The Round Tower Page 6

  The shadow disappeared, then reappeared again in a patch of moonlight. It was making for the gate in his boundary fence, the gate which allowed the Ratcliffes access to the river bank, his river bank. He had had the gate made when Jonathan first built the house. A second before the figure disappeared again into the shadows he recognised Vanessa. Now what would Vanessa be doing out at this time of night? He turned and glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to twelve. He now turned his gaze towards the Ratcliffes’ house. The lights were all out.

  Once more he focused his gaze in the direction of the gate. It was impossible to see if she had come into the wood. But she had been making for the gate. When, five minutes later, he had not seen her return up the garden, the reason for her midnight stroll came to him as he remembered what Irene had said earlier in the evening, and he muttered aloud, ‘Oh no! No!’

  It was one thing Angus Cotton speaking to her in the street, but it was entirely another thing meeting her secretly, and at this time of night. The wire fencing at the bottom of the wood was broken in several places where it bordered the side road. The children were always coming in for cob nuts or bluebells. Angus could easily come in that way and walk along by the river bank to the summer house.

  God! No! He liked Angus. He was a good, honest fellow, and he had brains of a sort, but to start anything with Vanessa! He began swiftly to pull his trousers on. One thing was certain. If there was anything in this, Jonathan would blame him for giving the fellow ideas above his station. He had already used that very term.

  He got into his coat, took his shoes in his hand, then opened the door softly, and, crossing the landing, he went down the back stairs that led directly into the kitchen, then let himself out at the side door.

  The night air made him shiver. As he took the side path around what had once been the rose garden he asked himself what he would say to them. Well, he could just be taking a stroll. That was it. He couldn’t sleep and had come out for some air. Then he would get Angus on one side and let him have it. Oh yes, he’d let him have it. This kind of thing couldn’t go on. It wasn’t only because Jonathan would blame him, it was because a girl like Vanessa mustn’t get herself mixed up with a fellow like Angus. No matter how decent he was, it just wouldn’t work out. He liked reading mythology and tales of princesses and plough boys, but these were only to entertain that section of the mind that remained forever in youth. The fate of the princess and the plough boy in real life could only spell disaster. In a sort of way his own romance had been like the prince and the beggar maid. Not that Irene would thank him for placing her in that category.

  The path was well worn, and last year’s leaves had been trodden into mush by his own feet. He entered the wood, and although he was in deep shadow he found his way unerringly between the great oak tree which dominated the top of the wood and the forked group of three birch trunks that stood to the right of it; then through a thicket of spidery hazel trees, and onto a pathway again. He was careful to keep to the path so as not to tread onto the carpet of wood anemones and the sprouting daffodils and narcissus. In another week or so the wood would be a picture of white and gold with a sprinkling of blue, and when the blue took over he would think again the sky had fallen. He now turned sharp right and to the gate that gave access to the wood. It was open, pushed back on its rusty hinge. He left it like that, then walked quickly in the direction of the river and the summer house.

  He paused by the landing stage and looked along the bank and up the rise to where the summer house stood. The moon was lighting up the scene as if it was daylight. He strained his ears but could hear no sound of voices. God, but this was going to be awkward. Yet she might not be there at all, she might have gone back. No, she would have closed the gate after her if she had gone back. They always closed the gate so that Michael’s puppy wouldn’t again get through into Jonathan’s garden and play havoc among the formal beds. No, somehow he had no doubt but that she was still here, and in the summer house. Well—he squared his shoulders—he couldn’t stay out all night, he’d better get it over with. His feet made no sound on the grass bank as he approached the wooden structure that had a disintegrating veranda and a thatched roof in a similar state. Three steps along the veranda took him to the door. To his surprise it was open and, further to his surprise, there was Vanessa, her hand held tightly against her cheek, sitting on the slatted form staring at him.

  ‘Vanessa!’

