Chapter Sixteen

CONNOR DIDN’T ARRIVE home in the middle of the night, as Hetty was convinced he would. He arrived at ten to ten on a Saturday morning, in the moment between the arrival in the car park of a coachload of WI ladies, and their appearance at the front door. Hetty had seen the coach from the bathroom, where she had been brushing her teeth. The taxi caught her eye during the final rinse. It took her a moment to take in its significance. She flew down the stairs and arrived in the kitchen just as he walked through the back door. He looked crumpled and travel-stained, desperately tired.

‘You might have given me a ring from the airport,’ she said, making her way across the room.

‘Come here, you.’

Connor pulled her to him, crushing her against his once-elegant suit as if he planned to suffocate her. She gave back as good as she got. Eventually, he allowed enough space between them to lower his head and give her a breathtaking kiss and an intimate encounter with three days’ growth of beard. She had just fought her arms up around his neck when she felt herself abruptly dropped.

‘Oh,’ said Peter, who had been changing light-bulbs. ‘Sorry to intrude.’ He didn’t sound sorry at all. ‘Phyllis says the WI ladies have come and they say they ordered coffee, and do you know anything about it, Hetty?’

Hetty fell away from Connor’s embrace. ‘Oh, yes. I’ve got it in hand. I was just saying hello to Connor.’

‘So I see. Hello. Good trip?’

‘Very. Thank you.’ He turned to Hetty. ‘Is there a bathroom I can use, or are they all full of the WI fluffing up their blue rinses?’

‘It’s only the main one that’s open. Samuel’s bathroom isn’t, as you know perfectly well. And the shower in there works now.’

Connor grunted, and, picking up his battered leather bag, pushed his way past the kitchen furniture and out of the room. Peter looked at Hetty as if she deserved to be tarred and feathered for consorting with the enemy. Connor had reverted to his usual state of permanent disagreeableness, and she was pretty annoyed herself. However, as the woman, it was up to her to try and make everyone feel better.

‘Nice to have Connor home,’ she said brightly, then, remembering that she wasn’t supposed to think it was nice, hurried on, ‘I can ask him about getting the house listed.’

‘I didn’t know you were on such good terms.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was kissing you pretty thoroughly.’

‘That was only hello. I kiss you hello.’

‘Not like that.’

‘That was him – he’s sort of – well –’

‘Passionate?’ Hetty gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘I could be passionate if you gave me a chance.’

Hetty closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t want you to be, Peter. I rely on you as my good and dear friend. Passion would spoil that.’

He crossed the room towards her. ‘Not necessarily. Friendship can grow into love.’

She shook her head and took a step back. Connor had said that men were incapable of platonic friendships with women – heaven forbid that he should be right. ‘But not –’

It was too late. Peter had decided that actions spoke louder than words, and had taken Hetty into his arms. His kiss was so much gentler – he had shaved only that morning – and the tang of his aftershave was clean and astringent. She tasted his mouthwash as he parted her lips. She disengaged herself very gently.

‘Peter, please, this isn’t right. I’ve got coffee for twenty to organize.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Phyllis, who had come in to ask her about it. ‘My ladies have come a long way and are gasping.’ She gave Peter a disapproving glare. ‘And really, Peter, this is neither the time nor the place for that sort of thing.’

Hetty put her arm round his waist and squeezed it in sympathy. He must be yearning to say, ‘Connor did it too.’

‘The cups are all out on trays, Phyllis. And both kettles are just about to boil. Do you think they want hot milk? It’s a lovely day, though not terribly warm.’

‘Thank goodness someone’s got their mind on the job. I saw “that man” storming up the stairs with a face like thunder. You’ll be able to tackle him, then?’

Peter mumbled something which could have been ‘She already has,’ and Hetty spoke louder to cover his mutterings. ‘I’ll let him get over the jet lag first, I think. He’s not likely to be very amenable if he’s short on sleep.’

Phyllis snorted. ‘Whatever you think best,’ she said. ‘But don’t leave it too long. Samuel was very low when I saw him last – very low.’

‘I’ll bring the matter up when he’s not tired, not hungry, and the house isn’t full of people. But I’m not promising anything today.’

Phyllis gave her another scornful glance. ‘I think you’d better heat the milk. Put it in that vacuum jug.’

Although she was busy, the rest of the morning dragged by for Hetty, dogged by petty irritations as she was. The WI ladies all asked Hetty questions she couldn’t answer, all of them being far more expert than her on antique hangings. Peter, who had finished the light-bulbs, was repairing a bit of skirting. Hetty was not sure it had been arranged for him to do that, and had an idea that he was refusing to leave because of Connor. As he could hardly move into the house permanently, this seemed rather strange behaviour. But since Phyllis might quite reasonably have asked him to do repairs without consulting her, Hetty didn’t think she could challenge him.

