‘Are you working?’ She nodded toward his laptop.
‘Trying. I’m not –’ he hesitated, then confessed, ‘My mind doesn’t seem to be very focused. I keep thinking about –’ It seemed like a weakness to say it.
Daisy finished for him, gently, ‘Thinking about your mother. It’s all right, Ben. It’s not bad to feel bad. We all mourn her, but you were a part of her. She made you, she loved you in a way no one else ever has or ever will.’
The lump in Ben’s chest felt like lead, heavy and poisonous.
‘You’ll always think about her. She’ll never leave you, but in time it won’t hurt and you’ll only remember the good times, not the times you argued or got cross with each other or said things to each other you didn’t mean to say.’
He stared at her. How did she know?
‘So what’s your deadline?’
His mind was drifting everywhere – to a row he’d had with his mother when they’d told him the family was moving to London; to how his father was coping and whether he should be finding strength from somewhere to give him more support; to the feature he was trying to write on an alternative therapy he’d been researching; to Daisy and her amazing intuition.
‘Ben? Deadline?’ She reached forward and took his hand in hers. He liked the feel of her hand. It was warm and small and very smooth. He curled his fingers round her palm.
‘Deadline? Yesterday, I think.’
‘And how’s it going?’
‘It’s not really going at all. I’ve done all the research, I just have to pull it together.’
‘You’ll do it though.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Ben. This is your job. Your livelihood. You can’t let it slip. You mustn’t. You have to separate the grief part of your life from the work part.’
‘Is that possible?’
She looked at him squarely. ‘Yes. I’ve done it. And if I can do it, you can too.’
He stared at her. How did he know what she’d been through? Dizzy Dais, with her sad, unrequited passion for Jack Hedderwick. He thought she’d been running away when she’d fled to Nice, but she must have understood that she was not fleeing, she was simply seeking a cure, because right now, in the face of his inexpressible weakness, she seemed to him like a tower of strength.
‘Can’t you?’ she repeated, giving the hand entwined with his a gentle shake.
His mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles. ‘I can try,’ he said.
Chapter Five
‘It’s like Four Weddings and a Funeral,’ Lizzie hissed as they stood, muffled in wool and sporting jaunty hats, waiting for the appearance of Sharon Eddy from the back of the church.
‘Shhh,’ whispered Daisy, though she was unable to resist smiling. It was all too true. First there had been Jack and Iris – she’d stumbled on that wedding quite by accident, but it had been real enough. Then there had been the grim occasion of Kath Gillies’s funeral, here in this very church just a few weeks ago. Last week Ruby Spence had married Arthur Herring in a small ceremony in the Town Hall. All the old crowd had been there – Sharon and Cosmo, in the throes of preparation for their own big day, Dishy Dave with a new girlfriend in tow, Chantelle, Murdoch Darling, as cynical as ever but looking far more relaxed, Jay, now on the ascendancy and with Amelia by his side – and Ben, of course.
He’d been reluctant to go. ‘I only knew her for a little while. And anyway ...’
‘You’re coming. I need you.’ Daisy said firmly. Since the visit to Ben’s house, when she’d taken her courage in both hands and risked a snub, she had taken on the role of prop and support for Ben. It was the most extraordinary turnabout. From earlier that year, when she’d been a dithering, forgetful, indecisive girl, lacking in confidence in her abilities and her attractiveness, she had gained some self assurance.
Not that it was all straightforward – she still had to decide her future. The job was waiting for her in Nice, but Madame Prenier wouldn’t hold it open indefinitely. She had days when the old, familiar panic returned. How would she break free from Laurel Lane? Having once made the decision to leave, how could she abandon her parents now?
With every question, though, there came either an answer or a feeling of optimism. She would leave Laurel Lane, and soon. Her mother would get stronger – without Daisy there, or Kath, she would build self reliance, because she would have to. As for a job, she had managed to support herself in the past, so she would do so again, end of story. It would happen.
