The Frozen Lake: A gripping novel of family and wartime secrets

It felt odd, to be in these familiar surroundings but sitting in the back of a car behind straight grey-uniformed shoulders, instead of sitting beside Jerry Wilbur, or even pushing him over to take the wheel himself.

He leant forward. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Parsons, sir.’

It seemed unlikely, but Hal let it pass. ‘Where’s Wilbur?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘You do know who Wilbur is.’

Or was, had something happened to him and no one had bothered to say? Nanny would have written to him about it, she wrote him regular if indecipherable missives in a spidery hand. Recent letters, now he came to think of it, had mentioned Changes at the Hall. These Changes, he gathered, were not for the better, at least not according to Nanny. Since she was pure conservative from the starch on her cap to the tips of her sensible shoes, he hadn’t taken much notice of her grumbles. Peter’s new wife would be bound to make changes, new wives always did. He had had plenty of experience of new wives in America, where his friends of both sexes dipped in and out of marriages with astonishing ease.

‘I heard of Wilbur, yes. He drove cars before me.’

So Wilbur had left. Hal felt a moment of dismay; how many others of his friends would still be there? It hadn’t occurred to him, but fifteen odd years was a long time to expect everything to be the same. He had changed out of all recognition, so he couldn’t seriously think that at Grindley Hall everything would be just as it was. How childish, and how childish was his disappointment at not being greeted by Wilbur.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked the chauffeur.

‘Spain. I am from Spain.’

Best not to enquire further. The fellow might be a republican or a follower of General Franco, and Hal had no wish to pry or offend. Strange that he hadn’t opted to stay and fight for whichever side he favoured.

‘I have no sides in Spain,’ the man said, as though he had read Hal’s thoughts. ‘I have family, uncles, brothers fighting on both sides, this one hates priests, that one is all for Franco. So I leave. Is better, then at least my mother has one son left alive to bury her when she grows old and dies, one son who is not crazy in his head and fighting for crazy men.’

‘So now you work at Grindley Hall.’

The man gave an expressive shrug. One is lucky to have any work.’ He was silent for a moment and then burst out in an unexpected and infectious guffaw. ‘I feel at home. In Spain, my family fight each other. Here, in cold England, I find also that families fight each other.’

Hal didn’t want to know. He sat back in his seat, looking out into the dusk, and the Spaniard, probably regretting his outburst, stayed silent as he drove expertly along the wintry roads. It was a half-hour journey from the station, but it only seemed minutes before they were driving through the sweep gate to the Hall, the stone Grindley griffins perched on either side atop the gateposts. Hal had once suggested that a pair of lavatory seats would be a better emblem for the family; they hadn’t found this amusing. Grindleys as a whole resented any humour directed at the source of their wealth.

The drive was neater than he remembered, the gravel swept clear of snow and crunching loudly under the wide tyres. Hal looked up at the familiar façade of the house where he had been born, not sure if he felt pleasure or misery at seeing it again. The huge front door swung open as the car drew up, and a maid in formal black dress and starched pinny and cap came out to stand at the top of the steps.

Hal didn’t recognise her either, nor the smart uniform. Hall maids in his day were a comfortable lot, duly clad in morning or afternoon uniform, but never looking as pressed and trim as this young lady. She looked straight through Hal and told the driver to take the car around to the back and unload the gentleman’s luggage straight away.

‘Mrs Grindley is upstairs resting before dinner,’ she told Hal as she followed him into the black-and-white chequered hall. ‘Mr Grindley will be home at half past six. Tea has been served in the drawing room, Mr and Mrs Roger Grindley are there, they have just arrived. It is this way.’

‘Thank you, I know where it is,’ Hal said. He crossed the hall and opened the fine white panelled door into the drawing room. He stopped inside the doorway, looking around in surprise. There had been something different about the hall, although he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. Now it came to him, where were all the stuffed animals?

The drawing room ran from the front to the back of one side of the house, a long, wide room with windows leading on to a terrace. Gone were the heavy damasks, the patterned carpet, the heavy armchairs and sofas; gone most noticeably were the stuffed bear with a tray in its paws, several noble stags’ heads, the pair of stoats glaring at each other from two branches, a bewildered owl, and the fox with his head turned as though politely surprised to find the hounds upon him.

