Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 13

IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK in the evening on Friday 12 July, 1952; the sun was beginning to drop in the skies and, along the coast, a rising breeze cooled the air.

After a long drive taking some six and a half hours, Tom headed his little two-door Morris Minor into the sleepy seaside hamlet of West Bay.

Drawing into a curve alongside the road, he slipped the car out of gear and left the engine ticking over while he looked at the directions that he’d scribbled down. John Martin had stayed down here just after the war, and had recommended both the place and a guest-house. ‘Turn left when you come off the main road … follow the signs to West Bay. You’ll find “River View” on your right … there’s a big sign at the gateway. If you come into the harbour, you’ve gone too far.’

Looking about him, Tom took stock of his surroundings; from where he was parked he couldn’t quite see the harbour, but there were seagulls everywhere, and somewhere in front of him the tops of sailing masts bobbed up and down against the skyline. There was a fishmonger’s to his left and a pub to his right, but not a soul in sight. ‘Where the devil am I?’ he wondered aloud.

Taking another look at John’s instructions, he groaned. ‘I’ve missed the guest-house,’ he realised. ‘I’ll have to go back.’

He almost leapt out of his skin when an old man tapped on the window. ‘Got lost, ’ave yer, son?’ With a shaggy beard, a drooping moustache and a flat cap that covered almost all the top half of his features, the man resembled an old sheepdog. His face was weathered and jolly, and his expression endearing.

‘I’ ope yer don’t mind, only I saw yer lookin’ at yer map.’ His merry blue eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘Where is it yer looking for?’ His homely Lancastrian accent was a pleasant surprise. He obviously wasn’t from round here originally.

Weary and peckish, Tom was grateful for any help he could get. ‘Thank you, and yes, it seems I have got lost.’ Pointing to the paper in his hand, he told the old fella, ‘I’m looking for “River View”, only I seem to have missed it.’ Holding up the paper so the old man could see the writing, he went on, ‘It says here, if I can see the harbour, I’ve gone too far.’

‘I see!’ Showing a row of crooked white teeth, the old fella laughed. ‘Well if yer looking for “River View”, you’ll be a long time afore yer find it, ’cause it ain’t there no more.’

Tom was horrified. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

‘Ah, well now … I can see you ain’t got that in them-there directions, so yer can think yersel’ lucky to ’ave come across me. You see, whoever told you to head for that place couldn’t know it were burned down three year back. Afterwards, the ground was sold off, they cleared the old building and built a pub. But they do board and lodgings, if that’s what yer looking for.’

Tom was relieved. ‘Thank God for that! I’m starving hungry.’ He explained, ‘I’ve just driven all the way from London … stopped at Brownhill for drinks and a bite to eat, but I could really do with a bath and a proper hot meal.’ Moreover, he ached through every bone in his body.

The old fellow dashed his hopes straight off. Pursing his lips, he tutted and sighed and warned in a low, ominous voice, ‘They do say as folks only ever stay one night there … summat about –’ he rolled his eyes – ‘ghosts.’

Tom laughed. ‘The way I feel right now, I don’t think ghosts would worry me one bit.’

Disappointed, the old chap straightened up. ‘Please yerself, son. Are you planning to stay a while?’

Tom nodded. ‘I hope to,’ he said. ‘Only, I need a few days’ grace, so I can look round to find a place to rent – long-term – until I sort myself out.’

‘Well, I never!’ The old chap gave a kind of whoop. ‘That’s it, then! Your troubles are over.’

Intrigued, Tom questioned him. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘Why! Cliff Cottage, o’ course. It’s a pretty little place right atop the hill there, warm and cosy, and you’ll wake up to the sound of seagulls calling and a view straight from heaven …’ Pointing towards the far side of the harbour, he explained, ‘It’s owned by a lady who spends most of her time in Ireland … or is it Scotland?’ He scratched his head and pondered, but his memory wasn’t what it once was. ‘Anyroad, now she’s gone away … put the place up for rent, she has. I swear, you’ll not get a prettier place to live, if you tramped the world twice over.’

