Читать книгу House of Echoes - Barbara Erskine - Страница 11

An empty beer glass had left a wet ring on the pub table which Joss was busy transforming into a figure of eight with variations when David Tregarron fought his way back towards her from the bar carrying two spritzers and a bag of nuts.

The head of the History Department at Dame Felicia’s School in Kensington, David was thirty-eight years old, two years divorced and, as house master and second head lived above the job, over four dormitories of unruly little boys, in a Victorian flat with minimal mod cons. His divorce had been an unpleasant messy business, and Joss had been one of his anchor points at the time. She and he might not agree over teaching methods but her loyalty to him as his marriage had unravelled had been unswerving. She had comforted him as his wife took off into the sunset with her new man, propped him up in the staff room with coffee and Alka Seltzer and cheerfully agreed with all his maudlin lamentations over a woman she had never actually met.

When once, some time after the divorce was made absolute, he had grabbed her hand and said, ‘Joss, divorce Luke and marry me,’ he had realised as soon as he had said it that he was only half joking. He had seen the danger in time and pulled himself together. Being fond of Joss was permissible. Anything more was totally beyond the pale.

‘So, how is Luke taking all this new-found wealth?’ He lowered himself cautiously onto a plush-covered stool and passed her one of the glasses.

Joss gave a wry grin. ‘Amazement. Relief. Disbelief. Not necessarily in that order.’

‘And you?’

She sighed. ‘Roughly the same. I’m still pinching myself. So much has happened to us in the last few weeks, David! I don’t think even in my wildest dreams I ever imagined anything like this happening to us!’ She sipped thoughtfully from her glass for a moment. ‘It was nice of you to call and ask me out. Do you know this is the first break I’ve had away from the house in days. There has been so much to do. The firm going under has been a complete nightmare.’

David grimaced. ‘I was so sorry to hear about it.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are they making Luke bankrupt?’

Joss shook her head. ‘No, thank God! The mews cottage has saved us. Luke’s grandfather bought it after the war when it was worth a few hundred pounds. When Luke’s father gave it to us as a wedding present he handed us a fortune, bless him.’ She gave a sad, fond smile. ‘It’s going on the market for a lot of money. If I ever get my hands on Barry I’ll throttle him personally if Luke or the police don’t get to him first. Our lovely little house!’

‘That’s really tough. But now you have your stately roof in East Anglia to fall back on.’

She gave a wry grin. ‘I know. It sounds like a fairy tale. It is a fairy tale! Oh, David, it was so beautiful! And Luke is full of plans. He’s going to turn his hand to restoring old cars again. He is a trained engineer after all, and it’s what he always loved doing best. I think he was pretty sick of spending all his time on management and paperwork. And they’ve let him keep some of the machinery and tools from H & G – it’s out dated by other people’s standards apparently and the buyer didn’t want them. He’s retrieved lathes and boring and gear-cutting equipment and all sorts of stuff. I hope he’s right in thinking he can make us some money that way, because we’re going to be awfully short of cash. Next summer we can live off the garden, but it’s a lousy time of year to be starting out as gardeners! Do you realise we’ll be moving in only a few weeks before Christmas!’

‘Joss, I’ve had an idea.’ David edged himself out of the way of a crowd of noisy drinkers who were settling around the table next to theirs. ‘That’s why I persuaded you to come and have this drink.’ He paused and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I know you and I didn’t always see eye to eye over history and its teaching!’

Joss laughed. ‘Always the master of understatement!’

‘And we’ve had the odd tiff.’

‘Ditto.’ She raised her eyes to his fondly. ‘What is this leading to, David? You are not usually so deferential in your suggestions.’

‘First, tell me, are you intending to go back to teaching up there in your new home?’

Joss shook her head. ‘I doubt it. I expect there’s a village school – I don’t even know that yet – but I shouldn’t think there’s any scope locally for the kind of teaching I do. Anyway, I think I’ve had it with teaching, David, to be honest.’

‘You weren’t sorry when you handed in your resignation before Tom was born. Even I could see that.’

‘And you were probably relieved to see the back of me.’ She looked down at her glass.

‘You know that’s not true.’ He hesitated. ‘You’re a good teacher, Joss. I was desperately sorry to lose you.’ He paused. ‘In more ways than one.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. Pulling himself together with a visible effort he went on. ‘You care about the kids, and you inspire them. Something not all history teachers manage by any means. I know we sometimes rowed about your methods, but I was only worried about your ability to stick to the curriculum.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I’m making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is, that I’ve a suggestion to make and I don’t want you to get hold of the wrong end of the stick. This is not an insult or a sinister plot to undermine your intellectual integrity. And above all I am not criticising your knowledge or interpretation of history, but I think you should give some serious consideration to the idea of turning your hand to writing. Fiction.’

He waited, his eyes fixed on her face.

‘Which is more my line than serious history, you mean.’ Joss hid a smile.

‘I knew you would say that!’ He smacked the table with the palm of his hand. ‘No, it is not what I mean. All right. You told the kids stories. They loved it. I don’t think it was good history but it was good teaching. They wanted more and they missed you like hell when you left. Joss, what I’m saying is that you are a born story teller. You could make money out of it. I’m sure you could. I’ve read some of your short stories. You even won that competition. I’m being serious. I have a feeling that you could do it. I know one or two people in the publishing business, and if you like, I will show them some of your writing. I don’t want to get your hopes up too much because it’s a chancy business, but I have a feeling about you.’ He smiled at her again. ‘A good feeling, Joss.’

She returned his smile. ‘You’re a nice man, David.’ She reached out her hand to his.

‘I know.’ He left his fingers lying there beneath hers on the table for just a moment too long then reluctantly he withdrew them. ‘So, I have your permission to show some stories around?’

‘You have my permission. Thanks.’

‘And I can come and see you as soon as you’re settled?’

‘Of course you can. I shall miss you, David.’

He picked up his glass. ‘And I you, Joss. And I you.’

Joss was kneeling on the floor packing china when she told Luke of David’s idea that evening.

He considered it for a minute, his head on one side, then thoughtfully he nodded. ‘You can write and you did win that competition. Joss, it’s a brilliant scheme!’

‘Winning a competition with a short story is not the same as making a living out of writing, Luke.’

‘No, but you could give it a go. And we are going to need money, Joss. Make no mistake about it.’

She frowned, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat on the floor. ‘It’s going to be tough at Belheddon, isn’t it.’

He nodded. ‘Just pray the roof doesn’t leak. Your mother and father meant well, leaving the place to you, I’m sure they did, but it’s going to take some looking after.’

‘We’ll manage though. Or you will. I’m glad I married a practical man! And who knows, once we’re settled, maybe I’ll even write a best seller, too.’ She glanced up at him through the dark fringe of her hair. ‘It’s a dream come true, Luke.’

He slid from his chair and sat down next to her amongst the debris of boxes and partly packed cups and plates. ‘I know it is, Joss.’ Putting his arm round her shoulders he pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘Just remember, we have to keep a tight grip on reality. We are going to have to work our socks off to keep that place going, and it’s not going to be easy.’