Читать книгу The Forgotten Village - Lorna Cook - Страница 9

Melissa knew what she had to do. She and Liam needed to have ‘The Talk’.

But the idea of speaking to him about it created a hollow feeling in her stomach. This kind of thing had never gone down well at home. As a child, she’d spent far too much time in her room listening to her parents fight, listening to her mother plead with her father over one thing or another. The muffled tones rarely gave away what the argument was about, but her mother’s crying at the end of almost every row had certainly been audible. But Melissa was stronger than her mother. She was sure of it. And at least there were no children hiding in an upstairs bedroom if a fight did break out between her and Liam.

She stood in the shower the following morning, thinking for far too long, letting the hot water run over her. Melissa considered her track record with men. It wasn’t great. She knew that. Before Liam, six months had been her absolute personal best when it came to relationships. She knew it must be something she was doing. Or not doing. Perhaps that was a throwback to watching her parents kill their own relationship one fight at a time.

Liam had been asleep by the time she’d got in last night and Melissa was secretly grateful that he’d already left to go surfing by the time she’d woken up this morning. Although whether they spoke about their issues, including Liam’s mystery restaurant booking, tonight or tomorrow, this delay was only putting off the inevitable. Things weren’t working and Melissa wanted to know why.

She had hoped this holiday was going to fix whatever it was that had already gone so horribly wrong, but it was only highlighting that they really weren’t very compatible at all. Somehow, none of it seemed quite so horrific during the daily grind of working life when they only saw each other a few evenings a week.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d lost respect for her having jacked her job in. But she hadn’t been out of work for that long and she was on the hunt for something more suitable. It certainly didn’t help that Liam was silent a lot of the time these days and that Melissa did most of the talking, often to fill the silence. He’d never been a big chatter and his silent brooding was one of the things that Melissa had originally found attractive about him. But now his inability to actually talk about anything meaningful was doing neither of them any favours. She sighed and turned the shower off, knowing that when they did eventually speak, she couldn’t expect much from Liam. It would be her doing most of the talking anyway.

The clock on the car radio showed 11 a.m. by the time Melissa was finally on her way through the country lanes, passing quaint traditional white fingerpost signs every few miles. In the distance, over the green hills littered with sheep, she could see the coastline and out to sea as she drove. The sun glinted off the water brightly. She was going full pelt in her hatchback, eager to keep the appointment she had agreed to. It felt like an old-fashioned sort of meeting; the kind people made before mobile phones and email meant you could casually cancel moments before and hope it would be okay. Why hadn’t she taken Guy’s mobile number? With her outrageous timekeeping, she wasn’t going to be there for at least another fifteen to twenty minutes. And that was assuming she didn’t get stuck behind a tractor.

As her car eventually skidded to a halt in the car park, kicking up a bit of turf, Melissa could see Guy leaning against the gatepost. She smiled. He had waited.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ she said as Guy pointed to his watch and raised his eyebrows with a grin. ‘I couldn’t find my car keys and I thought my boyfriend might have moved them and then I almost forgot I promised to buy us some lunch. But it’s not from a service station. Oh no, it’s from a lovely little deli, so I think you’ll like it. But I don’t have a picnic mat, so we’ll have to just sit on the grass, which I don’t mind, if you don’t. And look,’ she said, presenting a huge bottle, ‘ta-da. I remembered to bring water today!’

During her little speech, his face took on a confused expression, but Melissa couldn’t work out why. She lowered the water.

‘I really am sorry I’m late,’ she said again.

He smiled thinly, but she still couldn’t read his expression; his eyes were hidden behind mirrored Ray-Bans, which meant Melissa could only see her own flustered reflection.

‘What’s wrong?’ Melissa asked.

‘Nothing.’ His expression lifted. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Let me carry that.’ He reached out and took the water bottle and the bag of shopping from her hands.

‘Thanks.’ Melissa locked the car and they walked together into Tyneham. ‘I thought we could eat the picnic up by the Great House. I realise you didn’t get to see it yesterday. You were too busy escorting a dehydrated woman back down the hill.’

He laughed. ‘True.’

They walked on a few paces.

‘No golf buggy today?’ Melissa ventured.

He looked sheepish. ‘Not today. God, I felt like a complete idiot yesterday, whizzing past everyone in that bloody buggy. I absolutely loathe things like that.’

She looked at him through her sunglasses and they fell into a companionable silence.

‘So,’ he said after a while, ‘how long have you been with your boyfriend?’

‘How do you know I have a boyfriend?’

