That day by the pool, p.1
That Day by the Pool, page 1
Copyright © 2026 Giles Fraser
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Contents
By the same author
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
22
23
24
25
26
Epilogue – Six Months Later
About The Author
Acknowledgements
By the same author
Let’s Fly
For Diana
Prologue
OCTOBER 1940
The boy was crouched in the iron hayrack on the stable wall five feet up, cowering and shivering: legs up by his chin, arms tight around them. The horse never slept so neither could he. He had never been so scared in his life.
He was locked in a small stable about twenty feet square. The horse was about eight-foot long and, according to one of his friends who knew about these things, seventeen hands high, so there wasn’t room for both of them. The horse knew it as well as he did.
Twice the horse had kicked out its hooves to gain more space. The crunch as they hit his arms made him want to scream. At least most hit his arms, however painful it was. The pain on impact was as if he was being hit by an iron bar. His teeth and jawbones screeched as they slammed together.
He tried talking to the horse. He craved sleep but he didn’t dare succumb in case the horse came back at him. Everyone knew it was a little mad; that’s why no-one rode it. A gunshot close to its ears when it was a colt had shocked it and it had never been the same. It belonged to the owner’s son, and he was away at the Front; otherwise, it would have been killed and turned into dogmeat, maybe even slipped into the boys’ supper. The origins of some of the food they were served at the school was never that clear.
The full moon was bright and shone through the small skylight above him. He thought it was about three o’clock. He had been in there for seven hours at least. The smell of the horse’s excrement in his nose filled his nostrils. The yard was silent bar the occasional baaing of the sheep in the field behind. The main house was in the middle of nowhere and everyone would be asleep. He couldn’t hope to be saved until morning. No-one would be up until seven. If he cried out, there was a danger the wrong person might hear him.
He was dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown. The boys had pulled him from his bed, and he had only been able to grab his dressing gown under duress. They had dragged him down the stairs and out through the back door. The gravel on the path behind the house had scratched and cut his feet. Laughing, the boys had thrown him into the stable and bolted the door and window.
It was late November in the Lake District, and he couldn’t feel his hands or feet. The temperature must have been near zero. He had wet his pyjama trousers and made himself even colder.
He had known this day would come. It was inevitable after what he had done. Retribution was always going to be fast and savage. He just had to hope he could survive until morning. There was no point telling anyone if he got out. There was nobody in charge and no-one would listen. The boys who had put him in the stable were the masters.
Two kicks from the horse had persuaded him he needed to get out of its way fast. He couldn’t wait for another one. He could reach the iron hayrack if he placed his hands and feet in the gaps between the stones. Just as the horse kicked out again, he clambered into it. For now, he was safe.
When – if – he was freed, he would plan his escape. It didn’t matter how long or arduous the journey might be. Nothing could be worse than what he was experiencing.
The skylight in the roof was about five foot above. He could just about reach it if he stood up and raised his arms, but he was afraid the hayrack would collapse under his weight.
The horse moved towards him again, nuzzling him, bearing its yellow teeth. He had no option. He couldn’t wait until dawn.
He turned around, stood up and reached up to push the wooden window frame. It was rotten and opened with ease, so with both hands, and all his strength, he pulled himself up through the window. With one hand he reached forward and put his fingers underneath it to give himself traction. He hauled his body onto the roof and lay there panting.
The farmyard in front of him was bathed in the moonlight. He turned himself so he was feet first and dropped to the ground. His knees hit the stone first, causing him to scream out in pain. Exhausted and freezing, he curled himself up in a ball against the wall and slept.
1
JANUARY 2019
They had gone away for the weekend, the end of the third week of January, the first time since Dan had got his new job, and they had both taken the Friday afternoon off to ensure a swift getaway. Just as well as Dan usually kept within the speed limits, unless he was stressed or angry, and it was a five-hour journey up to the Lake District. On reflection Nicole would have happily settled for somewhere in Oxfordshire or Gloucestershire, but this wasn’t just a weekend away.
“Dad’s so pleased one of the family’s going back to Blair Gowan. He wants us to send pictures as soon as we arrive.”
“I doubt he’ll want pictures of what we have in mind.”
