Treacherous Waters

by Treacherous Waters (retail) (epub)

  ‘We could go,’ Davie said excitedly. ‘Couldn’t we?’

  Richard nodded. ‘Yes, we could.’ He paused, his brow still furrowed in thought. ‘There’s a problem, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’d have to go during the summer holidays, of course. And that’s only a few weeks away. Unfortunately these things take a bit of arranging. If we could persuade Annie, I’d have to book a place for the car. Fairly soon. There would be all sorts of things to arrange – passports, tickets—’

  Davie glanced at him from beneath the long curling fringe of his eyelashes. ‘Couldn’t you… book it all first and persuade her later?’ he ventured hopefully. ‘Sort of… as a surprise for her?’ The suggestion was shamelessly less than artless and they both knew it.

  Richard frowned a little, thoughtfully.

  ‘If she knew it was booked, it might help her to make up her mind?’ the lad suggested helpfully.

  Still Richard said nothing.

  Davie contained himself, and waited.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Richard said, after a long moment. ‘But’ – he lifted a warning finger – ‘don’t get your hopes too high. I don’t want to disappoint you. It obviously depends on your mother.’

  ‘Shall I ask her?’ His voice was eager.

  Richard shook his head quickly. ‘No. Not right now. She’s got quite enough on her mind at the moment. Leave it to me, and to Charlie Draper. He says that an awful lot depends on her co-operation – on whether she really wants to be cured.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she does. She’s often said so.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. Just don’t say anything yet, all right?’

  ‘I promise.’ Davie said it in his best grown-up voice, but his eyes gleamed with a very boyish excitement.

  Richard stood up, walked over to him, ruffled his hair with a smile. ‘That’s my man. Now – why don’t you thrash me at chess again? Or at least give me a chance to get my own back?’

  Davie eyed him a little suspiciously. ‘You didn’t let me win last time, did you?’

  ‘Of course not. Why would I do that?’ Richard pulled him to his feet and put an arm about his shoulders. ‘That’s hardly the sort of thing a good father would do, is it?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No.’ Davie shook his head, his face shining with happiness. ‘Not a really good one.’

  Richard grinned. ‘At least I’m on the right track, then?’

  The boy’s eyes were suddenly solemn. ‘I think you’re going to be the best father anyone ever had,’ he said stoutly.

  Richard caught a sharp breath and drew the boy to him for a moment. But he said nothing.

  Even though he was satisfactorily late to bed that night Davie found it hard to sleep, though it was neither the thought of the following day’s ceremony nor the until now much-anticipated prospect of grown-up lunch at the Savoy that kept him awake. Despite Richard’s cautions the suggestion, however vague, that they might drive to Paris had fired his boyish imagination and roused an excitement that no amount of down-to-earth common sense could quell. It would be an adventure of the finest order. Surely – surely! – his mother would see that? So rarely did she refuse him anything that by the time sleep finally did claim him he had all but convinced himself that the only decision to be taken was when they would go. When Richard came to look in on him before going to bed himself the boy lay with arms outflung, long fair lashes curling against the still-childish smooth roundness of his rosy cheeks, a faint smile curving his mouth.

  Richard stood for a long time looking down at the sleeping child before very gently brushing the tousled hair from his forehead and bending to kiss him. Davie stirred, muttered, settled. Richard went to the door, stood for a moment longer watching him before quietly leaving the room.

  * * *

  ‘Do I look all right?’ Annie asked nervously for at least the dozenth time.

  ‘Darling, you look gorgeous.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  Smiling, Jane glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Five minutes later than it was when you last asked.’

  ‘Oh – I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have got ready so early.’ Annie prowled restlessly about the room, stopped to look in the mirror, made an infinitesimal adjustment to her wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘You can sit down, you know,’ her mother pointed out.

  ‘I don’t like to. I don’t want to arrive all creased.’

  ‘Are you planning to stand up in the car?’ Jane asked innocently. She checked her own appearance in the mirror, smoothed the neatly coiled bun of her hair, adjusted the fox fur that was draped around her shoulders.