Excited, Tom got out of the car to shake his hand. ‘It sounds perfect!’ he said. ‘Who do I see about renting it?’

The old man puffed out his chest. ‘You see me, son, that’s who yer see. I’m the fella yer want!’ Holding out his hand in greeting, he told Tom proudly, ‘The name’s Jasper … Jasper Hardcastle. I’m working hand-in-glove with the agent. I’m entrusted with a key to the property, so I can take you there now if you’ve a mind?’

The old chap was so naturally friendly, Tom had taken to him straight off; in fact, he began to feel as if he’d known him for years. ‘Right then! It sounds good to me. You’d best climb in the car.’

As they drove through the harbour and along the promenade towards the upper ground, Tom commented on the beauty of West Bay: the harbour filled with boats of every size and colour, the curving promenade, and that wonderful view out to sea. ‘It’s just what I need,’ he confessed. ‘A year or so away from the hustle and bustle of London … some time to myself, a place where I can get things into perspective.’

‘That’s the very reason I came here forty-five year ago.’ The old fellow gave a colourful account of himself. ‘I lived me younger days in Darwen … in the North,’ he revealed. ‘I were twenty-eight year old, been wed just a year when I lost me darling wife – pneumonia, it were.’ His voice dropped as though he was talking to himself. ‘Wicked business! She were seven month gone with our first babby.’

Tom could feel his pain; it was much like his own. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured.

‘Aw, no!’ Jasper bucked up. ‘It were a long time ago. But, like I were saying, I’d been to West Bay as a lad with me mam and dad … had the time o’ me life, I did, an’ I never forgot. Well, I just kinda wandered back, if yer know what I mean … got casual work wherever I could: helping the fishermen; serving at the pub; a bit o’ gardening ’ere and there. I were a handyman then, an’ I’ve been a handyman ever since. Helped out where I could during the war, being as I were too old to fight in it.’ He chuckled. ‘An’ I’ve never regretted one minute of it. The more I stayed, the harder it got to leave. There’s a kinda magic about the place that wraps itself round yer. Teks a hold on yer heart an’ won’t let go.’ He laughed. ‘Mind it don’t get you the same way.’

‘Right now, I wouldn’t care if it did,’ Tom confessed. He glanced at the old chap, thinking he looked extraordinarily well for his age, and he told him so.

‘Ah, well, that’s ’cause I’m allus on the go. Seventy-three year old, an’ I’ve never once had to see the doctor … except to register, o’ course, an’ I broke a toe once but it soon mended.’

‘You’re a lucky man, Jasper, to be so content.’ Tom had forgotten how that felt.

Jasper’s response was a question. ‘You never did tell me yer name, sir?’

Tom laughed. ‘Well, I can tell you one thing,’ he chided, ‘it’s not “sir”!’ Taking one hand off the steering-wheel, he grabbed Jasper’s outstretched hand. ‘The name’s Tom Arnold, and I’m ready for some of that “magic” you were just talking about.’

The old man pointed ahead. ‘There she is: Cliff Cottage; pretty as a picture.’

Tom looked, and what he saw took his breath away. With thatched roof and white-painted walls festooned with masses of climbing roses of every hue and colour, it looked enchanting. ‘My God! It’s perfect!’ The cottage was bigger than he had thought, and as they drew up in front of it, he could see the well-tended gardens stretching back as far as the eye could see.

Getting out of the car, Jasper led Tom through the small white gate, and along the flower-lined path. ‘I know this place inside out,’ he imparted proudly. ‘I tend the gardens … clean the windows, and last summer I painted the whole house from top to bottom.’

The more Jasper told him, the more Tom thought how, like the cottage, the old fellow was amazing.

‘Right then, Tom Arnold, let’s see what yer think o’ the inside.’ Taking a key from his waistcoat pocket, Jasper slotted it in the lock and, turning with a flourish, he swung open the door. ‘In yer go!’

