Polly slipped a glance sideways at him but he was staring ahead. Aware of her look, a smile touched his lips. ‘Well?’ he said.
Polly tucked her hand in under his arm and he involuntarily pressed it against his side.
‘Promise?’ she asked.
DAVID, RACING DOWN THE motorway to Broadhayes, passed Polly and Marcus somewhere near Reading. He was thinking about Kate. Ever since their coming together on Christmas Day, communication with her had been difficult. He had been obliged to hurry away, so as to be back to visit Miranda, knowing that Tim would be waiting impatiently, and Kate had been insistent that he should go, horrified lest he be late. When he telephoned her the next day she had been—well, what had she been? David swerved into the middle lane as a BMW hovered menacingly on his tail, lights flashing. It was so difficult to deduce how people were feeling by listening to their voices on the telephone. It was so easy to hide so much. Kate’s voice had been, yes, shy. That was it, David decided. Shy and a little nervous, but friendly. He had wanted so badly for her to know how he felt, to put love, gratitude, comfort into his voice, but it was very difficult to do it when the other person was responding in monosyllables.
‘May I see you again?’ he’d asked at last. ‘Please? Today? Tomorrow?’
She had hesitated for so long that he thought they’d been cut off and had cried out, ‘Are you still there?’ much too anxiously.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m still here.’ Kate’s voice sounded as if she were smiling. ‘And no. I think perhaps not.’
The relief he had felt at hearing the smile in her voice was swamped by disappointment at her reply.
‘Oh, but why not, Kate?’ The disappointment was patent in his voice. ‘Just for a moment.’ He suddenly wondered if she thought that he wanted to go simply to make love to her again and horror swept over him. ‘Perhaps we could meet somewhere and I could buy you lunch?’ he improvised hastily, trying to show that no such idea had been in his mind.
‘I just feel,’ said Kate, after another long pause, ‘that it might be wise to stop now.’
‘But why?’ cried David. ‘Didn’t you feel that we have so much we could share? It wasn’t just . . . well, it wasn’t only . . . what we did together. Was it? That was wonderful. And terribly important. But there’s so much more than that.’
‘It was wonderful.’ Kate’s voice was firm. At least there was to be no doubt about that. ‘I suppose that’s why, in a way, I feel that we should stop. We don’t have a future together. And it would be impossible to simply be friends after that. For me, anyway. I’m sorry, David.’
‘But why can’t we have a future?’ demanded David. ‘Why not, Kate? Surely not because of Felicity? Honestly, Kate . . . ’
‘No, no.’ She interrupted him quickly. ‘This has nothing to do with Felicity. You must see that we’re simply poles apart. We’re like two different species. It would be impossible.’
‘I don’t accept that,’ said David at once. ‘Listen . . . ’
‘David, I must go.’ Kate cut in rapidly and decisively. ‘I really should be somewhere else. Thank you for phoning. And for yesterday. It was . . . well, you know what it was. Thank you.’
There was a click and a buzzing and David flung the receiver back on the rest with a muttered imprecation.
At regular intervals during the following weeks he had telephoned her but with no success. She clung to her point and kept the conversations short. He wrote to her but received no reply and finally, in desperation, David decided to take matters into his own hands and go to see her. Ostensibly, the visit to Broadhayes was to see his new grandson but his real object was to talk to Kate. He had spent a great deal of time trying to design a plan that would appeal to her, that would give their friendship time and space to grow. It was difficult. Their ways of living were diametrically opposed and he racked his brain to see how they might be brought together. If she would not come to London then he must go to Devon. He was perfectly happy to weekend, many people did. George and Thea had done it and would, no doubt, do it again. It was not an ideal way to live but it was a way, a start.
He decided to go direct to Kate at Whitchurch knowing that he would be distracted until he had seen her. When he finally turned in at the gate, the winter afternoon was already darkening and a gentle rain fell persistently. He was relieved to see her car in the drive and hastened to the door and rang the bell.
Kate opened the door and stared at him for a few moments in silence, shock and dismay, battling with pleasure, in her face.