  Annie giggled. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She came up behind her mother and their eyes met in the mirror. ‘You look awfully nice,’ she said sincerely. ‘That colour suits you so well.’

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ Jane smoothed the flared skirt of her emerald-green suit, smiled reassuringly at her daughter’s reflection. ‘Soon be over,’ she said.

  Annie turned and wandered to the window. ‘It’s all happened so quickly that it seems rather like a dream,’ she said slowly. ‘I honestly thought that being swept off your feet only happened to dotty heroines in romantic novels. I do hope—’ She stopped abruptly. Behind her she heard the chink of glass and she turned to find her mother holding two glasses. Jane grinned and offered her one. ‘Just a splash,’ she said. ‘Dutch courage. You can always suck a peppermint in the car.’

  Annie took the glass, tossed back the contents in one swallow and promptly choked. By the time that emergency had been taken care of, the wedding car had arrived and it was time to go.

  * * *

  ‘Gosh, Mother, don’t you look swagger!’ Davie’s eyes were wide with what Annie thought could only be regarded as unflattering surprise.

  ‘Well, don’t sound so astonished,’ she said in a mildly injured tone, replying to her son but with her eyes on Richard, handsome as she had ever seen him in morning suit and grey top hat, a cream rose that matched her own bouquet in his buttonhole. The sight of him steadied nerves that had threatened to overwhelm her. She smiled a little shakily, looked at the man who stood by his side.

  ‘Annie, darling, you look wonderful.’ Richard doffed his hat, bent a little carefully, dodging her hat brim to kiss her, then straightened and turned. ‘I’d like you to meet Joshua Foster. He’s a very old friend of mine. An art dealer. He’s very kindly agreed to be my witness.’

  Annie shook hands with the rather patrician-looking Mr Foster. ‘How do you do?’ She glanced back at Richard enquiringly. Had he not said that his doctor friend was to be his witness? She was certain that he had.

  Richard caught her glance, sent her the shadow of a wink and shook his head very slightly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘seems we’re all present and correct.’ He grinned at Annie. ‘Shall we go and take the plunge?’

  The ceremony was short and simple. So quickly did it seem to go that Annie found herself wondering a little bemusedly how such a momentous change could take place in such a short time. In Paris the ceremony had seemed interminable, and even when she married Charles there had been friends and relatives and church blessings and photographs – what had in fact felt like a whole day of to-ing and fro-ing. Now, in what seemed to be the twinkling of an eye she found herself ensconced comfortably in the back of a taxi, Richard’s hand in hers, the bright gold ring gleaming on her finger. ‘Are we really married?’ she asked in not wholly assumed astonishment.

  Smiling, he ducked under her hat again and kissed her. ‘Indeed we are, Mrs Ross. Were you nervous?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you nervous now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. I’d hate you not to enjoy your lunch. I have to tell you, by the way, that Davie was planning what he was going to eat over the breakfast table. He intends to make the most of it.’

  She laughed, turned her head to look at the following taxi that held their guests. ‘That reminds me… didn’t you say that your doctor friend �
�� what was his name? – was going to be your witness?’

  ‘Draper. Charlie Draper. Yes, he was, but unfortunately a crisis blew up – he has a very classy practice, his patients are of the kind who think that everyone, even an eminent psychiatrist, should be at their beck and call – so he had to pull out. He sends his abject apologies. Thanks for not mentioning it when I introduced Joshua. I didn’t want him to think that he was second choice, that’s all.’

  She snuggled close to him. ‘Do you know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re a very nice man.’

  ‘I do my best,’ he said modestly.

  * * *

  Joshua Foster, his sober and even somewhat supercilious appearance notwithstanding, turned out to be unexpectedly good company. He quickly discovered Davie’s artistic ambitions and charmed the boy with a series of wicked – not to say scurrilous – anecdotes about the foibles and pretensions of some of the artists with whom he dealt. He won Jane’s heart entirely by waxing lyrical about her much-loved east coast, which he clearly knew well, and wondered aloud, wittily and often, whatever hidden qualities his friend Richard might possess that he had managed to capture such an enchanting bride. The food was excellent, the Champagne cool, crisp and plentiful, the service attentive. More than once Annie found herself wondering if she had not wandered into an especially luxurious and self-indulgent version of Alice’s Wonderland.