  ‘Oh, Brett. Oh!’ She put her other hand up to her face and closed her eyes. ‘Oh, you did give me a start.’ She swallowed deeply now as she gazed up at him. ‘I…I nearly had a fit.’

  He was blacking out the moonlight, and in the shadow of himself he could only see the dark gleam of her eyes, their brown now appearing like pieces of jet. ‘What on earth are you doing here, on your own?’

  ‘Oh, well.’ She rose to her feet, then dropped her head and said again, ‘Oh, you did give me a fright, Brett.’

  ‘You’re shaking.’ He had hold of her arm. ‘Sit down. I…I didn’t mean to frighten you. But why are you out here at this time of night?’

  ‘Oh, I often come down. I hope you don’t mind, Brett.’

  ‘Mind? Of course not. But why?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s because I’m restless, I can’t sleep. This is only the second time I’ve been here this year; it’s a bit cold yet.’ She shrugged her shoulders upwards around her chin. ‘I started to come down last summer. I could have sat in our garden but it wasn’t the same, I wanted to look at the river. You really don’t mind?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ He turned his head away from her. Then looking at her quickly again, he asked, ‘You’re…you’re not in trouble of any sort?’

  ‘No. No, of course not, Brett. Trouble? What trouble could I be in?’ This was followed by an embarrassed silence. She was sixteen and a half, as she had informed her father, and she knew what trouble she could be in, but she didn’t think Brett was referring to that kind of trouble. Cecilia Tomache had had to leave school last year because of a similar trouble, but she was well over seventeen. She said airily now, ‘Well, it’s now my turn to ask why you are out at this hour?’

  ‘That’s easy to answer. I saw you coming down, and I may as well tell you I wondered what you were up to.’

  ‘Oh, Brett, you didn’t!’

  ‘I did, young woman, I did.’

  They were laughing softly together. ‘Who did you expect to find me with?’

  ‘Well now.’ It would never do to tell her the truth, so he stroked his chin and pretended to think deeply before he said, ‘Seeing that Susan might well one day be Lady Braintree I thought you would at least be hobnobbing with a count.’ He looked at her. ‘Yes, a count, Italian. But on second thought, no. Italian counts are two-a-penny, and it would have to be someone exclusive for you, a prince. Yes…Now who are the eligible princes? There’s not many left. Now let’s see…’

  ‘Oh, Brett, you are funny.’ She pushed him. ‘I’ll settle for something less than a prince.’

  ‘Well, don’t do too low. Now mind, I’m telling you.’ He wagged his finger at her. ‘Aim high. Aim high, young woman.’

  The moonlight was falling across their faces, just below their eyes, but he could see the expression in hers as she said, ‘Who are you thinking about, Brett, when you say I should aim high? Me, or Mother and Father?’

  It was a sobering question, and the bantering went out of his voice as he answered, ‘I wasn’t thinking of them, I was merely being funny. When the time comes, high or low, you’ll know.’

  He had said to her, high or low, yet a few minutes ago he had been worried stiff in case she had given her young freshness to someone like Angus Cotton. People never said what they meant. He was no exception.

  She was looking out of the door now down the slope onto the moonlight water and she said, ‘I want to get married some time, Brett, but I…I don’t want it manoeuvred, like Susan’s. Brian’s young, but if he had been as old as Father I think she would have been ma
noeuvred into it, and she herself would have wanted to be manoeuvred into it, she’s got a thing about titles. She’s as bad as Mother.’ She turned her head sharply towards him. ‘People make me sick, Brett.’

  ‘People make me sick too, Vanessa.’ He laughed tolerantly.

  ‘Yes, I should imagine they do, Brett, because you’ve had what is known as a dirty deal, haven’t you?’

  His eyes widened as he stared at her. Then he said, ‘How did you come by that impression?’

  ‘Oh!’ She shook her head quickly. ‘Father, Mother, the things they say. Father’s guilt complex. He feels awfully guilty about you. I know he does; that’s why he blusters.’

  ‘Nonsense, nonsense, Vanessa. Good gracious, child, you do have queer ideas about some things.’

