Summer on the River

by Marcia Willett

  He remembers how Jemima and Charlie stood together, as if separate from the crowd that swirled about them, and he feels infinitely sad.

  ‘And do you think that’s how it will be for Charlie and Jemima?’

  ‘It might be, if Jemima is happy with it and if Charlie can compartmentalize his life in the same way TDF did.’

  ‘Why did you bother to get married?’

  ‘Once Marianne had died and he’d moved back to Dartmouth it seemed silly not to, and it was better for Charlie and Ange and the children and our friends, more conventional, but I’m not certain that we really felt we needed to emotionally.’

  He slumps on the sofa. ‘Why can’t I see it being so simple for Charlie and Jemima?’

  ‘For all those reasons you mentioned before. It’s rather childish and pathetic but I just want them to enjoy this week before Ange stomps back into all our lives.’

  ‘Why do you think she suggested Charlie should stay here?’

  ‘I think she wanted someone reporting back; someone on the ground keeping a watching brief. Probably so that we still remember that Charlie has as much right in the house as Ben. Who can tell with Ange?’

  ‘I wonder what he’s been telling her?’

  Evie leans her head back on the cushions and closes her eyes. ‘Suddenly I feel very ancient, Claude. And melancholic. I want to cry a lot.’

  He looks at her compassionately. With her head flung back and her thin hands clasped in her lap, she looks old and vulnerable and frail, and he is moved with love for her and fear for himself. He loves them all: Evie and Ben and Charlie. He loves them and needs them.

  ‘I’ll make us some supper,’ he says, getting up, ‘and then we’ll go out on the balcony and watch the fireworks. Just relax and think about that next book you’re going to write.’

  She smiles, eyes still closed, but at once she looks young again, amused and viable: the old Evie.

  ‘Don’t you start,’ she says. ‘For me the War is over. Civil or otherwise.’

  She doesn’t tell him what they should eat or how to prepare it; she simply edges off her shoes, folds her legs up on the sofa, and relaxes into his care.

  Ange phones whilst Charlie and Ben are getting ready to go down on to the Embankment to watch that night’s fireworks. They’ve decided to get some fish and chips or something from one of the stalls; they can’t be bothered to get supper for themselves.

  ‘Two lots of fireworks are quite a treat,’ Benj tells Charlie. ‘We must make sure that Jemima comes in on Saturday night for the second display. We can give her some supper and run her home afterwards. Unless, you’d rather …?’

  He hesitates, eyebrows raised and Charlie feels emotional again. He’s grateful for the way old Benj is handling this and he can’t help imagining what might have happened if he and Ange hadn’t come down for regatta. Whether Benj and Jemima might have had a chance of getting together. He wonders how much Benj resents him.

  ‘To be honest,’ he says, ‘I think we’re both happier doing it this way. It’s probably the cowards’ way but we can just have this without doing damage. That’s probably specious, of course. Just because we haven’t been to bed doesn’t mean that I haven’t cheated, does it? I feel a bit badly, Benj, that I might have prevented you from … well, you know.’

  But Benj gives him a little biff on the shoulder and says, ‘Don’t be a twit. I’m not ready for any involvement right now. I’m in the middle of a divorce, remember, and I’m actually enjoying my freedom.’

  And then Ange phones and Charlie makes a face at Benj and goes out into the garden.

  ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘How’s everything? How’s poor old Millie?’

  ‘She’s much better,’ Ange says. ‘A bit whingey and grumpy. She’s getting really good with the crutch. How’s everything with you?’

  ‘It’s good. Fine.’

  ‘So what’s been happening?’

  ‘Well, nothing in particular. Just regatta. You know?’

  ‘And Evie? Did she dig out those cartoons?’

  ‘Well, no, not yet. But I don’t see that’s a problem.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. And Ben?’

  ‘He’s fine. Well, actually he’s very pleased. A … a friend has got him an interview for a job.’

  ‘A job? What? Not in Dartmouth?’

  ‘Well, yes. Well, not a job exactly but taking all the photographs for a holiday-let company’s brochures and so on. Is that a problem?’

