The Rose in Winter Page 6

  Barbara spread her toast with regular, even strokes.

  ‘Of course,’ said Molly. ‘But I paid them to keep their mouth shut.’

  This got a ripple of laughter.

  She’s joking, thought Barbara. She doesn’t know I saw and I shall say nothing.

  It was nearer ten when the last stragglers arrived in the hall and Marjory was able to deliver her briefing. Some people – the locals – had thorn-proof tweeds, mackintosh capes and hats of their own. Others had braved the boot room and the collection of old coats under the stairs and appeared looking faintly ridiculous but determined to withstand the jeers. Molly was dressed, quite unapologetically, for a stroll along the Promenade des Anglais.

  ‘What? If there’s somewhere I can’t go, then I shan’t.’

  ‘Up to you,’ said Marjory. ‘Now listen.’ She raised her voice commandingly. ‘Listen, everyone!’ They turned to her like obedient children. All except for Molly, who was sitting on the wooden bench in the porch, one arm resting casually along the back, one neatly-shod foot swinging, as if she were impatient to be off.

  ‘… it’s a race,’ Marjory was saying, ‘a contest and, believe it or not, there’s a prize. I hope you saw to that Gerry?’

  ‘Yes ma’am!’

  ‘Our fox went off two hours ago, he’ll probably have gone to ground by now, but he’d have left a trail. I’m giving you each a piece of paper with the meaning of the signs.’ She handed a sheaf of papers to Gerry, who began distributing them. The mood of the meeting was now one of humorous rebellion.

  ‘Hey!’ Julian waved his piece of paper. ‘Who’s a map reader? I want to be with that man. What, no one?’

  Marjory pressed on. ‘We’re going to send you off in your twos and threes at three-minute intervals. There will be false trails from time to time, but if you do get diverted there will eventually be a sign telling you to stop and turn back.’

  ‘Eventually …!’ someone moaned. ‘How long is all this going to take?’

  ‘Not more than, oh, say three hours?’ More good-natured groans. ‘I’m taking the car, with hot coffee to a point on the trail – no I’m not saying where. Obviously if you get lost, make your way back to the road and come home.’

  ‘And if we find Mr Fox?’ Ed asked.

  ‘He’ll give you a token, so we know you’re not fibbing, and if you’re the fastest you’ll get our wonderful prize later on.’

  Perhaps put off by what had happened last night, Ed didn’t invite Barbara to be his partner this time. Lucia however, sought her out.

  ‘What do you think, shall we? We can make up for brawn with brains.’

  ‘You forgot beauty.’ This was Molly, who had returned from the porch and was buttoning the neck of her fur-trimmed, camel coat. ‘What do you think; shall we be the Three Graces?’

  Barbara found herself tongue-tied but Lucia agreed enthusiastically. ‘You won’t regret it, I don’t like the dark but I’m a country girl at heart – my father was an absolute fiend for long, difficult walks.’

  Molly’s smile was thin as a blade. ‘There’ll be none of that with me, darling.’ She raised her finger at Marjory, as if catching the eye of a waiter. ‘Er – we’ll go last, if that’s all right!’

  ‘Permission granted.’ Marjory glanced askance at her shoes. ‘I can’t help thinking that would be extremely wise.’

  They set off fifteen minutes later, Barbara and Lucia carrying their crib sheets, Molly’s left on the hall table. ‘How many do we need …?’

  It was a day of rain-washed sunshine, glinting puddles and soft, heavy clouds. The park gleamed with wetness and the amber leaves appeared lit from inside. High above the trees rooks wheeled and tumbled.

  Lucia paused and pointed. ‘Did you know that rooks are the only birds known to play?’

  ‘Good gracious,’ said Molly without looking up. ‘I had no idea.’

  Lucia and Barbara watched for a moment. Molly drifted some paces away. She appeared preoccupied. They caught up with her and Barbara tapped her piece of paper.

  ‘We should look out for an arrow.’

  ‘You’d better keep your eyes peeled, then.’

  ‘Here’s one!’ Barbara found the three twigs at the side of the drive.

  ‘Well naturally,’ said Molly, ‘we go that way. I can see some people down by the gate.’

