Elizabeth Elgin - One Summer at Deer’s Leap

Were we to meet face to face again, and talk, or was he to be a wraith, slipping in and out of shadows – and through gates – always just out of my reach?

Susan Smith, I brooded. Born 1924, or thereabouts. Fair and bonny and shy. Jack Hunter – tall and fair and straight, and old before his time. Died in 1944 and a name now on a stone memorial. The really sad thing, I sighed, as my eyes began to close, was that he didn’t know it.

What, or who, had he been searching for over the years? I hoped he would tell me …

There was a comfortable silence about the place when I got up early on Tuesday morning. After making Jeannie promise hand on heart to visit next weekend, I’d stood waving as her London-bound train snaked from the station the previous evening.

I coughed, and the sound echoed loudly around the kitchen. The quiet was bliss, the only sounds, Tommy’s rhythmic purring at my feet and a swell of birdsong outside. Hector lay on the back doorstep, on guard. There was just me and the animals and the view from the kitchen window that stretched into forever.

The phone on the dresser rang, intruding noisily into my world. Reluctantly I answered it.

‘Cassandra?’

‘Piers! Oh – hi!’

‘What have you been up to? I’ve been ringing all the time!’

‘You can’t have.’ I felt a bit guilty for hardly thinking about him all weekend.

‘I phoned on Saturday night. Twice. Where have you been until now?’

‘We biked down to the pub on Saturday night. Jeannie had someone to see.’

‘What about Sunday?’

‘If you rang, then we were probably in the garden, cutting the grass.’

‘And last night?’

‘Most likely I’d gone to Preston, seeing Jeannie on to the train. Listen, Piers, what the heck is this? Are you checking up on me?’

‘No, darling. Sorry if I came over a bit snotty. But what was I to think when you didn’t even give me your phone number in the first place?’

‘You got it off Mum, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. After I’d asked for it. Why didn’t you ring me, Cassandra?’ He still sounded peeved.

‘Because!’ I said flatly and finally. ‘I’m very well, since you ask, and yes, we had a lovely, lazy weekend. Where are you?’

‘At the flat. I’ve just got up.’

‘We-e-ll, don’t ring any more in the expensive time. Leave it for after six, why don’t you?’

I’d be better able to cope with his bossiness then. An upset this early in the day could put me off my stroke – especially when he was making a meal of it, like now. ‘You’ve got to understand this book is important, Piers,’ I rushed on. ‘I came here to write – what you call my scribbling – and I do wish you would take me seriously. Just sometimes,’ I finished breathlessly.

‘But, my love, I do take you seriously.’ His tone was changing from accusing to placating. ‘It’s just that you seem to be wrapped up in it to the exclusion of all else. You and me, especially …’

‘Piers! Please not now; not this early in the day! And of course I’m wrapped up in it. It’s my work, you must accept that. This novel has got to be good and then Harrier Books might begin to take me seriously.’

‘You’re set on it, aren’t you, Cassandra? You really believe you can make a living from it when most writers need a daytime job too. Don’t you think you’ve been living off your parents long enough? Isn’t it about time you took a serious look at the way your life is going?’

‘I see. I’d be better shacking up with you, providing all the home comforts, you mean?’

‘Now you’re getting angry, sweetheart.’

‘Don’t interrupt!’ I was angry! Piers would have to learn you can only push a redhead so far! ‘I have never lived off Mum and Dad. I pulled my weight at home and only wrote when I could find the time. And yes, I do hope to make a living from writing! Ice Maiden is doing well; they’re reprinting it, as a matter of fact! Oh, don’t worry! I won’t be going into tax exile just yet, but I’m holding my own! And even if I wasn’t, I shouldn’t have to justify myself to you!’

I took a deep breath. I expected an explosion or a slamming-down of the phone, but all I got was a silence. Piers is good at pregnant pauses; can stretch five seconds into five minutes.

‘Cassie love, don’t get upset. I was anxious, hadn’t heard from you. For all I knew you could be – well …’

‘Having a passionate affair with a local yokel? Well, I’m flaming not !’

‘You seem determined to have a row. What’s the matter then – stuck for words?’

‘No, I’m not. The words are coming well, but thanks a heap, Piers, for helping me to start the day with an upset! I’m not doing a prima donna, but you narking on the phone I can do without! Ring after six, will you?’

I had meant to end the conversation firmly and with dignity, but I slammed the phone down angrily and now he’d know he’d got me rattled! I could imagine his smirk. Drat the man!

For the next two days I allowed nothing and no one to come between me and my work. Luckily Piers didn’t phone again. I existed on sandwiches and coffee, rewarding myself for my labours with a large sherry after I had switched off.

On Wednesday, at six o’clock exactly, I had safely stored two chapters on a floppy disk. I felt drained, but triumphant. Deer’s Leap was good to me, wrapping me round to keep out all interruptions.

I rotated my head, hearing little crackling sounds as I did so, deciding I needed to loosen up. My heroine had got herself into a bit of a mess, but she could stew in it until morning, I thought, well satisfied with the cliffhanger at the end of chapter twelve.

I was wondering whether to eat at the Rose or whether to boil the last couple of eggs, when Mum phoned.

‘Hullo, there! You sound a long way away!’

‘I am, Mum! I’ve just finished work, actually. I’ve got two chapters done since I came here! I’m having a sherry, then I’ll make myself some supper. How’s everything?’

‘We’re fine, only I’m afraid we won’t be able to make it up there this week. I’d forgotten your dad is judging at two flower shows. We’ll probably make it the week following. Is that all right with you, love?’

‘Come whenever you want to. I’d really like you to see this place. When I win the Lottery, I shall buy it!’

‘Ha! More to the point, are you getting enough to eat?’

‘I am, though I work while the mood is on me, and eat when I’m hungry. Jeannie is coming up again on Friday.’

‘Have you spoken to Piers, yet? I don’t suppose he’ll be coming to see you?’

‘Not unless you give him my address, Mum! I’m here to work. I don’t want any interruptions – leastways, not from him.’

‘Aah,’ she sighed, and I knew I had said the right thing.

‘I’m going to Clitheroe tomorrow. There’s something I want to look up at the library.’

‘You’re sure you’re all right, Cassie?’

‘I’m fine. We’ve eaten all the parkin, by the way. Bring me another piece when you come up, there’s a love? Jeannie really liked it.’

I could feel Mum’s glow of pleasure in my ear. Tomorrow, I’d take bets on her making a double mixing, then putting my piece in a tin to moisten. Parkin is best kept a few days before eating.

‘Of course I will! Anything else you want?’

‘No thanks, I’m fine, and working well. I miss you both. Take care of yourselves, won’t you?’

‘We will, lovey. And don’t go answering the door after dark!’

‘I won’t. And I’ve got Hector to look after me. He doesn’t like strangers very much!’

‘Well, then …’

‘I’ll phone you at the weekend, Mum. We’ll have a good long chat, then. Love you!’