‘No, honestly.’ It was her turn to look distressed. ‘Don’t give it a thought.’
‘If you say so.’ He smiled at her. ‘Look, I’ve had an idea. It’s nearly lunchtime. Perhaps I could take you out and buy you a drink and you could give me a contact number and I’ll give you the leaflets. Please,’ he said pleadingly as she hesitated. ‘Then I know you’ve really forgiven me.’
‘Honestly … OK.’ She gave in. ‘But I mustn’t be too long. We could go to the Pack Horse in South Brent and have a sandwich.’
‘Wonderful.’ He looked so pleased that she felt flattered. ‘I’ll wait in the car while you lock up.’
Tessa called the dogs inside and, dragging off her thick socks, slid her feet into her trainers. As she laced them up she found that she was thinking about Giles and their lunch together at the Elephant’s Nest. He was so nice … She grimaced a little at the word. He had made her laugh about his job as a photographer and had listened in turn— and with a concentration she was unused to—as she recounted some of the more amusing moments of her work. She remembered how he’d listened to her at the Roundhouse and how, hardly knowing him, she’d talked to him so openly. She wondered if it might be because he was so much older, or because she felt she already knew him through Kate. She had arranged to see him again when she was next in London … Tessa dragged her thoughts away from Giles, locked the back door and hurried out to where Adrian waited patiently for her in his car.
‘THE THING IS …’ SAID Giles. He paused and Kate braced herself, knowing that these words generally prefaced a confidence. ‘The thing is—I didn’t want to rush it.’
Kate and David studiously avoided meeting each other’s eye. They had been having supper at the London house when Giles had arrived. He had sat with them, drinking wine while they ate and now, with supper cleared away, the moment for which Kate and David had been waiting had arrived. Even as a child it had taken Giles some time to come to the point. ‘But he’s more open than Guy,’ Kate had once told David. ‘Guy never tells me anything at all.’ Giles thought things through carefully and rarely did anything on the spur of the moment. He was not over-confident but he was kind and sensitive to the needs of others.
‘Well.’ David cleared his throat as the silence lengthened interminably. ‘I wouldn’t say that two meetings in three months is absolutely rushing it, old boy. No need to fear that.’
Kate who, in her anxiety had drunk too much wine, knew an urge to giggle hysterically. She made a strange noise—a cross between a groan and a scream—and David glanced quellingly at her.
‘That’s true.’ Giles swirled his glass of whisky thoughtfully. ‘I was just wondering whether … I can’t decide … If she’s down there with Felix …’
‘Giles!’ said Kate sharply. ‘Come to the point!’
‘Sorry.’ He looked guiltily at her. ‘I was wondering if I might just pop down to see her. You know. Just for the day or something.’
‘Wonderful idea,’ said David easily. ‘Poor girl must get terribly lonely with only old Felix to keep her company. I should go … if I were you.’
‘Would you?’ Giles looked at him eagerly. ‘You don’t think she’ll wonder if I’m … well, pushing it a bit?’
Kate clutched her glass tightly and closed her eyes for a moment. She took several deep breaths lest she should scream with frustration. David smiled quickly at Giles.
‘Shouldn’t think so for a moment.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head as though giving the matter serious thought. ‘After all, it’s your home, isn’t it? No reason why you shouldn’t be there.’
‘It might be embarrassing for her. That’s what I was wondering. There on her own. As if I’m hoping that …’ He took a quick gulp at his whisky. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’
‘Perhaps she might like it,’ said Kate. Both men stared at her. She stared back at them. ‘Don’t look at me as if I’m some kind of pervert,’ she said crossly. ‘Do you know what I think, Giles? I think you should go down to Devon and tell Tessa exactly how you feel. Just do it! Stop pussyfooting about! Stop trying to find the answers before she’s even thought of the questions. Stop wondering if she might be offended or shocked. Just go down and … and do it!’