Feeling that if she didn’t get away from everyone soon she would be rude to someone, she told Debbie, who had been one of the stalwarts of the Courtbridge Against the Motorway Campaign and was now a stalwart of Courtbridge House, that she wanted to get something for Connor’s supper. There were plenty of tins of beans and lumps of sweating Cheddar, but she didn’t want him to have a scratch meal on his first night home, especially when he might not have had a decent meal since he left.

Debbie, who liked Connor because he helped her get her car started, agreed that Hetty could go to the shop if she promised to buy her a Mars Bar. There were only a few visitors, who had trickled along in the wake of the WI, and Debbie could cope perfectly well with them.

Having cleared it with Debbie and her conscience, Hetty took the dogs and made her escape. The dogs, she discovered, were a perfect disguise for not having the car, which she had finally sold last week. She didn’t want everyone, namely Caroline and Connor, to find out before they had to, they would both make such a fuss. But, as she remembered from her first day at Courtbridge, no one wondered why you were walking if you had dogs with you. And they were undemanding company.

It was ironic to remember how lonely she had felt when she first arrived at the house. Now she yearned for solitude as then she had yearned for Alistair. Although, she had the honesty to admit, part of her frustration now was caused by knowing Connor was in the house, and that he wouldn’t emerge until the coast was clear.

Damn Peter for coming in just when he did. If Connor’s kiss had had a few moments longer to establish itself, she could have learnt a lot from it. She had sensed the hostility Connor felt towards Peter, in spite of his previous statements that he would make a good and faithful husband. But then, Connor probably didn’t perceive goodness and faithfulness as attractive characteristics. The trouble was, they weren’t terribly. But in a husband, they were essential.

Hetty smiled at herself for connecting Connor with the word ‘husband’, and for her wifely actions in buying something for his supper. She tied up the dogs and went into the shop, hoping Angela Brewster wouldn’t laugh too.

Of course she didn’t, and Hetty left the shop with some reportedly very nice sausages, some early strawberries and a carton of cream under her arm.

‘Sprinkle a little Beaujolais over the strawberries,’ suggested Angela. ‘It brings out the flavour beautifully.’

‘I don’t think the heeltap of a bottle of plonk will have quite the same effect.’

‘No, but Connor’s sure to have a nice bottle somewhere you could open?’

Hetty nodded.

‘I gather you’re getting plenty of visitors?’

‘Not too bad.’

‘I’m looking forward to hearing how this ruby wedding goes. It’ll be our tenth anniversary this year, and it’s such a pretty house, it would be a perfect setting for a do.’

Hetty laughed. ‘I don’t blame you for seeing how it goes. Mrs Makepiece seemed not to mind I hadn’t had that much experience – well, none really. But being in the trade, sort of, you’re probably more careful.’

‘I don’t know about that, and I certainly wouldn’t want anything formal. Hotels can be ghastly.’

‘That’s what Mrs Makepiece said.’ Hetty bit her lip ruefully. ‘I hope her confidence in me and Courtbridge House isn’t misplaced.’

‘It won’t be.’ Angela smiled. ‘With so much goodwill behind you, you can’t fail.’

When Hetty got back to the house, instead of going straight in she went up the stone steps that led to the upper storey of the coach-house. There was quite a lot of space up there, ideal for letting as a holiday cottage. Like everywhere else, it would take a lot of work to sort out, but the floors were in good condition, the walls didn’t seem too flaky, and the roof was sound. Properly done up, this place could bring in several hundred pounds a week during the holiday season. They might even get winter lets, given the setting and people’s yearning for country Christmases. She must suggest it to Connor when, if ever, they had a chance to talk.

She went outside to put the CLOSED sign up. It was fifteen minutes early but she didn’t care. She was alone at last.

She skipped along the passage to the kitchen. How could she ever have felt lonely? Solitude was bliss. Then, more soberly, she started hunting out some potatoes. She only didn’t feel lonely because Connor was upstairs; even when asleep, and not only at the piano, he made her feel accompanied.

She peeled enough potatoes for both of them and then got out the sausages and wished she’d remembered to buy some sort of vegetable. She was very fond of tinned tomatoes with sausages herself, but Connor was such a foodie he was bound to sneer. Then she decided to fry some onion, mash up the tomatoes, add some basil and call it salsa. He would still sneer, but at least it would look as if she’d made an effort.

She was tasting the mashed potato, wondering if it had enough butter in it, when Connor appeared. She lowered the wooden spoon back into the mash, feeling caught out for not using a teaspoon.

‘Hi, Connor, you’re up! How do you feel? Did you manage to sleep, or did the visitors keep you awake?’