‘You just told me. He was one of the reasons you were late.’

‘Oh. Did I? About eight months.’ Melissa looked at Guy. Was it her imagination that Guy looked a bit annoyed?

‘Shall we look in the schoolhouse first?’ Guy asked, seemingly changing the subject.

Melissa nodded, wondering why Liam’s existence might be bothering Guy. He didn’t think this was a date, did he? Of course he didn’t. She was being silly. He was a famous historian and she’d seen the way he had women practically falling at his feet.

Guy opened the large wooden door to the schoolhouse and held it for her. If there hadn’t been a few tourists in front of her, Melissa could have sworn she’d been transported back in time. Everything inside the bright, airy room was cleanly scrubbed, but the original open-lid desks and chairs were still on the dark wood floor. Pieces were displayed around the walls: drawings of famous landmarks, old charts showing capital cities and times tables. It was all very atmospheric. The few tourists inside the room were whispering, out of a sort of respect.

Melissa walked around, grateful that it wasn’t as busy in the village today as it was yesterday. She might have struggled to have actually seen any of the items inside the room otherwise. She thumbed through some of the textbooks on the shelves before stopping at the curved metal coat pegs on the far wall, still showing the names of the last of the children to attend the school before it had closed for requisition.

‘My gran came to this school.’ Guy stood beside her and looked at the coat pegs.

‘Really?’ Melissa raised her eyebrows. ‘Wow.’

‘It’s mad to think she sat at one of these desks and copied out tasks from that chalk board.’ He nodded to the front of the classroom.

‘How old was she when she left the village?’ Melissa turned to face him.

‘Seventeen. She was working up at the Great House by that point, so she’d long since left the school.’

Guy moved off and Melissa flicked through a few of the children’s exercise books, trying to decipher the old-fashioned handwriting. She wondered why she’d never really bothered to explore museums and the kind of houses the National Trust owned before. Perhaps she’d never really known anyone who was interested enough to go with her, but now she was here, she was fascinated and enjoying herself.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Guy leaning back against the wall, fully engrossed in reading an old leather-bound encyclopedia. A few teenage girls arrived, clearly bored on a day out with their parents, and were making themselves busy, trying to catch his eye. Melissa smiled. Even if they had no idea who the man hidden behind the mirrored shades was, he was incredibly attractive. He looked up and gave them a quick smile before looking down at the book again. The girls giggled and nudged each other. Guy was completely oblivious.

‘Melissa, are you ready to go and look at Tyneham House?’ He put the book back on the shelf. ‘There’s not as much to see as in here, but it’s a sunny day and we can eat our picnic.’

Melissa agreed, put the exercise book down and accompanied Guy out the door. She gave the girls a polite smile as she edged her way past them and tried not to laugh when they shot her daggers.

‘Those girls were eyeing you up,’ Melissa teased.

Guy looked around blankly. ‘Which girls?’

‘Never mind.’ She laughed.

‘They probably thought I was someone else. People often assume I’m some A-lister when they think they recognise me, and then try hard to hide their disappointment when they realise “Oh, it’s just you off the telly.”’

‘Oh, I feel so bad for you.’ Melissa nudged his arm and Guy found himself laughing.

They walked through the rest of the village in companionable silence. Now Guy wasn’t being driven around in a golf buggy with the organisers chatting to him non-stop, he could see the village properly, for what it was. A bloody mess. He had been waiting to see the village without quite realising it, for most of his adult life; ever since his grandmother had talked quietly about Tyneham years ago and her idyllic childhood there. As a historian, his specialist subject was World War Two and so he knew of the few villages up and down the country that had been taken over by the army during the war. Whole communities had been forcibly ejected. His grandmother had been part of one such community and now he was seeing where she’d grown up. He’d been amazed that she hadn’t wanted to come with him, see the village and walk, very literally, down memory lane. ‘It would be too painful,’ she had said. ‘Best not go back.’

He and Melissa strolled past shells of pubs, farm labourers’ cottages, and what used to be shops. Guy sighed at what he saw and was grateful his grandmother hadn’t come along. She’d have hated this. Inside, he was reeling. He shook his head. This had been his grandmother’s village and now it was a ruin. Crumbling brickwork, boarded-up windows, great chunks of roofs missing, and the occasional Danger – No Entry sign. His grandmother had been stoic when discussing it. ‘It helped win us the war,’ she’d said. It was best she’d remember it how it was then and not how it looked now.

