Her welcoming tones brought some comfort, until the sound of Matt’s voice set Bramble’s nerves jangling once more.
‘I came across the fields. One of the locals pointed me in the right direction. It’s not so far. Nice countryside. I was early, so I had a bit of a wander round the estate.’
She couldn’t catch Cassie’s reply, but soon Matt himself entered, pausing for a few seconds while Bramble’s heart pitter-pattered so loudly in her chest that she feared he might hear. Her eyes scanned up and down quickly, taking him in. She recognised the blue jeans, black trainers and olive-green polo shirt that his mum had bought him for one of his birthdays. Otherwise, though, it was the differences that stood out.
Before, she might have described him as a little shy in strange company or surroundings, but today he seemed self-assured, with his shoulders pulled back, his chin raised and his grey eyes fixed on her unwaveringly. She felt exposed and afraid and licked her lips nervously.
‘Hello,’ she ventured, half-expecting a tirade of abuse, but instead he took a few steps forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She was so taken aback that she let out a small cry – ‘Oh!’
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, ignoring her surprise.
‘Better, th-thank you,’ she stuttered, trying to gather herself and gesturing to the sofa, where he sat down. She was about to settle beside him when she had second thoughts, and she swayed awkwardly before plumping for the armchair opposite. Maria had already retired discreetly and Cassie was nowhere to be seen.
‘I’m incredibly grateful—’ Bramble started to say, but Matt raised a hand.
‘Don’t. I’m not looking for gratitude. That’s not why I came. I happened to be in the right place at the right time, that’s all.’
He was sitting up very straight, his legs wide apart, in that way that men have – filling the space available to him, confident of his place in the world. Bramble had envisaged doing most of the talking, but it seemed that he wanted it the other way around.
‘I hadn’t planned to come,’ he went on, his voice sounding strong and resolute, as if he’d rehearsed his lines. ‘I only decided at the last minute. I couldn’t stand the way we left it, you see.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Not after all those years together. It didn’t seem right.’
‘I’m sorry—’ Bramble began, but again he interrupted.
‘Hear me out. Please.’ He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together.
‘I wanted to tell you that I don’t regret a minute of our ten years together. Not one second. We were very young when we started dating, too young maybe, but most of it was good, wasn’t it?’
He glanced up at her, his eyes focused and earnest, and she nodded miserably.
‘I hate how it ended,’ he continued, staring quickly at the floor again. ‘I was furious with you, really angry and upset. But I’ve had time to think things over and I guess what I wanted to say is – no hard feelings, Bram.’ He swallowed. ‘I’d rather hold on to the good memories, because there were plenty of them, weren’t there?’
Bramble felt tears pricking and the hands in her lap trembled. He sounded so big-hearted, generous and wise, far more so than her, and she wished, not for the first time in the last few days, that she could rewind the clock and do things differently.
‘There were many, many good times, Matt,’ she said with feeling, ‘and I bitterly regret cheating on you. For what it’s worth, things didn’t work out with the other guy. He wasn’t who I thought he was.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Divine justice maybe.’
Matt’s left cheek twitched but he didn’t respond, and it was a relief when Maria reappeared with a tray of coffee to interrupt the silence. For a short while the former lovers made small talk about the manor, Matt’s promotion at work, mutual London friends and so on, but the conversation felt forced and artificial.
At last, having finished his coffee, Matt rose and stretched his arms above his head.
‘I’d best be off. My train goes at five fifteen and I need to collect my bag from the village.’
‘Let me drive you?’ Bramble asked, desperate to do something for him, but he shook his head.
‘I fancy the exercise, to be honest with you. I’ll be cooped up for hours on the journey.’
For a moment, his gaze swept around the room, taking in the oil paintings, the chandelier, the view from the French windows of gardens, orchard and fields beyond.
‘I can see why you fell in the love with the place.’
She was taken aback. ‘It’s very different from Chessington.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s a big project, a lot of work, but it’s beautiful and I wish you well.’