  ‘I haven’t, Brett. You know I haven’t. And I’m not a child, I’m going on seventeen and I’m very, very worldly.’ She bowed her head in a deep obeisance towards him, and he threw back his head and laughed aloud, only to check it quickly as he whispered, ‘I could be heard from the road, and if the night patrol was passing he’d be in here like a shot. And what would he think, finding us here at this time of night, eh?’

  ‘He’d think the worst, Brett.’

  ‘Vanessa!’ There was astonishment in his voice, yet he was still laughing.

  ‘I told you I’m very worldly.’

  He looked at her with his head on one side. ‘You’re very sweet, Van. I used to call you that when you were young but your father didn’t like it. Vanessa is her name, Vanessa she must be called…Come on, I think we’d both better be making for indoors.’ He rose to his feet and put out his hand and pulled her upwards, and as they went out onto the veranda she said, ‘Paul will soon be home; you’ll be happy then, Brett, won’t you?’

  He stopped dead and stared at her. ‘What makes you think I’m unhappy without Paul, Vanessa?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, just the way you look, sad like, lost. Yet you never look like that when you’re with Paul. You know when you were together at Christmas, you remember at the party, I thought to myself you were like twins.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, that’s the best compliment I’ve had in my life. Thank you, Vanessa, thank you.’ He bowed deeply from the waist.

  ‘I mean it.’ She turned from him and went down the steps onto the grassy slope, saying over her shoulder, ‘I like Paul, I like Paul better than anybody I know, except you.’ She was laughing widely as she turned her glance back towards him.

  He laughed back at her, then said, ‘I am deeply honoured, ma’am, deeply honoured.’ And he added, ‘Seriously, I am.’

  ‘I am looking forward to Paul coming. He’s good fun.’

  ‘You like Paul, really like him?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do. Would you like me to marry Paul, Brett?’

  ‘Vanessa, what’s got into you tonight? It must be the moon.’

  ‘Yes, I think it is the moon because I’m being very forward, aren’t I? I’m not usually like this, am I? They say I don’t talk enough. They think I’m reserved. Sulky, Father calls it. But I’ve always talked with you, and I can feel forward with you and know you’ll not tick me off.’

  Again they were laughing, smothered laughter.

  ‘But would you, would you like me to marry Paul, Brett?’

  ‘Since you ask, Vanessa, I would. It would make me very happy if you married Paul. But that’s up to you and Paul.’

  ‘Yes, that’s up to me and Paul, and Paul doesn’t even know I exist.’

  ‘Nonsense, Paul’s very fond of you. I know that.’

  ‘Yes, as the kid next door.’

  ‘Well, you know,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘up till last summer, even up till Christmas, even up to yesterday, you did appear like the kid next door, but not any longer.’ He held up his hand warningly against her attack, and they were laughing softly again as they entered the shadows of the trees. He whispered to her now, ‘Keep your voice down,’ and they said nothing further until they reached the gate, and there, looking up at him, she murmured below her breath, ‘I feel better, better than I’ve done for weeks. There was a dinner tonight, and, oh, it was boring.’

  ‘You were down for dinner?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Don’t you know that I’m a young lady and must be initiated into society?’ The bantering tone left her voice and she said, ‘You know, sometimes, Brett, I think I’m in one of Jane Austen’s novels; the pattern in our house is just like that. Mother talks about “getting one ready”. In this day and age, “getting one ready”! I ask you. When they are already talking of schoolchildren getting married and going back to school. It’s true, it was on the telly. She’s still living in her youth, even in her own mother’s youth. There’s no fun, Brett. You know, down on the main street where I was tonight, you know when I was talking to Angus, there’s a club. They were going, his sister and Emily, and they would be laughing and singing and enjoying themselves up till midnight. It made me feel sad, forgotten somehow. Not that I want to go to clubs, but some of the girls from school, younger than me, they go out on a Saturday night to dances. The Golf Club have a wonderful dance once a month. But what happens to me? I’m allowed down to dinner to be “got ready”. Got ready for what, Brett? Not to get married, not really, you don’t really need to be got ready to get married, do you? I should imagine that comes naturally, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Well.’ He was stumped, he was stumped by the whole train of her conversation.