Music struck up. Daisy turned her head and watched the entrance of the bride. Sharon, her face veiled, her train held by four pageboys, attended by six bridesmaids, leaned on her father’s arm and began the long walk to the altar. Daisy leaned over to Lizzie and whispered in her ear, ‘It will be Four Weddings when you and Dave get hitched.’
‘Piss off,’ Lizzie hissed back. But she looked pleased.
Weddings can be lavish but dull, conducted on a shoestring but joyous, they can be pretentious, or simple, or anything you want them to be. If she’d been asked to guess what kind of event the marriage of Sharon Eddy and Sir Cosmo Fleming would be, Daisy would have come down on the side of flamboyant – not because of Sir Cosmo, but because she would have put money on Sharon being unable to resist scale, gaudiness, and all the trimmings imaginable. But despite the numerous bridesmaids and pageboys (all cousins, nieces, great nieces or nephews, or other relatives on the Fleming side, apparently), the wedding turned out to be delightfully down to earth and Daisy was pleased to be proved wrong. Sharon had already submerged herself in Cosmo’s lifestyle and become more country gentry than the country gentry – right down to embracing shabby chic with fervour.
Fleming House stood in extensive parkland and although the house drained money and was in constant need of repair, it did boast a sizeable ballroom, which was where they now headed for the reception. When they reached the top of the chipped stone steps that led up to the thick double doors into the vaulted hallway, they joined the queue to meet the newlyweds. Sharon – now Lady Fleming – was luminous in ivory, her blonde hair swept up under the Fleming family tiara, her dress, Daisy learned later, a Chanel classic worn by Lady Fleming at her own wedding in 1957.
‘You look fab,’ Daisy said, leaning across acres of creamy lace to embrace Sharon’s nipped-in waist and kiss her glowing cheeks.
‘Thanks, Dais. Thanks for coming – after I … you know … I’m sorry.’ Sharon’s emerald green eyes were bright with tears. ‘Still friends?’ she asked tentatively as the queue built up behind them.
‘Of course,’ said Daisy, surprised.
‘Ain’t she lovely, my bride?’ Cosmo broke in, beaming, his face ruddy, his normally tousled brown hair gelled into submission. At his feet lay two of his Labradors, decorated for the occasion with cream beribboned collars. The third – Gem? – was nudging his way between Cosmo’s legs.
‘Very,’ Daisy agreed, hugging him.
‘Thank heaven the boy’s married someone at last,’ grunted Sir Cosmo’s indefatigable mother, resplendent in purple and leaning on a silver-topped cane.
‘You must be very proud,’ muttered Ben, following close behind Daisy.
‘Proud. Hah! At least the boy’s not gay. I’d begun to wonder,’ she declaimed in a loud voice as Cosmo’s face grew, if that were possible, even redder.
They escaped, trying to suppress their giggles. ‘Shar’s going to have her work cut out for her,’ said Ben as they lifted whisky and ginger ales from a tray offered by a youth Daisy recognised as one of the bar staff in The Duke of Atholl.
‘Bet you she’s got the old witch sussed,’ answered Daisy, hunting for something to eat. There were no posh canapés, though, just bowls of nuts and crisps to dig into, while instead of a string quartet, Daisy recognised a local folk group, looking distinctly not dressed to kill. She looked at Ben, Ben looked at her, and they both laughed.
Daisy hadn’t seen him smile for a month. The thinness of his face twisted something in her hea
rt and a longing to hug him overwhelmed her. She quelled it. She had probably used up all permissable hugs recently.
An hour and four whiskies later, the photographs were at last over. There was to be no banquet, it seemed. Instead, small pots of steaming hot shepherd’s pie appeared, with red plastic scoops.
‘Different,’ mused Daisy, tucking in.
‘Nursery food,’ said Ben. ‘Bet you Cossers chose this.’
‘Cost effective too,’ Daisy reflected uncharitably.
And then talking became impossible as the ceilidh band struck up and the dancing started. They watched from an alcove as kilts swayed and swung, attractively raffish. Ben leaned over and bawled something into her ear.