‘Hello,’ he said, wondering if she might shut the door on him. ‘May I come in? It’s rather cold and wet out here.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Kate held the door wider. ‘It was such a surprise. Come in.’
She turned to lead the way down the hall to the kitchen and David followed her filled with terrible misgivings. Now that he saw her face to face again he knew quite surely that she would not be easy to influence. He also knew that he loved her. During that Christmas afternoon he had discovered all the sensations that had been missing in his relationships with his wife and with Felicity. But what were her feelings for him? Had he completely misjudged her and was their coming together to be an isolated event? His whole being rejected the thought and he bent to stroke Felix, who came to greet him. He murmured to the dog, fondling his ears, but with his eyes on Kate, who had automatically gone to put the kettle on.
‘What a very determined man you are,’ she said lightly.
‘You’ve given up,’ he said, straightening up. ‘You’ve forgotten how important it is to fight for things.’ His eyes fell on Felicity’s painting. ‘You’ve forgotten how the sand feels.’
‘No.’ She had looked taken aback at his opening statement but now she smiled a little. ‘No. You reminded me of that on Christmas Day.’
‘Oh, Kate.’ Her reference to the very subject he thought she would avoid disarmed him. He sat down and looked at her. ‘I love you, d’you see? That makes it easy.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That just makes it seem easy. It disguises the pitfalls and deludes you into thinking that they don’t matter. But they do.’
‘Does that mean that you won’t even try?’
‘You see I’ve done it twice now. Love is not enough, David. It simply isn’t. It doesn’t overcome all the obstacles and make up for everything. Twice I thought it would. It’s taken me years to learn to live alone. To risk it—me—all again is a luxury I simply can’t afford.’
‘You’re so certain it won’t work? Do you love me at all?’ David saw that her eyes pleaded with him to let her off the hook but he gazed back, inexorably waiting for his answer.
‘I don’t see how it can.’ She avoided the second question. ‘You in London, me here. I hate cities. You’d be bored rigid in the country. I can imagine a sort of friendship . . . ’
‘No, no. That won’t do,’ David interrupted ruthlessly. ‘I agree with you that for us it’s all or nothing but not necessarily straight off. Many people I know weekend very happily. Why not us?’
‘It’s a half life. I’ve done it. I don’t want that.’
David sighed. ‘I’m only suggesting it as a compromise to begin with. I’m thinking of taking things easier. A sort of semi-retirement . . . ’
‘And do you see it taking place in London amongst your friends, with your club round the corner and theatres and concerts? Or down here? On Dartmoor, amongst the sheep and ponies with the rain pouring down?’
He was silent. He felt her fear and it was infectious. He could imagine how absolutely devastating another failure would be for her and had a vision of Felicity lying dead. His own confidence was shaken and he pushed his chair back and stood up.
‘Will you telephone me if you change your mind? Or if you should need . . . anything? I do love you, Kate. I won’t keep hounding you but please think about it. Don’t just close your mind to the possibilities. No, don’t get up. Please. Goodbye, Kate.’
He went out and she heard the f
ront door slam and the car engine start up. After a while the kettle began to boil and she stood up and pushed it off the hotplate. She sat down again at the table and listened to the dog snoring in his sleep. Rain pattered suddenly against the window and a door upstairs slammed as the wind got up but Kate sat on, her arms folded across her breast, her head bent, fighting a private battle of loneliness and fear.
Thirty-eight
POLLY LAY IN THE bath, luxuriating in the hot scented water, and reflected happily on her life. The flat in Marcus’s large Victorian house was small, cosy and just right for her. She liked to feel herself cradled high up under the roof, looking out over the chimneys, with Marcus a staircase away. They were, after all, taking things very slowly and carefully. He was giving her plenty of space to adapt and to make new friends whilst continuing with his own busy life and, as yet, the intercommunicating door had only been opened for the reasons that Marcus had laid down in the car. In public he was strictly her agent, it was a business relationship only—although they’d had some jolly evenings at the local pub—and Polly guessed he was as nervous as she was at plunging into anything that might commit him. She knew that, while she was his client and lived in his house, for him it would be all or nothing.