  ‘Well, of course it is. Or it could be. Just as long as he doesn’t think it gives him the right to stay indefinitely in the Merchant’s House, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, that’s rather up to Evie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Listen, Charlie. I’ve just had an idea. Could you tell Evie that we’d like to come down for half term? All four of us. It would be rather nice for us to be together there again. Will you do that?’

  ‘But why now? We haven’t done that since the girls were small.’

  ‘Well, it’s about time we did it again. Dartmouth is part of their heritage, remember. Just tell Evie, could you?’

  ‘I can suggest it.’

  ‘OK. Suggest it. You do that. Tell her I’ll send the dates as soon as we’re home. End of October, anyway. Look, I must go. Mummy and the girls send their love. Don’t forget to ask about the cartoons. ’Bye.’

  ‘Love to everyone,’ he says. ‘Give the girls a hug. Tell them I love them. ’Bye. ’Bye then.’

  He switches off the phone and stands quite still. Ange’s voice, her questions and demands, shatter this atmosphere of happiness and tranquillity. How can he tell Evie that they all want to stay for half term when it has been years since Ange has shown any inclination to come to Dartmouth with the children? Evie isn’t a fool, and neither is Ben. They are both very well aware that Ange has her sights fixed on the Merchant’s House and that she will go to any lengths to see that it stays within the family: her family. She thinks by this casual assertion of rights that Ben and Evie will be influenced.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Benj asks as Charlie comes back into the house.

  ‘Nothing,’ he says ruefully. Might as well get it over with straight away. ‘Just Ange saying that it would be nice for us all to come back for half term. With the girls.’

  ‘What here? Well. Why not?’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  Benj shrugs. ‘Why would I? It’s a big house. A family house. You’d need to check with Evie, though.’

  ‘Of course.’ His first reaction is relief. Then he thinks of Jemima. That first crazy meeting was one thing but now, to know that she was around while his wife and girls were here too, how would that be?

  ‘Come on,’ says Benj. ‘I’m starving.’

  Charlie follows Benj out through the house, stands waiting while he locks the front door, and then they wander down into the town, into the bustle and clamour of regatta.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EVIE SEES THEM as soon as she enters the bar at the Royal Castle: Mikey and Jason sitting together at the table by the window. She was amazed to get a call from Mikey suggesting that they should have coffee together; amazed and very pleased. Claude was out in the town and she was quite happy to enjoy an impromptu meeting at the Castle.

  She waves, and Jason pushes back his chair and gets up.

  ‘Well,’ he says, pale eyes bright, ‘what a turn-up for the books. Evelyn Drake, after all these years. Who’d have thought it?’

  She offers her hand, which he barely touches, smiles at Mikey in his corner. She sees at once that Mikey is uncomfortable, wary, and she realizes that this isn’t just a simple reconnection with the past.

  ‘You’ve got drinks already,’ she says, ‘so I’ll go and order myself some coffee.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ Jason offers at once. ‘You reacquaint yourself with Mikey. I gather you’ve already met. Fate taking a hand, wouldn’t you say?’

  She doesn’t quite know why his question should sound like a threat but she thanks hi
m, says she’d like a cappuccino and sits down opposite Mikey.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me,’ she says. ‘I didn’t expect it. It’s good to see you again.’

  His eyes flick sideways, watching his father go to the bar.

  ‘I told Dad we’d met,’ he answers, ‘and he thought it might be a good idea.’

  He still looks unsure so she smiles at him.

  ‘And so it is,’ she says warmly.

  She hates to see the shadow of anxiety in his dark blue eyes, the tense lines around the still-childish mouth, and she wonders how to help him to relax.

  ‘Did you say that your aunt owns the flat you’re staying in?’

  He nods. ‘My mum’s sister. Aunt Liz. She says we can have it again at half term.’

  ‘Well, that’s good isn’t it?’

  Again that quick sideways flick of the eyes towards his father.

  ‘I’d really like to come and Dad says we can as long as he can get time off from his new job at the university.’