‘What?’ She cupped her hand and leaned closer to catch his words.
‘I said, do you want to get married?’
She looked at him, stunned. ‘Are you asking?’
He shook his head, then moved his mouth to within an inch of her head and shouted, ‘Nah. This isn’t for me. Not yet awhile anyway.’
‘Nor me,’ she shouted back. She meant it. The last thing she wanted was urban tedium. She’d just begun to discover that life could be exciting.
‘I thought all women dreamed of a big white wedding,’ he yelled.
She shook her head vehemently in denial. It was impossible to talk above the noise of the band and the whoops from the dancers. Behind them, a waiter was hovering at the entrance to the ballroom with another tray of small shepherd’s pies.
‘I’m ravenous, Diz,’ said Ben, spotting it, ‘How about you?’ Without waiting for an answer, he reached for the tray and lifted the whole thing out of the waiter’s hands. The boy stared after them, astonished as, shrieking with laughter, they scurried into the large orangery that led off the grand entrance hall and collapsed on some green-painted wicker furniture.
‘Here.’ Ben handed her another pot and scoop. She ate the small portion of shepherd’s pie, then reached for another. Breakfast had been many hours ago and she’d forgotten to eat at lunchtime. They chomped their way through a full quarter of the tray before the edge of their hunger was blunted and Ben put his hands on his stomach and sighed contentedly.
‘Full?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Just resting. Shit, I should’ve grabbed some drinks.’
‘There was a tray on the chest in the hall. I think the waiter abandoned it.’
‘Give me a sec, then, I’ll fetch.’
He returned seconds later with the whole tray. ‘Well spotted.’
‘Ben!’
‘What?’ He affected a look of innocence. ‘It’s a wedding, for heaven’s sake. We hung around for hours while all those bloody photos were taken, this is the least they can do for us. Cheers.’ He lifted a glass and toasted her. ‘To whisky and pies. And friends.’
‘Friends.’
They gazed at each other in silence. The music from the ballroom was distant enough to make talking possible. Daisy felt wonderfully at peace and stronger than she had ever felt in her life. That morning, she had told her mother that she was going back to France. Instead of provoking the dramatics she had anticipated, Janet had been understanding and even encouraging. ‘Go, Daisy love. You’re right. You have a life of your own to live. Your Dad and I will manage.’
Bizarrely, Kath’s death appeared to have unlocked something in Janet. Now that she didn’t have her friend to call on, perhaps she had realised that she had to find the strength to manage on her own. Even Eric, unusually subdued, had simply lifted Daisy’s hand to his lips and kissed it – and with that one simple signal he had unshackled his daughter. She had been wonderfully, miraculously released. She could go back to France and carry on with her new life.
In the half-light of the orangery, a row of tea lights had been placed on the low sill. They flickered softly in the draught from the door, throwing a dancing light onto Ben’s thin face as he closed his eyes and sat motionless. He was a picture of suffering and it came to Daisy, as it had so often over the past weeks, that she couldn’t bear to see it, that she longed to be able to mend him. She sat very still, using all the power of her mind to try to reach his. What was he thinking? Was there a space in his life for her or had she closed that door for ever? To be in charge of her own life meant so much to her, yet the thought of leaving him was like a sharp pain. In the half shadows of the room, she wrestled with her thoughts.
Ben broke the silence first. As the music crashed to a halt in the ballroom amid laughter and whoops and applause, he opened his eyes and said, ‘Couldn’t have got through the last couple of weeks without you, Diz.’ He looked down, obviously realised he was still clutching an empty pie pot, and tossed it onto the tray. ‘Thanks.’
She found words. ‘I’ve been glad to help,’ she said and wondered if he could possibly realise how much she meant it. The small space between them seemed like a million miles – and yet she had to reach out across the abyss and make him understand what she was only just beginning to understand herself.