Polly watched a harvestm an with its long ungainly legs negotiating the rim of the bath. ‘Leiobunum,’ she said. Old habits die hard. ‘Or Philangium.’
She thought of Paul and Fiona and the house in Exeter. It all seemed a lifetime away. How odd that ten years of her life seemed to have gone for nothing. There seemed so little to show except the scientific name of the harvestman who was now scaling the tap. Polly watched the eight wavering, cotton-thin legs with the two joints to each, and wondered idly what it must be like to go through life with sixteen knees. Or perhaps half of them were ankles. Paul, no doubt, would have been able to tell her.
She stood up and reached for her towel. Would she ever have the courage to pass through that internal door? Supposing Marcus were to reject her? Or laugh at her? She knew that he considered the years between them to be a far greater barrier than she did and suspected that he might need a little push to get him over it. But how to administer it? The door itself had become a barrier. To go through it now— apart from for those reasons that Marcus had stated—would make such a statement that they would both be terrified. They needed an intermediate, gentler step to start them off.
Polly wrapped herself in the towel and wandered along to her bedroom. In the small hallway she paused. Some instinct made her cross the carpet and open the door a crack. She gave a violent start. ‘Jesus!’ she whispered.
Marcus stood at the bottom of the steep flight of stairs, his head bent as though in thought. In his hand he held a bottle. Even as she watched him, he made to turn away.
‘Marcus.’ Her throat was dry and she spoke again. ‘Hello,’ she said.
He smiled up at her and she clutched her towel more tightly.
‘I was coming to tell you that the studio phoned and we’ve got the contract.’ He held up the bottle. ‘Celebration?’
‘Terrific,’ she said. ‘Great idea.’
They stared at one another.
‘Coming down then?’ he asked lightly, after a moment. ‘Strictly in the nature of business, of course.’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Polly. She held the door open wide, still clutching her towel with the other hand, and smiled at him bravely. ‘Why don’t you come up?’
WHEN KATE SAW FREDDIE at Tavistock market just before Easter she sensed some important change in him. There was a confidence in his bearing and a glow in his eyes which had not been there previously, and she looked at him curiously as he packed some cheese and a carton of free-range eggs into his capacious shopping basket and then beamed at her.
‘Long time no see.’ He looked her over carefully. ‘You look tired.’
‘That’s because I am tired. You, however, look great. What’s happened? Has Polly decided to change her mind and take up dog-breeding instead of being a television star?’
‘No, no.’ Freddie shook his head, laughing. ‘Oh, no. That was all . . . well, it’s all over. Never got started really.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you look very happy about it.’
‘I am happy. Terribly happy.’ And indeed happiness seemed to spurt out from all over him, fizzing and sparkling and showering her with its drops. ‘The thing is . . . ’ He glanced round at the people thronging and pressing against them. ‘I’d love to talk to you, Kate. Can you come back for a cup of coffee?’
‘Why not? I’ve nearly finished. OK. Thanks, Freddie. That’d be nice.’
‘Great.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘I’ll go on and get the kettle going.’
He disappeared into the crowd and Kate finished her shopping, puzzling over the change in him. She struggled out of the great covered hall, went to fetch the car which she’d left in Chapel Street and drove slowly out towards Mary Tavy, parking where Felix couldn’t see Charlie Custard. ‘We’ll have a walk on the way home,’ she promised him.
The back door had been left open and she called out as she went inside. Charlie Custard came strolling to meet her, sniffing at her cords suspiciously.
‘That’s Felix, old chap,’ she said to him as Freddie waved to her and the smell of coffee assailed her nostrils. ‘He’s a proper dog, not a lazy old hearthrug.’
Freddie chuckled. ‘It’s no good. You can’t wind us up. We’re impervious to insults, aren’t we, Custard?’
‘You’re no fun any more.’ Kate sat down at the kitchen table, glanced round and raised her eyebrows. ‘Heavens, Freddie! What’s been going on here? I can see bare surfaces and the cooker’s turned white. Was that with fright when it saw you approaching it with a Brillo pad after all these years?’