She walked with him to the door, and when it came to saying goodbye she found herself hesitating, hoping to delay. After all those years together it would seem unnatural just to shake hands or peck him on the cheek, so she leaned forwards and hugged him clumsily instead.
‘Thank you for everything,’ she said, feeling her eyes fill with tears again.
‘Don’t,’ he said thickly, pushing her away.
He turned his back and she watched him walking purposefully in the direction from which he’d come, his shoulders square, head held high and arms swinging rhythmically. At last his sturdy frame shrank to nothing more than a small, dark outline before disappearing completely, and she heard a dull thump in her head like the final closing of a much-loved book.
*
She couldn’t bring herself to tell her parents what had passed between her and Matt, and they were tactful enough not to press. Fortunately, the accident gave her the perfect excuse to shut herself away in her bedroom for hours on end and pretend to rest. By the weekend, however, she was looking so much better that she could no longer feign sickness, and Bill raised the subject once more of her leaving Cornwall.
‘Cassie and I have to get back to London. We can’t take any more time off work,’ he explained. ‘We’ll help you pack your things; it won’t take long. I’ll call a few estate agents about selling the manor. So long as they’ve got keys, I don’t see why they need us here to show them round. The sooner you’re home, the happier we’ll be.’
Bramble had to use all her powers of persuasion to convince her parents that now wasn’t the right time for her to depart. She’d rather see the estate agents in person, she insisted, and there were various loose ends to tie up before she could quit Cornwall for good. In truth, the conversation with Maria, followed by Matt’s unexpected visit, had changed her perspective. She’d had plenty of time to go over things in her mind and was no longer convinced that she was ready to throw in the towel just yet, but she had to get Bill and Cassie off her back before she could make a final decision.
Part of her thought that she’d be mad not to take their advice and she’d miss them like crazy when they were no longer here. The other part, however, kept remembering the news about Lord Penrose and his deep love for her mother, as well as Matt’s courage and honesty, which seemed to have cast things in a new light. Perhaps her work here wasn’t quite finished; maybe there was something that she needed to accomplish first, though she wasn’t sure what.
For a few moments on Saturday afternoon she allowed herself to feel almost happy when Fergus turned up in his van with Wilf and told her that he intended to spend the day working on the roof. The mere fact they were here meant that her tenant must, on some level, have forgiven her for her stupidity, but her relief soon faded when he didn’t enquire how she was, didn’t even mention the rescue. In fact, he seemed determined to avoid the issue at all costs.
Bramble herself couldn’t let things lie without conveying her heartfelt remorse. As they stood at the bottom of the aluminium ladder outside the main entrance to the manor, she started to say how bad she felt about the danger in which she’d put Wilf and everyone else, but Fergus raised a hand and shook his head, commanding her to stop.
‘He’s going to stay here and pass me the tools,’ he m
umbled, deliberately changing the subject.
Bramble bit her lip. Before the accident she would, of course, have offered to entertain the boy while his dad was busy, but not now. She was quite sure that Fergus wouldn’t want her anywhere near his son, and who could blame him?
Wilf, seemingly oblivious to any tension, announced that he was thirsty and trotted off to the kitchen to find a drink; he was very much at home here.
‘I – I do understand,’ Bramble stammered, watching him go, ‘that you don’t trust me with him.’ She hesitated, uncertain whether to continue yet unable to stop herself. ‘He was nervous of the sea, which is why he didn’t go in. I tried to persuade him but he wouldn’t go anywhere near.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘He was right to be afraid. He’s just a child but he had more sense than me.’
Fergus sighed deeply. He was holding on to the bottom of the ladder, poised to climb, one muddy, booted foot on the first rung.
‘Bramble,’ he began, and something in his voice made her turn to face him. ‘I need to tell you something,’ he went on, staring resolutely at the wall, and her stomach lurched; she didn’t know why.
‘My wife’ – he swallowed – ‘Julia. And our daughter, Felicity...’
