Felicity and David didn’t even hear him. Rolling countryside stretched away to the sea over to the south beyond Plymouth, into the deep, thickly wooded Tamar valley and down into Cornwall to the high tors of Bodmin Moor which dominated the skyline where bulky white clouds massed. It was very hot. The sheep lay close under the dry-stone walls in an effort to find some shade as the moor shimmered and glittered and ponies gathered under the shelter of the stunted thorn trees. High above, a lark was singing in the still air, and David realised that he was holding his breath.
‘Terrific,’ he murmured. ‘It has everything, this county, hasn’t it? The sea, the little fields and lanes and these great hills. What contrasts! The lushness of the valleys and the starkness of these moors. Magnificent. And the weather, never the same for two days running. I can’t thank you enough, Felicity, for showing me all this.’ He turned towards her, obviously moved, and gestured futilely. ‘It’s too much to put into words.’
As always she was delighted by his reaction. Mark had preferred the bright lights to rural pleasures and George never seemed to notice anything at all unless some repair or correction was needed to improve it.
‘I’m glad.’ She smiled at him. ‘Of course, I’ve known and loved it all my life but you never take it for granted somehow. It’s so nice to have someone to share it with.’ And feeling that she might be getting a little emotional, she added, ‘What about some coffee?’
It was the first whole day that they were to spend together on the moor and Felicity had packed a picnic.
‘Felicity!’ David’s tone was reproachful. ‘Do I see a flask? I thought that flask coffee was “abominable”!’
‘So it is,’ she remarked, unmoved. ‘Usually. Mine’s special!’
‘I believe you.’ David turned back to the view as Felicity manipulated flasks and cups. ‘What a scene! I envy you having this on your doorstep. Thanks.’ He took the china mug and sipped appreciatively. ‘You’re right. It’s very special.’
They laughed a little and sat in companionable silence, drinking the coffee and letting their eyes wander over the spectacle before them. The sun had not yet reached the height of middle day when its light would absorb the mysterious shadows and the moor would be exposed to its pitiless glare that emphasised the inhospitable aspects of its landscape.
‘You know,’ began Felicity, screwing the top on to a Thermos, ‘I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be more sensible if you were to stay overnight while you’re getting your material or portfolio or whatever you call it? It seems so silly to spend all that time driving to and fro. The moor is absolutely at its best early and late and we could really take advantage of it.’
David, hearing warning bells for the first time, gazed determinedly at Devon. Devon gazed back. ‘It’s a most generous offer . . . ’he began and knew at once that he had exhibited signs of weakness. He should have begun with a positive word like ‘impossible’ for Felicity was already saying things like ‘not generous at all . . . would love to have you . . . felt rather lonely of late . . . ’
‘So difficult,’ he murmured, ‘don’t want to hurt feelings, d’you see . . . ?’
‘But you said yourself that your friend doesn’t mind what you do as long as you enjoy yourself and that he’s too busy setting up to work from home to be able to take you around himself. Not,’ she added, with a short laugh, ‘that he’d know where to take you if he’s a newcomer.’ For a brief second she was at one with the young man in the car. ‘What did you say your friend does?’
‘Oh, he’s a computer programmer.’ David evaded the complexities of Tim’s career. ‘Look. I’ll tell you what. Let me put it to him. But you know what people are—invite you down, ignore you, but get hurt if you pal up with someone else. Don’t you find human nature amazing?’
If Felicity did she had no intention of being sidetracked by a discussion about it.
‘See what you can do. It would be such fun.’ She smiled at him pleadingly and he smiled back at her, feeling a twinge of guilt. ‘And it would give you plenty of time to finish your paintings of the cottage. Promise you’ll try? Now.’ Felicity repacked the hamper, started the car and let in the clutch. ‘I’m going to show you Burr ator Reservoir and then we’ll find a cool shady place for lunch.’
When they arrived back in the early evening, having gone farther than they had intended, David discovered the battery on his car to be as flat as a pancake.
‘I left the headlights on,’ he exclaimed in despair. ‘There was a thick fog over the top this morning and I needed my lights. Forgot to turn them off, d’you see? What a fool I am. Haven’t got any jump leads, have you?’
