A Summer in the Country Read online

  “No, no.” Mina recovered her composure. “Let’s have some more tea, shall we? No, I’m simply wondering if I can cope with Georgie, that’s all. I’m only a year younger. Rather like the halt leading the blind, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” answered Nest sharply, not particularly comforted by Mina’s reply. “You don’t burn out kettles or go for walks and forget where you are.”

  “Just as well.” Mina began to laugh. “There wouldn’t be anyone to find me up on Trentishoe Down.” A pause. “What made you think it was Lyddie?”

  “Lyddie?” Nest looked at her quickly. “How d’you mean?”

  “The phone call. You asked if it were Lyddie. Has she been part of this presentiment you’ve had all day?”

  “No.” Nest shook her head, grimacing as she tried to puzzle it out. “It’s difficult to explain. More like a very strong awareness of the past, remembering scenes, that kind of thing.” She hesitated. “Sometimes I’m not certain if it’s what I actually do remember or if it’s what I’ve been told. You were always telling me stories, interpreting the world for me. Giving people names of characters in books. Well, you still do that, of course.”

  Mina smiled. “Such fun,” she said, “although a little bit tricky when you called Enid Goodenough ‘Lady Sneerwell’ to her face. Poor Mama was horrified. I was praying that Enid hadn’t a clue what you were talking about. Still, it was a sticky moment.”

  “It was fright,” Nest excused herself, laughing at the memory, “coming upon her unexpectedly after everything you’d said about her.”

  “Lady Sneerwell and Sir Benjamin Backbite. What a poisonous pair the Goodenoughs were.” Other memories were connected with this thought and Mina bent to stroke Nogood Boyo, her face momentarily grim.

  “I was remembering the stories,” Nest was saying, “earlier when I was crossing the hall. I was thinking of us all down the years. Sitting on the sofa listening to Naughty Sophia and Hans Brinker, or the Silver Skates. Do you remember?”

  “And A Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve while we decorated the tree. How could I forget? So. Not Lyddie, then?”

  “Not particularly. At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” Mina fed Captain Cat the final piece of shortbread and dusted the crumbs from her knees. “So what do we do about Georgie? Are we up to it? Perhaps we should ask Lyddie what she thinks about it?”

  “Why not? Let’s clear up first, though.”

  “Good idea. By then she’ll have finished work for the day and we won’t be interrupting her.” Mina put the tea things onto the tray and, with the dogs at her heels, crossed the hall to the kitchen, Nest wheeling more slowly behind her.

  Lyddie made a final note on the typescript, fastened the sheets of the chapter into a paperclip and leaned both arms on the desk, hunching her narrow shoulders. Black silky hair, layered into a shiny mop, curved and flicked around her small, sweet face: ivory-skinned with a delicately pointed chin. Dressed warmly in a cloudy-soft mohair tunic, which reached almost to the knees of her moleskin jeans, nevertheless she was chilly. Her tiny study, the back bedroom, was cold, the light dying away, and she was longing for exercise. The large dog, crammed into the space between her desk and the door, raised his head to look at her.

  “Your moment just might have come,” she told him. “You just might get a walk. A quick one.”

  The Bosun—a Bernese Mountain dog—stood up, tail waving expectantly, and Lyddie inched round her desk and bent to kiss him on the nose. He had been named, after consultation with her Aunt Mina, for Byron’s favourite dog, Boatswain, whose inscription on the monument to him at Newstead—“beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of Man without his vices“—was particularly apt for his namesake, at least so Lyddie believed..

  “You are very beautiful,” she told him, “and good. Come on, then, and careful on the stairs. You nearly had us both down yesterday.”

  They descended together and he waited patiently whilst she collected a long, warm, wool jacket and thrust her feet into suede ankle boots. As they walked through the narrow alleys and streets that led into the lanes behind Truro, Lyddie’s attention was concentrated on keeping the Bosun under restraint until, freed at last from the restrictions of the town, he was released from the lead. She. watched him dash ahead, smiling to herself at his exuberance, remembering the adorable fluffy puppy that had been waiting downstairs for her on the morning of her first wedding anniversary: a present from Liam.

