Free The Shell House by Linda Newbery

fantastic—well, if you like that sort of garden, it was. All statues and fountains and curving steps, and clipped box hedges, and flower-beds perfectly weeded. You’ll see the photos if you come to the open day. Here. Here’s my favourite thing.’ They had reached one of the pair of stone summerhouses that faced each other across the lower part of the terrace. ‘You haven’t seen her before, have you? Isn’t she wonderful?’
    They were looking at a female figure carved out of a supporting pillar. There were two of them, one on each side of the open front of the summerhouse, but Faith was looking at the left-hand one. The one on the right was damaged, most of its face crumbled away, but this one was perfect. Larger than life, she rose above them, holding a carved garland, one hand raised as if to pluck a too-tempting grape. Her face was very beautiful—straight Grecian nose, large eyes, an expression of calmness and strength. The green shading of moss or lichen made her appear more lifelike than if the stone had been scrubbed and pristine. The ivy twining around her head and shoulders gave the accidental finishing touch.
    ‘That twiggy stuff—it makes her look like something from a legend,’ Greg said. ‘You know the woman with snakes for hair—one look at her and you turn into stone. Medusa, was it?’
    ‘It’s all right,’ Faith said quite seriously. ‘She won’t turn you to stone. I’ve looked at her loads of times and it’s never happened to me. She’s not malicious, is she? You can see from her face. I wonder what she’d say if she could speak? I wonder what she’s seen.’
    ‘And there are two of them.’ Greg looked at the other, almost faceless statue, spoiled by time and erosion. ‘How come this one’s so perfect when the other’s all worn?’
    ‘Something to do with the prevailing winds, Dad says. This one’s sheltered by the angle of the building. They’re called caryatids.’
    ‘Caryatids?’
    She nodded. ‘Supporting columns made into female statues. Male ones are called telamons. There are two of them over there.’ She nodded at the opposite summerhouse; they walked across to look. The building was identical, but this time the statues were of muscular, bearded men, again holding wreaths of vines and fruit.
    ‘They’re lovely too, but not like my caryatid,’ Faith said.
    Greg opened his camera case. ‘I’m going to take photos.’
    He took several, from various angles, of both summerhouses, but concentrated on the caryatid, moving in close to get the shadows that threw her features into relief. Faith watched at first, then sat down on the steps; when the man with the mower had moved on, she walked along the main path to the far end and stood looking out across the fields. When he’d used up his disc, he went to join her. The garden simply ended in a bank of rough grass and thistles; two metres lower was a newly-ploughed field, curving down towards the valley. The smell of mown grass filled the air with summer.
    ‘There used to be steps here and great wrought-iron gates,’ Faith said. ‘I’ve seen the pictures. But you can still see the ha-ha.’
    ‘The what?’
    ‘Ha-ha. This. Haven’t you seen one before? What it is—people who owned stately homes like this wanted to look out of their windows, or sit on their terrace, and see their land sweeping away into the distance. They didn’t want it all chopped up by fences, but they needed to keep cows and sheep out of the garden. So instead of a fence they had a big drop like this, a sort of dry ditch. It keeps animals out but doesn’t interrupt the view. I expect there’s a wall underneath all this grass, to stop it from collapsing.’
    ‘So why’s it called a ha-ha?’
    Faith giggled. ‘Dad says it’s because you’re walking along and all of a sudden the ground drops away from your feet, and you go
A-ha!
I don’t suppose that’s the real reason, though.’
    Greg turned his back on the ha-ha and looked towards