The food, when it came, had proved a welcome distraction, and they were able to change direction, talking instead of his job and his colleagues. He was clearly happy with his work, and his little cottage sounded charming.
“End of terrace,” he’d said, almost diffidently, as if he were fearful that he might appear to be presenting it as some kind of inducement. “It’s in a very small village but it’s the last house and it’s backed by a wood. There are some wonderful walks but not much garden.”
“Sounds nice,” she’d said, trying to sound enthusiastic but not eager.
“You must come and see it,” he’d said—and she’d been instantly plunged back into anxiety.
How would it be managed? Could they stay together in the same house, still married, yet strangers?
She’d mumbled something, reaching for her glass and making a comment about the wine. He’d made no attempt to delay her going after dinner so she’d driven away, longing to stay with him but strangely happy.
Now, Louise turned away from the sink, went back upstairs, pulled off her clothes and let the feeling of strain and grubbiness wash away with the hot water. Presendy, clean, dressed in jeans and a corduroy, indigo-coloured overshirt, she tied a long silk scarf around her neck and brushed her dark curls into a thick bundle, secured by a scrunchie. As she stood before the age-spotted glass, looking critically at her reflection, she heard his car and watched from the window as he stood looking away from her over the green. The resemblance to Hermione in the turn of his head wrenched at her heart and twisted in her gut. Quickly she ran lightly down the stairs, snatched up her jacket and went out to him, picking up her walking boots where they lay in the small porch. Somehow, it was easier to maintain normality out of doors.
He smiled at her with such a natural, familiar warmth that her terrors slithered away like snakes, vanishing silently down holes and under stones, and leaving her free and light.
“I’ve brought my boots,” she said, “just in case we want to walk.”
“Mine are in the back,” he said, taking them from her. “I’m relying on you as a navigator. Have you decided where we’re going?”
“Not too far,” she said, sliding into the car. “Not with you having to drive back to Wales this evening.”
He climbed in beside her. “Don’t worry about that. It’s barely a two-hour drive. We have the afternoon before us.”
She began to laugh and he looked at her, delighted at her happiness, watching her with love.
“Honestly,” she said, “you won’t believe this but I was going to say, ‘Have you ever been to Dartmouth?’ completely forgetting that you were at the college for three years. How stupid can you get?”
“It’s something I try to forget too,” he said drily. “And, in answer to your unspoken question, yes, I have, but I’m very happy to revisit it if that’s what you’d like.”
“You could show me all your old haunts,” she suggested mischievously. “All those pubs.”
“And all those barmaids,” he added, sighing regretfully.
“No chatting up barmaids,” she said firmly. “I draw the line at that.”
He bent forward and kissed her quickly, drawing back before she could react. “You’re no fun any more,” he said sadly. “OK, no barmaids.”
As they drove off, she could still feel the touch of his lips, warm and firm upon her own. Happiness grew inside her so that there seemed no room to contain it and its warmth must spread into a joy which loosened her muscles and curved her lips upward. She settled in her seat with a contentment she’d imagined had abandoned her for ever.
JEMIMA LOCKED the cottage door behind her and stood for a moment, enjoying the sunshine, waiting for the couple— who were hoping to rent the cottage through the winter—to get into their car and drive away. The sense of satisfaction which she experienced with a successful letting was undermined by a now constant anxiety. She waved cheerfully to the young woman, as her partner turned the car, knowing very well that they’d hoped to spend some considerable time poking round and enjoying the new-found pleasure of ownership. However, until various forms had been filled in and agreements signed, she also knew that the owner would not approve of her surrendering the key. This elderly lady was a very strict landlord and the couple would need to have very good references. Jemima shook her head sympathetically. She’d liked the two young people and wished them every success. Meanwhile, she suspected that once she was out of sight, they’d creep back and wander round the tiny garden, peering in the windows and making plans.
Climbing into her own car, Jemima sighed almost enviously. She wished she felt so excited about the future. She’d passed the weekend alone—well, that was fair enough, he’d been away on some kind of sales conference—but their telephone calls had been frustratingly short and unsatisfying. At least He’d be with her on Friday; he’d been quite confident about that With mixed feelings Jemima laid her briefcase on the passenger seat, wedging her mobile behind it. However much she was longing to be with him again some decisions would certainly need to be taken.
As she drove out of the village she found that she was remembering, with a certain envy, the happy-go-lucky creature she’d once been: looking back with a kind of disbelief at the Jemima who’d retained that private detachment which, like an extra skin, had protected her from hurt. Now, with it stripped from her, she felt vulnerable, tender, soft. She was kept almost permanently on edge, the ease and warmth of giving and receiving unconditional love withheld. How simple it had been before this plunge into love; how undemanding. She laughed bitterly when she recalled her complacent, oft-used observation that she was mistress material. Now she knew what it was like to ache with a loneliness which only the presence of the beloved could assuage; to know the trickle of fear which accompanied self-doubt and jealousy. She’d learned that she had no desire to play mental games, or to engage in the techniques which kept one of the players always a step ahead, and she was weary with cautioning herself, reminding herself that he was only just out of a long-term relationship and that he needed time.
