Authors: Marcia Willett
Summer House (10 page)
By the time Matt found the opportunity to talk privately with Milo it was late the next morning after Lottie had gone off to lunch with a friend in Dunster.
Milo was in the narrow kitchen assembling the component parts of one of his favourite masterpieces: a terrine. Leaning in the doorway Matt suppressed a smile. The older man looked rather like some great artist preparing a canvas. Tall and lean in his faded butter-yellow cords and soft, checked shirt â he disdained an apron â he hovered above his palette of ingredients. The sage, garlic and lemon zest had been stirred into the softly cooked onion and now waited, cooling on a plate, whilst he chopped the pork fillet, bacon and pheasant and added it to the beaten egg in the mixing bowl. As he worked he recited poetry, anything that inspired him. Today it was
The Hunting of the Snark
:
The Hunting of the Snark
:
âIts flavour when cooked is more exquisite far
Than mutton, or oyster, or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany kegs:)
âYou boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:
You condense it with locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view â
To preserve its symmetrical shape.'
Than mutton, or oyster, or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany kegs:)
âYou boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:
You condense it with locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view â
To preserve its symmetrical shape.'
âSo you're cooking a Jubjub,' observed Matt. âI thought it was a pheasant.'
Milo added the chopped chestnuts and glanced sideways at him. âAnd would any of you be able to taste the difference, I ask myself?' He pressed the mix into the terrine tin and covered it with foil. âMy talents are wasted in this household. Lottie would eat baked beans on toast just as happily as she would eat my terrine, and you're nearly as bad. This will be ready for Nick when he gets down at the weekend. He appreciates good food, I'm glad to say.'
âSo do I,' protested Matt. âI just can't be bothered when I'm on my own. It's easier to get takeaways.'
Milo shook his head and took the deep roasting tin half full of boiling water from the oven. âHopeless. Quite hopeless. '
Matt took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. âI've had an idea, Milo, and I wanted to run it past you.'
â“Run it past you”,' repeated Milo with contempt. âWhat does that mean? “Run it past you.” Good God! Have you ever read the writings that came back from the trenches? Wonderful letters and poetry from perfectly ordinary soldiers, full of evocation and imagery? Can you imagine what we're getting these days from Iraq or Afghanistan? Assuming that anyone out there can read and write, that is.'
âEmails or text messages,' grinned Matt. âNobody writes letters any more, Milo. You know that.'
âNo need to brag about it.' Milo stood his terrine in the
bain-marie
, put it in the oven and glanced at the clock. âAn hour and a half,' he muttered. âSo what's this brilliant idea, then? Are you going to take cookery lessons?'
bain-marie
, put it in the oven and glanced at the clock. âAn hour and a half,' he muttered. âSo what's this brilliant idea, then? Are you going to take cookery lessons?'
âI'd like to buy the Summer House.' Matt straightened up, instinctively preparing himself for some kind of rejection. âIf Im and Jules don't want it, then I'd like it. If you're OK with it.'
Oven cloth in hand, Milo stared at him, frowning; he shook his head slightly, as if to dispel surprise, and drew down the corners of his mouth.
âIf you've decided to sell,' Matt hurried on, âthen why not to me? Then it will stay in the family. I shall have a place outside London to work and to invite my friends; Jules and Im can use it for weekends, and later on, Lottie â¦'
He halted awkwardly, not wishing to talk about Milo's demise, but Milo had understood him and nodded one short nod, as if to imply that nothing more need be said about that.
â
If
you've decided,' Matt repeated, not wanting to take anything for granted; pretending that he didn't know about Nick's problem. He hadn't been prepared for this sudden onset of nervousness. He wished he hadn't used the words âthen it will stay in the family' as if Milo were somehow failing by not keeping the Summer House; as if he, Matt, were some kind of saviour, keeping everyone together and looking out for Lottie. His love and respect for Milo were enormous and he was beginning to feel deeply uncomfortable. He stared at the older man, willing him to understand, but Milo had turned to pick up his kitchen timer and was pressing buttons.