Stepping back to allow Tom by, the old fellow followed, giving detailed commentary as they went from room to room. ‘This ’ere’s the living room,’ he said. ‘Not so big, mebbe, but like I said, it’s cosy and warm, and of a winter evening the glow from the fire throws out a cheer … an’ there’s a whole supply o’ logs in the woodshed … small-chopped and neatly stacked.’

Tom’s gaze roved over the room; with two windows, one facing west, the other south, the light poured in and filled the room with evening sunshine. Surrounded by clean blue tiles, the fireplace contained a vase of fresh-smelling flowers. ‘That’s my doing, is that.’ The old man caught the look in Tom’s eye. ‘Picked ’em this very morning … must’a known yer were coming.’

He gave a wink, and Tom smiled. ‘I bet there isn’t much you don’t know,’ he declared.

The furniture was good: there was a brown leather sofa on one side of the fireplace, and a matching armchair on the other. The big green rug in front of the fire set the whole room off a treat. Against the back wall stood a small oak dresser, with nothing on top but a large, round china bowl.

The curtains were of plain beige colour but ‘expensive material’, according to Jasper. ‘The lady had good taste,’ he told Tom. ‘A quiet soul she was,’ he imparted fondly, ‘… kind-hearted too.’ He added quietly as an after-thought, ‘She had her troubles too, poor soul.’ When he realised Tom was waiting for him to expand on that remark, he swiftly moved on. ‘Right then, son, here’s the kitchen.’

Tom followed dutifully, sensing that whatever the old chap had been about to say with regard to that ‘kind, quiet lady’ he had thought better of, and that was all right by Tom. He knew from experience that, occasionally, and for whatever reason, there were some things best left unsaid.

The kitchen was small but functional: there were pretty floral curtains at the window, and a smart white kitchenette with drop-down front and glass doors at the top. On the shelf near the window there was a stack of recipes and cookbooks by favourites such as Marguerite Patten. ‘Used to pride herself on being an excellent cook,’ Jasper revealed.

Both upstairs bedrooms were finished in the same subtle colours. The largest one had a theme of green: smart pink-and-green patchwork eiderdowns, apple-green curtains to match; a dressing table and wardrobe of adequate size.

The second room was done out exactly the same, though finished in blue.

Between the two rooms was a tiny bathroom, which was small but adequate. This too was a light, airy room. Emanating from a small dish of broken blossom in the window-sill, the sweetest of fragrances filled the air.

There was soap and towels already laid out, as if Jasper really had been expecting a visitor. ‘The thing is,’ he said after Tom made the comment, ‘I wanted it to look nice in case I had to show anybody over.’ His face creased into that wonderful, homely grin. ‘Though, if yer happy with it, I’ll not be showing nobody else, will I, eh?’

Outside, in the twilight, the garden reflected the same love and care. There was a lawn surrounded by flower-beds and corner shrubberies, a delightful summer-house and orchard further down, and from the terrace there was the most magnificent view imaginable.

Tom stood at the end of the terrace, lost in the scenery. The endless sea shimmered and danced in the flickering light and, as the sun was beginning to dip in the heavens, the whole sky was marbled with rivers of red and yellow. ‘It’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.’ He could hardly tear himself away.

Raising a thumb upwards, Jasper suggested mischievously, ‘I had a word with ’im upstairs and asked him to show yer what he could do.’

Quietly smiling at Jasper’s outlandish remark, Tom still had the look of wonder on his face. ‘I know what you mean now,’ he said, ‘about the “magic” taking hold.’ Already his soul was beginning to quieten. Here, in this seemingly timeless place, he was experiencing the first real joy since the day of the tragedy.

‘So, does that mean you’ll stay?’ Having taken a liking to Tom, Jasper wouldn’t let go.

Tom didn’t even hesitate. ‘I’ll need the cottage straight away,’ he answered, ‘if that’s all right? I mean … do you need to contact anybody … will the agent want to see me before I take on the tenancy? I can stay at the pub if that’s the case.’ He hoped he wouldn’t have to. Somehow he felt as though he belonged in this delightful, cosy cottage.

