“God, it’s black out there! In London you have to shut out the light, here you have to shut out the dark,” I say. The wind throws a dead leaf against the glass, holds it there. “Still think there’s no such thing as bad weather?” I ask him wryly.
“Yes, but I’ll admit that I’m definitely wearing the wrong clothes for it tonight,” Dinny concedes.
“Sit. I’ll get brandy,” I tell him. I creep to the drawing room, fetch the decanter and two crystal tumblers, make as little noise as I can. I shut the door softly. “Beth’s asleep,” I tell him, filling the glasses.
“The house looks just the same as I remember it,” Dinny says, taking a swig of amber spirit, grimacing slightly.
“Meredith was never one for unnecessary change,” I shrug.
“The Calcotts are part of the old guard. Why would she want anything changed?”
“Were old guard. You can hardly say that of Beth and me-I’m an impoverished schoolteacher, for God’s sake, and Beth’s a single working parent.”
Dinny smiles a quick, ironic smile at this. “That must have really pissed the old bird off.”
“Thanks. We like to think so.” I smile. “Do you want another?” I ask as he drains his glass. He shakes his head, then leans back in his chair, stretches his arms over his head, arches his back, catlike. I watch him, feeling heat in my stomach, the blood pounding in my ears.
“I might take you up on that shower, though. I’ll admit it’s been a while since I had access to facilities like these.”
“Sure.” I nod, casually. “This way.”
The room the furthest away from Beth’s is Meredith’s and its en suite has the best shower-the large glass cubicle is opaque with limescale, but it has one of those huge shower roses that pours out a wide cascade of hot water. I find new soap, a clean towel, and I turn on a bedside lamp because the main light is too bright and if Beth is awake she might see it as a strip under her door, might come and investigate. Dinny stands in the middle of the room and turns, taking in the huge bed, the heavy drapes, the elegant antique furniture. The carpet over the uneven boards is a threadbare sage green. That familiar faint smell of dust and mothballs and dog.
“This is her room, isn’t it? Lady Calcott’s?” Dinny asks. In the low light his eyes are black, unreadable.
“It has the best shower,” I say nonchalantly.
“It feels a bit… wrong, to be in here.”
“I think she owes you a shower, at least,” I say gently. Dinny says nothing, starts to unbutton his shirt while I hurry from the room.
Creeping softly away along the corridor I hear the shower come on, the pipes gurgling and popping in the walls, and I shut my eyes, hoping Beth won’t wake up. But even as I think it she appears, looking at me around the side of her door at the far end of the corridor. Her hair hangs down at either side of her face, bare feet white and vulnerable.
“Erica? Is that you?” Her voice is taut with alarm.
“Yes-everything’s fine,” I say quietly. I don’t want Dinny to hear that she is awake.
“What are you doing up? What time is it?” she yawns.
“It’s very early. Go back to bed, love.” Beth rubs her face. Her eyes are wide, confused, newly awake.
“Erica? Who’s in the shower?” she asks.
“Dinny.” I look at my feet in my grubby socks, shifting guiltily.
“What? What’s going on?”
“It’s no big deal. Honey had her baby tonight-I had to drive them to Devizes and we got soaked and muddy and… when we got back I said he could have a shower here, if he wanted,” I tell her, all in one breath.
“You’ve been to Devizes? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were asleep! And I had to go in a rush-Honey didn’t feel right and… and it was all in a bit of a hurry, that’s all.” I crush one of my feet beneath the other. I am reluctant to meet her eye. I flash her a grin. “Imagine how Meredith would have gone off-to know a Dinsdale was in her shower!” I whisper, but Beth does not smile.
“Dinny is in the shower and you’re waiting outside the room like… like I don’t know what,” she says.
“I’m not waiting outside the room! I was just going to grab him a clean T-shirt…”
“Erica, what are you doing?” she asks me, seriously.
“Nothing! I’m not doing anything,” I say, but even though it’s true it doesn’t sound it. “Are you going to tell me that I shouldn’t have invited him in?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” she says shortly.
“Why not?”
“It’s… he’s… virtually a stranger, Erica! You can’t just go inviting in random people in the middle of the night!”
“Not random people. Dinny,” I say firmly. I hold her gaze, see that I have won this argument. She can’t explain her objection, not without explaining other things. She says nothing more, turns slowly and shuts the door.
I hurry to my room, pull one of the over-sized T-shirts I wear for pyjamas out of my case and drop it outside Meredith’s door. Steam leaks out from under it, and the mineral smell of hot water. I hasten away down the stairs, retreat into the study, knock back the last of my brandy.
I emerge when I hear Dinny jogging down the stairs. The hallway is sunk in shadows. He pauses when he sees me.
“Erica! You made me jump,” he says, sounding tired, putting one hand up to his hair, raking it roughly with his fingers. Water drips from the ends of it, soaking the shoulders of my Rolling Stones T-shirt.
“So much for the dry clothes,” I say.
“Dry-er, anyway,” he smiles. “I’ll be wet again as soon as I go outside, but thanks all the same. That, I have to admit, is a great shower.”
I can’t seem to answer him; I can’t seem to breathe right. I feel as if I’ve forgotten how, as if breathing in no longer follows breathing out, as if I have lost the logic of it. He reaches the bottom of the stairs, is by my side, and I feel as if I am standing too close to him. But he does not move and neither do I. He tips his head, gives me a bemused look. The same look from decades ago, when I told him I saw trolls in the hollow on the downs, and I am suddenly beset by memories of him: teaching me to duck dive, watching my countless failed attempts; showing me how to suck the nectar from the white flowers of the dead-nettles, plucking one and offering it to me. Gradually his expression changes, grows more serious. I could dissolve under his scrutiny, but I can’t seem to turn as I should, or move away. I watch a drop of water trickle down his arm; watch the faint scattering of goose pimples in its path. My hand moves without my bidding.
I touch the place where the droplet stops, trace my fingers along his forearm, wiping away its cold trail. The shape of the muscles over the bones. The warmth of his blood beneath the skin. My skin feels raw where it touches him, but I leave my hand on his arm; I am grounded, I cannot move. For a second he is still too, as still as I am, as if I have frozen us both with this uninvited touch. The vast hall, ceiling scattered with echoes, seems to shrink in around me. Then he moves away; just slightly, but enough.
“I should go,” he says quietly. “Thanks for… all your help this evening-really.” He sounds puzzled.
“No… no problem. Any time,” I say, blinking, startled.
“I’ll see you around.” He smiles awkwardly, lets himself out into the bleak early morning.
Lament
1904
Caroline found herself outside, found herself soaked and shivering, without even realizing she had moved. Water ran into her eyes and through her hair and down the back of her cotton dress, and as the two horses trotted into the yard she splashed over to them from the house, caught the rank stink of hot, wet horse in her nostrils. She recognized Hutch and Joe, their hats pulled low over their faces, and as she drew breath to ask she saw the third rider, hanging bonelessly across the front of Hutch’s saddle; bare-headed, the rain streaming from bronze hair gone slick and dark.