Chapter 11
‘Cannon Hall is just a fifteen-minute walk or so away,’ I said as we both stood.
‘If you’ve never been, it’s worth seeing.
I might not agree with the premise that one very rich, entitled family should have owned and lived in so fabulous a place but…
you know…’ I trailed off, not wanting to sound scornful at best, sneery at worst.
‘Do you ever stop?’ Theo asked as we crossed the road from the pub and walked alongside the village cricket pitch before taking a narrow path that led to the grounds of Cannon Hall.
‘Stop?’ I knew perfectly well what Theo was getting at but wanted him to explain, wanted to know his thinking about what amounted to the British class system.
‘It must get so tiresome, constantly fighting the fight for social justice.’
‘Tiresome?’ I glanced across at him as we walked.
The evening was still warm, and he stopped to remove the still-buttoned shirt, the white T-shirt beneath inadvertently pulled upwards from his jeans to reveal a tanned, muscled abdomen divided vertically by a line of dark blond hair rising up from his groin.
Goodness. I felt quite weak with longing.
‘Tiresome?’ I asked again, finally averting my eyes from his naked flesh.
‘Do you think it tiresome that miners’ kids are going hungry because of what Ian MacGregor and Thatcher are doing to this community?
Tiresome that there’s been a Tamil genocide in Sri Lanka that’s left one hundred and fifty thousand people homeless?
Tiresome that thousands are starving right this minute, because of the ongoing famine in Ethiopia?
’ Our bare arms met as we walked and I felt a frisson of what can only be described as lust but, in order to prevent myself from hauling him onto the verge and snogging him to within an inch of his life, I kept on spouting dogma like some sort of Exocet missile.
‘I mean, really, come on: tiresome is when someone has taken the last drop of milk when you’re desperate for a cup of tea; tiresome is when your hem’s coming down and you’ve no Sellotape to stick it back up and you’re on your way to an interview; tiresome is… is…’
‘OK, OK.’ Theo stopped walking, putting up two hands as he did so.
‘I’m sorry, tiresome was a ridiculous word to use.
Your fights for justice are admirable, they really are, I only wish I had your social conscience, but you’re young, bright…
you’re… Anna…’ he almost tutted ‘…you’re absolutely…
beautiful…’ Theo, slightly ahead, threw the words over his shoulder and then he stopped, turned and, clearly embarrassed, faced me. ‘You’re beautiful, Anna.’
Well, that took the wind from my sails, stopped me in my tracks and any other cliché you might care to mention.
‘And please don’t go off on one because you think I’ve belittled your views, your social conscience, your female rights… your… need to make the world a better place by what I’ve just said about you. If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention.’
‘I’m not offended.’ I smiled. Offended? I was swinging from the chandelier that Theo Mandeville had even noticed me, was walking with me, appeared to want to be with me.
And now he thought I was beautiful. ‘I do know I go on a bit. Even Les, my brother – he’s the militant one in our family – tells me to put a sock in it sometimes. ’
We’d crossed the little bridge that took us to the edge of the main lawns and gardens of Cannon Hall and Theo stopped, gazing round at the acres of grassland, at the lake upon which myriad ducks, geese and other waterfowl I couldn’t name were starting to settle for the evening.
Dog walkers were taking advantage of the warm sweet-smelling air, while a football game was being played by several teenaged kids.
‘I assume the owners don’t mind their front garden being used as a football pitch?’
I wasn’t sure if Theo was serious or not, but I caught his eye and he started laughing.
‘We were taken round the hall a couple of times from school when we were kids. You know, told how the rich lived their life of opulence while the poor old Rothersley peasants had to bow and scrape, and mend and make do, with the scraps they were thrown.’ I laughed myself now, hyperbolising the demeanour of those that had walked up from the village to work for the family.
‘And were you waving your banner for the underdog then?’ Theo asked seriously. ‘When you were eight?’
‘I just wanted to be outside, running around, constantly asking if we could go and see the animals on the home farm here.’ I gave a little ‘ooh’ of pain as a stone hit the sore on my foot caused by my earlier running down the road in unsuitable sandals.
‘D’you want to sit down?’
I nodded and we walked to a quiet area of the lawn under a spreading chestnut tree. The acid-green leaves had unfurled fully in the warmth of the past few days, and the grass was strewn with an abundance of daisies.
‘So,’ I said, conscious of Theo’s jeaned legs touching my bare one. ‘I’ve told you all about my family. What about yours?’ When Theo didn’t say anything but instead shielded his eyes against the setting sun, I went on, ‘Do you go home much?’