‘They kept me awake. There were two of them, discussing romantic fiction in the passage outside my room. Was Ethel M. Dell more erotic than E. M. Hull? I gather we have a stash of classic romance in that bookcase.’

‘Have we? Perhaps we can sell it.’ She smiled to show she was joking. ‘I am sorry you were disturbed. But was it nice to have the shower working?’

‘It would have been if I hadn’t kept wondering how you’d paid to have it done. You didn’t sell anything, did you?’

She flushed guiltily. She didn’t want to spoil the moment by telling him about the threatening letter, and her having to sell her car. ‘Oh, no. That one’s quite legit. I rented the big field to a little girl with a plumber for a father. It’s payment in kind.’

Connor snorted. ‘And is my car all right?’

Please don’t ask me about mine! ‘It was when I last looked at it.’

He grunted. ‘What about a drink? Shall I open some wine, or would you rather have something stronger?’

‘Wine, please.’ She was glad she hadn’t opened it. ‘Then I can sprinkle some over the strawberries. Angela Brewster suggested it.’

‘Sprinkle away, but not too much. This is good stuff.’

Connor was quite gracious about the sausages, and ecstatic about the mashed potato. And, unusually restrained for him, didn’t comment on the tomatoes. ‘I didn’t know you could cook, Het. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t want you to think I was trying to find a way to your heart through your stomach.’ She meant it as a joke, and she sounded light-hearted, but she suddenly felt she had strayed on to the thin crust that covers a quicksand. ‘But bangers and mash aren’t likely to do that.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Connor smiled lazily at her.

Hetty suddenly felt she’d bitten off more than she could chew with Connor. The night she’d tried to seduce him seemed light-years away. What had got into her? Starting anything with Connor would be like climbing into a cage with a lion. She’d better get out quick before he noticed there were no longer iron bars between them.

‘I was looking at the coach-house today. It would make a great holiday cottage. There’s already water downstairs, and you could make two lovely light rooms upstairs. And there’s a little room at the end, which would make a super bedroom.’ She scraped the last of her mashed potato on to her fork. ‘You must have a look at it tomorrow.’

‘Why do I get the impression that you’re changing the subject?’

‘Probably because I am. I mean, there’s only so much you can say about sausages, even designer ones.’

Connor’s gaze seemed to pierce straight through Hetty’s careful façade of blandness to see the nervous tension it concealed. ‘You’re probably right,’ he conceded. ‘How’s Samuel?’

‘He seems to be getting on OK. But slowly.’

‘You haven’t mentioned the loan?’ His thick eyebrows implied a frown.

‘No.’ Nor had she told him that she’d had to dip into the loan money to pay for repairs to the house, and had had to sell her car to make it up, and that, without a car, visiting Samuel on her own would be difficult. Nor had she asked him if he knew the house wasn’t listed. Circumstances had forced her to be extremely secretive.

‘I suppose it’s hard for you to get away, now the house is open?’

Hetty bit her lip. It was a perfect opening for her to mention the car. But she couldn’t. ‘Well,’ she prevaricated, ‘Phyllis would always stand in for me, and for something like a visit to Samuel she wouldn’t mind at all. We could go together?’

He nodded. ‘Samuel might like that. Come with me when I go in tomorrow?’

‘OK.’ And, buoyed up by this minor coup, Hetty followed it up with a good word for Mrs Hempstead. ‘Phyllis visits him quite a lot.’

‘I’m glad she has her uses.’

‘Phyllis is a very kind and dedicated person. She has the house’s best interests at heart.’

‘She’s bossy.’

‘If she’s bossy it’s because she needs to be. And she gets things done.’

‘Yes, but as most of the things she gets done are my business not hers, I can’t be expected to appreciate her.’

‘It’s Samuel’s business, really.’

‘Mmm. That’s why I don’t send them all packing.’

Unsure whether she was included in the ‘them’, Hetty got up to make coffee, aware that although Connor was being perfectly friendly, he had no intention of becoming anything else, or allowing Hetty to do so. What had happened before he left was a mistake, and one not to be repeated.

The following morning, before the first influx of visitors came through the gate, Hetty took Connor to the coach-house.

‘You see? It would convert so well to a holiday cottage. It could bring the estate lots of money.’ Connor growled non-committally. ‘The house could support itself, given a chance.’

‘And a hundred willing volunteers.’

‘But there are a hundred willing volunteers. All the local people love the house.’

Connor grunted again. They climbed the steps at the side of the building to the upstairs. ‘You’d have to have some other way of getting from one floor to another. You wouldn’t want to use these in the middle of the night in the rain.’

‘No, well, you could put in a staircase. I’m sure Peter would do it. He’s got a real feel for wood. He’d put in the kitchen too.’

