Chapter Twenty-three

CONNOR DIDN’T LOOK as if Phyllis’s presence outside the door would be at all inhibiting. His expression was grim. He seemed tired, and there was a frown etched between his brows. If Hetty hadn’t found moving so difficult she’d have run away. She hunched down into her pillows, hoping to be camouflaged in Phyllis’s floral nightie by the daisies and hollyhocks that bedecked the bed linen.

‘How are you feeling?’ he demanded. ‘And don’t,’ he added tersely, ‘say “fine”.’

Hetty licked her lips. ‘Better.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt in the accident?’

Hetty felt she could take this two ways. She could accept responsibility for Connor’s justifiable anger, or she could find some anger of her own to work on. She took the moral low road. ‘So, it’s an accident now, is it? I thought you thought I’d done it on purpose!’

‘If I thought that at the time I’ve learnt differently since. I absolve you of trying to commit suicide.’

‘What?’

‘The car is covered in blood.’

‘Oh.’ Her feeble spurt of anger subsided and she bit back the word ‘sorry’, knowing it would result in him laying violent hands on her. Part of her wished he would anyway, in the hope that having shaken her senseless he might take her into his arms, that she might break through his icy fury. The other part, the sensible, this-is-real-life-not-a-Clark-Gable-film part, felt it best to pick her words. ‘Head wounds always bleed a lot.’

‘I’ll have to have it reupholstered.’

‘What? The car? But I thought, I mean, isn’t it a write-off?’

‘No. It’s damaged of course, but not terminally. It can be repaired.’

‘Then why, I mean, why are you still – why aren’t you thrilled?’

‘You could have been killed. I don’t think that’s anything to get excited about.’

‘Goodness me, in the hospital you seemed ready to kill me yourself!’

‘Squeezing the breath out of you with my own hands is one thing. Having you hurtle through the windscreen of my car is another.’

Breath-squeezing still seemed on the cards. ‘I always wear my seat-belt. It was only the back of my head that got cut.’

‘No thanks to you.’

‘And your car can be repaired, so everything –’

‘Oh yes, Hetty. My car can be repaired, the loan is paid off, the house will be listed; and so, from your point of view, and in your words, everything is just “fine”. So you can now take yourself off, out of my house, out of my business, and leave me to get on with my life!’ He glared at her, his eyes like black ice, hard and unforgiving, then he turned and walked out of the room.

Hetty pulled the pillow over her head and kept it there for a long time.

Caroline came the following morning and Hetty explained to her and Phyllis that she couldn’t go back to Courtbridge House and why.

‘Bet you don’t need me anyway. I mean, I know there’s this big wedding coming up, but all the systems are in place. I’d be a bit spare even if Connor hadn’t thrown me out.’

‘Do you want us to confirm or deny that?’ asked Phyllis. ‘And I really don’t think you should take any notice of what Connor says in a rage. If you wanted to stay.’

‘I don’t. I really don’t.’ If she’d felt nothing for Connor she could easily have ignored his wrathful words – after all, it was still Samuel’s house, not his. But she loved him. His hatred of her was infinitely painful.

‘I’ll miss you so,’ said Caroline, unwittingly confirming that she agreed with Hetty that Connor really did hate her.

‘So, what will you do?’ asked Phyllis. ‘Get in touch with those people in Shropshire?’

Hetty nodded and explained to Caroline about her father’s distant cousins and their desperate need for a break.

‘Well, I suppose it’s a promotion,’ said Caroline. ‘Last time you were only a house-sitter. This time, you’re a hotel manager.’

‘Next time I’ll find my own job,’ said Hetty. ‘But this way, I’ve got somewhere to stay, and I don’t need to go through a long interview process. And I really need to earn some proper money as soon as I can.’

‘But how will you get there?’ Caroline made Shropshire sound like the Himalayas.

‘Public transport,’ said Hetty. ‘Heard of it, have you?’