‘Back to North Yorkshire? Not as much as I should. I’m so into my squash and I just get raised eyebrows when I’m off to play, or to a match, when they want me out helping with the shoot or the hunt.’
‘The hunt?’ I turned to stare. ‘Not poor little foxes?’
‘Hey, have you seen the destruction when a poor little fox gets in to the hens?’
‘Well, yes, I have actually. My dad’s got a few chucks on his allotment.
’ I paused, not wanting to vilify the striking miners, but went on anyway.
‘To be honest, with the miners having so little money to exist on, it’s not the foxes these days that get into the coop.
Dad tends to turn a blind eye when the eggs go missing.
Says the younger miners with small children probably need them more than we do. ’
‘That’s very good of him.’
‘He’s a very good man.’
‘Piasecki…?’ Theo now said.
‘You remembered my name!’ The words had tumbled out before I could stop them.
‘I did.’ Theo pulled a wry face. ‘Hard not to when it was being rammed down my throat all the time by that DI. Kept going on about how Felicity Sutherland, the deceased, was Anna Piasecki’s housemate and what did I know about this Anna Piasecki?’
‘Oh?’
‘Apart from the fact she has very cold hands, there was little I could tell him.’ Theo grinned. ‘But, you know, you did tell DI Crowther that I’d been with your friend Fliss in the few days before she died. He wanted to know what my relationship with you was.’
‘Your relationship with me?’ I stared.
‘You know, was there any reason you’d have made this up about me to get me in trouble? Had we been in a relationship ourselves and I’d ended it and you were out for revenge?’
‘To be fair, Theo, he and the woman officer did ask me the same thing.’
‘So, yes, the name Piasecki is somewhat lodged in my brain. And your dad? With a name like Piasecki, I assume he’s not from Yorkshire?’
‘Poland. Warsaw. He escaped both the Russians and then the Nazis and managed to make his way here and fought for the Brits. Not an easy time for Jews in wartime Europe.’
‘He’s Jewish?’ Theo turned to look at me fully. ‘So, you’re Jewish as well?’
‘You obviously know nothing about Judaism,’ I scoffed.
‘In order for me to be Jewish, my mum would have had to be Jewish. And she has no religion. Dad goes off to the synagogue in Sheffield or Leeds every so often, but both he and my mum reckon people – and kind people at that – are more important than following any dogma.’ I was rather proud of that word and had been known to flash it about.
Perhaps, in all honesty, a bit too much.
‘Sounds an interesting bloke,’ Theo said.
‘Well, I think so. Very bright, but with little formal education. He’s really musical,’ I added. ‘Can hear a tune and next minute he’s bashing it out on the piano…’ I trailed off. ‘You were supposed to be telling me about your family, and we ended up talking about mine again. Tell me about them.’
Theo gave a little shrug. ‘Oh, the usual. You know.’
‘No, tell me.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why do you want to know about me?’ Theo smiled, reaching a hand towards my hair once more.
Another bloody ladybird? He took a long strand of my dark hair, simply winding it round a finger before replacing it behind my ear.
‘You’ve beautiful hair, Anna Piasecki…’ He sat back, looking at me almost as if considering me. ‘Anna…?’
‘Hmm?’
‘No, nothing… nothing. Look, I need to be getting back…’ He hesitated. ‘Do you come back over to Leeds at all?’
‘Not really. I have to keep in touch with lecturers; should be deciding what modules I’m taking next year.’ I hesitated. ‘The thing is, after what happened to Fliss, I can’t say I’m looking forward to going back in September.’
‘Are you not in touch with those girls in your house?’
I shook my head. ‘Not really. I do need to be thinking about my final year. Thinking about what career I want. It’s all right studying politics, but you can’t just go and apply to be an MP as a job.
’ I laughed. ‘And then there’s the thing about accommodation.
I just keep putting it off. My friend Frank did say he’d put the word out for me. ’
‘Frank?’
‘He’s on my course but not taking a year out. That’s the problem with taking a year out, once you return, many of the people you know have left and have scattered to London or abroad. Anyway, Frank cycles over now and again.’
Fairly regularly actually. Well, he did, until he realised I was in a relationship with John Dyson. He’d sulked a bit and I’d not seen him after that.
‘Cycled from Leeds to Rothersley?’ Theo whistled. ‘He must be keen.’
When I didn’t respond, he stood, brushing grass from his jeans and reaching out a hand to pull me up. ‘You OK walking on that foot? You’ve one hell of a blister there.’