Jasper had no doubts. ‘Look, it’s the weekend, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re already the new tenant. There’ll be time enough to tell him on Monday. I expect he’ll be round to have a chat with you … checking you out, like … papers to sign, that kinda thing. But I’m sure he’ll agree with me that you’ll do fine. So don’t you worry, son, it’ll be all right.’

Grinning from ear to ear, Jasper handed him the key. ‘I’m away now, but I’ll be back in about half an hour.’ He began talking to himself. ‘Let me see, you’ll need bread … milk too, an’ tea if you take it. Oh, an’ you’ll want to start a fire … it’s an old cottage … gets a bit chilly when the sun’s gone down, even in summer. I’ll need your ration book, if that’s all right. Give me a list of what you’d like.’

He carried on talking as he went out the door, addressing Tom in fatherly tones. ‘You’ll find everything works … electric, water … there’s a bulb gone in the back bedroom, but I dare say you’ll be sleeping in the front one so it won’t matter. All the same, I’ll have one fitted afore you know it.’ He clapped his hands and softly chuckled. ‘Glad to have you aboard,’ he said, and left whistling.

Following him to the door, Tom watched the old man walk down the hill and away out of sight. ‘It seems I’ve found a friend,’ he mused, ‘and a home.’ It was a good feeling.

After collecting his portmanteau from the car, he first hung up his clothes in the wardrobe: four shirts – two short-sleeved, two-long-sleeved; two pairs of trousers; a casual tweed jacket and a formal suit for the odd occasion he might need it. All the smaller items, such as underwear and everyday bits and bobs, went into the drawer beneath. Shoes and plimsolls went under the bed.

When all that was done, he emptied out the toiletries, and a few personal items, which he laid on the bed. The photograph of his wife and children he placed on the dressing-table. That finished, he put the case on top of the wardrobe.

After taking the toiletries into the bathroom, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

By the time he’d boiled the kettle and found teapot and cups, the old chap was back. ‘If yer mekking tea, I’m gasping after that long trek up the hill.’ He gave a cheeky wink. ‘I’m a glutton for me tea with a spoon o’ sugar if yer please. You’ll find spoons in that there drawer.’ Pointing to a small drawer alongside the cooker, he placed his box of goodies on the table.

Taking the items out one by one, he counted them off. ‘Sugar, tea, toilet roll … can’t do without that. Now then, let’s see what’s next. Oh yes … loaf o’ bread, marge, a pinta milk, and a tin of spam.’ Dropping the empty box to the floor, he sat in the chair and waited for Tom to bring his tea. ‘I reckon you’ve enough groceries to be going on with,’ he told Tom.

He gratefully accepted his mug of tea. Tom seated himself at the other end of the table. The old man slurped at his cup and wiped his moustache. Tom laughed and shook his head; Jasper was a real gem. ‘Where did you get all this stuff anyway? I didn’t see any grocery shops down there.’

The old fellow explained. ‘There’s four shops altogether: the fishmonger’s, and next door to him the fishing-tackle shop. Then there’s the baker’s – she bakes her own bread every day; it’s allus fresh and crusty. An’ round the corner there’s the little shop as stays open a bit longer. It’s run by a right nice lady, name of Amy Tatler. She sells everything from matches to newspapers. By! She’s been running that shop for as long as I remember. I reckon she must be even older than what I am. Fit though … and smart with it.’

He scratched his chin, gazing up to the ceiling as if working out the years. ‘She never wed as far as I can mek out, but she’s a kind, quiet little woman, never lets on what she’s thinking. All on ’er own, she is. By! It’s a crying shame …’

For a minute, the old chap’s thoughts seemed elsewhere, before he visibly shook himself. ‘She pretends to close at five o’clock like the rest of ’em, but you’ve only to knock on the door and she’s there at yer beck an’ call.’

Tom sensed the old man’s fondness for this woman. ‘Sounds to me like she might be lonely?’

Jasper shook his head. ‘Naw! Not Amy. She knits and sews, and keeps herself busy.’ Again, for a fleeting minute, he lapsed into that odd silence. ‘I can never understand why she never got wed, though … She were allus a pretty woman as I recall, and even now she’s pleasant to the eye, an’ pleasant in nature.’ He shook his head. ‘Seems a waste, but there y’are.’