  ‘New job?’

  ‘In the library. He used to be in a bookshop but it didn’t work out for him. I think it was to do with Mum dying. You know?’

  His turned-down mouth is tragic, his eyes miserable, and she nods.

  ‘I know. Maybe this will be better for him. If you ever needed to, Mikey, you could phone me. Or write to me. The address is on the card.’

  He stares at her and she looks steadily back at him, trying to communicate her concern without being too heavy or frightening him. Then Jason is with them again.

  ‘Here we are,’ he says. ‘So. Making friends?’

  The almost malicious brightness of his eyes, the tremor of his hand as he sets down the cup and saucer, register with Evie.

  ‘Doesn’t look like me, does he?’ Jason goes on, sitting down. ‘I’m like my dear mama. D’you remember my mama, Evie?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says calmly, thrusting down her instinctive fear. ‘Yes, I remember Pat very well.’

  Jason’s smile widens. ‘I thought you would. But Mikey looks like his grandfather, wouldn’t you say?’ He beams at her. ‘Now, I’m very sure you remember him, Evie?’

  She beams back at him, refusing to be frightened. ‘Of course I do. We worked very closely together. And yes,’ she smiles at Mikey, ‘you do look like him. I noticed it at once. Do you share his interest in history?’

  Mikey shakes his head. Evie can see that he is aware that some game is being played that he doesn’t understand and she feels angry with Jason, but she will not let him control this meeting.

  ‘But you like music and singing?’

  Mikey nods, looking happier. ‘Oh, yes. I love it.’

  ‘Do you play an instrument?’

  ‘The piano. A bit. I’m going to learn to play the organ.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful. Am I talking to a future King’s Organ Scholar?’

  He laughs, just as she intended him to, whilst Jason watches them almost speculatively, leaning back in his chair with one hand in his pocket whilst the other turns and turns his empty coffee cup. She leads the conversation around to regatta: asks which event Mikey has enjoyed most, which he’s looking forward to. He tells her that he can’t wait to see the Red Arrows and the fireworks tomorrow night, the last night of regatta, and she feels tremendous relief and pleasure as she watches his young face relax, his eyes shine with anticipation of the display.

  ‘Well, you must come and visit me,’ she says, putting down her cup, glancing at Jason. ‘If there’s not time before you go home then perhaps at half term?’

  She feels that she must leave on this positive note, smiling warmly at Mikey, nodding in a friendly way at Jason, thanking him for the coffee. She goes out quickly, still confused by her mixed emotions: pleasure, relief, but still that deep-down tiny sliver of fear.

  Jemima comes out of her office, hesitates at the end of Foss Street and turns down towards the Embankment where the ‘waiters and waitresses’ races are taking place, the competitors sprinting along carrying pints of ale. She laughs to see them as she dodges between the cheering onlookers, planning to grab a cup of coffee and a quick regatta moment before heading off to Dittisham. Benj is getting on so well with Jane that she’s decided to leave them to it. Along the edge of the Embankment the crabbing competition is in full swing – eager children watched by encouraging parents resisting the urge to assist their offspring – and preparations are being made for the barrel-rolling competition.

  Still smiling, Jemima turns towards the nearest stall selling coffee and comes face to face with Charlie.

  ‘Oh,’ she exclaims delightedly – just like that first day – and immediately feels an odd kind of constriction. This is the first time they’ve ever been completely alone.

  He seems to understand at once; his smile is warm, full of pleasure.

  ‘Time for coffee?’ he asks, and she nods.

  ‘I’ve left Benj with Jane,’ she tells him. ‘They were bonding so well I thought it was best just to let them get on with it. So I made them some coffee and decided to get a quick regatta fix before I go off to Dittisham.’

  She hesitates while he orders the coffee, wondering if she should suggest that he might come with her. So far their friendship – she can’t bring herself to call it anything else – has taken place within the framework of regatta, supported by the structure of their separate relationships with Benj and Evie and Claude. She tries to imagine how it might be, driving away from the town, alone together in her car; what pressure it might put on them. So far they have done nothing that might be destructive: there is no drama, here; no history.