Felicity, seeing events playing into her hands, denied any knowledge of jump leads and insisted that the local garage would be shut. Since she had no near neighbours to come to their assistance the solution was plain. David must stay the night. It was no trouble, she told him, she even had spare pyjamas and shaving-gear which had been her husband’s (actually George’s from the pre-Thea era) and she always kept several new toothbrushes in case of emergency.
David admitted defeat and followed her into the house. She showed him where the telephone was so that he could phone his friend and went away to resurrect George’s proofs of passion. David found his little book, looked up Tim’s number and dialled.
‘Hello?’ He tried to speak quietly. ‘Is that you, Tim?’
‘Hello, who . . . oh, David!’ Tim’s voice rang out suddenly in his ear. ‘Thank God you’ve phoned. Look, a crisis has blown up here and I’ve got to catch the next flight out to the States. We didn’t want to both disappear and let you come home to an empty house but I’d like Miranda to come with me if that’s OK by you. You’re well occupied at the moment, aren’t you? It’s only a very quick dash. I’ll put you on to Mirry, OK?’
David could hear his voice talking to Miranda and then she was on the line.
‘Hi, Daddy, thank goodness! Listen, Tim’s boss phoned from the States, some crisis with the computer programme or something. He’s got to get the next flight out. When will you get here?’
‘I can’t get there,’ said David through lightly gritted teeth. ‘I’m stuck. Car’s broken down and I’m right out in the wilds.’
‘Well, what will you do? Where are you phoning from? Are you at Felicity’s?’
Miranda’s clear voice had a carrying quality and David cocked a nervous eye at the ceiling. Felicity could be heard scurrying to and fro above like Samuel Whiskers.
‘Yes, I am. I’m going to have to stay the night. Does Tim have to go?’
‘Absolutely! He’s still under contract and it’s all terribly hush-hush. Hang on . . . ’ He could hear them conferring in the background. ‘Tim says that we shall be away no more than forty-eight hours, so can you hold the fort?’
‘Forty . . . Miranda!’ David’s howl of anguish was louder than he intended and, turning, he was brought face to face with Felicity who, flushed with her recent exertions, was eyeing him curiously.
‘Ha ha.’ He attempted a light laugh and grimaced at her, putting his hand over the mouthpiece and whispering, ‘Bit of a drama going on.’ She passed on into the kitchen.
‘Are you still there, Daddy? Look, Tim wants me to go with him. You don’t mind, do you? Thank goodness you telephoned. I wouldn’t have just gone and left you a note or something but I’d packed just in case you turned up in time. There’s plenty of food. You’ll manage, won’t you? See you, then. Take care. Tim’s shouting at me to hurry. We’ve got to get that flight. ‘Bve, then.’
The line went dead and David stood for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. After a moment he went into the kitchen to break the news to Felicitv.
Felicity bore it with remarkable equanimity. She already had a low opinion of David’s friend—she had no idea that Tim was Thea’s cousin—and this merely confirmed her opinion of him as a thoughtless, selfish young man. To rush off without warning, leaving a guest to fend for himself, was just what was to b
e expected from such a person. However, it gave her the excellent opportunity to press her case further and persuade David to stop for more than just one night. Once he’d calmed down and had a drink, he began to see the advantages of spending a few days at the longhouse although he felt a little apprehensive. However, Felicity was obviously so delighted to have him there that, as the evening wore on, David found her pleasure contagious and decided that the best thing was to relax and simply enjoy it. This was quite in tune with his temperament and they ate their supper very happily, planning an early start in the morning.
For Felicity the next week was idyllic. David was painting as he hadn’t painted for years and he was overjoyed. For him, his work, the moor, Felicity’s love, were all woven together in one great tapestry and he didn’t separate one strand or colour from another. One evening, delighted with what he had done that day, mellowed by a delicious supper and some good wine, he caught her to him and hugged her and the next moment—afterwards he could never quite remember how—the relationship had moved on to a different level and they were lovers.
The emotional as well as the physical release seemed to add yet another dimension to his painting and he went from strength to strength. The fact that Tim and Miranda seemed to be delayed in America bothered him not at all. Having got his car into working order, he drove to Broadhayes on a day when Felicity had a lunch that she simply couldn’t cancel and left a letter on the hall table, explaining that he was staying with Felicity and containing her telephone number, and collected some clothes and a few necessities.
