Authors: Lyndon Stacey
`And you're getting too old for me to give you a brotherly kickup-the-pants, but I won't let it stop me!' Gideon told her. `The tarpaulins are in the back of the car. Where do you want them?'
Naomi took an armful of green canvas and led the way to what was left of the old stables. Two bays of the old brick buildings had been roughly shored up, their roofs patched with sheets of corrugated plastic that appeared, in the main, to be tied on with baling twine. The next two bays were completely roofless. Only the main central joists remained, blackened but surprisingly stout. It was to these two that Naomi led Gideon, skirting the muddy puddles and piles of roof tiles that littered the way.
Following her, looking at her mud-caked boots and mudspattered jeans, and listening to her cheerfully cataloguing what they had so far done and what remained to be done before rebuilding could start, Gideon found it hard to see in her the neat, well-groomed, ultra-feminine dancer of days past. Of course, dancing was not a soft option as a career. It was hard, often painful, slog, but it was just so different.
As though she was reading his mind, Naomi paused in her detailing of the plans for the Sanctuary to say, `Jack's found me some work in Bournemouth, isn't that great? It's a three-month run in a musical. Three months at least - maybe more.'
`And that's what you want?'
She glanced over her shoulder at him. `Sure, why wouldn't I? I'd always want to dance. It'll be nice to wear pretty clothes again, something that's not caked in dirt and, well - you know what! Besides, the money will come in really useful here.'
She turned into the doorway beside her and dumped her armful of tarpaulin on to a sodden straw bale. The rain had almost stopped for the moment, only a light, misty drizzle disturbing the pool of water on the concrete floor.
`The Victorians knew how to build stables, didn't they?' she observed. `The water has all collected at the front, here. If the drain wasn't blocked with ash, it would have run away completely.'
Gideon dropped his tarpaulin on top of hers. `Sis? What aren't you telling me?'
Naomi avoided his eyes. `What d'you mean?'
`I mean you're all buoyed up with something - positively bursting with it! You can't tell me something hasn't happened.' `Oh, I never could keep a secret from you, could I?' she exclaimed, giving up all pretence at normality. `Tim has asked me to marry him! He asked me last night, and I said yes. You don't mind, do you?' She scanned his face with comic intensity.
`All the same if I did!' Gideon laughed. `No, of course I don't, you idiot! If it's what you want, that's all that matters. I'm thrilled for you! Come here!' He held out his arms and she hugged him joyfully.
,I hope he did it properly - this proposal. Down on one knee in a candlelit restaurant somewhere, with a serenade of violins.' Naomi chuckled, and from the doorway a voice spoke apologetically. `Well, I was on my knees, but we were trying to force some water and glucose down a badger's throat at the time.' `Oh, nice timing!' Gideon approved. `Very romantic!' He leaned away from Naomi to get a better look at her. `Well, I don't have to ask if you're happy, you're absolutely glowing! Well, well. My little Sis, getting married!'
`I am nearly thirty!' the bride-to-be protested. `It's high time you started thinking about settling down.'
`Mm. Well, congratulations, both of you!'
`Thanks.' Tim coughed, slightly embarrassed by the whole situation. `What I came to say is that I've put the kettle on, if anyone's thirsty.' He turned and headed towards their new caravan that stood not where the mobile home had but in the lee of the old barn.
Gideon put his arm round Naomi's shoulders and followed him.
`So what's the story with you and this girl Rachel?' she asked, slanting a look up at him.
`There's no story. She's staying for a few days, that's all.' `No romance, then?'
Gideon groaned. `Why is it that as soon as someone makes a commitment, they can't wait to sort out the lives of everyone around them?'
`I'm not! But she seems a nice girl.'
`Oh, she is. She's a lovely girl. But she's not my type. She's too,' he paused, searching for the right word, `too delicate.'
`I thought that's what men liked,' Naomi commented. `Someone pretty and fragile to take care of.'
`Not all men,' he stated firmly. `And not this one. You can't tell me Tim does either. He wants someone to work beside him as an equal. Someone he can rely on in a crisis. You give each other strength, I've seen it.'
' Coffee and biscuits were consumed in high good humour. The talk was all of plans for the future. No reference was made to past troubles, which disturbed Gideon a little. Surely whatever grudge the occupants of Ly ddon Grange had had against Tim and the Sanctuary had not gone up in smoke with the buildings. Or, if for some reason it had, surely it would return when they were rebuilt.