Caroline snorted. ‘I’ll drive you up. I’d enjoy it, and it would give me a chance to check out the talent. I’m still determined to find you a nice man. I had hoped that you and Connor might –’

‘Out of the question,’ said Hetty, very firmly indeed.

‘OK,’ said Caroline. ‘But do let me drive you.’

As it turned out, Hetty didn’t need anyone to drive her. For in front of Phyllis’s house, two days later, her car was parked, the yellow 2CV she had sold. Phyllis handed her an envelope through which some keys were protruding. It had her name scrawled on it, and Hetty didn’t need to be a graphologist to work out who’d written it, or what mood they were in when they wrote it.

There was a brief note. Here’s your car back. I’ve had it serviced and valeted. I’m away for a couple of weeks.

Hetty started to protest, but Phyllis cut her short. ‘It’s only fair. You sacrificed your car, which you paid for –’

‘My parents paid, actually. I must pay them back.’

‘– for his heritage. You also risked your life –’

‘But I didn’t know I was –’

‘– for his heritage. He’s a proud man, Hetty. You must allow him to repay you as he thinks fit.’

Hetty was forced to laugh. ‘If he really repaid me as he thinks fit he’d be prosecuted. I hope he didn’t pay over the odds to get my car back.’

Hetty got lost three times, in spite of, or because of, the detailed directions given her. It was tea-time when she arrived, and pouring with rain.

The hotel was just on the Welsh border, built in England, but with Wales as the view out of the windows. It was a long, low building, which had been added to over the generations, and was now famous for the level of comfort and cuisine it provided.

At first Hetty was very flattered that its owners, a couple with two young children and a very new baby, should entrust it to her care. But as they showed her around, and she realized how exhausted they all were, with the baby waking five times a night, and the toddlers needing their share of attention, she accepted they would have left a drunken axe-murderer in charge if it had meant they could have a break.

Almost all the staff welcomed Hetty kindly, if a little warily. Only the housekeeper resented her employers for thinking that Hetty was necessary. But the others recognized the owners’ need for a holiday, and if Hetty meant they got one, they were prepared to give her a go.

‘We haven’t had a day off – except to have Suky –’ Brenda joggled the baby up and down, ‘since we bought the place. We’re full quite a lot of the time. You won’t get much time off.’

‘That’s all right. I like being busy.’ I find it’s just the thing for a broken heart. She added this rider silently. This time her mother hadn’t gone before her, telling all and sundry about the state of her emotions.

‘So, you’ll be all right for a month? We’re being lent a house in France. My mother’s coming with us to help with the children.’

‘Well, I’ll let you know how I get on, shall I? I might drive away all your custom, and your staff might hate me. But I should think I could manage for a month without destroying your goodwill.’

‘A month would be bliss. We never go away during the high season usually, it’s just we’re so shattered, and your mother said –’

‘I hope she didn’t say I had a degree in hotel management, or anything like that?’

‘Oh, no. In fact she said you weren’t qualified at all, but picked things up quickly, and got on with people.’

Hetty laughed. ‘Well, I hope that’s true. I’m sure I shall enjoy it.’

Hetty realized that her mother had been right: with the right help, she could manage a hotel. Her method was to ask everyone what their job was, exclaim long and loud at the skill they must have to do it, and then constantly remind them what a good job they were doing.

The chef was Italian, lured to the country by his first job as head chef and the opportunity to be as creative as he liked. Despite being determinedly homosexual, he adored Hetty. He was accustomed to being asked whether marmalade really went well with haddock, not to being told, ‘God, you’re so imaginative! This is to die for.’ He would do anything for her, insisted she was too thin, and took to making bacon butties and taking them out to her in the garden when he knew she hadn’t eaten.

Winning the housekeeper round took more devious methods. Hetty managed to hint to her, without saying directly, that she had been taken on by the Wynn-Joneses more or less out of pity, because she had no other job to go to and needed to be trained to do something.