  He hands her the cardboard cup and they both turn away from the stall, standing close together but watching the races that continue along the Embankment, and suddenly she begins to laugh. He looks down at her, amused.

  ‘Shall I guess?’ he asks.

  She nods. ‘Go on, then. Bet you can’t.’

  ‘You’re thinking “If this were a film, what would the soundtrack be?”’

  She reaches out to give him a friendly punch and he dodges and ducks and just manages to save his coffee.

  ‘I’m right, though, aren’t I?’

  She nods, still laughing, remembering the film game that Charlie and Benj play: one of them calling out the title of a film and the other having to hum the soundtrack. She’s been able to join in with that one. She’s a film addict, and it’s been such fun.

  Quite suddenly she doesn’t feel like laughing any more. She sips her coffee, keeping her eyes fixed on the race, and feels the warmth of his shoulder as he stands close to her as if he is attempting to comfort her; to convey his understanding. She swallows coffee and tears, willing herself not to ask him to come with her to Dittisham.

  ‘And who would we be?’ he asks softly; rather sadly. ‘Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard, only in reverse roles?’

  ‘Brief Encounter,’ she says quickly, as if they are playing the film game, trying to raise their spirits, and they both hum the Rachmaninov Second Piano Concerto theme tune.

  He puts an arm around her shoulders and holds her closely for a moment, then he moves away slightly so as to take something out of his pocket.

  ‘I was hoping I might see you,’ he says. ‘I just found this in the Shopping Village in the Marquee. It seemed right, somehow. Appropriate.’

  She takes it: a small oblong of heavy smooth glass, which only just fits into the palm of her hand. It is a sea scene painted in strong, clean colours: stripes of turquoise, purple and blue across which a small white ship sails. Above the yacht, against the lighter blue of the sky, curve the wings of two white birds. The whole thing speaks of strength, simplicity, freedom: it is utterly beautiful.

  He takes it from her and holds it up against the sun, so that colours are like jewels and the little scene is vivid with life, then gives it back to her.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she says.

  She runs her thumb across it, unable to look at him, and suddenly she feels him t
ense beside her; the current between them is deflected, cut off.

  ‘Evie,’ he says. ‘Hi. Have you been watching the race?’

  He moves to stand between them so that Jemima has time to recover, to swipe the tears from her cheeks, and slip the glass into her bag. She swallows the last of her coffee, throws the cup into the bin beside the stall, and turns to smile at Evie.

  ‘I’m dashing off to Dittisham,’ she says. ‘See you both later. Thanks for the coffee, Charlie.’

  They look at each other and, just quickly, she grasps his hand and holds it tightly, and then she turns and hurries away into the crowds.

  Evie doesn’t make the mistake of apologizing to him. He puts his cup in the bin and they walk away together, not hurrying, heading towards home.

  ‘When are you going back, Charlie?’ she asks him.

  He breathes a deep sigh. ‘On Sunday morning. Only one full day left. Ange is driving up after breakfast. Benj says he’ll drive me to Exeter to rendezvous with them at the service station.’

  ‘I shall be taking Claude to Totnes for the train,’ she says. ‘It goes just after eleven. I can take you on afterwards if you like.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘But I’ve said I’ll be at Exeter by ten thirty. Ange wants to make an early start. Oh, by the way …’

  He hesitates, looking awkward, diffident, and Evie wonders what new demand Ange has made.

  ‘Spit it out,’ she says lightly.

  ‘Well, Ange was saying that it would be good to bring the girls down for half term.’

  Her eyebrows shoot up, partly in dismay and partly with amusement: Ange is really raising the stakes.

  ‘Really? Was she? Goodness. I can’t remember the last time she brought the girls to Dartmouth. Well, well.’

  ‘I know,’ he says miserably. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Evie. She’s just got this silly bee in her bonnet about Benj and I keep telling her that it’s none of our business but, well, you know what she’s like.’