Connor gave Hetty a look that made her wish she hadn’t mentioned Peter. ‘I’m sure. But would he accept payment in kind?’

There was no doubt about what he meant but she asked him anyway. She was hurt and angry and wanted him to be too. ‘What do you mean? Two fitted cupboards and a peninsular unit in exchange for two nights of passion with me?’

He nodded. ‘Except you’re pricing yourself a bit high. I think he’d want at least an engagement if you insist on aspiral staircase.’

‘Why not go the whole hog? If I agreed to marry him, he’d build a four-poster bed in that little room and we could christen it on our honeymoon?’

Connor showed no signs of being hurt or angry, and Hetty wondered why on earth she had thought he might be. It was no concern of his who she married. She might fancy herself in love with him, but he was under no illusions.

‘What a good idea.’ He strode across the empty space, his feet threatening to go through the dusty boards. ‘Where is the love-nest?’ He found it without difficulty. Hetty, feeling extremely foolish, joined him.

Once there, she forgot her embarrassment. The four-poster-bed idea had been invented entirely to annoy Connor, but as they inspected the space Hetty realized that it was the perfect solution. ‘Hey, it’s not a bad idea, you know!’ She crossed to the window and rubbed at it with her sleeve. ‘Look, it gets the morning sun. Ideal for a bedroom.’

Connor looked at Superwatch. ‘Not very early morning sun. But I suppose, if you’re a honeymoon couple, you don’t want it all that early.’

‘Admit it, it would make a charming bedroom.’

‘If you don’t mind scores of people streaming past it.’

‘People don’t stream past it! It’s very cut-off from the house. People park in the field and go round to the front. It’s only if we convert the old barn to workshops that anyone will come near it.’

‘More plans for my property?’

This was the best she was going to get in the way of openings. Now would be the time to say, casually, ‘By the way, did you know the house isn’t listed? Don’t you think it ought to be?’ He was hardly going to agree, considering he thought the house should be pulled down. While she was deciding whether or not to plunge in, she said, ‘Not your property yet.’

‘I know you think I’m very wicked making plans when Samuel isn’t even dead, let alone cold in his grave. But nothing can go on unchanged for ever. Not Samuel, not his house. Progress happens whether you want it to or not. You might as well go along with it, rather than shut your eyes and pretend it won’t happen.’

‘I’m not against progress, per se. I just see it differently. I can see how lovely and useful and exciting this house and its buildings could all be, with a little time and effort.’

‘And a few million quid. Do you do the lottery?’

‘No, but you should. You could apply for lottery money – I’m sure you’d get it.’

‘Oh, I could, if I had six months to spend filling in forms. But even if they granted me money, they don’t just give it to you. You have to match it.’

‘We could match it. If we all pulled together, thought of ways to make money. Think what we’ve achieved already. Oh, I know most of the people we get now are locals, and they probably won’t come again once they’ve satisfied their curiosity, but there’s the ruby-wedding party. We could do lots of that sort of thing. We could have actual wedding ceremonies. There are a thousand things we could do to raise money to match a lottery pay-out.’

Connor regarded her with a sort of tender bewilderment, as if she were either an idiot or a very young child, possibly both. ‘I don’t think you and I live on the same planet.’

Hetty nodded agreement. In those few words, he’d said it all. ‘I know. Pity, isn’t it? But do let the alien show the earthling the barns.’

She led the way back down and across to where a row of single-storey buildings with very little roof made one side of the square yard.

‘You see?’ She suddenly felt like a child showing an adult her new swing. ‘They could all be turned into workshops. They’d pay rent all the year round, not just in the summer. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘I’m sure lots of people would rent the coach-house in winter. Imagine Christmas in it.’

‘I’d rather not. And I’d also rather not imagine having strangers living just across the way from where I was staying.’

‘Do you really hate the house being open to the public?’

‘You can’t expect me to like it. Not when they troop past my bedroom and I haven’t a corner I can work in that isn’t entirely without light, or part of the Courtbridge House Experience.’

There was no further argument she could offer, so she offered him food. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee and a biscuit before we visit Samuel?’

‘No. There are a whole lot of people getting out of their cars, and I want to get away.’

They walked back to the house, Hetty reflecting that no amount of coercion or persuasion could affect Connor’s antipathy to the public. If he didn’t want his house open to them, what could she do about it?

The answer, she realized, was to ask Phyllis to get the house listed. That way he’d have no choice. But could she do that to him, or, indeed, to anyone? What right had she to force him into a life-style he so thoroughly disliked?

Phyllis met them at the door. ‘Hetty, can you give Caroline a ring? And there’s something I want to show you. Can you come with me?’

‘I’ll meet you in the car,’ said Connor. ‘Don’t be long.’