Treacherous Waters

by Treacherous Waters (retail) (epub)

  Later, as they were sorting through the boy’s finds, Richard said casually, ‘Do you know, I don’t know when your birthday is?’

  Davie, intent upon a tiny crab that was rather more lively than the pebbles and shells with which it shared the bucket, did not look up. ‘It’s in March. Do you think Mother would let me take this little crab home? I could keep it in a bowl or something.’

  Richard pretended to give the matter some thought. Then, ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m fairly sure not. And it wouldn’t be very fair to the poor little chap, would it?’

  ‘No, I s’pose not.’ Reluctantly Davie picked up the fragile thing and set it carefully on the sand.

  ‘How old were you? On your birthday?’

  This time the child did look up, with one of those wide, flashing smiles that were so characteristic of him. ‘Ten. That’s quite big, isn’t it? I’ll be going to upper school next term.’

  ‘Ten! My, my! That’s a pretty important birthday, eh? Starting on your second decade. It’s a shame I wasn’t around then. I’ll tell you what, seeing as how we’re family now’ – Richard winked at him – ‘how about a special treat, a belated birthday present and a big thank you for letting me marry your mother? How does that sound?’

  ‘Can you think of one?’ Davie asked eagerly, his attention caught.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I will. Leave it to me. Though I say it myself, I’m good at surprises.’ Richard stood up. ‘Hello, there’s the Wall’s man. Fancy an ice cream?’

  ‘Yes, please. Hey – I read some of that book you lent me before I went to bed last night. It’s a corker, isn’t it? I couldn’t work out – was the car like yours?’

  From the window of Davie’s room Annie watched as the tall, rangy man and the long-legged boy scrunched up the beach towards the ice-cream man. The sun was very bright; she closed her eyes against it, feeling fragile and out of sorts. She had not expected the dream last night; indeed it had been the last thing she had anticipated. Nor had she expected to find herself jumping awake here in this room, beside the soundly sleeping Davie’s bed, disorientated and trembling with fear. It had been such a wonderful evening. She had been so happy. Last night the world had seemed a perfect place. So why the dream? Why the terror? Would she never be free of it?

  In the shifting, haunted darkness behind her eyelids two faces swam, a current swirled, and hair drifted like seaweed.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the whole of the next week it seemed to Annie that her feet barely touched the floor. A telegram to Jane brought her mother up to London by Tuesday, to help with the preparations and, as Jane herself readily and breezily admitted, to go into her interfering old bat routine with regard to what the bride should wear – about which she had some very firm opinions. She also quietly and efficiently took over the running of the household, coped with a Davie who was so excited he could barely keep his fingers out of anything, and remembered things like wedding cakes, cars and flowers. No matter how small the wedding, in Jane’s opinion it should be a day to remember, and for the right reasons rather than the wrong ones.

  ‘We must find the outfit as soon as possible,’ she announced to Annie over breakfast on the Wednesday morning.

  Annie, smiling inwardly at the ‘we’, to say nothing of the capital letters that she found herself mentally envisaging in that sentence, nodded.

  Jane munched toast and marmalade thoughtfully. ‘Harrods, do you think?’ she asked. ‘Or Debenham and Freebody? I did hear that Selfridges is very good this year? But no – Harrods, I think.’ The words were firm.

  Annie pursed her lips doubtfully. ‘Harrods is very expensive,’ she ventured.

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, child.’ Jane mounted her motherly high horse and dismissed that out of hand. ‘Richard will expect you to look your very best.’

  ‘Mother, it’s a wedding, not a bathing belle contest,’ her daughter objected with mild asperity.

  Jane raised a brow.

  Annie laughed. ‘All right. We’ll try Harrods first. But I mean it. I’m not spending a fortune on something I’ll probably hardly ever wear again.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Jane said smugly.

  And a couple of days later, as she had guessed, smug she could afford to be, Annie having fallen head over heels in love with a sumptuous cream- and coffee-coloured silk outfit with a matching hat and a price tag to freeze the blood.

  ‘It looks just wonderful, darling,’ Jane beamed. ‘It’s exactly right.’