Tom nodded. ‘You really like her, don’t you?’ That much was painfully obvious.

Shocked that another man had found out his secret, Jasper blushed bright pink. ‘Gerraway! What would I do with a woman at my age, eh?’

Tom said no more. He knew when to keep quiet, so for a time he sipped his tea and the old man did the same, and all that could be heard was the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, until suddenly Jasper was on his feet and slapping Tom on the back. ‘I’m glad the cottage found its rightful tenant.’ He took a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Tom. ‘I’ll be here in the mornin’ to mek sure yer all right. Meanwhile, here’s me address if yer should want anythin’.’

‘I won’t, thank you all the same.’

‘Well, just in case, yer can find me easy enough. Yer go down the hill and over the little bridge; turn left at the pub. Yer can’t go wrong. My humble little home is right at the end of George Street, next to where they park the boat-trailers.’

‘I’m sure I won’t need to trouble you,’ Tom assured him. ‘But thanks for all your help. You’re a lifesaver.’

‘Fine, but don’t forget now … I’m there if yer need me. I’m a light sleeper, so just tap on the window.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tap too hard, though, or that yappy dog next door will wake the whole bloody street!’

He bade Tom goodnight and was gone.

Afterwards, Tom sat at the table for a while, sipping his now-cold tea and reflecting on his actions. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve done the right thing after all,’ he mused aloud. ‘Coming here … leaving it all behind.’

During the lengthy journey here, he’d had nagging doubts, but they were gone now. After meeting Jasper and finding this cottage, he felt in his heart that everything would come right.

A moment later, when the sleep weighed heavy on him, he cleared away the cups, made sure the house was locked up, and went upstairs.

First, he took a long, lazy bath. Afterwards he climbed into bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

It had been a busy day.

Over the coming week, Jasper was a godsend.

Tom had settled into the cottage as though he was born to it, and the two men became firm friends. Though he would have liked to cut himself off from the world, Tom knew there were practical things he must do, such as letting his bank and other agencies know his change of address, and sorting out the rental agreement for the cottage. He had thought about applying for a telephone to be installed. Having a telephone line to the outside world went against all Tom’s plans – and it would be expensive. But he worried about whether he should have a line for emergencies, and for keeping in touch with his good friend Lilian and his brother Dougie. In the end he decided to wait and see. There was a payphone just down the road.

‘I expect you’ll want to arrange deliveries of milk and newspaper too,’ the old man suggested, but Tom refused that idea. ‘I think it would be better if I walked down to Amy’s and collected them,’ he decided and, for once, Jasper agreed.

By the evening after his arrival in West Bay, Tom had managed to get most of the practicalities dealt with and out of the way. To celebrate, he and Jasper paid a visit to the pub, where they drank a pint of best bitter and chatted to the locals.

Afterwards, Jasper introduced him to Amy. ‘Any friend of Jasper’s is a friend of mine,’ she said. Tom was astonished at how tiny and vibrant she was. Looking into her deep brown eyes and noting the sunshine of her smile, Tom could understand what Jasper had said. Yes, he thought, she has a goodness that shines out. And, like Jasper, he was filled with admiration.

The next morning, Tom was up early. For whatever reason he had found it difficult to sleep. ‘Must have been the beer,’ he groaned, rubbing his stomach with the flat of his hand.

As he couldn’t sleep, he got washed and dressed and made his way downstairs, where he searched the cupboards, greatly relieved to find that Jasper had allowed for all occasions. The bicarbonate of soda in a glass of water was just what the doctor ordered.

While the kettle was boiling he threw open the back door and stood watching the sun come up. ‘Looks like it’ll be a glorious day,’ he murmured. Already the air was warm and the skies blue, with no hint of a cloud anywhere. ‘Makes a man feel good!’ He had not even spent forty-eight hours in West Bay, and already he was beginning to relax.

