ready for you?’
‘I’ll pop it in the post, when I’ve worked it out.’
Hetty wrote ‘£500?’ on her pad and resolved to ask Caroline about it.
She slept like a log.
Hetty had very little time to miss Connor. The house had plenty of visitors. Various workmen came, some of whom were paid in cash, others who promised to send their bills in later. There was also a follow-up visit from the man from the bank, who was flatteringly impressed by their progress.
‘Glad to see things getting straight and nothing’s likely to burst into flames.’ He laughed cheerily. ‘Wouldn’t like all your good work to go up in smoke.’
A man with a daughter and a pony approached her, asking if they could rent a field she hadn’t even known was part of the property. He offered money, or labour in lieu. As the rent seemed very little, she asked him what he did. ‘I’m a plumber,’ he said. Through him, she got all the dripping taps fixed and the shower working properly.
But after Connor had been gone a week Hetty had another letter from the loan company. They could, it seemed, sense that their loan was insecure, and were threatening to demand it all back – immediately.
Hetty, on her own and unable to consult anyone, wasn’t sure they were legally able to do this. She knew ordinary banks could withdraw overdraft facilities without notice, and make firms bankrupt. Did loan sharks have the same powers?
She considered fighting her way through the lists of numbers and asking Connor. But he might not know, and why add to his worry quota when he couldn’t do anything to help? She could ask her friendly bank manager. He would know. But Hetty was so busy. And supposing the sharks could demand the loan be paid immediately? It would hardly make her feel better. And although discovering that their demands were illegal would set her mind at rest, she felt the risk was too great: she’d rather live in ignorant hope than certain despair. Consequently, she wrote them a huge cheque, seriously depleting the account, and made tentative inquiries in the village about anyone who might like to buy a nice little 2CV.
And it was not only this added anxiety that made her miss Connor. She missed knowing that any moment he might stride into the room, swearing and cursing, or making some remark guaranteed to make Hetty laugh. She’d rather fight with him than not have him to fight with, and she spent a lot of time humming sentimental songs about preferring to be blue alone without one’s loved one, than being happy with somebody else. It was pathetic, but there it was.
She got out of the house as much as she could. Inside the house she felt hedged about with Phyllis and Peter and their unspoken reproaches for the stand she had taken. But she found plenty of excuses.
There were arrangements for the ruby wedding, which marched resolutely nearer. Six weeks was not a lot of time to arrange something like that, Hetty insisted. Having promised caterers and entertainment, they had to be organized, and preferably before the sale of her car left her without transport.
Fortunately, as Hetty had imagined, the WI was a rich source of culinary talent.
‘Mrs Makepiece doesn’t want anything too complicated, just quiches, salads and gooey puddings, things like that.’
‘Oh.’ The woman whose kitchen Hetty was standing in when she delivered this intentionally reassuring information seemed disappointed. She was a stalwart of the WI, had four children, a placid manner and, allegedly, an angel’s touch with pastry. ‘I was hoping for a chance to try something new,’ the woman went on. ‘I get bored making quiches and the like.’
‘I do a very nice raised pie. Hot-water crust. Did some for my sister’s wedding. Very popular, they were.’
‘That sounds wonderful. I’ll speak to Mrs Makepiece, but I expect we’ll need about six?’
‘And blinis – with a little crème fraîche and some smoked salmon – they go down very well.’
‘But you’d have to make so many –’
‘Not really. I can knock them up fifty at a time, put ’em in the freezer.’
These ideas seemed a lot more exciting than Hetty and Felicity Makepiece had come up with. ‘What else do you have in mind?’
‘I’ll work out a menu, and let you have a list. How much per head?’ Hetty told her. ‘And some vegetarians? It’s usually at least ten per cent.’
‘Yes – well, whatever you think.’
‘You want salads? I could do a nice curry pasta, a coleslaw and a Greek salad. Only I use Cheddar. Can’t abide that feta.’
Nor could Hetty. ‘What about puddings?’
‘I’ll ask my friend Maureen. She does very good profiteroles and tiny caramel meringues. People are bored with Banoffee pie, don’t you think?’
Hetty had stopped thinking anything other than that she should turn the entire catering operation over to this surprising woman. Hetty left the house a little later, waving goodbye to the smallest child, as its mother produced something from the oven that would make a dieter weep.
Later, she rang Felicity Makepiece, ostensibly to tell her about the arrangements and get the new menu approved, and ask when she’d have a clearer idea about numbers, but really she wanted to check that Felicity was quite happy about hiring a venue she hadn’t seen, which was run by people who were basically amateurs.
Mrs Makepiece was unnervingly sanguine about the whole thing. ‘Of course I’m happy about it. Hotels can be so uninviting and inhospitable. James told me what a lovely house it is, and I particularly wanted somewhere with an informal atmosphere.’
‘I think we can guarantee that,’ murmured Hetty.
‘As for numbers, I haven’t sent the invites out yet, dear. But I’m asking about two hundred, providing I don’t discover I’ve left out anybody vital.’