  Annie surveyed herself in the huge mirror a little worriedly. Her mother was right: the dress might have been made for her, and for the occasion. A wide boat neck with a coffee-coloured collar set off her shoulders perfectly. The slim-fitting sleeves belled slightly at the wrists, the cuffs, too, bound in coffee silk. A wide sash of the same colour settled with artful neatness about her hips, and the fashionable knee-length skirt was as short as decency would allow. The pale coffee hat was wide brimmed and decked with cream silk ribbon and cream roses.

  Jane clapped her hands together delightedly. ‘Cream roses,’ she said firmly. ‘Of course. Cream roses to match the hat, with lots of trailing foliage. A perfect summer bouquet.’

  ‘It is awfully expensive,’ Annie observed, doubtfully.

  The black-clad shop assistant, hands clasped dutifully before her, ignored the last words completely and nodded approvingly. ‘If I may say so, the outfit suits Madam very well indeed. Might I suggest that I send for someone from the footwear department to wait upon Madam? It’s so very difficult to visualise the whole effect without the right accessories—’

  In the end of course she bought not only the dress, hat, shoes, bag and gloves, but pale silken underwear as well. Travelling home in a taxicab full of beautifully and expensively wrapped boxes and parcels, she looked at her mother, half-laughing, half-accusing. ‘Fancy letting me do that!’ she said, her indignation only partly assumed. ‘I thought you were supposed to be the practical one in this family! You just wait. I’m coming with you when you go to buy your hat, and I’m going to make sure you get the most expensive one in the shop!’

  Jane leaned forward and touched her hand, smiling. ‘The outfit is my wedding present to you, my dear. I didn’t say anything before, because I knew you wouldn’t spend that kind of money if you thought I was paying. You have your home, you have your pretty things. There’s nothing you need—’

  ‘Mother – you can’t!’

  ‘Indeed I can.’ Jane was collected. ‘Now – we have to think about Davie. I was wondering – he is very tall for his age – do you think we might allow him his first long trousers?’

  Annie saw little of Richard that first week until the Saturday evening, when, leaving Jane and Davie at home in Kew, he took her out to dinner, to draw breath and to compare notes. They went to a quiet restaurant in Chelsea. ‘I’ve asked Charlie Draper to be my witness. He’s a good friend, as is his wife Katrina.’ He glanced up at her over the rim of his wine glass. ‘He’s the doctor I mentioned, do you remember? The one I thought might be able to help you?’

  She opened her mouth to speak and he held up his hand, laughing.

  ‘That is not why I’ve asked him! He won’t be holding a consultation on the steps of the Register Office, I promise. As I say – he’s a very good friend. He’s been dying to meet you. They both have.’ He grinned again. ‘Especially Katrina. Any professional contact will be made through the proper channels later. But only if you want to. I thought it might be best for you to meet socially first. Now – the telephone will be connected whilst we’re away—’ Annie pulled a small face, and Richard laughed. ‘I know you don’t like them, but I do need to be in contact with the office and if we’re going to be spending a good deal of time at Kew—’

  ‘Yes, I know. There’s no need for me to use it if I don’t want to, is there?’

  ‘My darling,’ he said, amused, ‘I give you a month – no, a fortnight – before you’re on the thing all day long. The honeymoon is booked, as is lunch at t
he Savoy for the wedding day, and a room for us for the night. I pick up the special licence on Monday.’ He paused, thinking.

  ‘What sort of clothes should I pack?’

  He smiled. ‘Are you angling?’

  ‘Not at all!’ She was indignant. ‘I was just wondering.’

  He waved an expansive hand. ‘Anything you like. If you can’t get it in a case, there’s the whole of the back seat of the Wolseley free. Now; your turn.’

  They returned to the Kew house to find Jane nodding in an armchair, an open book on her lap. ‘Richard, my dear.’ She came to her feet, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘How are you standing up to all of this rush?’

  ‘Very well. Thank you so much for coming to help.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. Well’ – she stood, as though considering, her head on one side – ‘apart from tonight, that is.’

  ‘What?’ Annie’s eyes were wide with concern. ‘Davie? Has he been naughty?’

