Jemima laughs with delight. ‘I love it. Is Claude one of those friends?’
‘Yes.’ Evie nods. ‘He was the only friend who knew about us. The family live in London, they’re wine importers, but Tommy always enjoyed a visit alone to Dartmouth. I met him just up there at the top of the steps. He was coming out of his house and I’d just finished viewing this one. We went off and had a drink together and that was that.’
Jemima is entranced, almost fearful; her meeting with Charlie resonates in her head.
‘Did he look like Charlie?’ she asks.
‘Incredibly like,’ says Evie. ‘And about the same age.’
‘Then I can understand why,’ says Jemima frankly. ‘Pretty devastating, aren’t they? And did his wife never find out?’
‘Not as far as we knew. I never went to London and Marianne rarely came to Dartmouth except with a little house party for regatta. I stayed well clear.’
‘Did Charlie know?’ Jemima can’t help herself; she wants to know everything. It’s so weird that she should be sitting here with Charlie’s stepmother, and Evie is nice, so open and warm and fun.
‘I asked him later. Once Marianne had died and Tommy and I were married. He was a grown man, married with children of his own. Things were said, accidentally, that must have made him suspect. I decided to be honest with him. He said he’d guessed but he was quite comfortable with it.’
‘She died,’ Jemima says slowly.
‘Mmm. About ten years after I met him. There was never any question of divorce.’
Her look is very clear, very direct, and Jemima stares back at her. It is as if Evie is warning her, preparing her.
‘Did that bother you?’
‘Not particularly. I had my own work, this house, friends. I was very happy with things the way they were. I never really considered myself marriage material.’
Jemima gives a little cry. ‘God, this is surreal. It might be me saying that. I always say I’m mistress material.’
‘And you’ve never been married?’
‘No. There was once when I might have been tempted, but he went back to his girlfriend. I was glad afterwards. I like to be independent. Perhaps I’m just too selfish.’
‘And you’re all having supper together?’
Jemima nods. ‘Safety in numbers.’
Her light remark sounds very slightly bitter and she glances quickly at Evie, who watches her compassionately.
‘What a pity it isn’t Ben,’ she says gently.
‘I like Ben,’ Jemima says quickly. ‘I really like him.’
‘Mmm,’ says Evie. ‘Not quite the same, though, is it?’
Jemima suddenly feels immeasurably sad. She wants to be comforted and reassured and strengthened. It’s an odd reaction to the woman sitting opposite. After all, it would never have crossed her mind to feel like that about her own mother. Frummie was the last person to show any maternal feelings, and Evie doesn’t seem to be in the least motherly either. Yet there is something here, some odd kind of recognition that is almost tangible between them; a connection at some deep level.
Jemima sighs and sits up straighter. ‘Not quite the same,’ she agrees. ‘I know this sounds really strange but I rather think I need them both.’
And suddenly the atmosphere is light again, Evie bursts out laughing and says, ‘Well, good luck with that, darling,’ and Jemima feels ready to cope with anything that might lie in the future.
When she leaves they hug each other and Evie says, ‘Come again soon.’
Jemima nods, and then hurries away to catch the bus back to the car; to prepare for the evening ahead.
When Claude gets back Evie has lunch ready for him. She feels guilty that she spoke so openly with Jemima about things that previously she has only shared with Claude and she realizes that it must have been a shock to him when she talked of moving to the Merchant’s House.
‘I don’t quite know why it all came out like that,’ she says as they sit down together. She can see that he’s still hurt, though he’s been mellowed by a pint of beer, and she decides to be quite honest. ‘It rather surprised me, too, but I feel so at ease with her. I really like her, don’t you?’
He nods, his mouth full of cold beef, and gesticulates impatiently with his fork, indicating that that has never been in question.
‘Of course I like her,’ he says at last. ‘You couldn’t not. She’s so genuine.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ agrees Evie, relieved. ‘You feel you’ve known her for ever. And it was such a surprise when she said she’d met the boys.’
‘Not to me,’ says Claude gloomily.
‘Not?’
