The Secret of Summerhayes

They were coming to the end of the dance; the music faded and the band readied themselves for a new number. He still held her close and, shamefully, she wanted nothing more than to stay right where she was. But a disturbance behind them made them both turn. A man was pushing his way across the dance floor to reach them.

‘I thought it was you, Bethany. I spotted you from the doorway. Sorry I’m a bit late, a last-minute hitch, but why didn’t you telephone? You should have let me call for you.’ Gilbert nodded briskly at Jos, as though he had only just noticed him.

Jos allowed his arms to drop and she felt the coldness they left behind. She wanted to say something, something to rescue the moment, but her mind was empty. In the awkward pause, Gilbert took his chance and reached for her hand. ‘Shall we?’

She looked for Jos, but he had turned on his heels and was lost once more among the smokers and whisky drinkers.

‘A waltz,’ Gilbert said. ‘How traditional, but very enjoyable.’

She had to acknowledge that he was a decent dancer, but the magic of the evening had gone. Fatigue was setting in and growing by the minute and when, after two consecutive dances, he proposed finding a drink, she braced herself to say goodbye. ‘To be honest, Gilbert, I think I should go home. Mr Ripley is minding Alice, but I’m reluctant to leave him too long. He’s no longer a young man. He’ll be tired, he’ll want to get to bed.’

She saw a shadow of annoyance pass across his face. ‘You must go, of course.’ There was a false heartiness in his voice. ‘But I insist on driving you.’

‘There’s really no need. I’ve a powerful torch and I can easily find my way. And you’ve hardly danced. Stay and enjoy the rest of the evening.’

‘I’ve danced enough to satisfy the village. The old noblesse oblige thing, you know. And I wouldn’t dream of letting you walk home alone at this hour.’ She wondered what he imagined might happen to her along a quiet country lane. ‘In any case, it’s my fault for turning up so late.’

She would have preferred to go alone, but his insistence made escape difficult – unless she were prepared to make a scene. And she wasn’t.

‘I’ll get my coat,’ she said.

‘Good. The Bentley is parked in the High Street. I’ll meet you there.’

The night air gave her a shock, but after the cloying thickness of the hall, it felt invigorating. A group of young soldiers stood to one side of the door enjoying the freshness of the evening. She heard a scuffling and saw several couples shrink from sight into the bushes opposite. Pulling her coat tightly around her, she brushed past a tall figure standing to one side of the group. She knew, even in the darkness, that it was Jos. He stiffened as she walked past, but didn’t say a word.

‘Over here,’ Gilbert called, waving to her from the junction. The car was parked a few paces away, its silver bodywork gleaming beneath a moon that, for the first time that evening, had swum free of the clouds.

Within minutes they had left the village behind. He drove fast but expertly along the lane she had walked earlier.

‘I hope you won’t find that my aunt has been difficult.’ He half turned his head to check her response. He wanted to talk, and she felt she owed him that at least since she’d brought him away from the dance far too early.

‘I’m sure she’s been fine – as long as she’s won. I left her playing cards with Mr Ripley,’ she said in explanation.

In the driving mirror, she saw him give a wry smile. ‘The butler playing cards with the mistress? What a topsyturvy world we live in.’

‘I don’t think Mrs Summer thinks of him as her butler any more. He’s just Ripley, an old man who shares her house.’

‘Aunt Alice doesn’t think much at all, does she? I don’t like to say this, Bethany, but it’s struck me recently that she isn’t all there up top, if you know what I mean.’

She was startled and hastened to reassure him. ‘She’s a little vague, I know, but that’s just her way. Her mind is fine. If ever she’s confused, I think it’s because she finds life at Summerhayes so different now.’

‘I imagine she does. Who wouldn’t? The other day when I called, I had a good look around the house and it’s a mess. The panelling is scratched, the floors are ruined – when I was a boy, they were a brilliant golden oak. The shine on them could outdo the sun and as for the decorative glass! Boys don’t usually notice these things, but I do remember the way those glass panels threw amazing colour into every room.’

‘Then I’m glad she can’t see what the house has become.’

‘No, indeed. Best she stay within her own four walls. I reckon some of the furniture is missing, too, and that would upset her greatly.’

‘I wouldn’t know. The house is much the same as when I came in January, except that Mrs Summer has sold some of the paintings.’ But not Elizabeth’s, was her unspoken thought. ‘Perhaps it’s the pictures you’ve missed rather than the furniture.’

‘I was thinking more of the huge sofa that used to be in the drawing room. It was upholstered in the best velvet. And the ladder back chairs in the dining room. They were designed by Philip Webb and would cost a fortune now.’