If
you've decided,' Matt repeated, not wanting to take anything for granted; pretending that he didn't know about Nick's problem. He hadn't been prepared for this sudden onset of nervousness. He wished he hadn't used the words âthen it will stay in the family' as if Milo were somehow failing by not keeping the Summer House; as if he, Matt, were some kind of saviour, keeping everyone together and looking out for Lottie. His love and respect for Milo were enormous and he was beginning to feel deeply uncomfortable. He stared at the older man, willing him to understand, but Milo had turned to pick up his kitchen timer and was pressing buttons.
âYou see,' Matt went on anxiously to Milo's back, âI've been looking for somewhere to buy for quite a while. I've wanted
to invest some of the money in property but couldn't decide where. I bought my swish service flat in Chiswick because it's perfect, both to work in and to leave when I go travelling. But I've been wondering about buy-to-let, and I'm doubtful as to whether I can cope with tenants and all the hassle, and so this would be so perfect. When I'm not here, you and Lottie can keep an eye â¦'
to invest some of the money in property but couldn't decide where. I bought my swish service flat in Chiswick because it's perfect, both to work in and to leave when I go travelling. But I've been wondering about buy-to-let, and I'm doubtful as to whether I can cope with tenants and all the hassle, and so this would be so perfect. When I'm not here, you and Lottie can keep an eye â¦'
He stopped, feeling sure that he was really putting his foot in it now, casting Milo in the position of caretaker â but Milo was turning, his face showing mixed feelings of delight and relief.
âBut it's a simply brilliant idea, Matt. Are you really sure, though, that you want to invest your money in a house so far from London? I would be delighted for you to have it. It solves a thousand problems. If you're really sure?'
Matt could hardly speak, so great was his relief, and not just relief, but pleasure too, that, after all the years of generosity and love that Milo had given him and Im, he was able at last to make some kind of return.
âI'm absolutely sure,' he answered at last. âIt answers lots of my problems too. Honestly. Thanks, Milo.'
He felt odd, as if something momentous had happened; in a state of shock now that an agreement had been reached.
âBut you can't have seen the place for ages,' Milo was saying. âWe must ask the Moretons to let you go over it. Well, this is wonderful news and I can't wait to see Lottie's face. Come on. We need to celebrate and I've got some Bollinger in the fridge that will just do the trick.'
âShould we ⦠I mean, perhaps we should wait for Lottie,' suggested Matt diffidently. âYou know. She might feel left out. Shall we wait until she gets home?'
âNot bloody likely,' answered the brigadier. âShe could be
hours yet. Come on, boy. Get down those glasses and we'll drink to your brilliant idea.'
hours yet. Come on, boy. Get down those glasses and we'll drink to your brilliant idea.'
Â
Much later Matt kneeled at his attic window, staring down at the red roof of the Summer House. He was still in a state of shock. Milo had telephoned the Moretons who had said that of
course
Matt could come down and look around; but they had a friend staying, would tomorrow morning be convenient? If Matt were in a hurry, however ⦠?
course
Matt could come down and look around; but they had a friend staying, would tomorrow morning be convenient? If Matt were in a hurry, however ⦠?
Milo had telegraphed this to Matt, who had said that, yes, tomorrow would be perfectly fine and, no, there was no great hurry. He'd been almost relieved for the respite. Milo was so happy that he couldn't wait to get Matt down there and show him around properly.
âI've never been upstairs,' he'd told Milo. âBut Mrs Moreton used to invite me and Im into the kitchen for lemonade and biscuits sometimes. It always felt warm and friendly, and I love the veranda and the little lawn that edges the stream.'
âIt means that we can go on sharing the barns,' Milo had said with great relief. âAnd you won't want the gardens carved up. In fact, the less ground you have the better. We can look after it for you.'
He'd been so enthusiastic, so full of ideas, that the champagne was finished by the time Lottie returned. She'd glanced at the empty bottle and raised her eyebrows.