  Davie it was who brought the celebrations to an end. In the middle of the afternoon, having eaten everything that had been put in front of him and partaken of far too much Champagne, he suddenly lost interest in the proceedings, put his head on the table, closed his eyes and was sound asleep in a moment.

  ‘Davie!’ Annie was mortified.

  Joshua Foster laughed and touched the boy’s shoulder gently. ‘You’ll have to develop a better head than that if you mean to be an artist, young feller-me-lad.’

  Davie stirred. Briskly Jane poured a glass of water. ‘Come on, Davie. Up you get.’

  Davie sat up abruptly. ‘What’s up?’

  His grandmother put the glass of water firmly in front of him. ‘Drink that, my dear. All of it.’

  A hovering waiter smothered a smile, his eyes sympathetic.

  ‘Time for a bit of air, I think,’ Jane said. ‘Richard, thank you for a quite superb lunch. We really should go.’

  ‘A stroll along the Embankment, perhaps?’ Joshua Foster suggested. ‘That’ll bring the young man to his senses, I should think. I’d be honoured to accompany you, dear lady.’

  ‘But—’ Annie was looking anxiously from one to the other.

  Her mother patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, darling. He’s all right.’ She smiled at Joshua Foster. ‘And thank you, we’d be delighted with your company.’ As she stood up, a positive army of waiters sprang to draw back chairs and assist the party to rise, hurrying off for coats and wraps. Within moments Annie found herself in the large, elegant foyer making her farewells.

  Davie, chin firm, flung his arms about her. ‘Bye, Mother. Have a lovely time.’

  She hugged him tightly to her. ‘It will only be for a week or so,’ she said very softly, and then coloured as she saw from the small affectionate rise of Richard’s eyebrow that he had heard her.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ Davie said reassuringly, though there was a suspiciously damp look about his dark eyes. ‘Nan and I will have a really good time.’

  ‘That we will.’ Jane kissed Annie crisply, turned to plant a kiss on Richard’s cheek. ‘You two have the most lovely honeymoon.’ She took Davie’s hand. ‘Air,’ she said firmly.

  Joshua Foster bowed over Annie’s hand, shook Richard’s firmly. ‘What an extraordinary woman,’ he said appreciatively, mischievously leaving it to his listeners to decide to which woman he was referring.

  ‘I like him,’ Annie said as they watched the others through the huge revolving doors that led out onto the Strand.

  Richard turned her to face him. ‘And I like you,’ he said. ‘Now – one more bottle of Champagne here? Or a bath and a rest upstairs?’ He smiled. ‘There’s dining and dancing this evening, remember.’

  ‘Richard! I couldn’t possibly eat or drink any more today!’

  This time his smile was deliberately and lazily suggestive. ‘Sounds as if, like Davie, you need some exercise, Mrs Ross? But not on the Embankment, do you think? I’m sure we can think of something more… imaginative?’ He took her hand. ‘If we want to look at the river,’ he added innocently, ‘there’s a very good view of it from the window of our room.’

  * * *

  ‘Tired?’ Richard asked.

  Annie smiled sleepily and yawned again, snuggling into the comfortable leather car seat. ‘I am a bit, yes.’

  ‘Not surprising.’ Richard slowed the car a little, steering it one-handed as he reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. ‘We’ve been going since six this morning and yesterday was a very busy day.’

  Annie smiled at him. ‘To say nothing of not getting to bed until two o’clock—’

  ‘—and not getting to sleep until a good deal later.’

  Annie blushed a little, turned to look out of the window. The flat road stretched ahead of them, the wide Wiltshire plain reaching from horizon to horizon. ‘Am I allowed to know where we’re going yet?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Is it much further?’

