Chapter 11
ELEVEN
A footpath led through the copse and up the hill. A stone wall ran along the ridge, with slabs sticking out where it crossed the path, to form a stile. Climbing it, with Sybil’s hand to steady her, Daisy said acerbically, “Here’s something else that would be so much easier in trousers!”
Scattered sheep grazed the downward slope of a narrow valley.
Away to their right, halfway up the opposite slope, crouched a small farmhouse with a few outbuildings.
The song of an invisible skylark poured down, reminding Daisy of Vaughan Williams’s The Lark Ascending, one of her favourite pieces.
That made her think of Alec, whose irregular hours made it impossible to attend as many concerts as they would have liked.
She wished he were at her side, striding down the slanting path, instead of Sybil.
Not that she hadn’t come to like Sybil, and admire her talent, but she didn’t like at all the situation she’d been landed in. She had to admit, though, that her own insatiable curiosity was equally to blame.
She looked up, trying to spot the lark, but all she saw was a buzzard turning lazy circles across the sky.
“I feel so beastly!” Sybil burst out. “Whenever he’s feeling better, half of me wants him to recover completely, but the other half worries about what on earth we’ll all do if he does!”
Daisy patted her shoulder. “It’s only natural. What happened this morning? Did he want to see what you’d been writing?”
“No, he was too busy explaining a couple of ideas he’d come up with for twists in the plot, and the scenes needed to carry them out, as well. They’re terrific.”
“Did he used to discuss ideas with you when he was doing all the writing and you were just typing it up?”
“Never. He’d just hand me the pages and I’d get on with it. Now everything’s such a mess,” Sybil said wretchedly, “I don’t see any way out.”
“I don’t believe it’s as bad as that. Suppose he makes a complete recovery. Why can’t you just go on working in partnership? Why should it matter if the publisher finds out? Surely all they’re interested in is sales figures. You’d just have to make sure it didn’t leak out to the reading public.”
“Perhaps. It’s the uncertainty that’s so hard to bear.”
“Isn’t it always.”
“You must be bored to tears with my troubles. Tell me about your outing. Were Ilkton and Carey at each other’s throats?”
“Not at all. Carey goes his merry way without much concern for what anyone thinks.”
“Just like Myra.”
“But I wouldn’t call Myra mischievous, whereas Carey has more than a touch of the mischief-maker in him, if you ask me.”
“That’s obvious from his writing plays shut down by the censors. He can’t possibly make any money from them.”
“I imagine he lives a fairly hand-to-mouth existence. Ruby’s convinced he’s after Myra’s money, which I dare say is true.”
“A fruitless pursuit!”
Daisy laughed. “So I hear. If you ask me, he’s just flirting for the sake of baiting Ilkton.”
“And Ilkton?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s caught him if she wants him.”
“If. ‘Ay, there’s the rub.’”
“I’m fairly certain she doesn’t. But he acts as if he’s very confident of winning her.”
“Could they have a secret understanding?”
“Why? I mean, why secret? All I’ve heard is approval, no opposition.”
“Because Myra would consider it romantic? Playing the star-crossed lover. I can just imagine her fabricating some romantic fiction for his benefit. That the family want to keep her income in their hands, or something like of the kind.”
Daisy shook her head. “I’d be surprised. You know her better than I do, of course, but I don’t see her as either being a secret romantic or fabricating lies about the family.”
“You’re right. She’s really rather pragmatic and practical.” Sybil sighed. “I’m the romantic.”
“Imaginative, rather. Besides, she’s attached to the family in her way. Her practical way. They’re her ‘background,’ she told me.”
“Background?” Sybil sounded surprised. “What did she mean by that?”
“Without them, she’d be a floating single young woman without roots, and as such, not quite respectable. At her age, not at all respectable in many eyes. The family are her roots, her anchor, her ballast, whatever you want to call it. Her respectable background.”
“Is that all they are to her, after all they’ve done for her!”
“Heavens no. She’s fond of Ruby and Humphrey, and even Simon ‘at times.’”
“At times?” said Sybil with a smile. “There is the odd moment when they aren’t quarrelling.”
“And she likes you and Monica.”
“She does? I didn’t know. I’ve never paid her much attention.”
“As much as anyone, I expect. She can’t be described as a poor relation, but she’s rather the odd man out.”
“Yes. Poor girl! I must make a point of being kinder to her. Though, I must say, she seems to have talked to you a lot more than she’s ever talked to me.”
“People do. Don’t ask me why.”