âCelebrating?' she'd asked without rancour. âYou might have waited. So what's happened?'
Matt had remained silent whilst Milo told the glad tidings. He'd seen at once that she'd had a reservation; her eyes had drifted beyond Milo, as if she were seeing something else besides his delight.
âWhat is it?' Matt had asked quickly. âYou're not happy about it, Lottie.'
âOh, yes,' she'd said at once. âI am. I feel it's right except ⦠well, I was just wondering how Imogen will feel about it.'
Now, leaning forward, his arms folded on the narrow window ledge, Matt thought about Im and how she might react. It hadn't occurred to him that she might feel jealous or angry, but he could see now that it was a possibility. He'd been too taken up with his exciting idea, his own solution to the problem, to think that it might be very hard for Im to see him owning the little house that she loved so much.
âSo what shall I do?' he'd asked Lottie anxiously, as if he were a child again. He'd looked at Milo, who had an expression of irritation on his face.
âIf Jules and she have decided not to live there I should think that the next best thing for her would be to have her own brother owning it,' he'd said. âMatt's said that she and Jules can use it. I think it's the obvious solution. I think you're being oversensitive.'
âIt just might take a bit of getting used to, that's all.' Lottie had defended herself. âShe's very disappointed, remember. It all depends how Matt tells her. I'm sure she'll be delighted once she gets used to the idea.'
Matt could see that Milo was impatient of this pandering to Im's delicate sensibilities but he'd agreed that they should postpone telling Im until Matt had been down to see the Summer House.
Turning back into the room, with its low-raftered ceiling and boarded, cream-washed walls, Matt was aware of excitement building inside him again. He looked around: at the double mattress that he and Milo had dragged up the steep staircase and squashed through the narrow doorway,
at the bookshelves that they'd built along one whole wall, at the small painted chest of drawers and at the toys sitting in a wicker basket in the corner. He picked out the teddy bear, worn and bedraggled with hugs and kisses, and inhaled the musty smell of the past; of childhood. Briefly but powerfully, a strong mental jolting of the senses momentarily transported him to another world: he felt great heat, heard the cries of harsh foreign voices, smelled rich scents; he saw himself, a small child, as in a mirror image, and then knife-sharp came the familiar feeling of loss, of being lifted and whirled away â¦
at the bookshelves that they'd built along one whole wall, at the small painted chest of drawers and at the toys sitting in a wicker basket in the corner. He picked out the teddy bear, worn and bedraggled with hugs and kisses, and inhaled the musty smell of the past; of childhood. Briefly but powerfully, a strong mental jolting of the senses momentarily transported him to another world: he felt great heat, heard the cries of harsh foreign voices, smelled rich scents; he saw himself, a small child, as in a mirror image, and then knife-sharp came the familiar feeling of loss, of being lifted and whirled away â¦
Matt stood quite still, holding the bear, struggling with the overwhelming loneliness and the sense of agonizing separation from something precious. It was not new; it would pass. Gently he placed the bear back in the basket and went downstairs.
Rosie sat in her playpen, a pop-up book in her hands. Several pieces of the pop-up cards had been torn from the book, sucked, and flung aside; sometimes the whole book would be thrown with all the small strength she could muster. Now, however, she was studying very closely a picture of a rabbit, homogenized and charming, that was driving a small car. Head bent, totally absorbed, she made gentle encouraging noises: âMmmm,' she murmured approvingly. âBab, bab, bab.'
âIs there a rabbit, darling?' asked Im. She knew now that this was Rosie's word for rabbit. Ever since Nick's present, Rosie had been obsessed by rabbits: every story must have a rabbit in it; each picture must portray one. If the book had no rabbits then Rosie would become at first tearful and then vengeful.
