Barbara Erskine - House of Echoes

‘Oh great. Thanks!’

‘At least writing your book will keep you sitting still. You’ve got no excuse not to start, now,’ Luke said firmly. He put the glasses down on the table and then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’ll go and help David find a bottle.’

David was standing in the cellar in front of the wine racks as Luke walked slowly down the steps. ‘It’s bloody cold down here. This is all vintage, you know. And some of it is still in really good nick.’ He glanced at Luke and lowered his voice. ‘If you need money you could do worse than sell some of this. There are some very valuable wines here. Look at this! Haut-Brion ’49 – and look Chateau d’Yquem!’

‘What sort of money are we talking about?’ Luke reached for a bottle and extracted it carefully from the rack. ‘This is –’ he squinted ‘– 1948.’

‘Don’t shake it whatever you do! That’s about 350 quids’ worth you’ve got in your hand. You are looking at thousands, Luke. Ten. Twenty. Maybe more.’

‘You know, I did wonder. That’s why I wanted you to have a look at them.’

David nodded. ‘I can give you the name of someone at the wine auction house at Sotheby’s who would come and value it and catalogue it. It would be a tragedy in a way to get rid of it, but I know you’re strapped for cash, and with another kid on the way, you could do worse than raise some like this. Besides, you’re just as happy with plonk, aren’t you, you ignoramus!’ He chuckled.

‘I think I’d better put this back –’ Luke glanced at the bottle in his hand.

‘You’d better! Come on. Let’s find some champagne for the baby.’ David selected a bottle from the rack and studied the label, ‘Pommery Brut 1945. Not bad!’

‘Just twenty or thirty quid a bottle, I suppose?’ Luke groaned.

‘More like fifty! It’s a strange life you lead here, isn’t it.’ David shook his head slowly. ‘All the trappings of grandeur, yet a bit short of cash.’

‘A bit!’ Luke grinned. He was not going to let himself think about Barry and H & G’s money. ‘We were planning to live off the land here. Literally. The money I can make from doing up cars is peanuts. It’s a mug’s game – so slow – but at least it will bring in enough hopefully for electricity bills and community charge, that sort of thing. Joss would never hear of selling anything out of the house – she is so obsessed with the history of it all, but wine is not quite the same, is it? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind about that. It could make the difference between hell and a hard place for us, David.’ He cradled the bottle in his arms. ‘Tell me something. Do you think Joss really could make any money out of writing?’

David grimaced. ‘She can write. She has a wonderful imagination. I’ve told her that I’ve taken the liberty of showing some of her stuff to a publisher friend of mine. He particularly liked one of her short stories. He’s keen to see more, and he wouldn’t say that unless he meant it. But beyond that it’s in the lap of the gods.’ He gave a sudden shiver. ‘Come on, old chap. Let’s get out of here. It’s so bloody cold. A hot meal is what we all need, I think!’

It wasn’t until quite a bit later that Joss managed to go back to the church alone. She had in her hand a small bunch of holly mixed with red dead nettle, and winter jasmine and shiny green sprigs of ivy covered in flowers.

The church was almost dark when she found the key in its hiding place and pushed open the heavy door to make her way up the dim nave. The vase was clean and full of fresh water as she stood it gently on the shelf in front of the little brass. ‘There you are, Katherine,’ she whispered. ‘New flowers for Christmas. Katherine?’ She paused, almost expecting there to be a response, a repeat of the strange reverberation in her head, but there was none. The church was silent. With a wry smile she turned away.

The kitchen was empty. For a moment she stood in front of the stove, warming her hands. The others were all out, all occupied. She should be unpacking boxes or packing presents; there was no time to stand and do nothing. On the other hand now would be the perfect time, alone and undisturbed, to turn once more to the box of letters in her mother’s study. And the doctor did tell her to rest …

The great hall was already taking on the look of Christmas. Luke and David had brought in the seven foot tree they had cut in the copse behind the lake that morning and the whole room smelled of the fresh spicy boughs. It was standing near the window, firmly wedged into a huge urn filled with earth. Lyn had found the boxes of decorations, and they stood on the floor near the tree. They had promised Tom that he could help decorate the tree after his supper and before he went to bed. She smiled. The little boy’s face as the tree was dragged in had been a sight to behold.

She had filled a huge silver bowl with holly and ivy and yellow jasmine and it stood in the centre of the table, a blaze of colour in the dark of the room.

Katherine

Joss frowned. There was a strange electric tingle in the air, a crackle of static as though a storm were about to break. It was there again: the echo at the back of her head – the voice she could not quite hear.

As he thundered into the courtyard the house lay quiet under the blazing sun. His horse’s breath was whistling in its throat as he dragged it to a halt. There was no sign of servants, even the dogs were silent .

Puzzled, Joss shook her head. She was staring hard at the bowl of flowers. The silver, still dull where her quick rub with a duster had failed to remove the years of tarnish gleamed softly in the dull light from the lamp near the table. As she watched a yellow petal from the jasmine fell onto the gleaming black oak.

Throwing himself from the saddle he left the sweating trembling horse and ran inside. The great hall, dim after the sunlight, was equally empty. In five strides he was across it and on the stairs which led up to her solar .

The smell of resin from the newly cut fir tree was overpowering. Joss could feel the pain tightening in a band around her forehead.

‘Katherine!’ His voice was hoarse with dust and fear. ‘Katherine!’

‘Joss!’ The cry echoed through the open doorway. ‘Joss, where are you?’

Luke was carrying a great bunch of mistletoe. ‘Joss. Come here. Look what I’ve found!’ In quick strides he crossed the room to her side and held the huge pale green silvery bouquet above her head. ‘A kiss, my love. Now!’ His eyes narrowed with laughter. ‘Come on, before we decide where to put it!’

Katherine!

Joss stared at Luke sightlessly, her mind focused inwards, trying to catch the sounds as they came, seemingly from endless distances away.

‘Joss?’ Luke stared at her. He lowered the mistletoe. ‘Joss? What’s wrong?’ His voice grew sharp. ‘Joss, can you hear me?’

Katherine!

It was growing fainter; muffled; distant.

‘Joss!’

She smiled suddenly, reaching out to touch the mistletoe berries. They were cold and waxy from the old orchard where lichen-covered apple trees tangled with greengage and plum.

In the end they put one bunch in the kitchen and one in the great hall hanging from the gallery. Before he left to return home David gave Joss a lingering kiss under the bunch in the kitchen. ‘If I find out any more about the house I’ll stick it in the post. And in the mean time, you get a couple of chapters under your belt to send to my friend Bob Cassie. I have a good feeling about your writing.’

‘And so do I, Joss.’ After he had gone Luke and Joss were discussing it in the study. ‘It makes perfect sense. Lyn is here to help you with Tom and the baby when it’s born. You can write, we all know that. And we do need the money.’ He didn’t dare count on the wine yet.