  ‘No, no. Far from it. He’s been reading to me.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘All evening!’

  Richard had begun to laugh. ‘By Car to India?’ he suggested.

  ‘Quite.’ Jane was tart. ‘The sainted and dauntless Major Forbes-Leith and his tedious machine en route through thick, thin and just about everything in between, to the subcontinent.’ She pointed a caustic finger. ‘I hold you entirely responsible, Richard, and consider that the least you can do is to ensure a constant stream of Champagne at the wedding lunch.’

  ‘Done,’ he said, grinning. ‘You shall have your very own bottle!’

  ‘There’s no need to go to extremes,’ she said primly, her eyes gleaming with laughter. ‘Did you know that wretched man covered two hundred and forty-nine miles over railway sleepers when he ran out of road?’

  ‘Did you count them, one by one?’

  ‘It feels so. Annie – what about a nightcap? I don’t know about Richard, but I could certainly do with one.’

  Annie regarded her mother with solemn eyes. ‘Ovaltine?’ she suggested.

  ‘Whisky for me, thank you.’ Jane was unperturbed. ‘Though Richard might like the Ovaltine,’ she added helpfully.

  Later, as they stood at the door, Richard gathered Annie into his arms and kissed her, very gently. ‘This time next week,’ he spoke quietly into her hair, ‘we’ll be man and wife. And setting out to live happily ever after.’

  She leaned back to look at him. It was a sultry night; the air hung heavily and the sky was dark and starless. ‘We really will, won’t we? Live happily ever after?’

  His arms tightened. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. Then after a moment he added quietly, ‘Annie?’

  ‘Hmm?’ She was standing sleepily in the circle of his arms, her head on his chest.

  ‘Will you promise me something?’

  She had nodded, smiling, before the sudden intensity in his voice registered. Again she lifted her head to look at him. ‘What is it?’

  He hesitated. ‘Whatever happens. Anything. You will believe that I love you, won’t you?’

  She shook her head slightly. ‘I don’t understand. What’s going to happen?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing. I’m not saying—’ He stopped, caught her close again. ‘I just want you to know that I love you.’ The words were very quiet.

  She laughed a little. ‘Why, of course you do. Why else would you be marrying me? Lord knows I’m not that much of a catch!’

  This time the tightening of his arms took her breath away. ‘So long as you know.’

  ‘I know.’ And even at that moment she was surprised at the certainty of her own feeling. She did know. It must be so. Or the world would end.

  With a finger under her chin he tilted her head and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘This time next week. A brand-new start. For both of us. Oh – and the honeymoon?’

  ‘Yes?’

  The odd tension seemed suddenly to have left him. He grinned that boyish grin, hazel eyes crinkling and glinting gold in the light of the street lamp. ‘Bring your paddling sandals. And your sun hat. Oh, and your walking boots – don’t forget your walking boots.’

  She watched him drive away, stood for a long time leaning against the door jamb, unwilling to close the door against the slightest breath of air that stirred in the night street. Next week. A brand-new start. For both of us.

  She had to tell him. The thought came from nowhere and shook her to her soul. Then she lifted her head sharply. She couldn’t tell him. There was no need. The secret had been hers for so long…

  A brand-new start. For both of us. How did secrets fit into that?

  She stood quite still, biting her lip, carefully examining the chasm that was suddenly opening before her.

  Then she shook her head and, suddenly tired, closed the door against the sultry night and climbed the stairs to bed.

  In the bedroom her wedding outfit was hanging on the wardrobe, the material gleaming softly in the lamplight; it really was quite the most exquisite dress she had ever owned. She put out a hand and touched it gently with her finger. The silk was heavy and smooth, the colour of clotted cream. She drew it to her face, looked in the mirror. Her mother was right, the colour suited her beautifully.

  She had worn white when she married Philippe. A hastily acquired dress that had not fitted her well – there had been no time in those last precious, pre-war days to have it altered. Her lace veil, delicate and fragile as a cobweb, had belonged to Philippe’s grandmother. Philippe – tall, golden-haired, his face bright with love as she joined him at the altar – had looked, even to her eyes, very young. That had been just ten days before war was declared and the world had descended to horror, brutality and death.