Imogen gazed down at the small figure: the wisps of blonde hair curling on the tender white neck, the fat, curving cheeks, the starfish hands clutching the book. Im's heart seemed to move within her breast, squeezed by love, fear,
and inexpressible tenderness. She imagined all the terrible things that might happen to this tiny, vulnerable, defenceless and most beloved person and she bent quickly and caught Rosie, lifting her out of the playpen and holding her close.
and inexpressible tenderness. She imagined all the terrible things that might happen to this tiny, vulnerable, defenceless and most beloved person and she bent quickly and caught Rosie, lifting her out of the playpen and holding her close.
âBab!' shouted Rosie, twisting in her mother's arms, outraged by the interruption. She pointed back, down into the playpen, where Nick's gift lay abandoned, long legs and arms entwined. Im leaned to pick it up.
âHere,' she said. âHere's Bab. Isn't he nice?'
They studied him together: the rather pleading expression in the large eyes, the deprecating half-smile, the debonair bow tie that was woven into his white-bibbed chest. Suddenly Imogen realized that Bab reminded her â very slightly â of Nick himself; the thought unsettled her and she hurried away from it.
âShall we have a walk?' she asked Rosie. âJust up the lane to the road? Shall we?'
She joggled her and swung her round, and Rosie chuckled. She dropped the book but hugged Bab to her chest and made sounds that indicated she approved of the idea.
âCome on, then. Coat on. And your nice warm boots. Good girl, then.'
Presently they were out in the road: Rosie in the buggy still clutching Bab, Imogen pulling on her gloves, checking that she had the door key, glancing up to see if there was any imminent sign of rain. The sky was a pure china blue, patched with inky-purple clouds; dense fingers of golden light probed the turbulent green water of the Channel, and the Welsh hills floated behind a translucent glittering veil, distant and unreal. The lane wound uphill, curving out of sight, and Imogen stood for a moment, staring across the farmland that sloped towards the coast. The hawthorn,
sculpted and shaped by the wind, was misting greenly with new leaf, and black buds swelled on the ash. The first cold white stars of the blackthorn blossomed in distant hedges and, everywhere she looked, the gorse flower burned brightly gold.
sculpted and shaped by the wind, was misting greenly with new leaf, and black buds swelled on the ash. The first cold white stars of the blackthorn blossomed in distant hedges and, everywhere she looked, the gorse flower burned brightly gold.
She began to walk quickly, talking to Rosie, breathing in the sharp, cold air. The sun slanted above the hill's shoulder and now the lane levelled a little, and beech trees, their lower branches still thickly clotted with dark bronze, crisp leaves, blocked her view to the sea. She passed the gate to Eastcott Farm and paused to watch a small bird hopping, beak stabbing for insects, on the moss-covered roof of the little wooden building down on the farm track. She could see now that it was a wren and, as she watched, it darted and danced and plunged from sight beneath the hedge.
On she went, the wind cold in her face; the lane opening out again seawards now, with new fence posts and barbed wire strung along the top of the bank. Soon violets and primroses would grow in the mossy bank and, later in the year, purple honey-scented heather would cover the heathland to the south; now only its black brittle bones were to be seen, frail, curving cages growing amongst the whin and furze. Rosie sang a tuneless little song and beat Bab on the side of the stroller and Im bent forward to call to her.
Suddenly, with no warning, hail clattered from the bright blue air; it bounced and cracked in the lane and stung Im's cheeks. Gasping with the shock, she ran to pull the hood over Rosie's head, then crouched to shield the small body with her own whilst the hail pattered on her back and Rosie cried out with fright. Im was trying to turn the pushchair, still crouching to shield Rosie, when the car slid alongside with a swish of tyres on the icy road. She stared upward,
hair damp across her face, as the car door slammed and feet crunched around the shining chrome bumper.
hair damp across her face, as the car door slammed and feet crunched around the shining chrome bumper.
âNick,' she said, unbelieving. â
Nick
? What are
you
doing here?'
Nick
? What are
you
doing here?'
âVisiting my two favourite people,' he answered lightly. âCome on, I'll give you a lift back down to the cottage. Let her out, Im, and get into the car. I'll deal with the buggy.'
Holding Rosie in her arms, Im straightened up, half laughing, half disbelieving.