On top of all this was the shock of losing her home. Of course, it had always been a real possibility that she’d have to leave. She’d been told quite fairly at the beginning that the flat might be needed for the staff of the RNLI, that it was by no means to be a long let, yet, in her usual casual way, she’d allowed herself to live only for the moment, to believe that it was her home. None of this would matter, of course, if only they could be together. Gladly would she sacrifice the benefits, the comfort, the view, to be with him; give them up voluntarily in exchange for his permanent presence.
“I’m really sorry,” she’d said earlier in the week when he’d phoned whilst working late at the office. “About the flat, I mean.”
“I can see it’ll be really tough for you,” he’d said, “leaving that view ”
“You looked a bit gobsmacked,” she’d said tentatively, hoping for a more definite reaction. “Disappointed.”
“Oh, well, of course it was a shock but don’t pay any attention to that. Everything’s a bit on top of me at the moment. My whole life’s been turned upside down in the last few months.”
Instantly she’d felt remorseful. He’d lost his girlfriend and was trying to build a new relationship, to relocate—and now there wasn’t to be even the continuity of the flat.
“I know it has,” she’d answered sympathetically. “That’s what I’m saying, really. This is just another complication that you don’t need.”
“We’ll manage,” he’d said, quite positively, and she’d felt the quick swing from doubt to happiness.
“Of course we will,” she’d agreed. “It might even be fun, looking for our own place.”
There had been voices in the background and she was conscious of his attention switched away from her.
“Got to go,” he’d said, his voice sounding flat, preoccupied, as if he were now utterly focused on something else. “Problems. See you soon.”
/> The minute she’d been cut off from him her fears had returned but now, as she drove carefully through the narrow lanes, her natural optimism edged her thoughts back towards the more hopeful prospect of the weekend. Her spirits began to rise; she relaxed a little. As she pushed a tape into the deck and began to sing, the telephone rang. She dived into a field gateway, tucking the car in as close as she could, and picked up her mobile.
“Oh, hi!” Her voice rang with delight; she simply couldn’t hide her pleasure. “How are you?”
“Fine. I’m… fine. Well… I’m OK.”
“What’s the problem?” She switched off the engine and the-tape, settling herself, face anxious. “You sound the least bit muted.”
“Yes. The truth of it is …” he paused. “Hell, I don’t quite know how to tell you this …”
“You can’t get down this weekend.” She said it for him, not only to help trim, not only in a desperate attempt to boost her own confidence by sounding quite cheerful about it, but—worse—as an involuntary gesture to ward off something more terrible; something she couldn’t bear to hear.
“No, it’s not just that.”
OK. So here it was. She shook, back her hair, biting her lips. “What is it then?”
“The truth is … Oh, shit, there’s just no easy way to say this.” A pause the length of a breath, then quickly, “I’m getting back with Annabel.”
A tiny bird was hopping in the hedge; it darted quickly from twig to twig with a secretive agility. Jemima watched it, concentrating on it, whilst anguish, cold as death, settled quietly on her heart.
“Are you there?” He sounded anxious. “Look, I’m really gutted about this. It’s the last thing I’d have imagined could happen. Look.” He drew in breath and tried again. “I really thought we could make it together. I did, Jemima. I wasn’t just stringing you along. Honestly. It’s just that when I saw her again … Well, she’d made a terrible mistake, she admitted that, and she said she wanted to come back. I tried to fight it, to give myself some space to think about it, reminded myself about all that I’d be losing with you, which wasn’t easy, I can tell you. And then… well, she came over last evening and we talked things through. The fact is that I think I should give it another try. Five years is a long time to tear up and throw down the pan…”
The bird had hopped out on to the gate, searching for insects. With swiftly stabbing beak it probed into the soft, splintering wood, absorbed, too busy with survival to notice her.
“… So I agreed to give it another try. She’s really upset and I feel that it’s only fair after all that we had together… Oh God, I feel a right shit!”
There was a tinge of melodrama in the sudden outburst; even self-pity. He wanted her to let him off; to make it all right for him. She stirred, summoning courage, and the bird, startled by the sudden movement, flew off, scolding crossly.
“Well…” She struggled to keep her voice calm. “Not much I can say to all that, is there?”
“I’m truly sorry, Jemima. You’ve been so special, you really have. Honestly, I feel an utter bastard.”
She wanted to scream at him, “Good! I’m glad! I hope the bitch lets you down again!” but she knew that such a minor relief would be swallowed up in this cold, creeping misery which was reaching out softly, inexorably from her heart and engulfing her whole self. What was the point in cheap victories?
“Thanks for telling me.” She tried to infuse some life into the words but the cold weightiness was too much for her; it pressed in, making her voice dull and heavy. “It can’t be easy, I can see that. Look, I’ve got to go. I’m in a very narrow lane and there’s a tractor coming.”
“Oh, God! This is awful…”
“Isn’t it,” she agreed, “but I really must move the car. We can talk some other time, perhaps.”