He had a daughter? Bramble was dumbfounded. It was the first she’d heard of it. She had a million questions but could tell that Fergus hadn’t finished.
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if whatever he was about to say caused him physical pain.
‘She was just five,’ he whispered. Why was he speaking in the past tense?
‘They drowned at sea. They were in an inflatable dinghy. I was watching them on the beach. Wilf was only little, a baby.’
An image flashed before Bramble’s eyes: a sunny day, a mother and daughter, cute as anything in a colourful boat while an adoring husband and baby looked on, oblivious to the horror that was about to unfold. She took a step towards Fergus, wanting to reach out and comfort him, but he shrank away.
‘I tried to save them,’ he went on in strangled tones. ‘There were other people, too – strangers – trying to help, but the tide was too strong; it sucked them right out. I couldn’t reach them. I swam so far, but I couldn’t get there quickly enough. By the time the lifeboat arrived it was too late.’
He stared at her now, his face white, his eyes hollow, and all at once she imagined that she understood him completely: his loneliness, his gruff melancholy, the walks on the cliffs, the endless paintings of the ocean. She thought that she could see into his poor, broken soul and wished that she had the power to heal it for him.
‘One minute we were happy,’ he continued, his voice still cracking. ‘We were getting on with our lives, thinking we were so lucky. Then it all went, just like that.’ He snapped a finger and thumb in the air, making her blink.
‘We were on holiday in Ireland.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Some holiday. Your grandfather had seen my paintings and liked them and... well, to cut a long story short, when he found out what had happened he offered me the cottage. He must have felt sorry for me, I guess. He understood why I needed to be alone.’
Bramble’s mind was racing. Another revelation about Lord Penrose and further confirmation of his humanity. How she wished now that they’d met!
Fergus seemed to read her thoughts. ‘He was a good man. You would have liked him. It was reassuring for me to be near the sea; I suppose it made me feel closer to Julia and Felicity in some way. But I could never let Wilf near the water without me. You do understand, don’t you? I have this terror...’
Bramble nodded dumbly, feeling even more of a monster than she had previously for trying to coax the little boy in against his father’s wishes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered again. ‘I wish I could—’
Without warning, Fergus grabbed her arm and squeezed so tight that it almost hurt.
‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ he said passionately. ‘There was no warning; it wasn’t rough or windy.’ He sighed again. ‘The sea claims countless victims. Lives are snuffed out in a heartbeat. That’s just the way it is and always will be. She’s insatiable, the ocean; she can never get her fill. She’s beautiful but deadly. You can’t ever trust her. People round here learn to be careful, respectful, but you’re a Londoner – you weren’t to know.’
He let go of Bramble’s arm, which fell to her side, and she rubbed it with the other hand to stop the smarting.
‘Seeing you in there with Lowenna, fighting for your life, brought back so many memories,’ he continued, shaking his head again. ‘I felt powerless. I couldn’t move. If Matt hadn’t been there, you’d have died, for sure, and I’d just have stood there, paralysed with fear. I can’t go through that again. I thought it was comforting to watch the waves every day; to feel the rhythm, the ebb and flow; to try to absorb the majesty, the capriciousness. I thought I’d feel closer to Julia and Felicity, but now...’ He wrapped his arms around his body. ‘Now I know for sure it’s beaten me and I need to get away – either that or I’ll go under, too.’
Bramble felt an iciness creep through her body, freezing her to the core. ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice sounded loud and shrill. He was one of the few friends she had left.
‘I’m going to take Wilf to the mountains – Spain, I think, or maybe Italy. We need a change of scenery, a fresh start. You can rent the cottage to someone else, charge them a fortune.’ He gave a half-smile that she was unable to return. ‘It’ll help with Maria’s wages – and your food bill. You’ll be grateful when I’m gone.’