`You've not had any more trouble, then?' he asked eventually, reluctant to spoil the mood but having to know.
`All's been quiet since I found Milne here that time,' Tim said, shrugging. `He asked all those questions about my plans - our plans - for the place,' he amended with a smile for Naomi. `I told him that when we'd had new plans drawn up they'd be available for all to see, and he just took himself off. I've not heard a peep out of any of them since. Suits me,' he added, getting to his feet and collecting the empty mugs. `Actually, I've got an architect coming to have a preliminary look this afternoon.'
`On a Sunday?'
`Yeah, well, I think he's moonlighting but his rates are very good, so who am I to ask questions?'
`Quite. Well, if you want a hand putting those tarpaulins up, we'd better get on and do it now,' Gideon remarked. `I thought I might drop in on George and Rose on the way home. Mrs Morecambe sent some tomato chutney for Rose, and I promised I'd call in again.' He paused. Naomi was looking stricken. `What?'
`Oh, Gideon, I should have phoned to tell you, but what with this business about your friend Tom, I didn't want to add to everything. Poor old George had a heart attack and died two nights ago. I'm sorry. The funeral's next week. I was going to let you know before then.'
`Oh, God! Poor old chap!' Gideon said. `Poor Rose, too. She must be lost without him.'
`I went to see her yesterday. She seems to be coping well. It wasn't completely unexpected, of course, but it's always a shock. Apparently he got up in the night for some reason and she found him dead in the sitting room in the morning. There was some theory that he might have disturbed an intruder and the shock set it off, because they found a window open. But nothing was taken, so they think he must have opened the window himself when he felt unwell. The dog was upstairs with Rose, but then he never barks anyway.'
'Poor Rose,' Gideon said again. `What a shame.'
`Pop in and see her anyway,' Naomi suggested. `She'd like to see you. I don't think she's got many left to care about her.' Hauling the heavy tarpaulins into place was hard and wet work, and it was almost an hour later when Gideon knocked on Rose Callow's tiny front door. After a moment or two it opened the six inches or so that its chain allowed and Rose peered anxiously round it. From ground level, the wizened face of an elderly terrier peered silently up at him.
`It's all right, Mrs Callow. It's Gideon. You remember me, don't you?'
`Of course!' she declared warmly. `Hold on a minute. Mind your nose, Benny!'
The door closed and reopened, minus the chain. `Gideon! Come in, come in.'
He hesitated. `Well, look, I don't want to trouble you. Naomi's just told me about George and I had to come and say how sorry I am.' He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. `After all, if it wasn't for him that night . . .'
`Bless you, my love. He was just so proud that he'd helped. Come on in, you're letting all the warm air out!'
Ducking his head, Gideon stepped past her into the narrow, dark hallway and on into the sitting room. Rose carefully closed the door and followed.
`You'll have a cup of tea, Gideon? The kettle's on.'
Having consumed two mugs of coffee at the Sanctuary, a cup of tea was not precisely at the top of his wish-list but Gideon knew Rose would be much happier if allowed to provide for her guest, and so accepted with a show of gratitude.
While she busied herself in the kitchen, he glanced round the tiny, chintzy room. Everything was neat but worn. It all looked as though stuck in a time warp since the nineteen-forties or -fifties, and Rose apparently lived by the wartime adage of make-do and mend. Two worn armchairs and a small settee all bore lacebordered antimacassars and covers on their arms to hide the signs of age. The rugs on the stone-tiled floor, and the curtains at the tiny windows, were also thin and faded but the room was spotless and the furniture polished to a mirror finish. In the narrow grate, coal glowed red behind a burnished bronze rail, and partly worked embroidery had been hurriedly shoved into a basket containing silks beside one of the chairs. The whole effect had a certain poignant charm.
Preceded by the teeter, Rose returned with a tray that held, not only teapot and cups but jam, cream and scones too. The dog stepped neatly into a basket near the fire and settled down with a deep sigh, looking depressed.
`I know it's not teatime,' Rose apologised, `but I haven't got anything much for lunch, and everybody likes scones, don't they?'
`Well, I certainly do,' Gideon said as he hurried to move a vase of daffodils that stood on the coffee table.