âWhy didn't you say you were coming?' she cried breathlessly as the wind whirled the icy pellets all around them.
âSurprise,' he said briefly, kissing her. âHello, Rosie. Hello, rabbit. Get in the warm and we'll go home.'
Â
âDad knew I was coming,' he said later, as they warmed their hands on mugs of hot coffee whilst Rosie drooped and snoozed amongst the cushions Im had put into the playpen. âBut I decided to take a detour and see if you were around.'
She sipped her coffee, watching him across the rim of the mug. Her cheeks burned but she assured herself that this was due to coming in out of the wind and hail and feeling suddenly glowing with warmth. She tried to ignore the tightening of her gut and the little churning sense of excitement.
âHow's Alice?' she asked.
His face changed at the abruptness of her question and she bit her lip with vexation: poor Nick, how crass of her when he'd been so sweet.
âAnyhow,' she went on quickly, before he could answer, âit's great to see you.'
âI was so sorry to hear about the Summer House,' he said. It was offered as an excuse; a reason for coming to see
her before he went to the High House. âWhat rotten luck. Not that I can't see old Jules' point of view, of course, but I know how you love it.' He made a sympathetic face. âPoor darling.'
her before he went to the High House. âWhat rotten luck. Not that I can't see old Jules' point of view, of course, but I know how you love it.' He made a sympathetic face. âPoor darling.'
âOh,' she said quickly. âI'll live with it, though I admit I
am
gutted. But what will Milo do with it? Do you know?'
am
gutted. But what will Milo do with it? Do you know?'
He shrugged. âI know he doesn't want to go on renting it out. He'd have to modernize it so much for anyone these days it would cost a fortune. It's just sad that it's going out of the family, and I can't help feeling that it's all my fault.'
âBut he'd have had to do something now that the Moretons are going.' She hastened to comfort him, to cheer him up. âLike you said, he didn't want to go on renting, so selling it must have been on the cards.'
âAnyway, what are you going to do now? Where will you go?'
âOh.' She sighed, made a little face. âJules has a client over near Simonsbath who's got a converted barn for rent. His son has been living in it whilst he builds his own little eco bungalow but he'll be out next week and it's been offered to us on a long let. They absolutely love Jules and they don't want to go back to holiday letting. I haven't seen it yet. To be honest, I really believed a miracle would happen and we'd be buying by now.' She shrugged. âSo there we are.'
There was a short silence. âAlice is fine,' Nick said, as if Im had only now asked the question, âin a glacial, critical, contemptuous sort of way. How's Jules?'
Another silence. âJules is fine,' Im answered, parodying Nick's answer, âin a sulky, self-defensive, unfriendly kind of way.'
They looked at one another, half questioning, half fearful, and Im put down her mug and went to make Rosie more
comfortable on her cushions where she now drowsed peacefully.
comfortable on her cushions where she now drowsed peacefully.
It was odd, Im thought, how the child seemed to protect her from what Nick was offering. She remained, kneeling by the playpen with her back to Nick.
âYou shouldn't have come,' she said.
âI know,' he said, not attempting to misunderstand her. âBut I miss you, Im. God, life is so miserable at the moment. I can't stop thinking about you.'
âYou mustn't,' she said. It was an effort to say it. She wanted to stand up and put her arms round him.
And why not, she asked herself silently, angrily. Jules wouldn't care. Not the way he is at the moment.
Rosie stirred, put in her thumb, and Im remained, hanging over the playpen, one hand stroking Rosie's shoulder and arm.
âI think you'd better go,' she said miserably. âHonestly, Nick. We mustn't.'
âBut you want to.' He was beside her, his mouth beside her ear, and she shivered, nodded reluctantly, just a tiny movement of her head. He kissed her, pressed his cheek against hers. âYou know I love you,' he said. âGod, what fools we were, Im.'
She heard the door close gently but still she stayed where she was, one hand on the sleeping child as if she were a talisman that might ward off evil.
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