The parquet floor gleamed at his feet. Fine Persian rugs were placed here and there. Two deep sofas with plain dark pink covers faced each other across the fireplace, other chairs were in lighter shades of raspberry and looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

‘Good God,’ he said before he could stop himself. ‘Interior design comes to Grindley Hall? I don’t believe it.’

His remark was greeted by a peal of laughter and he looked over to the sofa, where a tall, fair woman, still laughing, was standing up and holding out her hands. ‘Hal, my dear! How distinguished you look, I don’t think I would have recognised you.’

‘Angela,’ he said, kissing her warmly on both cheeks. He was shocked to see the lines around her eyes. How old was she? Late forties, must be, but it wasn’t merely years that had added a strained look to eyes and mouth. If he were any judge, that was tension, not age. Well, being married to Roger would hardly be a bed of roses.

‘Good to see you, Hal,’ said his brother.

Roger hadn’t changed, Hal thought as they shook hands. He was heavier, but had the height to carry it off, so didn’t yet look portly. The main difference was in his air of success and prosperity; that was what advancement in the law had done for him. He dimly remembered a line in one of Nanny’s letters.

‘Aren’t you a KC now, Roger?’

Roger nodded, a satisfied look on his wide, handsome face. ‘I took silk more than five years ago. I thought Peter would have told you.’

‘I travel about so much,’ said Hal apologetically. He should have written, of course he should, only he never did write to his brothers. And of course becoming a KC was a great step for a lawyer, but it had seemed of no great importance in his theatrical world far across the Atlantic.

A much younger woman than Angela, but with the same fair complexion, had been standing by the window.

‘You can’t be Cecy!’

‘I am. Hello, Uncle Hal.’

‘Good heavens, Cecy. You were all legs and pigtails last time I saw you.’

There was a silence. Angela broke it with a polite enquiry about his voyage – what a time of year to brave the Bay of Biscay – had it been very rough – had he been staying in London, Peter had said his ship was due two days ago – had anyone shown him to his room?

‘I didn’t give the maid a chance to,’ Hal said. ‘What happened to Wilbur, Roger?’

‘Wilbur? Oh, the chauffeur. He went into the army, I believe. Eve found this present man, he’s some sort of foreigner, I shouldn’t care to have him in my employ, he looks rather a ruffian. However, Eve says he’s cheap and drives very well. Peter leaves all the staff side to her. You’ll find quite a few changes. Bound to, after so long.’

Silence again. It occurred to Hal that the stiffness of the atmosphere was not caused by his arrival. The tea tray stood untouched on a low table beside the fireplace. Whatever Roger’s family had been doing, it wasn’t taking a welcome cup of tea after a long drive. He could see that Cecy was eager to leave the room, she was sliding unobtrusively round behind the sofas towards the door.

‘Where are you going, Cecy?’ her father asked in a cold voice.

‘Upstairs. To dress. My frock needs pressing, I’ll have to ask the maid to do it for me. She won’t know which one I’m wearing tonight.’ With that she made a positive dash for the door and was gone.

‘Children,’ Roger said grumpily. ‘You never married, I suppose, Hal.’

‘No,’ Hal said.

‘They’re the very devil. One minute all dimples and not much of a nuisance to anyone, and the next causing no end of trouble. I’ll see you at dinner, then,’ he added, making for the door.

‘What’s Cecy up to?’ Hal asked Angela, who had sat down again. She picked up a glossy magazine and began to flick through the pages. ‘Has my niece taken up with some undesirable man?’

‘That would be simple,’ Angela said. ‘Unsuitable boyfriends are child’s play compared to a career as far as Roger is concerned.’

‘Career?’

‘Don’t ask. Medicine, I’m afraid.’

‘Cecy’s doing medical training? Training to be a doctor, not a nurse? Sorry, no need to ask, not with her being your daughter. Good for her.’

‘I agree with you, but Roger never liked the idea, and he knows that Peter will have a go at him about it, he thinks it’s rather lax.’

‘This is Peter as head of the family, I take it?’