  He laughed. ‘You sound like Davie. Yes, of course I’ll tell you. We’re going to Cornwall. To a little fishing village called Tregeeth, not far from Helston. It’s very quiet and very beautiful. Do you know Cornwall at all?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never been there, though I’ve always wanted to.’

  ‘Then you’ve a treat in store. My sister and I used to go every year with our parents. It’s a magical place. Cliffs and coves and tiny sandy beaches…’

  ‘I’ve seen pictures.’ Despite her effort not to, she yawned again.

  He lit his cigarette, glanced at her, smiling. ‘Why don’t you try to have a little snooze? We’ve a long way to go yet.’

  * * *

  ‘There,’ Richard said several hours later, rolling the car to a halt on the narrow clifftop road. ‘What do you think of it?’

  Annie looked down at the tiny harbour beneath them and clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Oh, Richard! It’s lovely!’

  The road dropped steeply away, zigzagging down the cliff to a sheltered little cove in which, along the narrow banks of a tumbling stream, nestled a cluster of white-painted cottages. Several small fishing boats were drawn up on the sandy beach, and nets were spread upon the harbour wall to dry. Through the open car windows Annie could hear the sound of the restless sea as it creamed and curled about the rocks, and surged, foaming, across the flat, golden sand. There was the smell of seaweed in the air. She scrambled out of the car. The soft breeze was warm; the sun, low in the sky behind them, danced on the moving waters. Seabirds wheeled in a sky of cobalt blue. ‘It’s idyllic,’ she said, as Richard climbed a little stiffly from the car to join her. ‘Absolutely idyllic. Like a picture postcard.’

  Smiling at her enthusiasm, Richard pointed: ‘That’s where we’re going to be staying. See? The long thatched place next to the harbour. It’s an inn called the Ship. It isn’t the Savoy’ – he flashed her a laughing glance – ‘but it ought to be fairly comfortable.’

  She slid her arm through his. ‘I’m sure it’s going to be perfectly wonderful,’ she said confidently. ‘The very place to begin living happily ever after. Wouldn’t you say?’

  She tilted her head back, shutting her eyes against the glimmer of sun on water.

  Her husband kissed her. ‘I certainly would,’ he agreed.

  The landlady of the Ship was a plump, motherly woman called Mary Tregowan, who greeted them as if they were long-lost family. Indeed, since she remembered Richard from his childhood visits, it seemed that they almost qualified as such. ‘My father was running the place then,’ she informed Annie, in her rich Cornish acc
ent. ‘Afore the war it was, of course. And Mr Ross here and his family always used to take Polrun House, up there on the cliffs, for a month in the summer. Isn’t that right, Mr Ross?’ She puffed her way up the narrow staircase.

  ‘It certainly is. It was the highlight of our lives. My sister Dolly and I used to run completely wild – swimming, fishing, picnicking on the cliffs. For a couple of town children like us, it was absolute bliss.’

  ‘There.’ Mrs Tregowan pushed open a door, stood back for them to pass. ‘I do hope it’ll suit.’ She sounded a little anxious. ‘’Tis all we have that’s big enough—’

  ‘It’s delightful!’ Annie ran to one of the two little dormer windows that peeped out from the thatch. ‘Richard – look – what a lovely view! Right across the bay!’ She turned and surveyed the room. It was large, clean and very simply furnished; the pillows and bedspread on the huge bed were crisp white cotton, the bunch of bright cabbage roses in a vase on the table matched those that twined across the wallpaper. A large china jug and bowl, also rose-covered, stood upon the washstand.

  Mary Tregowan beamed. ‘I’ll send Tom up with your cases, then, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘And I daresay you could do with a jug of warm water, to freshen up with?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Annie said. ‘Thank you.’ As the landlady left the room she turned to Richard and threw her arms about him. ‘Oh, Richard, this is perfect!’

  ‘You are sure? It isn’t too’ – he glanced around, grinned a little at the glimpse of a chamber pot under the bed – ‘primitive for you?’

  ‘Of course not! I love it.’ She took off her hat and tossed it onto the bed. ‘Come on, let’s get changed and take a walk round the harbour. I want to see everything, absolutely everything.’

  * * *