Jowett felt blankly elated as he went downstairs, but accusation came at him out of the darkness as he cautiously stepped into the garden. Their love play had let him momentarily escape guilt. But he had not come to Finch for affection, for night games with a willing woman. To enter a garden naked for amusement was a blasphemy, a desecration … His sudden choked sob sounded loud and made him afraid. For a frantic moment he wanted nothing more than to escape. Trembling, he sat on a patio chair, the metal cold against his skin. He would have to go back to the bedroom, warm and dimly lit and … tell her? No. He didn’t have the courage. So he would have to find the rose, take it to her, slip deeper into the web of lies, continue to deceive.
He felt he was passing beyond confused lust towards feelings he could not remember knowing before. She was intelligent, attentive, giving; the relationship was taking on dimensions of — crossing the lawn past the pool, the definition eluded him — of friendship. A casual, too often meaningless, word, but suddenly valuable. Giles Lambert had been the last person he had used it towards.
The rose stem was tough, and he had to pinch fiercely between thumb and fingernail to sever it. As he turned back to the house he saw her framed by the curve of curtains at the bedroom window, watching him. He held up the flower and she waved, secret signals in the sleeping night.
‘Here you are. One rose.’
‘My hero.’ Joyce was back in bed. ‘You looked like some mythical wood creature out there. Thank you. I’ll press it in a book and keep it.’
‘You’re a romantic.’
‘I used to be. And I’m becoming one again. Come here.’
*
Half awakened by the cough of a car starting, Joyce sat up abruptly as she realized it was light.
‘It’s all right,’ she assured Jowett as he stirred beside her. ‘It’s only five-thirty. My mother won’t be up for another two hours.’
‘I still ought to go. Someone might see me.’
‘Worried about my reputation?’ She grinned. ‘You’re right, though, but just a few more minutes. Just cosy together.’
They lay holding hands, both staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft start of day. Jowett felt exhausted and wanted to be alone to think. He twitched as Joyce sighed deeply.
‘God, I wish you weren’t going away … Can I come and see you in London?’
‘Do you want to?’
‘Do you want me to?’ She felt a pang of dismay when he didn’t agree immediately, then lay on top of him, breast held teasingly above his mouth. ‘Will this help you to make up your mind?’
‘Would you leave him?’ Lips brushed her nipple as he spoke, then he looked concerned as she rolled off abruptly, sobbing as she lay with her back to him.
‘That’s cruel. You don’t mean it.’
‘Yes, I do.’ He sat up and stroked her shoulder. ‘But you’ve told me about your mother.’
‘Oh, terrific!’ Suddenly angry, she thrust his hand away. ‘It’s so damned easy to say then, isn’t it? It’s like tormenting an animal that’s tied up. You know I can’t leave him, so you’re perfectly safe asking me if I can.’
She turned to him, face filled with pain and resentment. ‘Be honest, darling. I’ve been a great holiday lay, haven’t I? You’d probably have preferred someone younger, but there was no danger of any complications with me.’
‘No. You mustn’t think that.’ He seemed unable to meet her eyes. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’
‘You’ve not told me very much. You’ve got a thing about older women?’
‘No. Just about you.’
‘Me? Why?’ She sighed in bewilderment. ‘I’m not special. I’m not the world’s greatest intellect and God knows there are more beautiful women. One of us has to keep some perspective in all this.’
‘You said you wanted to come and see me in London.’
‘And you didn’t reply when I asked if that was what you wanted.’
‘I do want you to come.’
‘Don’t look away when you say it … Oh, hell!’ She flopped back on the bed. ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it? Bed’s just our escape. It’s not reality.’
He sat up. ‘I would like you to come … to London. I mean it.’
‘Stop being so sweet. It hurts too much.’ She shook her head. ‘Come on. It really is time you left … but I’ll come to the cottage this evening and we’ll talk then. OK?’
She watched him dress; then she put on a floppy T-shirt that covered the top of her thighs. ‘For decency’s sake. I’ll see you out. We’re not in any danger of being spotted, unless the milkman arrives early.’
