They both looked at the moon hanging above the manor. And then their eyes were distracted. A strange blush-coloured light was journeying slowly from left to right along the gallery.
‘Can you see that?’ Herv asked.
‘I most certainly can,’ replied Marnie with a gulp. ‘The Pink Lady?’
Herv was fascinated. ‘I have never seen it before. Wow, it’s amazing. I wouldn’t have believed.’
The pink light faded to nothing yet they carried on watching, waiting for it to make a reappearance, but it didn’t.
‘Do you like ghost stories, Marnie? Ghost films?’
Marnie’s warning flag shot up the pole. She suspected immediately where this could be going.
‘I can take them or leave them,’ she said, wrinkling up her nose.
‘There’s a cinema in Skipperstone . . .’
‘Anyway, I’d better get to bed, I think my walk has done the trick. Goodnight, Herv,’ said Marnie quickly and stood to go.
‘Oh, goodnight. Do you want me to walk you back?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. Too harshly. ‘Thank you,’ she added in a softer tone.
She was annoyed with herself then. He was only going to ask her to go to the bloody cinema with him, not propose marriage. God, she was ridiculous. But she knew what would happen and had to stop it from starting. They’d go out, he’d be kind, her starving heart would open up, fed by the morsels of his attentions. She’d fall hard and deep despite feeling that something wasn’t quite right because it never was, but she’d press the override switch and plough on, falling ever deeper and harder. Then the complication would start to show itself, because there always was one. Probably in this case that his heart was still full of his ex-wife, and then her world would come crashing down on top of her and she’d be capsized into a sea of heartbreak. Either that, or Ruby Sweetman would throw herself off a cliff and she’d be blamed for it all.
No. No. No. No. No.
HISTORY OF WYCHWELL BY LIONEL TEMPLE
Contributions by Lilian Dearman.
In 1844 Sir Rodney Dearman, a friend and drinking partner of Branwell Brontë, driven insane by syphilis, forced the parish priest to conduct a marriage ceremony in his church between himself and his prize stallion. Luckily Sir Rodney died before the marriage could be consummated. Though as Rodney was still married to Cordelia, mother of his five children, his actions could be, at best, described as bigamous.
Chapter 19
It was Marnie’s turn to go up to Lilian’s for lunch the next day. She hadn’t slept very well at all, but it was less to do with the heat and more to do with Herv Gunnarsen about to ask her if she wanted to go to the pictures. Although, thinking about it in bed, maybe she’d been a bit ahead of herself; what if he’d merely wanted to tell her that there was a horror film showing, and wasn’t proposing he take her to see it? In which case, she’d made a proper tit of herself. Anyway, whether she’d got it right or wrong, she’d probably scared him off for good with her Linford Christie sprint away from him. She was, therefore, quite relieved that he waved at her from across the slope of lawn when she approached the front door of the manor as if there was nothing untoward between them. She hadn’t murdered his ego, after all; she wouldn’t have wanted to do that. And, if he had been about to ask her out, she’d saved him from her blunt refusal by cutting him off at the pass, giving them both the opportunity to keep things platonic and safe and uncomplicated. It was for the best, really it was.
Cilla was in the hallway filling up a vase with roses when she walked in.
‘Morning, Marnie,’ she smiled, full of beans.
Marnie knew that when Cilla was happy, all was good with Lilian.
‘She’s waiting for you in the conservatory.’
‘Thank you, Cilla,’ she replied.
But something wasn’t quite right, she could feel it as soon as she had stepped over the threshold. It was as if the manor had its own moods and they coloured the ambience. Marnie had grown to love the old house and its quirkiness. She loved the old gentleman’s smoking room that was now a snug where Lilian liked to listen to music, and the breakfast room with its floor-to-ceiling windows that made the most of the morning sunshine. She loved the tower and the library full of beautiful leather-bound volumes and hundreds of Lilian’s paperbacks and the magnificent drawing room full of Lilian’s precious broken-mended treasures. The manor’s personality was always very much in evidence, as if it were made up of layers of all its best times. It never felt cold or hostile and despite its size, Marnie knew why Lilian was happy to reside in it alone. But the manor was less like a house and more like a living thing with emotions (and yes, Marnie knew that was bonkers). Today, the manor felt worried. There was something threatening, an electric portent. Just as the skies outside were warning of thunder.
‘Marnie, dear, Marnie, come on in,’ yelled Lilian, sitting at the table by the conservatory window. ‘What an odd day, don’t you think? There’s quite a storm brewing and the view is spectacular when that happens. It’s better from the tower, of course. I always used to go up there when there was a thunderstorm. At least when Mother wasn’t fornicating with her doctor. The heavy air has given me quite a headache. I’ve had two of those little tablets shaped like bullets and it hasn’t made a scrap of difference. Now you are here, I bet it disappears in an instant. So, what have you been up to since, when did I see you last. Christmas?’
‘Tuesday,’ said Marnie, not sure if Lilian was joking or not.
‘Was it only Tuesday? It feels like much longer. Let’s have some lunch and then I think we’ll go boating on the lake before it freezes over. It once froze enough for us to skate on and we invited the children who were in the village to come and slide with us. One of the few happy memories I have of my childhood. Now, tell me what flavours you’re going to do next week for the place we cannot mention.’ She placed a shushing finger against her lips and Marnie sat and began to tell her about the next cheesecake order, but she noticed that Lilian was finding it hard to concentrate and kept asking her to repeat what she’d just said.
She couldn’t eat anything either. Not even Cilla’s cheese pastries which were her absolute favourite. She kept pressing at her temple with her knuckle and despite saying she was all right, she obviously wasn’t.
‘Lilian, shall I go and get you some more tablets?’ Marnie asked.
‘Titus shouldn’t have mocked Margaret Kytson. I knew no good would come of it. It’s disturbed her spirit. She will be walking amongst us again and who can blame her.’
Marnie didn’t mention that she’d seen the Pink Lady in the gallery last night, but she felt something unpleasant trip down her spine.
‘Don’t tell Father that we’re taking a boat out,’ Lilian looked over her shoulder. ‘He’s not in a good mood at all.’
Marnie was worried now, plus she thought that Lilian’s colour had changed since she arrived. She looked so dreadfully pale. Lilian needed a doctor; no, an ambulance, her intuition said. She got up from the seat to ask Cilla to ring for one, on the quiet because she knew that Lilian would protest.
‘I’ll go and get you those tablets,’ she said, but before she took a step, Lilian made a grab for her hand.