Jarvis didn’t move. ‘I don’t think this is the best-’
‘Of course it is. How can we talk in the castle? The walls have ears. Here we can be private and you can tell me exactly what you think of me.’
‘You’re right,’ he said grimly, letting in the clutch.
She said nothing for the first few minutes, until they’d left the built-up area behind and were swinging out onto the moors which stretched as far as the eye can see. Presently the land changed, softened into graceful undulations. Here and there she saw the glint of water as streams meandered through the gentle countryside.
‘Is this where I drove the other night?’ Meryl asked.
‘No, we’ve left the moor road.’
‘Can you stop a moment?’
The old vehicle ground to a halt with an ugly sound. She slipped out, followed by the dogs who’d been on the back seat, and went to stand where she could look down into the valley. Everything seemed mysteriously perfect. The divisions in the land were made by hedges, trees or by stone walls that looked as though they had grown naturally out of their surroundings.
Just below her she could see a flock of sheep, dotted about a field. The ewes chewed and surveyed the world, while the lambs skittered between them.
Jarvis came to stand beside her but he didn’t speak. He was watching her.
‘Is all this yours?’ she asked at last, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear.
‘Some of it,’ he said. ‘I own some farms around here, and rent them out.’
‘I’ve never seen so many wild flowers,’ she mused. ‘In fact, I don’t usually see much wild anything.’
‘No, you’re more of a hothouse flower,’ he said, speaking without rancour.
‘I suppose so. The trouble with being a hothouse flower is that you lose track of the seasons.’
‘Here the seasons are everything. This one’s the best, when spring is just turning into early summer. The lambing’s over and the sowing is ready to start.’
Rusty and Jacko were sniffing about in the grass, the picture of canine content. Their master threw a stick, but they ignored it and came to Meryl to have their ears fondled.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any money in farming, is there?’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Hey, how did you ever work that out?’ Jarvis still spoke amiably, almost teasing her.
‘I didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘It was something my father used to say.’
What Craddock Winters had actually said was, ‘Only fools waste their time trying to get things out of the earth by growing. The way to do it is to bore in and wrench out what you want. That’s how you get rich.’
Meryl had never thought about it enough to question his judgement, but now she realised that her father had never stood in a field in spring, listening to the silence. In fact-it dawned on her like a thunderclap-he’d hated silence almost as much as he hated his own company-and had made sure there was never any around him.
If only he could see her now! She could just hear his scathing tones. But there was a lot he hadn’t known.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Jarvis asked.
‘Talking about my father made me remember things-he thought cities mattered, and outside cities only oil wells counted. To him the rest was unnecessary.’
‘Where did he think the food came from?’
‘From the supermarket, of course, Cellophane-packaged.’
‘Why, of all the-’ he began angrily. Then he saw the demure mischief in her eyes and knew an odd feeling of pleasure. ‘Of course!’ he said. ‘Forgive me, I have no sense of humour.’
‘Nonsense! You must have.’
‘I don’t often see the joke. Except right now I think it might be on me.’
‘But it can’t really be a joke for you, can it?’ she said, serious again.
‘No, it can’t. The reality is always there in the background, making jokes futile. And that’s all I’m going to say. It’s time we were getting on. I have people I need to see.’
‘Will I be in the way?’
‘If I said yes, would that stop you?’
‘Let’s get going.’
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN they were in the Jeep Jarvis began to turn it back the way they’d come.
‘What about the people you have to see?’ she asked.
‘That can wait for another day.’
‘You mean because I’m here. You don’t want me to see too much, do you?’
‘You’ve already seen too much. I didn’t ask you to come with me but you insisted, the way you’d always insist if I was mad enough to- Never mind.’
They were approaching the village again. This time, instead of driving through, he stopped at an old timbered building whose sign proclaimed it the Running Dog. He bought himself a beer and, at Meryl’s insistence, the same for her. Then sat watching her cynically as she drank it.
‘It’s good,’ she said, meaning it. ‘Don’t look like that. My dad taught me to drink beer.’
‘This isn’t just beer,’ he said, scandalised. ‘It’s best Yorkshire bitter.’
‘I must have some sent back home. It’ll blow their minds.’
‘Back home,’ he echoed. ‘Your home’s thousands of miles away. Go back to it, Meryl. Take the beer. Take every drop in Yorkshire, but go back where you belong.’
‘I think someone’s trying to get your attention.’
Jarvis looked over his shoulder and swore. ‘That’s Andrew Carver, my solicitor,’ he muttered.
A harassed-looking middle-aged man bore down on them. ‘Jarvis, what a bit of luck. I gave up waiting for you at the office.’
‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Andrew, this is-’
It was clear that Andrew already knew. His greeting to Meryl was effusive, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from darting to her again and again.
‘Just a few things-’ Carver said hurriedly.
‘This isn’t a good time-’ Jarvis began.
‘Ten minutes. I promised Bates an answer today-you remember, about that guarantee with the bank? I know what we said but it’s only to tide him over for three months-’
‘Let me get you a drink, Mr Carver,’ Meryl said, rising.
She would have preferred to stay and listen, but she could sense Jarvis on hot coals, and suddenly she pitied him. He was like a man tied down with chains, forced to watch as more and more were laid on him.
She set Carver’s drink beside him and wandered out. The pub was built near the top of a gentle slope, and from the rail she could look down at the sunlit dales, dotted with woolly sheep who seemed so still that they might have been part of the landscape.
I belong here.
She looked around sharply to see who’d spoken, but she was alone. The words had flashed into her head without warning, and then out again, floating away on the gentle breeze.
Nonsense! she thought. Of course I don’t belong here. Ask Jarvis, he’ll tell you. He’ll probably shoot the messenger, too. It’s a lovely place and I’d like to stay awhile, but I don’t belong here because-because I don’t want to belong here.
She tried to picture her fun life in New York, and her even more fun life in Los Angeles. The parties, the expensive clothes, the glitter, the adoring men.
But the pictures wouldn’t come, and the men were hardest of all to get in focus. Who were they? What did they look like? The only face she could see was that of a tense angry man who needed her but couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
‘I don’t want to belong here,’ she said aloud.
A goat, contentedly grazing nearby, gave her a disdainful look and returned to work.
It might be destiny, but she’d always felt in charge of her own destiny, except for Larry Rivers’ unwelcome interventions. People were so eager to oblige Miss Winters.
Except one.
‘OK, he’s gone.’ Jarvis had appeared behind her. She wondered how long he’d been there, watching her. ‘Ready to go?’