By the time they reached Tyneham House, Guy was miserable. Melissa had been right when she’d said it was all just so depressing. It really was. He’d not felt like this yesterday. The schoolhouse was charming and it was clear the guides had made an effort in sprucing it up for visitors. But he was more interested in the house, which gave off an air of absolute abandonment, despite the fact it was one of the very few buildings in the village still intact.

The village had been weeded and the grass cut, but the grounds of the Great House were in need of some love. They stood on a large patch of trampled grass in front of the manor. So this was it then. Tyneham House. He stood back to look at the once-great building. He noted the boarded-up doors and windows with their words of warning emblazoned across. For a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, he felt as if a heavy weight was on him.

While his grandmother didn’t have especially fond memories, he’d found it enchanting to know she’d turned up for work here during the early war years before she’d had to leave Tyneham behind. In the village, he’d tried picking out her family home she’d described to him, but those that were still standing all looked the same. He couldn’t locate any individual property out of the identical ones from the long row into the village, towards the market square and back out towards the coast. He’d taken pictures in the hope she’d be able to spot her former home, but he was rather against showing them to her now. Her once lovely village home was in tatters.

‘I’d love to see inside.’ Melissa looked up at the house. ‘I can just imagine that front door leads on to a large and ornate entrance hall complete with fireplace and sweeping staircase,’ she said. ‘I used to dream of living in a grand old country house in the unlikely event I ever became a millionaire.’ Melissa blushed.

‘It’s a pity it’s not for sale,’ Guy mused. ‘It’s run-down of course, but with a hell of a lot of money and TLC, it could be a home once again. It’s a shame it can’t be.’

‘Why can’t it be?’

‘The house and village are still owned by the Ministry of Defence,’ he said. ‘The army uses the land around it for artillery and tank training. The village and this house were in the way then and still are now. Not during summer though. They stop their training exercises over summer.’

Melissa’s face fell. ‘Oh, right. So it’s just going to stay like this then? Until it falls away to rubble?’

‘I suppose all we can do is appreciate it as a piece of social history now and endeavour to understand the huge sacrifice the residents made,’ he said. ‘That’s just the way it is with all those villages requisitioned during the war. Some of them were given back, but they were often unliveable by the time the army had finished with them. They’re mostly tourist attractions now.’

Melissa sighed and then busied herself getting the picnic food out of the paper bag. She’d bought some breadsticks and various dips, a crusty loaf, two kinds of cheese, some delicious-looking sliced ham, and paper plates and empty takeaway coffee cups for the water. She looked quite pleased with the little array until, ‘Oh damn. I forgot to ask for plastic cutlery to slice the cheese and ham with. We’ll just have to use fingers, I’m afraid.’

Guy sat down next to her on the grass and drew his eyes away from the building and down to the feast in front of him. ‘Impressive.’

‘Tuck in,’ Melissa encouraged.

Guy ripped off a bit of Brie. He held it between his fingers and narrowed his eyes at the building.

Melissa glanced at where he was looking and then back to him. ‘What?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said and put the cheese into his mouth and chewed. When he finished, he asked, ‘Did you know the owner of the house, Sir Albert Standish, was an MP?’

Melissa shook her head and rolled up a piece of ham. ‘Gosh, that was unfortunate. Being an MP and still having your home whipped out from underneath you, same as your constituents. No special treatment for him. Bet he wasn’t too chuffed. Was that who your grandmother worked for?’

‘He and his wife, Lady Veronica. My gran doesn’t speak very highly of him though. Bit of a bastard from what I can gather. Gran was one of their maids. I think she was the last one to leave.’ Guy frowned, trying to remember what his gran had said. ‘She loved Lady Veronica though. The family owned the entire village and all the surrounding farmland. Everyone rented their properties from the Standishes.’

‘Where did they all go? The villagers, I mean. How do you rehouse a whole village in the middle of a war?’

‘Temporary accommodation in the nearby towns. Some went to stay with family,’ Guy said. ‘My great-grandparents went to stay with relatives, I think, and then my gran joined the war effort and was posted away for a while.’

Melissa looked at the house again and then dipped a breadstick into some hummus. ‘Where did the Standishes go?’

‘Good question. They probably had a London home.’ He rolled up a piece of ham and looked back at the house.

They shared small talk and when they had finished their picnic, tidied up and walked slowly down towards the church.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing these pictures now,’ Melissa said. ‘You’ve really built this up, so it had better be good.’

‘You won’t be disappointed.’