Nicole had done her research and reckoned she knew more about Blair Gowan than Dan or his father, Charlie. It had been built as a workhouse in the 1840s under the aegis of a local mill owner, Sir Ernest Mackleburgh, and, since 2005, had become a boutique hotel offering ‘the perfect chill experience nestled in the undulating magnificence of the Lake District’. In between, it had been a private house and, pertinent to their current journey, a temporary home for Rothbury Preparatory School during the Second World War.
Germany, bombing in 1940 had driven the school to decamp from its South-East London base to the Lake District, and Charlie’s father, Michael, aged ten, was evacuated alongside fifty other pupils. The headmaster, Roger De La Hay, was serving in North Africa so the school was run by his seventy-five-year-old father, Clive, a redoubtable nurse and two local women.
“Why hasn’t your father ever visited it himself?” Nicole inspected her nails to amplify the spontaneity of her question. Dan gave her one of the glances he usually reserved for the wing mirror and said he didn’t know. Nicole remarked that it was odd given what an important role Rothbury had played in his family’s life. Three generations – and cousins – had attended the school. As far as she could see, no family gathering was complete without a thorough dissection of the latest De La Hay news. Roger De La Hay’s grandson, Martin, was now the headmaster and was investing heavily to make Rothbury a leader in science and technology as well as a champion of diversity and inclusion.
“Can you check the satnav again? We can’t be far now?” Dan scanned the horizon as if a welcoming committee was about to appear. Nicole covered her mouth to yawn before she prodded her phone. The afternoon off had meant working until midnight on the StudentCars’ new business pitch. The creative ideas still hadn’t been up to much, so she prayed Chandra, her boss, had had a brainwave since lunchtime.
“Do you think your grandfather enjoyed his time up here? I mean it’s pretty odd sending your child the other end of the country then not even seeing them in the holidays. Michael was barely out of nappies. He must have been traumatised.”
Dan didn’t reply for a while, concentrating instead on pulling the phone to face him so he could read the route guidance.
“Got it.” He leant back and guided the wheel with his right hand only. “I know. He always said it was the making of him. Camping, trekking, horse-riding. He missed home cooking and sw
Nicole viewed the frosty moonlit hillscapes on either side of them as they wended their way down the narrow lanes. Did Dan really think it was such a paradisical experience, or was he conditioned by the family three-line whip that such a good thing didn’t merit further investigation? She had to admit it looked pretty romantic, and it was good to get out of London. When she had told her mother about the trip, she had lit another fag and observed that most evacuees came back more traumatised than if they had stayed put in the Anderson shelters in their back gardens.
Dan said, “He said to me once he missed his teddy. His parents wouldn’t let him take that. Told him he wasn’t a baby anymore. Ten years old. Away from his parents all year. Imagine.”
*
Nicole Weymouth could remember family arguments over wrong turns on car journeys back when she was small and her father was still around. Thankfully, nowadays, there was technology, and it hadn’t let them down. The stone-columned entrance to Blair Gowan Hotel presented itself at the exact time the satnav had promised when they had set it in London. It was dark but there was a full moon so they could see almost as if it was daylight. The wheels of the car crunched on the gravel as they passed a series of rhododendron bushes on either side.
Nicole didn’t like institutions, and a shiver passed through her. She might only be 27, but she had had enough of them fifteen years ago. Soon the hotel, three storeys with turrets, grey, damp stone, appeared before them. Behind the building, the Lake District fells rose up as high as the eye could see, with the moon resplendent and unclouded above them.
Before they got out of the car, Dan said, “Hard to believe this was a school in the war, isn’t it?”
Nicole tried to share her fiancé’s excitement. Whenever she had a phone signal, emails from work were coming through with questions about the presentation. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him before they opened the car doors.
“Let’s hope we’re not put in detention if we’re late for breakfast.”
As she stepped out of Dan’s new Audi, a button of her new navy-blue coat caught on the seatbelt and fell off. After she had picked up the button, she shook her freshly cut blonde bob and brushed it back with both hands. Then, as she did pretty much every five minutes, she checked that her engagement ring was still on her finger.
Her wheeled suitcase bumped along the gravel as they came to the door. Dan glanced at her and leant over to kiss her on the cheek.
She thought she was looking quite good given the time of year: she had been stuck inside all the time and hadn’t renewed her gym membership yet. She was lucky enough to have a strong, aquiline nose, high cheekbones, full lips and, best of all, flashing powder-blue eyes. She was a little above medium height and, most of the time though not enough in her opinion, pretty slim. Stress and long hours at work helped with that. When she looked in the mirror, and needed a boost, she would repeat her mother’s words to herself: “You’re a good package, Nicole Weymouth.”
