Read Online Long Summer Day by R. F. Delderfield - Free Book Online Page A

first purely Devon accent Paul had ever heard. She was respectful in her approach but by no means humble, as she shepherded him into the parlour where the table was laid for tea, a traditionally Devonshire tea of scones that Mrs Handcock called ‘chudleys’, and huge bowls of homemade strawberry jam, served with thick, yellow cream. Paul was too elated to do justice to her hospitality but he did his best and was afterwards shown to his room which was very small but scrupulously clean, with a copper can of hot water set ready for his use. He listened a moment to the rumble of Rudd’s voice below, guessing that the agent was giving Mrs Handcock his first impressions of The Prospect but then he thought that this was taking mean advantage of them and having washed, came downstairs again, to find Rudd very much at ease in his big armchair, with jacket off, feet up and a Meerschaum pipe between his teeth. Paul lit his own pipe and tried to pretend that he too was at ease but Rudd was not fooled. He said, ‘I didn’t tell you the conditions of the furniture sale, Mr Craddock. The curtains and carpets, together with various fittings labelled “R”, go with the property; all the other stuff is up for sale the day after tomorrow. Coombes and Drayton are doing it from Whinmouth, that’s our nearest town, some three miles west of Gilroy’s place, across the Teazel. If you have made your decision before the auction you can bid for anything you want, or I’ll get someone to bid for you. Would you like to go up there now, or will you wait until morning?’
    ‘I should like to go now,’ Paul said, ‘and if it’s all the same to you, Mr Rudd, I’d prefer to poke around on my own. I can make notes of anything I might want to ask and I expect you’ve got plenty to do.’
    ‘I’ve got an inventory to make out,’ Rudd told him. ‘The lawyers have been pestering me for it ever since the sale notices went up. The place is locked so you’ll need the front-door key,’ and he handed Craddock a key that looked as if it would have opened a county gaol. ‘I usually have a toddy before bed,’ he added, ‘would you care to join me, after dusk?’
    ‘Very much,’ Craddock said, ‘and convey my thanks to Mrs Handcock for the tea.’ He left then, more than ever anxious to be alone, yet conscious of a growing liking for the agent, and climbed the steep drive, discovering the brazen heat had gone from the day and that long, evening shadows were now falling across the smaller paddock, beyond which he could just see what looked like a formal garden enclosed by ragged box hedges. It was so quiet that he could hear the rustle of birds in the rhododendron thickets and then, as he rounded the curve, there was the house twenty yards distant, looking like a great grey rock, with the last rays of red-gold sunlight lighting up its westerly windows but its eastern wing blank, as though such life as remained in the pile had gone to watch the sunset.
    It was easier to assess its age and character than had been possible by studying the picture in the Illustrated London News ;Craddock saw at once that it was really two houses, of widely separated periods. The centre block, notwithstanding its portico and Doric columns, was a stone Tudor farmhouse, with two squarish windows set low in the wall. The massive front door was the kind of entrance suggested by the key and although at first sight the two styles represented in the frontage seemed incongruous yet they seemed to have learned to tolerate one another over the years, the marriage having been accomplished by a mantle of creeper running wild along the whole front of the building. The main windows, opening on to the terrace, looked as if they gave upon spacious rooms and the terrace itself was unpretentious, divided in half by the semi-circular approach fronting the pillars, and bounded by a low stone wall spaced with stone cranes or herons.
    Craddock stood looking up at it for several minutes,