Slowly, Beryl unbent, and gradually learned to appreciate not having to deal with every little staff detail herself. All the girls, who doubled as waitresses or chambermaids as the need arose, were related to her one way or another and gave her no trouble. But that Giovanni in the kitchen was another matter.

Hetty worked long hours, far longer than the job demanded. But doing nothing gave her no pleasure, and while occasionally she walked in the hills, which were truly beautiful, they were the wrong hills, and the view from them was the wrong view.

In the afternoons, when the hotel guests were all about their business, the rooms were done, the tables for dinner were all set, and Giovanni was having his siesta, Hetty worked on clearing a long flower-border, which had once been part of the kitchen garden.

She found it very satisfying work. Llew, Beryl’s cousin, teased her that she took as much satisfaction in digging up a whole nest of bindweed roots, white and as thick as twigs, as he did in digging a boiling of potatoes. Hetty accepted he was right. Although she knew she wouldn’t be able to plant the bed until she could be sure every tiny fragment of root had been removed, she found the process of clearing extremely cathartic.

While she dug, she worked on her mind, trying to eradicate every little scrap of feeling she had for Connor. But that was a thankless task. Not even bindweed was as resistent to eradication.

The Wynn-Joneses telephoned after the first week. Brenda spoke to Hetty.

‘Is everything OK?’

‘Fine. I’m getting the hang of it a bit now.’

‘Oh, good. The thing is, we may not be able to come back quite as soon as we’d hoped. Paul’s got glandular fever . . . ’ A while later, having been assured that Hetty could cope, Brenda finished, ‘And remember, I’m only on the end of a phone if you want me.’

When Hetty put the phone down later she reflected on how life seemed to run in repeating patterns. She’d been sent to Courtbridge House as a stopgap, just for a while until Samuel came out of hospital. That hadn’t turned out quite as her mother had promised. Nor had this job. She had been a three-week-holiday stand-in, now it looked as if she’d be there for two months. When she finally got home, she determined to take charge of her life, and not let it take charge of her.

The main holiday season was over, but the hotel was almost as busy with people on autumn breaks. Hetty was tugging with both hands at a briar root one afternoon when she heard a voice behind her.

‘I was told I’d find you here.’

Hetty let go of the root and straightened up. It was Connor. She couldn’t see the details of him as he had his back to the October sun. But his huge, craggy shape was the same.

For a moment she felt faint, with shock and with longing, and with the desire to fling her arms around him, to feel his solid bulk, just to make sure he was real. Then she remembered how they’d parted, and wished he hadn’t caught her wearing a boiler suit and over-large wellington boots, her fingers stiff with earth. Why on earth had he come? It must be to do with Samuel. Her heart started to jump unhealthily, and she pulled off her gardening gloves and gave him a rather formal smile.

‘Hello. What are you doing here?’

‘It’s all right. I haven’t come to murder you. Though I doubt if any court would blame me if I did.’

He wouldn’t have talked like that if Samuel had died. ‘Because of your car?’

‘Because you ran away while I was out of the country and couldn’t stop you.’ His gaze flicked over her briefly, as if making sure she was still intact.

‘I didn’t run. I was sent. I had very clear instructions.’

‘I know. That’s partly why I came. To apologize.’

Hetty wished she hadn’t referred to their parting. The trouble was, it still hurt. ‘A postcard would have done. You didn’t have to come all this way to say sorry.’ She swallowed. ‘Thank you for my car, by the way.’

‘I wouldn’t have given it to you if I’d known you’d use it to leave me.’

‘I thought that was why you gave it to me. To give me no excuse to hang around.’

Although he still had his back to the sun and his features were in shadow, she could see him wince. ‘Surely you know me better than to take what I say in a temper seriously?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Hetty – I do realize I behaved abominably. I shouted and ranted when I wanted . . . ’

‘You wanted?’

He half smiled, half frowned, ending up with an expression of extreme ruefulness. ‘To put you over my knee.’

