‘I think you’ll discover that Susie never had the slightest intention of coming down here. If I’d given it more thought at the appropriate time, I should have guessed she’d given you a red herring. Susie was never overly fond of the place. She’d certainly never choose it as a lovers’ rendezvous.’
‘Susie loved it down here,’ Jenna protested. ‘We both did.’
The look Simon gave her as he turned to study her upturned face in the darkness of the hall made her feel odd—weak and vulnerable, somehow, as though she had said something very betraying.
‘Susie’s a city dweller,’ Simon told her. ‘Not like you. What made you go and live in London? I thought you were going to spend the rest of your life in Gloucestershire.’
‘What as?’ Jenna asked him bitterly. ‘The village spinster?’
Simon ignored her gibe and added tauntingly, ‘What happened to the husband and two-point-two offspring you were so convinced you wanted?’
‘That was when I was fifteen—I’ve changed since then.’
‘Yes, yes, I believe you have. Stay here, I’ll go down to the cellar and get the lamps.’
Much as she objected to his high-handed manner, Jenna knew there was little point in following him down the steep flight of stone steps into the cellar.
The house was built into the cliff side, and as teenagers she and Susie had amused themselves by searching the stone rooms for secret doorways that might conceal passages down inside the cliff face, as in the best tradition of smuggling stories. Or rather, she had amused herself, Jenna realised painfully. Susie had always been rather inclined to scoff at her romantic imaginings.
She made her way to the larger of the cottage’s two sitting-rooms, and pushed open the door. In the dim light she could see that the furniture was swathed in covers. The air smelled cold and faintly stale, and she went over to open one of the windows.
Simon was right, there was little point in her driving back to London tonight, and yet she still felt a small prickle of unease at the thought of being alone here with him. It was ironic really, when for so many years she had been filled with foolishly romantic dreams of just such an event.
How old had she been when she had become infatuated with him? Fifteen? Fifteen! Why deceive herself? she asked herself ironically. She could remember exactly when it had happened. It had been here at this very house, the summer she was fifteen. Simon had made an unexpected visit and she had been sitting in the garden when he arrived. Tall and bronzed from his French Riviera holiday, where he had been crewing on a friend’s yacht, she had watched him come towards her. Jenna had been alone at the time, Susie and her parents having gone into the nearest town to do some shopping.
Her heart had almost seemed to stop beating, lurching into her throat. She hadn’t been able to speak or even breathe …
Thank heavens she had managed to keep her feelings to herself, and that no one had ever guessed how she felt. Once or twice she had felt a thrill of fear at the thought that Simon might have realised, but apart from the odd teasing comment, delivered in much the same brotherly manner he used towards Susie, he had rarely even spoken to her.
The arrival of his latest, equally tall and tanned girlfriend had brought home to her the impossibility of her romantic yearnings, and when towards the end of the holiday she and Susie had become engaged in a heated conversation about how they wanted to spend the rest of their lives, Elena had laughed in derision when Jenna had mentioned her own wish to settle down and have a family.
‘You see, Simon,’ she had said laughingly, ‘you should always avoid quiet, plain little girls, they always have marriage on their minds.’
Jenna had been hurt by the older girl’s cruel remark, but after all there had been nothing personal in it. Since her arrival they had hardly seen anything of her or Simon. They went out together every day in Simon’s small sports car, returning only briefly at supper time to eat and change to go out again.
Her infatuation for Simon had died quite quickly, but it had left her with a curious antipathy towards him, an unease when in his company that made her restless and on edge.
She heard him coming back, and heard him swear as he stumbled into something.
‘I’ve found the lamps, but there doesn’t seem to be any fuel for them.’
‘It’s in the garage,’ Jenna told him.
He cursed again.
‘Only a woman could do something as idiotic as that! Why on earth isn’t it with the lamps?’
‘Because I believe your father considered that it was safer to fill and light the lamps outside than in the confined space of the cellar,’ Jenna told him coldly.
‘Ah, I see … Very well then, I consider myself well and truly put in my place, and take back everything I have said about your sex, Jenna. Will that do? Have I made amends?’
‘I’ll go upstairs and see if I can sort out some bedding,’ Jenna told him, ignoring his taunting remark. ‘I wonder if your mother still keeps those sleeping-bags down here?’
‘I don’t know. It must be a couple of years since anyone was last down. My father was talking about selling the place.’
Jenna only just managed to suppress her instinctive protest, reminding herself that whatever Susie’s family might choose to do with their cottage was really no concern of hers. But so many of the happier memories of her childhood centred round this weathered, unprotected dwelling. She was being sentimental, she told herself as she went upstairs and made her way to the small walk-in airing cupboard.
Without any proper light it was impossible to find what she was looking for, so she resigned herself to await Simon’s return.
He wasn’t long. She heard the door bang as he came inside, and then saw the glow from the two lamps he was carrying.
He brought one up to her, leaving the other at the foot of the stairs.
‘Here, this what you’re after?’ he asked, tugging on the neatly folded, familiar sleeping-bags.
‘Yes, I thought it would make more sense to use these than to bother making up the beds.’
‘I agree. I was having a root in the kitchen before you arrived. I think I’ve managed to locate a jar of instant coffee and some powdered milk. Mrs M must leave it here for when she comes to do her monthly check.’
Mrs Magellan was the wife of the local garage proprietor. She had a key for the cottage and came up once a month to clean and check that all was in order.
‘I thought I’d use Susie’s and my room,’ Jenna suggested, handing Simon one of the sleeping-bags, and turning away from him.
She and Susie had shared the smallest bedroom, tucked up under the eaves, and she headed for it instinctively.
She only realised that Simon had followed her when she saw the golden glow of the lamp reflecting against the polished wood of the door.
She turned the handle and the lamp illuminated the interior of the small room. The two single beds that once occupied it had been dismantled and an ominous dark stain covered part of the ceiling.
‘Damn! I forgot … Dad did say something about the roof losing some slates during a bad storm. Let’s hope that the damage is just restricted to this room.’
It wasn’t … Out of the cottage’s four bedrooms, only one remained damp free.
It would, of course, have to be Simon’s, although his single bed had gone and in its place was the double bed that had once been in his parents’ room.
‘Well, Jenna,’ Simon announced when they had both surveyed the room in silence, ‘it looks that at long last all your girlish dreams are going to come true and you get to spend the night with me … I take it that you will … er …