`Thank you, Gideon. Just pop them on the desk in the corner, will you? Aren't they pretty? Naomi brought them for me.' `They're lovely,' he agreed, thinking that it was typically thoughtful of his sister. As he set the vase down carefully on its lace mat, he noticed an old document lying partly unfolded on the desktop, underneath a tatty jacketed book entitled Gardens to Treasure.
`Oh, is this an old map of the area?' he asked, seeing the name on the bottom of the sheet.
`Yes. It shows Lyddon Grange and the farm, with the old boundaries,' Rose told him. `There's a picture of the gardens in their heyday in the book, too. Before the military took it over in the war. George was always looking at that book. He was looking at it the day before he died. Mr Slade from the Grange called in and George was telling him all about how it used to be. Happy as a sandboy he was that afternoon, that's what I try to remember.' The hand wielding the teapot shook a little. `Here you are. Come and help yourself to scones.'
`Did Slade often come to see you?' Gideon asked, considerably surprised. He accepted a cup of tea and sat in one of the chairs by the fire.
`No. He'd never been before,' Rose echoed his puzzlement. `He knocked on the door with our hanging basket in his hand. You know, the one from by our front door with the winter pansies in. He said he'd found it in the middle of the road, which is odd, unless it was kids playing about, but it was kind of him, wasn't it?'
`It was,' Gideon agreed. And completely out of character. But it was a convenient way of introducing himself if he had wanted to. But why should he have wanted to? `Did you know him?'
`Well, George came to see who it was, and Mr Slade said he was from the Grange and asked him if it was true that he used to work there. Apparently somebody along at the pub had mentioned it.
Well, that was all it needed. Within the minute George had him in here and was telling him all about the history of the Grange and the farm. I gave them tea and cake, and he was here nearly an hour. I thought he'd be bored silly, because George did go on a bit when he got talking about the old days, but Mr Slade said he was very interested in the history of the Grange.'
She leaned forward to offer the plate of scones to Gideon. `George was very taken with him. He even said he'd come again and George was looking forward to it.'
Her voice faltered and Gideon tactfully changed the subject. While he made small talk he was, however, pondering the possible reason for Slade's sudden and unlikely fascination with things historical. The only answer that made any sense was that it had something to do with Milne's enduring desire to get his hands on the Sanctuary land. Could it be that he was hoping to learn something that would help his employer dispute the boundaries? But surely Milne would have explored all those possibilities long ago? Gideon resolved to have a good look at the plans for himself, before he left.
Half an hour, and several jam-and-cream scones later, he prepared to take his leave.
`Has Tim seen this?' he asked, wandering over to the desk as he donned his jacket. `He'd be fascinated. Do you mind?' As he spoke, Gideon moved Gardens to Treasure and smoothed out the document beneath.
`No, you carry on. Can you make out what's what all right? Here, let me put the light on.' Rose switched on a wall light over the desk and Gideon could at last see the map clearly.
It was a little disappointing. Not nearly as detailed as he'd hoped, it covered an area of several square miles, and Lyddon Grange and its adjoining farm were shown as not much more than named plots.
Rose stood beside him, the top of her white-haired head barely reaching his elbow. She bent over the map for a moment, then shook her head.
`No, that's not the one. You want the other one. Where is it?' Gideon lifted the sheet. There was nothing underneath except the inkstained wood of the desk.
`It must have slipped down.' Rose rifled through the other papers on the desk, and peered hopefully down between it and the wall. `Well, that's very odd,' she said then. `George got it out to show Mr Slade. He was telling him about the wartime bunker that he always swore was there.'
`Perhaps he lent it to him?' Gideon suggested.
`No. I don't think he would have done that,' Rose said slowly. `No, He didn't, because I remember seeing it there when I collected the tea things. I can't think where it can be.'
Gideon had his own suspicions forming about that, but he wasn't going to worry Rose with them. `Well, never mind. I expect it'll turn up. What made George think there was a bunker there?'
'Well, the Lyddon Estate was taken over by the military during the war, and on the map it does look like steps in one place, and George would have it that the steps went down into the ground. He said it was one of those places they built during the war for the top brass to hide away and make their plans and such. I suppose it's possible but I never really took it seriously. I put it down to his imagination. A very fertile imagination my George had.'