  “You need company,” he’d said, watching her ecstatic reaction with amusement. “Working away up there, alone all day while I’m at the wine bar.”

  It was just over two years since she’d given up her job as an editor with a major publishing house in London, married Liam, and moved to Truro, to live in his small terraced house not far from the wine bar that he ran with his partner, Joe Carey. It was a trendy bar, near the cathedral, not sufficiently prosperous to employ enough staff to enable her and Liam to spend many evenings alone together. Usually he was at home for what he called the “graveyard watch“—the dead hours between three o’clock and seven—but this week one of the staff was away on holiday and Liam was taking his shift. It made a very long day.

  “Come in as soon as you’ve finished,” he’d said, “otherwise I’ll see nothing of you. Sorry, love, but it can’t be helped.”

  Oddly, she didn’t object to going to The Place; sitting at the table reserved for staff in the little snug, watching the clients and joking with Joe; eating some supper and snatching moments with Liam.

  “No fertilizer like the farmer’s boots,” Liam would say. “We have to be around for most of the time. The punters like it and the staff know where they are. It’s the secret of its success even if it means irregular hours.”

  She never minded, though. After the silence and concentration of a day’s copy-editing she found the buzz in The Place just what she needed. Liam’s passionate courtship had come as a delightful, confidence-boosting shock after a three-year relationship with a man who’d suddenly decided that he simply couldn’t commit to the extent of he and Lyddie buying a house together or having children, and certainly not to marriage. James had accepted the offer of a job in New York and Lyddie had continued to live alone for nearly a year, until she’d met Liam, after which her life had begun to change very rapidly. She’d missed her job and her friends, and the move had been a frightening rupture from all that she’d known, but she loved Liam far too much to question her decision—and her darling old aunts were not much more than two hours away, over on Exmoor.

  Aunt Mina’s call had caught her within ten minutes of finishing work but she’d let her believe that she was all done for the day. They were such a pair of sweeties, Mina and Nest, and so very dear to her, especially since the terrible car accident: her own parents killed outright and Aunt Nest crippled. Even now, ten years later, Lyddie felt the wrench of pain. She’d just celebrated her twenty-first birthday and been offered her first job in publishing. Struggling to learn the work, rushing down to Oxford to see Aunt Nest in the Radcliffe, dealing with the agony of loss and misery: none of it would have been possible without Aunt Mina.

  Lyddie hunched into her jacket, pulling the collar about her chin, remembering. At weekends she’d stayed at the family home in Iffley with her older brother, Roger; but she and Roger had never been particularly close and it had needed Aunt Mina to supply the healing adhesive mix of love, sympathy, and strength that bound them all together. In her own grief, Lyddie had sometimes forgotten that Aunt Mina was suffering too: her sister Henrietta dead, another sister crippled. How heavily she and Roger had leaned upon her: sunk too deeply in their own sorrow to consider hers. The small, pretty house had been left to them jointly and it was agreed that Roger, an academic like his father, should continue to live there until he could afford to buy Lyddie out. Until she’d met Liam, Lyddie had used the house as a retreat but, when Roger married Teresa, it was a
greed that between them they could afford to raise a mortgage which, once it was in place, would give Lyddie the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

  Running the wine bar meant that she and Liam rarely managed to visit Oxford but Roger and Teresa had been to Truro for a brief holiday and, for the rest of the time, the four of them maintained a reasonable level of communication. Nevertheless, Lyddie felt faintly guilty that she and liam had more fun with Joe and his girlfriend, Rosie—who worked at The Place—than they did with her brother and his wife.

  “It’s all that brain,” liam had said cheerfully. “Far too serious, poor loves. Difficult to have a really good laugh with a couple who take size nine in headgear. Roger’s not too bad but dear old Teresa isn’t exactly overburdened with a sense of humour, is she?”

  Lyddie had been obliged to agree that she wasn’t but felt the need to defend her brother.