  There was indeed another group at the end of the drive, first conferring, then moving off. Following Molly, sashaying along in her unsuitable shoes, Barbara and Lucia both felt rather foolish. Molly was humming a tune; there was no doubt she was in a strange mood, but they felt curiously flattered to be chosen.

  From the house to the stone gate posts, where they’d seen the others, was further than it appeared because the drive made two long bends between the trees. Before long Lucia was drawing ahead, with Molly dawdling and Barbara (thinking, this is me all over) maintaining a pace that kept her equidistant between the two of them.

  Lucia looked over her shoulder. ‘Found another one!’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Why the excitement?’ said Molly. ‘We know we have to get to the road anyway.’

  Lucia wasn’t put out. ‘It’s good practice though, to find the signs.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Lucia reached the gate and started peering around.

  ‘What’s she hunting for?’ murmured Molly. ‘The others went left.’

  ‘They could be wrong,’ ventured Barbara.

  ‘No.’ Molly stopped. ‘No, they’re not.’ Lucia waved her piece of paper and pointed energetically.

  ‘Come on!’

  ‘Coming!’

  ‘Oh, don’t let’s,’ said Molly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why don’t we just have a nice stroll and go back?’

  Lucia waved again and set off, moving out of sight up the lane.

  Barbara looked from one to the other. ‘Actually, I think I’ll carry on.’

  ‘Up to you.’ She let Barbara take a few steps. ‘I know exactly where the fox is.’

  ‘Really? How?’

  Molly cocked her head on one side like a sleek, sagacious, hard-eyed bird. ‘Well, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that our Reynard is going to go in some sort of circle.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Barbara shot a longing glance at the empty gateway. ‘But that’s not the point.’

  ‘Not playing the game, what-what?’

  ‘If you put it like that.’

  ‘Remember it is only a game. Go on Babs, live dangerously. Take the shortcut with me.’

  Barbara was not nor ever had been ‘Babs’, but she didn’t know how to object without appearing pompous.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Attagirl. Our third – what’s her name?’

  ‘Lucia.’

  ‘Lucia, she won’t miss us, she’ll be hot on the trail by now, overtaking others and goodness knows what. Come.’

  Molly linked her arm through Barbara’s, tucking her own hand back in her coat pocket as she did so. The gesture was both friendly and domineering. After a few steps, Barbara feigned something in her boot to get free.

  ‘So where do you suggest we go?’

  ‘Let’s see … Why don’t we explore round the other side of the house? Kitchen gardens and stable blocks would normally bore me rigid, but on this occasion something tells me they might reward investigation.’

  They retraced their steps, pausing for a moment when the car, with Marjory at the wheel, swept down the drive towards them and paused, window rolled down. Two springer spaniels panted and wagged on the back seat.

  ‘What’s this? Dipping out already?’

  With dazzling (and Barbara couldn’t help feeling practised) presence of mind Molly pointed at her shoes and pulled a face.

  ‘You were right. I’m going back to find something more suitable. Then Barbara and I will run like the wind, won’t we?’

  Marjory made a noise between a snort and a hoot of derision. As she drove off, dogs
barking, Molly drawled, ‘Boo sucks to you!’

  This made Barbara laugh. She was already an accessory to a lie and probably to further cheating, but what did it really matter? The combination of the fine day, the pleasant surroundings and the sense of being chosen for an adventure, was working on her. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

  The house, too, seemed benign, having returned to its workday self after the unsettling goings-on last night. As they crossed the gravel sweep, they could make out the figure of Streetly stalking through the library and a girl in parlourmaid’s uniform pushing a carpet sweeper about in the drawing room. One of the upstairs windows was open and a duster appeared and was shaken briskly.

  ‘Isn’t this nice?’ said Molly, and Barbara found herself agreeing. They fell into step and she realised that if Molly linked arms again, she wouldn’t mind.

  They rounded the side of the house and passed under the arch that led to the stable yard. Three motors, presumably the property of guests, were neatly parked at the far end. A couple of handsome bay hunters looked over their doors at them and, in one of the stalls, a lad was working on the horse with a straw whisp, whistling between his teeth. Barbara had a slight sense of intrusion, but Molly carolled a merry ‘Good morning!’

