Merryn Allingham - The Secret of Summerhayes

Jos felt annoyance grow and tried to subdue it. ‘Okay. She messed me up – for a while. But now I’m definitely unmessed and that’s the way I intend to stay. And I’m fine with women but we’re fighting a war, remember, and they’re an unnecessary complication.’

‘They’re one of the reasons we’re fighting,’ Eddie said mildly. ‘Anyway, you needn’t worry about Beth Merston. We hardly see her. C’mon, we go this way.’

For someone Eddie hardly saw, he appeared remarkably friendly with Beth Merston, but Jos kept this reflection to himself. Eddie’s success with women was legendary and it was unlikely Miss Merston would remain immune. Few women did.

‘No,’ his friend continued, as they started along the gravel path that wound its way to the left of the truck park. ‘She’s nearly always up there.’ He jerked a shoulder towards the house. ‘The old lady keeps her busy; she needs a lot of looking after by all accounts.’

He was glad to hear it. Whatever he’d said to Eddie, meeting Bethany Merston had given him a jolt. Something about her had reached down and tugged at his soul, and he needed to stamp on the feeling instantly. Sylvie had led him a merry dance, lying and cheating her way into his life, lying and cheating her way out of her husband’s. The husband of whom Jos had had no idea. He was over that, well and truly over it, and Eddie was wrong that Sylvie had soured him. In the end she’d not been so important, a rare stumble in an abiding reluctance to get involved. But this girl was different. Every instinct was warning him that she was a far greater danger to staying heartwhole than any number of Sylvies. He’d known it the minute he’d looked into her eyes.

His companion stopped outside a line of small buildings. ‘This is it. The one in the middle is ours. It’s about the only habitable part of the whole caboodle. Next door there’s a tool shed and the building at the far end, God knows what that was – it looks like it might have been a john, but primitive isn’t the word.’

Jos followed him over the threshold, bending his six-foot frame to get through the doorway. He reached up and tapped the lintel. ‘Something to remember.’

‘Don’t tell me. I must have knocked out half my brains by now.’

‘You mean there are some left?’

Eddie punched him good naturedly. ‘You’re over there.’

There were four camp beds crammed into the small space, two along one wall and two against the wall opposite. The third side of the room boasted a narrow window, whose panes were so small and so badly streaked with dirt that only the dimmest light made its way through. Once the sun disappeared, Jos thought, you’d hardly see a hand in front of you. Several pairs of trousers, one or two serge battledress jackets and the odd shirt were hanging from nails that had been knocked into the supporting beams.

Eddie saw him looking. ‘Our wardrobe,’ he quipped.

‘And these?’ Jos pointed to his bulging backpack. ‘Do we hang these, too?’

‘Stow it under the bed, if you can.’

He did as instructed and sat down heavily on the knobbly mattress. It didn’t give an inch. ‘Straw,’ he guessed. ‘Ah well, no doubt we’ll be so tired we won’t even notice the lumps. But what about a shower? I could do with one before I report to McMasters.’

‘When you do, he’ll get you to check the camouflage again. I’ve done it twice since I got here. The tents are pretty exposed and he’s obsessive. Ever since he found out about the Messerschmitts. Did you hear about that? They attacked our guys last week at Cuckmere Haven. That’s a few miles down the road and he doesn’t want a repeat. The bastards came skimming over the water at sunrise and up the valley.’

‘I’m fine with the camouflage, I just need to get a wash first.’

‘They’re fixing a washroom for us right now. The men have already got theirs, a couple of shower blocks built in the fields.’

‘And I guess the colonel’s got his. He’ll be up at the house washing in luxury.’

‘He’s billeted there, natch, along with the rest of the senior officers, but I’m not too sure about the luxury. The house is pretty beat up.’

‘Who owns it anyway? It looked a sizeable place on my way up here.’

‘It’s large enough but at one time, I guess, it must have been a good deal larger. Seems there were farms attached. We’re camped on one, though I’m not sure who owns it now. The house and gardens belong to a little old lady called Alice Summers.’

‘And your friend, Bethany, is her companion?’ He didn’t want to talk about the girl and he couldn’t understand why he was.

‘That’s it. Beth looks after her. It was Alice’s husband who built the place. Some time around the turn of the century. Since then, it’s been more or less abandoned – you’re looking at thirty years of decay. No one’s worked the land or maintained the house. And after all the money the guy must have spent on it! By all accounts, he was real wealthy – made his fortune in buttons, would you believe?’

‘So one of the nouveau riche,’ Jos joked. ‘We should feel at home, the nouveau bit at least.’

‘The old man certainly was nouveau, a business man made good, but not Alice. She’s the real deal. Comes from a local aristo family who own next door. That’s where Ralph lives.’

Jos stretched out on the mattress, trying to work his body into the lumps and mould them to his shape. ‘He told me. Some place called Amberley.’

‘That’s the one. His father is the grand seigneur of the village. He’s Alice’s nephew, by the way. I’ve never met the guy myself, but Ralph seems fond of him. His ma is in the States.’

‘So he said, though not why.’

‘I have a theory.’ Eddie flopped down on the far bunk, a grin on his face. ‘I reckon she’s done a runner. She left when war was declared and never came back.’

‘Could be she doesn’t like being bombed night and day.’

‘I don’t think that’s it. The raids here are tip and run. Nothing like London. The bombers only let fly on their way back from the city. There’s been a direct hit on a cinema or two, but otherwise it’s been a breeze. Maybe it’s Ralph’s pa – he’s not to her fancy any more.’

‘Whatever the reason, it’s a shame for the boy. He’s too young to be motherless.’

Jos knew what it felt like to live without a mother. People could be kind, could be caring, but it wasn’t the same. It was like having a spare blanket thrown over you in winter, as you slept; there was always a piece the blanket didn’t cover, a piece that stayed cold.

Eddie yawned. ‘Ralph doesn’t seem too worried. He’s got his father and there’s a mountain of servants to look after him. A different world, my friend. But he’s a great kid. He likes a bit of fun. Yesterday, we made some pretend footprints in the mud right down in the badlands. Where you came in. They were huge, animal paw prints and he persuaded one of those toffee-nosed footmen at Amberley that there was a jaguar prowling Summerhayes. When the guy came over – he’d been instructed to find out what was going on by the butler – they actually have a butler – it was a gas watching him creep around that stinking lake and then find our clay moulds hidden under a bush. The moulds were Master Ralph’s doing. He’s clever with his hands.’

Jos remembered other practical jokes Eddie had played, not all of them well received. He was a great friend and a staunch comrade, but sometimes he crossed the line without ever being aware he had.

‘I’m surprised the boy is here at all,’ was all he said. ‘And I think you’re wrong about it being a breeze. This far south must be a prime target for the bombers. The coast is vulnerable – I imagine we’re close to the sea?’