“God, yes!” He was generous in his relief. “We can stay friends, can’t we? I’ll want to know where you go and what happens and stuff. I told Annabel how terrific you are and how you saved my life …”
“Got to go,” she said abruptly, and pressed the off button. She started the engine, letting it idle for a moment whilst she stared blankly ahead. She had a foolish, childish need to be at home with MagnifiCat; to hold him tightly and to feel the comfort of his warmth. Perhaps it might bring her some relief; it might even thaw the icy chill which caused this queer shivering. With a nervousness which was utterly uncharacteristic, she pulled cautiously out into the lane and headed towards Salcombe, driving slowly with the utmost care.
CHAPTER 41
“Thea,” said Louise, “I’ve got a problem. I need some advice.”
“How are you?” asked Thea warmly. “How are you liking your cottage? When are you coming to see us? Hermione’s been asking after you.”
“Has she?” Louise’s face relaxed into a smile. “I’d love to come. Or perhaps you could come over here? Thank you for your card. I’m sorry not to have been in touch but things have got a bit oitf of hand.”
“Too much painting,” said Thea comfortably. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? And then you just need to crash out and stare mindlessly at nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not just that.” Louise sounded nervous. “Something utterly amazing has happened.” She hesitated, as though she were still adjusting to this amazing happening, not able to find the words too easily. “Rory’s turned up.”
A short silence.
“Goodness!” Thea was clearly startled. “And is that… good?”
“It’s very good.” Louise’s voice bubbled up into uncontrollable happiness. “Oh, Thea! I can hardly believe it. It was the most tremendous shock to see him, just standing there. He wants us to get back together. Oh, he hasn’t actually said so in so many words but it’s clear enough. He’s out of the Navy and working for an engineering company in Wales. He’s coming down again at the weekend. It’s just so … peculiar.
Sometimes it’s as if we never parted and at others it’s so scary. Everything comes back with a rush and I feel paralysed with terror and all the old horror. We can’t talk properly yet about… about Hermione. Well, he’s better at it than I am but it’s still so raw and then I have these moments of thinking it could never work because it’ll always be between us.”
There was a longer silence. The torrent of words seemed to hum and resonate, echoing on the wire between them.
“Right,” said Thea cautiously. “But how on earth did he find you?”
“Can you believe it? Martin has been in touch with him all this time. When we separated, Martin and I, he wrote to Rory.”
“That’s extraordinary.”
“Isn’t it? I’ve spoken to Martin who was … well, rather sheepish about it. He said it was all such an appalling tragedy that we were bound to do drastic things we might regret and that he felt so sorry for Rory. He always thought that once I’d recovered I’d probably want to go back to Rory and that he was simply giving me space to heal whilst holding on to Rory at a distance. Rory seems to accept that, and he felt that at least he was keeping in touch with me, indirectly. He says that his exchange with the Canadian Navy was his own way of going right away so that he could come to terms with things. Now he’s ready to try again.”
“And how do you feel?”
“It’s like I said: I want to but there’s still so much baggage. I’m afraid I might not be able to make it work.”
“But isn’t it worth a try?”
“I feel so badly about hurting him, you see—just walking away like that, not caring about how he was feeling. Supposing I’m not as … on top of it as I think I am?” There was panic in her voice. “I don’t want to hurt him again.”
“But why should you hurt him?” Thea was calm. “You’ve done all the resentment bit long ago. You said so. All that bit about him being at sea—you’ve got that right out of your system now, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have. Long ago.” Louise sighed. “He blames himself. He says, ‘I should have been there,’
and I’m saying, ‘How could you have been? It was your job.’ I hate seeing him look so bleak.”
“Well, isn’t that a start? You’ve had three years of comfort and care from Martin whilst Rory worked out his own pain. Now, you can comfort him. You can go on together. It sounds the most fantastic opportunity for a second chance.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course I think so.” Louise could hear that Thea was smiling. “The timing is perfect. All things working together for good. You couldn’t possibly refuse it.”
Louise heaved a huge sigh. “I do want to,” she said, “I really do, but those moments of terror really shake me.”
“That’s perfectly reasonable. Tell him so. I expect he’s having them too, but just not showing them. How brave of him to be prepared to try again. He sounds such a nice man.”
“He is. I’d like you to meet him. The thing is… This sounds really silly. I want to tell Brigid and Frummie but I don’t know which one to phone first.” She chuckled a little. “I know that sounds truly bizarre but they live so close and I don’t want either of them to feel hurt. They’ve both been so wonderfully kind. Am I being oversensitive?”
“No,” said Thea slowly, who knew all about the relationship between Brigid and her mother. “I can see that there might be … difficulties. Frummie might crow if she knows first or she might feel hurt if Brigid tells her, given that you recuperated with her—with Frummie, I mean. Your friendship has expanded to include both of them.”
“Exactly!” Louise sounded relieved. “Thank God! I thought that it was me. Of course, I could phone one after the other terribly quickly but one might be out or engaged.”
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