They crept downstairs and through the french doors on to the patio. Brilliant sun glittered off the dew, all colours were very pale and there was the shimmering, soundless stillness of things reawakening in limpid silver mist.
‘What a morning!’ Joyce spun round, bare feet leaving prints on night-damp stones. ‘Lift me up as high as you can.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want you to! I want to touch that sky. Don’t ask me to bloody analyse it!’
He clasped his hands on the sides of her hips and she held her arms straight up as he raised her, hair cascading as she bent her head back as if worshipping. For a few moments they remained perfectly still, then she looked down at him.
‘I love you, Mr Randall Jowett.’ There, she had said it.
He eased his grip and she slid down, arms falling on to his shoulders, then kissing him as though she wanted to swallow him whole. It had all lasted less than a minute, but Joyce felt she had never been happier in her life.
‘Off you go,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll get through the day somehow.’
She watched as he walked down the garden, pausing to wave as he closed the gate and disappeared behind the hedge. She breathed deeply as one hand flicked away tears … then jumped as she heard a slight sound from behind her. Standing just inside the french doors, face rigid with disbelief and accusation, her mother was staring at her. Neither moved nor spoke before Grace Carstairs drew her dressing gown more tightly across her body, turned away and walked out of the room.
*
There were no rules for the first move. Occupying herself with polishing the silver, Joyce angrily prepared arguments. Simply carrying on with her day as though nothing had happened was tacit defiance, a warning sign to keep away. And if she did insist on talking … Frankly, Mummy, it’s none of your business. If you hadn’t got up at such a ridiculous hour and come downstairs — if we hadn’t given you a home in this house — you’d know nothing about it. If this concerns anyone, it’s me and Ralph. You’ve got your independence, leave me alone with mine. I’m an adult with my own children to look after, not your little girl. I don’t need your self-righteousness, asking me what Daddy would have thought. That’s irrelevant. Don’t dare spoil this. She grimaced in irritation, trying to reach into the crevices of the claret jug’s engraved handle. This is my goddamed life and —
‘I’m going out for a while.’ Her mother was in the kitchen doorway, walking stick in one hand, cotton gloves in the other. Joyce wondered if the hat was meant to be making a point. ‘I need some fresh air.’
‘OK.’ Indifferent, Joyce returned to the polishing. ‘I’m going out later myself.’
‘I won’t ask where.’
‘It’s only to Bury for shopping.’ The jug was put aside, one of the pair of fluted Georgian candlesticks started on. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Have a nice walk then.’
Drawing on one glove, Grace remained in the doorway. ‘Perhaps we’ll be able to talk later.’
Joyce shrugged. ‘I don’t see any need.’
‘Well, I’m afraid that I do.’ Inflamed by resistance, Grace’s outrage was emerging out of controlled calm. ‘I know that people have what are called open marriages these days, but …’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Then it must be what we used to call b
eing unfaithful. When the cat’s away.’
‘It’s not that either.’
‘Then I don’t know what to call it … Surely this can’t be from me.’
‘Spare me the spurious guilt, Mummy. You don’t mean it. Just forget it, all right?’
‘Forget it? Forget the fact that I saw my daughter with another man at six o’clock in the morning? Half naked and kissing him like a … I don’t know what the word is now, but when I was young we’d have said a common trollop.’
‘A common trollop?’ Joyce laughed. ‘Can’t I be a lesser spotted trollop?’
‘If that’s going to be your attitude, there’s obviously no point in discussing it.’
‘No there isn’t.’ Joyce turned to face her. ‘There’s an awful lot you don’t know about me, Mummy, and a lot you wouldn’t believe if I told you. Now, enjoy your walk.’
Each glove was smoothed meticulously. ‘There’s one thing I must make absolutely clear. I expect you to tell Ralph.’
‘That’s my business.’