Freddie burst out laughing and put down the coffee. ‘Looks nice, doesn’t it?’ he said, looking round with satisfaction.
‘Come clean, Freddie,’ said Kate, putting in sugar. ‘Who is she? Can she cook as well?’
‘It’s not a she,’ said Freddie, after a considerable pause. ‘It’s a he.’
Kate stared at him, frowning. ‘A he?’ she repeated. ‘How do you mean? Oh!’
She stopped short and Freddie met her eyes bravely. ‘It’s another man. I’ve realised that I’m . . . it seems that I’m gay.’ He said the word defiantly if proudly but his eyes were anxious.
For some reason, Kate felt profoundly moved. After a moment, she put out a hand to him and he seized it eagerly, his face lighting up with all the joy that she’d seen in the market.
‘I’m so happy,’ he cried. ‘It’s so wonderful after all these years of feeling wrong. Never getting it right with girls. All the strain and things. Oh, the relief! You can’t imagine. Nobody could if they weren’t like it themselves.’
‘Oh, Freddie. I’m so pleased for you. I never guessed. Is he . . . ? Will you . . . ? Sorry.’ Kate shook her head. ‘I really don’t mean to pry. I hope he’s nice.’
‘He’s wonderful,’ said Freddie promptly. ‘If I tell you who it is will you swear not to breathe a word? You’re the only person I know that I can trust absolutely and it would be such heaven to talk about it all—about him—with someone.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone.’ Kate squeezed his hand and let it go. ‘Do I know him?’
‘It’s Jon. Michael’s cousin Jon.’
‘Jon?’ Kate’s brow wrinkled. ‘Oh.’ Her face cleared. ‘Of course. I met him during all that ghastly business with Polly. Heavens! But isn’t he Foreign Office? Won’t you have to be fearfully careful?’
‘Terribly.’ Freddie nodded and grimaced. ‘Lucky that I’m so out of the way here. He can come for weekends and nobody’s any the wiser and I can go up to London now and then. Just for twenty-four hours. The girl from the surgery comes and stays overnight to look after the dogs. It’s tremendous fun. I’d forgotten what the big city was like. Never known it at all, actually. Jon calls us the Town Mouse and the Co
untry Mouse. We’re learning each other’s worlds.’
‘And it works?’ Kate stared at him.
‘Works?’ Freddie’s face blazed with enthusiasm. ‘It’s brilliant!’
‘But what will happen when he retires. You know? Where will you live then? It’s a bit different when it’s full-time, isn’t it?’
‘Probably.’ Freddie shrugged. ‘We’ll probably live here and spend a few days here and there in London. Why not? Best of both worlds. No good thinking of that yet. It’s now that counts, isn’t it? After all, it’s all we can count on. Now. This minute. We may not be here next year, next week even. No time to waste. Even if it all finished tomorrow we’d have had this.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Kate slowly. ‘I was saying that to someone not so long ago. It’s the difference between living and existing. Sometimes, though, existing seems a wiser choice.’
‘Not for us.’ Freddie shook his head. ‘Safer perhaps. Maybe less painful. But there may be years and years for me to exist in. I’ve had plenty already. I’m going to live for a change.’
Kate drove home deep in thought. She took the road out past Mount House School and remembered happier days when the twins had been there. She thought of the long empty years with Mark, the brief spell of passion with Alex and the lonely span of time since they had parted. She remembered, too, the joy and release of David’s lovemaking and how hard it had been, after years of strictly self-imposed celibacy, to drop the barriers of protection and stand naked before a man she hardly knew and surrender herself to him. It had cost all her pride and he had given it all back to her, had given her those hours of freedom and cathartic pleasure and made her feel that it was she who had been the giver.
She walked Felix at Sampford Spiney and, as she walked, the moor seemed to enfold her in its great quiet spaces.
It’s been like a mother to me, she thought. Or like God. Always there when I need it. Comforting, soothing, encouraging. It absorbs my worries and my fears and gives me courage to go on. But to what? That’s the thing.
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