He drank his tea, and a few minutes later he had put on his jacket and was making his way to the clifftops. High above the world, striding through the fields and on towards the sea, he felt like a man out of his time. It was a weird and wonderful feeling.

Down below in the hamlet, Amy was sorting the newspapers, with the help of Jasper, who every morning insisted on lifting the heavy bundles as they came in. ‘Look!’ Amy had caught sight of the man at the top of the cliff. ‘It’s odd for someone to be walking the cliffs at this early hour, don’t you think?’

Curious, Jasper looked up. ‘It’s that Tom chap.’ He recognised him straight away: the long, lean figure and that mop of hair, made unruly by the wild air-currents that swirled up from the beach below. ‘Poor devil. Looks like he couldn’t sleep.’

Amy suspected that Tom was a man with troubles but, like Jasper, she asked no questions. Now, though, she was curious. ‘Whatever’s he doing up there, at ten to six of a morning?’ A terrible thought crossed her mind. ‘He’s not going to throw himself over, is he?’

‘Good God no!’ Jasper chided. ‘What little I know of him, I wouldn’t say he were the sort to throw himself over a cliff!’ Though it would not be the first time a man had leaped from the clifftops to end it all.

Jasper studied Tom for a moment longer, quietly satisfied that he would come to no harm up there. All the same, he could tell that Tom was deeply troubled; from the way he sat hunched on the boulder, so still, his head bent low to the ocean, as though deep in thought.

‘What’s he doing?’ Like Jasper, Amy was concerned.

‘He’s searching, lass.’

‘Searching … for what?’

Jasper shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ He shook his head. He wondered what might be going on in Tom’s mind at that minute. He remembered the way it had been with him, and his heart went out to that young man. ‘He’s looking for what we all want,’ he murmured. ‘Contentment … peace of mind, call it what yer will.’

Something in his voice made Amy reach out to touch him. ‘Let’s hope he finds it then,’ she said softly. ‘You too, Jasper.’

The old man squeezed her hand. ‘Yer a lovely lady,’ he said.

She laughed at that. ‘Flatterer!’

Drawing away, she wagged a finger at him. ‘We’d best get on with these papers, or they’ll not be delivered by this time next week!’

As they worked, Jasper occasionally glanced up to where Tom was, high above the world, away from all things painful. ‘After a time it won’t hurt so much,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll get easier, son, you’ll see.’ He gave a long, shivering sigh. ‘Whatever it is that haunts yer, it’ll get easier, I promise.’

He hoped there would come a day when Tom might confide in him. After all, everybody needs a friend, he thought. As for himself, he had been fortunate in finding one in little Amy.

Up on the clifftop, Tom was oblivious to the interest he had caused. He thought about his wife and children, and he smiled. ‘I wish I’d brought you here to this lovely place, when I had the chance,’ he whispered, ‘but you’re here in my thoughts and in my heart.’ Before, when he thought of them, he had found it hard to breathe for the pain, but now, when he thought of them, it was with a strange sense of joy. ‘I’ve been a lucky man.’

He looked straight ahead, as though speaking to a physical presence. ‘I’ve had the love of three wonderful people, and I’ve shared their lives. That’s something that can never be taken away.’

There was something else, too, and the hatred was like a bad taste in his mouth. ‘You might be hard to trace, you murderous bastard!’ Instinctively clutching his fist until the knuckles bled white, he spoke in a whisper. ‘But I’ll find you and, when I do, you’ll rue the day you took my family from me.’

Time and again he had searched his mind for a reason, and each time he was forced to surmise that the person who ran him over that cliff-edge must have been out of his mind. But it made no difference. ‘Madman or fool, you took three lives that day … and ruined another.’

A terrible sense of rage overwhelmed him. ‘You’ll pay for it. When the time is right, I’ll take up your trail and make you pay for what you did!’

He stood up and strode away, his face set hard as stone as he walked towards the cottage and a measure of sanctuary. For now he must give himself the time he so badly needed. But the day would come when he would heal. His mind would clear and he would be able to think straight.

On that day, he would set out to find the killer.

And he would not rest until he found him!