He opened the heavy wooden door and showed her into the church, removing his sunglasses and hooking them into his shirt pocket. The church was beautiful on the inside and out. Built of the same pale brick as the Great House, it had huge stained-glass windows that dripped an array of sunlit colour onto the flagstone floor. Tourists milled about and an elderly guide whose name badge read ‘Reg’ acknowledged Guy immediately and started fussing. Guy shook the man’s hand and then raised his finger to his lips, indicating the tourists. The guide smiled knowingly, pleased to be in on the secrecy, and left Guy and Melissa to it.

Melissa pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and looked up at one of the stained-glass windows. The light was streaming through and casting glorious colour onto her, her face raised up intently, studying the glass. She was beautiful, Guy thought as he leaned against one of the pews. Almost ethereal in this light.

She turned to look at him and walked slowly towards him. He felt like his heart had lurched into his mouth.

‘Come on then, Mr Historian,’ she said quietly. ‘Show me these photos.’

He led her over to a series of boards that had been staggered around the nave of the church. Each one showed a group of properties, their owners, and had a bit of information about their family histories and what had happened to them after they had left Tyneham.

‘That’s Gran.’ He looked proud as he leaned over her shoulder to point to a photo of a teenage girl in a pinafore, her hair up in a loose bun with a few front sections falling down by her face.

‘She was very pretty,’ Melissa said and turned to smile up at Guy. He was only a few inches from her, and he smiled, a lovely smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Melissa read each of the boards with interest and scanned the pictures of the various houses, the vicarage and the post office. At the final board, Melissa saw the same bit of blurb about the Great House that she’d read in the leaflet and looked at pictures of the house in its heyday taken from various angles. A few black and white images of the staff and owners throughout the years were on display. And then there was the portrait shot of Sir Albert Standish and his wife Veronica taken outside their house. It was larger, much more clear than the miniature version on the board at the Great House. She could actually see their faces. The caption said it had been taken by the local Historical Society. Melissa was taken aback by Veronica and Albert. They were much younger than she imagined they would be; they looked no older than their early thirties. She wasn’t sure why, but Melissa had imagined they’d be at least middle aged.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Lady Veronica was beautiful,’ she said to Guy, who turned to look. Veronica had dark hair, possibly red, but it was hard to tell in the black and white of the photo, swept over on one side so a thick waterfall of fashionable rolled curls fells down to her shoulders. She had thick eyelashes, fairly high cheekbones and was wearing a dark lipstick that Melissa guessed might be red. Melissa turned her gaze to the man standing by Lady Veronica’s side, Sir Albert. ‘Her husband was a looker too.’

‘Yes, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing,’ Guy said jokingly.

Sir Albert had a chiselled jaw and dark hair that looked like it should have fallen to his eyes but was instead firmly Brylcreemed, giving it a bit of height.

‘Imagine what their children must have looked like. Supermodels,’ Melissa marvelled.

‘I don’t think they ever had children actually. My gran never mentioned children when she worked there.’

‘That’s a shame. So there was no one to inherit the house?’

‘No. But like the rest of the village, the house was subject to a compulsory purchase order after the war. It didn’t matter that he was an MP.’ Guy nodded towards the picture of Sir Albert. ‘He never got it back.’

Melissa looked at Albert and Veronica Standish. The photograph was dated December 1943 – the same month the village had been rendered a ghost town. Had they already known when the picture was taken that they were being kicked out?

There was something about Albert Standish that Melissa couldn’t put her finger on. He looked stern, but not only that, he looked … Melissa couldn’t work it out. The body language was normal enough for a formal photo, but the hand that was holding Veronica’s was clenched; as if he were holding on to her far too tightly. Melissa tried to see past his ridiculous good looks and wondered if he didn’t have a bit of a domineering edge to him.

Melissa peered at Lady Veronica again and tried to work out Veronica’s expression. Her mouth was set in a straight line and her eyes were slightly wider than was normal, but there was something else …

‘Look at Lady Veronica,’ she said. ‘Look at her face. Does she seem a bit odd to you?’

Guy looked. ‘Maybe. Perhaps she’s not happy having her picture taken?’

Melissa wasn’t sure. She read the words that accompanied the picture to see what had happened to the couple after they had left Tyneham. It didn’t say. All the other boards had little stories about each family, but the Standishes had no information at all.

‘What happened to them after the requisition?’ she asked Guy. ‘It doesn’t say.’

‘Yes, I wondered that,’ he replied. ‘I’ll ask my gran, she might know.’

Melissa turned back to the photograph of the couple. After a few seconds she’d worked out what the expression was on the woman’s face: fear.

Lady Veronica Standish looked scared to death.