  ‘Morning miss!’

  ‘We’re just exploring!’

  ‘Right-o miss.’

  On the opposite side of the yard were the garages, one of them empty, the other containing Gerry’s yellow roadster. Facing them, between the parked cars, was a wooden door.

  ‘Ah,’ said Molly, ‘that way I think.’

  They went through and found themselves in a large kitchen garden, perhaps a quarter of an acre, stretching to their left. It was laid out to beds of herbs and vegetables, rows of neatly tended fruit trees and surrounded by grey stone walls covered with elegant fans of espaliered fruits. Immaculate grassy paths threaded the vegetable beds. The wall to their right contained another door, leading to the garden of the house. At the end of the kitchen garden was a long greenhouse reflecting the sunshine, full of what looked like a jungle of vegetation. Molly set off in this direction.

  ‘What on earth,’ she murmured rhetorically, ‘can one family want with all this stuff?’

  ‘There are estate workers I suppose,’ said Barbara, following. ‘And perhaps they sell it.’

  Molly sighed.

  As they drew closer, they could see that the greenhouse contained an enormous vine. Its main trunk was like a twisted anaconda stretching from one end to the other, with a mass of branches reaching out on all sides, curving and straining, pressing tendrils against the glass. Several bunches of small green grapes hung amongst the foliage.

  ‘Look at that, for heaven’s sake,’ said Molly. ‘Do you think they make wine?’

  ‘Chateau Gorringe. We must ask Gerry.’

  ‘Let’s go in.’

  ‘Will there be room?’

  Molly didn’t bother to answer, but led the way to the end of the greenhouse, and opened the door. Inside the humid heat was like dragon’s breath.

  ‘Wonderful …!’ sighed Molly.

  The trunk of the vine rose from an Ali Baba-sized terracotta pot to the left of the door and roamed away from them for some fifteen yards, making the end of the greenhouse invisible. The branches reached not only to the side, but overhead, slithering beneath the roof so that they were enclosed in a tunnel of green. There was a sense of powerful, unstoppable growth, as if at any moment one of the sinuous, grey, muscular branches might come curling down and wrap itself round them. Barbara felt compelled to glance over her shoulder to check that the door was still there and visible, that they weren’t imprisoned. She noticed a faint, not unpleasant smell that she couldn’t identify.

  Molly was a little way in front, peering about, head cocked in that birdlike way of hers. Now she stopped.

  ‘Aha, Mr Fox – got you!’

  He was perched on a wooden table, near the back wall of the greenhouse. The curtains of vines on either side of him meant that, at first, all they could see were his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, a wisp of smoke and one hand, holding a dark cigarette – the smell of which Barbara had noticed.

  ‘Come on out,’ said Molly. ‘You’re well and truly found.’

  ‘I need hardly ask,’ said a voice, ‘whether you cheated.’

  ‘Of course we did!’ Molly turned a gleeful look on Barbara to include her in the victory. ‘We have our reputations to think of.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Come on out of there. Show yourself and see.’

  He uncrossed his legs and rose, coming into sight head first. Molly let out a rasping cackle of mirth. On his head was a lopsided circlet of vine and a small cluster of grapes hung over one ear.

  ‘Hello Molly, you old cheat.’

  ‘Am not …!’ She flapped a hand, incapable with mirth.

  He removed the circlet with a formal gesture as if doffing a hat and addressed Barbara.

  ‘I’d say how do you do, but I have the strong impression we’ve met before.’

  ‘Really?’ He was right, she knew he was right, but the thought worried her.

  ‘Yes …’ He surveyed her through narrowed eyes, tapping a finger against his lips. ‘Yes, yes, definitely … give me a moment …’

  Molly, her face still carrying the traces of laughter, looked from one to the other.

  ‘Is anyone going to tell me what on earth you’re talking about?’

  ‘Hang on, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help,’ said Barbara. She sounded jittery even to herself. ‘I honestly have no idea.’

  ‘Well I certainly don’t.’

  ‘Got it!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘How is our mutual friend the brigadier?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Though she knew of course what he meant.

  ‘Brigadier Govan. The man with the empty house. Heart’s Ease. You were with him there when I happened to pass by, back in the summer.’