Standing on the doorstep, she kissed him on the lips, and, for a moment, pure joy suffused her. It was a long time since they’d taken a break together.
The eight-foot-high oak door was open, so they stepped straight into a huge hall with a fireplace as large as Nicole’s bedroom at one end. Modern art, all primary colours, had been hung around the walls to lighten the mood. At the end nearest to Dan and Nicole a pert, black-haired girl who was playing with a pencil with one hand whilst jabbing at a computer keyboard with the other.
She stood up. “Hello. I’m Shona. Welcome to Blair Gowan Hotel.”
They went inside and Nicole looked around. It wasn’t hard to imagine this hall being the place where assemblies took place. In her mind the scene was more like a prison. Lines of small boys incanting the day’s prayers in unison with adults watching them like guards in each corner. Would people who didn’t know this had been a school get the same vibe? She wondered. Her own boarding school, at least for the short time she had been there, had been much more relaxed. The teachers called everyone by their Christian names and uniforms weren’t worn after the age of eleven.
Based on their conversations Dan had a different view of school. He could put up with the rules as he liked the comradery. As he put it, the structure freed one’s mind up to focus on the education itself. He had ended up with a First in Law from Durham so maybe he had a point. Nicole had had a place at Newcastle but, when her mother had her first cancer scare, she had had to defer it. Nine years on she was still deferring it. Over time she had grown to be suspicious of those who boasted about their academic achievements. No-one ever asked her what her A-levels were – pretty good, seeing as you’re asking – because they assumed she hadn’t been smart enough to get in anywhere.
Shona looked Dan up and down, and Nicole looked across at her boyfriend. Dan didn’t know how handsome he was. Tall and wiry, curly black hair, eyes the colour of dark chocolate. She could excuse him the occasional admirer.
Shona explained that she was new and that they were her first ever check-in, so they found a couple of high-backed chairs near the reception desk and wrestled to activate the Wi-Fi code. The new creative ideas for the pitch hadn’t materialised. It sounded as if Friday drinks had been delivered into the meeting room which, in Nicole’s experience, was either a very good or, more likely, a very bad omen. Luckily Chandra didn’t drink.
Dan said, “It’s going to be fascinating to look around, isn’t it? See if there’s anything left of the school.” He grinned at Nicole and said, “Shona, did you know this was a school in the war?”
“I heard. And it was a workhouse before that. If walls could talk.”
*
A spotty teenager in white shirt and black tie took their suitcases up two flights of stairs to their room. The smell of floor polish hung in the air and the stairs were slippery from the wax.
The room was magnificent, about the size of a squash court with a four-poster bed, a bay window with its own seat and a sofa and chairs around a fireplace at one end. The teenager showed them how to use the TV and safe and left them to it. They both looked around the room and smiled at each other.
Dan threw himself down on the bed and encouraged Nicole to follow. She needed no encouragement – their work and social schedules meant they hadn’t managed to have sex for over two weeks. Nicole straddled Dan, kissed him hard, undid his belt and worked his trousers down to his ankles. He kicked off his shoes, then his trousers and boxer shorts while Nicole moved to one side and caressed him. When she returned to her position above him, he helped her remove her cotton skirt and knickers. She lowered herself down and guided him into her. They moved as one.
Nicole found all the stresses of the week floating away as excitement coursed through her veins and took over every limb. Throughout they were all tongues and lips. A few minutes later they came together, breathing hard and laughing. There was nowhere Nicole would rather be. Three cheers for Rothbury! She flopped back alongside Dan. They lay there in silence. This was when she loved Dan most. When all their friends and family were far away and it was just them together, caressing and stroking, detached from the world, watching and laughing at it through one pair of eyes.
“Bet there wasn’t much of that at Blair Gowan in the war.”
Dan kissed her. “Oh, matron, you’re gorgeous. Come here…”
“I say, headmaster…”
*
After a few minutes lying together, Nicole decided she needed a bath. She was still in her work clothes – at least half of them. She’d spied a basket full of oils she thought she could work her way through. Dan had found the remote and was searching for something to watch.
She filled the bath as high as she could without activating the overflow and stepped in. Water washed over the back, confirming her suspicion that she had miscalculated. An aroma of strawberry-flavoured steam filled the room as she laid her head on the back of the bath.