Felicity dared not look ahead. She was living each day as it came to the absolute maximum. To wake with David beside her and to sleep with his arms around her; to lie on a sun-warmed rug beside a river, watching him absorbed and intent, while the light glanced off wet brown stones and a dipper bobbed amongst the rocks; to walk on the turf, whilst the wind pulled and tore at her clothes and a buzzard cried above her, knowing that presently she would go back to find him sheltered behind the dry-stone wall, reproducing with deft, tender strokes the texture of the crumbling stone and the springing cushions of moss that clung to it, was a kind of magic she had never known. These things had become her whole life and she did not look beyond them. David made love as he painted: intent, concentrating, with tender, loving, life-giving touches that made her feel beautiful, desirable, cherished, and she gave back to him everything she had. The moor with its ever-changing scene and majesty seemed to enter into their love until she felt that there was no one left but the two of them and David, at one with his work and the world about him, felt exactly the same.
Felicity, happy and relaxed, seemed to shed years. Her face, softer now that the grim watchful expression had gone, wore a youthful tender expression that caught at David’s heart. Her eyes, dark and luminous, gazed into his with so much love that he crushed her to him, almost afraid to see the vulnerability. The sharp, birdlike movements became slow and languid and the fearful urgency which had always dominated her life slowed to a calm, patient waiting.
One morning, stopping in Tavistock to buy some fruit for their picnic, she saw Thea. She thought with shame of how she had tried to destroy Thea’s happiness and went up to her and touched her on the arm.
‘Felicity.’ Thea looked faintly alarmed and then puzzled.
Felicity smiled at her, knowing the reason for that look. She hardly recognised herself these days either.
‘Hello, Thea. How are you?’
‘Fine.’ Thea still looked wary. ‘And you? I must say you look very well.’
‘I’ve never felt better in my life. Is George well?’
‘Yes, he is.’
Recognising and understanding Thea’s hostility, Felicity was overcome by remorse and, overwhelmed as she was by her own happiness, longed to put things right.
‘Look, Thea,’ she began, tentatively. Apologies had never been much in Felicity’s line.
Thea, seeing that she was having difficulties and knowing that she need no longer fear her, smiled a little. ‘Spit it out,’ she said encouragingly.
‘I want to apologise for my behaviour. It was unforgivable to say what I did on the telephone. It wasn’t true, you know. I wanted to hurt you because George rejected me.’
‘I know.’ Even now Thea frowned a little as she remembered the pain. ‘George told me everything.’
‘Did he? Then try to forgive me. When he met you, he tore me up and threw me away. After twenty years. It was very hard, you know.’
‘It must have been. I’m sorry.’ Thea smiled again. ‘You look happy. I hope you are.’
‘Oh, I am. Very happy.’
Felicity shook her head as if in bewilderment at her own happiness and Thea started to laugh. On an impulse the two women hugged each other.
‘We’ll get together soon,’ said Felicity. ‘Must dash. Someone’s waiting for me. Give my love to George.’
‘Yes. I will.’ Thea watched her hurry away, still puzzled.
Felicity’s heart felt full to overflowing. Everybody could be encompassed in this great love that she had found. She felt that she had discovered the secret of life and now she would never let it go.
Fifteen
POLLY STARED AT PAUL across the kitchen table. He was preparing to go on a field trip and her idly expressed wish to accompany him had caused an outburst of irritation which seemed to her to be out of all proportion. Her remark had been only half serious and his reaction surprised her. He pointed out that they had discussed it when they first knew that he was going and she had said quite categorically that she didn’t enjoy tagging along on these occasions. Resenting his tone and more to annoy than anything else, Polly said that she thought she might change her mind, and Paul had been moved to comment in a rather outspoken and unflattering way about her mental inconsistencies and abilities.
Now, as she stared at him, he exhaled in exaggerated self-pitying exasperation and stood up. ‘Well?’ His expression as he looked down at her was one of impatience.