  She sometimes thought it had been the worst day of her life.

  Thunder rolled distantly.

  A new start. Brand new. Clean. Oh yes, that, indeed, was what she needed.

  As she slowly undressed and slipped on her satin nightdress, she did not bother to wipe away the tears that all at once were sliding soundlessly down her cheeks.

  * * *

  ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. How are we doing on that?’ Jane asked next day over the breakfast table. The morning had brought no freshness to the weather: the clouds still hung low, the morning was airless.

  ‘Hadn’t thought about it.’ Annie was at the sink, filling the kettle. Her voice was distracted, almost irritable. She had not slept well.

  ‘You could borrow my pearls, if you’d like. They suit you well, and would go beautifully with the outfit.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Her mother glanced at her sharply. ‘Annie? Is something wrong?’

  Annie almost jumped. ‘No. No. Of course not. I’m quite all right.’ She tried to focus her whole attention on what her mother was saying, but could not. During a sticky, sleepless night her courage had ebbed and flowed as violently as a spring tide. What had seemed right one moment had appeared totally wrong the next. The morning had brought no answers.

  ‘What about something old?’

  ‘I’ll wear my sapphire ring. That’s old, and it’s blue. It’ll do for both.’ The words were absent.

  ‘Perfect.’ Jane’s gaze was still on her, sharp and faintly puzzled.

  Annie put the kettle on the gas ring and stood watching it with troubled eyes. Beyond the open back door the storm clouds gathered and billowed in the sky.

  * * *

  She stood outside the tall, elegant house and looked up uncertainly at the second-floor windows. Perhaps she had got the wrong address? And even if she hadn’t, Richard probably wasn’t in. If he were not, then the gods would have intervened. It would be a sign. She would go home, and leave it at that. If he were…? She drew a deep breath. The pretty, narrow street with its tall, elegant buildings and heavy-leafed trees was sunk in a warm, Sunday quiet. Thunder rolled over the Heath. The air was very still. A middle-aged woman in a light, flowery dress and fashionable straw hat came out of
the door and walked down the steps, a tiny dog, little more than a bundle of silken fluff, tucked under her arm. She looked at Annie with undisguised, even slightly disapproving curiosity. ‘Good afternoon.’ There was faint enquiry in her voice.

  ‘Good afternoon. Please – could you tell me if Mr Ross lives here? Mr Richard Ross?’

  ‘Indeed he does. His apartment is on the second floor.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Annie was finding it strangely difficult to breathe in the oppressive atmosphere. She felt the woman’s eyes upon her as she mounted the steps and entered the hallway. It was cool, and gloomy. Polished wood shone and a long mirror glimmered in the shadows. A wide, curved staircase led up to an equally dim-lit landing. Annie took a deep breath and began to climb it.

  Richard’s door was at the far end of the landing; his name was on the small brass-mounted card beside the knocker.

  For one last second she hesitated. And then she knocked.

  For a long moment nothing happened. Her heart calmed; he wasn’t there. She was about to turn away when the door opened.

  ‘Annie!’ His face lit with surprise and pleasure. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ And then, in sudden dawning concern, ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘I—’ She stopped, her courage failing her at the last moment. ‘No. Of course not. Mother’s taken Davie out for the afternoon. I… it’s silly, but I just wanted to see you. I was’ – she hesitated – ‘I was lonely.’ Her eyes held his. ‘I’ve never been lonely before. Never. See what you’ve done to me? I always used to enjoy being alone. Now…’ She shrugged, did not finish the sentence. ‘Anyway,’ she added, smiling hesitantly, ‘I decided it was time to come and find your lair.’

  His own smile was gentle. ‘To beard me in my den?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He stepped back, laughing. ‘Welcome to Bluebeard’s Castle!’ He was wearing slacks and an open-necked shirt, the sleeves rolled up in the heat. As always the sight of his smile, the look in his eyes all but stopped her heart. She didn’t have to tell him. The thought was almost defiant. What had past secrets to do with present happiness?