‘But now you’ve made it mine. If you don’t tell him, I will.’ However inevitable, the threat still triggered resentment and dismay. Joyce slammed down the candlestick.
‘Mummy, will you please mind your own damned business! I’ll deal with this. Just … leave it alone.’
The gloves were on like gauntlets. ‘Joyce, you’ve accused me of not understanding, but you clearly don’t understand me. Unless Ralph knows, I will now also be deceiving him. I’m not prepared to do that — any more than I would ever deceive you. I’m not insisting that you ring him immediately, but I expect you to talk to him at the weekend. After that, if either of you wants to discuss it with me, I’ll be only too happy to help if I can. In the meantime, I want you to know that I’m …’ For the first time, her voice stumbled. ‘I’m very upset. I expected better of you. I’m going to St Matthews. You may not mean it when you pray, but I do.’
That stung. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy, but —’
‘I can’t believe you’re as sorry as I am.’
Joyce stared at her reflection in the shining metal as she heard the front door close and the sound of sensible shoes on gravel. She blinked and bit her lip, then began to polish again. A love that had begun forty-four years before, a love she had never questioned or doubted, was being scattered.
And convinced Ralph had been betrayed, her mother would tell him, because that was where her sympathies lay. Would she believe it if Joyce told her about Gabriella? Ralph would simply deny it — I can’t understand, Grace; she’s no more than one of my colleagues at the office; Joyce is being completely irrational — and how could she prove his behaviour? Her mother had only seen her.
And Randall was at the cottage, knowing nothing, waiting for her to arrive. It wasn’t fair that he should be mixed up in this. She sighed and crossed the kitchen to the wall telephone.
‘Fay? Hi. Me. I need to talk. Can I come over?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘It involves the shit and the fan.’
‘Oh … I’ll have a drink waiting for you.’
*
Jowett felt disoriented as he drove up the track of Tannerslade Farm, as though the sequence of events that had brought him there — meeting the Godwins, agreeing to Tim’s request to show his father the car — had never happened and it was impossible to understand how he could be going back. But it had been a way into the farmhouse again, another step through the maze of his emotions, like undergoing flagellation to exorcize sin. There were times when he wondered how much control he still had over parts of his mind.
‘Hi! You came! Great.’ Tim appeared at the kitchen door before he had turned off the engine. ‘Hang on, I’ll get Dad.’
Jowett heard him calling inside the house, then he reappeared. Trevor and Janet Godwin followed him, looking puzzled.
‘Just look at that, Dad! That’s what I want.’
Godwin turned to Jowett. ‘Did my son ask you to come?’
‘Yes, he —’
‘Well, I’m afraid he’s been wasting your time. We knew nothing about this until now. He doesn’t seem to accept the fact that I have no intention of buying him one.’
‘Shit!’ Tim was disbelieving. ‘That’s it? You won’t even get in it?’
‘Don’t use language like that in front of your mother! And don’t try using other people to get your own way. I’m sorry Mr … Jowett, isn’t it? This is a family matter and you shouldn’t have let yourself be dragged into it. Excuse me, I’ve got a lot to do.’
Godwin walked across the yard and climbed on to a tractor, engine spluttering and bursting into noise as he swung it round and rumbled down the track to the road. His son glared after him, then walked back into the house without a word.
‘Tim!’ Janet Godwin sounded horrified. ‘Oh, that was unforgivable!’
Jowett felt trapped. ‘It’s OK … Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.’
‘No, but …’ Embarrassed before a stranger, she had a need to explain. ‘I’m afraid our son is spoilt, Mr Jowett, but that was appalling. Please accept my apologies. On behalf of my husband as well. I can’t … Will you come in for a moment? Would you like a cup of tea? Or something cold? Please.’
He suddenly saw how near she was to crying, pleading with her eyes, holding her body as though coaxing him into the house. She wanted to make amends.
‘Thank you.’ Her smile of relief was painful. He followed her into the kitchen.