Giles looked at her with an expression of such hope and excitement that Kate felt a great surge of love for him—followed by a pang of guilt. Was it because of her unhappy marriage and subsequent divorce that her sons were both so chary of relationships with women? They seemed so afraid of committing themselves—but could she blame them? They’d witnessed at first-hand a disintegrating and unhappy situation; was it so surprising that they were unwilling to take the risk? She knew that it was the girl who had taken the initiative in Giles’s first relationship and she had seen how he had been prepared to be miserable rather than break it up. She guessed that if he finally committed himself to Tessa, he would remain loyal whatever happened. No wonder that he wanted to be certain that it was absolutely right. He was unable to enjoy casual sex. In a rare moment of confidence he had once told her that for him sex, without love, was no good. She respected him for it and was relieved, too, in these dangerous days but she wished that he could find love and be loved in return. He had a good many friends of both sexes but she suspected that he was often lonely. Had her own mistakes put happiness out of court for him?
She smiled at him, wondering if it were possible to pass through life without feeling continually guilty. It corroded and destroyed and prevented her from seeing clearly; she overreacted in an attempt to compensate. She knew that her guilt would encourage her to sympathise with Giles; it made her afraid to be tough with him lest she spurred him on to actions which he would regret or which would hurt him—leaving her with more guilt. Deliberately she hardened her heart, remembering her instinctive reaction to the sight of Giles and Tessa together at the Roundhouse. She must not allow him to dither.
‘Honestly, Giles,’ she said quietly, ‘I really think you should go. I think that you know in your own heart how you feel about her. Tessa may be young but she’s grown up in a hard school. There’s nothing precious or silly about her. She’ll be honest with you, either way. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.’
He stared at her, impressed by her serious tone, feeling his fears sliding away. He knew that he tried to cross too many bridges, to make certain that no one would be hurt, to legislate for every eventuality. Usually his relationships sank beneath all these anxieties before they ever got launched and usually it really didn’t matter too much. He had been surprised—and rather frightened—at just how much Tessa mattered.
‘You’re right,’ he said, with so much conviction that David looked at him in surprise and Kate felt her heart lift. ‘Absolutely right. I’ll go down first thing in the morning. Should I telephone first? Warn her?’
‘No,’ said Kate instinctively. ‘Take her by surprise. Pretend you forgot we weren’t there or something. Don’t look so shocked! I know you hate telling even the whitest of lies but trust me. Honestly, I just know that this is right.’
‘AND THE FRIGHTENING THING is,‘she said to David when Giles had gone and they were washing up together, ‘that he believes me. Like when I told him that he would love school or that he could get to university if he tried. The responsibility is frightening.’
‘The trouble with bringing up children,’ said David, who had a daughter of his own, ‘is that by the time you know you got it wrong it’s too late to do anything about it.’
Kate dried plates silently, fighting fear and guilt. Why had she been so confident? Supposing she was wrong and Giles was right to proceed cautiously? Why did she feel that she always knew best when she’d managed to make such mistakes in her own life?
‘Oh, David,’ she said miserably. ‘Why did I open my big mouth?’
‘Because he needed you to.’ David dried his hands and took her into his arms. ‘Don’t fight it, my darling. It’s impossible to get it right. Sins of omission or commission, we err e
ither way. Just accept it.’
‘But it’s his life,’ she cried against his chest. ‘Oh, why do I always interfere?’
‘He’ll be fine. He’s simply got to have a shot at it. Look how happy Guy is. If he can make it then so can Giles. Surely you’ve no regrets about Guy?’
‘Oh no, of course not! But he and Gemma have known each other since they were babies and she’s so good for him. Yes, Guy is happy. Perhaps you’re right …’
‘Of course I am,’ said David comfortably, returning to his washing-up.
Kate went back into the sitting room and stood staring into the fire. She had felt so certain earlier but now she was eaten up with doubt. David had put his finger on the problem of parenthood; you saw the results of your mistakes when it was too late to rectify them and the anxieties continued long after the children were grown up. She knew that she would be feeling just as worried if she had urged Giles to go cautiously. Kate sighed, put the guard round the fire and went upstairs to have her bath.