He shakes his head. ‘I saw her with Charlie in the town. Just standing there together like they were in a world all of their own. Then they all disappeared into the crowd seconds before Ange came by.’
Evie stares at him in amazement. ‘When was this? You didn’t tell me. And when you say “all” …?’
‘It was on Saturday morning. She had Maisie with her. They were having coffee and ice creams at one of the stalls. Jemima and Charlie were just completely wrapped up in each other. And then I saw Ange coming. I thought if I got there in time I could pretend we were all meeting by chance, if you see what I mean, but they suddenly just vanished into Royal Avenue Gardens.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’ She allows herself to sound just the slightest bit aggrieved.
Claude shifts uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t quite know how to put it. He said that first of all she’d mistaken him for Ben.’
‘You talked to Charlie about it?’
‘He reappeared on his own, you see, looking like he’d been hit by a brick. I decided to be open about it, that I’d seen them together, but it was like speaking to a man under a spell and then Ange turned up and that was that. And later there was all that business about the cartoons up on the terrace.’
He looks so anxious, so miserable, that she puts out a hand to him.
‘It’s all a bit of a muddle, isn’t it?’ she admits. ‘I’m sorry I blurted out all those things without warning, Claude. Especially my idea about moving across the road. To be honest, it’s only a tiny idea at the moment and I don’t quite know whether it’s complete madness. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it to you.’
He looks a little happier; they’re on level ground again.
‘The thing that shook me,’ he says, still slightly indignantly, ‘was that you were so open with her about you and TDF on such short acquaintance. I suppose that having seen her with Charlie it was a bit like déjà vu. It was almost like you were encouraging her.’
Evie begins to laugh. ‘Perhaps I was. Nice for Charlie to have a bit of fun for a change. What a pity it isn’t Ben.’
‘And now they’re all going out this evening together.’ He still sounds glum.
‘Safety in numbers,’ she says.
‘We shouldn’t be encouraging them, though, should we?’
She looks at him, smiling a little. ‘You didn’t say that about me and TDF.’
He snorts. ‘It was too late by the time I knew about it. Anyway, Charlie isn’t TDF and Jemima isn’t you. And Ange isn’t Marianne.’
‘Meaning?’
He takes a deep breath, giving himself time to marshal his thoughts. ‘Marianne was a very up-together woman. She had projects, charities, Charlie to organize, the business to keep tabs on. Her life was never just TDF. She was busy, fulfilled, and actually very generous. Look at the way she took Ben under her wing when his mother died.’
‘Are you trying to make me feel guilty?’
‘Of course not,’ he answers impatiently. ‘Don’t for God’s sake start behaving like a woman and taking this personally. All I’m saying is that even if Marianne suspected, I doubt she’d have been the sort to throw a hissy fit. After all, you never took him away from her for very long, did you? A few days here and there throughout the year? And that’s what I mean about TDF. He compartmentalized his life. You were in the
Dartmouth file. He adored you, you know that, but you were his life here and you never interfered with his family or his business. And you were rather the same, Evie, weren’t you? You said so yourself. You weren’t jealous or resentful or lonely. You were writing. For most of your life you were totally immersed in another world and a whole cast of characters from which you were quite content to emerge occasionally and have fun with TDF. You were always completely absorbed by your work, almost longing to get back to it. It was your reality and TDF was part of your down time; little jollies before you got back to the real thing. I don’t think Jemima would be like that. If they were to become lovers I think she would want much more of Charlie than a few days here and there, and I’m damned sure Ange wouldn’t be philosophical about it if she ever found out.’
‘And Charlie?’ She’s taken aback by Claude’s speech; slightly unnerved by his insight. ‘What about Charlie?’
Claude is silent for a moment. His gaze is inward as if he is thinking about Charlie; imagining him in this situation.
‘TDF was a very confident man,’ he says at last. ‘He was laid-back, always optimistic, but he was tough, too. He was used to being loved and approved. All the dear old aunts bringing him up to believe in himself but without spoiling him; the security he lived in, his inheritance, gave him total confidence. He was grounded, generous to his friends. He embraced it all: you, Marianne, Charlie, his friends, the business. He had it all. It must have been a colossal shock when he discovered that he wasn’t entitled to his inheritance but deep down it wouldn’t have made any difference to the essential TDF.’