Above them, tall ferns waved gently and the scent of lilies was strong in the air. Deep inside Daisy, something twisted and stilled and all her doubts resolved into a sharp focus of certainty. She had been terribly wrong. The feelings she had for him were not just feelings of friendship, nor were they an empty passion, not to be trusted. They were real and warm and loving, deeper and stronger than anything she had known or dreamt of.
Independence? What would that be worth if she didn’t have Ben in her life? Looking at his fatigued features, it felt as though she had loved him for ever. She clenched her hands into fists without being aware of it, her mouth twisting and working into a thousand different shapes.
‘You remember Nice,’ she said at last, her tentativeness like a crucifixion. Ben’s gaze was burning a hole in her soul. ‘About what you said –’
What do you call it when you hold the camera shutter open for a long time, letting the light in to reveal the tiniest specks of dust in the very darkest corners? Maximum exposure. That’s how I feel right now. I’ve opened the core of my being to maximum exposure and let you see the dust. Please tell me it’s been worth it.
‘Maximum exposure. That’s how you described it. I panicked, Ben.’ Her hands were still balled tight, but her voice had steadied. ‘All my life, it seemed to me, I had let myself be regulated by others. My father reined me in, managed me, undermined my sense of myself. Jack too, in a different way. I couldn’t let that happen again. I needed to feel that I had a life of my choice.’
Still he was watching her. Still he didn’t respond. She ploughed on. ‘And then it happened all over again. I allowed myself to be drawn back home. My duty –’ she grimaced at the word, ‘– my duty to my parents held me as tightly as ever.’
There was clapping and cheering. She remembered dimly that they were at a wedding – but the only reality was in this room, here, with Ben. She drew a deep breath. The only risk was not saying it.
‘I love you, Ben. I have for a long time. I just didn’t know it.’
She saw his head go back a fraction, but his face didn’t change. Had she made another mistake? She had to trust her judgement now.
‘These past weeks, you needed me. In the worst of all possible situations, the one good thing that came out of it – for me at least – was that I felt I was able to help you. I could give you strength. I was needed. I was an equal part of a relationship. I liked that feeling Ben. I’m sorry for the reason for it, but I liked the fact that you needed me.
‘Now I’ve stepped in front of the camera, if you like. I’m not hiding. I’ve just opened myself to maximum exposure too.’ She smiled at him, but she was trembling violently. ‘I love you, Ben. That’s the dust in my corners.’
In the distance, she could hear the music starting up for another dance. There were whoops as the first chord was struck. He-euch! Was he never going to say anything? Uncertainty crept into her mind. She hadn’t rehearsed this. She hadn’t planned anything. She had, quite simply
, shown how vulnerable she was, just as he had in Nice. She had rebuffed him then. Was he going to do the same to her now?
The amber eyes were unreadable. There was something in the depths of the gaze she couldn’t quite fathom. He was still protecting himself from all emotion. He wasn’t ready for this.
She started to stand. ‘I’m sorry—’
It was all she managed to say before she felt her hands being taken in his. She turned towards him. The veil in front of his eyes had cleared.
‘I’ve been thinking about Russia,’ he said, pulling her back down into her chair. She could feel the wicker digging roughly into the backs of her knees.
‘Russia?’
‘I’ve been offered another commission. More food, more farmers, more real people. I was going to turn it down, but I guess if I could persuade a photographer to come with me, I might consider it.’
‘A photographer?’
‘Well not any photographer, obviously. I’d pick a ditsy, adorable, infuriating one who is maybe just beginning to understand that loving someone doesn’t have to be serfdom.’
The dimness inside her skull cleared slowly and her lips began to curl into a soft smile. ‘Are you asking?’
‘I’m asking.’
They were two naked souls, soft, vulnerable, loving. The smile turned into a little laugh and she realised that her heart was pounding.
‘Then I’m coming to Russia with you.’
The kiss went on for ever. She felt his lips on hers, softly at first, then more warmly, more passionately, and so familiar that it felt as though this moment had happened a hundred sweet times before and would happen a thousand times more.
Maximum Exposure: The Heartlands Series Page 25