Hetty was outraged. ‘Some apology.’

‘I know how dreadful that must sound. What I mean is, if I’d actually touched you, I would never have been able to stop myself – I mean, you would have known – how I feel about you.’

‘I got the message perfectly well, thank you!’

‘But you didn’t! You got the wrong message. And you were lying there looking so pale, with stitches in your head. And I was so worried and frustrated, I just shouted.’ He paused. ‘I’m making a complete hames of this. The trouble is, I haven’t had much practice at apologizing.’

‘So I see.’ In fact, Hetty had already forgiven him, but she picked at her nails so he wouldn’t see it in her eyes.

‘There’s an awful lot unsaid between us, Hetty.’

His tone forced her to look up. ‘Is there?’

‘You know there is. But don’t worry, I realize this isn’t the time or the place to rake over the past.’

‘Good.’

‘So, what are you doing?’ He indicated her border. ‘Restoring the kitchen garden?’

‘Not really. Only this bed. And probably not for vegetables. But it was a jungle of weeds, and it’s a lovely sheltered wall, perfect for fruit trees and things. It was wasted on brambles and ash seedlings. Not to mention the nettles and convolvulus.’ Aware her conversation had become as rambling as the briar rose she had been digging out, she stopped.

‘I see.’

Quite what he saw she could only speculate, but she was very aware of her boiler suit. She needed to wear it as protection from the brambles and gardening was hot work: she was only wearing a pair of pants underneath. Without checking, she couldn’t remember how many buttons she had undone. A trickle of sweat rolled down the space between her breasts.

Connor had his jacket hooked over his shoulder, and his shirt-sleeves rolled up. ‘It’s surprisingly warm, for the time of year.’

It was unlike Connor to talk about the weather. Hetty felt he must be giving her a hint. She put a hand casually between her breasts and felt the top button loose between her fingers. ‘Yes.’

She turned away from him and discovered her boiler suit was open to the waist. She did up two buttons.

Connor was smiling slightly when she turned back. ‘So, restoring things has got to be a habit with you?’

‘I suppose it has.’ Especially when I’m suffering from a broken heart, she added to herself. ‘It is hard work.’

‘And hard work is good for you?’

Hetty nodded. It used up lots of energy and helped her to sleep at night.

Connor shifted his feet. Hetty noticed that he’d polished his shoes. It was such an un-Connor-like thing to do, she thought he must be going somewhere else. ‘Are you on your way somewhere, or have you time for a cup of coffee or something.’

‘I’ve come to see you. And I’m hoping for lunch.’

Hetty laughed and relaxed, suddenly able to enjoy being with him. ‘I expect I can rustle up a tin of beans.’

He grinned back. ‘How much longer do you expect to be here?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. The owners have come back, but I think they may offer me a permanent job. It’s tough running a hotel when you’ve got a young baby.’

His eyebrows came together for a moment. ‘Will you take it? The job, I mean.’

Hetty shrugged again. ‘I’m not sure. I may. They’re very good to me and I’ve got a lovely little flat. It is very beautiful here.’ She gestured to the tree-covered hills, which were just beginning to turn. ‘Let’s sit down for a minute.’ She indicated the bench that was placed so guests could enjoy the view.

Connor sat down next to her, but he didn’t seem well-disposed to the beauties of nature. Something was bothering him. Hetty suddenly panicked that he was bracing himself to give her bad news.

‘Everything’s all right, is it? At Courtbridge? Samuel’s not dying or anything?’

‘We’re all dying, Hetty. And Samuel’s doing it a bit faster than the rest of us, but he’s nowhere near there yet.’

‘What a relief.’

‘Even Clovis is still annoying the hell out of everyone, and if ever an animal had outlived its natural span it’s him.’ He turned towards her, still awkward. ‘I just came to apologize, not to give you bad news.’

‘So, you haven’t got to sell the house to provide an income for Samuel or anything?’

