Of course. How could he ever have doubted it? He returned across the grass and crouched down next to Jean. She looked up. Her eyes were still frantic.
‘Michael?’
Michael said, ‘Shelley- she can’t know. How could she? Tell me exactly what she said.’
‘She said they were introducing Management Visits. A friendly drop-in, she said, just to see there are no problems.’
She began to cry again. Michael got up, swung Charlie up into his arms and helped Jean to her feet.
‘Oh Michael, what are we going to do?’
‘You’re not to worry. We’ll do whatever we have to.’ He looked back at the house. ‘We’re staying.’
Jean came out from the back of the house at the sound of Shelley’s car on the gravel, patting her tidied hair and intending to give the impression that she knew her place and never used the front door. She had an idea that Shelley would notice and appreciate that sort of observance. But all of Shelley’s attention was concentrated on heaving herself out of the hot car. She moved with a sense of grievance, as if she were being made to carry a weight that she considered privately was heavier than anything she should reasonably be expected to shift. As she straightened up, puffing herself into composure, she took in the courtyard, stables, outbuildings and the front of the house. She gave a breathy whistle.
‘Oo-ooh. Well Jean, you’ve landed on your feet here, haven’t you?’ she said. She made a face. ‘Look at all this. Just your thing, I should say. Very cut above.’
Jean winced as her words rang round and bounced off the walls of the courtyard. She had forgotten how loud Shelley’s voice was.
‘I didn’t get a chance to tell you,’ she said, ‘on the phone. There are other people here. I tried to tell you on the phone but I didn’t get a chance and then all of a sudden you’d gone. The owner’s cousin’s here.’
‘Oh? Nothing was said about that.’ Shelley drew herself up. ‘In fact, Jean, nothing’s been said, period. You’re meant to ring in once a month.’
‘No, well,’ Jean said.
‘Slipping down on the details, we don’t like it.’
‘Yes, but-’
‘No way do I like slipping down on the details, Jean. Not in this company. You’re getting paid to take sole responsibility, and now you’re saying- oh sugar.’ A rising burble of Yankee Doodle Dandy was sounding from inside her bag. She fumbled and found the mobile phone and began to prod at it with fingers too large for the tiny keys.
‘It’s the office.’ Shelley cast her eyes heavenwards. Jean took her chance to wander off a distance while Shelley shouted at the caller. The ringing of the mobile phone was silently noted by each of them as proof of a slight superiority over the other.
Shelley rang off, turned to Jean and made another face. ‘Sorry about that! Sometimes they do need to access me. Technology!’
Jean had stooped to pull at a few weeds among the catmint and pansies that grew in one of the stone troughs on the edge of the gravel. She jammed the small green clump into her dress pocket. How stupid of her. Had it looked proprietorial, lifting weeds like that?
‘Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter to me, I assure you.’
‘It was just the office. They needed my input on a decision.’
‘I see. Do you want to come in?’ Jean set off to lead the way round to the back.
‘So who did you say was here?’
‘The owner’s cousin, that’s all. It doesn’t make any difference. I’m still doing the job. I’m still house sitting, they’re just relations, they’re just staying for a while. It doesn’t bother me, them being here. In fact, I quite like the company.’ She wondered if she were saying too much. Where on earth was Michael?
Just then he called out from behind them and they turned to see him appear from the front door. He sauntered out of the house towards them, his arms folded. He was wearing old khaki shorts and a soft, floppy shirt and sandals. He had tipped his tattered straw hat back on his head but it was still obvious that he needed a haircut. His dark hair gleamed blue-black in the sun and his fringe flopped in his eyes. Pushing his hair away with one hand he beamed a friendly, nonchalant smile and advanced, extending one hand.
‘Well, gosh, how do you do? Umm- Michael Standish-Cave,’ he said slowly, with what Jean thought was unnecessary languor. ‘You’re the famous Shelley from the agency, I gather? Down for a visit? Good for you!’
‘I, er… the agency, we weren’t aware that there would be any other occupants in residence during the agreed period. Our client-’
‘Oh, um, yes, occupants in residence,’ Michael said, carelessly amused. ‘Good old Oliver. He came up trumps, and thank God, quite frankly. I’m his cousin, by the way. On our fathers’ side, obviously.’
‘Mr Standish-Cave hadn’t made us aware-’
‘No, of course, well, we weren’t aware ourselves. We did just rather descend, I’m afraid, Oliver said not to hesitate. We’re between flats, actually. I knew Oliver’s place was empty so I just rang him up. I admit I was rather relying on him to come to the rescue, don’t know what else we’d have done quite frankly. He said oh, go straight on down and make yourselves at home, only for God’s sake ring the house sitter first and tell her you’re coming or she’ll have a fit!’
He turned and laughed at Jean, who laughed decorously in reply. ‘I must say it’s grand to be out of town in the summer! And she took it jolly well, didn’t you, an invasion of Standish-Caves!’ He turned to Shelley. ‘She’s doing an awfully good job, you know.’
‘An invasion?’
But Michael had started to lead the way down the path between the rose beds and Jean rather delicately dropped back and allowed him to. He was striding along rather fast now. Behind Jean, Shelley struggled along last with a lumpy shoulder bag on one arm and a ladylike black briefcase in the other. There was another volley of Yankee Doodle Dandy, which Shelley this time silenced with a couple of exasperated stabs. Jean turned and watched her. She was wearing low-fronted black shoes with heels like short pencils, which gave the impression that her thick legs ended in hooves. With each step her foot sank deep into the gravel, so she was taking dainty little steps, as if doing so would somehow make her lighter. The effect was of a cow trying to tiptoe.
‘An invasion? I mean, Jean, she- How many are there, here, I mean?’
Michael turned and walked backwards without slowing down, as he called back to her, now several yards behind, ‘Oh, just the three! My missus, and Charlie, that’s the son and heir, five months. But we’ll be gone in another week. I say, you’re not wearing the right shoes for the country, are you? Poor you!’
He stopped and waited with his hands on his hips, grinning. ‘Course, we wouldn’t have been stuck in the first place without a roof over our heads but God, decorators! They’re on another planet, aren’t they? Three weeks behind already. Here we are!’ He was steering Shelley through the back door into the kitchen. ‘Gosh, you do look hot!’ he beamed.
Jean silently filled the kettle, watching Shelley out of the corner of her eye. Michael was right. Shelley’s suit was made of something that sparkled very slightly in the sun and was of a light sage green colour. Two thick slices of dark green, like watermelon skins, grinned beneath her armpits. With a tinkle of her bracelet she lifted one hand to move her frizzy hair, which today was sticking to her scalp like clumps of damp wire. Her round face had started to ooze like a carelessly kept cheese. Jean disliked Shelley enough to feel a sharp and unworthy pleasure that she looked such a mess. In fact, it was more than that, Jean realised, with a slight shock, as she set about making tea. Her pleasure stemmed not just from Shelley’s wrecked appearance but from watching her in the role of underdog. Michael had taken up his customary place with his back to the Aga, where he stood with his hands on the rail.