‘Right.’ Two hundred people, sitting round tables, in the great hall. ‘Great’ suddenly seemed a huge overstatement.
‘But the good thing is, I’ve decided what to give John for a present!’
‘Oh!’ And has that to do with me?
‘Yes. I want to present it to him at the party, after you’ve done your cabaret.’
‘That should be fine. We can clear a little space for the presentation –’
‘It’s a cow.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, it’s a cow. A Devon Red. They’re known in Devon as Devon Rubies. John’s always wanted his own cow, and when I remembered about the Rubies I thought, what better present?’
Almost anything! ‘And you want to give it to him at the party?’
‘I thought I could dress it up in garlands and things. It would only be a calf really, a little heifer. Desperately sweet, don’t you think?’
‘Could we put a nappy on it?’ Hetty suggested, thinking of Phyllis’s reaction to fresh manure on the recently scrubbed coir-matting.
‘Oh, I don’t think it would like that very much, do you?’
Hetty rang off feeling as if a whole herd of Devon Rubies had trampled on her. Two hundred people, a grand piano and a cow in the great hall. Perhaps she should run back to her mother and let Phyllis and Peter deal with it. If she’d had time to organize it, she would have done just that.
‘You’re getting clinically depressed. You must get out more.’
Caroline had swept in, wearing pink suede trousers and a jacket, fringed from wrist to elbow. On anyone else it would have been in bad taste. On Caroline, it was stunning.
Hetty sighed. When she saw Caroline she was always reminded of how little time she spent thinking about her appearance, and how much time thinking about the appearance of the house.
‘I get out a lot. I’m always trundling across the countryside looking at occasional tables, which always turn out to be too big.’
‘Oh, you need beer crates, up-ended, covered with a cloth. Take up very little space, and give people the impression that they could put their glasses down if they really wanted.’
‘Caroline, you’re brilliant.’ Hetty scrawled this down on a piece of paper. ‘Where would I get all those beer crates?’
‘Ask at the pub. He’ll save them for you. But that’s not why I came. Have you noticed that spring is here? In fact, it’s nearly summer.’
Hetty had taken to humming ‘As I Walked Out on a May Morning’ as she strode through the woods with the dogs these days, noting that there were now leaves on the trees and birds singing. But the pleasure it brought her tended to be swept away by anxiety the moment she got back to the house.
The third of June seemed to approach faster with every new green leaf’s emergence. Another interest payment was due, but although there was just about enough left, she wanted to keep some cash available. She was still trying to sell her car, though didn’t want to tell Caroline.
She managed a half-way convincing smile. ‘I can never believe that summer’s half over at the end of June. May seems too early for it, somehow.’
‘Well, it’s not the end of June yet. It’s still only early May, but you must get out and enjoy yourself. You can’t spend all summer in this kitchen.’
Hetty sighed. People still spent a lot of time telling her what to do. It wasn’t only Phyllis and Peter, but everyone from the village, and there were many, who came in to do their bit for Courtbridge House. She had got fed up with explaining that it wasn’t her house, and really, she had no say in anything, she was just the sitter. None of them took any notice.
Caroline was just as bossy, but at least it was Hetty she cared about, not just the village heritage.
‘What do you suggest? Going for a jog? A day on the river with a picnic? That sounds nice.’
Caroline dismissed these suggestions with a flash of French-manicured finger-nails, square cut, white tips, the rest of the nail covered with clear varnish. ‘No, darling, can’t take a chance on the weather. I meant something fun.’
‘Like what?’
Caroline made an airy gesture. ‘I don’t know. A shopping spree or something.’
‘I can’t afford a shopping spree.’
‘Connor should pay you for all your work.’
Hetty laughed shortly. ‘Don’t suggest it, unless you’re tired of living. Samuel does feed me, but he hasn’t got much money, so I try not to spend too much.’ This was a masterly understatement.
Caroline considered. ‘Fair enough. Now, what can we do that would cheer you up and not cost much? Have you ever been to a Tupperware party?’
‘No. Thank you.’
Caroline took on a mysterious expression. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
‘Well, don’t keep it to yourself.’
‘I think I will for the moment. If you don’t mind.’
Hetty protested, but Caroline changed the subject. ‘So, when’s Connor coming home?’ she asked.
Hetty shrugged.
‘Do you miss him?’
She shrugged again. ‘It’s like being permanently hungry. Sometimes you have this great ache in your stomach. Sometimes it fades and you hardly notice it. But the moment you stop being busy, it comes back.’
Caroline slithered off the table. ‘Come round tonight for a bottle of wine and a chick flick. Something soppy but with a happy ending.’
‘That sounds lovely. Not too late, though.’
‘You could stay the night?’
Hetty shook her head. ‘No I couldn’t. I’d be neglecting my duties as house-sitter. Knowing my luck, the house would get burgled if I spent a night away from it.’
What she didn’t tell Caroline was that every night for a while now, she’d been listening out for Connor’s arrival home.