  ‘I know what I’m being got ready for, Brett. I’m being got ready to hook someone in the Braintree set. Oh, I know all about it, and it makes me furious inside.’

  ‘Take it slowly, dear,’ he said gently. ‘I know how you feel, I really do, and when Paul comes home you’ll go off to a dance together. It’ll be arranged in some way.’

  She sighed deeply. ‘It won’t be arranged, it can’t. Father will see to that, and in any case I wouldn’t want to go to a dance with Paul because it would be on sufferance.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, he’d be delighted to take you, because, you know, you’re a very, very attractive young lady. In fact, I could say truthfully you’re a very beautiful young lady when you’re not scowling, and if I’m not mistaken you’re going to cause some havoc in the male world before you’re much older.’

  ‘Do you think so, Brett?’ Her voice was eager. ‘Really? You’re not just being soothing?’

  ‘No, I’m not just being soothing. It’s a prophecy, and all my prophecies come true.’ He raised his hand, and again they were laughing gently. Now he pushed her through the gateway, saying, ‘How do you get in?’

  ‘Up the fire escape, onto the second landing, and once I’m there and anyone should open their door I’m just coming from the bathroom.’

  ‘You’re a minx.’

  ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘Down the back stairway.’ Again he pushed her. ‘Go on, sleep well. See you tomorrow.’

  She moved a step from him, then turned swiftly towards him and, reaching up, she kissed him on the chin, saying, ‘You are the nicest man I know, the very nicest.’

  He stood perfectly still until he imagined she had reached the side of the house where the fire escape was, then he moved slowly up through the wood, his head bent on his chest, and when he re-entered his room again he switched on the light and looked at himself closely in the mirror. Then he held his hand a few inches from his face as if he was cupping the face that had kissed his.

  As he went to sleep he thought, ‘And I went out to tear a strip off Angus Cotton!’

  PART ONE

  One

  Vanessa just managed to board the train with the assistance of a lift and an, ‘In you go!’ from a porter. She stumbled over the feet of the second-class passengers and excused herself; then she went out into the corridor and down the train towards the few first-class compartments. She was passing the last compartment in the corridor when the sight of the sole occupant of it brought her to a halt and she said, ‘Why, hello, Angus!�
�

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Angus got hastily to his feet, dropping the paper to the floor as he did so. He retrieved it and threw it onto the seat before saying, ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded and smiled at him.

  ‘Lookin’ for a seat?’ He looked down at her.

  She hesitated just a moment, and his chin jerked up as he said, ‘Oh, you’re going down to the first. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ She moved into the compartment and sat down; immediately he sat opposite to her, saying, ‘You’re not at school the day? That’s a daft question, but I mean…’

  ‘I’ve been to the dentist.’

  ‘In Newcastle?’ His thick, sandy, well-defined eyebrows moved upwards. ‘I thought we had an overflow of them in Fellburn.’

  ‘I had to see a specialist. I’m getting an extra ration.’ She pressed the corner of her mouth back and upwards to reveal a small tooth jutting out between the roots of two others.

  ‘Good lord! Cutting your milk teeth again? Aw,’ his smile widened, ‘in your case it would be a wisdom tooth.’

  She laughed. ‘Wisdom, huh! Wisdom. By the way, while we’re explaining why we aren’t at our particular jobs, why aren’t you at work?’

  ‘Oh.’ He leant back. ‘I’ve been to a funeral.’

  ‘A funeral?’

  ‘Yes; me uncle’s. We haven’t seen him for years, ten or more, but me mother thought somebody should go. It wasn’t decent like,’ he mimicked Emily’s words, ‘to let him be put away and not one of the family near him.’