‘Tim will be sulking in his room. I’ll talk to him later. What would you like? Coke? Orange? Or dandelion and burdock? You’ve probably never heard of that. It’s an old country drink —’
‘Coke’s fine. Thanks … Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Not at all. There’s an ashtray just behind you.’
He was being made welcome in the house. There was a framed photograph on the Welsh dresser, a smiling elderly couple dressed as if going out to a formal dinner …
‘Here you are.’ Calmer now, she still wanted him to understand. ‘It was kind of you to spare your time — you weren’t to know what Tim’s like — but Trevor can be … You see, something happened … a long time ago … I sound as if I’m making excuses for him, but —’
‘You mean the murders.’ Jowett heard his own voice from a long way off.
‘Yes … You know about them?’
‘Mrs Hetherington told me. I’m very sorry.’
‘It’s all right … and that makes it easier. Perhaps you can understand. It’s still with him, and …’ She tried to smile. ‘I’m apologizing too much, aren’t I?’
‘You don’t need to. It’s OK.’ Jowett sipped his drink. ‘It can’t be easy for any of you.’
‘No. It’s the anniversary next week as well. Always a bad time. I assume you read about it.’
‘Yes, I … I must have done. I don’t remember the details though.’
‘It was Trevor’s parents, his sister and her children. They just slaughtered them … I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this.’
He looked down at his glass. ‘How do you feel about them? Whoever did it?’
‘What?’ There was resignation in her thin smile. ‘I expect that’s the sort of question writers ask. Everybody brings their own agenda to this.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s more honest than the way some people ask. As if they’re fascinated, but won’t admit it.’ She sighed. ‘What do I feel? Not hate any more. I’m long past that. But we don’t know who they were or why they chose this farm. They just came into our lives one day, out of nowhere, and destroyed them. It makes you fatalistic. I’ve never hurt anyone — or if I have, I didn’t mean to — so what was it? A punishment? What for? Where was the God I was taught to believe in that afternoon?’
Her voice dropped as she spoke, almost as if she were talking to herself. From the hall, a clock chimed.
‘Anyway.’ She came back. ‘That’s why we don’t behave very wel
l sometimes. But it shouldn’t be turned on other people. I’m sorry.’
Jowett didn’t take his eyes off her. He wasn’t hated.
Chapter Seventeen
Fay was the friend to run to in panic and dismay; over Riesling, cold chicken and Caesar salad, she became an audience as Joyce began to feel a wayward excitement. As she talked, her apprehension became defiance and a growing sense of resentment towards anyone who dared to criticize or reproach. Randall and everything he meant to her was the reality she wanted and deserved; nothing else was relevant because finally it concerned nobody else. Her mother was interfering, Ralph despicable, Rupert and Annabel welcome to all the independence they wanted as long as they recognized that she had rights as well. Finch, Suffolk, the entire world could keep out of it. She was prepared to throw away the life she had created and start over again — with him, because he was now the only person who mattered. There would be protests, condemnation laced with po-faced cant — and secret envy — but they would simply ignore it, perhaps even feel pity for the narrow, mean people who remained prisoners of their little minds as they broke free to make something new. And when all the petty wars were over, they would still have each other, laughing and crazily in love … then Joyce Jowett? Why not? She would wear —
‘Well, it’s certainly a watershed, but it needn’t be a major disaster area, darling.’ Fay slid Joyce’s refilled glass across varnished pine. ‘Just point out to Grace that Randall’s leaving soon and you’ll never see him again. I think she’d back off. The last thing she wants is you and Ralph splitting up.’
‘You can’t mean that.’ Joyce stared at her in disbelief.
‘Can’t mean what? She’s got a very comfortable home and if this morning hadn’t happened, nobody would have been the wiser, so …’ She seemed suddenly to register the protest in Joyce’s voice. ‘Hold it right there. What are you thinking? You must see you’ve got nowhere to go together.’
‘Haven’t we?’
Fay stared as though Joyce were denying her own name. ‘Of course you haven’t. I know you told me you’re in love with him, but for heaven’s sake that’s going to pass, and —’
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