Eighteen
AFTER THE NEW YEAR a mild spell set in; there were violets growing in the lane and hazel catkins trembling in the hedge. Bea, stooping to look at an early primrose, was possessed of a desire to start afresh. The soft air, which presaged spring and new life, touched her cheeks and filled her with hope. She straightened up and, breathing deeply and eagerly, walked on between the banks that sheltered the lane. The centuries had eroded this track long before it became a metalled lane; ground to dust each summer, scoured by winter rain, so the track had sunk until now, beneath the dry-stone walls, the very rock could be seen. Beech mast, acorn and seeds had rooted in the earth that covered the stones so that the hedges that flourished along the top of the walls grew high above the sunken lane. Their roots had pushed down through the soil, displacing stones, gaining a foothold. These thick gnarled roots were covered with lichen and moss and ferns, supporting small ecological worlds, sheltered from the west winds which roared above their heads.
Bea watched a company of long-tailed tits swinging in the bare branches of an oak tree above her head. They flitted busily, darting from branch to branch, until the whole party took wing and swooped away. She saw a tiny wren, fossicking amongst the drifts of beech leaves in the ditch, and felt a sense of satisfaction and gratitude. The holiday had been a great success. She had been both surprised at the warmth with which Tessa had greeted her and aware of the efforts Will had made to ensure that all three of them felt at home. He insisted that he was very happy in his room downstairs with its proximity to the kitchen. This morning Bea had woken, unusually early, to the smell of frying bacon and had thought herself, for one brief moment, back at school. She lay for a while, thinking; if she were to settle here in the cove then the pattern of life must be set from the beginning. It seemed that Tessa would rarely be with them for any length of time so it was important that she and Will should work out a plan for living compatibly. She hoped that, having spent most of her life living in an institution, she had a head start. Will had been married, so he was used to having females—or at least one female—about the place. It was clear that he and Tessa had very quickly established an easy relationship and Bea knew that it was up to her to maintain the family atmosphere.
Rising from her bed, she had pulled on her thick plaid dressing gown, pushed her feet into sheepskin slippers and descended to the kitchen. Over the Christmas holiday she had breakfasted late, fully dressed, having given Will plenty of time to have his own breakfast and finish his chores. Up until now she hadn’t wanted to be in his way but this morning she had felt differently. If Will had been surprised to see her he gave no sign of it. There was a large pot of tea on the table and he took a cup and saucer from the dresser and put them beside her.
‘I always like to stoke up for the day,’ he’d told her. ‘If you have a good breakfast then it doesn’t matter too much what happens after that. Care to join me?’
‘Who can resist the smell of frying bacon?’ asked Bea, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘I certainly can’t!’
‘My wife could.’ As Will dropped a few more rashers into the frying pan he looked uncomfortable; as though he felt that he had been disloyal. ‘Had a delicate stomach, d’you see?’ he said. ‘Had to be careful what she ate.’
‘How very tiresome,’ said Bea bluntly. ‘For her,’ she added politely—but she had seen the small grin with which Will had accepted her gesture of understanding. ‘Living with small boys tends to destroy one’s sensibilities. I doubt I ever had any in the first place.’
Whilst they ate they had exchanged family backgrounds, trying to trace their ancestry back to Mathilda. Bea discovered that Will was two years the elder and that his father had been killed during the evacuation of Dunkirk; they had both lost their mothers fairly recently.
‘I suppose,’ said Bea, chasing a mushroom round her plate, ‘that I always imagined that I’d look after my mother in her old age. I spent most of the school holidays with her. We were very poor. My father was not particularly strong. He was on convoy duty during the war and was torpedoed twice and I don’t think that he ever fully recovered from it. I remember him as a quiet nervous man. He taught History but he was only fifty-two when he died. My mother was eighty. I was fully expecting to look after her for a few more years yet.’
‘It must be difficult,’ said Will thoughtfully, ‘to retire from your kind of job. Must feel at a bit of a loose end, I should think. It’s a way of life, isn’t it? Not just a job.’