‘The house is doing that without having to be sold.’

‘But you could still sell it. Later. If you wanted to?’ She concentrated on sounding as if this was a good idea.

‘Could I? Wouldn’t you find some way to stop me?’

‘I couldn’t drive off with Courtbridge House like I did your car. And as I’m not there, I don’t see that I could do anything.’

‘You could go there. In fact, I wish you would. Everyone misses you so.’

‘Do they? I would have thought they’d have got used to me not being there by now.’ Most people had, according to Caroline, with whom Hetty was in regular contact.

‘No. There was a big hole when you left.’

Hetty suddenly felt very hot and uncomfortable in her wellingtons. She wanted to kick them off, but they were borrowed and had a smell all their own, which, on a day as warm as this, would waft up to Connor. She curled her toes inside them and felt the grit and dirt that had accumulated. Her feet would be filthy too.

‘So, will you come? For a visit?’

Part of her yearned to see Courtbridge House again, to be with everyone, with Connor. But her more sensible side wanted to know why she was even thinking about opening up a wound that had barely begun to heal. ‘Oh, I don’t think I should. You know what they say, you should never go back.’

‘Who’s “they”?’

‘Oh, you know.’ Hetty made a flapping gesture. ‘They!’

‘I don’t think you should let yourself be governed by rules written by people who don’t really exist.’

‘No, well, I suppose you’re right.’ Ask me to come again, and I’ll say yes.

He didn’t ask again. ‘What will you do, if you don’t stay on?’

‘Apply for jobs, I suppose. I can’t go on letting my mother find me gainful employment with my hapless relations for ever. Or I might go abroad.’

He picked up one of her hands. His were firm and warm. Hetty’s instantly became moist with sweat. ‘Come and see us first, for Samuel’s sake if nothing else.’

‘Caroline told me that you’ve had the barn converted for him. How is he liking it?’

‘He loves it. He’s so much more mobile, with all the floors being level.’

‘He doesn’t miss being in the big house?’

‘No. He realizes he couldn’t manage there even if most of the rooms weren’t on show. And he’s happy being so independent.’

‘What about Phyllis? Is she still helping? Or have you driven her away?’

‘Phyllis and I have our moments. But she’s still as busy as ever. It’s nice now there’s a bit more money to spend. We’ve done awfully well since Caroline became our Events Manager.’

‘Don’t tell me she’s turned Courtbridge House into a casino or anything dreadful?’

‘No, but that’s a thought . . .’

‘Connor!’

‘Only joking. But she does have some brilliant ideas. Jack’s thrilled. Not only is she earning money, but she doesn’t have time to spend much. He wins both ways.’ He began fiddling with her hand as if it were inanimate. ‘She’s applied for permission for us to do weddings – the ceremonies – and not just receptions, which we’ve got down to a fine art. And we even had a karaoke evening in the great hall –’

‘Good God! I bet Phyllis had something to say about that!’

‘She said it very quietly. It was one of the Brownie fathers’ firm’s do, and she knows how much the Brownies help the house.’

Hetty laughed. ‘And did you get up and sing “Great Balls of Fire”?’

‘I don’t sing, Hetty. I play the piano.’

Hetty swallowed. ‘So you do.’

‘I miss you, Hetty.’

A trickle of saliva caught her at the back of the throat and she nearly choked. ‘Oh? Why?’

‘I miss you singing around the house.’

Hetty blushed. ‘You could get a canary.’

‘Clovis would eat it.’

Hetty had to smile. ‘Unlikely. Not unless the canary actually lay down in his bowl. The dogs would get it long before Clovis had a chance.’

‘You’d better come instead then.’

It was as flattering an invitation as she was likely to get from him. ‘OK,’ she said, after a moment. ‘But only for a visit. To see Samuel.’

Connor’s lashes narrowed in reply, causing Hetty to jump up suddenly. ‘Let’s eat,’ she said quickly.