As tears sprang to Bramble’s eyes, it occurred to her that only now did she feel she really knew this man to whom she’d lived so closely and whose little boy she’d learned to love. And she realised that she did love Wilf, with his big blue eyes, his old soul and his sweet nature. Maybe she even loved Fergus just a little, too.
‘Won’t you reconsider?’ she pleaded. ‘Wilf’s happy here. He won’t like the strange language and the foreign food...’ She was clutching at straws. ‘He won’t want to leave Polgarry – or me,’ she added, feeling herself redden.
Fergus gave a sad smile. ‘He’ll miss you, sure, but kids are adaptable; he’ll soon get used to it.’
It was true, and she could tell that it was hopeless. Fergus turned back to the ladder and started to mount the steps purposefully, making a clanging noise with his heavy boots as he went.
‘I’ll finish the roof before we leave. It won’t take long.’
She would have scrabbled around for some other reasons for him to remain – she’d have begged, if she felt that it would work – but she could see Wilf hurrying across the gravel towards her, slopping juice from a tumbler as he went.
‘Maria says we can have a jar of her homemade strawberry jam to take home,’ he hollered. ‘I just tasted some; it’s delicious!’
As he drew closer, she spotted the evidence around his mouth and there was a red blob on his cheek, too, which made her smile despite everything.
‘You should try the greengage one next. I like it even more,’ she replied fake-cheerfully. ‘I’ll ask Maria to make some of her jam tarts. We can have them later with a cup of tea.’
*
She walked quickly to the kitchen with Wilf’s empty glass, fearing that if she waited, she might break down. First Matt, then Piers and Katie, Liz, and now Fergus, too. One by one, it seemed, everyone was turning their back on her, and somehow her tenant’s imminent departure seemed like the final straw.
She tried to tell herself she’d soon forget him, but memories of their encounters flooded back: the way he’d rescued her and Katie from the cliff, protected her from the rampaging lawnmower and warned her, albeit obliquely, about Piers, Gus and his gang. The fact that he was fixing her roof now, not because he had to but because she needed him. All these things mattered.
Somehow, she reflected, he’d been there, looking out for her, right from the moment she’d arrived at Polgarry, yet she’d never properly registered it. How could she have been so blind? She wa
nted to break through his prickly defences and tell him that she couldn’t manage at the manor without him, but it was too late now. Maybe it was for the best. After all, she’d brought him nothing but trouble. She poked a finger into the corner of each eye and told herself that self-pity would be of no avail, but still, she wanted to curl up in a ball in a corner somewhere and sob her heart out.
To her surprise, Cassie was in the kitchen with Maria, leafing through a well-thumbed recipe book. They looked up briefly when Bramble entered but didn’t seem to notice her unhappiness, so engrossed were they in what they were doing. They seemed remarkably relaxed in each other’s company, and Maria even smiled a little when Cassie commented that her own pastry wasn’t as light as the housekeeper’s.
‘I have a special way of making it that guarantees lightness,’ Maria replied. ‘I can show you if you would like?’
Cassie leapt at the chance. ‘Bill does love his pastry, especially meat pies. He’s fond of a Cornish pasty, too. Not those supermarket ones, mind; only handmade, from a proper bakery.’
Bramble quickly left, pondering on the fact that in all the weeks she’d been here, Maria had never once spoken to her in such a pleasant, relaxed tone, had rarely even met her eye. She’d always found the housekeeper cold, but it occurred to her now that perhaps she herself could have been friendlier, too. After all, it must have been strange for Maria to have to get used to a new boss after all these years, and particularly one so young and silly. She must have wondered how long her new employer would stick around.
Bill had taken it upon himself to fix the rattling window in Bramble’s bedroom, and while everyone else was busy she cast around for some distraction. Of course, there was the garden to attend to – especially now that Shannon was back at school and wasn’t able to come as often – and there were many drawers and cupboards still to go through in different parts of the manor. However, those tasks were so huge and daunting that Bramble didn’t know where to begin, and besides, there didn’t seem much point.
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