‘Yes,’ said Bea, after a minute or two. ‘That describes it rather well. I stayed for a while with an old friend. She’s newly widowed and rather lonely. We hoped that it might solve both our problems.’
Will remembered his conversation with Isobel in the car. ‘Sounds fraught with difficulty,’ he suggested.
‘Why?’ asked Bea sharply. ‘Why should it be any more difficult than what we are contemplating here?’
‘Because it’s her home,’ answered Will promptly, although he sounded much more confident than he felt. ‘She would have to be a very generous sort of woman for you to be able to feel that you had as much right in it as she did. This is your home as much as mine. Quite different I would have thought.’
Bea was silent, mollified by his reply, rather surprised by her flash of aggression. It was evident that she was still feeling rather sensitive when it came to the question of belonging.
‘It is different,’ she admitted, watching him spread marmalade on his toast with a generous hand. ‘But it’s rather difficult to feel at home in a house you never saw before in your life.’
‘And with two people you never saw before in your life?’ He was smiling at her. ‘Are we crazy to try it? Is that what you’re thinking?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s just that I’m not particularly looking forward to telling Norah that I’ve finally made up my mind. She’ll think I’m quite mad. And I have to go back to pick up my belongings from the flat. I hope the landlord can find someone to take it over.’
‘Like me to come along?’ Will made the suggestion lightly but his heart beat anxiously. He had no wish to patronise her.
‘Come with me?’
‘I wondered how much stuff you’ve got? Could you manage it on the train? We could drive up and pack it in the back of the Morris. It’s amazing how much she’ll take if you drop the back seat.’
It occurred to Bea that it would be a great deal easier to cut the ties to her old life with Will’s comforting presence in the background but she was not used to people sharing her burdens or shouldering her problems. It sounded rather tempting … Her independent spirit struggled against such weakness. She sat with her eyes on her empty plate, attempting to justify an acceptance of his offer. Will watched her.
‘Difficult trying to struggle with it all on the train,’ he pondered, hoping to ease her into seeing it as a sensible proposition whilst maintaining her pride. ‘Of course you could hire a van but it seems a bit daft with the old Morris out there. Or maybe
I’ll get on with getting us a car. We’ll need one, won’t we? Or would you prefer that we had one each? I can understand that. Perhaps we could try sharing one for a start.’ He beamed at her. ‘It’s going to be great fun. Don’t you think? Lots to look forward to. Look, I’d be very glad to come with you. I’d like to see the school and where you worked for so long. Fills in the blank bits, d’you see? And it would be a bit of a jolly.’
She looked at him and discovered that she could accept his friendliness. ‘Thank you, Will,’ she’d said. ‘That would be very kind.’
Now, as she walked in the lane she wondered what Norah would think of him …
‘ … AND I THINK IT’S just too bad of you,’ hissed Norah, when Will had excused himself and disappeared to have a pipe in the garden, ‘to bring this cousin—or whatever he is—along with you. I’d have preferred to talk with you alone.’
‘He is my cousin,’ said Bea calmly. ‘No whatever-he-is about it.’
‘And furthermore,’ continued Norah, discounting this observation, ‘I have to say that I think it’s quite mad. Going back to your old friends at school was foolish enough …’ She looked at Bea sharply. ‘Well, it was, wasn’t it? I was right, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes, Norah,’ sighed Bea. ‘You were right.’
Norah nodded, smug self-satisfaction writ large upon her face. ‘Of course I was. You can’t go back. I warn you, it never works.’
‘But I’m not going back,’ said Bea. ‘I’m going forward.’
Norah stared at her with a rather unpleasant look on her face; it had an avid, unhealthy kind of eagerness mingled with a measure of contempt.
‘So you’re going to live with this … cousin?’
‘With Will. Yes.’ Bea looked back at her and felt a sense of revulsion. ‘For goodness’ sake, Norah. Don’t look so … so prurient. There’s nothing like that about it at all. We are sharing the house, the three of us. We have a young cousin called Tessa. I told you all about it in the letter. Please try to accept it. I hope you might come and visit me there. It will be lovely in the summer.’
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