but there was nobody at home and she began to spend her days with him. Her father encouraged the friendship and was eager to go to the big house for Christmas. Abby thought of Gil then, making snow angels. She had not made them again since that first year, had no inclination to do things like that with Robert, though she did other pleasurable things. They went skating when the ice was hard that winter and roasted chestnuts and gathered holly. Abby liked going out into the cold air and coming back to see the lamps lit in Robert’s house.
It was the kind of house she would have wanted for her own,so far removed from the pretentious Greek mansion of the Collingwoods’ as a house could possibly be. Parts of it were five hundred years old and Robert told her that his family had lived in some kind of dwelling on that same piece of land for eight hundred years. Various members of the family had added on to the house when times were prosperous, so that it had no coherent heart to it. People like William would have hated it. There was no symmetry, no organisation, just a mish-mash of half a dozen eras. Abby loved it because it bespoke the personalities of the Surtees family, the silliness in the folly beyond the house, their fear in the tower which had protected them, their artistic merits in the long gallery which housed paintings by several famous artists of the past. There was a lovely garden where Robert’s great grandmother had grown herbs to cure ills, and a rose garden which his mother had designed shortly before she died. This was what houses should be about, Abby thought, the sum total of a family, not an image of one time, erected to impress people. It didn’t impress the upper classes, Abby thought, they only laughed at it. Then she was ashamed of herself.
Beyond Hexham it was not too far to visit Rhoda and when Abby went there to stay overnight, she understood why her friend was not happy. Jos Allsop looked Abby over like she was a prize sow, Abby thought. His gaze lingered on her breasts and hips and legs. He came into the bedroom in the early morning when they were still in bed and his hot gaze upset Abby, even though he didn’t touch her. Rhoda’s mother was pregnant again and the house seemed overfull of noise and people. The small boy who was Jos’s son was spoiled, shouting and screaming when he could not have what he wanted immediately, so that Abby’s fingers itched to smack him.
There was plenty of money. The house was big, the food was good and there were servants, but Rhoda’s mother ignored her daughter and her guest and Jos gave them too much attention. Abby was glad to leave the little town and go for a walk on themoors, even though the day was cold and bitter and up there nothing stirred.
‘I used to love it here when my father was alive,’ Rhoda said, her brown hair blowing about for she had refused a hat. There was nothing to stop the wind. The stone houses stood as a testament to good buildings and materials. Abby understood how Rhoda felt. When you knew you were loved, you could abide in such an inhospitable place, but when that security was threatened, the bleakness of it seeped into your life just as the wet wind blowing across the heather had soaked her gloves so that her fingers were starting to go numb. There was nothing here for people who were lonely. She thought, it strange that she could be so lonely amidst the elegant buildings of the Newcastle streets and Rhoda felt just the same out here, where the wind and hail blew horizontally across the unfriendly land. She even felt sorry for the sheep, who were huddled in for shelter against the backs of the drystone walls. It gave her a little glow to think that Robert waited for her when she wanted to go back to the more civilised atmosphere of Hexham. Rhoda had no one and it was difficult not to feel sorry for her, though Abby knew pity for an unworthy sentiment. Rhoda seemed to have lost her mother as well as her father and Abby
It was the kind of house she would have wanted for her own,so far removed from the pretentious Greek mansion of the Collingwoods’ as a house could possibly be. Parts of it were five hundred years old and Robert told her that his family had lived in some kind of dwelling on that same piece of land for eight hundred years. Various members of the family had added on to the house when times were prosperous, so that it had no coherent heart to it. People like William would have hated it. There was no symmetry, no organisation, just a mish-mash of half a dozen eras. Abby loved it because it bespoke the personalities of the Surtees family, the silliness in the folly beyond the house, their fear in the tower which had protected them, their artistic merits in the long gallery which housed paintings by several famous artists of the past. There was a lovely garden where Robert’s great grandmother had grown herbs to cure ills, and a rose garden which his mother had designed shortly before she died. This was what houses should be about, Abby thought, the sum total of a family, not an image of one time, erected to impress people. It didn’t impress the upper classes, Abby thought, they only laughed at it. Then she was ashamed of herself.
Beyond Hexham it was not too far to visit Rhoda and when Abby went there to stay overnight, she understood why her friend was not happy. Jos Allsop looked Abby over like she was a prize sow, Abby thought. His gaze lingered on her breasts and hips and legs. He came into the bedroom in the early morning when they were still in bed and his hot gaze upset Abby, even though he didn’t touch her. Rhoda’s mother was pregnant again and the house seemed overfull of noise and people. The small boy who was Jos’s son was spoiled, shouting and screaming when he could not have what he wanted immediately, so that Abby’s fingers itched to smack him.
There was plenty of money. The house was big, the food was good and there were servants, but Rhoda’s mother ignored her daughter and her guest and Jos gave them too much attention. Abby was glad to leave the little town and go for a walk on themoors, even though the day was cold and bitter and up there nothing stirred.
‘I used to love it here when my father was alive,’ Rhoda said, her brown hair blowing about for she had refused a hat. There was nothing to stop the wind. The stone houses stood as a testament to good buildings and materials. Abby understood how Rhoda felt. When you knew you were loved, you could abide in such an inhospitable place, but when that security was threatened, the bleakness of it seeped into your life just as the wet wind blowing across the heather had soaked her gloves so that her fingers were starting to go numb. There was nothing here for people who were lonely. She thought, it strange that she could be so lonely amidst the elegant buildings of the Newcastle streets and Rhoda felt just the same out here, where the wind and hail blew horizontally across the unfriendly land. She even felt sorry for the sheep, who were huddled in for shelter against the backs of the drystone walls. It gave her a little glow to think that Robert waited for her when she wanted to go back to the more civilised atmosphere of Hexham. Rhoda had no one and it was difficult not to feel sorry for her, though Abby knew pity for an unworthy sentiment. Rhoda seemed to have lost her mother as well as her father and Abby
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