He falls silent and Evie waits, moved by what he has said.
‘Charlie doesn’t have quite the same genetic brew,’ he continues, ‘and he was brought up in a much more protective way. Marianne watched over him like a hawk, guided him, told him what to think, approved his friends – or not. He kicked over the traces once or twice but generally his default mode was to listen to her. To trust her judgement. He’s known Ange from childhood, Marianne loved her, showed him how right Ange was for him.’ Claude shakes his head, as if to get his thoughts clear. ‘I’m not sure that Charlie would be able to sideline all of that. Do you see what I’m saying? He’s very loyal to Ange and his girls. He might think he can live two lives, he’ll certainly imagine that he wants to give it a go, but I’m afraid that it might destroy him in the end.’
There is a silence.
‘I hear what you say,’ says Evie slowly, ‘but I wonder if you’re right.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘I’ll be very glad if you prove me wrong, I promise you.’
‘I agree with you in part, of course I do, when you talk about his upbringing, his deference to his mother, his loyalty to Ange and his girls. But I think there’s an awful lot of TDF in Charlie – look at the way he runs the business – and it just needs something to trigger a different aspect of it. Jemima might be just that trigger. I’m not saying that he would enter into a relationship lightly or easily but I think Charlie has glimpsed something very special, which he’ll be reluctant to ignore.’
Claude rubs his head, frowning confusedly, almost as if he is startled by his own outburst.
‘I love Charlie like he is my own boy,’ he says. ‘I want him to have it all. I just don’t want him to be hurt but …’ He shrugs, makes a face, pulls down his mouth. ‘It’s not up to us. They’re grown-up people. All we can do is to stand by to pick up the pieces if it should go wrong.’
‘I’m not sure I find that very comforting,’ Evie says lightly. ‘I tell you what, Claude. I’m really glad that you’re going to be around. Do you actually have to go back at all?’
He laughs, and she can see he feels better.
‘I only packed for a week,’ he says. ‘I think I shall need a little more than a few summer things as winter comes on.’
Nevertheless, she feels comforted by the prospect of his presence. And, after all, perhaps little will come of it. Regatta madness: nothing more.
Mikey bites into his beefburger, swipes the ketchup from his chin, one eye on his father, who is standing a little distance away talking to Aunt Liz on his mobile. His free hand gesticulates, balls into a fist and pumps the air; Dad has got the job, he is victorious, he is happy.
Mum wouldn’t have let Mikey have the beefburger from the stall – poison burgers, she called them – but Dad isn’t into stuff like that. As long as it’s quick and easy he doesn’t care too much. Mikey tries to think of all the things Mum taught him so as to guide the shopping list when he’s home for the holidays, to make sure they both eat lots of fruit and veggies, but it’s quite a responsibility. Sometimes it feels like he’s the grown-up and Dad’s the child.
That’s why he’s really glad Dad’s got the job at the university and that he’s happy. It’s a bit embarrassing when he’s full-on; Mikey wishes that when he’s happy Dad wouldn’t get quite so over the top, but that’s the way he is.
‘No halfway measures with your father,’ Mum used to say. ‘He’s up or he’s down.’
Before – that’s how he phrases it now to himself, just ‘before’ – he was able to get out of the way, when he wasn’t at school. He’d stay in his room or go out into the garden, slip off to see one of his friends. Now, he isn’t able just to walk away; it seems selfish and unkind to leave Dad on his own, having a strop or feeling mis. Even so, he’ll be really glad to get back to school though it does mean leaving Dartmouth, but Dad has promised that they can come down for half term.
Mikey finishes his beefburger, wipes his fingers on the paper napkin and throws it in the bin. Should he push his luck and ask for a Coke? He’s wondering, now that Dad is back on top, whether he should mention meeting Evie. He doesn’t like having secrets, and he’s afraid Dad might find the card, so it might be better if he were to mention, just casually, that he saw her.