She regarded him dispassionately. How silly and portentous he looked, as though he were a schoolmaster awaiting an explanation from some recalcitrant pupil. Polly felt a wave of dislike which almost bordered on contempt. She felt an urge to fling the contents of her mug all over his shirt front, to slap the faintly sneering lip, to jump up and down on his feet, screaming.
‘Fiona will be here at any moment to collect me,’ he said. There was an edge of anxiety now. ‘What are you going to do? We shan’t be able to wait for you, I’m afraid. You’ll have to drive yourself over. I don’t know where you’ll stay at this late date. It’s the end of August and the place will be packed.’
Polly continued to look at the long narrow face with its ill-humoured expression. His reddish hair was beginning to thin and she had the startling idea that she was looking at a stranger.
I don’t like you a bit, she thought. In fact, I hate you. At this minute I actually hate you. Go and do your silly insect-hunting. I hope you fall in Slapton Ley and drown yourself. And Fiona.
‘Oh, I was only joking,’ she said casually, wishing that the veneer of civilisation that buried atavistic instinct hadn’t prevented the outburst of violence that she had contemplated and would have enjoyed. ‘I should be bored rigid.’
She noted the relief in his eyes but, as he drew breath to answer, a car horn sounded. Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘Fiona,’ she stated. ‘Mustn’t keep her waiting. Better hurry along.’
Paul’s lips thinned a little at her tone and then, with a shrug, he went into the hall and picked up his case. Polly followed behind. ‘Don’t come out,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday.’
He kissed her quickly and hurried down the path. Polly saw an arm stretch across to open the door and watched Paul throw his case on to the back seat. As he got into the passenger seat his face was wreathed in smiles and he did not look back or wave. Polly made a rude face at the disappearing car, shut the door and wandered back to the kitchen, wondering what to do with the days
that lay ahead. Schubert was Composer of the Week and she stood listening to a string quartet whilst she drank the rest of her coffee and tried not to think about Fiona, Paul’s research assistant. She’d met her once and hadn’t really taken a great interest in her. She was quiet and serious, quite pretty, and absolutely immersed in her work with Paul. Just lately, however, Polly had heard her name more frequently on Paul’s lips and had begun to take notice. It was when he told her that Fiona was driving him to Slapton while the others were going in the minibus with the equipment that she had been led to make her rash remark. His reaction had been interesting and Polly continued to brood on it with part of her mind while she decided how to spend the day. She knew that Harriet and Michael had taken Hugh upcountry to visit Michael’s parents and would be away for a fortnight and she didn’t like to bother Thea, who was now very involved in getting the book ready for her publisher. Her friend Suzy, who lived a few doors away, was heavily pregnant and could talk about nothing but this great event and Polly simply didn’t feel up to another in-depth discussion on the merits of breastfeeding.
She roamed upstairs and stared out of the bedroom window. The quiet cul-de-sac, which was a short walk from the campus, was tree-lined, the small front gardens of the semi-detached Victorian villas containing the usual quota of lilac and forsythia bushes whose leaves were now a faded dusty green. It was a soft grey day and suddenly she felt profoundly depressed. It seemed as though she were the only person in the world with no aims, no purpose, no point. Even the responsibilities which should have been hers had been delegated to Mrs Bloge.
I’m twenty-six years old, she thought. What am I going to do with the rest of my life?
She saw herself standing at this same window as the years slipped gently past and the thought filled her with a profound panic which she couldn’t analyse. After all, her future might look boring but it was hardly frightening. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted and to calm herself she tried to see her life rationally and merely recalled Paul’s expression when she said she’d like to go with him to Slap-ton. She tried to remember why she had fallen so madly in love with him and what had made her rush into marriage with him within weeks of passing her finals. It seemed now that they had so little in common and yet, at the time, his serious detachment from the daily round had fascinated her and her lighthearted, easy-going attitude had charmed him. She was reading English and Drama and, after their first meeting, they began to bump into each other, to meet at parties, aware of a mutual attraction, until at last Paul invited her to a dinner party given by a friend and she had returned the compliment by taking him to a production at the Northcott Theatre. She was flattered by the attention of a senior lecturer who was doing so well in his field and he mistook her enthusiasm for his subject for a genuine interest rather than the result of the first flush of infatuation.
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