The Courtyard by Marcia Willett

across the crowded floor. She met his gaze without expression and he smiled a little before turning back to the bar.
    â€˜Bloody hell!’ Simon shook his head in despair. ‘What do you do with it? Eat it? Have you ever thought of staying quietly at home?’
    â€˜Not since Henry brought that old bat to live at Nethercombe. Honestly! It was bad enough before—’ She broke off as Sam came back with the drinks, relaxing back in her chair and arranging her features in a faint smile, eyes narrowed a little, enigmatically. She felt for Simon’s leg and pinched it.
    â€˜Ouch! OK, OK,’ he muttered. ‘Just this once. Thanks,’ he said to Sam, who was passing round the drinks. ‘Listen. I’ve just had an idea about what you were telling me, Sam, before Gillian turned up. I’ve thought of a way that she can help you and earn some money at the same time. She’s just the girl you need.’
    â€˜Really?’ Sam sat down. His glance slid over Gillian and came to rest on her face. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds promising so far.’
    â€˜Hang on,’ protested Gillian. ‘I’m a drone, remember. I hate work.’
    â€˜In that case we speak the same language, lady.’ Sam nodded at her and she gave him a tiny intimate smile.
    â€˜That’s why it’s a brilliant idea,’ argued Simon. ‘All you need is the right person and you’ll both make some money.’
    Sam and Gillian looked at one another. He sent her an almost imperceptible wink.
    â€˜You have our attention,’ said Gillian, raising her glass. ‘I wouldn’t like to miss out on a new experience. OK, Simon. Spit it out!’

Nine
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    GUSSIE LEANED HER ARMS on the stone balustrade and gazed out over the countryside: the Courtyard, Nethercombe woods, the little stream bordering Nethercombe’s fields where their own herds browsed contentedly. Home! Even after a few weeks her heart still swelled and throbbed at the word.
    She had been amazed to find Henry at her bedside at the flat, protested feebly when he talked of carrying her off to Devon and had sunk luxuriously into being nursed back to health by Mrs Ridley. It had taken longer than she could possibly have imagined. Weakened by her poor diet during the long winter, she had no strength left to fight the infection and even now in early May, with the rhododendrons just coming into flower, she still felt weak but it was a weakness that was purely physical. The fears and doubts of living alone, of making ends meet, of simply existing had vanished away. Henry made it quite clear that her pensions were her own but Gussie’s pride insisted that she pay a small sum for her keep and Henry, realising that she would feel happier if she did, accepted it. Even so, it left Gussie feeling relatively wealthy and she had many happy moments imagining how she would spend her money, once it had accumulated, to the benefit of Nethercombe.
    Now, for the first time for more than forty years, Gussie felt that she was not alone. Looking back, she knew that she had never felt as much at home anywhere as she did here; not in the army quarters as a child nor in her flats in Bristol, and she knew that the medicine which
had done her most good was the news that she was to live permanently at Nethercombe. She could hardly believe it and, when Henry had assured her that it had been in his mind for some while but he’d feared she might not want to give up her independence or leave her friends in Bristol, tears slid weakly down from beneath her closed eyelids. He wanted her, it seemed; needed her. Even loved her? She had been given two rooms on the corner of the east wing with a bathroom adjoining but Henry made it clear that she was to look upon the rest of the house – apart from the set of rooms upstairs that he and Gillian used – as her home too.
    Her first thought, when she was stronger and her mind was clear again,