  ‘Oh, then …!’ The relief threatened to drain coherent thought and she had to get a grip. ‘Maybe … yes. Yes. Hello.’

  ‘I don’t believe we were properly introduced. Jonathan Eldridge.’

  ‘Barbara Delahay.’

  He proffered a hand and gave hers a short, light squeeze.

  ‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ Molly said.

  ‘Our first meeting was rather tense,’ he told her. ‘For some reason, the brigadier doesn’t care for me.’

  ‘I don’t blame him.’

  ‘Cruel, cruel.’ Eldridge shot Barbara a sideways grin of such brilliance and warm, collusive charm that she found herself smiling back.

  ‘Be that as it may,’ Molly went on, ‘now I’ve proved how clever I am and we’ve tracked you to your lair with no trouble at all, we’d better cut along. Because of course we wouldn’t dream of claiming the prize, would we?’

  ‘Whatever is it?’ asked Eldridge, as if this were the most fascinating topic imaginable.

  ‘God alone knows – bath salts? A bottle of indifferent sherry?’

  ‘Ah, something to reward effort rather than low cunning.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Barbara, ‘you’re right. The first of the hounds can’t be far away and it will be most embarrassing if they find us already here.’

  ‘Yes, go!’ said Eldridge. ‘Go! I shall settle back and await developments.’

  Molly swept out. Eldridge waved a hand at Barbara as he bent to pick up the coronet with the other.

  ‘Hang on. You need a token.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, we’re not in earnest.’

  ‘Never mind. Here.’

  He tweaked off the small bunch of grapes and handed it to her.

  ‘I can’t believe you cheated – you might get the awful sherry.’

  She hurried out of the greenhouse, closing the door after her. After the close heat the day no longer felt balmy; the fresh, November air cooled the mist of perspiration on her skin an
d made her shiver. But the little grapes were warm in her hand and, when she popped one in her mouth, it burst with sweetness on her tongue as she ran to catch up with Molly.

  Molly was alight with self-satisfaction. ‘Ha! He couldn’t fool me.’

  ‘No indeed.’

  ‘How extraordinary that you’ve met before and with Stanley Govan!’ She seemed particularly delighted at this, adding with a chuckle, ‘I can just imagine him taking a pretty dim view of Johnny.’

  They re-entered the house by the front door, which was unlocked. In the porch, a ceramic nymph clasped an amphora filled with umbrellas, walking- and shooting-sticks and a couple of racquets. The maid had been in here, the floor was swept and mopped and the glass shone; there were no smears or fingermarks. Molly hummed as she unbuttoned her coat and swept through into the hall, the epitome of sangfroid. Streetly appeared.

  ‘Congratulations, miss. You’re the first.’

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘The fire’s lit in the drawing room. May I bring you some coffee?’

  ‘Please, oh please!’

  Streetly took their coats. The drawing room fire blazed merrily, but had not been lit for long so they went to stand near it for warmth.

  ‘So you’ve only met Johnny once before …’ Molly cast about for the cigarette box. ‘… thank God, that’s better! Was it just on that one occasion?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Barbara. ‘To be honest I was surprised he remembered. I wouldn’t have done.’

  ‘Would you not?’

  ‘It was months ago and only very briefly.’

  ‘Still, I’m surprised.’ Molly tapped ash into the fire. ‘Most people consider him quite memorable, the rat.’

  Barbara agreed with this assessment, though she didn’t say so. Eldridge’s was a face, and a manner, that stuck in the mind. That was when she realised she had seen him not once, but twice, before and the second time only last night.

  Lunch was relaxed yet riotous, the cottage pie washed down with local cider, the rigours of the morning out of the way and departure imminent for most of the guests. One of those staying was Johnny Eldridge. Gerry proposed a toast.

  ‘I think we should drink the health of our gallant fox for providing a great morning’s sport! He foreswore the party last night in order to get up early and lay the trail you all had such fun following—’ this provoked loud scoffing ‘—and you must agree he did an absolutely spiffing job, kept you all out of the house and taking healthy exercise—’ loud groans ‘—while displaying all the native craft and cunning of his breed.’