They walked on for a while in silence, then Sybil said, “You know, the family may be useful to Myra, but the reverse is true, too. Her visits liven the place up no end, and Monica adores her.”
They started talking about their children.
By the time they returned towards Eyrie Farm, by a different path, Daisy was warm with exertion.
The sun still shone, though a knee-high mist was rising from the grass.
From this direction, the home farm buildings behind the house were visible—an empty sheep-pen, stables, sheds, a low barn, and a walled kitchen-garden.
A couple of Clydesdales grazed in a paddock.
They paused at the top of the hill to watch a small, new-looking lorry with wood-slat sides buzz over the bridge towards the house.
“Norman’s home,” said Sybil.
“Nice new lorry.”
“Second hand, but his pride and joy.”
“Bought with money from your books?”
“Partly. Luckily there’s not much in the way of field crops so he doesn’t need a tractor. But it’s not really fair to look at it that way. The household expenses would shoot up without his contributions in kind, and he runs the estate.”
“I’d hate to be in charge of the household accounts,” said Daisy, who hated being in charge of her own household accounts.
“He does the farm accounts and Ruby does the rest. I used to keep the books straight on royalties and so on, but Ruby’s taken them over since … my duties expanded. I’ve no idea how she and Norman work things out together—”
“With difficulty, I’m sure.”
“Let alone how Lorna’s share in the farm comes into it all. Not my business, thank heaven.”
“As long as you’re being paid your proper share of the royalties.”
Sybil shrugged. “Who’s to say what’s proper? I’m satisfied. Lorna’s the one who’s never satisfied. How can she still—after thirty years—resent Humphrey coming home to claim his share!”
“Norman doesn’t?”
“Who knows? I’d guess he’d be silent and morose under any circumstances. That’s just the way he is. He and Lorna are really the flies in the ointment, as far as the dismal atmosphere in the house is concerned. Simon can be tiresome but at least he’s rarely sulky.”
At that moment came a loud hail from behind. They both swung round to see Simon and Carey panting up the hill towards them.
“Bejabers, you ladies are fast walkers!”
“We thought we’d join you and we’ve been trying to catch up. Didn’t you see us waving?”
“We were talking,” said Sybil.
“About our children,” Daisy added hurriedly, to forestall enquiries. “Oh dear, I’ve even forgotten to admire the scenery!”
“Sure and you fulfilled that obligation this morning at the Hydro, Mrs. Fletcher,” Carey consoled her.
“Was Myra too worn out from the motor-bike ride to come with you?” Sybil asked.
“We didn’t invite her.” Simon grinned. “I persuaded Carey it was Ilkton’s turn to enjoy her undivided attention for a while. Neil has the unfair advantage of the motor-bike.”
“Unfair! Wasn’t I after choosing the bike to give the colleens a thrill.”
“No. You bought it because it’s cheaper than a car.”
“Alack, I am unmasked!” Carey said mock-mournfully. “’Tis true. ’Tis also true that after one ride most young ladies walk bow-legged for three days and choose the Packard next time!”
They all laughed as they walked down the hill.
Norman was in the yard behind the house, sweeping out the back of the lorry. Though he must have heard them, he didn’t look round.
“Need any help, Uncle Norman?”
“That’ll be the day! You might dirty your hands.”
Simon pulled a rueful face. They went on towards the house, Carey and Sybil ahead.
Simon said to Daisy, “You must think we’re a strange family, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“All families are strange in their own ways, though different would be a better word.”
“You disagree with Tolstoy, then?”
Daisy racked her brains, without result. “Is that War and Peace? I’m afraid I’ve always been daunted by the sheer size of it.”
“Anna Karenina. ‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’”
“I’d have to think about it. Do you consider your own family happy or unhappy?”
“Well, we can’t be called happy, with my father ill and my uncle and aunt always grumpy. But we rub on together all right, on the whole.”
“Not unhappy enough to provide material for a novel?”
“Insufficient angst.” He gave her an expectant look.
“If you’re trying to depress my intellectual pretensions,” Daisy said tartly, “you might as well give up. I haven’t any.
But I do happen to know what angst means, only because a friend of mine is an eternal student.
She goes to lectures constantly. Psychology is one of her favourite subjects, and she passes on vast quantities of what she learns.
Not all of it sails unheeded by my ears. ”
He grinned. “Sorry. You must admit, it’s a very frustrating situation. You don’t happen to know any angst-ridden families you could introduce me to, do you?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t. The last thing an unhappy family needs is a stranger dropping in to take notes.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”