Beyond the Green Hills Read Free

furniture at Drumsollen only too well. As the housekeeper’s Saturday girl, she’d polished it regularly. She’d cursed the assorted objects that had to be moved from every surface before she could begin, but the smooth, mellow wood was lovely to touch. Even dusting the carving and the delicate inlay work had been a pleasure.
    As she went to place her ladder below the next unpainted section of picture rail, she caught sight of Andrew’s face, sad and anxious, his lips pressed together, a sure sign he was uneasy.
    ‘Will you be going over to Drumsollen this week?’ she asked cautiously.
    ‘I suppose I should.’
    Without looking at her, he prised the lid off a newtin of paint and stirred the contents. She waited patiently, knowing there was more to come.
    ‘Edward says he got a cool reception when he went to make sure the roof repairs had been done properly,’ he began. ‘If she couldn’t be nice to her caring landlord, she’ll hardly be very keen to see me. Now Grandfather’s gone she doesn’t even have to be civil.’
    ‘Maybe she’s lonely, Andrew.’
    ‘Hard to imagine her missing anyone. She must have loved him once, I suppose. But then, showing your feelings wasn’t the done thing in their day, was it? Could we ever get like that, Clare?’
    He looked so utterly miserable Clare abandoned her ladder, took the tin of paint out of his hands and put her arms round him.
    ‘Maybe age takes love away,’ she said, sadly. ‘I don’t know any old, married people who even seem to like each other any more. Granny Hamilton only speaks to Granda now when there’s some bit of everyday business she has to mention, yet she gave up going to America to marry him.’
    ‘Will you come with me?’ he asked suddenly, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe.
    ‘Where to?’
    ‘Drumsollen.’
    ‘Oh, Andrew, don’t you think that might make it worse? I’m not sure she’s ever forgiven me for tackling her at your Uncle Edward’s funeral.’
    To her complete amazement, Andrew threw back his head and laughed.
    ‘What’s so funny?’
    ‘That cap you wore,’ he said, still laughing. ‘I’ll never forget it I can still see you standing there, telling her what you thought of her. It must be the only rime in human history the Missus has apologised to anyone. It ought to be recorded in the Annals of the Richardsons,’ he said, pausing and kissing her. ‘Please, Clare. Come with me. She’s going to have to know sooner or later. Let’s get it over with.’
    ‘All right, I’ll come,’ she said quickly, as she caught sight of Edward and Ginny walking along the terrace towards them.
    ‘Thank you, love. That’ll help,’ he said, a look of profound relief on his face.
     
    When they emerged from the shadow of the long line of trees beyond the mental hospital, they saw the gates of Drumsollen standing open. As Andrew swung the bonnet of Aunt Helen’s car between the stone pillars, Clare glanced across at the low wall beyond them. In another life, she and Jessie used to park their bicycles there while they nipped across the road, down to their secret sitting place by the small, deeply entrenched stream.
    ‘Well, here we are,’ said Andrew flatly, as he stopped the car and glanced up at the worn stone frontage of the three-storeyed mansion.
    Clare squeezed his arm encouragingly.
    ‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we? You’d think we were going for an interview.’
    To her surprise, he didn’t smile. He didn’t even seem to hear her. She watched him straighten his tiein the driving mirror and brush non-existent hairs from his shoulders before he got out. He was wearing his best trousers, a clean shirt, his college tie and blazer. Apart from Uncle Edward’s funeral, she’d never seen him dressed so formally before.
    ‘Are my seams straight?’
    He studied her legs minutely and nodded before he realised she was trying to make him laugh. He pressed his lips together again and smiled bleakly.
    ‘She can’t