Dad’s finishing his call, coming towards him. ‘She’s really pleased,’ he calls out. ‘That’s great, isn’t it? Don’t we love your aunt Liz?’
Mikey nods, feeling a bit silly with people looking, then takes a chance.
‘Could I have a Coke, please, Dad? Just for once?’
‘Sure,’ he says immediately. ‘Sure you can. We’ll both have one and then how about a visit to the funfair? You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’
They stroll along together, swigging from the cans, and Mikey takes another chance.
‘I met someone who knows Grampy the other day,’ he says, glancing sideways to watch for any negative reaction. Dad can be funny about Grampy. ‘She’s a writer. Evelyn Drake.’ He can’t remember her other name just for the moment. ‘Then I saw her in M&S and she told me she knew you when you were a little boy.’
To his surprise Dad is looking amazed but in a good way, like it’s something he wanted to happen. He doesn’t ask about the meeting, he just begins to laugh.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he says. ‘Fate works in a mysterious way.’
Mikey doesn’t understand but he doesn’t push it.
‘Anyway, she said to say “hello”. She gave me her card in case you wanted to meet her or anything.’
Dad bursts out laughing again, shakes his can at the sky and shouts, ‘There is a God.’
Mikey feels like he might die of shame the way people are staring at him, but he’s also just so relieved that Dad’s OK with it and that it needn’t be a secret any more.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Dad asks.
‘Oh …’ He shrugs; some instinct warns him to be cool about it. He won’t say that Evie thought he looked just like Grampy. ‘I forgot, I suppose. Didn’t think it mattered. So do you remember her?’
‘Oh, yes,’ says Dad. He smiles a secret, satisfied smile that makes Mikey feel anxious. ‘Oh, yes, I remember Evelyn Drake very well indeed. And I intend to know her even better. And so will you, my son. Come on. I think this calls for a ride on the big dipper to celebrate.’
Driving with Ben to Torcross in the early evening Charlie wond
ers if he is living in a dream from which he might wake at any moment: to be here in Dartmouth during regatta week with no family commitments and old Benj to keep him company; Evie and Claude wandering over for tea or a drink; the sounds and smells and the whole atmosphere of regatta. And on top of it the prospect of seeing Jemima again. His conscience reminds him that simply because Jemima texted Ben, that Ben has made the arrangements to see her, it doesn’t mean that it’s all perfectly innocent. It warns him that it is specious to pretend that this is an ordinary, friendly meeting. At the moment, however, he isn’t listening to his conscience. He is persuading himself that just for this one magical week he and Jemima are beyond the conventions; the rules and regs by which other people live. It’s like some kind of fairy story, or a film; he can almost imagine the soundtrack. A tiny miracle has come to pass. One minute he is at Ange’s beck and call, and now here he is driving with Benj along the coast road to Torcross: to Jemima.
‘This is all so weird, Benj, isn’t it?’ he murmurs, gazing at the wide scoop of the bay shimmering in the hazy early evening light. ‘God, it’s beautiful. I always forget how beautiful it is. You are so lucky to be living here.’
And then he remembers that poor old Benj’s marriage has just broken up, he has no home, no money and no security.
‘Sorry,’ he mutters. ‘That was tactless.’
Ben grins sideways at him. ‘That’s OK. I told you, I’m fine with it.’
Charlie wrenches his mind away from Jemima and thinks about how Benj is really feeling. He drives his little VW Golf with great confidence, backing up for nervous tourists in the narrow village street of Stoke Fleming, whizzing down the hills. After his own very smart Audi, the battered, elderly Golf leaves a bit to be desired in the comfort stakes but somehow Charlie rather envies his cousin the sense of freedom; of fun and independence.
‘Will you stay in Dartmouth?’ he asks.
‘For the winter, at least,’ answers Ben. ‘As long as Evie is prepared to let me stay. She could get a huge rent for the house next summer. I might look for somewhere else.’
Summer on the River Page 15