  “Roger can be a bit insensitive,” she’d said. “He’s generally a serious person but there’s nothing prissy about him. At least he’s not patronizing about other people having a good time.” She’d added quickly, “Not that I’m implying that Teresa…” and then paused, frowning, trying to be truthful without criticizing her sister-in-law.

  Liam had watched her appreciatively. “Careful, love,” he’d warned. “You might just have to say something really unkind if you’re not careful.”

  She’d been embarrassed by his implication but Joe had intervened. They’d been sitting together in the snug and Joe, seeing her confusion, had aimed a cuff at Liam’s head.

  “Leave her alone,” he’d said, “and get the girl a drink. Just because you can’t understand true nobility of spirit when you see it…” and Liam, still grinning, had stood up and gone off to the bar, leaving Lyddie and Joe alone together.

  As she paused to lean on a five-bar gate, watching the lights of the city pricking into the deepening twilight, Lyddie attempted to analyse her feelings for Joe. He was always very chivalrous towards her, unlike Liam’s rough-and-tumble way of carrying on, and his evident admiration boosted her confidence which, because of Liam’s popularity, could be slightly fragile. She’d been taken aback by the hostility she’d encountered from some of Liam’s ex-girlfriends and it was clear that a few of them did not consider his marriage to be particularly significant. Two or three women continued to behave as if he were still their property: they obviously had no intention of changing their proprietorial habits and treated Lyddie as an intruder. Liam tended to shrug it off and she quickly learned not to expect any particular public support from him: they were married and, having made this statement, he expected her to be able to deal with these women sensibly. This was not quite as easy as it sounded. Apart from the fact that her confidence had been seriously damaged by James’s departure, her husband was extraordinarily attractive—hair nearly as black as her own silky mop, knowing brown eyes, lean, and tough—and he knew it. Without his presence The Place was a little less exciting, the atmosphere less intimate. He had an indefinable magic that embraced both sexes, so that men called him a “great guy” whilst their women flirted with him. There was a sense of triumph at a table if he spent longer than usual talking and joking: the male would have a faintly self-congratulatory air—Liam didn’t waste too much time on dullards—and the woman would preen a little, a small, secret smile on her lips, conscious of the other females’ envious stares.

  Joe’s quiet, appreciative glance, his protectiveness, helped Lyddie to deal with the competition and she rather liked to hear Liam protesting against Joe’s attentions. Of course, there was Rosie to consider. Lyddie had hoped that she and Rosie might become more intimate but, although she was friendly, Rosie had a touchy disposition, and a searching, calculating gaze that held Lyddie at arm’s length. There might be several reasons for this: perhaps Rosie felt less secure in her relationship with Joe because of Lyddie’s married status; maybe she slightly resented the special treatment that Joe, Liam and the other members of staff accorded Lyddie. At The Place, Rosie was one of the waitresses and that was all. Lyddie was careful never to respond too flirtatiously to Joe when Rosie was around but it was often hard, when Liam was chatting up an attractive female punter, not to restore her own self-esteem by behaving in a similar manner with Joe.

  Lyddie turned away from the gate, called to the Bosun— who gazed reproachfully at her, as he always did, amazed and aggrieved that his fun should be cut short—and headed back towards the town, thinking about the Aunts. It seemed rather unfair of Helena to ask Aunt Mina to cope with her older sister for so long.

  “Two months?” she’d repeated anxiously. “It’s an awfully long time, Aunt Mina, especially if she’s being a bit dotty. I wish I could help but I’m booked up for the next six weeks…”

  She could hear that Aunt Mina was battling with several emotions and so she’d tried to be practical, pointing out the obvious problems of dealing with an elderly and strong-minded woman—who was probably in the grips of dementia or Alzheimer’s—with no help except limited assistance from another sister who was confined to a wheelchair. At the same time, Lyddie was able to identify with Aunt Mina’s need to help Georgie.

  “She is our sister,” she’d said—and once again, Lyddie had remembered how, ten years before, Mina had had the strength to bear the horror not only of Nest’s injuries but also of the death of their sister Henrietta.