He took the final bend at speed but was quick to correct the car. ‘I suppose we should be glad there’s still furniture left and that the panelling hasn’t been torn down for firewood. My aunt’s husband was a modern man, but even he didn’t manage central heating and these old houses are cold.’

‘Tear the panelling down?’ She looked nonplussed. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘Plenty, or so I hear. Military men don’t like being cold.’

She gave a little puff of breath. ‘Thank goodness it’s April then and we needn’t worry. Not for a few months at least.’

‘If rumour has it right, we can forget worrying for longer than that. A grand invasion is on the cards in the not-too-distant future and our Canadian friends will be in the thick of it.’

Her heart flinched. An image of Jos Kerrigan lying dead on a French beach had her squeezing her eyes shut, trying to erase the picture.

Gilbert swept the car off the lane and brought it to a halt at the lodge gate. He rolled his window down as the sentry approached. ‘Just taking this young lady home, soldier.’ There was a satisfaction in his voice that she didn’t like.

The sentry flashed a torch into the darkness of the car and, recognising Beth’s face, waved them through. As soon as they drew up at the front entrance of the house, she had the car door open and was clambering out. She’d no wish to dally.

‘Thank you for the lift, Gilbert. It’s kind of you to go out of your way.’

He cut her thanks short. ‘I hope you’ll be coming to Amberley, as I suggested. I’ve had a room made ready and Ralph has moved all his books and papers there.’

He was putting her on the spot and he knew it. When she hesitated, he pressed further. ‘At least give it a chance. If you don’t think the arrangement works, there’s no harm done.’

It was all so reasonable there was little she could do but agree.

‘Tomorrow then. I’ll call for you. Around ten o’clock, shall we say?’

Before she reached the top of the stairs, she saw that the door of the apartment stood wide open. Her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. She ran up the last few stairs and into the tiny hall. An eerie quiet blanketed the apartment. Where was Mr Ripley? She tiptoed into the sitting room, thinking that perhaps he had fallen asleep and forgotten to lock the front door. It was always kept locked. There were too many people on the move in and out of the estate, and in the general confusion anyone could evade the duty sentry by climbing over the perimeter wall and walking into the house unnoticed and unchallenged.

But the sitting room was empty. Had Mr Ripley returned to his attic room and left the door temporarily ajar? It was unlikely and her stomach tightened. She must make sure that Mrs Summer was safely asleep. But when she pushed open the door to Alice’s bedroom, she saw immediately, even in the near dark, that the bed was empty. Panic clawed at her. The elderly woman had gone. Somehow she must have opened the front door and crawled down the stairs to the ground floor. Even now she must be wandering the gardens with poor Ripley in pursuit. Why ever had she gone to the dance? It was the stupidest thing she could have done.

As she stood there, she heard a noise. It was coming from the far corner and she pushed the bedroom door further ajar so that the light from the hall fell diagonally across the floor. Then she saw her – and nearly fainted with shock. Alice was at the window. The curtains had been drawn back, the blackout rolled up, and light blazed across the concrete below, an open invitation to any passing German plane. The old lady’s hands were splayed across the glass as though she were trying to thrust her way through its panes. Periodically she beat her forehead against the window, all the time emitting a barely audible moan. Now Beth’s ears were attuned, she shivered at the sound; it was like that of a small, wounded animal. Had Gilbert been right when he’d suggested, just minutes ago, that his aunt’s mind was as fragile as her body?

As softly as she could, she walked over to the half-prostrate figure and took her by a night-gowned arm. ‘Mrs Summer, it’s me, Bethany. You must come back to bed.’

But Alice refused to move. She was surprisingly strong and her figure grew more rigid with Beth’s attempts to loosen her clasp on the window. And all the time she continued the soft moan, though it had grown noticeably harsher the minute she’d felt the touch of a hand. It was the most dreadful sound and Beth could feel her scalp spiking with fear.

‘Mrs Summer,’ she repeated. ‘You will get cold if you stay out of bed. Let me help you back.’

This time Alice must have heard her because she twitched her head and breathed heavily, opening and shutting her mouth, as though she were suffocating. Struggling to get words out, but finding it impossible.

Beth stayed holding her fast, until finally the elderly body collapsed against her and Alice found the words she’d been seeking. ‘They’re there,’ she said, and then kept on saying, ‘They’re there, they’re there. I can’t get to them. But I must.’

Beth was seriously alarmed. Gilbert’s prophecy seemed to be coming true before her eyes. ‘Please come away from the window,’ she pleaded.

‘I can’t,’ Alice said simply. ‘I have to get to them. I have to get to Elizabeth.’

The letters may have stopped, at least temporarily, but it was clear that Alice had not forgotten. The desire to be reunited with her daughter still burnt bright.