Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
S pencer drove along Charnley Acre’s high street, then, instead of heading for the main road out of the village, he took the turning at the crossroads that led up Charnley Hill. Snow was still banked up on either side, lumps of it, solid, dirty-looking, but the road was clear and ice-free. Just as well the temperature had switched up a few degrees, considering the long journey ahead of him.
The car slowed almost of its own accord as he reached the gates of Spindlewood. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here. Tormenting himself wasn’t something he was prone to. He’d never seen the point of dwelling on what might have been. And yet, here he was. He pulled the car slightly off the road and, parking it half on and half off the snow-strewn grass verge, killed the engine and got out of the car.
The hedge running along the front of the garden was shoulder high, and quite thick despite the winter leaf drop. But now he was here, he wanted more than a peek through the hedge. So what if he was seen? He hardly cared now. Stepping sideways, he ventured as far as the open gates and planted himself between them. From here he had an almost uninterrupted view of the garden and the house at the top of it.
The first thing that caught his eye was the flat area of lawn to the right of the path where it met the shrubbery. The grass was all churned up and deeply ridged in places. Until the snow disguised it, it must have been a sea of mud. He’d told Laura her garden would be wrecked by that man’s temporary shop. He’d told her, and he’d been right, but she hadn’t listened. Hadn’t cared, more like. Oh yes, Laura’s priorities had lain elsewhere, somewhere more telling than the state of her garden. No doubt about it.
At the thought of Clayton Masters and his pathetic whinging about the accident, his outburst in court and the lies he’d spread in order to place the blame for his sister’s death firmly at Spencer’s feet, he felt heat rising through his body, despite the coldness of the day.
The heat of anger and frustration and… something else. What was that? Regret? Guilt?
Regret that the episode on that country road at night had happened in the first place, certainly. Of course he regretted it, even though he hadn’t been at fault, not for the girl’s death, anyway; the court had ruled on that. Spencer believed in the strength of the British justice system, if he believed in anything. Common sense had prevailed, as well as lack of evidence to refute Spencer’s account of the incident. Nobody could argue with that.
And yet they had. Or at least, one person had. More than one now, of course. He’d never had Laura down as a woman who was easily swayed – look how long it had taken him to lure her into bed. But he’d bet his last quid she was a fully paid up member of Team Masters now.
That was something else Spencer regretted: his abject failure to keep Laura and Clayton apart and the history between him and Masters under wraps. Failure wasn’t part of his vocabulary. Or it hadn’t been, before. He’d have to watch that in future.
Guilt? Was he feeling that, too? If so, the feeling came as an unwelcome surprise. Spencer gazed at the now empty space where the feet of half the village had so recently trod and, for once, thought about what it must be like to lose somebody close, so suddenly and unexpectedly. Somebody so young. He supposed he was lucky he’d never had to find out. The deaths of his grandparents, and a couple of old aunts and uncles had been sad, but even he realised that was hardly the same thing.
Louise, her name was. A lovely girl, the newspaper reports said. Kind, always thinking of others. Mind you, didn’t they always say that? Yes, there was a certain amount of guilt there. Inside Spencer’s brain, the word ‘Sorry’ slowly formed, as if he’d spoken it aloud. Maybe he did have a heart, after all.
Enough of the introspection . Spencer pulled his cashmere scarf up around his ears, thrust his hands deep inside his pockets and turned his gaze on the house. It was far too big for one person, anyone could see that. She was attached to the place purely for sentimental reasons, that had been clear from the start. Her husband – John? James? – had instigated its purchase; she’d once told him that. The first time Spencer had set eyes on Spindlewood, when he’d followed her home to make sure she arrived safely – a genuine reason, it really was – the house had spoken to him. He’d encountered hundreds of great houses, original one-offs that had delighted his eye and spilt pound signs into the air, but Spindlewood was the best of them. That turret with its fairy-tale appearance was the stuff of dreams. It leaked, of course, needed big bucks spent on it, like other parts of the house. But it was all fixable, and as he’d wandered around inside on his first visit, he’d calculated the space and reckoned he could make four apartments out of it, or maybe three and a couple of studios. The apartment with the turret would have been the star of the show, the most desirable. The most expensive.
Spencer had almost salivated as he’d envisaged the enticing sales brochure.
She would have gone for it, in the end. She could have had one of the apartments, the turret one, if she’d liked. Or she could have bought herself a little cottage in the village and had a nice little sum in the bank to boot. Yes, she would have seen the sense in selling him the place, eventually. Teachers didn’t earn big money, and she didn’t have a great deal to fall back on. One glance at her orderly files in the bedroom drawer had confirmed that.
Spencer stepped to one side and leaned on the gatepost, his thoughts coming from a different angle. Had he been going to ask Laura to marry him? Had he really, or had he said it in a last-ditch attempt to stop her from leaving him? Again, Spencer questioned his own feelings that seemed intent on scuppering his normal pragmatism today. Okay, he’d had feelings for her. She was a beauty, in an unassuming way he liked. She was thoughtful and amusing, and as enthusiastic about their lovemaking as he could have wished. Yes, Laura was great, and if it wasn’t love he’d felt for her – he wasn’t sure he even knew what that was – it must have been close. Close enough.
But marriage? If by any remote chance she’d have gone for it, he’d have found a way to back down afterwards. His feelings didn’t extend quite that far. No, what he’d really wanted was to move into Spindlewood with her, enjoy all the fruits of the relationship while the subject of the house’s development brewed nicely in the background.
But there, it wasn’t to be. Things had a way of working out for the best in the end.
He’d briefly considered leaving Charnley Acre, once his plans had blown up in his face. In fact, he was still thinking it might be in his best interests to start afresh, somewhere new. But he liked the area; that was why he’d returned in the first place. And now he had even more business connections in Sussex than before, and good people working for him, too. Shame to waste all that. He was even set to recoup the outlay on that site with the Japanese knotweed. The horrible, costly stuff was no more.
Spencer shivered. It was only late morning but the sky above the chimneys of Spindlewood had darkened while he’d been standing here. Perhaps they were in for more snow. Just then, a light went on in the turret, joining the others in the downstairs rooms. In some of the rooms, even from this distance, he detected glitter and sparkle. Along the frontage of the house, fairy lights bobbed and swayed, and there were coloured lights strung across the bushes nearest the house.
The party . Of course, it was Christmas Eve. He’d forgotten about the party. Tonight, the lovely Mrs Engleby would be playing hostess, and getting a thrill out of it. He could have been by her side, welcoming half the bloody village, wining and dining and entertaining them. She would have rewarded him amply later, he’d have been sure of that. He might even have wrangled an invitation to stay over and spend Christmas Day with her and her family. Instead, he’d be spending it at the old homestead with his parents, and possibly his brother, sister-in-law, and their kids. His parents were always on top form – no sign of the frailty he’d hinted at to Laura. At least they’d be pleased to see him.
Taking a last look at Spindlewood, Spencer returned to the car, stepped in and started up. Then, making a tight three-point turn, he drove back down Charnley Hill to begin the journey to Gloucestershire.