  Lyddie had swallowed down an onrush of sadness.

  “You must do what you think is right,” she’d said, “but do tell me if it gets tricky. Perhaps we could all club together for you to have some help if Helena and Rupert don’t suggest it themselves. Or I could work at Ottercombe if necessary, you know.”

  “I’m sure you could, my darling,” Mina had answered warmly, “but we’ll probably manage and it will be a change for us. Now, tell me about you. Is everything all right…?”

  “I’m fine,” she’d answered, “absolutely fine. And Liam too…”

  By the time they’d finished talking she’d had the feeling that Aunt Mina had already made up her mind about Georgie, and suspected that the telephone call had actually been to make certain that all was well with her niece in Truro rather than to seek advice. Lyddie was filled with a warm affection for her aunts; there was a toughness, an invincibility about them both. Nevertheless, a trip to Exmoor would put her mind at rest. Lyddie put the Bosun on his lead as they made their way back through the narrow streets, thinking now of the evening ahead, her spirits rising at the contemplation of supper at The Place with Liam and Joe.

  LATER, IN the scullery at Ottercombe, Mina was clearing up after supper. The routine was generally the same each evening: Mina prepared to wash up whilst Nest, sitting beside the draining-board, would wait, cloth in hand. Once dried, each item would be placed on the trolley next to her chair and, when it was all done, Mina would push the trolley into the kitchen whilst Nest went away to prepare for the remainder of the evening’s entertainment: a game of Scrabble or backgammon at the gate-legged table, a favourite television programme, or a video of one of Mina’s much-loved musicals. She had never lost her talent for reading aloud and books were another mainstay of their amusement. Their simple diet included not only the well-loved classics—Austen, Dickens, Trollope—but also included Byatt, Gardam, Keane, and Godden and was interleaved with travelogues, a thriller, or The Wind in the Willows, depending on their mood. Lyddie occasionally brought along a current best-seller or the latest Carol Ann Duffy volume to liven up their appetites.

  Mina dried her hands on the roller towel behind the scullery door and wheeled the trolley into the kitchen whilst the dogs continued to lick at their empty, well-polished bowls.

  “You’ve finished it all,” she told diem. “Every last scrap.”

  Polly Garter and Captain Cat pattered after her into the kitchen but Nogood Boyo remained, quartering the floor, just in case some morsel had been mislaid.

  As she put the plates back on the dresser and slid knives and forks into the drawer, Nfina
was making plans for Georgie’s arrival. Although she’d known almost immediately that this visit couldn’t be avoided—how could she deny her own sister?—nevertheless, she was deeply unsetded by the thought of it Her own anxieties about whether she could cope had been overshadowed by Nest’s formless premonitions. Or were they formless? Every family had skeletons of one shape or another—and Georgie had always loved secrets. She’d used them as weapons over her siblings, to shore up her position as eldest, to make herself important.

  “I know a secret“—a little singsong chant. Mina could hear it quite clearly. Her heart speeded and her hands were clumsy as she arranged the after-supper tray, lifted the boiling ketde from the hotplate of the Esse, made the tea. Was it possible that Georgie knew Nest’s secret?

  “Don’t be more of an old fool than you can help.” She spoke aloud, to reassure herself, and the dogs pricked their ears, heads tilted hopefully.

  If Georgie had suspected anything she would have spoken up long since. And, if she’d kept silent for more than thirty years, why should she speak now? Mina shook her head, shrugging away her foolish forebodings. It was Nest’s fear that had infected her, bringing the past into the present There was no need for all this silly panic. Yet, as she refilled the ketde, her heart ached suddenly with a strange, poignant longing for the past and she thought she heard her mother’s voice reading from A Shropshire Lad: Housman’s “blue remembered hills.”

  Mina stood quite still, her head bowed, still holding the kettle. The land of lost content: those happy, laughter-filled years. The tears had come much later… Presently she placed the kettle on the back of the stove and bent to caress the dogs, murmuring love-words to them until the moment passed and she was in command again. Picking up the tray, willing herself into calm, Mina went to find Nest.